Monday, July 18, 2011

Aggressive American Imperialists and North Korean Fembots: Dandong Part 2

With my friends and new identity--Amelie from Paris--I set off for the Museum to Commemorate the War to Resist American Aggression and Aid Korea (try to say that name 5 times fast). The museum sits atop a large hill on the outskirts of town. The height of the hill is exaggerated by the large monument perched on its top.


The monument, a sort of obelisk surrounded by statues of soldiers in action, is a rather blunt reminder that this is, in fact, a war museum. Yet instead of the solemn or even proud faces seen in most American war monuments, these soldiers seemed to glare and scream. One soldier's mouth was wide open, as if screaming while he wound up to hurl a giant rock at some enemy. Another soldier, wearing a Russian-style hat, was hurtling his sword over his head, about to decapitate the soldier below him. His eyes were wide, mouth was open, and he was apparently moving with such momentum that even the flaps on his hat had flown up in the air.



From the moment we entered the museum until when we left about 75 minutes later, we did not see another non-Chinese person. Most were in large tour groups, but the six of us were able to dart through the groups (obviously not without glares and stares) and managed to make it through most of the museum, largely aided by the English translations on all signs and labels.



The English translations, based on my efforts to look at the Chinese signs, were pretty accurate...but that only made them more disconcerting. I'm not so naive that I think American war museums are free from bias, but this took bias to a whole new level. The word American or enemy never stood alone; there was always an accompanying epithet like, "imperialists," "arrogant," or "aggressive." The Americans were an army, while the Chinese were "volunteers" who still managed to "annihilate the arrogant enemy" and win the war.

I'm not an expert, but that's definitely not what I remember from history class.

The thing is, right and wrong aside, it would be tough to walk out of the museum and NOT despise Americans if that was the only story you knew. Hence our new personas. The visitors to the museum were being fed a steady diet of anti-American propaganda, which made me feel like instead of the usual "ooh, foreigners" look, we were really getting the "ooh, arrogant imperialists" look. And it's not a very nice look.

Walking out of the museum, we were all a little quiet and more solemn...that is until 裴佳诗 and石柏峰 eyed the playground of old war planes an bombers. Their eyes lit up and jaws dropped in unison. Both reached for their wallets and sprinted for the field. The various rusty and outdated pieces of equipment kept them occupied for about 45 minutes, at which point we headed back down the hill to the Pingrang gaoli fandian--the Pyongyang Gaoli Restaurant. The Pyongyang restaurant is owned by the North Korean government, or the Dear Leader Kim J himself. The restaurant was easy to spot because of the DPRK flag above its entrance.

I knew from reading about the restaurant that it was a propaganda attempt, an effort to make North Korea seem more impressive to its Chinese neighbors. So my thought was, if you have one shot to impress a country, you had better go all out, right? I figured there would be light shows, opera singers, million dollar paintings, and 3-star Michelin food. WRONG.

The restaurant was really a small, bare room with a single picture on the wall. The sterile environment was only made worse by the North Korean robots waitresses. These waitresses were all strikingly beautiful, but their faces were totally lacking any sort of emotion. They spoke very little Chinese and even moved in a slightly unnatural, jerky movement. I was half expecting them to be like Dr. Evil's fembots and knock us unconscious with sleeping gas that would come out of their...well you know...


Frightened by the robots, uncomfortable in the waiting room-esque environment, and overwhelmed by the pricy food, we ordered 2 dishes and agreed to get 包子 elsewhere afterwards. The two dishes were sliced beef and dog meat.

Hold on. I think I just threw up in my mouth a little bit.

I'm just as carnivorous as the next person (see my Tiger Attack post), but I draw the line well before dog. When the food came, the general consensus (of which I was not a part) was that the dog was okay...a little chewy, but nothing too special. BLECH.


We quickly evacuated the room and took a deep breath, out of reach of the North Korean fembots' deadly clutches. We found a small stand for a real dinner of delicious 包子, after which we headed back to the Yalu River. At this point it was dark out...well, except for the park alongside the river. Groups of people danced, red lanterns floated through the sky, the bridge flashed red, green, blue, and orange neon lights, music blasted from speakers, and a light and waterworks show spurted out from the river about 5 yards from the walkway.


What's the occasion? Oh well, you know, it's just another night in China.

I was so distracted by the lights and sounds that it took me a few minutes to realize that there was absolutely NOTHING on the North Korean side. No lights. No sounds. If I hadn't known that there was already land there, I would have guessed that it we were looking out on open ocean.

It really brought a whole new meaning to the Dark Side.

The comparison between the two sides--already pretty striking during the day--is incredible at night, thanks mainly to the spectacle that China throws alongside the river. It's as if China throws it for the North Koreans, but doesn't invite them. More like a tempting and taunting, "Look what we have that you don't." So much for good Chinese-North Korean relations.

Exhausted, we headed back to our incredibly comfortable hotel rooms. It was time to rest and save up strength before we headed to Tiger Mountain for our last full day in Dandong...
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Sunday, July 17, 2011

B.O., Bieber, and oh yeah, NORTH KOREA: Dandong Part 1

Way back in June, my heart was crushed by the Chinese consulate in New York City. Why? They gave me a SINGLE entry visa, which meant that a trip to North Korea was out of the question. Although I was devastated, my parents seemed quite pleased, since for some unknown reason, a trip to North Korea seems like a bad idea to them. Anyway, I'm pretty sure my parents have some 关系, guanxi, and pulled strings in the Consulate to ensure that I could NOT go to North Korea. Mom and Dad, I don't know how you did it, but touché.

Fast forward 6 weeks: guess who beat the system? :) What now Chinese Consulate?

Through the right mix of luck, Chinese skills, and planning, five other kids in my program and I headed to Dandong for the weekend. Dandong is a pretty large city that sits on the Yalu River--yalu jiang--right across from NORTH KOREA. Chinese people can go into the DPRK with much more ease than Americans, so there is trade between the two sides over the river, though it's pretty one-sided.

So on Thursday night at 9PM the six of us boarded a train armed with snacks and yingzuo--hard seat--tickets for a 12 hour train-ride. Yingzuo tickets were cheap ($9 for a 12 hour train-ride? Chris Christie, if you're reading this, take note), and we figured, how bad could they be? Maybe I should have taken the hint when my teacher laughed at me after telling her that we had hard seaters. But nevermind that.

We boarded the train, and BOOM! We hit a wall of B.O., half-naked men, and more people than should be crammed in an sort of enclosed space. EVER. Each of us shoved through waves of sweaty skin and found our seats, which had 6 random Chinese people sitting in them! Apparently there are yingzuo tickets, and then there standing tickets. Some people take the standing literally--hence the pushing through waves of people--but there are also people who will do ANYTHING possible to sit down. Which means that people sit on top of the seats or bring their own stools to sit on the floor.








Somehow we could all tolerate the people whose butts were essentially in our faces, but one woman would not leave. She parked her stool between our benches and sat. First she just sat between our legs, giving us the quintessential "ooohhh, foreigners" glare. Then she asked to touch my hair and 魏德's hair. The woman refused to believe that 魏德's short black curls and my thick, unmanageable waves were real, so she turned to 乐然, who was sitting across from us, to gossip about our hair and how it was actually fake. OH HELL NO. You can't just sit on my feet and insult my hair. My instinct was to go Jerry Springer on her, but I ground my teeth and ignored--that is until she decided that the spot above my head was an ideal seat. Really? REALLY? Sputtering in Chinese I began to scream, but it was no use. 魏德 joined in giving her a fierce glare and shouting in a voice about 3 octaves below his normal one. 下去吧! Maybe it was his voice, maybe his potentially fake, black curls, or maybe his fierce, Zoolander-esque Blue Steel glare, but 魏德 scared her and she sat back down. Moral of the story: don't mess with a 耶鲁大学生. With hair and debating skills infinitely better than your own, they will come out on top. End of story.

Detente continued until the woman exited the train, though the rest of the train is just an uncomfortable blur in my memory. I know it was long. My feet cramped. My ankles were swollen. And I was delirious. But at 9AM on Friday, we FINALLY reached the promised land: 丹东--Dandong.


A giant Mao Zedong statue welcomed us with open arms at the train station. If I could have, I would have kissed him (and would likely have been promptly arrested). We hailed cabs and within minutes were at our hotel which was on the waterfront, ie across from North Korea.

Let me repeat that: ACROSS FROM NORTH KOREA.

Dandong, a reasonably sized Chinese city, has tall buildings, wide streets, and a beautiful park along the river. Horns honk, people talk. It's a happy little city. Now let's look across the river: a few dark, creepy buildings and smokestacks. No sounds or lights. It looks like a deserted town with a ferris wheel. The ferris wheel, clearly an attempt to make North Korea appear like a happy place, just adds to the eeriness. It doesn't move at any time of the day and it sits across the river from a bigger Chinese ferris wheel that turns all day. Basically it's like a scene from a horror movie or a deserted fairground.


We check out the river and plotted our afternoon, so that after a much-needed nap we headed to the wharf on the Yalu River. We negotiated with a boat driver and then the six of us pulled on life jackets and hopped into a small motor boat.

Ignoring one jittery passenger (I'm looking at you, 白若诗), our driver simultaneously sped up and turned up some dance mix music. Circling around the Short Bridge, which was blown up by the Americans during the Korean War, we slid up a few yards from the shore. The shore was most notable for its rusty boats, men in military uniforms, and old, broken-down buildings. Excited by our proximity to North Korea and intrigued by the surreal scene next to us, I ignored our driver's warning against taking pictures. After I snapped a few shots, he saw me and and began to reprimand me.

I gave my most innocent smile: 对不起，我以前不知道--Sorry. I didn't know. Obviously he couldn't stay mad very long. As the Chinese say, 重男轻女, or value men over women. I figure, if the belief exists, I might as well use it for my own purposes :)


As we continued to float along the shore we did our best to be goodwill ambassadors and waved to as many North Koreans as possible. Most waved, some glared, and one flashed a large gun. UMMM....Hey there Kim J! It's good to know that you're such a welcoming host.


After about 25 minutes, our time in the boat was up, so we flipped around and slowly sped up. As we began to speed up, my heart began to patter and a smile spread across my face. Why? What better way to leave the North Korean people behind than by blasting one of the defining songs of our generation: Justin Bieber's "Baby."

"You know you love me,
Kim J you care,
Just shout 你好,
And I'll be there.
You want my labor,
It breaks my heart,
because my country says we'll always be apart.

And I was like, Kim J, Kim J, Kim J, ooooh..."

Okay, so maybe not those lyrics. But we sang with Biebs and rapped with Luda, dancing and waving wildly to the North Koreans who stared. FOR REALS. I think I saw a few North Koreans dance with us, but 白若诗 swears they were just reaching for their guns. I prefer to think that Bieber diplomacy can work wonders, so I'm sticking to my story.


We pulled back into the dock with Bieber-infused adrenaline pounding through our veins and hopped out. With only 2 days in Dandong, we had to head straight to our next destination, the Museum to Commemorate the War to Resist American Aggression and Aid Korea.

Haven't heard of the War to Resist American Aggression? What about the Korean War? One in the same. Just as the museum's name suggests, there's no bias to be found anywhere at the museum (note: sarcasm). So we agreed upon non-American identities (my name is Amelie and I'm from Paris, France) and headed to the museum...
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Monday, July 11, 2011

Wedding Crashers Rule #71: No excuses. Play like a champion!

After celebrating the death of a chicken on Saturday, I had the chance to take part in a totally different celebration on Sunday: a wedding.

Ma Laoshi, one of the CET teachers, got married on Sunday and invited her students. Although I am not her student (in fact I had never met her before I congratulated her after the ceremony...shhhhh!), 魏德 invited me on her behalf. Apparently there was a general +1 invite put out to all the American students. Never one to turn to free food and a party, I jumped at the opportunity and began to refresh my memory of the immortal rules of Wedding Crashers.

On Friday, Ma Laoshi gave her students the address of the restaurant and said that it would be casual, but that was it. Casual? Like jeans? Or like "anything less than a floor-length ballgown"? I had no idea so I put on a dress and hoped that I wouldn't embarrass myself. Scratch that. I knew that I would bring my A-game. Rule #71: No excuses. Play like a champion.

To make matters more complicated, none of us could ask our roommates or other teachers about Chinese wedding culture because Ma Laoshi is a Huimin, a member of the Hui ethnic minority group. The Hui people are one of China's 55 ethnic minority groups, or shaoshu minzu. Most Hui are from western China and are Muslim, so their customs and ceremonies are pretty different from the average Han celebrations. Since the Han people make up 92% of the population of China, almost everyone here is Han, so not only was this MY first Hui wedding, it was also the first for all of our other teachers.

In any case, we had NO idea what to expect. So when 8 other students and I gathered in the dorm lobby at 9:45 AM, I glanced around the motley crew of Americans, pretty convinced that we were invited as the free entertainment.


We arrived at the restaurant, or should I say wedding factory, and were ushered into an elevator as another wedding party was leaving the building. I should add that on Sunday we saw over a dozen wedding convoys. But in a country that has almost 1.4 billion people, I guess it shouldn't come as a surprise that a few million people were getting married last Sunday. Anyway, as I stood in sardine formation, I suddenly heard "MiLi" come from the back corner of the mob jammed in the elevator. Only able to turn my head slightly, I glanced out of the corner of my eye and saw...Sun Laoshi, my 1 on 2 teacher. I know that at this point in my life I should be over the whole, "it's awkward seeing teachers outside of school" phase, but I'm not. I mean, how are you supposed to act? So with my jaw still gaping, I mumbled something that was supposed to be ni hao ma? and was pushed out into a large room.



The room had large tables that were filled with chattering Chinese people. The 9 of us were seated at our very own special foreigner--waiguoren--table which was OBVIOUSLY right next to the table with all of our teachers, most of whom were in jeans or casual casual clothes so we all looked like the overdressed jerks. Perfect!


When I sat down, I was first struck by the incredible wedding slieshow projected on a screen. It would have been sweet and cute if I wasn't so distracted by the lyrics to "Truly Madly Deeply" that were proclaimed across each slide. The lyrics, "I want to I wanna stand with you on a mountain, I wanna bathe with you in the sea, etc..." were misspelled and likely not understood by any of the Chinese people in attendance. Soon the emcee came out, dressed in a somewhat traditional Muslim outfit. The entrance of the emcee, who was as crucial a part of the ceremony as the bride and groom, was accompanied by music. But not just any music. The theme to Pirates of the Caribbean. Because nothing says wedding like a table full of Americans staring at the door expecting Captain Jack Sparrow to enter with his classic swagger. Unfortunately, the emcee was not a pirate :(. As the emcee began to work the crowd and our table slowly began to be swallowed up by massive plates of food, a young Chinese Imam eyed our table.

The Imam excitedly approached the table and began to talk about his religion and tolerance. He was clearly excited that we had come all the way from meiguo to participate in the ceremony and his speech was quite emotional. It sounded like the some bonus Chinese stanza off of Lady Gaga's "Born This Way". Essentially the English translation was,

"Whether Christian, Muslim, Jew,
we want to make peace with you;
You see our goals are the same,
That's why I'm glad that you came!

...Ooh there ain't no other way, baby, I was born this way..."

You get the idea...

Shortly after the Imam left our table, the first ceremony began. Two Imams and a Hajji presided over a combination of Chinese and Arabic. Both Ma Laoshi and the groom were dressed in more conservative Muslim outfits--although Ma Laoshi's red and gold outfit was pretty stylish. After the ceremony was completed, the star of the show (the emcee) and the bride and groom all left the room for a fast costume change. Meanwhile...NOMNOMNOM. For the 9 of us at the table there were about 18 dishes. By the time the emcee and bridegroom returned--this time in western attire--we were all stuffed. And it looked like we had barely touched the food.


Part 2 of the wedding was like a western wedding gone haywire, but there was an exchange of rings and I'm pretty sure something like vows were said. When it was over, we all got together for the requisite waiguoren photo op, before the restaurant staff hustled us out to let the next wedding party begin.


Overall the ceremony was beautiful and it was amazing to get the opportunity to see such an incredible event. But it wasn't without it's more bizarre, memorable moments. Some of the highlights:

1) Contrary to my initial beliefs (since it was a Muslim wedding), there was alcohol. And lots of it. Each table was given large bottles of hapi, Harbin's beer, and a handle of baijiu, China's lethal contribution to the world's liquor cabinet. In fact, the bridegroom and their parents all took shots of baijiu during the ceremony. Name lihai!

2) As the Muslim part of the ceremony came to an emotional close, the bridegroom and emcee all grabbed handfuls of prunes and peanuts (I'm not sure from where) and launched them into the air. The only problem was that our table was about 1 yard from the threesome, so the small, edible objects rained down on us, hitting our heads and splashing into bowls of soup on the table. Throughout the meal, as we would take food from the various plates we would discover random peanuts and prunes covered in all sorts of sauces and mixed with all sorts of ingredients.


3) The Hajji, an old Chinese man, gave a speech that, for much of the time, was focused on the American guests. Although the intention was sweet, it's kind of awkward to be featured in the wedding speech/toast of a wedding where you've never met the bride OR the groom--I'm pretty sure John and Jeremy (Owen Wilson and Vince Vaughn's characters) would be proud.

4) There was a small wedding favor left on each table in the middle of the Lazy Susan. It was a small red and gold bag--about the size of a jewelry bag--that had a few pieces of hard candy, a box of matches, and his-and-hers boxes of cigarettes. Because nothing says "Congratulations on the Wedding" like a box that comes with a warning label because its contents are "harmful to your health."
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Friday, July 8, 2011

Tiger Attack: A Tale of a No. 1 Adventure Bus and a 50RMB Chicken

I, like so many other people, have watched the movie Jurassic Park with somewhat mixed feelings. Obviously the film is supposed to be an adventure, thrilling and frightening viewers by warning against the dangers of a dinosaur amusement park; however, on some level, the movie fails. Why? Because I still DESPERATELY want to go to Jurassic Park! While this blog post won't relay any tales of freakish science experiments or velociraptors (unfortunately), it will tell the tale of the Harbin Siberian Tiger Park, which comes pretty close.


Earlier today, three friends and I hailed a cab and headed to 东北虎林园, the Dongbei Tiger Park. About 30 minutes later, we climbed out in Tigerland: tiger figurines, paintings, dolls, stuffed animals, murals, statutes, etc... I would say some of the decorations verged on kitschy, but when I saw the top-hat-wearing, pipe-smoking baby tiger figurine, I quickly realized that everything was totally necessary and appropriate.


We lined up to buy student tickets, but were slightly distracted by a group of middle-aged Chinese men taking our pictures. Uh-oh. The paparazzi had been tipped off to our location and they were at it again. After answering the usual questions (ni shi eluosiren ma?--Are you Russian?), we politely posed for a few dozen pictures and then jostled back to the ticket counter. For 57RMB per person (about $9), we each purchased a student ticket and the split the cost of a 50RMB live chicken. SCORE.

Wait...What? A live chicken?

As we learned in our 1 on 2 classes this week, 入乡随俗...When in Harbin, do as the Harbiners do--which in this case means buying live animals to watch large Siberian tigers attack, destroy, and enjoy. NOMNOMNOM.


In case you've made it this far, I'll provide one last warning: If you find this sort of gruesome, carnivorous thing repulsive or offensive or you're a card-carrying member of PETA, I advise you to stop reading this post now (and to never accompany me to a steakhouse; I've been known to eat ungodly quantities of steak, my favorite food. NOMNOMNOM).

So with our chicken receipt in hand, we boarded onto a No. 1 Adventure Bus (according to the Chinglish sign). The bus, a sort of safari bus with bars on the windows, loaded up and headed towards the gaping mouth of a tiger that doubled as a gate into the park. The gate opened, letting our bus into a middle area between a series of about three gates, each 20 or so feet high and topped with barbed wire...Welcome to Jurassic Park.

We bumped along through what looked like pretty average terrain until I spotted some orange out of the corner of my eye: A TIGER! We kept bumbling along until we sided up right next to it. Up close, the tiger was both enormous and beautiful. It powerfully glided over the ground, gracefully placing its giant paws one in front of the other. After the initial gasps and squeals, the passengers of the bus collectively AWWed as the tiger laid down.


We passed tiger after tiger until we entered a new part of the park, where a small van rolled up next to our bus. Suddenly, a hand reached out of the van and placed a squawking chicken--OUR squawking chicken--on its roof. Before we knew what was happening, BOOM! A tiger jumped on the roof of the van and sank its massive teeth into the chicken. The chicken, which had gone silent--SURPRISE!--accompanied the victorious tiger into a bush, where the tiger proceeded to pull mouthfuls of feathers, meat, and bones off the chicken. NOMNOMNOM.


The people on the bus erupted in cheers. And I'm not going to lie, I cheered as loud as any other person on the bus (maybe louder...I was pretty proud of OUR chicken). Everyone kept buzzing about the tiger's snack until we entered yet a different area of the park--the LIGER section.

What's a liger?, you might ask.

"It's pretty much my favorite animal. It's like a lion and a tiger mixed... bred for its skills in magic."

If you're like me, your knowledge of ligers is limited to Napoleon Dynamite. The animals are, in fact, crosses between lions and tigers, though unfortunately not bred for their skills in magic (but then again, with the Chinese government ANYTHING is possible). The ligers, slightly smaller than their full-bred counterparts, were equally beautiful. We paused beside a pair grooming each other before heading back into Tiger world.

Our No. 1 Adventure Bus tour came to an end, depositing us in front of a pathway that led over several other tiger areas. These areas brought us up close and personal with a few dozen more tigers. As we passed through the walkway, we came across a museum employee standing over a bin of live, clucking chickens (probably the siblings of the one we sacrificed to a tiger) and dangling a piece raw chicken meat into the tigers area. The tigers quickly spotted the meat and zeroed in on it. One jumped up on the fence, gnashing its teeth at the meat.

After being so wary of Chinese food safety and sanitation (or more accurately, lack there of), my instinct was to warn the tiger, "Zhuyi nide weisheng!"--pay attention to your sanitation--but I remembered that all tigers eat raw meat and watched as the satisfied tiger ripped the chicken chunk away from the employee and swallowed it in one gulp.


We continued our way through the maze-like walkway and exited back into the parking lot, unable to contain our enthusiasm: hao wan debudeliao!

Other than the fact that I still have yet to see a velociraptor, the trip was a success. I mean, I got to cheer with Chinese people as a 700 lb. mammal annihilated a chicken...what could be more exciting than that? (Please note the utter lack of sarcasm.)

And if you ignored my previous warning and are totally disgusted with my post and enthusiasm for tigers ripping live chickens to shreds, TOO BAD.

NOTE: All of the pictures from my trip to the Tiger Park can be found by clicking on the album link below:

Siberian Tiger Park, Harbin
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Saturday, July 2, 2011

Naive Bear Paradise, and other tales from Sun Island


When I climbed onto the bus this morning, I was certain that I was headed to Taiyang Dao, Sun Island. But now I'm not so sure of where I went. If Alice fell in a rabbit hole in China, I'm pretty sure she would end up on Sun Island.
Don't get me wrong, that's not a bad thing...I mean, I like trippy, bizarre places. It's just when you make that a trippy, bizarre, Chinese place, it can be a little strange.
Sun Island is an island across the Songhua River from Harbin that's known for being a sort of escape from the city. Despite the connotations of its name, it's actually best known as the site of the annual Harbin International Ice and Snow Sculpture Festival. So the attendance rate on the island spikes when the average temperature hits about -1 F. Makes sense, right?

In the summer, the island becomes an eclectic mix of...actually I'm not really sure. Most of the time we spent walking around through the lush greenery we were distracted as we dodged high-speed tourist trains. Picture those trams you see moving about 5 mph, carrying kids and the elderly through amusement parks; now, picture them moving about 15-20 mph on the sidewalk. Yeah. Scary.


After a few close encounters with these trams, we head off the beaten path to Naive Bear Paradise. I wish I could say that the name, ben xiong leyuan translates into something more eloquent and that this is just an unfortunate example of Chinglish, but the translation is actually quite accurate. If not "Naive," it might translate better into "Stupid Bear Paradise," so I'll stick with what they have. As it is, it sounds like it might fall somewhere between the Gumdrop Mountains of Candyland and Winnie-the-Pooh's Hundred Acre Wood.
Naive Bear Paradise was what you might get if you crossed a park with an amusement park, and sprinkled in a few creepy buildings that look like prisons. In other words, like nothing you have ever seen before. The icing on the top of the bizarre cake was the figurines sprinkled throughout the area. The vast majority were bears--in every pose imaginable--but there were also apples, birds, corn, pumpkins, and Bugs Bunny's evil Chinese twin. Once we passed some of the epic bear figures, we found a big blue roller coaster that 乐然 and I just had to ride (魏德 claimed he didn't want to ride because it looked bu name lihai--not that exciting--but let's be honest, he just chickened out). The roller coaster in itself really wasn't that great, but the experience was pretty exhilarating, if for nothing else than because I was sure that the frequent, violent jolts meant that at any moment the ride might fall apart.


We left behind the bears, rides, and wandered around the park for a while. We approached taiyang hu, Sun Lake, with paddle boats and decided to inquire about the price for renting a boat, but we were stopped by a group of eager, middle-aged people. Pointing at us, one man threw his companion his camera and ran over to pose with us for a picture. Caught off guard and baffled by his actions, we stood there, motionless as a series of five different people took turns posing with us: arms around our shoulders, on my left, in between us, smiling, stoic...I'm not sure how many pictures we were in, but the general consensus is that it was about 20 too many. So we ducked out of sight and took a break in the wooded area at the foot of taiyang shan, Sun Mountain.

Sitting on a bench near taiyang shan was like putting ourselves on display as the resident waiguoren: children ooh-ed and aah-ed, teens tried to stealthily snap our pictures, and elderly couples stared in disbelief when they heard us speaking Chinese. When we finally got up to leave the park, we were approached--nay, ATTACKED--by a group of people hollering and waving their cameras in our directions. With mutual glances and knowing nods, we did what any experienced celebrities might do: lowered our heads and ran away.

Safe out of reach of their voices or lenses, we chuckled and loaded back onto the bus, just in time for the sun to finally come out after what had been a rather sun-less day on Sun Island. Between the sun shining over our heads and our harrowing experiences with the renmin paparazzi, our discussion as found our seats focused on only one thing: where we could find the sunglasses we so desperately needed.

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Monday, June 27, 2011

There's a Monster in the Bathroom

Beware! It will come for you. If you dare to open the door, you must do so prepared. Failure to arm yourself with Purell and tissues will lead to danger and despair. Brace yourself, hold your breath, and enter at your own risk.



It's already been two weeks since I arrived in China and I feel like I've already adjusted to some of the aspects of life that differ from home. I'm used to the crowds, the spitting on the side of the roads, the wild, ruthless, and honking drivers, the screaming waiters in restaurants, etc... However, I still shudder whenever I know that I need to enter at restroom. Our dorms--equipped with western-style toilets--have become a sort of savior, an oasis in the desert of squat toilets. But almost anywhere else I go, I am bound to find a squat toilet. Though they all have slight differences, the striking similarities are what makes them so unbearable to me.

WARNING: This is not for the faint of heart:

The usual protocol for the bathroom stalls is that you open the door, climb up one or two steps, and plant your feet firmly (FIRMLY) on either side of the repulsive hole below you. As you assume this position, be aware of the ground and any questionable things that may (read: WILL) be on it. Do whatever needs to be done and then pull out your tissues. If you forgot to BYOTP, too bad. There's none in the stall, or if there is, it's probably sitting on the floor. Lovely.

If you were well-prepared, you can dispose of your toilet paper in the waste bin in the back corner of the stall.

What, not in the toilet?

No. In the waste bin. So it can sit with other disgusting, used pieces of toilet paper and create a wondrous smell that wafts through the stall and mingles with other smells to create a fragrant bathroom experience.

But you manage to toss your paper safely into the bin and you may now exit the stall, safely climbing your way back down the steps, out to the sink to wash your hands.

WAIT. How can I wash my hands if there is no soap?

Well, there might be a soap dispenser, in which case it will obviously be empty. Otherwise, you're on your own. Either rinse with the water (but remember to zhuyi nide weisheng because this is Chinese tap water) or pull out that trusty, pocket-sized bottle of Purell and scrub as you step outside into the real world.

Congratulations! You survived! Take a deep breath of the clean air. Or even smoggy Beijing air will do. Pat yourself on the back (unless you just rinsed with Chinese water, in which case find some soap or hand sanitizer ASAP).


I'm not sure if I will ever quite adjust to these toilets, or rather, the experience of going to the bathroom here. But in the mean time, no matter where I go this summer, I am ready with my pocket pack of Kleenex and my Purell.

Consider this a formal declaration of war against squat toilets everywhere.
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