tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-91510034180068514222024-03-05T02:59:43.960-08:00chinajournBoston University Journalism Professor Anne Donohue is on a Fulbright in Beijing China during Spring semester 2008. This blog serves as her journal, musings, rants and raves about her experiences.Anne Donohuehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17213801988680297535noreply@blogger.comBlogger26125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9151003418006851422.post-14754157210847933232008-08-21T17:53:00.000-07:002008-08-21T17:54:22.834-07:00Week 26 Adieu<p class="MsoNormal">Week 26 adieu</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Sat. August 9. Return to the dirt market looking for fabric but find none; go to jenny lou’s for groceries and then to hotel pool for a swim. Security is nuts going into hotel and<span style=""> </span>I learn that an American was murdered at the Bell Tower (and ironically my story on NPR that day is partially recorded at the Drum Tower, so I answer a few emails assuring folks that I am not the victim of this bizzarro murder. So un-Chinese….maybe the canary in the mineshaft? </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Sunday, Eve and Stephanie take me out to hot pot and yahsow market. I leave them mid-afternoon for a hair cut and then meet Yuxin for dinner at Pure Lotus. Very neat place and we see Yue Saikan and maybe Gloria Vanderbilt? or someone of that ilk at a nearby table. Papparazzi crowd. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Monday go in to NBC but it is slow. Watching the Men’s 4x100 relay with Phelps and amazing close by Lezak -- great to watch with a crowd. Did more research for Brokaw science story and then drove with him from <st1:place><st1:placename>Oly</st1:PlaceName> <st1:placetype>Village</st1:PlaceType></st1:place> back to the bureau and had a nice chat about his life as a young man. Advice: don’t worry about late starters. He says he nearly flunked out of college and could<span style=""> </span>write a book about all the very successful men he knows who had lackluster starts in life. Nice chat. At 5, I met <span style=""> </span>Helen Du re: BU China exchange program in <st1:city><st1:place>Shanghai</st1:place></st1:City>. Then I<span style=""> </span>bumped into Nick Kristof of the New York Times outside my apartment and told him my message for his next column: to the Chinese government: do for your people what you do for tourists: clean up the air, fix the traffic, treat everyone with respect, dignity and fairness, not just the tourists.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Tues NBC. Slow…..Sat in on edit of Mark Mullen story. The limitless options for digital effects could make any edit never-ending.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Wednesday August 13. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Up at 5 to head into NBC to watch Nightly go out LIVE. In addition to Brian Williams, Ann Curry and swimming great Rowdy Gaines were also LIVE on the set. A nice time, very laid back crew and talent. Very funny. Brian Williams wondered how Michael Phelps would get through airport security with all those medals around his neck or in his carry on.<span style=""> </span>He said a good producer would be able to get that image, but his staffer reminded him that he didn’t have any good producers….</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">After that I walked in the humid, milky white haze for an hour around the Olympic Village, but still could not crack the perimeter. Need an NBC person to escort me back in. I watched Phelps pick up two more gold and watched the women’t gymnastics team cave under pressure on the big screen at NBC. It is much better to watch this at NBC in English than at home in Chinese, and I am regretting I had not stayed here for the Opening Ceremonies. Live and learn.<span style=""> </span>After lunch I said my goodbyes to those NBC folks who I worked most closely with and headed home for a nap which never materialized. At <st1:time minute="30" hour="17">5:30</st1:time> I headed out to join Mark and Tingting for a final dinner. We are joined by Terry Fry, Amy Klatzkin and their daughter Ying who published a book a while back. A fellow from <st1:city><st1:place>Vancouver</st1:place></st1:City> and his adopted 18 year old daughter named Melissa also joined us. The Canadian was really a pioneer in adopting from <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> and did it all by himself, kind of creating the rules as he went along. It was a lovely dinner of <st1:state><st1:place>Hunan</st1:place></st1:State> food. Need to ask Tingting what most of it is called to try to order it again somewhere. More goodbyes and then head home.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><st1:city><st1:place>Elizabeth</st1:place></st1:City> arrives home at 11 dressed in an oversized red polo shirt looking very un-Elizabeth. She is getting involved in this Young President’s organization for young president’s of companies….but it sounds like a mixed bag. Good opportunities, but a little like grown up scouts. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><st1:date year="2008" day="14" month="8">Thursday <st1:date ls="trans" month="8" day="14" year="2008">August 14, 2008</st1:date></st1:date></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Last Day in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>. I finish the last minute packing and hope I make the weight requirements. <st1:city><st1:place>Elizabeth</st1:place></st1:City> comes home around <st1:time minute="30" hour="10">10:30</st1:time> (again in her un-Elizabeth red polo) to say good bye. This has turned into a very nice friendship and I am sorry I won’t be here long enough to build on it. Next time!<span style=""> </span>Eve and Stephanie arrive at 1130 with snacks from 7-11….Eve is dressed in her Olympic volunteer outfit and she looks very un-Eve. I take a photo of the un-Eve and un-Elizabeth in their Olympic garb.<span style=""> </span>We watch Olympics on TV for a while and then its time to go.<br />We get all the stuff down to the cab and the skies open up. I give them all a teary hug goodbye and hop in the cab. It is pouring outside and yes, inside too. I am happy to be leaving, but I do feel I am leaving a little of my heart in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>I spend my time at the airport writing about Favorite Chinese Places for China Connection magazine and it seems like a fitting way to end my time here. If Mao was 70% good and 30% bad, as all Chinese kids are taught these days, I would give this experience 60% good and 40% not so good. Maybe those numbers will improve over time. Ambassador Nicholas Platt, one of the first diplomats to <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> in the 1970s , gave a talk at the embassy in <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:City> this spring and his advice was to not assess your experience in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> until you’ve been home for six months. So I will let this all marinate and see what I am feeling come winter. Right now, it just feels good to be heading home to friends and family (and a working toilet and comfortable bed). It is amazing how much those creature comforts colored my experience here. But the one thing I would not do again is go away for six months without Stephen and/or a community of friends to share the experience with.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We are flying north of <st1:city><st1:place>Ulan Bator</st1:place></st1:City> heading north by northeast and “Under Pressure’ is in my ipod…”this is our last dance, this is ourselves, under pressure”.</p>Anne Donohuehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17213801988680297535noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9151003418006851422.post-67902447934568688062008-08-21T17:48:00.000-07:002008-08-21T17:50:47.987-07:00Week 25, still here<p class="MsoNormal">Week 25, still here</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Saturday August 2. <span style=""> </span>Send photos via email to NBC for cover during live shot tonight. Get picked up by two runners at <st1:time minute="30" hour="18">6:30</st1:time> for trip to Olympic Village and head to the roof to appear on the Today Show LIVE to talk about adoption. Lester Holt is the interviewer. It is <st1:time minute="30" hour="14">2:30</st1:time> seconds long, and get in about three brief answers. A lot of butterflies but apparently it went well. It was a blur. Stayed on the roof to watch fireworks go off for rehearsal of Opening Ceremonies and then get ride back to <st1:city><st1:place>Elizabeth</st1:place></st1:City>’s.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Sunday Simon drives us three hours to Stefanie’s family home in <st1:place><st1:placename>Hebei</st1:PlaceName> <st1:placetype>Province</st1:PlaceType></st1:place>. Flat, non-descript drive, through a major furniture making area. Wished I’d known this before I bought my stuff. We visit her father’s trucking company and then her spacious courtyard home where she grew up with her grandparents and two siblings. This is the upside of economic reform: clearly her parents have a successful business. We have a nice lunch in a local restaurant, learn about the hungrier days of her parents’ youth. Her grandparents have only a grade school education, her parents finished high school, but she is the first to go to college. Long drive home, get stopped at security roadblock. You can feel the tension building. Had a quick dinner at Paul’s diner,<span style=""> </span>then head to silk market for final purchase. Then watch silly movie with Will Farrell, blades of glory.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Monday – Head into NBC Olympic Village and hear about attacks in Kashgar that killed 16 police. Talk with Richard Engle and give him Abdul’s # to see what is really going on. I log more of Dashan, the Canadian who is famous in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>. When I get home I need to <span style=""> </span>refeed some material for the wushu story that got garbled in transmission last week. And then I get the edits from the World on my two pieces and they want to run Legacy that day, so I feed those elements first and in a hurry. Its nice to work on a deadline. Gets the adrenaline flowing and keeps me up half the night.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Tuesday stay home and <span style=""> </span>file the second story for the World on visas and hotel vacancy. home. Later I watch “There will be blood”. Eve and Stefanie come for Eve’s birthday and I give her the laptop. She seems quiet but pleased. We first go to <span style=""> </span>Lan for a drink and they think it is totally over the top, which it is. We then head to Made in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> for dinner and it is somewhat disappointing.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Weds<span style=""> </span>the Today Show producer Mary Alice invites me to join them at <st1:place><st1:placename>Summer</st1:PlaceName> <st1:placetype>Palace</st1:PlaceType></st1:place> where the Today Show will go out LIVE for two hours tonight. Celine and two other girls are decked out to be valentines because today is the Chinese equivalent of Valentine’s Day. There is a woman from <st1:state><st1:place>Florida</st1:place></st1:State>, who has been at several Olympics and somehow finagles her way to the Today Show set. My camera died, but her’s worked so hopefully there will be good photos of the evening. It was a warm summer night with a breeze off the lake, a lovely peacock dancer, fan dancers, and a band playing traditional Chinese instruments with contemporary beat. Very nice. Tom Brokaw came by for a cameo appearance. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Thurs. NBC helped Brokaw with research on story on science education <st1:country-region><st1:place>USA</st1:place></st1:country-region> vs. <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>. . <span style=""> </span>Evening, got word that hotel piece had not been aired yet on the World, so I reworked the tracks to freshen it up and re-fed it. </p> <st1:date year="2008" day="8" month="8"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman";">Friday </span><st1:date ls="trans" month="8" day="8" year="08"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman";">8-8-08</span></st1:date></st1:date><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman";"> the day we’ve all been waiting for….I left NBC at 3 cuz of security sweep – if you came back in after 3, you were locked in for the next 12 hours, so I opted to go home. Hung around at home, went to Pete’s for margarita and enchilada all by self. Streets are eerily quiet, no one is outside. <span style=""> </span>I head home and then watched the too long opening ceremony alone, in Chinese, and fell asleep. Awakened at </span><st1:time hour="0" minute="0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman";">midnight</span></st1:time><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman";"> with fireworks going off over our building and all of </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman";">Beijing</span></st1:place></st1:City><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman";">. I had every intention of going out to </span><st1:place><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman";">Tiananmen Square</span></st1:place><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman";"> and seeing the festivities and recording reaction but slept right th</span>Anne Donohuehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17213801988680297535noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9151003418006851422.post-49261393008772695082008-07-27T17:58:00.000-07:002008-08-21T18:16:22.403-07:00Week 24 in brief<p class="MsoNormal">Week 24</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I’ve been too busy to keep up with the blog on a daily basis, but the highlights and lowlights of this week are here:</p> <p class="MsoNormal">On Wednesday I woke up to emails informing me of the death of my colleague, former boss, and former professor Jim Thistle. It was expected but it still took the wind out of me. I had a good cry and then decided to spend the day doing journalism, which is what Jim would have done. I figure any money I make today will go to the Thistle scholarship fund. I hope he and Tim Russert and Trevor Nelson are all up in news heaven having a good ol’ time working on the “Pearly Gates News at 11”.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I finished up two stories for Only A Game; my former student Jessie helped translate an interview with the editor of the largest weekly news magazine in China and we recorded sounds of Peking Duck (they don’t make much noise by the time they are served to you…) and sent those remaining elements to <st1:city><st1:place>Boston</st1:place></st1:city>. So I have one more story for them on protests, if/when they happen. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I’ve picked up more freelance work with The World at WGBH/<st1:stockticker>BBC</st1:stockticker>. I’ll do two stories for them, one on visa hassles for people trying to get into the country and the other on the legacy of the Olympics and whether this might spawn a more liberal, democratic China (as it did in Korea) or make the country more totalitarian/nationalistic if things go wrong and they lose face. For one of the stories I try to talk to some of the thousands of Olympic volunteers scattered throughout the city….under tents that say “translation services” but I find very few who speak English, including no one able to tell me where the <st1:place>Forbidden City</st1:place> is located….at a volunteer station about a block away from the most popular tourist site in Beijing….</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I went into the NBC bureau for parts of a few days, logging very interesting interviews, Jasper Becker about the destruction of old <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:city>, a Human Rights Watch guy talking about the Uighurs. Logging is one of the lowest stations in any news organization, but if you can’t actually go out and DO the interviews, I am more than happy to log and learn.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I also finally got a pass to enter the NBC work space next to the Bird’s Nest at the Olympic Village but I have been told “no blogging” about what goes on there. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">But I have been invited to be a guest on the Today Show, LIVE today, to talk about adoption and I assume I can blog about that. Stay tuned.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">For fun, um, not much. One of my interviews was with a hotel manager right next to the <st1:place><st1:placename>National</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Art Museum</st1:placetype></st1:place> and I have never been there, so I checked it out. The first floor was this massive exhibit of contemporary Chinese art….so contemporary there were several images about the May earthquake, and tons with Olympic themes. The other two floors of the museum had displays of Ming and Qing scrolls. But for a <st1:place><st1:placename>National</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Museum</st1:placetype></st1:place> the whole thing seemed sparse. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Wednesday my student Michael came by to bring me some gifts from <st1:country-region><st1:place>Tibet</st1:place></st1:country-region> and share his thousands of photos. I am so jealous that I never got there. Next time. It really looks like a beautiful untouched landscape. I took him out for his first meal of Mexican food. He fared better with knife and fork than the girls did. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">On Friday, I met Mark Ma and Tingting for dinner at TGIF (they chose it!) and Mark let me buy some Olympic tickets off him for the women’s soccer final August 21. I will give those to <st1:city><st1:place>Elizabeth</st1:place></st1:city> as well. But no appliance or tickets can compensate for her incredible generosity and hospitality. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" >Saturday, I broke my tooth eating my cereal…and am debating whether to see a dentist </span>Anne Donohuehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17213801988680297535noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9151003418006851422.post-9343553878012065432008-07-21T18:05:00.000-07:002008-08-21T18:12:03.166-07:00Week 23<p class="MsoNormal">Week 23</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Sunday July 20. Katie’s birthday. I have brunch with her unofficial “godfather”, Mark Ma and his wife at Grandma’s Kitchen, right around the corner. Wonderful American brunch, pancakes, eggs, and good company. Mark has Olympic tickets, lots of them, so hopefully he will have a few for me to give to <st1:city><st1:place>Elizabeth</st1:place></st1:city>. From there I head to the Silk market and a construction site to get some more Sounds of Beijing. Then I come home and write up the script for the story. I thought Eve and Stefanie were coming for dinner, but Eve called, after 9 to say she wanted to come then, but I said too late. Turns out, this English language village where she’s working has been infiltrated with Christian missionaries, who did not show up to work on the Sabbath, so Eve was left running the whole camp for the day on her own. She asked if I could come and give a guest lecture and of course, I said sure. I feel so bad that these students at the <st1:place><st1:placename>English</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Village</st1:placetype></st1:place> have paid money to go to a camp to learn English, but they are instead being read the Bible. Apparently this is a very typical situation and strategy for missionaries to come in under the radar screen. Another story idea. At 9 I call Katie at the beach to wish her a Happy Birthday. She is off to <st1:place><st1:placetype>Camp</st1:placetype> <st1:placename>Huckins</st1:placename></st1:place> today, and I am very jealous.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Monday I go to the <st1:place><st1:placename>Drum</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Tower</st1:placetype></st1:place> to get another Sound of Beijing. I take the subway and learn that at LAST, the line to Renmin is open and the Olympic line is also open, but apparently you need a special pass to go on the Olympic line. At 3, I take the subway way out on Line 13 to Eve’s <st1:place><st1:placename>English</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Village</st1:placetype></st1:place>. I give a lecture on adoption and the students, college aged, <span style=""> </span>are all bright and engaged. One student announces that her sister was adopted, her father found her on the street, and raised her until she was five, and then gave her to his sister who was unable to conceive a child. So I guess this really is how it happens sometimes. After the lecture I meet the assorted American church ladies who want to hold my hand and pray with me but I decline. They pray for me anyway. I hang around there until 8 and then they drive me half way back to the city and put me on the subway home. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Tuesday, I go into NBC and log tapes, one of an interview with a Feng Shui master who is a specialist in numerology. <st1:date ls="trans" month="8" day="8" year="08">8-8-08</st1:date> at <st1:time hour="20" minute="08">8:08pm</st1:time> the Olympics start, but there has been all this chatter on the internet that the earthquake, the snowstorms, the Tibet riots, all happened on dates that add up to 8, and that <st1:date ls="trans" month="8" day="8" year="08">8-8-08</st1:date> is a very unlucky day and bad things are going to happen.<span style=""> </span>The longer I listen to this guy, the more I worry that by using, essentially, superstitious astrologers to represent <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>, we feed into the stereotypes that this place is so weird. It would be like a Chinese journalist going to <st1:city><st1:place>Salem</st1:place></st1:city> on Halloween and saying this is American culture. (It is -a tiny slice of it, but it is NOT exactly representative). I feel like we are both getting only the corners of the picture of each other, but not the whole image.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Wednesday. Into NBC, log more tapes, get some help setting up a few freelance stories from the very generous NBC staffers. At 3 I leave for an interview with lawyer PU. He was one of the 42 intellectuals who signed a letter to the government after <st1:country-region><st1:place>Tibet</st1:place></st1:country-region>, arguing that the government was handling it all wrong, needed to stop the nationalist rhetoric, open a dialogue with the Dalai Lama. I had been hoping to meet him for months, because my grad student Jessie said she knew him. Well we finally connected, and for the first time since I’ve been here, I felt I met a Chinese who was my hope for the future of this country. First, I thought I’d meet a much older man, who had little to lose by signing such a controversial letter. But this guy was young, early 40s. He had been a student in Tiananmen 1989 and after the crackdown, he refused to sign a letter of apology (as most participants were forced to do). Because of that, he was denied his ability to get an advanced degree, so he taught himself law and passed the bar. He’s built like a football player with huge dimples in each cheek and a child-like smile. A Chinese Barrack Obama? He says the only difference between him and the new president of <st1:country-region><st1:place>Taiwan</st1:place></st1:country-region>, Ma, is that Ma went to Harvard! After a wonderful two hour discussion, my student Jessie, who translated this, and I met up with Jessie’s husband Jason for a cup of coffee. Jason has an MBA from <st1:place>Leeds</st1:place> in <st1:country-region><st1:place>England</st1:place></st1:country-region> and works for the candy company Mars in <st1:city><st1:place>Shanghai</st1:place></st1:city>, while Jessie lives in <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:city>. And in September, Jessie will go to the London School of Economics for a year. Newlyweds, but not spending much time together.<span style=""> </span>From there I thought I was going to dinner with some NBC folks, but got left behind, so went home and worked on freelance stuff.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Thursday, into NBC and log a great interview with Dai Qing, a sixty-ish, passionate environmentalist who came into the NBC bureau for the interview. She is so angry about the Olympics and Beijing putting on a show for outsiders while their own citizens need help…. and diverting water from poor farmers in Hebei to water the golf courses and build water paradises for Olympic rowers<span style=""> </span>and on and on and on.<span style=""> </span>Right ON! Two days in a row I’m meeting my kind of people. Where have you been all my life here? Log a few more tapes until my ears feel like they are falling off and head home at 3 to take a nap. I’ve been up until <st1:time hour="0" minute="0">midnight</st1:time> almost every night working, and being attacked by kamikaze mosquitoes all night long (that come in through the air conditioning vents) so I am wiped out. Eve and Stefanie are supposed to come for dinner. I need sounds of Peking Duck being cooked, so I want to take them to a nice place, but they are woefully late, arrive after 9. So after they kill a massive, 2-3 inch cock roach, in my gorgeous, clean, upscale kitchen (first one I’ve ever seen here) we head out for Mexican food. They have never had Mexican food, and have no idea what to order so I get a sample of tacos, burritos, and enchiladas. They are each given a knife and fork and proceed to try to cut the hard corn tortilla with a knife and eat it with a fork, before I realize what is going on. They have almost never eaten without chopsticks, so Eve asks the waitress for chopsticks, but there are none, so she gets a spoon instead and eats it that way. Very, very funny. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Friday, stay home all day and work. Here and Now wants my story on wushu, and The World, inexplicably, has sent me back an edited version of the Kashgar story, that they nixed last week. So I am guessing that one has been resurrected, but in the meantime I’ve sent a print version of Kashgar to the Christian Science Monitor, so I am not sure I can sell this to both. In the good old days, this is how freelancers survived, selling essentially the same story to a few different clients. But now, with the internet, the Monitor contract has me sign away all the rights for audio, video, stills, and copy, forever. So I think I need to clue everyone in and see if this is kosher. Friday night Celine and I go to return an appliance that someone has given Elizabeth, a mixer, food processor and blender all in one, that doesn’t work. So we schlep the appliance across town in a big box, only to have the salesgirl flick one piece of the machine and it works fabulously. So we schlep it home, and stop at Annie’s for an Italian dinner, with the blender occupying one seat at the table for four…</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Saturday – Stefanie comes by to retrieve the cell phone she left here, and I enlist her to come with me to buy <st1:city><st1:place>Elizabeth</st1:place></st1:city> a microwave in lieu of rent. And I also get her to help me buy a laptop for Eve, to thank her for all she did for us in Yiyang. Stephen and I wanted to get a gift for her parents, but now we think Eve will give her computer to her parents and use the laptop herself so everyone benefits. But when I go to by this stuff, my credit card does not work, and then I go to the ATM and am rejected there. After hours of haggling with the bank over the phone via skype, and being reassured that the fraud protection hold was lifted and walking back and forth to ATMs to only get rejected again, I give up and hope it will work in the morning. </p>Anne Donohuehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17213801988680297535noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9151003418006851422.post-90438656440861815432008-07-20T08:48:00.000-07:002008-07-20T08:49:21.535-07:00Week 22<p class="MsoNormal">Week 22<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br />Have I really been here this long?</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Sunday July 13. We do the final packing up an Simon comes at 11. Katie is surprisingly emotional, saying goodbye to each room in the apartment and kissing her favorite pink, plastic chopsticks goodbye. I am really surprised she is feeling so sad.<span style=""> </span>I guess this adventure made a deeper impression on me than I gave her credit for. Stephen and Simon fit in his car with all the luggage. Katie and I take a cab, and we meet at <st1:city><st1:place>Elizabeth</st1:place></st1:City>’s. I move in one suitcase and one computer and the computer works fine, so we have a few hours to kill before their flight. We all go to TGIFriday’s for lunch. From there, Stephen Katie and Simon go to the airport and I return to Renmin. Katie is sad and so am I. I really wish I were on that plane too.<span style=""> </span>I take a cab back to Renmin and spend from <st1:time minute="0" hour="15">3pm</st1:time> until <st1:time minute="0" hour="4"><st1:time minute="00" hour="4">4am</st1:time>(!)</st1:time> intensely working, getting all the freelance material logged, written and organized. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Monday I work all day cutting up Kashgar audio for a geo quiz for the World. The <st1:city><st1:place>Changsha</st1:place></st1:City> audio is less exciting. I eat what is left of the food for dinner and feel like I’ve had two days of a truly Spartan existence. I like being a monk, at least for 48 hours. Very productive.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Tuesday do a final clean out of the apartment. Sue and Dave help me get my stuff out the front door and then I walk to the West Gate for the final time. I am not shedding a tear. I am sorry this university relationship was less than ideal. I really wished I had had better luck getting involved. As a final postscript, I had asked about a month ago to meet the Dean of Journalism before I left. On Saturday, I get a phone text message from Mercy- I can’t meet the Dean but another professor is happy to meet me Sunday at <st1:time hour="15" minute="30">3:30</st1:time>, precisely when I am downtown sending Stephen off to the airport. Way too little, way too late. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I arrive at <st1:city><st1:place>Elizabeth</st1:place></st1:City>’s lovely apartment at 11, unpack for an hour and then head to the next building over to the NBC bureau. The producer that “hired” me is not in today, so I spin my wheels until someone announces that a driver is going to take a few people up to the new workspace at the Olympic Village, so I jump on that one. NBC, which consists of NBC News (nightly and today show, and weekend), MSNBC, <st1:stockticker>CNBC</st1:stockticker>, <st1:stockticker>ITN</st1:stockticker>, and a slew of NBC affiliates, has rented out the Convention Center next to the Village. The rooftop provides a spectacular backdrop for stand ups, overlooking the Bird’s Nest. There will be about a thousand news staff, mostly technical, at the space….and none of this includes the NBC Sports staff which is the main event for the Games. They are waiting for cargo containers full of equipment to arrive, and some of it has been stuck at Chinese customs for a couple of weeks and folks are getting nervous. Quite an operation. Tuesday after work Celine and I go out to dinner for duck at a nice place near NBC, and then I go to the grocery store to get a few things for life at <st1:city><st1:place>Elizabeth</st1:place></st1:City>’s. This neighborhood is full of places to explore, and a lot more to my liking than the Renmin neighborhood.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Weds go to NBC and I am the first person there. No one seems to show up until <st1:time minute="0" hour="10">10am</st1:time> or later. I help log some tapes and Adrienne, the senior bureau producer, shows me how to capture segments of tape to feed to <st1:city><st1:place>London</st1:place></st1:City> for editing. I master this task and immediately am busy with work. I need to leave around 4 to go to a school on the far northwest of the city for a freelance story. Eve has set it up. Ironically, I need to meet her and her wushu friend at the Gate of Renmin…..and I thought I was done with this place! One of her classmates is the wushu (Chinese martial art) national university champion, and we are going to what I think is his wushu school. Well it is more than a wushu school, it is one of the Soviet style sports academies that identifies and trains little kids to become future Olympians. There are about a thousand students here 5-15 who are spending many, many, many hours a day, all year long, mastering wrestling, gymnastics, pingpong, track and field, and wushu, 11 sports in total. The third class of the day begins at <st1:time minute="00" hour="18">6pm</st1:time> with a warm up that would leave me in the dust after the first five seconds, running,<span style=""> </span>jumping, stretching for a half hour, in 100 degree heat. Little 5,6,7, year olds bending their bodies into also sorts of shapes and then the wushu moves begin. The kids can kick their legs behind their heads, one step after the other, turn, stab, twist, leap, fall on the floor, arch their backs and leap back up into another pose. Wild! We are out in the boondocks surrounded by spectacular mountains, and we are glad we asked the taxi driver to stick around for the return trip home, otherwise I think we would have had to sleep in the wushu kids dorm. Nothing out here. We return to Renmin and Eve and I decide to have some dinner, but first she needs to get some things in her dorm room. So<span style=""> </span>I go with her and I am dumbfounded. First, the hallway is the clothesline/closet for every girl on the floor. There are six girls to a room that is as long as two bunkbeds and as wide as three bed widths. And the girls are assigned there as freshman and never move out, not at the end of the semester, not for the summer. So this room has three years of six girls detritus, wall to wall junk, the entire floor space is covered with shoes, sneakers, bottles of shampoo, food, stuff. You cannot even move. Each girl has a box/desk type thing that rests like a hospital table over the foot of her bed. So if you have restless leg syndrome,<span style=""> </span>your entire desk gets catapulted over the top of the bed. I will never, ever complain about my “lousy” Renmin housing again.. I am in a palace compared to what they are living in.<span style=""> </span>It is disastrous. After our brief but enlightening visit we head out to a restaurant and have a very nice sandwich, at a western restaurant I never knew existed in my old neighborhood. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Thurs I go into NBC, and the feeding system that I mastered yesterday is not working today. The tape freezes and cannot be sent to <st1:city><st1:place>London</st1:place></st1:City>. The only person in who knows how to do it is also stymied, so we have to call in one of the techs who is working on setting up the Olympic village workspace. He is none too thrilled to have to come in. I apologize profusely for having to drag him down here, and initially he responds, ‘even a trained monkey could do this’.<span style=""> </span>I am sure he will push one simple button to make it work, and be even more pissed, but alas, he too encounters the same gremlin and has to install a new converter to get the system to work. I send what I need to send and all is well. After work I am supposed to talk to someone at the World about ftping my tape. I call and the tech is not in. I talk with Joyce for a while and then figure out all by myself how to send it. I spend the next several hours watching this tape, slowly crawl itself through cyberspace to <st1:city><st1:place>Boston</st1:place></st1:City>. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Friday, I wake up to make sure all the tape was sent, and instead there is an email from Joyce saying “take a deep breath”, but the story I spend a kazillion hours recording, logging, writing, and feeding is DEAD. They already had a similar story in house. I am about ready to pass out. So I go back to bed, and an hour later, fuming, send an angry email to Joyce. She assures me I will be paid in full, that it was a communication breakdown and she is very sorry. I calm down a tad, and move on with my day. But I am so sorry my Kashgar tape will not be heard.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Go to NBC and happily log some tape and work with producer on her story on pollution and health effects. I finish two weeks of the blog and head to bed, missing a party that <st1:city><st1:place>Elizabeth</st1:place></st1:City> invited me to.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Saturday, I head out in the morning to gather more for the Sounds of Beijing, story for Only a Game. I head to the Ghost/ Dirt market at Panjujian that I have heard so much about. I wish I had gone there earlier, a really interesting collection of junk not found at the other markets. From there I head to a<span style=""> </span>construction site to get some tape. At <st1:time minute="0" hour="16">4pm</st1:time>, Elizabeth has invited me to the premier of her friend’s film, “My Beijing Movie”, a film about a New Yorker who came to Beijing 12 years ago to learn Chinese comedy, Xiangsheng, or cross-talk (kind of like ‘whose on first’ routines). He took he comedy class with little kids, and now twelve years later comes back to see what they are up to. It is a great little film. See it if it gets released in the <st1:country-region><st1:place>US</st1:place></st1:country-region>. At the screening I meet Jim and<span style=""> </span>Deb Fallows, and Charles Hutzler. Deb and I talk about her research on Chinese internet use and we agree to talk again. After the film, I go to Houhai, the bar area, in search of “sounds of <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:City>” and have dinner. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I am feeling better about the decision to stay on. It has been productive and interesting. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Anne Donohuehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17213801988680297535noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9151003418006851422.post-5055596356966910352008-07-20T08:47:00.002-07:002008-07-21T08:53:05.755-07:00Week 21<p class="MsoNormal">Saturday July 5</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Up before 6, exhausted. Stephen calls the beach to wish his family a happy 4<sup>th</sup> of July. Rory now has his insurance to drive and drove himself and Jeremy to the festivities. Really homesick now. Head back to Urumqi airport. Fly to Kashgar and immediately feel like we have left <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> and headed for the middle east. Signs in Uighur language look more like Arabic than Chinese. The men are wearing the round hats, women are veiled. Our guide is a devout Muslim. He has a young daughter, 11 mos old, but does not want her to work with men when she grows up it would be unpure. He takes us to Mausoleum that looks like its in Saudi, tiled pillars, Islamic architecture. The Chinese version is that some Han dynasty emporer’s concubine is Uighur and buried here. The Uighurs don’t believe it and think it is propaganda to stake a claim to the region. There is a real segregated society; Chinese and Uighurs do not mix much. The locals work on Uighur time, even though the official time is set in Beijing, Kashgar operates two hours later. The sun is up until very late at night, Beijing time. The government has been knocking down the old mud walls in front of people’s homes and telling people to build with bricks for earthquake prevention, yet not giving them enough bricks to rebuild… but critics say it is to homogenize the architecture, to “appear” other than Uighur. <span style=""> </span>Kids are told to go to school during Friday Muslim prayers.<span style=""> </span>The laws and agreements between the Uighurs are apparently good but unfortunately not enforced. So the sino-fication of Uighur areas is well under way. Little meaning to the ‘autonomous U<st1:place><st1:placename>ighur</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Province</st1:placetype></st1:place>” – kind of like <st1:country-region><st1:place>Tibet</st1:place></st1:country-region>, but with much less western support or awareness. In part it is because a few Uighurs showed up in an Al Qaeda training camp, which didn’t win them many friends in the west. <span style=""> </span>We walk around the old town, narrow alleyways like a Morrocan medina, women stay at home and work inside their front door. Men are all in trades -- tin, copper, woodworking, in shops that are a throwback to another century. We end up at the largest mosque in China, a yellow building with a very quiet cool courtyard. I recorded lots of great sound for The World radio show. We had lunch and dinner at the same place, BAKED goods! Lamb kebabs, lamb “Pizza” that is delicious, baked nut dumplings, noodle soup with spicy sauce, pilaf, yogurt, we’re not in China anymore!<span style=""> </span>Great day!<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Sunday July 6. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Head to the Sunday animal market where livestock is traded. The roads are clogged with donkey carts and other makeshift vehicles bringing animals to market. I have stepped back in time. Donkeys, goats, sheep, cows, horses…noisy but surprisingly not smelly. All men doing the trading. All wearing caps. A few women come in herding goats or cooking soups on the outskirts. One woman is in charge of the donkey parking lot and saves me from being kicked! Middleman helps negotiations between the traders and at times it is quite a heated exchange. At one point the guys are having a hard time getting a cow off the back of a truck, but after a lot of shoving, the cow falls off and starts to bolt. He gets wedged between two trucks and they lasoo him and tie him around the horns. I have new appreciation for the term ‘cattle prod’. We thoroughly enjoyed our visit, although we did not buy a horse, much to Katie’s chagrine. From there we head to the main Sunday bazaar, which is a vast market with glittery fabric (which all the women seem to be wearing – I feel very underdressed) and dried flute, and musical instruments and a lot of junk. Our guide takes us upstairs the carpet store and we spend quite a bit of time there, buying two rugs, figuring out shipping, finding enough ATMs to get cash to pay for them. It has been a long hot day, and after a brief rest at the hotel I go out at 8 to record the Muslim call to prayer at a local mosque and then head out to dinner. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Monday July 7. Karakorum Highway. It is the highest paved highway in the world connecting China with Pakistan. It is also vividly written about (at least the Pakistani side) in Greg Mortensen’s book “Three Cups of Tea”, so read that if you want to really experience it! Leaving Kashgar we drive through some smaller villages which to me look like what New Mexico must have looked like a century ago – mud adobe small houses, dry, brown dirt, with little oases of greenery. But there is a definite Muslim overlay here, veils, hats, little mud mosques dot the road. But soon we are in no man’s land, driving along a rocky gray river ravine whose water power seems mighty strong. In places, the water has washed out the road and we drive over some pretty bumpy, rocky or pot-holed<span style=""> </span>patches. At one point we see a huge truck overturned on the side of the road. On either side are jagged, brown, bare, gargantuan snow capped peaks. About the only activity out here is mining and we see caves where coal, iron ore and copper are being mined. We have to go through a passport check point with some surly and trigger happy looking Chinese officials, and from here we can easily head over the hills to Pakistan, Afghanistan and some other Stans. We are about 65 kilometers from the Afghan border so I joke that maybe Osama is in one of these caves. Our guide says he would never sell out a fellow Muslim and there is little evidence that Osama was behind 9/11. Since we are several hours from any other humans, I decide this is not a good time to get into a political debate with him. About three hours out of Kashgar we come to a drying up lake, surrounded by sand dune mountains. It is the most unusual landscape I have ever seen. And then four hours out of Kashgar we reach our destination, Karakul Lake. It is a still, glacial turquoise-blue-green lake surrounded by snow capped peaks, with a near perfect reflection in the lake. We eat lunch in a little roadside restaurant with a few other tourists and then Katie sees some horses and wants to ride. So we drive down the road, away from the few tourists that are there and have the lake all to ourselves. It is the first TRULY QUIET place in all of China. Still, calm, tranquil, peaceful, heavenly. We enjoy the serenity and take a little walk around the lake, through a little area where some Tajik or Khazak folks are living in yurts <i>with solar panels!</i> Al Gore and Stephen’s dream home!<span style=""> </span>And before long a few men come along on horse back and we pay a few pennies to have a horse ride. Well, my horse decides he’s thirsty and proceeds to walk right into the lake. I cannot get the horse to turn back to the path. I have the camera in my hand and I’m trying to decide how deep I am willing to go with this horse into the lake before I bail, and how am I going to save the camera with hundreds of pictures when he tosses me overboard?!?! Fortunately, the man who owns the horse decides to ruin his shoes and wades into the water to rescue this damsel in distress. Katie is laughing hysterically from her horse and Stephen is happily oblivious back in the parking lot with the car – no horse for him. Sadly, we need to get back into the car and re-trace our four hour trek down the valley back to Kashgar. On the way back we get caught in a donkey traffic jam in the town of Opal. Our guide says donkeys are better than cars because donkeys know their way home, so the driver can sleep on the back of the donkey cart on the way home from the town. We have a quick dinner and pack up for our morning flight. <span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Tuesday We go to the airport and the flight from Kashgar to <st1:city><st1:place>Urumqi</st1:place></st1:city> is delayed, but eventually we get airborne, and arrive to meet Ricky, our new guide. I am beginning to feel sick but we have little time to rest at the hotel before we need to be at the Urumqi Museum by 3:30. The museum is really another attempt at Chinese propaganda, to cement the fiction that Xinjiang Uighur region has been an “eternal part of the motherland”. One gallery conists of four dead bodies dug out of the sand and it gives me the creeps. These aren’t mummies in sarcophaguses, these look like someone you know, frozen in time on their death bed. Katie and Stephen are somehow enjoying it but I am outa there. I wait for them at the gift shop that you must go through to exit. We also check out a rug display that the guide neglected to tell us about and it’s the only decent thing in the museum. The guide is tedious and hovering and I just want to be left alone. <span style=""> </span>There is also a display of costumes of region that he talks endlessly about, but adds no insight. From there we head to the Urumqi Baazar but it is more junk. The guide then takes us to a yukky restaurant and I am turned off by the food. Then, for the highlight of the day…the guide wants us to get up at 6am for an early start. The road to the lake we are going to is under construction and “because of the Olympic” we need to be at the airport 3 hours early for our flight to Beijing. Well, Stephen and I both protest, the schedule makes no sense, and we are not happy. After a protracted negotiation about start time and cutting the wait at the airport, Ricky comes clean: he has an appointment at his school at 4 and needs to dump us at the airport at 3 for a 7pm flight. Stephen is way kinder than I am (but you already knew that) and thanks Ricky for his belated honesty. We say we will drop him and his school by 4 and get ourselves to the airport. What a snake! And for this we are paying money? I have had enough travel and am tempted to bail on the whole next days excursion, but we decide to suck it up and go to the “Lake of Heaven” the next day. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Weds. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">To call the “road” to the Lake of Heaven a road, would be an exaggeration. It is in fact under construction as billed, but the construction has not yet begun. It is a rock pile, for nearly an hour, in a van with no shock absorbers. My nerves are shattered, my stomach has turned from bad to worse. I am holding down my belly to keep from heaving. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">But, at last we arrive and I am looking forward to some peace and tranquility. NOT! Immediately we hear muzak coming from the tourist stalls near the parking lot. We walk to the lake and it IS, in fact, absolutely gorgeous, but it echoes from the performance stage music nearby. The shore is lined with tacky costumes that you can try on and have your photo taken with. And we are marched by our favorite guide Ricky down to a boat, where two bullhorns blare at us incessantly as we ride around the lake. Not an ounce of peace and tranquilty here. I have my fingers in my ears, I feel like I am going to vomit and I know we have to rush back to the drive-from-hell to get Ricky home in time. All I can think about is the title of the golf book “A Good Walk Spoiled”. This is nature, spoiled. I feel even sicker on the return trip, and feel like I am going to DIE on the eternally long flight from Urumqi to Beijing. I spend the flight sitting in the vacant seat next to the toilets (when I am not in the john itself). The plane arrives early so I am ready to bolt to the nearest land toilet, but we are told to sit back down, there is a delay getting to the gate. I march up to the first seat in first class, barf bag in hand, and dare anyone to try to remove me! I am the first person off the plane when it finally gets to the gate. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Thursday 2am: The only thing worse than vomiting, is going both ways at once, and the only thing worse than that, is to do it in a toilet that does not flush, at 2am, in China. I cannot plunge in my current state of health, so I wake up Stephen, poor guy, who plunges us back to a functioning toilet. Three hours later I am now fainting in the bathroom, am running a delirious fever, and just want to die, right there and then. I cannot imagine what I would have done without Stephen. From 5-7am he gave me sips of water every few minutes to keep me from getting totally dehydrated, and then I slept most of the next day while he packed us up to get out of there. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Friday I still feel weak but fell well enough to start packing some stuff. We need to make sure we can fit it all in six suitcases, and we need to segregate the stuff heading to Belmont vs the stuff I will move with me to Elizabeth’s. I am shockingly unsentimental about this move. The only thing I regret is not going home with Katie and Stephen on Sunday. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Saturday. My student Eve comes by with details on her further explorations in Yiyang. There was some disturbing and inexplicable news from Eve that we needed to sort out privately. She was there most of the afternoon, and <span style=""> </span>later her friend Wang comes for photo shoot of us that went on for more than an hour. Eve is an extraordinary person, wise beyond her years, and has risen above her circumstance to an exceptional level. I keep thinking of David Copperfield (the Dickens character, not the magician) somehow, with all the coincidences and relatives and small world happenings that seem to surround her. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Anne Donohuehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17213801988680297535noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9151003418006851422.post-22711682795217207812008-07-20T08:47:00.001-07:002008-07-21T08:54:45.248-07:00Week 20<p class="MsoNormal">Week 20</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Sunday June 29</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Simon is supposed to pick me up at 9 to go to my student Michelle’s house, but he calls at 9 (!) and says he can’t make it, has a headache. So Michelle and I take a taxi, which is just as well, she lives very nearby, less than a half hour south of campus. Michelle was a child actress, starred in a hugely popular children’s show called “Little Dragon” and several other movies. I expect that her parents will be <st1:place>Hollywood</st1:place> types, but they are very humble and welcoming. Her dad makes several pots of different types of tea (<st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>’s “<st1:street><st1:address>Tea Street</st1:address></st1:street>” is one block away). Her apartment is small, two bedrooms, a galley kitchen and a small entry room where they have their dining table and a TV. Michelle’s room has a few photos of her acting days. Her dad’s job is to notify people that they must move out of their homes because their buildings are going to be destroyed to make room for new buildings or a road. He was involved in moving the residents of Qianmen, a neighborhood just south of <st1:place>Tiananmen Square</st1:place>, which is now supposed to be re-built to look like an old neighborhood. Apparently it was a very controversial project. The residents of this very centrally located area were moved about 4km away. He often gives people 3-6 months notice that they must move. He likes his job and says he’s good at it. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">After the interview with the parents, her mom presents me with several very nice silk gifts,<span style=""> </span>a scarf, a jewelry case, a tissue box cover, and a few other trinkets. I feel like a heel, two very generous families and I arrive empty handed. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">During the visit to Michelle’s, Katie calls and she does not want to be picked up until 5. I negotiate and say 3 (I don’t want to be in <st1:time minute="0" hour="17">5pm</st1:time> traffic retrieving her). I head home, and at <st1:time minute="0" hour="12">noon</st1:time>, Simon calls, very apologetic and wants to drive me for free to get Katie. Since he lives very close to where Katie is staying, I suggest he just go get her and bring her home and leave me here and he’s fine with that. I have the afternoon to eat peaches, and read, without interruption. Katie arrives home around <st1:time minute="30" hour="15">3:30</st1:time>, very sad to have said goodbye to her good friend Louisa (and I think tired from a late night). Louisa’s mom called to tell me that the mom had slept in and woke up horrified to find a note from Louisa that she and Katie had ridden her bike to Jenny Lou’s, a store about 3 km away, on very busy roads….with Katie riding on the cross bar and Louisa peddling (and of course, no helmets). Glad I didn’t know about this until they were safely returned home!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Around 5 my student Sophia comes over to give me her final project. I say that I will see her again, but I don’t know if I will see any of them again, and I’m sad about that. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">At <st1:time minute="30" hour="18">6:30</st1:time> Stephen arrives, windblown and delayed 3 hours, but he’s here and Katie and I both are glad to see him. He stays awake until 9 and then crashes. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Monday. I interview Susan Brownell for another OAG story on the culture of sport in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>. She has been studying this subject in obscurity ever since she was an exchange student at Peking U in the 80s. Now, she is getting calls far and wide for her expertise. Very interesting take on Chinese culture. On the way home I record a basketball game and wild cheering, and try to record a group of elderly folks doing a fan dance, but a jackhammer constantly interrupts. At 2 Michael comes over and Stephen gives him the Celtics championship T-shirt. Michael says he’s been reading my blog (hi Michael!). Later, Eve comes over to go over plans for our trip to <st1:state><st1:place>Hunan</st1:place></st1:state>. We pack up for the trip and head to bed early. <span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Tuesday July 1, we meet my student from Yiyang, Eve, at the west gate at <st1:time hour="6" minute="30">6:30 a.m.</st1:time> and fly to <st1:city><st1:place>Changsha</st1:place></st1:city>. We are met by Eve’s uncle Zeng Jiande. We stop first at Hunan TV where Eve has a friend who will give us a tour, but security does not allow us to go in. We are told we might be there to steal their show ideas (!)…like their version of American Idol, “Super Girls”, (which we first stole from the Brits). “Super Girls” had to change its name because “super” was seen to be politically incorrect, after the show garnered more votes than the government was comfortable with…And now there is a show called “Happy Boys” because “<st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> is a happy place”. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">We go across the street to a huge traditional Chinese (reproduction) building and had lunch, but after more phone calls and discussion, we still weren’t allowed into Hunan TV. We are also told that the road going to Mao’s college is closed and it will be a long hot walk to get there. Strike two for <st1:city><st1:place>Changsha</st1:place></st1:city> plans. We then decide to go to the <st1:state><st1:place>Hunan</st1:place></st1:state> museum to see the many thousand year old mummy that I saw ten years ago, but had ZERO interest in returning to see. But Katie wanted to go…..so, we get there, but there are no tickets until <st1:time hour="15" minute="30">3:30</st1:time>. Strike three. We go to a nearby park and have a pleasant walk. It is very hot, easily in the 90s, but not so bad in the shade. Martyr’s Park has a sign telling us how to behave: “don’t paint confusedly” (presumably no grafitti?), “do not be offish and unmoved, do not be coarse-grained and malicious”….please tell it to the Chinese government!<span style=""> </span>At <st1:time hour="15" minute="30">3:30</st1:time> we return to the museum and it is much nicer than I recall from ten years ago…in fact it is a whole new museum. The mummy I remember as being a white floating whale of a woman, with her organs floating in formaldehyde, was now a shriveled old gal with a full head of black hair. Memory is very imprecise….or we are seeing a “new” mummy!<span style=""> </span>But the rest of the museum was quite well done. From there we head to the river where Mao swam and then decide to check and see if the road to Mao’s college has opened up. It is after <st1:time hour="17" minute="0">5pm</st1:time>, hot, we are tired, and it is still another hour or more to our hotel in Yiyang. I am concerned that we cannot do it all, when Eve says her “sponsor” Uncle Li, the man who has helped her financially through college, has a banquet planned for us that evening. I try to convince her that we are too tired, we need to do it another night, or we can’t go to Mao’s college, but her real uncle, the driver, says we must go to Mao’s college, so we go. The First Normal School<span style=""> </span>of Changsha, is a teacher’s college still in operation. It was accessible by car, over a road completely torn up. The building is a European inspired design, dark gray walls with white trim. It is a lovely building, with serene courtyards and lovely gardens. It is here that Mao transformed into a Communist. We spent quite a while there, looking at Mao’s homework and classroom and learning that he was good in Chinese, but not so good in math. And despite the need for a bathroom, Katie and I decide the open pit toilets are not going to do. So we head out of <st1:city><st1:place>Changsha</st1:place></st1:city> for Yiyang. After 7 we arrive at a toll plaza and Uncle Li is there to greet us and lead us directly to the banquet. I put my foot down and say I have <st1:stockticker>GOT</st1:stockticker> to go to the hotel first, check in, pee, breathe, change my clothes, wash up. We have been up since before 6, in 100 degree heat, going all day. So we go to the Yiyang hotel for a half hour and arrive at the banquet after 8. We open the door and there is a room full of men, all men, smoking, drinking, watching TV with a full spread of food getting cold on the table. I am totally embarrassed that I made this whole group of people wait. And I feel horrible that I had been pressuring Eve to try to get us out of this. Clearly, she was caught in the middle, trying to please everyone and I was completely insensitive to the situation. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">It is the type of night out that I have read about, but never participated in. All the guys, toasting each other, drinking and smoking too much. I was blown away by Eve, all of 20 years old, holding her own in this room of community leaders. She was charming, funny and an amazingly talented at keeping everyone up to speed on the conversation in two languages. Our limited Mandarin was useless - they all spoke the local Yiyang dialect. I have no idea how Katie processed all this, but the men treated her as a curiosity. I am sure she has never seen so much alcohol consumed in one meal. At the end of the evening we bid adieu to Eve’s real Uncle Zeng Jiande, the driver for the day, who headed back late to <st1:city><st1:place>Changsha</st1:place></st1:city>. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Wednesday</p> <p class="MsoNormal">We are met in the morning by one of Uncle Li’s employees, who is also his brother-in-law, Mr. Liao who will be our driver for the day. We head to the new Children’s Welfare Institute, where director Zhu is waiting for us. After a few opening remarks we get a tour of the facility. There are now less than 60 children here, down from several hundred just a few years ago (lots more on why this is so, check Brian Stuy’s blog). Most of the kids are special needs.<span style=""> </span>The nannies are wearing clean (maybe seldom worn?) Half the Sky t-shirts. The kids are on the mats, although one boy is stuck in a cardboard box. Some had head deformities, one infant had major cleft palate. We stayed for a few moments and then went upstairs where some toddlers (mostly boys -- or girls with real short hair) were playing. They too had special needs but all were walking and able to line up and respond to their names. We also saw an Albino teenager, but not either of the two teens I remembered from 2005.<span style=""> </span>Aftter the tour we went back the conference room and asked for access to Katie’s files, (as well as two girls in our travel group whose parents expressed interest in us finding any new information). There was nothing much we didn’t know except for one page with the name of the man who found Katie at the orphanage gate and a photo of the orphanage director at the time she was abandoned.<span style=""> </span>The current orphanage director provided a few other details on the other two girls but I don’t want to share much of any of this until I talk to the other families. After that, director Zhu invited us to lunch and we agreed. At lunch we realized that there might be other info that we needed from the files and they agreed to let us return to take another look. I can’t quite remember the sequence of events, but we got some more info on Katie’s finder and on the other girls. Then Stephen offered to help the orphanage with some item it might need and Director Zhu suggested we get a solar hot water heater so the older residents could take showers. So we all pile into two cars and head to the solar hot water heater store. On the way, we drive by the old CWI and hear that the building and almost every other structure on the north side of the river, will be razed by the end of the year. We drive through block upon block of rubble that looks like a war zone, as this whole old community falls to the wrecking ball. The only structure still standing is a Norwegian Christian Church, established at the turn of the last century and still in operation. The minister, a Chinese woman, comes to greet us. She says there are about 500 members of the congregtation and says there are hundreds of Christian churches in Yiyang, which both Eve and I find to be a bit suspect.<span style=""> </span>We then head to the center of Yiyang, purchase the solar hot water heater and part company with Director Zhu.<span style=""> </span>From there we head to a memorial that has been established in Yiyang for a local resident, “<st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>’s Schindler”.<span style=""> </span>Dr. Ho Fengshan was orphaned and raised in the Norwegian church we had previously visited. He attended Yale-in-China in <st1:city><st1:place>Changsha</st1:place></st1:city> before going to grad school in <st1:city><st1:place>Munich</st1:place></st1:city>. He later become a diplomat in <st1:country-region><st1:place>Austria</st1:place></st1:country-region> and issued visas to <st1:city><st1:place>Shanghai</st1:place></st1:city> for thousands of European Jews. His daughter lives in <st1:city><st1:place>Boston</st1:place></st1:city> or <st1:state><st1:place>Maine</st1:place></st1:state> and works for a newspaper. Another extremely hot and full day. We head back to the hotel to cool off and clean up<span style=""> </span>before heading out to Eve’s familiy’s home for dinner. We take a taxi and Eve is waiting for us on the street. It is a six floor walk up, enter into a room with a round table, frig, wooden couch, and posters of Mao and Deng Xiao Ping on the wall. There are two bedrooms off to the right, and a dimly lit cooking area to the left. There are windows on both sides of the apartment and from the back we can see the river and the steeple of the Norwegian church on the far side of the river. The sun is setting. There is no AC, but a ceiling fan keeps us comfortable. Eve’s father greets us with a great big smile and handshake. He looks very young, handsome, well dressed in a polo type shirt. He reminds Stephen and I of our old friend Couper Gardiner. Eve’s mom also has a great smile. Her hair is neatly pulled back into a bun. Clearly, she has been cooking all day. There is a lovely spread of food, sticky rice, corn on the cob, sweet fresh tomatoes, chicken, and other assorted home cooked delights. Eve’s father seems very quick, bright, direct. The mother seems quiet and sweet. Neither of her parents have had steady work since Eve was 12 and her dad is quite candid about their income and their humble offerings. I ask many of the questions I’ve asked the parents of my other students, one of which is, if it hadn’t been for the cultural revolution, what life would you have had, what job might you have had, what dream job would you like? Eve’s father dismisses the question quickly. Clearly he does not want to entertain thoughts about “what might have been”. Maybe it<span style=""> </span>is what Eve has told me about him, or a sixth sense, but I feel very sad about him, about what so many of this lost generation must be feeling, missed opportunities, don’t look back. We stay until after 9 and I am sorry to have to leave. They have raised an extraordinary daughter, in spite of their tough situation. Stephen and I both want to do something to thank them, but don’t know what is appropriate.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Thursday. July 3</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Uncle Liao meets us at the lobby of the hotel and drives us to his village<span style=""> </span>just north of <st1:place><st1:placename>Yiyang</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>City</st1:placetype></st1:place>. He has a lovely house, modern, two story, abutting a rice paddy. He no longer farms the land (works for his wealthy brother-in-law and clearly is doing well himself), but everyone around him is a farmer. Today there were local elections for the village chief and we go down the street to meet a group of men, who have just been involved in the election, including the village boss, a tall man who looks more Mexican or Latin American than Chinese. I say I’d like to meet some local women to talk about the birth control policy and we are driven down the road to a pig farm. On<span style=""> </span>the driveways along the way, everyone is drying rice in the sun. It is hot, there is little shade, but I am in heaven. We are surrounded by rice paddies and farmland and pigs!<span style=""> </span>Cute little squealing babies to enormous oafs. The pigs are wedged into two shelters on either side of the road and the women who run the pig farm are doing quite well financially. There are probably a dozen people sitting in the room adjacent to the pig sty just hanging out, shooting the breeze, laughing. No one seems to be working too hard, and several of the women are quite overweight, so I am surmising that pig farming is a heck of a lot easier than stooping over a ride paddy. I ask a lot of questions while Katie and Stephen take a walk to visit some new puppies across the way.<span style=""> </span>The village chief is sitting just outside, within earshot, so I’m not sure I got fully honest answers. And of course, I’m a stranger, a westerner, and no one is going to get into controversial topics. But no one knew anyone who abandoned a baby, or adopted another villager’s child or paid a fine. They say the one child policy is being strictly enforced. But many of them have more than one child. (in rural areas, two are allowed if the first is a girl). They don’t know of any rewards program for bringing a baby to an orphanage. They want to know if Katie wants to know who her birth parents are and I say yes, and they all look serious and solemn for<span style=""> </span>a moment. But then they all say Katie is so lucky and go back to yukking it up. I do notice a few beer cans around and an open bottle of booze on the floor…and it is before <st1:time hour="12" minute="0">noon</st1:time>.<span style=""> </span>A little bit later, I sit in the next room over, with just two women, one of whom has just come in from the ride paddy, and she says the one child policy is not being enforced strictly…not sure what stories to believe.<span style=""> </span>This woman is fawning over Katie, and when her teenage son comes walking down the street she yells out to him, “hey, come meet your sister” and the boy looks at Katie with a disgruntled look on his face. On one hand, I think Katie must be bothered by all this, but on the other hand, she is beaming. She loves being out here with the animals and the farmers. She took a zillion pictures of dogs, pigs, farmers, and seemed to relish the whole experience. After the village, Uncle Liao takes us to a local restaurant where Stephen gets to pick out which live chicken and which live fish they will slaughter for lunch. The village chief and Uncle Liao’s wife meet us at the restaurant. After lunch we take a long drive to see Uncle Li (Eve’s benefactor) at his new factory. We drive through old country roads, beautiful farmland, ponds, woods, hills, idyllic! I have been dreaming of doing this for ten years, ever since we first drove out to Yiyang in January of 1998. We arrive at Mr. Li’s enormous factory. It is several acres in size, and when it opens in six months will employ 800? people. He<span style=""> </span>takes old plastic woven bags (that fertilizer or seeds come in) and recycles them. I think this is only one of his businesses. Mr. Li is the most unassuming guy you can imagine, plastic flip flops, rolled up cuffs on his too-long pants, buck teeth but a great smile….and he is a multi-millionaire in the middle of <st1:place><st1:placename>Hunan</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Province</st1:placetype></st1:place>. Li says he has no use for money, he just gives it away. He tells his workers he’s going to take a drive and puts us all in his Mercedes for wild ride around Yiyang’s rural areas. He takes us to a lake where we skip rocks. On the lake is the modern mansion and a closed down deluxe hotel as well as some sort of fish farm in the middle of the lake. It is very peaceful. We then get completely lost, meandering through village after village, but I am thoroughly enjoying the whole scene. We end up back in <st1:place><st1:placename>Yiyang</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>City</st1:placetype></st1:place> at a restaurant. I am now not feeling great, too much driving, and Katie is nauseous too. The fact that the <span style=""> </span>window display is of snakes in jars, and we order turtle soup with the turtles floating around in it, has me losing my appetite rapidly. Uncle Li is now insisting that he drive us to <st1:city><st1:place>Changsha</st1:place></st1:city> that night, and we sleep at his house there and he will take us to the airport in the morning. We are feeling like this guy has been incredibly generous already, all our meals, driving and we suspect hotel room, has all been paid by him. How can we say no? But the thought of packing up and driving again is too much so we respectfully decline. Uncle Li is totally enamored with Katie, as is Mr. Liao who has joined us. They want to arrange for their kids to go to school in the States and for Katie to return to Yiyang to stay with them, Kid Swap. We laugh, but I think they are half serious.<span style=""> </span>We finally say goodbye but I will miss both Li and Liao, but especially Li.<span style=""> </span>It was a very, very, very wise choice to NOT go to <st1:city><st1:place>Changsha</st1:place></st1:city>. I was up all night with the beginnings of a very nasty stomach bug.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Friday. Armed with a bottle of Immodium AD, we head out to <st1:city><st1:place>Changsha</st1:place></st1:city>. Sometime after we were refused entry to Hunan TV they decided that I wasn’t going to try to steal their show ideas, and invited me to come back today, to give a lecture to their news operation. I needed to get the embassy and the consulate to send an email verifying who I was first. Security bizarreness! So I get a quick and not too detailed tour of Hunan TV and then give a brief talk and QA to their news staff.<span style=""> </span>We then part company with Eve and head to the airport. I am so impressed with Eve, what she has come from, her difficult family situation, complicated by warring relatives, yet, she is wise and charming and sophisticated beyond anything I might have been at her age….or am now!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The flight to <st1:city><st1:place>Urumqi</st1:place></st1:city>, makes a stop in Xian (this was not indicated on our itinerary!) so it is a long flight on a sick stomach. But the scenery outside the plane is spectacular, barren dessert, the Kalakalam is the second largest desert in the world, bordered by snow capped spikes to the south.<span style=""> </span>We arrive after 9, but the sun is still bright out here in western <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>. We go to the hotel, no dinner, about 45 minutes away, only to be picked up early the next day to return to the airport for the next leg of the journey to Kashgar. Why the travel agent did not book us at the airport hotel I do not know. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">This has been a full week. In retrospect, I wished I had allowed more time in <st1:state><st1:place>Hunan</st1:place></st1:state>, but we will return!</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Anne Donohuehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17213801988680297535noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9151003418006851422.post-40970953625200025512008-07-20T08:45:00.000-07:002008-07-20T08:46:23.474-07:00Week 19<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Saturday June 21.Guangzhou.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The plan to day is to go to <st1:place>Hong Kong</st1:place> and get my visa renewed. We get up early and go to breakfast at the lovely hotel buffet, but feel a little queasy. Then I start to get really sick as a dog. There is no way I can get on a mini-bus to the train to spend a day walking around in <st1:place>Hong Kong</st1:place>. I have to get off and on the train in <st1:place>Hong Kong</st1:place> to re-activate my visa, but I know I need to be within inches of the porcelain throne. I have tickets for the <st1:time minute="0" hour="9">9am</st1:time> train, so I call the concierge from the bathroom phone….and he says I’ll forfeit the tickets, they’re not good for a later train. But I have no choice. No way can I go to <st1:place>Hong Kong</st1:place>. By 9 I have lost all that I can lose and fall asleep for a few hours while Katie happily watches TV. Around 11, I wake up, take as much stomach medicine and antibiotic as is tolerable and head down to the concierge. I cross my fingers and get tickets for a <st1:time minute="0" hour="13">1pm</st1:time> train and plan to return on the same train if my stomach is lousy. All I need is the stamp on my visa saying I have re-entered <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> for another 180 day stay. Well, thank God for immodium AD! I have no trouble on the train and feel almost normal when we arrive in HK. I realize we need <st1:place>Hong Kong</st1:place> dollars, they don’t take the Chinese RMB (one country two systems really means two systems!). I hail a taxi (thinking they must speak English in a former British colony….but they don’t). I point to a map, to a tram that takes you to the top of <st1:place><st1:placename>Victoria</st1:PlaceName> <st1:placename>Peak</st1:PlaceName></st1:place> on <st1:place>Hong Kong</st1:place> island and off we go. We wait in a long line for a tram, but the ride up the mountain and the view are spectacular. <st1:stockticker>BLUE</st1:stockticker> <st1:stockticker>SKY</st1:stockticker>! OCEAN! CLEAN <st1:stockticker>AIR</st1:stockticker>! It is a lot different than I remember it from 30 years ago. There is a giant mall at the top of the peak, for starters. And the view north, facing mainland <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> is chock full of skyscrapers, but the view to the south is gorgeous, mostly undeveloped, with lots of islands dotting the <st1:place>South China Sea</st1:place>. We take the tram back down, hop on a city bus which takes us to the pier and take a ferry across the harbor to <st1:city><st1:place>Kowloon</st1:place></st1:City>. From there, a very helpful tourist info person points us to another city bus (a double-decker that Katie loves) which returns us to the train station, with minutes to spare before the last train of the day leaves for Guangzhou. A lot done in a four hour visit. And, at last, I get the all-important stamp on my visa, allowing me to stay in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> for another 180 days.<span style=""> </span>The day certainly ended better than it began.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Sunday, We try the hotel brunch again, but I avoid eggs or anything else that might have contributed to my stomach woes. We then take a walk outside the hotel and do a little shopping. We spend about a half hour in the hotel pool and then go to the airport. The flight home is a hassle. We wait at the gate and then get smushed into this insanely hot and over-crowded bus, people stepping on your feet. I was literally afraid Katie would not be able to breathe at her height, being so sandwiched in between people. We drive across the tarmac forever and board a plane that is connected to the terminal at another gate. So why didn’t we just board at that gate? Then we get on the plane and go from sweltering to freezing. When I ask for a blanket, they say they have none, but as I am leaving the plane I see dozens of unopened blankets on seats. Katie watched the on plane movie, Golden Compass, and was engrossed in it until the screen went bust. They then offered her another seat, which she took. But before the movie was over, they came and took the headsets away.<span style=""> </span>I was glad to get home. It is reallllly muggy and hot in <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:City>.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Monday.<span style=""> </span>Katie’s camp has been cancelled because not enough kids signed up, so she is stuck with me and I have a lot of work to do this week. We first go to her school to get the camp refund and her tuition deposit refund. Then start my quest to find an English speaking taxi driver for story on Only A Game. We go the the Olympic Village and it is still not<span style=""> </span>looking ready. Lots of heavy equipment, laborers and piles of construction and landscape debris. We then head to travel agent to pay for Kashgar trip and then grab an early lunch. From there we go to the subway to try to find a way to get to the Olympic Village via subway. But those subway stops are still not open either. When will all this be ready? Soon, I am told. Then we take the subway to the embassy to get reimbursed for <st1:city><st1:place>Guangzhou</st1:place></st1:City> trip. <span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>Finally, return to Renmin. ?<span style=""> </span>We notice they are painting the ugly dilapidated building next door and it looks a thousand times better. I suspect they’ll fix this building because it is visible to folks driving to the Gym during Olympics. The other hell holes on campus will be neglected, I suspect. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><st1:time hour="15" minute="00">3pm</st1:time> meeting.<span style=""> </span>I have been asking to meet with the new media folks here since the day I arrived. FINALLY, the meeting. Just before three, the skies open up and there is a torrential downpour, so I walk the 100 yards or so from my apartment to my office and am completely soaked when I arrive. There were several inches of water on the ground and my shoes were completely submerged in this mucky goo….hope it was not sewer back up – but the odor is telling me it might be. The new media guy is very interesting and I would like to have built a relationship with him earlier. Frustrating. He tells me what courses they are teaching and also explains a bit about who gets blocked and why. He says he thinks there are commercial reasons not just political reasons that some sites get blocked. He says the Chinese version of YouTube has pressured the government to shut down YouTube to help draw audience to their site. He also says the Chinese govt attempt to force folks to use their Real Name on blogs was a non-starter. I clean out what is left in my office, give Mercy a few gifts and say goodbye to Renmin office…and do not shed a tear. My lasting impression of Renmin is that it was an opportunity largely missed, part of it my fault for not speaking Chinese and unable to find out who was who. But a bigger part is their fault for leaving me here with minimal and lame attempt to include me in the university, department, etc..</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Head home and have a quick dinner of Annie’s Mac. I spend the night logging tape and rewriting script for OAG story. Now that I have my extended visa, it is now safe to book my return flight….but there are OUTRAGEOUS PRICES TO CHANGE AIRFARE..$2291 to fly home August 21 but August 14 only $465. Insane. Leave early? Try to get OAG or other clients to pay a portion of the fee? I call Stephen and travel agent for advice.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Tuesday. Load in audio for OAG, cut down soundbites, and figure out how to ftp files. I am feeling more tech-savvy than ever….so something must be wrong! </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style=""> </span>Katie and I head out to the grocery store late afternoon. I have been reading Richard Ford’s “The Lay of the Land”, the last in the Frank Bascombe trilogy. Bascombe refers to this phase of his life (he’s 55, divorced twice and has cancer) as the “Permanent Period” (some time after the mid-life crisis). As Katie and I navigate the grocery store, I decide that I have entered the “Permanent Pissed-Off Period”. What little patience I ever had (there was never much) is gone. I cannot listen to another person hawking yogurt at me from an over-modulated microphone attached to their head. I cannot watch people cut in line, or slip into the five-items-or-less aisle with a full carriage of food. I will not tolerate another shove or push by an eager beaver trying to get at the same bit of produce that I have my hand on. And I am dumbstruck every time someone hucks up a big wad of phlegm and spits it inches from me. I know I am being culturally insensitive, but common courtesies that I take for granted, are greatly in need here. One of my Chinese friends has made it her personal crusade to admonish every spitter she encounters. I wish her great success. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I use Skype to call Only A Game at <st1:time minute="0" hour="21">9pm</st1:time> for the final edit on the script and and instructions on ftp-ing the files….only to find out that my effort to send the stuff this morning worked, and they have all the files.<span style=""> </span>All systems are go. Stay tuned to your radios for a very corny story about navigating in English around <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:City>.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Meanwhile, I am in a panic that I will get stuck paying thousands of dollars if I wait another day to book return flight. So I book the return flight….and feel totally relieved. I hope any fireworks that happen during the Olympics will occur in the first week before I take off.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Wednesday. Record voice tracks and ftp them to OAG. Also send some not great audio to The World. Can’t seem to pin them down. Monitor wants every story I’ve suggested, but so far no final edit on migrant school. Clean out tons of files, fill the garbage can. Try lining up another story. I thought Eve was coming to take Katie to a movie but I guess I misunderstood. Katie <span style=""> </span>is glued to YouTube cartoons until I force a bit of reading and journal writing. New York Times reports tonight that <span style=""> </span><st1:country-region><st1:place>Tibet</st1:place></st1:country-region> is now open to tourists….but I’m booked for Xinjiang and can’t get out of it. I am totally bummed.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Thursday. Work all morning, organizing files, researching stories. Katie’s friend Louisa is supposed to come for an overnight but she calls and says she sick. Katie is really bummed now. So we decide to go see Kung Fu Panda at the nearby theater. Not bad. This film has become the latest insanity in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>’s nationalistic blogosphere. There are calls for a boycott of the movie cuz it is about pandas –i.e. <st1:state><st1:place>Sichuan</st1:place></st1:State>, and thus insensitive to earthquake victims, or boycott cuz it was not made by a Chinese film maker, or boycott cuz there aren’t enough Chinese stars. This irrational, nationalistic strain in the Chinese populace scares me deeply. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Friday. We make a plan to meet Celine for lunch and get my haircut. Katie had a lousy night sleep, was attacked by mosquitoes (even though the windows are all closed – they must come in through the AC vents). She is miserable, but seeing Celine she perks up. We eat pizza at Kro’s Nest and then Celine takes me to this outrageously expensive pamper salon where I get a great haircut, compete with head and neck massage, for less than I’d spend at home, but still way more than the average Chinese shop. We then walk around the Sanlitun area and then head to Silk Market yet again…..this time Katie wants a pocketbook and flipflops and I figure I owe her that after a week of mom’s little junior reporter. Celine heads off for a dinner date and Katie and I manage to find Annie’s Italian restaurant on the 3<sup>rd</sup> ring road. Reallllly great food. Nice place. When we leave, it is pouring and getting a cab is tricky. It has been raining a lot lately – of course we never have an umbrella when we need it. Everyone is saying this is a much cooler and wetter summer than normal around here, but I’d prefer this to the heat. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Saturday: Last night at 11 I plunged the toilet and got it to work. But Katie’s first flush of the day doesn’t work. And all the plunging and snaking tricks that usually work, don’t. Simon arrives at 10 to take us to my student Pensy’s house. Before we leave Simon and Pensy try to get the ladies at the front desk to call the plumber but they won’t unless I stay to let them in. I try to give the ladies my keys but they won’t take them. Don’t want to be responsible if things are stolen. We argue back and forth and then give up. I’ll deal with the toilet later. <span style=""> </span>We drop Katie at Louisa’s on the way for an overnight. It is a two plus hour drive to Pensy’s and we are still technically in <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:City>! Pensy lives in the peach capital of the world and it is peach season so there are peach stalls all along the roads. The rotary in the center of her city is a giant multicolored peach designed by <st1:place><st1:placename>Tsinghua</st1:PlaceName> <st1:placetype>University</st1:PlaceType></st1:place> art students. Pensy’s family’s apartment from the exterior looks like your basic four story apartment building. But inside it is lovely, shiney, modern and comfortable. Her mother is cooking up a storm, two kinds of homemade dumplings, my (and Mao’s) favorite red pork dish <i>hong su? rou</i>, tons of green vegetables, chicken stomachs in a hot pepper sauce, chicken and cilantro soup, and diet coke. Clearly Pensy was paying attention to what I liked at our lunch last week! On the coffee table in the living room were huge bowls of fresh peaches and apricots. Delicious. Her parents were lovely, very talkative and funny. I wish I understood more of what they were saying. Simon and Pensy did their best to translate, but I lost a lot of good laughs. Pensy’s mother needle pointed and framed this adorable picture of two Chinese kids playing and gave it to me as a gift (I had her sign the back) as well as two huge boxes of peaches, and a bag of apricots. I was so touched by their generosity. I will never be able to eat all of these peaches! On the way home, Simon tells me he is in touch with some very interesting people who might be good sources for journalism. Unfortunately, I don’t have my recorder or we would have stopped to interview one of these guys. I get home around 5. Everyone is moving out this weekend and the lobby and elevators are chock full of people with boxes, furniture, etc. This building was not designed to move in and out of. The narrow passage between the front door and elevator is impossible to get through with anything bigger than<span style=""> </span>a bread box. But they manage. I am holding two huge boxes of peaches, the framed picture, a bag of apricots and some of Katie’s papers and am squished in the back of the elevator that stops at every floor….Finally, get home, unload, and continue the cleaning and packing of our place. <span style=""> </span>And eat lots of peaches for dinner. Sue comes over with chocolate cupcakes and I offer her some of the peaches. Stephen emails. His flight is delayed and he won’t be in until at least 5 tomorrow night.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Anne Donohuehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17213801988680297535noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9151003418006851422.post-54850638898743472452008-06-20T08:44:00.000-07:002008-08-21T18:23:26.506-07:00Week 18 Guangzhou<p class="MsoNormal">Week 18</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Saturday June 14. Flag Day </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Stephen wakes me up at <st1:time hour="9" minute="0">9am</st1:time> with a phone call from home. I haven’t slept this late in a long time. He tells me that Tim Russert died. I read more on line and it is really hitting me hard. I never knew him personally, but I can’t imagine an election without his zeal and almost giddy thrill of the whole process. A real loss. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">At eleven I head in to pick up Katie from her overnight. She calls me while I am in the cab about 90% of the way to her location, and asks if she can stay longer. I say I’ll kill another hour, so I have lunch at Starbucks and poke around the Friendship store. It is raining and I walk in sandals over to Aditi’s apartment complex and can’t find her building. I call and Aditi and Katie come to find me in the rain, carrying all of Katie’s last day of school desk contents, a backpack, an overnight bag and a box of home made Indian samosas, all getting soaked in the rain! We grab a cab and Katie and Aditi say farewell. I hope Katie will stay in touch with these kids…We are stuck in rainy traffic and it takes more than an hour to get home. I am glad, in a selfish way, that Katie did not have many playdates downtown because my entire day, from 11-3 is consumed with the logistics of going to get her and bringing her home…..only to turn around at <st1:time hour="17" minute="30">5:30</st1:time> and head back into the city to meet Celine for dinner. We get there at <st1:time minute="30" hour="18">6:30</st1:time> - a lovely place called Face near Worker’s Stadium, an old schoolhouse converted into a multi-story restaurant, Thai on one floor,<span style=""> </span>Indian on another and Chinese on the first floor. Lovely, classy decour, but the food was just OK, or at least what<span style=""> </span>I ordered, and very expensive. Celine had some <i>interesting</i> news, heard about her travels back to <st1:city><st1:place>Boston</st1:place></st1:city>. Funny that she has been to our house more recently than I have. It was nice to catch up with her. It will be odd to essentially be <i>her</i> intern in a few weeks as I get up to speed at NBC.. I hope NBC gives me some useful assignments, but if not, I’ve got enough freelance work to keep me occupied. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Sunday. Cleaning out. I start to go through all the accumulated papers, files, drawers of junk. It is amazing what you can collect in five months. I fill one giant suitcase with stuff to go home and fill a box with stuff that will stay for the next Fulbrighter, and third pile of what I will need to keep with me when I move to <st1:city><st1:place>Elizabeth</st1:place></st1:city>’s. Late afternoon Katie and I return to Subway, our new favorite restaurant, and check out the movie theater to see when “Kung Fu Panda” is showing, but it doesn’t start until next week. We buy a few groceries for lunches at modern plaza and then get some fruit and ice cream from Shen Shifu’s store. I wish I knew he was there all along, we could certainly given him some business.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Monday. Try teaching myself Soundtrack Audio editing. Too complicated. Download Free Audacity software and the computer starts revving up like a jet engine about to take off. Everything is frozen. I fear I’ve fried computer. Turn it off, try again, and it works! I actually send a soundbite to Joyce and David at The World and they get it. Major challenge met.<span style=""> </span>Yuanyuan comes over with Katie after camp and they are outside the whole time. What I would have given to have found some kids in this neighborhood! Intense rain storm floods the porch…..we did leave the window open, but it wouldn’t have mattered since the water comes in all around the window anyway. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Tuesday --<st1:time hour="11" minute="0">11 a.m.</st1:time> lunch with grads. Good discussion. Should have given them food long ago to make them talk.<span style=""> </span>Louisa comes home with Katie and is staying overnight. Celine helps me line up tourism official for story for “Only A Game” on NPR. Judy leaves me her students’ papers. Unbelievable. The papers are all over the map in terms of quality of writing, research, analysis. The common thread is that they all think the western media is biased against <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> for reporting “bad news” such as: <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:city> is polluted, inflation is increasing, the Olympic torch relay was disrupted. So the only news that is unbiased are stories that fawn over the wonders of the Chinese government. It is clear that they believe the purpose of journalism is to help improve the image of <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>, not to tell the TRUTH, whether it is good, bad, or indifferent. But as infuriating, faulty and depressing as their analysis was, I was touched by several students who thanked me in their papers for coming to speak with their class and helping them to understand how western media functions and how Americans, or at least this American, think about China. One student <i>really</i> bought what I had to say, and told his classmates to stop playing the victim of the western imperialists and begin to recognize that <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> is not perfect and can and should listen to criticism. For that reason alone, to think that I actually did add to a few students understanding of American journalism, makes this whole adventure worthwhile. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Wednesday -- go to BISS to resolve camp $ and reimbursement and neither gets resolved. They are still not sure that there are enough kids to hold camp next week, and the accounting office still does not have our tuition deposit reimbursement ready. A wasted trip. I have my last class with the undergrads and they present their final stories and they were reallllly good. Eve especially, revamped her 9 minute opus into a much better 4 minute story on <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>’s family planning policy. Hannah, Rosa, and Sofia all did very touching stories on earthquake aftermath, and Michelle did a nice job on traffic problems in <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:city>. After, we all go to lunch with the auditing undergrads. I take them to the Qing Dynasty place and they are afraid to order because it is all so expensive. Lunch for 11 of us was not even $100. Right after lunch I run to interview tourism official for Only A Game story. All is perfect in <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:city> according to this guy.<span style=""> </span>New signs in English with Olympic logo pointing to all the venues, including Renmin Gymnasium – apparently it is an official Olympic venue.<span style=""> </span>After dinner we take a walk and watch the women in the park doing their fan dance. A black women and two veiled women join the Chinese women and all get applause for trying it out.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Thursday. Morning flight to <st1:city><st1:place>Guangzhou</st1:place></st1:city>. Enroute to the airport, I need to call Celine and wake her up since cabbie appears to be going the wrong way. Arrive at White Swan around <st1:time hour="13" minute="0"><st1:time minute="00" hour="13">1pm</st1:time>.</st1:time> Looks remarkably the same as it did ten years ago. We get settled and then change clothers and head to the US Consulate Public Affairs Section. It is a good talk on who do you trust in the media. The audience is the most openly critical of the Chinese system of any group I have met with. After the talk I meet privately with two reporters from a <st1:city><st1:place>Guangzhou</st1:place></st1:city> newspaper which I have been told is doing some “envelope pushing”, trying to do more investigative work. But after talking with them, I am even more confused about what can and cannot be published here. Essentially, I got a lot of evasive answers and told every story is dealt with on a case by case basis <i>in consultation with the government.</i> <span style=""> </span>They assured me that even though they were commercially run, the company is the government, and censorship is as alive and well at their paper as it is at the 12 main central government media organs. They say it takes a lot of wisdom to know where the always moving line is, and how not to cross it. <span style=""> </span>Katie has been hanging out at the consulate playing on the computer and is ready to head back to the hotel. We have dinner at the lovely main dining room overlooking river.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Friday up and out by <st1:time minute="0" hour="9">9am</st1:time> to <st1:place><st1:placename>Jinan</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>University</st1:placetype></st1:place>. Student meets me in the lobby to take me to the <st1:time minute="0" hour="10">10am</st1:time> lecture. It is muggy. <st1:city><st1:place>Guangzhou</st1:place></st1:city> is way bigger and dirtier than I remember and no bikes. Ten years ago thousands of bikes were at every intersection.<span style=""> </span>The morning lecture on whether western media is biased against <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> is great; students are very engaged, defensive, combative.<span style=""> </span>After, I have lunch with Ellen, the professor who invited me and a very young Dean of the communications. Katie calls and is bored with the hotel babysitter I’d arranged and wants to join us for lunch. <span style=""> </span>Katie arrives with sitter. She <span style=""> </span>is bored and wired, precocious bordering on obnoxious, but the Chinese faculty, staff and students are all enamored with her and treat her like a princess, calling in an IT person to help her play her computer game!!! My afternoon lecture on new media is a snooze. I think the students had used all their energy in the morning. Katie listens in to the QA portion which is pretty lame. We head back to hotel for a long swim in the pool, and dinner of pizza in the hotel bar.</p>Anne Donohuehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17213801988680297535noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9151003418006851422.post-13609936891282864212008-06-15T08:44:00.000-07:002008-06-15T08:49:04.934-07:00Week 17 -- The latest from Lake Wobegon<p class="MsoNormal">Friday, June 6</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Work around the house in the morning trying to manage some freelance work. In the afternoon my student Rosa takes me to a school for migrant children, in the western fringe of the city. You can see the <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:city> skyscrapers, but nothing in this neighborhood is very glitzy. We need to walk about a mile over dirt roads and cross a dry irrigation canal to get the school. It is a series of small one room red brick buildings around an open court yard. We meet the headmaster, the English language teacher and then hang out on the playground before entering a third grade classroom. 40+ kids crammed into the 10x15 room, three to a bench, squishing against each other. All of the kids are here because they are not permitted into the public schools. I wrote a newspaper article that will hopefully be published in the Christian Science Monitor, but I’ll include it in the blog here.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">After the school trip I was walking through the Renmin campus and a kid was selling tickets to the new Indiana Jones movie, playing tonight on campus for 5 yuan (about 65 cents) so I bought two not knowing what to expect. Katie and I went, sat in the hard seats of a classroom to watch it, but it was in English with Chinese and German (!) subtitles, but we enjoyed it and the price was right, even if the legal permission to show it probably wasn’t.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Before the film I returned to the English corner and recorded some audio of folks visiting there, to hopefully use for a radio story later. I also got some audio of the old women dancing, this time using a fist full of chopsticks to create this great rhythm.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Saturday, June 7</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Finally, I can be in limbo no longer and make the final decision to stay through the Olympics. I really, really want to go home, but I’ve convinced myself that if I go home and all hell breaks loose here, I’ll regret that I didn’t stay. So, of course, if I stay, this will be the calmest Olympics on record.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">In the afternoon, I interview my student Hannah’s parents, for the maybe book. We meet at a Starbucks in the Xidan shopping area. Her mom is a sharp dresser and much younger looking than her 48 years, her dad is quiet and seems disinterested in the discussion. Neither are at all what I expected. Her mom is a Party member, very supportive of all that is going on in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>. Both parents seem a bit cautious and do not say anything critical. They both “absolutely” want Hannah to join the Party. Hannah is disinclined. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">After, Katie and I go clothes shopping and she gets 3 soccer uniforms, shirt and shorts, for about $5 each. One from <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> and two from other countries, and then we go and buy “fancy” clothes for “graduation”. She picks out an adorable white ruffly skirt. She looks so grown up! Then I attempt to buy shoes, big footed American, but manage to find some open toed sandals that aren’t too much shorter than my size 9 peds. For dinner, we head to the Sizzler salad bar. I am really on a diet now. All veggies and no snacks. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Sunday, June 8</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Take Katie to her friend Louisa’s birthday party way out by the airport. Get lost getting there, cabbie is on a dirt road paralleling the highway and I keep saying <i>mei you</i>, not this way, but he keeps barreling along for several miles. Finally I get the host of the party on the phone, who finds a Chinese speaker, who then guides our taxi back down the dirt road to the correct location. Another adventure in uncharted territory. After I drop Katie (I have told the cabbie to wait), I get back in the taxi and head to the 798 Art district to meet a former Fletcher student who we hosted a few years ago, Yuxin. It was great to see her. She is so bright and funny and interesting. She has a pretty senior job in the foreign ministry, and is full of revolutionary fervor – but wants it directed at all the guys who spit, and are rude! She is pragmatic, logical, authoritarian go-getter. Can’t be complacent, can’t ignore, always questioning, challenging. How refreshing after all the complacency I’ve seen here!! Unfortunately our day is cut short because my stomach is telling me that the salad bar from the previous night was not such a good idea! Katie gets home around <st1:time minute="30" hour="17">5:30</st1:time>; we are both tired and she is not being cooperative. I am tired of doing it all, alone. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Monday, June 9</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Spend the day at home, drumming up freelance work, organizing what I am going to give away to my students. Eve stops by so that I can look at her 9(!!!) minute final project (supposed to be more like 2 or 3 minutes!). I am pretty ruthless but she is so smart and capable of doing much better.<span style=""> </span>I meet Katie at <st1:time hour="16" minute="30">4:30</st1:time> at school (she stayed late for rehearsal for her dancing role in “BISS Idol”. We head into the city, make a quick return at Silk Market and then join Janice Cotton and Katherine for dinner at Lan. Great to see them. We’ve got to get to <st1:city><st1:place>Birmingham</st1:place></st1:city> one of these days to visit. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Tuesday, June 10</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It is the last day for the grad class and three have their final presentations. They all were prepared, but the intellectual rigor was pretty thin. I’ll attach the power points here, but my favorite was the analysis that the reason westerners like “bad news” (his perception of critical, honest, balanced reporting is “bad news”) is that we believe in Original Sin and evil in all people, and Chinese believe in Confucianism and that people are basically good. So I asked how <st1:country-region><st1:place>Taiwan</st1:place></st1:country-region>, <st1:country-region><st1:place>Japan</st1:place></st1:country-region>, and <st1:country-region><st1:place>Korea</st1:place></st1:country-region> all influenced by Confucianism all have a free/critical/“bad news” press. He said they developed earlier. So is it Original Sin or development that is at the root of Chinese censorship??!! One student is convinced that when the NY Times uses anonymous sources from <st1:country-region><st1:place>Tibet</st1:place></st1:country-region>, that they are making it up and have not talked to real people. One other presentation was quite illuminating on how the censorship works on a day to day level. At the end I asked the10 students, in a dream world in the future, would you like the government to get out of the news business and every single one of them said NO. I have failed in my mission to convince them of the virtues of an independent press. Defeated and depressed, I agree to go to lunch with them all next week.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">From the sublime to the ridiculous, Katie wants a pedicure for her graduation, so Eve takes us to the local nail joint and Katie gets strawberries painted on her fingers and pink polish on her toes. At least an hour’s work, and the bill is $3.50. I gave the girl a huge tip and she was completely taken aback. We then discover a Subway near the nail parlor and decide to have an all American sub sandwich for dinner. On the way home Katie and I start talking about all the kids she has met, from all over the world and I realize she has pretty limited geography facts. So we spend the night on line looking at world maps and mapping out where her classmates are from: <st1:country-region><st1:place>India</st1:place></st1:country-region>, <st1:country-region><st1:place>Finland</st1:place></st1:country-region>, <st1:country-region><st1:place>Canada</st1:place></st1:country-region>, <st1:country-region><st1:place>Korea</st1:place></st1:country-region>, <st1:country-region><st1:place>Australia</st1:place></st1:country-region>, and teachers from <st1:country-region><st1:place>New Zealand</st1:place></st1:country-region>, <st1:country-region><st1:place>Portugal</st1:place></st1:country-region> and <st1:country-region><st1:place>Singapore</st1:place></st1:country-region>. She now knows her seven continents and roughly what countries are where. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Wednesday, June 11</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">This place is officially nuts. I just left a scene out of 1984 or <st1:city><st1:place>Alice</st1:place></st1:city> in Wonderland.<br />Mercy tells me she wants to have a meeting at 9 with department colleagues to talk about courses. They will meet me in my office. I am there before 9 and no one shows. About <st1:time minute="15" hour="9">9:15</st1:time> some air conditioning guys show up and I call Mercy to see what is up with our meeting. She says she'll come get me. The other faculty (four others and two students) are waiting in a conference room. They hand me a four page document about all the course listings, in Chinese. I cannot read it but they keep pointing to it and I keep saying I can't read it. I tell them how BU runs its program. THEN, they tell me TODAY, that each of my students has been taking <st1:stockticker>TEN</st1:stockticker> courses all semester....I REALLY should have known all of this BEFORE the last day of classes. I would have altered the amount of work I dumped on these poor kids. I should have known what else they were taught last FALL so that I could prepare a course that they actually NEEDED. But even though I am steaming inside, I keep my mouth shut. The faculty members are all gabbing amongst themselves in Chinese and I say, well, is that it? No, they want to talk about NOTHING for another hour. So at <st1:time minute="30" hour="10">10:30</st1:time>, with NOTHING on the agenda, I try to escape. I tell them I am giving three lectures in <st1:city><st1:place>Guangzhou</st1:place></st1:city> next week, one of which is on western media bias. Do they think western media is biased? “YES” Can you give me examples? “Why don't you report good news about Chinese government, why don't you report that the Dalai Lama has slaves, why do you criticize our earthquake coverage when it is not the right time?” I say that American media is critical of everyone and our role is to be an adversary of the government not a supporter. They say, “our role is not to support the government” ... and then in the next breath, they say “the government tells us we can investigate the earthquake in the next phase, after the first three phases [of propaganda and hero worship]”. I say the families of the dead children in the badly built schools can't wait, they are asking for justice now, right? <span style=""> </span>Their stories need to be covered now, no? I say the government should look like they are listening to these distraught parents, not have police dispersing them and carrying them away, right? <span style=""> </span>And the government should not tell journalists they can't cover it anymore, no? “NO the government must keep order. We cannot report it if the government says that it is not the right time”. This, said by the same people who not <st1:stockticker>TEN</st1:stockticker> minutes ago denied vehemently that their job is to support the government. One guy is wagging his finger at me, and apparently saying that the Dalai Lama is a slave owner, <st1:stockticker>CIA</st1:stockticker> spy, and violently wants to dismember <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>. They are all yammering away in Chinese and I keep begging them to translate and no one does. Then, Mercy jumps up and says, “Well, its time to show you the studio and all the editing facilities where your students work” (should this not have happened in FEBRUARY?????). I go with her, still trying to hide my utter frustration, but then decide to tell her some of what I am really thinking: that this meeting would have been much more useful to me, to the students and to her department had it happened in February or even in an email conversation before I arrived. She smiles like she hasn’t a clue what I am saying. She says her colleagues want to go to lunch. I can't take it anymore without screaming, and I have to be at Katie's school at 2 for graduation so I say I can't. “No?”, asks Mercy. No. I explain to Mercy, that she informed me of a <st1:time hour="9" minute="0">9am</st1:time> meeting, nothing about lunch. The most basic communication cannot happen here. It is stunning. I am soooo glad I did not stay here for the year. I am living in a very different world.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I go home, have a quick snack and then head out to get a taxi to Katie’s school. I hand the taxi driver the piece of paper with the address of the school in Chinese characters and he looks at it and says <i>mei you</i>, can’t take you there, and motions for me to get out. I get out and hand the same piece of paper to the next cabbie … this is the same piece of paper that I have been using for 16 weeks….and this cabbie says no, parroting his buddy in front of him. Five cabs and five minutes later I finally find a guy who can read it and get me where I want to go. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The graduation is lovely in 105 degree heat. Katie looks adorable in her fancy duds, as do all her friends. I am sitting under an umbrella but the kids are baking on the asphalt of the playground. Exilia is in a black velvet jacket and looking rather overheated. Yuanyuan lists a few memories for the handful of kids who have actually been here since kindergarten, and Aditi has a few words as well. The teachers read from Dr. Suess, oh the places you’ll go, and the kids sing a few songs “we need a leader” and it is over. Katie is beaming. This has been a great experience for her. At 3, Shen Shifu arrives and takes us home. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Thursday, June 12</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I work at home, start organizing what goes home, what stays. At <st1:time hour="12" minute="0">noon</st1:time> I head into Katie’s school for BISS Idol. It is a wonderful collection of kids singing and dancing some to pop songs, karoke style, and others playing piano or violin recital style. One girl did this fabulous Indian dance. Another Caucasian girl from <st1:country-region><st1:place>New Zealand</st1:place></st1:country-region> sang in the indigenous Maori language and wore traditional Maori skirt. Katie and five buddies danced around the stage to “Low, low, low” and had a blast, but the winners were three third grade boys (few boys participated in any of this) and a Brittany Spears overly sexualized third grade girl break dancing to the Black Eyed Peas tune “Let’s Get Started” but the lyrics were changed to “Let’s Get Retarded”. The audience loved it, but I very much doubt this would have been the winner in politically correct <st1:city><st1:place>Belmont</st1:place></st1:city>.<span style=""> </span>The highlight for me was seeing Katie’s very large teacher dressed in a skimpy dress and blonde wig playing one of the judges, “Bunny” Abdul, and dancing wildly to all the music. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Friday, June 13<o:p><br /></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I work all day, three <st1:city><st1:place>Guangzhou</st1:place></st1:city> lectures: done. Newspaper article on migrant school: done. It is amazing what you can get done with no interruptions! It is Katie’s last day and she is going right from school to her friend Aditi’s (who lives in the same diplomatic compound that I will live and work in this summer). Celine and I were planning on meeting for dinner, but around five this intense thunder and lightening storm kicks in, and I know there will be no taxis and I will be absolutely drenched the minute I walk out the door. So I cancel, stay home and watch the <st1:stockticker>DVD</st1:stockticker> “<st1:place><st1:placetype>Garden</st1:placetype> <st1:placetype>State</st1:placetype></st1:place>” and liked it more the second time around. Lots of great one liners. I finally finish “The Bookseller of Kabul”, and for all my gripes about <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>, it certainly ain’t <st1:country-region><st1:place>Afghanistan</st1:place></st1:country-region>. It is unfathomable to me, that in the year 2008, women are still treated like dirt, or worse. </p>Anne Donohuehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17213801988680297535noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9151003418006851422.post-75133167715142724552008-06-08T09:52:00.001-07:002008-06-08T09:52:30.533-07:00Week 16 – busy, busy, busy.<o:p></o:p>Friday, May 30 <p class="MsoNormal">I head into my office to interview two more of my students for the blog/book “The Girls of Room 405”. After school Katie’s friend Yuanyuan comes over for a two night sleepover. They immediately go outside to the campus park to play…the first time Katie has had a playmate here at her place since we got to <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>. She is ecstatic. What a difference it would have made to have had kids in the neighborhood. We head down to the nearby mall to see if this is where they are playing the film, “Spiderwick Chronicles”, but it isn’t. We dine on a gourmet meal at KFC and Cold Stone Ice Cream, and then head back toward campus. We stop at an exercise park and the two girls have a blast playing on the equipment. I have not seen Katie this happy in months. Gleeful! We then head into campus and head smack into the “English Corner” -- what a trip! I felt like a rock star. Hundreds of people are here to practice their English and the few native speakers, including Katie and Yuanyuan (who is Chinese-Canadian), are surrounded by eager Chinese wanting to talk and listen to them in English. We spend a while there and then mosey home through the campus where everyone is out strolling and lounging on the grass on this lovely, breezy summer night. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Saturday, May 31</p> <p class="MsoNormal">In the morning, one of the grad student who routinely audits my class (but rarely speaks) stops by the apartment. She has signed a contract to be an NBC tour guide and she wants to borrow my guide books. (This is the same NBC that hasn’t got much of a budget to pay <i>moi</i>. Maybe I should apply to be a tour guide?) And this student who has been in <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:City> five years, has never been to the Great Wall, no clue about good restaurants, shops, sightseeing, and her English comprehension is not that strong. <span style=""> </span>I am baffled. I wish her well and then email my contacts at NBC….what’s up?<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Katie, Yuanyuan and I head out to the movie theater that we think has the “Spiderwick Chronicles” and we find it nearby! Wow, a whole group of stores and action nearby that I never saw before. Initially, I am assuming this will be typical silly kids movie and I’ll nap, but it is actually a pretty good, scary-ish movie. No napping here, I was jumping out of my seat. We then go to the Friendship hotel for a swim in their very cold pool and then to TGIFriday’s for dinner. There is a family at the next table, Asian, with an African-American baby…we smile pleasantly, and I restrain myself from asking, is this kid adopted? If so, that would be the first time I’ve seen an Asian family with a black kid. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Sunday, June 1</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Katie and Yuanyuan head out to the park and play happily all morning, feeding fish and birds and just being kids. This is so great. After Yuanyuan’s mother comes to pick her up, Katie and I head up to Carrefour’s for groceries. While we are in the store, it has started to rain – no, pour -- and there are about 50 people under the store awning trying to get cabs. And the cabs are all full. We have four huge bags and there is no way I can carry them, even if it wasn’t raining. We attempt repeatedly to get a cab and after 15 minutes I am getting impatient. It is after 6 and I have a meeting at <st1:time hour="19" minute="30">7:30</st1:time>. It is time to get aggressive. I go out into the middle of the road and run up to a cab that is offloading its passengers. I fend off, with a few shoves and my large American butt, several other Chinese rushing the same cab. I wedge my bottom into the front seat and park myself there. <span style=""> </span>I know if I leave the cab to go help Katie with the groceries, the others will take the taxi, so Katie is stranded at the store entrance with two giant bags of groceries. I tell her to come quickly before I lose the cab to the others hovering at the back door like vultures.<span style=""> </span>She drags the groceries to the cab, but she is pissed to have been left at the curb with ten tons of groceries. (And probably mortified to watch her mother nearly get into a brawl with some folks to get a taxi). But there was no other way. We would have been there all night if I remained the polite, restrained, wait-your-turn American. When in <st1:city><st1:place>Rome</st1:place></st1:City>, do as the Romans do – or in this case the Beijingers do: push your way through and aggressively grab what you need. If this is the best lesson I’ve learned in <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:City>, maybe it is time to go home!!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">One of the boys who had been in class where I gave a guest lecture contacted me a few days ago and asked if I would like to be part of a discussion group that they have on Sundays. I agreed to meet with them at <st1:time hour="19" minute="30">7:30</st1:time>. There were four students, two girls and two boys. One is a member of the Party, another on his way to <st1:state><st1:place>Rhode Island</st1:place></st1:State> next week to take part in a conference about “liberty”.<span style=""> </span>The Party girl does not believe in Communism and thinks the name is unimportant, “no one cares about Communism. It is a way to get ahead in your career”. I asked them what it would take to reform <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> and provide more liberty and freedom of expression.<span style=""> </span>They said time -- be patient, and work for economic prosperity for more people. They felt that the rural Chinese are too uneducated to handle voting and democratic reforms. They felt that gradual change was best. They are bothered by internet “friends” and other westerners who want to tell them all about <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>’s ills. They say they know all of that and they just want <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> to continue to get better.<span style=""> </span>They felt that the students in 1989 were too idealistic, passionate and impractical. They spoke of them dismissively, as foolish students who got themselves into trouble. <i>These</i> are the voices of the new generation of <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>: resigned to a life of few liberties in exchange for economic security and social stability. Fear of rocking the boat. One boy in particular thinks the Dalai Lama cannot be trusted and that autonomy is a slippery slope to independence, that Tibetans are ignorant and backward and <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> can help them (this is the guy who told me previously that Tibetans only bathe three times a year. He has never been to <st1:country-region><st1:place>Tibet</st1:place></st1:country-region>). I find the mindset exasperating and full of contradictions. I say that patience is a virtue and a curse. Few have put up with more hardships than the older generation of Chinese and for them, I can see why they feel beaten down and resigned to what they have, but for the younger generation, they have only seen good times, so why are they too so resigned to the status quo?<span style=""> </span>They are not brainwashed, they have access to western media but couch everything as stability first. Complacency. They concede they are selfish, care about their own lives, not the bigger picture. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I have been back and forth and up and down about whether to stay in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> for the summer or head home. I ask my family for input and this is Rory’s response:</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><i><span style=""><span style="">1)<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 7pt; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;"> </span></span></span></i><!--[endif]--><i>You may not like it there, and you may miss home, but I guarantee that you will regret it more if you don't stay. Similar to The Clashes remark "if I stay there will be trouble, but if I go it will be double." Also, if you come home early, I am going to yell and complain at you for not staying and generally make your life a living hell. Promise.<br />2) You're damned if you do and you're damned if you don't, so you might as well do it. That is to say, you will probably be unhappy either way, but if you stay it will certainly be more interesting than if you came home. The most miserable of experiences make the best stories. Trust me, I'm a glutton for punishment.<br />3)You'd miss the Olympics. In </i><st1:country-region><st1:place><i>China</i></st1:place></st1:country-region><i>. Seriously. Why would you do a thing like that?<br />4) Dad and Jeremy and I like having the house to ourselves. We can sleep in all day, not clean ourselves or the house, walk around in our underpants, etc. Don't get me wrong, we love you, but it is nice not having to tidy up and behave ourselves for the women folk.<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><o:p> </o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So, Rory wins me over. I miss him and everyone else and want to come home but he makes a good point. Staying is a once in a lifetime deal.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Monday, June 2</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I head into my office to see Michelle and edit her script. Then I work on corporate influence of media lecture. I start making contacts for summer freelance work here. Hannah stops by and informs that all computers are broken, her entire story is lost, there is only one person who can fix them and he’s away for a week – the last week of the semester when everyone has final projects due. This is hard to fathom. I email Mercy and ask if there isn’t anyway on this entire campus that can deal with the computer meltdown.<span style=""> </span>Ugh!!<span style=""> </span>I am in a snit over that when I head to lunch with a Chinese girl attending the New England Conservatory who is looking for a place to live next fall. Stephen is open to the idea, and I could use the sitter, but my gut says it won’t work out. I need someone after school hours who can drive and she won’t be able to do that. We to the nearby Angel Restaurant and I order, via the NEC student who speaks English very well, chicken with NO bones, no spice and water. I get spicy chicken necks with a million bones, and boiling water poured into my wine glass. When I try to explain that I really want a bottle of cold water, the stuff you can get at any store in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>, they look baffled. And then the waitress comes with a bucket of ice and plunks a few cubes into my boiling-water-wine-glass. I am laughing and fuming and deciding I want to go home where everyone understands what I am saying. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">After lunch I nail down <st1:city><st1:place>Guangzhou</st1:place></st1:City> travel for a Guest lecture I am giving there next week. I also looked into a <st1:city><st1:place>Tokyo</st1:place></st1:City> visit to see Kyrie, but its $1000 per ticket, so that is a NO-GO.<span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span><st1:country-region><st1:place>Tibet</st1:place></st1:country-region> is still closed, it was supposed to open June 1. Not sure what we’ll do for July vacation. If the temperature stays like this all summer, I’ll be happy here -- very<span style=""> </span>cool, need to wear a jacket at night.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Tuesday, June 3</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I hear from the book agent who likes the idea for a “Girls from room 405” book. I interview <st1:city><st1:place>Sofia</st1:place></st1:City> for the blog/book and spend a long time not completely understanding what she is saying. I worry that much of what I am hearing is not really what the students mean, but what their limited English allows them to express. If I really do this book, I think I’d need to work with an excellent translator for some of the interviews, to broaden the vocabulary available to the students.<span style=""> </span>Sofia tell me no students have their stories ready due to broken computers….except Rosa, who managed to get an excellent piece done on time. <st1:place>Rosa</st1:place> is concerned about saying too much on book/blog and wants to retract some of her interview comments. Need to negotiate this. Show the class the sixty minutes, Kevorkian tape and talk about un-balanced coverage.<span style=""> </span>Walk to bank after dinner. Very cool again. At <st1:time hour="21" minute="0">9pm</st1:time> I have skype call with Ben DeWinter, the BU person in charge of international programs about possible links with <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> and BU….. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Wednesday, June 4</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I wear black in memory of the students who died 19 years ago today (my subtle protest).<span style=""> </span>I interview Pensy. Stability, steady are most important to her. She worries that earthquake parents protest could get out of control. A student comes to my office and reveals that she has a boyfriend, someone she has known since high school. But she needs my advice: Should she tell her parents? She worries they won’t like him, he’s not prominent or rich or handsome, she says. <span style=""> </span>My new role in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>: love counselor! I give my grad class a lecture on corporate influence on the news. After class, Michael invites me to <st1:place><st1:placename>Beijing</st1:PlaceName> <st1:placetype>University</st1:PlaceType></st1:place> where he says there will be a candlelight service to mark the June 4<sup>th</sup> deaths. But we go and no one is there with candles. No one publicly acknowledges this horrific event. So sad. Michael tells me he’s a member of Communist Party. I am quite surprised, because he is always the one provoking discussion of ‘sensitive topics’. Meanwhile, the School collapse story is getting zero coverage in the official Chinese press, while the NY Times says protesting moms were removed by cops. Back to heavy lid coverage. Wouldn’t it be better to cover the investigation, show the government really taking charge of school safety? Why is the mindset so defensive, paranoid?<span style=""> </span>Great Op-ed in the Times linking the grieving for the earthquake to the lack of acknowledgement of 1989. My sentiments exactly. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Thursday, June 5</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Busy Day. I head out to BISS with Katie, sign her up for soccer camp and get signatures on leavers form so we can get our deposit back. Then head to Starbucks to wait for the driver Simon, who is late again. <span style=""> </span>Simon has had no college or high school, but Becket is his favorite author. This is what I love about <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>, so many interesting characters. He knows film, art, literature, but says he is lazy and does not want to have money. He wants a simple life driving his ‘friends’. He does not try to drum up business, and gets money when he needs it or goes without. <span style=""> </span>We drive to a Tibetan furniture place. The owner is Tibetan, with no schooling. His English is nearly flawless. He asks me to speak into his little tape recorder and articulate the different sounds of <i>saddle, settle,</i> and <i>subtle</i>. This is how he has learned English, by listening, carefully.<span style=""> </span>I buy a Tibetan chest and some Tibetan boxes, and manage to just squeeze it into the back of Simon’s car. We then head to Gaobaidian for few other purchases, and then schlep it all out to Shunyi for shipping from Radiance. Last stop, in lots of traffic is the travel agent and get <st1:city><st1:place>Guangzhou</st1:place></st1:City> tickets. Then I walk up and down <st1:street><st1:address>ChangAn Blvd</st1:address></st1:Street> looking at hotel pools and trying to negotiate a rate that will make a summer stay here bearable. I am still on the fence, but trying to convince myself to stay. I head to St. Regis hotel and wait for Elizabeth, who is running late. Around 7:30, I go to Elizabeth’s absolutely lovely place about a fifty foot walk to the NBC bureau, and decide I would be nuts to NOT stay. This is the deal of a lifetime. But let me mull this over even more....</p>Anne Donohuehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17213801988680297535noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9151003418006851422.post-29053655342439237202008-06-08T09:31:00.000-07:002008-06-08T09:32:37.344-07:00Week 15 – Summertime and the Livin’ is Easy….<o:p></o:p>Friday, May 23 <p class="MsoNormal">Start the day with the toilet overflowing. Mrs. Liu sends in two plumbers who fix it in a nano-second. What are they doing that I can’t seem to do? She also re-issues the key to 1702 if things get bad again. Mary somehow sleeps through all of the commotion. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Around 10, Mary and I head out to coal hill behind <st1:place>Forbidden City</st1:place>. The view would be spectacular (I have seen photos) but the pollution is awful and you can barely see. <span style=""> </span>We stroll through <st1:place><st1:placename>Beihai</st1:PlaceName> <st1:placetype>Park</st1:PlaceType></st1:place>, Houhai, and have lunch at hidden-away yummy Hutong Pizza, and have a Mojito for lunch….which makes the rest of the afternoon a little sleepy! We take a pedi-cab to Prince Gong’s mansion and it is a <st1:place><st1:placetype>sea</st1:PlaceType> of <st1:placename>Chinese</st1:PlaceName></st1:place> tourists. It is hard to make out why this place is so packed. It is a nice palace and garden, and apparently there is a show in some sort of theater that we missed, but it is too zooey for me to enjoy. Not exactly the tranquil experience that Prince Gong might have enjoyed. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">We then head to Katie’s school and wait for her to finish at a nearby Starbucks. Katie is not in a good mood. They brought their exhibition project on endangered animals to a Chinese public school and apparently it did not go well. Her teammate Exilia did not show up at school, and one of the other 4 teammates was struck with stage fright, so Katie was left holding most of the bag. They did not have enough games for the students (they made 20 but class had 40 students). <span style=""> </span>And the teacher that videotaped their performance was apparently very critical. From BISS we get into wicked traffic, and end up getting out of the taxi on the highway and walking to the Silk Market where Mary shows her prowess for shopping! We then go across the street to Lan for another incredible dinner of beggar’s chicken. We return to Renmin and Mary and I go out to the park across the street and watch a couple do Latin dancing, samba, maybe, alone with a boombox. Very sweet. We then resume our Scrabble game with Katie until nearly <st1:time minute="0" hour="23">11 p.m.</st1:time></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Saturday, May 24 </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Katie’s teacher emails with concerns, vague, but clearly Katie’s performance at exhibition did not go well. She’ll need to stay after school next week to get it into shape before the final show in a few days. We take a cab all the way out to Gaobaidian and Mary and I are ready to buy furniture, but I am incapable of making a decision, Katie is bored and whiney, and we opt to not buy but come back tomorrow. I decide I’ll buy Katie the Nintendo DS she’s been bugging me about and that will occupy her if we have another “boring” day of shopping. We then head to the <st1:place>New World</st1:place> hotel pool which is lovely, and expensive, and pamper ourselves with hot tub and lovely relaxing environs. We then go to the Silk Market and get (what we later learn) a defective Nintendo DS and more shopping. We then go to the Red Theater Kung Fu show, grabbing a crappy dinner at a nearby restaurant ahead of time. I ordered KungPo chicken, <i>bu la</i>, no spice. I think they took out the Sichuan spicy sauce and threw in some sugary tomato sauce. Yuk. Mary and Katie like the Kung Fu show. I found it too loud, too macho, too <st1:city><st1:place>Las Vegas</st1:place></st1:City>, for my taste. Return home and the toilet does not flush again. It is too late to deal with plumber so I go to bed and like Scarlet O’Hara, will deal with it tomorrow.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Sunday, May 25 </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I get up early and read on line about plungers, snakes and other remedies for a plugged toilet. I try hot water, a bent coat hanger and then plunge and <i>voila</i>, it flushed! I am so proud of myself!!!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">We had hired Lucy’s driver, Simon, to take us out to some areas near the airport. First we go to a private collection, called GuanFu, out in the middle of nowhere. It is FABULOUS! Sort of like the Chinese version of the <st1:place><st1:placename>Isabella</st1:PlaceName> <st1:placename>Steward</st1:PlaceName> <st1:placename>Gardner</st1:PlaceName> <st1:placetype>Museum</st1:PlaceType></st1:place>. The first floor is all antique porcelain and furniture, beautifully displayed. Then there is a modern photography gallery where the floor is all gravel, kind of like walking through a Zen garden. The photos are spectacular, everything from Mao in his bathing suit and Cultural Revolution re-education scenes, to what appear to be (from camera POV) giant ants crawling out of Olympic swim cube. Really spectacular. Upstairs is a gorgeous collection of Chinese doors and other carved windows and screens, and then a gallery of contemporary art.<span style=""> </span>From there we head to the 798 art district, a collection of old munitions factories turned into artist lofts. Some very provocative stuff. We have lunch at a bright white hip place with jazz playing and delicious food. I could be in <st1:state><st1:place>New York</st1:place></st1:State>. After lunch, we go to an opening of a new exhibit. Everyone is arriving with flowers, there’s wine and soda and cookies. I really like what I am seeing, but Mary is stopped at the first gallery and decides she’s “gotta have this one”.<span style=""> </span>I tell her there is more inside, but after looking at several good ones, she goes for the first one she saw. It is a lot of money, but she’s OK with it. It takes a while to work out the paperwork, contract, shipping, etc. I am really glad Katie is amused with her Nintendo DS! However she says two buttons are not working properly, so after Mary completes her art purchase we return, 3<sup>rd</sup> day in a row, to the silk market to return defective Nintendo. We get a brand new one and all is well. We head home and spend the night debating whether I should stay through the summer or go home. Heart says go, head says stay. Ugh….</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Monday, May 26 </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><st1:time hour="5" minute="00">5 am</st1:time> Mary is leaving. We go downstairs with her considerable cargo (!) and cannot get out of the building. It is locked from the inside. We have to wake up the woman in the first floor office to unlock it. This scares me: all I can think of are the Coconut Grove and the Station nightclub fires – locked in.<span style=""> </span>Mary is a great guest, and we vow to travel together in the future, perhaps take a bike trip though <st1:country-region><st1:place>Vietnam</st1:place></st1:country-region> and <st1:country-region><st1:place>Indonesia</st1:place></st1:country-region>? I spend the day picking up the house, doing laundry and writing last week’s blog. I am finding keeping current with the blog more work and wonder if anyone is reading this! Hello, anyone out there? Ann McConnell and her husband come over to check out the apartment for future Fulbrighters, but mostly we have a good talk about China, frustrations, need for change. William says they went to the <st1:place><st1:placename>Military</st1:PlaceName> <st1:placetype>Museum</st1:PlaceType></st1:place> which documents the Korean War as a war of American Aggression. The People’s Daily says the same thing in an article today. Ann repeats her sage advice: “they don’t know what they don’t know”.<span style=""> </span>After they leave, I get an email from a journalism colleague saying they might need help during the Olympics. Was it The Clash who sang: <i>should I stay or should I go?<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Tuesday, May 27</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I have invited all my undergrads in to be interviewed. I want to include each of them in the blog and I am thinking this could be the start of a book: The Girls of Room 405. I will follow them after they graduate and follow their thinking over time. I ask about religion, politics, family, dreams, what they know about Tiananmen 1989, what they think of the Dalai lama, <st1:country-region><st1:place>Tibet</st1:place></st1:country-region>, etc.<span style=""> </span>It is a great experience. They are all so different in every way. One is a member of the Communist Party, another thinks communism is a joke. One I thought was from a very well to do family is in fact the daughter of two taxi drivers. For some, the less sophisticated ones, I am the only American they’ve ever met; for others, they know many westerners and have a more nuanced view of the west.<span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Later, during class we talk about the pitfalls of Live coverage (earthquake was the first time CCTV went LIVE from a disaster zone). We then look at two stories about human cloning and have an interesting discussion about medical/science reporting which devolves into a discussion about the ethics of cloning – a few actually think it is a good idea! We also talk about forced abortion, late term abortion and they are OK with all of it. After class I call Mercy to see if she can have maintenance fix the electricity in my office, which has gone out. I also decide to write up a list of what would have made things better.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Here goes:</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><o:p> </o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>Things that would have made my experience here much better:<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><o:p> </o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>Department Contact: (not waiban)<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><i><span style=""> </span>1.Before Fulbrighter arrives, should have an email conversation with your department contact, not the waiban, about what the students have already learned and what courses would be most <u>appealing to students</u> and most <u>useful to the department</u>.<span style=""> </span>Department should recruit students to take the course. I had only 3 grad and 5 undergrads taking it for credit…and about 20 others whose English was perfectly fine for auditing. Why didn’t more take it for credit?<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><i><span style=""> </span>2. Dept. contact should have a strong command of the English language. Mine was very nice and well-meaning but did not understand much of what I said and vice versa. Other faculty member’s English is much better. Why wasn’t she assigned to me?<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><i><span style=""> </span>3. Dept. contact should be a more senior faculty member who knows policies and procedures, not a first year professor who is learning herself. i.e. the calendar. When are classes cancelled, holidays, when do classes end, when are exams, etc. What are the workload expectations, what other courses are the kids taking? What are the resources available, cameras, studios, computers, etc.<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><i><span style=""> </span>4. Dept contact should arrange meetings with the Chair, the Dean and as many colleagues as possible for lunch, coffee, dinner. I met only 4 other faculty, once, and never again. Never met Chair or Dean.<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><o:p> </o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>From the waiban:<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><i><span style=""> </span>1. What to do in the event of an emergency, how would a Fulbrighter be contacted or made aware of evacuations from buildings, gas leaks, what to do in an earthquake or fire. How to find out when there are notices that electricity or internet will be shut off, etc. <o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><i><span style=""> </span>2. A TOUR and map of the campus and a list of what is here – (Sue shared a draft of hers. It is a start, but incomplete.) It should add athletic facilities available to Fulbrighters, English language section of library, how to use and access the library, the cafeterias, etc. Where to find English language newspapers and periodicals. Tell them about Friday night English corner.<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><i><span style=""> </span>3. How to find out about events on campus (all notices are in Chinese, get someone to translate and communicate them via email to westerners on campus): (Hu Jintao came and went without me knowing) ---especially events in English or with music or art exhibits that don’t require Chinese proficiency<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><i><span style=""> </span>4. Have a reception (cookies and tea, nothing fancy) early each semester to try to create a community of ex-pats or former Fulbrighters or supply Fulbrighter with: <o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>List of former Chinese Fulbrighters on campus with contact information<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>List of other non-Chinese, English speakers on campus<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><i><span style=""> </span>5. A list of area ATMs, grocery, convenience, pharmacy, office supply stores, restaurants, western, Chinese and others that are <u>walking distance</u> and a map in English and Chinese of how to get there.<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><i><span style=""> </span>6. Information on travel agencies or how to plan trips for guest lectures. (to avoid paying cash for tickets).<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><o:p> </o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>Homefront;<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><i><span style=""> </span>1. Directions to appliances in English: heat, air conditioner, hot plate, washing machine, hot water heater (so you don’t get scalded after cleaners adjust it to its hottest setting).<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><i><span style=""> </span>2. Have drinking water delivered and how to re-order it in the future<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><i><span style=""> </span>3. Arrange for an English speaking student to go grocery shopping with the Fulbrighter for the first few times to help <u>reading labels</u> (dishwashing liquid vs. fabric softener, cream rinse). And see if faculty could offer to go grocery shopping with a </i><st1:stockticker><i>CAR</i></st1:stockticker><i> anytime they are going<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><i><span style=""> </span>4. See if faculty member with a car could take Fulbrighter on excursions inaccessible by public transportation, or provide a list of drivers in the area.<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><i><span style=""> </span>5. Information about north gate taxi entrance.<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><i><span style=""> </span>6. Information about cleaning service/laundry before you buy cleaning materials….<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><i><span style=""> </span>7. Who to call for maintenance, toilets flooding, leaks in windows after rain, noisy neighbors.<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><o:p> </o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>If you have kids:<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>Find some way to find and connect with kids on campus. They are here, just hidden. <o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">After dinner we take a walk out to the East Gate, to get milk. The parks around the campus are full of young people lounging on the grass, older folks out walking dogs and babies in split pants toddling around. It is a perfect summer evening. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Wednesday, May 28</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I finish draft one of book chapter and send it off. I then interview two more students for the blog/future book. Before class I meet with the three post-grads. One works for a Party legal daily newspaper. She says her senior editors (and the senior editors at 12 Party news outlets – Xinhua, CCTV, etc) have been having nightly meetings with the government Propaganda Department to discuss coverage of the earthquake. Usually, the censors just make a phone call to the editors saying what can be published and what can’t. It seems the earthquake is allowing greater discussion about what is OK. Until now, the coverage has been extensive and thorough, if a bit maudlin and at times schmaltzy. I am really disturbed by how many children are being interviewed and asked to re-live their trauma! </p> <p class="MsoNormal">One story, about a group of angry parents marching in protest to <st1:city><st1:place>Chengdu</st1:place></st1:City>, holding pictures of their dead children, did not initially make it into the China Daily. The New York Times photo showed the mayor of the town on his knees begging his citizens to stop the march. But the parents want justice and want to know why their kids’ schools crumbled when other buildings withstood the quake.<span style=""> </span>Three days after the story was reported in the Times, it was included, several paragraphs in, on a front page story in the China Daily. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">It was interesting to learn how the censor process works. But the postgrads said the propaganda department is not all bad. They say it also forces/encourages reporters to cover “good stuff” too, issues that might not get much coverage in a commercial enterprise, like the plight of farmers, elderly, etc.<span style=""> </span>Some part of me wishes we could force news organizations in the west to do a lot less on Brittany Spears and Bradgelina and more on the plight of <st1:country-region><st1:place>America</st1:place></st1:country-region>’s poor, or social security or other issues that aren’t “sexy” enough for many news outlets.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">In the grad class that day, I also learn that the earthquake LIVE coverage may not be so live. There is a “minute” delay (not sure if it is a whole minute) to still allow the censors to cut off a controversial remark, should one attempt to say such a think on LIVE TV here. We then discuss the ethics of undercover camera work and Chinese reality TV. A program similar to “American Idol” was cancelled, in part because people got to VOTE for the winner – and the government felt threatened by this mini-exercise in voting. One student thought it was cancelled because the host was rude. But many reality programs have been cancelled, one student thinks, because they have become too popular and the government was losing control of the content.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">After class, Ann McConnell has managed to find Yuxin Ai, a Fletcher grad who we hosted while she was a student at Tufts. She now works for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and we will reconnect next weekend.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">One of the things I will miss most about <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> is the life outside, and summer only makes it more alive. In the park tonight older women are doing a fan dance routine with these giant pink fans, and a group of young men are doing tai chi. In front of the gym, a large group of all aged women are doing line dances, and around the track, hundreds of people are walking, jogging and stretching and it is after 9 p.m.<span style=""> </span>The place never rests. My guess is this is a society that has always spent little time inside in cramped quarters, and the outside life is part of the culture.<span style=""> </span>I also think there is a greater sense that exercise is an essential part of healthy living, even if it is the old women just slapping their arms and legs (to improve circulation, I am told). <span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>I could stay out here every night and just soak up the scene.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Thursday, May 29 </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Peter Berger, a Boston University Professor who specializes on the Sociology of Religion, is a guest at Renmin, giving a lecture. Mercy tells me about it (finally getting word of some event on campus, even if its an American from my home university), so I decide to go to his lecture on Modernism and Religion. Modernity does not lead to a diminution in religious activity, according to Berger’s research. It is quite an interesting lecture, interrupted by the arduous consecutive translation. I’d like to get the text of the whole talk, not just the truncated version. I introduce myself to Berger at the end, offer to take his picture for the BU Today site, but he’s not interested. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">After the talk I take a taxi to Torana carpets out by the airport and get hopelessly lost. We get off the highway at the right exit, but it is clear to me from the map that we have turned west, when we should be going east. I try to mime this to the driver, pointing the map and saying: <i>dong bu xi</i>, east not west. The driver stops to ask another cabbie which way to go and the cabbie tells him to keep going west…..and as he is saying this, he is giving me a sinister smirk, and continues to hang his gleeful head out the window of his cab as we drive on – clearly he knows he is steering us astray and helping a fellow driver to jack up the meter. <span style=""> </span>I am a bit nervous, as we continue to drive to a less and less developed part of town and eventually the road turns to dirt and peters out altogether. Where the heck are we? We turn around and head back, east to the highway, and then continue in the direction I was trying to get us to in the first place. Eventually we get to Torana and I am bummed out. I was under the impression that there would be a large selection of rugs out here at their ‘warehouse” location, but there is not much here. The neighborhood is a lot of interior design style stores so I poke around and end up at Radiance, which Ann McConnell had told me about. Lots of lovely furniture, but nothing I want. Then I am told there is another Radiance, just a short cab ride away. I head there and hit the jackpot. Lots of gorgeous stuff and I do my part to help the Chinese economy, buying two pieces and a lot of other trinkets, nicer than I have seen in most markets. I will ship the furniture to the <st1:city><st1:place>Boston</st1:place></st1:City> port, $350 for one cubic meter. I only have enough stuff to fill half a cubic meter so I promise I will be back to deliver more stuff to fill the crate!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">From here I have a tough time hailing a cab, but eventually find a speed demon who gets me from Radiance to Katie’s school in about 20 minutes in <st1:time minute="0" hour="17">5pm</st1:time> traffic (illegally driving in the bike lane, aggressively snaking in and out of every crack in the traffic flow….amazing driver!) I eat dinner at the Sizzler, and then head to The Exhibition for a <st1:time hour="18" minute="0">6pm</st1:time> show. The kids are all in their very creatively designed T-shirts, and sing a couple of songs, dancing and prancing to a heavy beat. They’ve changed the lyrics from “we need a hero” to “we need a leader” to help solve the world’s problems. It is amazing to see all these kids from all over the world (I can count at least 10 countries represented on stage) working together to tackle problems big and small.<span style=""> </span>I am moved to tears, and I can see Katie looking at me and mouthing to her friend “oh-my-god, my mother’s losing it”. After the musical introduction, each group went up and did a brief introduction to their topic. Katie’s “Chinese endangered animal” group paired up with the “Chinese orphan” group and did a rap to “somewhere out there, the love is missing”. Very inspiring. I sat behind Katie’s new friend Louisa’s parents, who just moved here from <st1:country-region><st1:place>Australia</st1:place></st1:country-region>. Nice couple and I could see myself living here, in a proper house, and developing a community of friends. What has really been missing in this experience is any sense of community. I don’t feel connected to the university, because few speak English or have time to try, and I don’t feel connected to the ex-pats because I live so far from the center of their universe.<span style=""> </span>After the performance part of the Exhibition we go upstairs and look at the posters and power points each group has worked on. Katie and her group have risen to the occasion and managed to put together a decent project, focusing on pandas, <st1:place>Yangtze River</st1:place> dolphins, tigers, and Katie’s bailiwick: the moon bear, who is killed for its bile, used in Chinese medicine.<span style=""> </span>Other kids focused on clean water, bullying, ways to help non-English speakers at BISS, ways to improve recess for kids who don’t like sports. Really quite impressive! Katie’s friend Exila is in tears. Her parents have not come to see Exhibition. I feel really sorry for her. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">If every week here had been as full, as pleasant and as interesting as this one, I’d stay forever. </p>Anne Donohuehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17213801988680297535noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9151003418006851422.post-10007122736252083962008-05-26T10:18:00.000-07:002008-05-26T10:23:09.651-07:00Week 14 – Nanjing etc.<o:p></o:p>Friday, May 16 <p class="MsoNormal">I go with Katie as far as her school with Shen Shifu and then take a taxi to the airport. Katie will go home with her friend Yuanyuan for an overnight until I return from <st1:city><st1:place>Nanjing</st1:place></st1:city> tomorrow.<span style=""> </span>Once aloft, the trip is bumpy. It seems every domestic flight I’ve taken here has had a fair amount of turbulence. Not sure why, but it can be scary at times. Really violent bumps up and down. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">A lovely student named Wang Qian meets me at the airport and after a little difficulty finding the driver we head into <st1:city><st1:place>Nanjing</st1:place></st1:city>. It looks like a much greener city, more tropical. It is about two hours west of <st1:city><st1:place>Shanghai</st1:place></st1:city> and it reminds me of a smaller version of <st1:city><st1:place>Shanghai</st1:place></st1:city>. I am staying at the guest house of <st1:place><st1:placename>Nanjing</st1:placename> <st1:placename>Normal</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>University</st1:placetype></st1:place>. It is a lovely, lush campus with wisteria vines and bright pink flowers dotting the grounds. The room I am in is quite basic, but it is a small three story building, and I am told that two students from <st1:place><st1:placename>Wellesley</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>College</st1:placetype></st1:place> are the only other inhabitants. I spend the afternoon walking around <st1:city><st1:place>Nanjing</st1:place></st1:city>, stumble upon the Johns Hopkins center there, affiliated with <st1:place><st1:placename>Nanjing</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>University</st1:placetype></st1:place> and meet two American girls, one from <st1:place><st1:city>Andover</st1:city>, <st1:state>MA</st1:state></st1:place>! </p> <p class="MsoNormal">At a local park I am surrounded by a couple dozen elementary school kids who want to try out their English. I am very impressed at how well they speak. They are out collecting money for the <st1:state><st1:place>Sichuan</st1:place></st1:state> earthquake victims and I give them a few bucks. About ten minutes later I am surrounded by another school group and repeat the same performance. It is at least 80+ degrees here and I have dressed in all black, so I head back to the university for a shower before my evening lecture. Only problem is, no towels, so I drip dry in my curtainless room and hope that the Chinese peeping Toms are getting a good show. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">The lecture is actually at a satellite campus almost 40 minutes from the man campus. Enroute, Wang Qian and I have a nice conversation. She is from <st1:place><st1:placename>Jiangsu</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Province</st1:placetype></st1:place> where <st1:city><st1:place>Nanjing</st1:place></st1:city> is located, the only child, and her family did not want her to accept a job offer in <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:city> because it is too far away. So when she finishes her master’s in English next month, she will work for the Foreign Affairs office in <st1:state><st1:place>Jiangsu</st1:place></st1:state>.<span style=""> </span>Qian is about as sweet and innocent a person as I have ever met. She is quick to hold my arm as we cross the street, carry my bags, opening doors, and bending over backwards to be helpful. I am guessing that I am the only American, perhaps the only foreigner that she has ever spoken with. She giggles shyly when I ask her about various customs I am observing out the car window: split pants baby peeing on his mother’s clothing, man blowing his nose on his hand (without the benefit of handkerchief or Kleenex), people pushing and cutting in line, girls holding hands. I told her how sweet it is that girls and women almost always are holding hands here and that it wasn’t reserved for lesbians, as it now seems to be in <st1:country-region><st1:place>America</st1:place></st1:country-region>. She is wide eyed when I tell her that <st1:state><st1:place>Massachusetts</st1:place></st1:state> allows gay marriage. “<st1:country-region><st1:place>America</st1:place></st1:country-region> has too much freedom”, was her response. She marvels at all the places I have been in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>. She has never been anywhere except her nearby hometown and <st1:city><st1:place>Nanjing</st1:place></st1:city>. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">We arrive at Nanjing Normal’s other campus, and it is a space age looking facility, enormous, all white modern buildings, very impressive from a distance. However, when we get up into the classrooms, it looks pretty shabby. Rows of broken down desks, peeling paint, and no air conditioning. Two girls are there to greet us, and they take a box of colored chalk and create a lovely sign on the blackboard for my speech. Around <st1:time minute="30" hour="18">6:30</st1:time> the two faculty members, both men, who have invited me to give this lecture on adoption, arrive and we have a brief chat before I begin. The audience is about 30-40 undergraduate English majors, almost all girls. Not the social workers or early childhood audience that I anticipated. I can’t imagine holding a lecture at BU on a Friday night at <st1:time minute="30" hour="18">6:30</st1:time> and filling the room, but here it happens.<span style=""> </span>They are very engaged, have great questions and a lively discussion afterwards. I don’t think many of them were aware just how many Chinese girls are abandoned or adopted. None of them said they knew of anyone who was adopted. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Just as thought I was going to have a “clean getaway”, one of the professors asked about western media bias against <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>…and the conversation continued after the lecture during our 40 minute drive back to the main campus. He seems to think things are great in China, that there is religious freedom, that the one child policy is not enforced (all of his relatives have large families), that the Dalai Lama was on the <st1:stockticker>CIA</st1:stockticker> payroll earning more money than the president of the United States, and that the western media gets it all wrong…..</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I spend the night in the lovely guest house but unfortunately, a few mosquitoes have joined me and I don’t get much sleep. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Saturday, May 17</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Very early I am awakened by a cacophony of tropical birds outside. Really incredible. Loud, but lovely. <span style=""> </span>I take another towel-less shower, using yesterday’s clothes to dry off with, and head out to this great German bakery around the corner that Elizabeth Knup had told me about. Great stuff. I then meet up with Qian who will be my guide for the day. We head to the <st1:place><st1:placename>Confucius</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Temple</st1:placetype></st1:place>, which really is no longer a temple, but a shopping mall/tourist area along a small canal. There are boat rides up and down the canal, and tons of shops selling the same stuff I’ve seen all over <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>, only here there are no westerners. We visit an old, thousand year old home, full of thousand year old pottery, scrolls and paintings. Ho hum…I keep wondering how the Chinese (and the Arabs) had such advanced civilizations when <st1:place>Europe</st1:place> was in the dark ages, and then <st1:place>Europe</st1:place> has the Renaissance and <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> (and the Arabs) seem to stop moving forward. In my limited understanding of the history of <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>, I recall some of the reasons, lack of competition, insularity, etc. but those reasons don’t seem to make much sense, since the examination system and the notion of the Middle Kingdom were in place during the periods of advancement as well as stagnation and decline. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">From there we head to the <st1:place><st1:placename>Nanjing</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Art Museum</st1:placetype></st1:place> which was gorgeous, phenomenal collections of jade, porcelain and silk, in addition to on site looms and kilns, still in use.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">After the museum we head back to Nanjing Normal. Qian has been such a lovely guide, solicitous in every way, I want to take her out to lunch, but she insists on taking me to this sidewalk hole-in-the-wall place. I had the most delicious “<st1:city><st1:place>Shanghai</st1:place></st1:city> dumplings”, kind of like regular dumplings but filled with soup as well as meat stuffing. If you bite into it, the soup goes everywhere, as I quickly discovered. But oh, so delicious. After lunch Qian and I part company. I encourage her to come to <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:city> before she starts her new job, but that seems like asking her to go to the moon! She is so sweet, gives me a big hug, and refuses to accept a nickel in payment. I insist and try to slip her a few hundred RMB into her purse but she is adamant. No money for almost 24 hours of babysitting me! </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I return to my room, pack up and a young man arrives to take me to the airport, also an English student, who has just defended his dissertation yesterday comparing Hemingway’s and Faulkner’s first novels. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">My flight to <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:city> has been “delayed indefinitely” (nothing here is cancelled) but they get me on an earlier flight and take the turbulent skies back to <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:city>. I land at the new terminal 3, get into one taxi, and point on a map of <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:city> (with Chinese characters) to my destination, the <st1:place><st1:placename>Lama</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Temple</st1:placetype></st1:place> (near where Katie is staying). The driver goes about ten feet and then stops and motions for me to get out. He can’t figure out where to take me, I guess. I go back to the taxi director on the sidewalk and ask if he can tell the next cab where I need to go. He says fine, but then doesn’t tell the next guy a thing. So I get into cab #2, and the cabbie is shaving with his electric shaver (this is very common here, shaving is NOT restricted to the bathroom in the morning). He is so consumed with his facial growth, that he gets on the wrong ramp leaving the airport. But in his infinite wisdom, decides, still shaving, to go in reverse BACK UP THE <st1:stockticker>RAMP</st1:stockticker>….I am having a coronary, but we eventually get safely back onto the highway. I call Katie and discover that she is not at the friend’s house, but rather at a restaurant so I hand the phone to the driver so someone can give him directions to the restaurant. We get there, but not before we nearly kill -- and I mean inches from crushing to death -- a guy on a motorbike. Katie gets in the cab and we head back home, both of us exhausted. She stayed up until <st1:time hour="0" minute="0">midnight</st1:time> last night and was up at 6. She spent the day at the Carnival at her school, had a great time and won a lot of prizes. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Sunday, May 18</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Lazy day, laundry, catching up on news and email, getting reimbursements for all these guest lectures sorted out, etc. Katie has busied herself making a boat out of a paper bag, chop sticks (which she has whittled using a dull kitchen knife – which is a lot duller now!), and the indispensable all purpose duct tape. <span style=""> </span>It is quite a boat. Looks exactly like the <i>dhow</i> that Arab merchants first used to explore east Asia. Not sure if it is sea worthy, but I suggest we take it out to the pond in the park and give it a try. She says no, that would be too public. A year ago, even six months ago, she would have been fine with that idea, but now the “tween” self-consciousness is setting in. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Around 4 we head out to the grocery store. It is really balmy and breezy. We walk by a group of chanting waiters and waitresses, marching in place, singing and grunting in military style, apparently getting ready for another night waiting tables. If anyone had asked me to march and chant before starting my shift at Eadie’s Restaurant in <st1:city><st1:place>Needham</st1:place></st1:city>, I would not have lasted long on the job. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">We arrive at Carrefour, the French super market chain that has been the target of a boycott for its alleged pro-Tibet activity. I am hoping the boycott will mean the store is quieter. It is usually one of the least zooey of the many stores we have tried shopping at, but even here, I confess, I hate grocery shopping. I have gotten used to a lot of things in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> – my funky plumbing, my one burner dinners – even the permanently hazy sky – but the grocery stores, I have <i>not</i> grown to love. The noise, the crowds, the smells, the pushing make me crazy. I wish I would remember to bring my audio recorder to one of these shopping excursions: you would hear insipid muzak constantly overhead, coupled with TV monitors at the end of each aisle cranked up at full volume, plus girls with Brittany Spears style microphones attached to their heads hawking yogurt or some other product, while big, loud men hawk fish next to bigger, louder men hawking beef or pork, and for good measure, add the constant screams of mothers looking for momentarily lost children, <span style=""> </span>or children wailing because, maybe, they too are overwhelmed by all the noise! Trying to push a cart through the throngs is futile, but today we need to get a lot of stuff, so we cannot hold it in our arms. And reading labels is always fun. There is an entire aisle of what looks like soy sauce, but which one to buy? How do they differ? Are they really even soy sauce??? Oh to understand just a little Chinese!! We left the house at <st1:time hour="16" minute="15">4:15</st1:time>, and we return at <st1:time hour="19" minute="0">7pm</st1:time>….all for three bags of groceries. And they are <i>our</i> bags: <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> is now charging for plastic bags to encourage people to bring their own, which we did. Here’s one idea where <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> is ahead of the <st1:country-region><st1:place>USA</st1:place></st1:country-region>. Of course, my backpack now is full of chicken blood and watermelon juice….</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We eat a pasta dinner and watch the TV for news on the earthquake. It is the only story, 24/7 and there is incredible footage of people still being hauled out of the rubble alive six days later. Lots of images of newly orphaned kids. The government has called for 3 days of mourning starting tomorrow, and a three minute silent pause at <st1:time hour="14" minute="28">2:28</st1:time> tomorrow, the moment the earthquake hit. Katie is sad because three pandas from the Sichuan Reserve are missing. The Reserve is 18 miles from the epicenter of the quake. While I am sorry for the pandas, I am always troubled that Katie has more concern for the animals than the humans in these situations (remember the dog we almost adopted from <st1:city><st1:place>Beirut</st1:place></st1:city>?!).</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Monday, May 19</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Eve texts me in the morning to let me know about the three national days of mourning starting today. All flags are at half mast. Apparently nothing like this has ever been done before in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>. At 2:28, (the moment the quake struck a week ago),<span style=""> </span>I turned on the TV to a black slate saying “Deep Mourning”, and outside cars honked their horns all over the city in a dull, aching drone for three minutes, traffic was completely stopped everywhere as people got out of their cars in silence. The image on the TV screen changed from black to <st1:place>Tiananmen Square</st1:place> where people stood silently, to train stations where trains were stopped, to the rescue scene, where rescuers stood on piles of rubble and likely, human remains. Silent for the three minutes. Very moving. Sadly, I did not see any students stopping to pay respects; from my vantage point everyone outside continued walking or biking. (But I was told later that all classrooms fell silent for three minutes).</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Rescuers are still finding people alive and the newspapers are full of these accounts of survivors, who somehow stayed sane while pinned under debris for days. The headline in the China Daily is that all nuclear facilities in <st1:state><st1:place>Sichuan</st1:place></st1:state>, of which there are many, are all safe. Let’s hope so. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Katie returned from school to report that they had also marked the 3 minutes of silence, and all the kids are collecting new toothbrushes, soap, shampoo, etc. to send to the quake area.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Tuesday, May 20</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I work on some writing in the morning and then go to class. We discuss the earthquake coverage, and how families who have lost their only child have it hardest, and that leads into a discussion of the one child policy. There are more loopholes in that law than I had imagined. Two of my students both went to the same high school in Chongquing. One girl says everyone in her class had siblings, while the other says no one in her class had siblings. Apparently, one girl had mostly rural students who are allowed more children? I don’t get who, why, how, you get around the policy, apparently legally. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">After class, Eve comes to babysit and I head into the city to meet up with Mary E. at her hotel. She is staying at Raffle’s Beijing Hotel and the lobby, and I am sure the rest of the joint, is lovely. A little oasis of calm after an hour long cab ride in traffic. Mary and I then head to the satellite building of the <st1:country-region><st1:place>US</st1:place></st1:country-region> embassy to hear a talk and see home 8mm movies shot by a former diplomat who traveled with Nixon to <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> in 1972, Nicholas Platt. He and his family returned to work at the pre-embassy mission here before formal diplomatic relations resumed. The home movies were fabulous, a real flavor of every day <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> at a time when few westerners could peek in. He and his wife were both charming in their humorous recollections of life here. Their youngest son enrolled in school here while the others were in the States at boarding school. The text book that the youngest son brought home for math had problems like: if 5,000 brave North Koreans lined up at the border with guns to shoot the running dogs of capitalism in <st1:country-region><st1:place>South Korea</st1:place></st1:country-region>, how many bullets would they need? <span style=""> </span>The ambassador and his wife have three sons, one of whom is the actor Oliver Platt, and another is a food critic in <st1:state><st1:place>New York</st1:place></st1:state>. In the films we got to see the children (including pudgy Oliver) skating on the ice at the Summer Palace, playing hockey, and pummeling each other in true <st1:stockticker>NHL</st1:stockticker> style – to the delight of a gaggle of Chinese who had apparently never seen hockey “American style”. We also got to see up close the Zhou Enlai - Richard Nixon handshake that began to heal 20+ years of estrangement. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Wednesday, May 21</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Mary continues with her tour group to the Great Wall. I’ll meet up with her again on Thursday. I head off to the office and work on the book chapter on living here with an adopted Chinese daughter. Mercy has re-surfaced and asked me to lunch. We go to this street, about a mile from here that is <st1:stockticker>ALL</st1:stockticker> restaurants. We eat at one that specializes in <st1:state><st1:place>Yunnan</st1:place></st1:state>, Dai Nationality food. It really would have been nice to know about this street four months ago! Mercy has just returned from five days in <st1:state><st1:place>Sichuan</st1:place></st1:state>, where she was working for CCTV. She was deeply moved by all that she saw and has come back to <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:city> with plans to adopt a child from <st1:state><st1:place>Sichuan</st1:place></st1:state>. She said she talked to her mother and her husband and they both agree. The outpouring of sympathy of every Chinese person I’ve met upends any racist perception westerners may have about the “life is cheap” attitudes of Chinese. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">In class, I suspend my normal lecture to discuss the earthquake and its coverage. Most students are heartened by the extent of the coverage and the government’s response, but are obviously devastated by the loss of life. The death toll keeps climbing. One student provocatively asks, “on Monday, thousands of Chinese stood in <st1:place>Tiananmen Square</st1:place> and chanted ‘go <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>, go <st1:state><st1:place>Sichuan</st1:place></st1:state>’. How does that differ from the 1989 student protests in <st1:place>Tiananmen Square</st1:place>?” This is the first time anyone has mentioned 1989 in class (although several students have talked to me about it privately). I say one was a threat to the power of the Party and the recent one was an affirmation of the Party. We got into a long discussion, with a few students speaking, but most very silent. After classes, I return home.<span style=""> </span>A friend from <st1:city><st1:place>Belmont</st1:place></st1:city>’s friend, Elizabeth, has offered for me to stay in her apartment for the Olympics. I am thrilled but still on the fence about whether to stay or to go. My heart wants to go home, my head says stay. Meanwhile, NBC emails and says that because of the earthquake and the unexpected expense at covering it, they have to cut corners and cannot offer me much. One step forward, one step back. <span style=""> </span>After dinner Katie and I go out to buy Mary a birthday cake at the campus bakery. Katie is in a mood and doesn’t want to weigh in on what kind of cake to buy. She won’t tell me what’s up, but I am guessing it is because the bakery girls all talk to her in Chinese. Katie wants to know if it OK to have more than one godmother. She wants Mary to be her second godmother and I would be more than thrilled to arrange that.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Thursday, May 22 </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I go in with Katie to school and then mime for Shen Shifu to take me to the nearest subway. We get into traffic, but he won’t take extra money for driving out of his way. I head to Mary’s lovely hotel, Raffle’s Beijing Hotel, gorgeous room and decide we should be staying with her rather than her staying with us! We have a great buffet breakfast, then walk down ChangAn to the “bird’s egg” national theater, try in vain to get an English language schedule of upcoming events. We then cab it over to Liulichang, where Mary buys two scrolls, one of peonies and one with calligraphy. Then we head down to my favorite tea store. I get more jasmine and lychee tea and a nice little pot and some glass tasting cups. The owner’s little girl emerges after a few minutes and is as adorable as ever, pouring herself a cup of tea which overflows down her pants to a puddle on the floor. How you manage to have a two year old in a store full of glass pots is an interesting challenge.<span style=""> </span>We then head back to Mary’s hotel, retrieve her luggage and head to Katie’s school. Katie keeps saying Mrs. Dalais, her teacher reminds her of Mary and there is a slight similarity, mostly in their coloring and good dispositions.<span style=""> </span>Katie has won 3 gold medals in swimming!<span style=""> </span>We get back to our house and Mary unloads all the loot she has accumulated from all the five star hotels she stayed at. She had half a suitcase, at least, of toiletries, slippers, etc.<span style=""> </span>We quickly re-package high end soaps, shampoos, toothbrushes and combs into plastic bags, that Katie will then bring to school tomorrow for donations to earthquake victims. I feel a little like Robin Hood, taking from the rich to give to the poor. But this exactly what the relief groups are asking for, the most basic daily needs for hygiene. <span style=""> </span>For dinner we head to the Qing Dynasty Restaurant, and after our not great meal, go the main dining room for a show of mask-changing, opera and traditional music. When we get home, I check my email to see a gushing note from my <st1:city><st1:place>Nanjing</st1:place></st1:city> guide, Qian:<span style=""> </span>“At the first sight of you in the <st1:place><st1:placetype>airport</st1:placetype> of <st1:placename>Nanjing</st1:placename></st1:place>, I felt that you must be a very elegent [sic] lady, and it has been proved. Even when you talked with me in the taxi or on the road, I could feel the quiet atmosphere around us. At that moment, you were just like one of my old friends coming far away from <st1:city><st1:place>Nanjing</st1:place></st1:city>”.<span style=""> </span>What is not to love about <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>?</p>Anne Donohuehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17213801988680297535noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9151003418006851422.post-8556282703939173012008-05-26T10:17:00.001-07:002008-05-26T10:22:32.083-07:00Week 13 – A Very Unlucky Number<o:p></o:p>Saturday, May 10 <p class="MsoNormal">The public address system kicked in early, <st1:time minute="15" hour="6">6:15 a.m.</st1:time> we started hearing all the marching songs. It is another day of athletic competition here with all the chanting and cheering that precedes it. It looks like track and field – with a twist: one of the events appears to be running races <i>while hula-hooping! </i>Now <u>there</u> is a sport for me! </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Katie and Stephen head out to the electronics store in their elusive search for a Nintendo DS with English instructions and games. They are gone a long time, but return empty handed. Meanwhile, Stefanie has arrived to take a last photo of Stephen before he returns home. Stefanie tells me a little about her family. Her father was in the army, but was injured, so came home and started a business. She was raised on her grandparents’ farm, while her parents worked in the business. Now, the Party boss in her village wants to take the family farm away. Her dad has spent 100,000RMB ($15,000 USD) in legal fees to try to hold onto the land, but it still is not looking good. Her image of life on the farm was not quite as upbeat as the picture painted the other day by Li Qingsi.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">When Stefanie is ready to take the photos, Katie is silly and not interested in being photographed, but then Stefanie lets Katie use the camera and she is more cooperative. Meanwhile, Eve has arrived to look at some other photos sent by Yiyang adoptive parents. Four or five familes on the Yiyang orphanage listserv have contacted her to see if she can get some information for them from Yiyang. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">After the photo shoot we head into downtown <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:city> for dinner with Mark Ma and his wife Tingting. Katie and Stephen occupy themselves for a while beforehand, while I interview Mark and his wife about some delicate adoption issues. Tingting is very quiet and Mark is very careful to put my questions into a broader context. He says he cannot confirm any first hand knowledge of corruption or trafficking, but he it is possible that those practices might exist. Neither has ever met a birth parent. And they share my concern that this has become a business and less about the interests of the child. They dealt with many prospective families who came to adopt but rejected the child when they got here for reasons that were not clear to Mark or Tingting. And they said the more recent adoptive families seemed to have unrealistic expectations. There are no guarantees of perfection with biological children, and there shouldn’t be that expectation with adopted children either. As Katie would say: <i>you get what you get and you don’t get upset.<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Stephen and Katie arrive and we have a great dinner, Vietnamese food, and have a lot of fun. Afterward we walk around the <st1:place><st1:placename>Houhai</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Lake</st1:placetype></st1:place> area. Looks like the night spot of <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:city>’s younger set. We watched a guy on the sidewalk with his potter’s wheel making lovely little pots, and Katie took a bunch of pictures of this parakeet chained up in a store window. We bid farewell to Mark and Tingting and hope to see them again.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Sunday, May 11</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I hadn’t even realized it was Mother’s Day, but Katie made me a nice little card and surprised me, and then Eve sent me a text message, to “a great mother of three children.” Rory even managed to get a quick email in just under the wire at <st1:time minute="0" hour="0">midnight</st1:time>. But my favorite was a Youtube link my friend Louise sent around. Check it out if you are the mother of warring boys:</p> <h3 style="line-height: 12pt;"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:10;color:black;" ><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bhcA4Ry65FU&feature=email">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bhcA4Ry65FU&feature=email</a><o:p></o:p></span></h3> <p class="MsoNormal">We’ve arranged for a driver, the fellow Lucy used, Simon, to take us out to the furniture village, Gaobaidian. On the way we drop Katie off at her friend Yuanyuan’s house, in a hutong near the <st1:place><st1:placename>Confucian</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Temple</st1:placetype></st1:place>. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Ann McConnell from the embassy leads us out and we followed in “our” car. Another Fulbrighter, Beth Farmer joined up. We revisited the factory where Ann’s furniture was being repaired and Stephen gave her some tips on stains and refurbishing techniques. We then went by the carver’s workshop, where four young kids, 17-20 years old, were carving wood in dim light. They are all migrants from <st1:place><st1:placename>Anhui</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Province</st1:placetype></st1:place>, and live in a little room next to the workshop, four of them on two bunk beds, and each has a small box for their possessions. In the back of this very primitive workshop, we see a computer, guiding a lathe, carving the most detailed images into the wood. I am not sure who or how they program the lathe, but apparently they scan an image into the computer and then tell the computer the depth and other dimensions of each cut into the wood. The machine cost $50,000RMB or about $7,000 USD. Wild. It won’t be long before the computer puts those migrant kids out of work.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We end up in a shopping area in the center of Gaobaidian but manage not to buy a thing before we need to leave. We retrieve Katie at her friends and then head to the restaurant where we are meeting Celine and her family for dinner. Celine will return to the States this week and get her degree from BU. We eat at a great Taiwanese place called Bellagio, near Worker’s Stadium. Great food. And of course Celine and her family have gifts, tea and cosmetics, more than we have brought for the guest of honor! </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">After dinner, Celine’s dad asks if we like to bowl. Apparently, there is an alley next door. Sure! Off we go -- Bowling in <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:city>! It was a very nice, big, clean, well lit place – much nicer than Lanes and Games in <st1:city><st1:place>Cambridge</st1:place></st1:city>… I have never bowled with big balls and warn them that I am useless athletically. Well, I guess I had beginner’s luck, because I was really knocking them down. On one shot, there were two pins on the far right, and one remaining on the far left, and I managed t knock over all three with one ball!!!! I told Celine’s dad I was going to retire from BU and take up professional bowling! We had a great time. It was a great activity for a group that does not share the same language because we could share in each other’s victories and defeats, with high fives, and embarrassed winces, without ever uttering a word. But man, my shoulder hurts!!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">We all squeezed into Celine’s dad’s car and he got a kick out of us giving him directions in Chinese <i>“Renmin Daxue Ximen”, “zou guai”,</i> etc.<span style=""> </span>What a lot of fun!!</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Monday, May 12</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Stephen announces it is time to go home – his tooth has fallen out again. The day he arrived two weeks ago, he bit into some candy and pulled out a dental bridge (the same type of candy that triggered Katie to lose a tooth on the plane home from <st1:city><st1:place>Shanghai</st1:place></st1:city>). He had shoved the bridge back in two weeks ago and has been fine, but it is looking like he’ll need to spend some quality time at BU Dental before long. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="">We go in to school with Katie to have a parent-teacher conference with Katie and her teacher, Anya Dalais. All is well. We learned that Katie is a social animal, is liking math(!), needs to be more careful and take more time with her writing, and needs to <i>follow through</i> on all her good ideas. No surprises there. She’s had a great time at this school and with this teacher and we are both not thrilled with the idea of returning to Chenery. Ms. Dalais and her husband are moving to <st1:country-region><st1:place>Switzerland</st1:place></st1:country-region> at the end of the school year to work at another international school there. They’ve taught in <st1:country-region><st1:place>France</st1:place></st1:country-region>, <st1:country-region><st1:place>England</st1:place></st1:country-region>, <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> and now <st1:country-region><st1:place>Switzerland</st1:place></st1:country-region>. Sounds like a fun life.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I worked all morning on a lecture on war coverage, especially on the run-up to the <st1:country-region><st1:place>Iraq</st1:place></st1:country-region> war and journalists’ lackluster coverage. In retrospect, it makes me crazier than ever to know how well the administration <b><i><u>sold</u></i></b> this war to a group of “lapdog” reporters….with a few notable exceptions (Knight Ridder’s Jonathan Landay had the necessary skepticism, but few others). For all my griping about Chinese propaganda and misinformation, we aren’t doing a whole lot better in the US of A. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">After lunch, I took a nap. In the middle of a very bizarre dream about a hurricane, I felt the bed move. At first, I thought I was dreaming, then I thought Stephen had come in to wake me up, but neither was the case. I got up to find Stephen and he was sitting at his desk, feeling like he was experiencing vertigo. I decided it must be someone doing work on the building. A few hours later we learn <i>in an email</i> from my sister-in-law Karen that we were in the midst of an earthquake. Never a dull moment! There was a huge quake 7.8, out in <st1:place><st1:placename>Sichuan</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Province</st1:placetype></st1:place>, about 50 miles from where we were last week. The event in <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:city> was minor. But sitting here on the 17<sup>th</sup> floor of a hastily and poorly constructed building, right above a major fault line in the earth’s crust, has got me just a tad worried. Stephen, of course, is not worried at all….but he’s leaving tomorrow to head home!!! </p> <p class="MsoNormal">For dinner, we attempted to go to a pizza joint I read about up by Beijing university, Kro’s Nest, but we schlepped up there to find it was closed, so we walked back to Papa John’s and got our fill of pizza for a while. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Tuesday, May 13</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The news about the earthquake unfolded through the night, and so did the aftershocks. I watched TV a fair amount last night and this morning, trying to get a handle on this. I was struck by CCTV’s English language channel’s emphasis on infrastructure damage, buildings destroyed, roads closed, phone service out of order. And of course there was plenty on rescue efforts and Premier Wen Jiabao’s appearance with rescuers. Only about 4-5 minutes into the <st1:time hour="9" minute="0">9am</st1:time> coverage did they mention the number killed: ten thousand! I don’t know if this is representative of all Chinese coverage, but it was certainly a different inverted pyramid than we would have done in the <st1:country-region><st1:place>US</st1:place></st1:country-region> press. The newspaper was more direct, listing the number dead at the top and underscoring that the government’s first priority is saving lives…</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I go into my office and prep for today’s class and a lecture I will give tonight at the Central University of Nationalities.<span style=""> </span>The waiban, Mrs. Liu, calls and can give me little advice on my visa status, but she is hopeful that if I leave the country, I will be allowed back in….I certainly hope so! More disturbingly, she can’t advise me on what to do in the event of a fire or earthquake or any other emergency in our building. I ask her if there is an alarm system or any email or cell phone warning system that I might miss because I am unable to understand Chinese. She says no, no warning system, but there are fire extinguishers, and then she laughs and says, “but you wouldn’t know how to use them since the instructions are in Chinese”. Haha, not very funny!<span style=""> </span>I mention that the electricity went out every night last week at <st1:time hour="23" minute="0">11pm</st1:time> and everyone else seemed to have been informed about this, but not me. What’s up with communication? Mrs. Liu is a very sweet, soft-spoken woman who seems very kind and concerned, but I find it very difficult to get a clear answer to my questions and concerns. I fully understand that I am the one who is unable to speak the language but there are many non-Chinese speakers on campus and it is a bit surprising that there is no method to communicate with any of us about what’s going on….not just for emergencies, but for other events (i.e. Hu Jintao speaking on campus and I was unaware until after it happened). As I left the building this morning, I see the lobby full of fire extinguishers. Are we supposed to grab one to have on hand? When I return at noon, the fire extinguishers are gone. And the two that had been sitting in the box near the elevator, are gone too. Bad timing to take fire extinguishers OUT of service. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">At <st1:time hour="12" minute="0">noon</st1:time> I return home for lunch and read some western media on the earthquake and answer a flurry of anxious emails from home wondering if we are OK. For the moment all is fine. But I am growing more anxious about being on the 17<sup>th</sup> floor of a paper-thin building. I scan the internet for images from the affected areas, but most of what I see, cell phone video taken by understandably distraught residents, is too shaky or blurry to really make out what is going on. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Stephen is packing to head off to the airport. I loaded him up with all the winter clothes and some of our purchases, and he has quite a heavy load. I walk him out to the taxi and bid him adieu thinking I’ll see him in six weeks. I head off to my afternoon class and we discuss the earthquake coverage. None of the students in this class are from <st1:state><st1:place>Sichuan</st1:place></st1:state>, and one girl from <st1:city><st1:place>Chongqing</st1:place></st1:city>, says her parents felt a lot of shaking, but no injuries. Some students seem really troubled, but others are a bit too cavalier, almost embarrassed that this has happened in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Later, a student asks about when the next few assignments are due. When I examine the syllabus, I reiterate the due dates through the end of classes on June 26. But the students say, no, classes end June 12. No, I assure them, I have a calendar given to me by Mercy, which says we go until the end of June. No, they assure me, there are no classes after June 12. OK, so I have passed out two syllabus/schedules to two classes and NO <st1:stockticker>ONE</st1:stockticker> has mentioned this to me until today? Stephen has arranged his travels to and from home based on my academic schedule, which I guess we can throw out the window now. I had heard of this last minute schedule snafu from previous Fulbrighters which is why I pressed Mercy for a calendar….so much good that did. I love the communication around here. And even more disturbing, I learn that TV news reported last night that there was apparently going to be another earthquake or aftershock last night and students were all evacuated from their dorms, but NO <st1:stockticker>ONE</st1:stockticker> TOLD ME up there on the 17<sup>th</sup> floor!</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The students showed their first video stories. Some were good, others disappointing. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">After class I return home, try to get answers to the schedule snafu, tell the <st1:city><st1:place>Guangzhou</st1:place></st1:city> consulate not to book my flights there for a late June lecture that I had agreed to give, because my schedule might change. I microwave (and manage to burn) the lasagna Stephen had brought frozen from home two weeks ago, inhale dinner and head out to lecture at Central Universities of Nationalities.<span style=""> </span>CUN has 10% ethnic minorities so I was hoping for a Tibetan point of view in the discussion but none were there. The talk went very well though, good questions from an engaged and attentive audience. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Just before <st1:time minute="0" hour="22">ten pm</st1:time>, Eve text messages me that we are to turn out the lights for three minutes in memory of the now 12,000 confirmed dead. I turn my lights off and look out the window to see a few more windows go dark, but the majority of lights remain on. Eve tells me the next day that she is disappointed that so many students are too busy with social activities, getting food or playing sports, to participate in the vigil.<span style=""> </span>I spend a few hours awake in bed, worrying that every rumble of a truck or every thud from the apartment above, is the quake that will topple this building. Another sleepless night in <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:city>.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Wednesday, May 14</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I watch a bit more of CCTV’s coverage of the earthquake. There is more video coming out today (yesterday was mostly graphics or maps of the area covering phone interviews). The scene looks like Hell on Earth. The wailing mothers, the teenagers holding the hand of their dead friends, the children’s limbs reaching out from the rubble, crushed just inches from safety. Thousands of people are homeless, and thousand more are voluntarily choosing to sleep outside, in parks, to protect themselves from aftershocks. Rain only makes matters worse.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Kelly Proctor, a student Fulbrighter, also at Renmin stops by my office today. She is doing research on Chinese journalists covering the environment. She says that the journalists she talks to have a lot of liberty to say what they want to say, and when they do get heat from an editor/censor, they just put the controversial stuff up on their blogs, and it gets out that way.<span style=""> </span>She says most environmental journalists here are also advocates, and often work for or develop their own NGOs (non-governmental organizations). Unfortunately, a blogger in Chengdu, who helped organized a “stroll” to protest a proposed chemical plant, has found himself in a bit of trouble. This from the site Danwei:</p> <p><i>According to today's </i><em><span style="font-style: normal;">Beijing News</span></em><i>, four persons involved in the May 4 protest in </i><st1:city><st1:place><i>Chengdu</i></st1:place></st1:city><i> were detained under charges of "fabricating and spreading rumors, distortion (</i><i><span lang="ZH-CN" style="font-family:SimSun;">炒作</span>), incitement to riot and illegal demonstration." Chen Daojun, the man who allegedly masterminded the protest is so far the only one who has been formally arrested. He is facing charges of "inciting subversion of state power". Another two suspects sought by the police are still at large. The above information was released at a press conference by </i><st1:city><st1:place><i>Chengdu</i></st1:place></st1:city><i> police.<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p><i>The mainstream media has little coverage of the May 4 incident. One of the few reports was in the </i><i><span lang="ZH-CN" style="font-family:SimSun;">M</span>ay 5 issue of </i><em><span style="font-style: normal;">The Beijing News</span></em><i>. According to that report, about two hundred people gathered in downtown </i><st1:city><st1:place><i>Chengdu</i></st1:place></st1:city><i> for a "stroll" in protest against plans to construct a combined ethylene plant and oil refinery near the city . The protest lasted about two hours and during the whole process, no banner was carried, no threat of boycott was made, no slogan was yelled. People walked leisurely while policemen watched nervously. Everything went on peacefully, so much so that it was hailed by an editorial in </i><em><span style="font-style: normal;">The Beijing News</span></em><i> on May 6 as a "rational expression of the public opinion". <o:p></o:p></i></p> <p><i>"Rational expression of the public opinion"? But the police did not feel that way.<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal">But there are good reasons to fear of a chemical plant so close to <st1:city><st1:place>Chengdu</st1:place></st1:city>: the earthquake has damaged a chemical plant out there, and 80 tons of toxic liquid ammonia has been released. 600 people died there, not sure if it was chemicals or the quake itself. Two other chemical plants also collapsed. The worst has been the schools and public buildings. They seem to be the most devastated and it makes me wonder if these public building are just older and more vulnerable, or if they were built using less than stringent building codes or cheaper materials. Thousands of students are among the dead.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">My afternoon class submits its preliminary research for their final reports. Pathetic. No research again. These are PhD candidates and 13 weeks into the semester I have seen ZERO research on their topics. Frustrating. Michael, who audits the class, is from <st1:place><st1:placename>Sichuan</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Province</st1:placetype></st1:place>. He is shell-shocked. His city, Leshan, is south of the epicenter, and his family was shaken, but not injured. But he is really sad. The other students are equally sympathetic. Two girls who just happened to be in the classroom when I started class ask if they can stay and I say sure. Maybe they’ll talk? I talk about war coverage, and the poor job most American journalists did in the run up to the <st1:country-region><st1:place>Iraq</st1:place></st1:country-region> war. After all my griping about Chinese journalism, I feel I need to let them know that all is NOT perfect on the other side of the Pacific.<span style=""> </span>The students seem to follow and stay awake, but still, it does not spark much discussion. So disappointing.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I still have not heard from Mary Ekmalian, traveling in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> this week. Her itinerary was not supposed to take her to <st1:state><st1:place>Sichuan</st1:place></st1:state>, so I am assuming she is OK. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Thursday, May 15</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I spend the day hunkered down doing final preps for my talk in <st1:city><st1:place>Nanjing</st1:place></st1:city> tomorrow and working on the two lectures I have now agreed to do in <st1:city><st1:place>Guangzhou</st1:place></st1:city>. I am also reading and watching the earthquake coverage. It is unrelenting grief. The numbers just keep climbing and rescue workers and the army have still not reached the areas closest to the epicenter because the roads have been buried in rockslides or bridges collapsed. The army is taking boats where possible and then hiking 6-8 hours over mountainous terrain to get into the worst areas. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I received an email from a journalist friend asking if I would like to be interviewed about how it feels to “have a daughter of <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>” when so many Chinese are losing the only child they have. I say I am happy to help but not sure that I have any special perspective. I speak with the journalist that evening and the question is vaguely, do I have any special emotional reaction to the earthquake because my daughter is Chinese? I say I feel very sad as a mother, as a human being, but that it is not because my daughter is Chinese. I feel closer to this disaster living in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> than I might if I were living in <st1:city><st1:place>Boston</st1:place></st1:city>. It feels slightly akin to 9-11 with the candlelight vigils, public mourning and wall to wall coverage.<span style=""> </span>The journalist does not seem interested and we end the conversation. But afterwards I wonder what they were after. Should I feel guilty having a Chinese daughter when Chinese families have lost their only child? Like my daughter should be “returned to sender” to some Chinese family in need of a child? I hope that is not what they were after, but it really troubled me that that might be what they were fishing for…disturbing. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Even more disturbing, the government is saying tonight that as many as 50,000 people are presumed dead, even though only about 20,000 bodies have been found. As feared, the closer to the epicenter the relief efforts get, the less likely they are to find people alive. Jim Yardley’s story in the New York Times, of parents at a morgue dressing their dead children in their favorite clothes, or giving them their favorite toy to go into the crematorium with, is just heart-wrenching. So much sadness.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I have little basis for comparison, but according to other journalists here, the coverage of this earthquake is more thorough, balanced and transparent than other major stories here. It certainly is better than the <st1:country-region><st1:place>Tibet</st1:place></st1:country-region> crackdown, but that is not surprising, since <st1:country-region><st1:place>Tibet</st1:place></st1:country-region> was a political issue. I suspect, however, that when we get into the reasons for why so many died, and why buildings collapsed like a deck of cards, we’ll see less critical coverage of potential government responsibility. I am struck by the repeated announcements from Wen Jiaboa, who has been on the scene all week, that the primary mission is to save lives. I guess I feel that goes without saying, but maybe here it needs to be stressed. In the past, apparently, that was not the case. I am reading Colin Thurbon’s book, <i>Shadow of the Silk Road</i> and one Chinese person interviewed says ….”<i>You know, in </i><st1:country-region><st1:place><i>China</i></st1:place></st1:country-region><i>, there is no tradition of respect for human life. It is simply not in our past…..That is our problem: inhumanity.”</i><span style=""> </span>That is certainly not what I have seen here. There seems to be a great outpouring of concern, sadness and money to help the victims. And the people at the epicenter, grieving for their lost friends and family are no different than I would be under the same circumstances, distraught beyond belief. <o:p></o:p></p>Anne Donohuehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17213801988680297535noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9151003418006851422.post-48321297163210896802008-05-13T11:55:00.001-07:002008-05-13T11:55:23.698-07:00Week 12<p class="MsoNormal">Week Twelve</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Saturday May 3</p> <p class="MsoNormal">We called the boys back in <st1:city><st1:place>Boston</st1:place></st1:City> and all is well there. Jeremy was planning a day trip to <st1:state><st1:place>New York</st1:place></st1:State> to see the dreaded Yankees. Rory was looking into summer internships. Over the course of the next few hours the view outside our window went from the usual gray, milky smog to a completely pitch black sky by <st1:time hour="10" minute="0">10 a.m.</st1:time> We had all the lights on and wondered what the heck was going on. Very weird. Many times in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>, I have thought of the book <i>Darkness at Noon</i>, Arthur Koestler’s novel about life under the Soviets, but never more so than on this dark morning. By <st1:time hour="10" minute="30">10:30</st1:time>, it started to pour, harder than it has rained in <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:City> the entire time we’ve been here, and then slowly it grew brighter. By the end of the day, we had sunshine and a cool breeze. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I spent most of the day doing laundry, downloading photos from the trip, catching up on email and online news, and finishing last week’s blog. I had not had a computer all week so it was a long process. Stephen spent the day practicing his Chinese. It amazes me that he is so into this. He has several online lessons and a few books and together he’s determined to master at least basic Chinese. This may turn into a family competition, to see who can learn the most. I am more than willing to concede defeat.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">After dinner we called my mother and we all sang her Happy Birthday in Chinese: <i>shang ri quai le</i>. Stephen also checked in with his mother, and learned that his father is doing well in rehab after breaking his hip last week. He should be home in a few days. All in all an uneventful, but necessary down day.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Sunday May 4</p> <p class="MsoNormal">We headed into the Temple of Heaven Park. Stephen had never been and I had been there in the freezing winter of 1998 and scorching summer of 2005, but never been there on a nice day. After yesterday’s storm, it was turning out to be a lovely day outside.(<i> The China Daily</i> today says there have been 84 “blue sky” days in the first four months of 2008…..which sky were they looking at???). The park is vast, but not much activity. I thought we’d see more kites and Frisbees, but this seemed more solemn. But the peonies, roses and wisteria were all in bloom, so it was pleasant. We went from there to the Pearl Market across the street and bought a few more gifts. Stephen patiently waited while I haggled. Rui Pei Pei Pearls is not what it used to be – more expensive and more perturbed bored salespeople. We then ventured to the toy market next door, where Stephen and Katie were about to buy a Nintendo DS for 700 <i>quai</i> until they got down to the <i>real</i> price (which included games), that was more than 1000. No go.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">We took a cab home and I noticed several Chinese flags hanging out dorm windows of a nearby university. This is the first overtly nationalistic symbol I’ve seen. I wonder if the dorms at Renmin are similarly adorned –I see only one at this end of our campus.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>I am reading <i>The Bookseller of Kabul</i> and for all my complaints about life in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>, this is a paradise compared to <st1:country-region><st1:place>Afghanistan</st1:place></st1:country-region>. I wonder how my friend Sarah Chayes has managed to stay there so long. A better woman than I.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Monday May 5</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Head into my office for a full day of work. I’m prepping for this week’s classes, plus two guest lectures in Renmin colleagues’ classes on Tuesday and Wednesday mornings, plus I’ve agreed to give a lecture on Chinese adoptees at <st1:place><st1:placename>Nanjing</st1:PlaceName> <st1:placetype>University</st1:PlaceType></st1:place> next week. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">The research for the adoption lecture is tricky to find. All my books and resources on this topic are back in the States and online sources are often blocked blogs. But I send out a slew of emails to adoption aficionados and get a fair number of positive responses, with leads to good information. Several years ago, I read Kay Johnson’s book <i>Wanting A Daughter, Needing A Son</i> and remember the highlights. The piece that is hard for me to get my head around is her research that indicated that 80+% of adoptees have sisters still in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>. I am haunted by this. Somehow, knowing there are birthparents I can deal with, but siblings seems harder to grasp.<span style=""> </span>I know Katie is curious about this too. I am torn between my desire for her to know more about her past and fear and confusion about what we would do if we “found” some relation. The prospect of finding some biological relative are extremely slim and I don’t think “family” is defined by biology, but still, I think it would be good to fill in as many of the blanks on Katie’s origins as possible.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Tuesday</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I return to my colleague “Judy’s” class to give her students feedback on US journalism practices. The students have done a content analysis of several <st1:country-region><st1:place>US</st1:place></st1:country-region> publications (NY Times, Time magazine, Washington Post) and are looking for evidence of anti-Chinese bias. One student found the Post’s coverage of pre-Olympic food issues to be mostly balanced and sensitive to Chinese culture, but she took exception to two passages. In one, the lead is (paraphrasing here) “The Chinese are concerned about food safety after several recent incidents of tainted food ..examples 1,2,3….BUT, the IOC is confident food will be safe for the Olympic Games.”<span style=""> </span>She felt the lead should have started with “the IOC is confident…” and if the Post wanted to mention previous food issues it should have quoted specific sources, not just “the Chinese”.<span style=""> </span>I disagreed, and found this to be very slim evidence to call “western media bias”.<span style=""> </span>The same student also quarreled with another passage: (paraphrasing again) “Premier Wen Jiabao says inflation will stay under 4.6%. But outside economists say it will be much worse.”<span style=""> </span>She says the outside economists need to be named…the Post is deliberately trying to undercut the credibility of Wen’s statement. <span style=""> </span>I argued that if she can find an economist who thinks the economy is doing fine, let me know. But with oil prices skyrocketing and food prices doubling, I think it is fair to say that most economists think inflation will continue to rise.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Another student looked at the NYTimes editorials over the past seven years and found 11 on <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>, 9 of which had to do with <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>’s human rights violations, one on pollution and one on security. He felt that emphasis on human rights was presenting a skewed image of <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>. I didn’t disagree with that, but I did ask him if he was aware of <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>’s human rights abuses. He said he knew of two journalists who were jailed, but otherwise, could offer no other examples. I suggested that he read the Times news pages and other western sources on this issue to round out his knowledge on this. I also asked how the Chinese government gets feedback on whether policies are working or not, if there is no independent reporting of how things are going. They told me about <i>leican</i>, internal newspapers produced by journalists and academics that are circulated only to the upper echelons of the Party. They also told me there is a similar <i>leican </i>at the Renmin student newspaper. Students report back secretly to the administration about what students and faculty are doing/saying without the students or faculty knowing they are being reported on…Apparently there was a very independent, critical student newspaper here a few years ago, but the Renmin administration shut it down because they didn’t like the heat. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Then the discussion devolved into <st1:country-region><st1:place>Tibet</st1:place></st1:country-region> again. And one student informed me that Tibetans only bathe three times a year. When I scoffed at this, saying that must be an urban legend, he and the other students assured me that this was the case. Now I really need to go to <st1:country-region><st1:place>Tibet</st1:place></st1:country-region> to find out the truth of what is going on there. Bathroom journalism! </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I am very curious what the students’ final papers will look like and I request that they send them to me. If I get any, I will include them in the blog later. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">What has been encouraging is the reporting done by Chinese papers on both the child labor scandal in <st1:state><st1:place>Guangdong</st1:place></st1:State> and the enterovirus deaths in <st1:state><st1:place>Anhui</st1:place></st1:State>. In both cases the newspapers scolded local officials for not finding out about the labor conditions themselves and in the <st1:state><st1:place>Anhui</st1:place></st1:State> case, not reporting on the disease sooner. So at least occasionally, there can be criticism of local officials when they drop the ball. <i>The China Daily </i>reported on the <st1:state><st1:place>Guangdong</st1:place></st1:State> child labor situation, but said they could only document one confirmed case of a child being locked into a factory job against his will. The <st1:state><st1:place>Guangdong</st1:place></st1:State> paper that broke the story said as many as 1000 kids were “sold” as virtual slaves to this factory. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">The <st1:place>Hong Kong</st1:place> papers have also managed to keep a great deal of autonomy. Maybe, slowly, the notion of an independent press will spread north, <st1:place><st1:city>Hong Kong</st1:City>, <st1:state>Guangdong</st1:State></st1:place> today, <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:City> tomorrow??</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I go to my afternoon undergrad class and I am a bit disappointed on the stories they have written. Most are fluffy features, taking video and copy <span style=""> </span>right off websites. I give a lecture on plagiarism and then stress that original reporting, digging for facts/truth/depth, is what journalism is about, not being a stenographer and regurgitating facts supplied from PR folks. They need to remember to ask WHY something is happening, not just tell me it happened. I hope their next two assignments are stronger. I would like to post those on the blog in the future as well. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">After class, grad student Michael interviews me for a travel story in the <i>China Daily</i>. I reluctantly agree to help him, even though the <i>China Daily</i> is my least favorite publication. I will be in next week’s edition, complete with photos. Check it out!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Later, Eve stops by. She has been contacted by five Yiyang adoptive families asking her to get information or take photos for them. So hopefully she’ll have a little business next time she returns home. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Wednesday</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Today I give a guest lecture in Li Qingsi’s class. He is a fellow I met at a luncheon of Fulbright alumni when we first arrived in February. He teaches International Relations here. The students were armed with examples of what in their view was negative coverage of <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> by western media. I asked them if they had also assessed the coverage of George Bush – I am sure that coverage would have been negative through their lens, and I explained that being a critical check on governments and institutions is the purpose of western journalism. Western journalists are not there to be cheerleaders for the party line. Anything that is not glowing boosterism ala <i>China Daily</i>, is seen as an attack on <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>. One student asked why Americans had such negative views of <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> (he had some American poll data that said between 48-58% of Americans had a negative view of <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> over the past few years). I said the history in the 20<sup>th</sup> century, from civil war, to communist takeover, to cultural revolution, to Tiananmen 1989 (this was the first time I had mentioned 1989 publicly in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>), had left a negative view on the part of the older generation. He quickly jumped in and said that <st1:country-region><st1:place>America</st1:place></st1:country-region> had its own case of killing students at <st1:place><st1:placename>Kent</st1:PlaceName> <st1:placename>State</st1:PlaceName></st1:place>. I politely said that I was fully aware of all of the ills of <st1:country-region><st1:place>America</st1:place></st1:country-region>, and that I was not here to defend the <st1:country-region><st1:place>USA</st1:place></st1:country-region>. But I reminded him that he had asked why Americans had a negative view of <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>. <span style=""> </span>I also privately bristled at him equating <st1:place><st1:placename>Kent</st1:PlaceName> <st1:placename>State</st1:PlaceName></st1:place> with Tiananmen. <st1:place><st1:placename>Kent</st1:PlaceName> <st1:placename>State</st1:PlaceName></st1:place>, in my recollection, was prompted by trigger-happy National Guardsmen, acting on their own or with confusing instructions from superiors, killing four student protestors. Tiananmen 1989 was a decision directed by the highest leadership in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> to shoot and roll tanks over hundreds, perhaps thousands of students in the dark of night. In <st1:country-region><st1:place>America</st1:place></st1:country-region>, the <st1:place><st1:placename>Kent</st1:PlaceName> <st1:placename>State</st1:PlaceName></st1:place> shootings were investigated publicly. In Tiananmen, the whole event is brushed under the rug and not mentioned in any history books. Any website mentioning it is blocked. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I am slowly beginning to realize how effective the Chinese government has been in developing a whole generation of Chinese who unwaveringly support them. Lulled by a booming economy and an educational system that discourages critical thinking and reinforces the Chinese history of oppression at the hand of westerners (not their own government’s repression), most of the next generation of Chinese is not looking for western style freedoms. Any criticism from outsiders is viewed as racist or imperialist, anyone who criticizes from inside is seen as unpatriotic or a traitor. The brilliant public relations strategy, to turn the news about the <st1:country-region><st1:place>Tibet</st1:place></st1:country-region> crackdown, into a story about westerners (media) once again ganging up on <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>, was a stroke of genius. Of course there are exceptions to this and many of my students and other Chinese I meet and speak with privately can see the government propaganda for what it is and are able to have a more nuanced view of the west. But there is a well organized mass sentiment that the west is out to get <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>. There is a thin-skinned defensiveness that has really surprised me. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">After this lecture I head to my afternoon class where we discuss ethical issues of what images, stills or video, are OK to publish, and what crosses the line. The same three students engage in discussion, and the rest of the class remains mute. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Before I leave my office, I finally take the time to listen to the interview I gave to <i>BU Today</i>, the <st1:place><st1:placename>Boston</st1:PlaceName> <st1:placetype>University</st1:PlaceType></st1:place> news website. (<st1:stockticker>LINK</st1:stockticker>) I am blown away by the volume and the ferociousness of the responses. More evidence that no criticism of <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> is tolerated, even among a vocal group of Chinese living at BU. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I spent three hours on line or on the phone last night working out the logistics for the next four days. Katie goes to the city of <st1:city><st1:place>Tianjin</st1:place></st1:City> by train tomorrow with her class to see another school’s Exhibition. She needs to be picked up early in the a.m. and retrieved later in the afternoon. So I need to find someone who can translate that information to Shen Shifu.(call Michael). Shen Shifu needs some clarification (text message Eve).<span style=""> </span>Friday, Katie has a track meet at another private school out in the far eastern part of the city and we need to arrange late pick up and we need a babysitter (email Eve). Stephen and I want to go see Madame Butterfly at the National Theater, but need a translator to order the tickets and arrange delivery (email Celine back and forth 3 times). And Stephen and I need to hire a driver t take us to the furniture village on Sunday (text message Simon). I also need to work out daycare and travel for Katie when I go to Nanjng and <st1:city><st1:place>Guangzhou</st1:place></st1:City> (Celine is unavailable). Every interaction is complicated and time-consuming….and especially so when the internet is only connected sporadically. For the past several nights it goes off at <st1:time minute="0" hour="22">10pm</st1:time> and doesn’t kick in again until after <st1:time minute="0" hour="9">9am</st1:time>. And it shuts off for no apparent reason several times during the rest of the day. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Thursday</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Katie is up early for her field trip to <st1:city><st1:place>Tianjin</st1:place></st1:City>, a city about an hour away by train. I had been following reports of the deaths in <st1:place><st1:placename>Anhui</st1:PlaceName> <st1:placetype>Province</st1:PlaceType></st1:place> from the hand, foot and mouth enterovirus that has killed 26 children. What I hadn’t realized until I read this morning’s paper, was that 1400 cases have been reported in <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:City>, many of them in the district where Katie goes to school. So now I am shoving bacterial wipes into Katie’s backpack, and berating her to keep her hands out of her mouth and wash her hands obsessively. I don’t want to scare her, but this disease, even if it isn’t always fatal, can lead to meningitis and encephalitis. And Katie is pretty lackadaisical about what she puts into her mouth. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We saw on the web that the Olympic torch had made it to the top of <st1:place><st1:placetype>Mt.</st1:PlaceType> <st1:placename>Everest</st1:PlaceName></st1:place>. I turned on the TV for the first time since we’ve been here, and watched re-runs of the morning’s ascent (with commentary in Chinese). It was quite spectacular. As a former TV producer, I was marveling at the number and variety of camera angles that they were able get and transmit from such an inhospitable peak. It was an ambitious undertaking and I’m glad it was a success. The whole production was layered with this very dramatic music, but it actually seemed appropriate to the drama of the ascent.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I had lunch with Li Qingsi, the international relations guy whose class I guest lectured to yesterday. His specialty is US-China relations and he had just returned from a conference in <st1:state><st1:place>New Mexico</st1:place></st1:State>, somewhere near the <st1:place><st1:city>El Paso</st1:City>, <st1:state>TX</st1:State></st1:place> border, where he spoke for only 16 minutes. A long way to go for a short speech! He was pretty upbeat about the direction <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> is heading. His brother remains on the family farm, and now pays NO taxes, as well as receives a stipend of (not sure I’ve got this number right) 24RMB ($3.50) a month to continue farming. Li says farmers have never had it so good. He also says as long as economic growth continues at 10% a year, he doesn’t see the Chinese clamoring for more political reforms. Everyone is doing better economically and that is all that matters. He also boasted of the new high speed railroad that will go between <st1:city><st1:place>Shanghai</st1:place></st1:City> and <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:City>. He said the difference between <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> and <st1:country-region><st1:place>India</st1:place></st1:country-region>, is that because <st1:country-region><st1:place>India</st1:place></st1:country-region> is a democracy, they would take forever to approve such a massive project, but here, in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>, they just DO IT. I asked what happens to all the folks who will be displaced to build this project and he dismissed that concern. They will be compensated for their land and then unemployed. And undoubtedly, the jobs created to build the rail will benefit many more than will be hurt by this project.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Katie gets home late afternoon from <st1:city><st1:place>Tianjin</st1:place></st1:City> and reports that the city stinks, but the train ride there and back was fun…..but no, they do not sing baby songs on the train.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I spent the remainder of the day and late into the evening on the power point for the adoption lecture I will give in <st1:city><st1:place>Nanjing</st1:place></st1:City>. I am really enjoying all the research and gathering all this data in one place. On schedule, the internet dies around <st1:time minute="00" hour="22">10pm</st1:time>. Stephen sarcastically suggests that this will trigger the real big uproar in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>. “Forget human rights, forget pollution and poverty….if you take away people’s internet, they will revolt!” And Stephen will be leading the charge!!<o:p></o:p></p>Anne Donohuehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17213801988680297535noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9151003418006851422.post-44291997927582140572008-05-04T04:53:00.000-07:002008-05-04T06:50:53.331-07:00Week 11....We find HeavenFriday – April 25 <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Katie heads off to school and Stephen and I head up to <st1:place><st1:placename>Beijing</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>University</st1:placetype></st1:place>. It is a gorgeous campus, much larger than Renmin. There is a beautiful lake with everything in bloom around it.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfRYPcJwn1Os5vU7B5JWlmzS_NIFFKvj72SY8gf08uGX54nPag7KETCyzFA6Arhyl0V9dDuD7BR6MzQQXEnmnRNk1_USyiwlQYZ7LC_OpiSPG9w-njyQjvKA5nL40mSyoM2JCJQPPVHUVo/s1600-h/Pictures+from+Chengdu+004.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 275px; height: 206px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfRYPcJwn1Os5vU7B5JWlmzS_NIFFKvj72SY8gf08uGX54nPag7KETCyzFA6Arhyl0V9dDuD7BR6MzQQXEnmnRNk1_USyiwlQYZ7LC_OpiSPG9w-njyQjvKA5nL40mSyoM2JCJQPPVHUVo/s320/Pictures+from+Chengdu+004.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196491459920819826" border="0" /></a> We see a camera crew shooting a guy doing martial arts at the side of the lake. It turns out the kung-fu master was Italian, as was the camera crew.<span style=""> </span>We meander around the campus and stumble upon the <st1:place><st1:placename>Sackler</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Museum</st1:placetype></st1:place>. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCbagA0rkrumZzLhYyd4a933c9QFEqxVOv1HrYNkntiJqnMoLCi_tocyZwl4lwM-zMHhbjdObEDcW-Z5-1-bwtSj0lEr6EYW80sBaDdf5gJP-Cv82lgHn4Mv8Cs3RR_qbB4eYim9TblISh/s1600-h/Pictures+from+Chengdu+008.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 286px; height: 215px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCbagA0rkrumZzLhYyd4a933c9QFEqxVOv1HrYNkntiJqnMoLCi_tocyZwl4lwM-zMHhbjdObEDcW-Z5-1-bwtSj0lEr6EYW80sBaDdf5gJP-Cv82lgHn4Mv8Cs3RR_qbB4eYim9TblISh/s320/Pictures+from+Chengdu+008.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196491717618857602" border="0" /></a>The museum holds the skeleton of a 24,000 year old man, or I think that is what it said. There are tools, pots and cooking vessels from the earliest humans in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> and detailed explanation of the various settlements along the Yellow and <st1:place><st1:placename>Yangtze</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>River basins</st1:placetype></st1:place>. The descriptions are in excellent English (unlike most museums where one has to really work to get the English meaning).<span style=""> </span>I am slowly beginning to get a timeline in my head about the various Chinese Dynasties. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We return to Renmin and invite Eve over for lunch. Stephen has brought a lot of documents from Yiyang to show her. He also brought her a gorgeous photo book of Walden and another book of Thoreau’s essays about <st1:place>Cape Cod</st1:place>. She keeps calling him Mr. Conlin!</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgihmwhwvxRPP3cIlnejBwEhHPlikDblrBi7hsPAKDXLp1S4qF44WEYVKFVmH20TOJj8Ct3Zm6sRKdpGBkjj-leolyNV3fjvDTytiLeyfYrUvoe8b8S52q5df3U3s8Tbzn4PcpPCIkNQh3k/s1600-h/Pictures+from+Chengdu+018.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 278px; height: 208px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgihmwhwvxRPP3cIlnejBwEhHPlikDblrBi7hsPAKDXLp1S4qF44WEYVKFVmH20TOJj8Ct3Zm6sRKdpGBkjj-leolyNV3fjvDTytiLeyfYrUvoe8b8S52q5df3U3s8Tbzn4PcpPCIkNQh3k/s320/Pictures+from+Chengdu+018.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196492580907284114" border="0" /></a>At <st1:time minute="30" hour="14">2:30</st1:time>, Shen Shifu picks us up and we go to Katie’s school. Shen Shifu then drives all of us to the <st1:place><st1:placename>Lama</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Temple</st1:placetype></st1:place> and we stroll around there. I really need to take a crash course on <st1:country-region><st1:place>Tibet</st1:place></st1:country-region> and Buddhism. The temple is lovely, but after a while, I feel like I did when I was in <st1:place>Europe</st1:place>, one gorgeous cathedral after another, and then they all blend together. The most memorable thing at this temple is the giant Buddha, in the Guinness book of World Records. It is three stories high made of a single piece of wood.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">From the <st1:place><st1:placename>Lama</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Temple</st1:placetype></st1:place> we head off to an early dinner with Mark (Ma Chenyi). Mark was our wonderful guide when we adopted Katie ten years ago. I dubbed him Katie’s “godfather” because he was so helpful to me during our first special days with Katie. Mark is now married to a lovely woman who is still in the adoption field. They met at the airport one day when both were surrounded by a gaggle of adoptive families. They both went to grad school in <st1:city><st1:place>St. Louis</st1:place></st1:city> at <st1:place><st1:placename>Washington</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>University</st1:placetype></st1:place> and got masters degrees in social work. Mark now works for the World Wildlife Fund. We had dinner at an old family restaurant with a beautiful courtyard. It was on a street full of restaurants so we’ll have to remember how to get back there. It was just great to see Mark again. He looks the same, but seems older and wiser, and somehow, reminded me of Bill Gates with his mannerisms and speaking style. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Saturday April 26</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Stephen checks his email first thing and we get one entitled “bad news” from Stephen’s sister, Maureen. Stephen’s father fell and broke his hip. He is having surgery tomorrow. Unfortunately, we are headed to <st1:city><st1:place>Chengdu</st1:place></st1:city>, the capital of <st1:place><st1:placename>Sichuan</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Province</st1:placetype></st1:place> in southwest <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> and not sure how much internet access we’ll have. I know Stephen is worried. <span style=""> </span>We get to the Beijing airport, the shiny new Terminal Three. We wait in line to check in and told the <st1:time hour="11" minute="0">11am</st1:time> flight is “delayed” and we need to go over “there” somewhere to see if we can get an earlier flight. We wait in another long line and the first flight we can get is not until <st1:time hour="15" minute="0">3pm</st1:time>, and it leaves from Terminal One. While Stephen is waiting to get the new tickets, I go to the ATM to get money, but the machine is broken, then I attempt to go to the ladies room, but it is out of order. So much for the “new” terminal!! We have lunch/snack at Starbucks and Haagen Das and a Chinese noodle place at the airport and then take a shuttle bus that says it goes to terminal 1 and 2. Katie and I shove our way onto the bus, while Stephen gets the luggage loaded under the bus. But it is so packed, I fear he will not get himself on the bus and we’ll be split up. Thankfully, he squeezes himself on at the last minute. The ride is maybe 15-20 minutes, going back on the highway. And it leaves us at Terminal Two. The driver motions for us to walk to the left to find Terminal One. Well, it is a very long walk, maybe a half mile or more, to Terminal One. Why the shuttle bus can’t take you there is a mystery. I am really glad we had hours to kill, because the total time to get from Terminal Three to our Gate in Terminal one was more than an hour. We would never have made a quick change. The three hour flight to <st1:city><st1:place>Chengdu</st1:place></st1:city> is very bumpy, jumpy, and scary and the flight attendants incessantly come on the speaker to tell us that “we are experiencing turbulence”….like we didn’t know? </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We arrive in <st1:city><st1:place>Chengdu</st1:place></st1:city> and are greeted by our guide, a young woman named Echo, whose English is quite good. She takes us to the hotel, and we are in a smoking room, which really reeks of cigarettes. But we’re tired and decide to stay. We go out for a little walk. Looks like another big, dirty, Chinese city, with the checkerboard of glitzy malls and dumpy garage-style shops. Stephen calls home on his cell phone and checks in with his mother. His father’s hip surgery went well and he’ll head to rehab in a few days. We all feel relieved that he is OK. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Sunday. April 27</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We have a buffet breakfast at the hotel and then Echo meets us for a drive out to the Panda Preserve. It is a huge park, with groves of bamboo and other lush vegetation all around. We go up a flight of stairs and resting on branch in front of us is our first panda. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-US0iCrjjaaa9vNL6o-IbFfmlcCEbIprw9cUTvi6m0jgbLAerBhyphenhyphenmC1LFdWRw_GuEeL2VPupN_6CC3BiRrKTZOki2oAHJc_9jyeC-NEorEW5wPZO2H-ULv14vuzQxe1oAERw7U7lJL7Qn/s1600-h/100_2978.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 293px; height: 195px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-US0iCrjjaaa9vNL6o-IbFfmlcCEbIprw9cUTvi6m0jgbLAerBhyphenhyphenmC1LFdWRw_GuEeL2VPupN_6CC3BiRrKTZOki2oAHJc_9jyeC-NEorEW5wPZO2H-ULv14vuzQxe1oAERw7U7lJL7Qn/s320/100_2978.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196490502143112802" border="0" /></a>This is a young one, chomping on some bamboo. He lumbers over to us, and sits down about four or five feet from us, separated by a cement ravine. He looks right at me and playfully chomps on his bamboo. Very cute. We come up to another area where there are twin pandas, “adopted” says the sign by International Data Group. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOSZ_vVuQNCDBsNajfbj0M9O-BWQTiUOPs4FHOIj1LxXBYWNo9lycqd_V5wnJXkLPlU74hGKm29trz99yrYeeyvj73pB7v3c-mDNrnWMMuDLlVVh-ShN-K8Ey1y2e1He0G4yJBW9Q1VS5n/s1600-h/100_3010.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 301px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOSZ_vVuQNCDBsNajfbj0M9O-BWQTiUOPs4FHOIj1LxXBYWNo9lycqd_V5wnJXkLPlU74hGKm29trz99yrYeeyvj73pB7v3c-mDNrnWMMuDLlVVh-ShN-K8Ey1y2e1He0G4yJBW9Q1VS5n/s320/100_3010.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196494389088515762" border="0" /></a>I believe that is the company that Hugo Shong founded (he and I were at Fletcher and BU at the same time, but did not meet until a few years ago when he became a trustee at BU). We then go to the next area and a bunch of giant pandas, maybe 5 or 6 are playing in a pool of water. Down the road a young one takes a ride down a slide. At one point the guide says if we want to hold a baby panda, now is the time. We go over to a closed door that says “staff only”, and fork over a lot of money….I am embarrassed to say how much but more than is rational! <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL92getMaOEaRnhRhJd2kKWRajyHaO7dfjy55TbA3Tr_0kgDwS0GqqvrCReA304IfWqDA1F5JsN4R_Lvylft-ISxIPx7M1-LBtjMUEFSwAsqqQ2z0BRJlEMW6u2T6-g3EVXH41H-CSVL52/s1600-h/100_2995.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL92getMaOEaRnhRhJd2kKWRajyHaO7dfjy55TbA3Tr_0kgDwS0GqqvrCReA304IfWqDA1F5JsN4R_Lvylft-ISxIPx7M1-LBtjMUEFSwAsqqQ2z0BRJlEMW6u2T6-g3EVXH41H-CSVL52/s320/100_2995.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196493620289369762" border="0" /></a>Katie and I are admitted inside quickly, and the door closes behind us. Stephen is not allowed in, and he is having a coronary over the money I just shelled out. Inside, they give us booties to put on our feet and Katie is draped in a surgical gown. The family before us must have paid double, because they have mom and daughter suited up and the dad and grand-dad are both there with cameras. They get a few minutes with the panda and then it is Katie’s turn. They sit her on a bench and bring in the baby panda for her to hold. It is almost as big as she is and she tells me later she almost dropped it. I snap four or five pictures with the panda on her lap and I am waiting for them to sit the panda beside her for another set of photos like the previous family took, but she is whisked away and a new customer is on the bench. All told, we had maybe 45 seconds with the panda. Worth it? Not really. But if I hadn’t done it, I’d kick myself later, I’m sure. Katie is ecstatic!! So for her, it was definitely worth it. After an hour or two of pandemonium we take a quick walk through the area that is set aside for red pandas, who look more like raccoons than pandas. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">From panda heaven we go to lunch and learn that <st1:state><st1:place>Sichuan</st1:place></st1:state> food really is the spiciest stuff on the planet. We also learn the words <i>bu la</i>: no spice, for future food orders! Then we go to <st1:place><st1:placename>Renmin</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Park</st1:placetype></st1:place>, a lovely park in the center of <st1:city><st1:place>Chengdu</st1:place></st1:city>. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOrmCvlk9QcXX29PHpM1YEBK3AKUNiYQD10SC6tFSe-I6COpV0l_0I37IQliT-u90k30BA7ZVukbnLd8FyxmIolcH7pdYchtV79_x09ZkgEvqsxxADoh4-B2gB6yW-DCma1JN4_o_nSmyq/s1600-h/100_3027.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOrmCvlk9QcXX29PHpM1YEBK3AKUNiYQD10SC6tFSe-I6COpV0l_0I37IQliT-u90k30BA7ZVukbnLd8FyxmIolcH7pdYchtV79_x09ZkgEvqsxxADoh4-B2gB6yW-DCma1JN4_o_nSmyq/s320/100_3027.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196495050513479362" border="0" /></a>Everyone is out for a Sunday in spring. Echo, our guide, treats us to a candy lollipop, made to order for us. We spin a wheel and whatever animal it lands on, the candy maker pours the hot sugary substance on a slab or marble and creates this ornate, thread-thin outline of an animal. I get a dragon which is extra special and very tasty! In the teahouse in the park, people play board games or sprawl out for a nap. Children in split pants are everywhere. We also see two men walking around clinking two small pieces of metal together and hawking their trade. Echo explains that these are ear cleaners who will clean out your ear wax in the park!<span style=""> </span>At one point we see a bunch of large color wedding photos with some old black and white passport photos attached. Apparently, during the cultural revolution or other times of real poverty, people could not afford a wedding or a photo, so now, they bring black and white photos of themselves in Mao suits and this guy digitizes them into these color glossies of<span style=""> </span>them in tux and white dress to create a faux wedding photo. Later, we go into this wysteria covered gazebo and listen to “karoke” of sorts. Old folks are belting out Communist Revolutionary theme songs in one corner, while another group is offering up Tibetan dance and song. The Tibetan dancer wears a cowboy hat and his two women companions are dressed to kill in glitzy costumes and spike heels. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrPBWkrg40x1hVeeRt8yVwn6t87MeGfpoY8I_QtLzNBesGStsD8bJnwdWgLK2P-ooIyU0GijVr2lOfApWTTclG7-ZMvW3LFl0PJn7tIMEwq1tJyA7c_Bn_C61L3EP6ct4ZmgnZznQh_-aG/s1600-h/100_3042.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrPBWkrg40x1hVeeRt8yVwn6t87MeGfpoY8I_QtLzNBesGStsD8bJnwdWgLK2P-ooIyU0GijVr2lOfApWTTclG7-ZMvW3LFl0PJn7tIMEwq1tJyA7c_Bn_C61L3EP6ct4ZmgnZznQh_-aG/s320/100_3042.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196495832197527250" border="0" /></a>A bit later, we see a group of dolled up older Chinese women doing ballroom dancing, and they manage to enlist a western tourist to join them on the dance floor. The American man looks a little awkward, but his Chinese dance partner, a 60-ish woman with a red-dyed bouffant hairdo, is beaming!!<span style=""> </span>On another park bench we see notebooks filled with dossiers in Chinese. This is matchmaking in the park. Mothers bring <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi381I86yB1QVsS1gyPBPvxHDbrgUw-K4U0R5HK5tSSpbs9AlTTx8Cju0CYEmf7Sg3A-kqLx1QOC7yQk30ZuUOPI3A4Y8U5n0vxe01c6x9FYCuClcZZvg4rc9Lv8QmKDQUiqDmzE6tWsO9w/s1600-h/100_3040.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi381I86yB1QVsS1gyPBPvxHDbrgUw-K4U0R5HK5tSSpbs9AlTTx8Cju0CYEmf7Sg3A-kqLx1QOC7yQk30ZuUOPI3A4Y8U5n0vxe01c6x9FYCuClcZZvg4rc9Lv8QmKDQUiqDmzE6tWsO9w/s320/100_3040.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196497021903468258" border="0" /></a>pictures of their sons and daughters, complete with information such as education, occupation and SALARY, and put them in the notebooks so that other mothers can check out prospective dates/mates for their children. A very low-tech match.com….orchestrated by the mothers.<span style=""> </span>I am so glad we took this stroll through the park instead of going to the museum which was on our planned itinerary. What a lovely little window into ordinary Chinese lives.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">From there we went to a silk “factory”…there are dozens of these show “factories” all over <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>. You get a demonstration on how the silk, in this case (or jade, or cloisonné, or porcelain) are made and then get a hard sell sales pitch to buy from their overpriced store. But despite the sales pitch, it was fascinating to learn how silk is made, from mulberry tree cocoon to gorgeous embroidered quilts, clothing and artwork, even if the whole scene is contrived. We did buy a few scarves there, but know we could do much better price-wise at some other location. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">For dinner, Stephen orders a curried chicken dish, but does not say <i>bu la</i> so he has to leave dinner early to go take a shower. The sweat was literally pouring off his face. I am glad I ordered a western club sandwich and fries!<span style=""> </span>After dinner, we go to a variety of show of <st1:state><st1:place>Sichuan</st1:place></st1:state> opera, hand puppets, mask-changing magic, and shadow-finger show. Very cheesey, but Katie enjoyed it.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Monday April 28</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We check out at 10 and head to Leshan, about two hours away, to see the Giant Buddha. The ride out is lovely, through rice paddies and tea plantations. We stop at one roadside tea “factory” and taste a few teas and walk through a tea grove. I buy some jasmine tea allegedly grown in this area….although someone else has told me it is a specialty of <st1:state><st1:place>Fujian</st1:place></st1:state> province along the southeast coast.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We eat lunch in Leshan, and order some of the food that my student Michael, who is from Leshan, had written down for us to order….but we remember to say <i>bu la</i> this time. It is all delicious and I text message Michael back in <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:city>, to thank him for his good recommendations. From there we head to a boat dock and board a ferry out onto the river. We wait around for enough other tourists to board. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeargNVK79-my5Ecax3uDTfUsPSpYi0QAsXl4iWuyaonfzwyXcCLakfouUxHkt8aORwjCOmv_PYHbf2YIdT7yYG_nB0-i4KfKqsZUVehAf9jEbX2doCqSCbvvAtgu4mxqMTtHD8AFbMaEe/s1600-h/Pictures+from+Chengdu+134.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 291px; height: 218px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeargNVK79-my5Ecax3uDTfUsPSpYi0QAsXl4iWuyaonfzwyXcCLakfouUxHkt8aORwjCOmv_PYHbf2YIdT7yYG_nB0-i4KfKqsZUVehAf9jEbX2doCqSCbvvAtgu4mxqMTtHD8AFbMaEe/s320/Pictures+from+Chengdu+134.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196499345480775410" border="0" /></a>A group of country bumpkins want to take their pictures with Stephen, who, Echo translates, they think is a movie star -- which one, I am not sure!<span style=""> </span>We take the boat along the river and carved into the cliff is a Giant, (maybe 15 story tall) Buddha. It is the largest Buddha in the world. His ears are 7 meters long. (I think the <st1:city><st1:place>Chengdu</st1:place></st1:city> park ear-cleaners would have a field day here!) Very impressive. It is situated at the confluence of three rivers, and many people were killed in the treacherous waters. So in 713 AD, the Buddha <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0jh2Tb76C5CNTjxVd13bYq-dXZ97D74tRtB3-OzY5-5wEzTlXZMf2KykoS4qzwTJ1eyV5eWt7j_C6zgaXO2xDtn8TPeIWE6U_NwcEVTLuhUSJNodf8pPTZQr8tlCtC9FxePEP76a62VJ4/s1600-h/Pictures+from+Chengdu+159.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 241px; height: 298px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0jh2Tb76C5CNTjxVd13bYq-dXZ97D74tRtB3-OzY5-5wEzTlXZMf2KykoS4qzwTJ1eyV5eWt7j_C6zgaXO2xDtn8TPeIWE6U_NwcEVTLuhUSJNodf8pPTZQr8tlCtC9FxePEP76a62VJ4/s320/Pictures+from+Chengdu+159.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196500273193711362" border="0" /></a>was carved into the cliff to protect the boats. After we leave the boat we take a hike up the side of the cliff and stand above the Buddha looking back down at the river. This is a lovely park and walk, and another bunch of country bumpkins want our photo. This time I look like the movie star, apparently! I think this group has had a liquid lunch…they are effusively friendly! Leaving the Buddha we descend this long staircase. Ahead of me is an elderly woman, less than five feet tall, who is carrying a 6 or7 foot load on her back, full of plastic bottles. She will recycle them for money. About half way down the stairs, I give her my bottle and she is beams with this extraordinary smile across her wizened face. <span style=""> </span>I marvel at her industriousness, but I worry about so many elderly Chinese women, scrounging for a few <i>jiao</i> to stay alive.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We leave Leshan and return to <st1:city><st1:place>Chengdu</st1:place></st1:city> for a night flight to Lijiang. We eat dinner at the airport Kentucky Fried Chicken. Stephen orders in Chinese and he is so proud of himself that they understood what he wanted. I think it is great that he is so into learning the language! I think the three of us should divvy up the vocabulary and each learn something useful, rather than all of us learning the same stuff and being only a third as competent. But Katie nixes that idea. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The flight to Lijiang leaves at <st1:time minute="30" hour="8">8:30</st1:time>. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9-Hj3ymEJopV1LmFo6Z-GQOzcrVKQPCeHxoroC9HKKJMydaFbAXOsoo5NaA-34kyiliGImBRyD9w3X90cz1cxuPDhjzJ2jfumqgqFAZRDJXe5nOzIfufETILUzidJbWiuDdxD1G_Vikd8/s1600-h/100_3066a.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 279px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9-Hj3ymEJopV1LmFo6Z-GQOzcrVKQPCeHxoroC9HKKJMydaFbAXOsoo5NaA-34kyiliGImBRyD9w3X90cz1cxuPDhjzJ2jfumqgqFAZRDJXe5nOzIfufETILUzidJbWiuDdxD1G_Vikd8/s320/100_3066a.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196508399271835522" border="0" /></a>Lijiang is in <st1:place><st1:placename>Yunnan</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Province</st1:placetype></st1:place>, bordering <st1:country-region><st1:place>Tibet</st1:place></st1:country-region>. We will be in the mountains in a ancient village that UNESCO declared a world heritage site in 1997. We arrive after ten, greeted by our guide Peter, and it is cold and raining. We are dressed for hot <st1:city><st1:place>Chengdu</st1:place></st1:city>. We arrive at the hotel around 11. We ask Peter if we can have a late start tomorrow, but he says we have tickets for the <st1:place><st1:placename>Snow</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Mountain</st1:placetype></st1:place> between 9 and 10 so we need to leave the hotel at <st1:time hour="8" minute="30">8:30</st1:time>. The hotel is an old courtyard style house and our room door is actually a carved wooden screen with a padlock on it. Very quaint, but the interior of the room is very modern. We figure out how to turn on the heat and fall sound asleep.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Tuesday – April 29</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Up early and it is raining. Katie is exhausted but we drag ourselves across the street to this Tibetan restaurant for breakfast. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglQuPm3PVwZMwQ9LmcahTylPf1NRN7qnKGGtRPncf8f5vqhlY2bZKWnXNXDZBnCoShynOHtU_vbi0R1sCVQmcZikofEz69qvpCFSnGSkd_lLlgGEuv_T3GQAh14_dXeLScgtA5wlMejuIK/s1600-h/Pictures+from+Lijiang+043.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 283px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglQuPm3PVwZMwQ9LmcahTylPf1NRN7qnKGGtRPncf8f5vqhlY2bZKWnXNXDZBnCoShynOHtU_vbi0R1sCVQmcZikofEz69qvpCFSnGSkd_lLlgGEuv_T3GQAh14_dXeLScgtA5wlMejuIK/s320/Pictures+from+Lijiang+043.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196505547413550930" border="0" /></a>Great little place, two stories, covered with images and trinkets from <st1:country-region><st1:place>Tibet</st1:place></st1:country-region>. The furniture is all this brightly colored Tibetan stuff, and stuffed couches, not really a traditional restaurant. Breakfast is western, so we eat up and then head back to the hotel to bundle up in as many layers as possible. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghQeb5v-x97d5IrYBbMTcMmP-HdJPysSpanTLScx4qF3_ujQY3y4r1Gmgo5bJQPCDLWC6woMfpbqKIpjOQ-EbhP1OPgyHDwEE6bFA8UTkElvn0yy9Pm0xhvQljL-NQne-J0BtZZx9Z3A2U/s1600-h/Pictures+from+Lijiang+001.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 232px; height: 173px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghQeb5v-x97d5IrYBbMTcMmP-HdJPysSpanTLScx4qF3_ujQY3y4r1Gmgo5bJQPCDLWC6woMfpbqKIpjOQ-EbhP1OPgyHDwEE6bFA8UTkElvn0yy9Pm0xhvQljL-NQne-J0BtZZx9Z3A2U/s200/Pictures+from+Lijiang+001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196503223836243730" border="0" /></a>Peter takes us to the lodge at the base of the <st1:place><st1:placename>Snow</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Mountain</st1:placetype></st1:place>, where hundreds of Chinese, all in identical red and yellow down parkas (rented for the day) are waiting. We wait, and we wait, and we wait. It is after ten and we are cold and tired. Around <st1:time hour="10" minute="20">10:20</st1:time>, we board a shuttle bus that takes us a few hundred feet up the mountain, where we wait, and wait, and wait, with the same hundreds of Chinese in parkas. We are at about 3500 meters above sea level. I am cold, tired, and on less oxygen. And my sneakers are getting wet as it continues to rain. Why are we waiting two hours to go up a mountain in the rain, when the mountain is covered in clouds and we won’t be able to see a thing???<span style=""> </span>To make matters weirder, we are surrounded by TV screens playing this almost cult like music video of some anthem to the mountain. The video was on the shuttle bus, in the waiting rooms, <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWcm55M-diYVfRGLpbBzcrs2-U1LnwL9mVKcmaW73ihbdKWArO7irq0MgXbJWe4WRGVi8s8_NItoW1-LwkpYcZjXt4nDvEyTscSWN2T5EhyKwhWLxh_M8IhSNpQQFHypgag72Mrf0VjKWx/s1600-h/Pictures+from+Lijiang+004a.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 223px; height: 297px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWcm55M-diYVfRGLpbBzcrs2-U1LnwL9mVKcmaW73ihbdKWArO7irq0MgXbJWe4WRGVi8s8_NItoW1-LwkpYcZjXt4nDvEyTscSWN2T5EhyKwhWLxh_M8IhSNpQQFHypgag72Mrf0VjKWx/s320/Pictures+from+Lijiang+004a.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196504654060353346" border="0" /></a>everywhere. For a place that outlaws religion, it seems to be putting a lot of effort into deifying this mountain experience. Apparently the gondola cannot go the summit, because that is where the gods live. Sometime after 11, we get in a gondola and are whisked up the mountain, to about 4500 meters (13,500 feet for all those who are math-challenged) above sea level. This is as high as I’ve ever been. I get off the gondola and immediately am dizzy from the altitude. It is snowing like crazy, almost white-out. Can’t see anything, it is cold, we are unprepared with the right clothing, and now feeling nauseous and dizzy. We stay long enough to take a few photos and head back down. Really disappointing. A better guide would have suggested that we do this another day and hope for better weather. I am not happy. Peter, our guide, does not seem to understand much English. He does not answer questions we ask, and does not give us much explanation of what is going on. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">After we thaw out, we drive to Suhe village that is full of tourist shops selling local crafts. <st1:place><st1:placename>Yunnan</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Province</st1:placetype></st1:place> is home to 25 or so of <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>’s 56 ethnic minorities. This area is mostly Naxi, a matriarchal society. Many of the shopkeepers are wearing traditional clothing, some seem authentic, some, who wear them over jeans with Adidas sneakers, look a bit more contrived.<span style=""> </span>The village is beautiful, despite the artificial feel to the shops. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSP11FqdLS99iKijn0XAObsFoQdunNgDgSsNUO2-vEqao4ReEWaVOs0elQ5vwCBOfAafW4Q4n7Za4L8rnCQgHcZPvPMhPLKMnezEU2UIfhBKQUfLJOqv0YW9iE4q7EI6IHA2ksLD7LlfuN/s1600-h/100_3058.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSP11FqdLS99iKijn0XAObsFoQdunNgDgSsNUO2-vEqao4ReEWaVOs0elQ5vwCBOfAafW4Q4n7Za4L8rnCQgHcZPvPMhPLKMnezEU2UIfhBKQUfLJOqv0YW9iE4q7EI6IHA2ksLD7LlfuN/s320/100_3058.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196506853083608930" border="0" /></a>We eat lunch in front of a fire as an elderly mason puts stones around the fireplace. Peter has ordered for us and is a little too conscientious about <i>bu la</i>, and the lunch is actually bland. So now we say <i>xiao la</i>: a little spice. We head back to the hotel and the sun begins to shine, and for the first time, I begin to appreciate what a glorious setting we are in. The city is surrounded by mountains, breathtakingly beautiful snow-capped jagged peaks. Man, I wish we had done that mountaintop trek now instead of earlier in the day!! I go across the street from the hotel to the Tibetan restaurant and sit on their second story porch, order a giant pot of tea, and soak up the sun and the street scene below: <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_75FkHXG0jbj_hiUkn49s_xf5sfcGXJhx1iE44zUY5K_pldWOPr2STtMUnlNvGDOkoJyB8RQqfgYdADTjiVM73ayGQB0VG9UsqjqMmLyMIlUaWqBGLvvaqRIvHvXY8a_N3ymXwuMWEDHI/s1600-h/100_3070a.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 289px; height: 295px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_75FkHXG0jbj_hiUkn49s_xf5sfcGXJhx1iE44zUY5K_pldWOPr2STtMUnlNvGDOkoJyB8RQqfgYdADTjiVM73ayGQB0VG9UsqjqMmLyMIlUaWqBGLvvaqRIvHvXY8a_N3ymXwuMWEDHI/s320/100_3070a.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196509365639477138" border="0" /></a>women in minority costumes, Li, Miao, Bi and Naxi, are coming into the village selling vegetables or other products. The man in the shop across the street is pulling taffy, which I later learn is very potent ginger candy. I am in heaven. Even though the old village part of the city is mobbed with tourists, sitting on this roof deck, I feel apart from that and try to take in the natural environs of Lijiang. I take a walk around, trying to scope out a good restaurant, but strike out. We end up eating dinner at the Tibetan place. After dinner we walk around and lo and behold, I bump into one of my students from <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9H6h4kvY2F2lgVTmdfLwZjShEvF987gMkOa0xx-lZm502oIzhxL4O-cORMuDCrACHWNrEZxgyMK7U6utuU8hyYCIV3Bt5s7sO8GIDI5zXTJt3fFtruDZTd5yJRp2ll7mhdJfAbL2ONDHF/s1600-h/100_3104a.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9H6h4kvY2F2lgVTmdfLwZjShEvF987gMkOa0xx-lZm502oIzhxL4O-cORMuDCrACHWNrEZxgyMK7U6utuU8hyYCIV3Bt5s7sO8GIDI5zXTJt3fFtruDZTd5yJRp2ll7mhdJfAbL2ONDHF/s320/100_3104a.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196511294079793074" border="0" /></a>Renmin, a Japanese girl named Keiko. Small world! We walk further into the heart of the old village and a group of young men crank up a boom box with Tibetan music and the entire square is filled with young and old doing a Tibetan “square dance” of sorts. This is the same song and the same dance that Stephen and I danced to at the Tibetan restaurant in <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:city> our first week here. There it seemed totally contrived, but here it seems more authentic. There are bars and tons of restaurants that I missed earlier. The bars are full of folks in ethnic costumes doing this whirling dervish sort of dance. Great fun!<span style=""> </span>We walk to the other end of the village and see a fire burning outside a restaurant and folks standing around it, little kids are dancing to the karoke type ethnic garbed singer inside. Old women in traditional garb are chatting with family. A lovely scene. We head back to the hotel for a sleepless night. Katie has picked up a cold and is sniffling and blowing her nose all night, the heater turns off and on with a real rattling noise, and the guests in the upstairs room sound like a herd of elephants (which for some unknown reason, Stephen knows the Chinese word for – <i>xiang - </i>not to be confused with banana – <i>xiang jiao</i>). We have a good laugh trying to figure out ways he can use his new vocabulary. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Wednesday April 30</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Have a relaxed morning getting up and out. We take a walk north of the Old Town of Lijiang to the Black Dragon Pool. It is the loveliest park I’ve ever been to. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsU5atPhS3vruvfXdwtG-FvFopJJAy1hA0crLyu7DIzLH3zV6RhiLDz7MDOf_b_3v2cYDatZECV_1HkMTeu77bhwCKg1vP6bxGYIUIzRmkzFw8X3PqvGfuZ_AuYl0zjSeAaSVAVQJLWfEi/s1600-h/100_3087.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 298px; height: 198px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsU5atPhS3vruvfXdwtG-FvFopJJAy1hA0crLyu7DIzLH3zV6RhiLDz7MDOf_b_3v2cYDatZECV_1HkMTeu77bhwCKg1vP6bxGYIUIzRmkzFw8X3PqvGfuZ_AuYl0zjSeAaSVAVQJLWfEi/s320/100_3087.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196511968389658578" border="0" /></a>The pool is a series of ponds and streams broken up by nice little foot bridges and pagodas with the <st1:place><st1:placename>Snow</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Mountain</st1:placetype></st1:place> off in the background. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8nbMuW6NDJSU4opdTtpVDokkS4A9TKTEHDjpBcLEfyiHiLAS3QZzq7AANEvwVtUCAtODILhGn-2myN5bESq0Wt1n8BOB-CM7dvJyunnPqUsVsWjwvqp4ivx4tS4H6J7PxnQnWQO3Kgi7s/s1600-h/100_3086a.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 277px; height: 238px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8nbMuW6NDJSU4opdTtpVDokkS4A9TKTEHDjpBcLEfyiHiLAS3QZzq7AANEvwVtUCAtODILhGn-2myN5bESq0Wt1n8BOB-CM7dvJyunnPqUsVsWjwvqp4ivx4tS4H6J7PxnQnWQO3Kgi7s/s320/100_3086a.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196512947642202082" border="0" /></a>The pools are full of fish and Katie has a great time feeding them and trying to catch them with a stick. Art students are dotting the sides of the ponds trying to capture the vista, brides and grooms are here to be photographed, and children are running around being adorable in their split pants. At one point there is a band stand and a group of elderly musicians wearing traditional clothes are playing Naxi/Dongba music on Chinese instruments like the erhu, a two string violin-type thing. The temperature is perfect, the azaleas, roses, wisteria and peonies are all in bloom. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbTsd5D8pfbEPQt1VJ8uUKdMjU9eP-7ZylVf5iRbX3Zd3lImjALE6sU2VKmlhUDXO2LUn3o8TQNgS1ZdU2oqjKh4RRXGlLVE7nLrbNt8FiDWzdy2PMiFKgv3sN_hkpZRG3tLJgUuUJ0n_G/s1600-h/100_3099.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 293px; height: 195px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbTsd5D8pfbEPQt1VJ8uUKdMjU9eP-7ZylVf5iRbX3Zd3lImjALE6sU2VKmlhUDXO2LUn3o8TQNgS1ZdU2oqjKh4RRXGlLVE7nLrbNt8FiDWzdy2PMiFKgv3sN_hkpZRG3tLJgUuUJ0n_G/s320/100_3099.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196513652016838642" border="0" /></a>Heavenly. The only problem is, I’ve picked up a case of traveler’s intestinal bug and feel lousy. I am not interested in eating and go back to the hotel for a nap. Katie and Stephen go for lunch and ice cream. At 3 I head out with Katie to do a little shopping. She gets a new school bag, and I buy a few gifts. I then sit in the lovely courtyard of our hotel, surrounded by orchids and lilies and wonderful Chinese/Naxi architectural details, enjoying my book. This is so pleasant; I want to move in permanently. For dinner, we go to restaurant row. I am still dealing with a stomach bug so don’t eat much, but what I do eat is delicious. <i>Gung Po, </i>chicken with peanuts, is becoming a staple. We are sitting beside a stream that runs through the town and every once in a while a guy with a guitar and boom box amplifier stops buy to serenade us with the same folk tune. I think it is some rendition of <i>“I left my heart in Lijiang</i>”. We walked around the village, learned more about Dongba, the pictographic writing that the Naxi people created, as well as paper making, another local Naxi craft. The old village is a tourist trap (mostly Chinese with a smattering of Europeans and Japanese – very few Americans), but it is still charming somehow. Stephen has an <st1:time hour="20" minute="0">8pm</st1:time> call back to the States, so Katie and I continue to walk around, while he goes back to the hotel. It begins to drizzle, so we head back too. In our hotel, there are National Geographic black and white photos of the Naxi, probably taken in the 1940s and 50s; it was not so long ago that this was a primitive mountain tribe isolated from the world. The culture shock the older residents must feel --seeing guys with boom boxes and spike-heeled women wearing gobs of make-up --meandering around their village must be staggering. I really want to talk to the old folks of <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>, and am so frustrated with my lack of Chinese…although here, I’d need to know the Dongba dialect, I think, in order to talk to some of the elderly here. Another night of sniffles, noisy heater, and elephants upstairs….other than that this hotel, San He, is charming, really. Note to self: next time, get an upstairs room. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Thursday May 1<sup>st</sup>. National Holiday in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>, Labor Day. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="">I headed out early to see if I could see the snow mountain without cloud cover, but to no avail. The sky is blue, but the peak seems to be perennially covered in clouds. A building that had been under construction day and night next to our hotel was completed, and ready for business. It had no walls three days ago and now this gorgeous restaurant is open for business. Amazing!</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="">We met Peter and the driver and headed to Tiger Leaping Gorge. Peter told us it would be a three hour drive over rough roads and we all groaned. My stomach was already upset and the thought of jumping up and down for three hours was unappealing, but we went anyway….and I am so glad we did. The drive took us up over a mountain, on a winding switchback road. Like all mountain roads, this was precarious, and even more so in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>, where there are no guard rails or speed limits posted. To make matters worse, the better mountain road was closed for paving, because this is the road that will hold the Olympic torch run in June. Everything in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> is getting fixed for the Olympics. To underscore how dangerous the road is, we passed a crowd gathering along the roadside with the police where we were told a minvan had just gone over the edge and was submerged in the river below. At least one person was dead, according to Peter, who gets updates from the gove<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieP8VkyYhkkY3Y5hUWTAgJOuLQisYW_ArSfv81a0qeis_cFLNdfMPS3lGlMmoADsBnKrdRASL98BHo_1PtGZNH2N7Mz92tiPBTCHE3j42W_W3uGXhwn3MEQAUOlpgMGJYfHiw63hsaJ_1Y/s1600-h/100_3105.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 265px; height: 357px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieP8VkyYhkkY3Y5hUWTAgJOuLQisYW_ArSfv81a0qeis_cFLNdfMPS3lGlMmoADsBnKrdRASL98BHo_1PtGZNH2N7Mz92tiPBTCHE3j42W_W3uGXhwn3MEQAUOlpgMGJYfHiw63hsaJ_1Y/s320/100_3105.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196514635564349442" border="0" /></a>rnment via text messages on his cellphone -- in this case, warning everyone to be careful. So we took an extremely pot-holed and bumpy road up the mountain and back down again. The scenery was spectacular. The valleys and hillsides were a patchwork of neat plots of farm land, some terracotta colored red clay, others bright green with vegetables or gold with wheat, and others with these beautiful purple flowers that are apparently a plant that is fed to livestock.<span style=""> </span>Nestled against the hillsides every few miles were these little hamlets of red peat brick houses. And the backdrop for this spectacular vista are 13,000 foot snowcapped sharp peaks where the <st1:place>Yangtze River</st1:place> originates. At one point we stopped to pee at the first bend in the <st1:place>Yangtze River</st1:place>, and it was a very shallow silt-brown, with river stone islands all around. The “bathroom” was the worst I’ve seen in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>, really an outhouse, no walls for stalls, no wall for privacy, just a peat, clay fly covered pit. My stomach was really in trouble so when we stopped for lunch I could not eat. I was sure I was going to lose it, but we then took a long walk along the Yangtze and I felt much better. We walked along the river on this pathway carved into the side of the mountain. Every few hundred yards, a guard was posted to yell in a bullhorn for us to walk close the mountain so that we would not get hit by falling rock. There was ample evidence that this was a real possibility. In several places, they have carved long tunnels into the mount<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg8v_jf2H4MJEW9G-8uvw3HpW1V83RLuYdM67KGf1EwfynIn_NWYU1wE7N32wUrXBi6GUYtAym8ehlRTMyNtnLQBBbbJMNob8KMU4C1TolmYmSyO_dAdNdyVitGn7kVYiO7V7Wkc8it47V/s1600-h/Pictures+from+Lijiang+060.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 315px; height: 235px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg8v_jf2H4MJEW9G-8uvw3HpW1V83RLuYdM67KGf1EwfynIn_NWYU1wE7N32wUrXBi6GUYtAym8ehlRTMyNtnLQBBbbJMNob8KMU4C1TolmYmSyO_dAdNdyVitGn7kVYiO7V7Wkc8it47V/s320/Pictures+from+Lijiang+060.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196516409385842722" border="0" /></a>ain, through absolutely gorgeous white marble, to keep us from getting beaned by boulders. After about 40 minutes, the Yangtze narrows through this gorge where a huge boulder has fallen mid-stream. The legend is that a tiger leapt from one side of the river to the boulder, to the other side….thus the name Tiger Leaping Gorge. This gorge is deeper than the <st1:place>Grand Canyon</st1:place> and the Three Gorges (near the new dam many hundreds of miles further east on the Yangtze). The vista is gorgeous, with snow capped peaks dotting the river on either side. Peter tells us there is plan to dam the Yangtze here to generate electricity. What a pity if it happens, but if the alternative is the filthy coal that has blanketed most of eastern <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> in a grey cloud, maybe it is a reasonable choice. The air here is clean, fresh, and brisk. The sky has been blue with big puffy white clouds for two days. I’d hate <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPOelS0epnsrUAZOMQtELcknGp6VLPgfqvProPlmlZdOy2YSHwmIBE55g8lsVOZMuacAHTeyiIbMeHP-CQd6teZNiPrnv2dBeMgaZqhO7C7RMfNPUNWzT19oLcPF5SFzagx2D05qFChg5r/s1600-h/Pictures+from+Lijiang+073a.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 265px; height: 276px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPOelS0epnsrUAZOMQtELcknGp6VLPgfqvProPlmlZdOy2YSHwmIBE55g8lsVOZMuacAHTeyiIbMeHP-CQd6teZNiPrnv2dBeMgaZqhO7C7RMfNPUNWzT19oLcPF5SFzagx2D05qFChg5r/s320/Pictures+from+Lijiang+073a.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196517727940802610" border="0" /></a>to see all that lost to coal.<span style=""> </span>The walk has been very therapeutic for my stomach and by the time we return to the car about an hour and half later, I feel fine. The three hour ride back is much more enjoyable, although just as bumpy. The area we are driving through is populated largely by the Naxi minority group and most of the women are wearing traditional costumes of a blue hat, blue apron, and white belt criss-crossing their chest. In most cases, a basket is attached to their backs, and they are bent over their crops all day.<span style=""> </span>Many have babies tied to their backs. I can see how the one child policy hits the rural poor the hardest. This is back breaking labor, and many of the people we see today are elderly women hunched over their fields.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="">We get back to the hotel and decide to eat at the brand new restaurant that opened next door. The menu is not in English, but the manager speaks English and orders for us. Yummy and spicy meat and potatoes, some s<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj34ctL-ewjLUm472pMOgXaKmkbkmO2JZ4cCzf4A4UIpQNGhVv0Tv-bI1X5hA3VBo22SDJfjKLlevA5wJkDd0mPk37hLL74OdEjHcnOV_jzBr8ArwmCAncAkaWebxos2Gv9-h8HRwgjDWJ9/s1600-h/Pictures+from+Lijiang+130a.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj34ctL-ewjLUm472pMOgXaKmkbkmO2JZ4cCzf4A4UIpQNGhVv0Tv-bI1X5hA3VBo22SDJfjKLlevA5wJkDd0mPk37hLL74OdEjHcnOV_jzBr8ArwmCAncAkaWebxos2Gv9-h8HRwgjDWJ9/s320/Pictures+from+Lijiang+130a.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196519175344781378" border="0" /></a>ort of pancake, a green vegetable sautéed in garlic and soy sauce. Delicious!<span style=""> </span>From there we opt to go to one of the two shows in town….a variety of show of Dongba/Naxi dance and music. It is a little too glitzy and <st1:city><st1:place>Las Vegas</st1:place></st1:city> to seem real, but some of it was interesting. One guy writes what is happening on stage in the Dongba pictograph alphabet and the audience guesses what each symbol means. Two older women sing some traditional songs and play traditional instruments and they seem genuinely committed to preserving their culture. The rest of the performers look like something out of American Idol with “Chinese characteristics.”<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="">Friday</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="">Stephen is not feeling well. He was up several times in the night with a queasy stomach. We need to check out by <st1:time minute="0" hour="7">7am</st1:time> to spend all day in transit. I feel sorry for him. I felt lousy yesterday, but at least I could just get out of the car and walk around. He’s stuck at airports and planes all day. We take the 40 minute ride to Lijiang airport and the area along the way is spectacular in the early morning light. Green terraced farms, red soil, blue sky, and snow capped mountains. I hate to leave and vow to return. We fly from Lijiang to <st1:city><st1:place>Kunming</st1:place></st1:city>, which takes less than an hour…and then hang around the NOISY <st1:city><st1:place>Kunming</st1:place></st1:city> airport for four hours. At the KFC, my new airport hang out, we run into two Korean students from my Chinese language class at Renmin! Small world.<span style=""> </span>So now, I have been to the KFC in <st1:city><st1:place>Changsha</st1:place></st1:city>, <st1:city><st1:place>Chengdu</st1:place></st1:city> and <st1:city><st1:place>Kunming</st1:place></st1:city>….and never in the <st1:country-region><st1:place>United States</st1:place></st1:country-region>!</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="">The flight home is bumpy, with the requisite incessant announcements that “we are experiencing turbulence”. We arrive back to 80 degree, smog-filled <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:city>, to an apartment that smells of toxic paint fumes. But it is good to be “home” to a semi-comfortable bed, and a semi-working toilet! Lots of laundry and good night.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="">One thing that keeps bothering me is that the Chinese officialdom seem to care more about impressing tourists and the outsider rather than their own people. All the tourist traps are filled with excessive cautions about falling rocks, or hold the railing on the escalator, or beware of turbulence, but there seems to be little concern for conditions for workers putting in 20-hour days, sucking in toxic fumes, or welding without proper eye protection, or clean air and water. The Olympics has brought a better road to Lijiang, because the torch will go along it, yet, there were no guard rails on the other road that regular folks drive on, and someone plummets to his death. Much else that needs fixing in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> for the benefit of the Chinese, goes without attention, but the stuff that the rich and foreign see are top notch. Strange priorities for a ‘communist’ workers’ state. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Anne Donohuehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17213801988680297535noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9151003418006851422.post-69383044274849982492008-04-25T18:40:00.000-07:002008-04-25T18:41:25.164-07:00Week 10<p class="MsoNormal">Week Ten. Has it been ten weeks already? Half way there….</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Friday April 18</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Wow, what a full day! Lucy, Cate and Katie all were up early. We may have figured out what all the marching and chanting we have been hearing every night is all about: today there are no classes at Renmin because there is a big sporting event, some sort of track and field competition. We watch from our window as the various teams, chanting and carrying banners, march onto the field. Maybe, maybe, we’ll get some peace and quiet at night now that the Renmin Games are over??!!<span style=""> </span>We hit the road a little after 9. To the bank, and then a cab into the central city. I drop Lucy and the girls at the <st1:place>Forbidden City</st1:place> and stay with the cab to go to the embassy and travel agency. Cabbie gets lost getting to travel agency, but eventually we get there. Trip to <st1:city><st1:place>Chengdu</st1:place></st1:City> and Lijiang for next week’s vacation is all set. At the embassy I drop off my borrowed DVDs and have a brief conversation with Ann McConnell before heading back to meet the gals at the <st1:place>Forbidden City</st1:place>. Ann offers some simple but right-on description of why the Chinese students and populace is so hyped up about western media bias: “they don’t know what they don’t know”. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>My two errands, both within a mile or two of the <st1:place>Forbidden City</st1:place>, take almost three hours, so it is not until after 1 that I meet up with Lucy and the girls. We take a cab to the Houhai area and look for lunch. Katie is really wigging out with her allergies and whining. We find the Vietnamese Restaurant, Nuage, that Lucy had heard about which coincidentally was the one I had intended to go to, not knowing it was the same one Lucy knew about. Serendipity. Katie is still bothered by her allergies and there is no benedryl or zyrtec in my pocketbook. I know this sounds nuts, but I knew she would be miserable and the day shot to hell if we had to go back to Renmin to get her medicine. So shamelessly,<span style=""> </span>I went from table to table in the restaurant “begging” for benadryl. Happily a nice German guy gave me his last dose of the German equivalent of Zyrtec, and instantly Katie is cured. (A placebo might have done the trick!) Meanwhile, Lucy has arranged to meet a friend of a friend from Belmont (Anne and Fred Paulsen). He’s a Chinese lawyer named Arthur, who kindly joined us for lunch despite being a corporate lawyer, PhD candidate, and rushing to a conference in another province later that day! Very nice guy and really went out of his way to be hospitable. That is what I love about international “relationships” people go to great lengths to repay the hospitality that was extended to them years ago. Hopefully, Arthur can meet Stephen when he’s here. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">From there we walk to the <st1:place><st1:placename>Drum</st1:PlaceName> <st1:placetype>Tower</st1:PlaceType></st1:place>, and happen to bump into several of my students on the street. I know about a dozen people in this city of 18 million, and yet I meet four or five of them in a neighborhood far from campus!!<span style=""> </span>Small world. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">At the <st1:place><st1:placename>Drum</st1:PlaceName> <st1:placetype>Tower</st1:PlaceType></st1:place>, at the top of about a hundred stairs, Katie and Cate sit on a bench and it breaks, the legs of the bench collapsing under it, causing a loud thud and some embarrassed, but uninjured girls. A security guard hurries over, checks it out, and then motions for us to wait. A few minutes later, a worker comes to fix the bench and a translator arrives. The translation: “it is OK, we will not charge you for your mistake, because we are very nice guys but next time be more careful.” The translator tells us this in a loud, scolding manner and repeats strenuously “be more careful next time.”<span style=""> </span>I am looking at Lucy and we are both a bit amused and incredulous. We could just as easily (and accurately) have threatened to report them for a faulty bench that could have injured our kids!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">We descend the 100 steps, and find a cab to take us in very stalled traffic, about one mile in about 1 hour. We are going to dinner with Martha G’s friend Elizabeth, who lives in <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:City>. Both Lucy and I have met her before either here or in <st1:city><st1:place>Belmont</st1:place></st1:City>. The restaurant is across the street from the Silk Market, so with an hour to kill, we do a bit of shopping, but not before Katie pulls out yet another tooth on the street in front of the market! We meet <st1:city><st1:place>Elizabeth</st1:place></st1:City> at 6 at this out-of-this-world restaurant, Lan. Almost gaudy, almost hip, definitely unusual decor done by ……. Faux oil paintings hang flat against the ceiling, hovering over you, huge mirrors and chandeliers all around, none matching, every dish a different funky pattern, and my favorite: the enormous bathroom ROOMS with a square toilet, a swan necked bowl that serves as the sink, and a shiny silver wing chair, presumably for your guest to watch you do your business??!<span style=""> </span>I wait for the girls to finish in their respective bathrooms and since there is an easy chair and ottoman parked outside the bathrooms, I decide to sit in it and put my feet up. Several wait staff walk by and look at me curiously, and finally a waiter comes over and says “did you go to the bathroom?” and I say “yes”. “Would you like to go eat now?” and I say “no, I am waiting for the girls to finish in the bathroom”. Clearly this guy is perplexed as to why I would sit in a chair that apparently must have been there for decoration not relaxation.<span style=""> </span>We safely navigate our way<span style=""> </span>back to our table, passing a long pink table lit with pink lights from below, with pink chandeliers above, and all pink dinner plates. The food is excellent. One specialty, “drunken chicken” consists of a whole chicken packed in mud and baked. It arrived at our table still ensconced in mud and the girls got to use a big silver mallet to crack open the baked mud/clay (Lucy and I were relieved to see a layer of tinfoil between the chicken and the mud! The conversation with Elizabeth, who has been in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> for ten years, is illuminating. <span style=""> </span>I could stay all night, but the Bostonians are starting to fade, and Katie is now sprawled on her seat feigning sleep. With a promise to see more of <st1:city><st1:place>Elizabeth</st1:place></st1:City> before I leave, we cab it back to Renmin. Walking onto the campus we see a group of students trying to get a makeshift hot air balloon aloft. The flame looks pretty big for the little balloon, but after a few failed attempts, they get lift off and up it goes. I<span style=""> </span>just hope it doesn’t land on our roof and set the building on fire. <span style=""> </span>where everyone is now asleep, a bit after 9. A very full and fun day. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Saturday April 19</p> <p class="MsoNormal">We take a taxi into the city and head for Houhai, the back lakes area, where the guide book says there is a traditional two courtyard Chinese home of a renowned author Guo Morou open for viewing. We get stuck in traffic, but when we are near we decide to walk to find it. We go into the maze of the hutong, much of it under construction and renovation, and find our destination by following the hordes of pedicabs to the place. The house itself is not inundated with tourists, just the street outside. Guo was known for studying paleography, which I take to mean the study of ancient Chinese writing found on bones, known now as oracle bones (ala Peter Hessler’s book title). The house was simple and the garden courtyards full of peonies in bloom. The peonies here are more like bushes with sturdier stems than the peonies in my yard, but the blooms are the same. Guo was apparently a big shot, lots of pictures of him with Mao and Zhou Enlai. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">We walk from there to lunch, Katie is dragging and bored. But we find a little pizza place tucked in the back of a hutong alley and she is revived. The pizza was delicious! From there we take a cab to the city planning museum, much further by cab than it appears on the map, and the taxi driver has no idea where the place is, but I am very proud that I can direct him with my limited vocabulary and we arrive safely.<span style=""> </span>The planning museum I’ve described in an earlier blog entry, but it contains a huge model of the city of <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:City> laid out on the floor. At the planning museum, we buy tickets for a <st1:time minute="0" hour="16">4p.m.</st1:time> 4-D movie. Having never been to one, I don’t know what to expect. But when we get to the theater the attendant refuses to let us in….because we don’t speak Chinese. She says we must go to the English language one at <st1:time hour="18" minute="0">6pm</st1:time>. We protest that we don’t care about the language we just want the 4-D experience, but no way. We don’t want to hang around until 6, so we go down the hall and watch a 3-D movie in English, full of dramatic music and patriotic zeal for the great city of <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:City> at center of the world: <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>. Shockingly, in this 3-D movie of the origins and future of the city, there are no cars, traffic, people, trash or pollution visible in the city – just blue skies over glitzy <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:City>.<span style=""> </span>If we could only live in this 3-D movie! </p> <p class="MsoNormal">From there we head to Liulicheng the antique shopping area and we return to my favorite tea shop. The owners daughter, a precious two year old, captures my attention. She had the sweetest little voice, parroting everything I would say in English. We had some nice tea made from lychee fruit and bought some, plus a poster of teapots. Lucy got a very nice peach shaped tea pot as well. The girls both got ceramic dogs. Everyone was pleased with their purchases.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Next, we head to the area where the acrobatic theater is located. When we get out a cab, there is a sign on the south side of the street “ticket office”, but somehow, something on the north side of the street looks familiar. A man approaches us, trying to unload some tickets for half price, but he smells of alcohol and I am leery. We go into the ticket office, and ask if the tickets I called ahead for are there. The girl speaks no English, and I am about to purchase tickets, but she indicates it is for a 7;30 show and I was told on the phone yesterday that the show was at 7. So we venture outside and across the street and find the right ticket office for the acrobats. Lucky we didn’t get tickets from whatever-the-heck was playing across the street.<span style=""> </span>The nice man at the acrobat ticket office directs us to an area where we can find a restaurant and we go into a storefront advertising “English language menu and service”. (We learn later the name of the place was “John’s”. We order a few items, all of which are yummy and head back to see the acrobats. Another incredible display of the bizarre abilities of the human body. This show was particularly <i>splendorific</i> thanks to the addition of a troupe of young boys, maybe 6,7,8, years old, doing incredible tumbling, flips and climbing up wooden poles and leaping between them. One little guy, who couldn’t have been more than 4, stole the show and was beaming at the end as we applauded. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">The girls fall asleep in the taxi enroute home. Its been a long day. So I convince the cabbie to go in the North Gate, and we are permitted to do it in a taxi! Direct to our front door.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I check my email when I get home, and the Chinese reporter who had agreed to speak to my students is canceling. He says is wife is concerned that he will be targeted and harassed if he speaks.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We learn later, that the French embassy was besieged by protestors and dozens of armed Chinese soldiers were posted outside for added security. In the central Chinese city of <st1:city><st1:place>Wuhan</st1:place></st1:City>, about 2000 protestors marched in front of a French grocery chain Carrefour’s. The internet nationalistic sites claim the company is a supporter of Tibetan independence. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">And there have been more arrests in one Tibetan area after apparent/alleged/reported rioting there. Hard to know what is really going on since no objective observer is allowed to get to the affected areas.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Sunday<span style=""> </span>April 20</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Up verrrry early for a trip to the Great Wall. Lucy has arranged for a van, which holds six, so we invite Eve and Stefanie to join us. It is gloomy in <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:City>, and as we get about an hour out of the city it starts raining. Lucy and Cate have rain jackets, but the rest of us don’t. When we get there, Eve and the driver get us some rain ponchos and umbrella and off we go. I have been here twice before, and Katie came once three years ago, but for the others, this is their first visit, and I am so sorry for them that the weather is lousy. We take a ski-type chair lift up the mountain, getting thoroughly soaked as we sway in the breeze. But once there, there is a misty, foggy quality to the wall that is very nice. So now I can say I’ve been to the Great Wall in January snow, June baking sun, and April misty rain. One of these days I’ll get there a pleasantly warm and sunny day. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">The two little girls run way ahead of us and head for the highest point. I am winded but keep on trudging, stopping at every guard tower to get out of the rain for a few minutes. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">The peach and plum trees are in full bloom, lovely pink and white blossoms dot the mountainside. Despite the weather, it is a lovely scene. After the highest turret, we see in the distance, two little girls way ahead of us. I am exhausted from climbing but start running trying to get within earshot of Katie and Cate. Fortunately, they are not as far ahead as I feared, and we call for them to come back to where there is an enclosed gondola that we take down the mountain. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">We are all pretty wet and cold but manage to find time to buy two “I climbed the Great Wall” sweatshirts for Katie and Cate before heading to the van. The driver cranks up the heat and we begin to dry out. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">We decide to try to find this contemporary art area called Factory 798. We get a little lost but find it. It is not one huge enclosed gallery as I had thought, but rather dozens of old munitions factories that have been converted to galleries. The rain is coming down fast and furious and no one is thrilled with the idea of running around in the mud. We eat at a storefront restaurant. Eve orders really spicy chicken, full of red peppers, a vegetable curry, noodles, dumplings, a green sautéed spinachy thing, and this wild fried egg in sugar that tastes like candy. More food than any of us can finish.<span style=""> </span>We then drive through the 798 area and stop at one gallery and poke our head into a tiny shop across from it. There’s some very provocative art, including one of the Statue of Liberty wearing a dress with pink laughing clown masks, looking on as the World Trade center burns and collapses. At the shop across the street, Lucy and I each buy a poster of Colonel Sanders and Ronald MacDonald standing over a famous Mao revolutionary saying.<span style=""> </span>What would Mao say now!?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">From there we head home, stopping briefly at the Olympic village, but too rainy to walk around. We all are eager to get home, dry off, and rest. And rest we did. I slept for two hours, and then had to wake Lucy up at <st1:time minute="30" hour="18">6:30</st1:time>, while the girls watched two movies on the portable <st1:stockticker>DVD</st1:stockticker> player that Cate and Lucy brought. No one wanted to go out in the rain again, so we had a not-so-delicious dinner of leftovers and called it a day.<span style=""> </span>Lucy kindly brought me a digital picture frame from home, so we figured out (she figured out….) how to use it, and we watched our photos from the Great Wall in a lovely slide show before collapsing into bed.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Monday</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Lazy Day. Katie is off the school and Lucy and Cate are heading into the city with a tour guide, who unfortunately for them, is stuck in rainy traffic and does not get to Renmin until <st1:time hour="10" minute="30">10:30</st1:time> to pick them up. They head to <st1:place><st1:placename>Lama</st1:PlaceName> <st1:placetype>Temple</st1:PlaceType></st1:place> and the <st1:place><st1:placetype>Temple</st1:PlaceType> of <st1:placename>Heaven</st1:PlaceName></st1:place> and the Pearl Market. I hang around the house, report the leaks coming in all of the windows, and watch the rain. I am giving a guest lecture tomorrow in a Chinese professor’s class and need to prepare for that, as well as for the day that my VOA guest cancelled. Eve stops by around 3. She wants to see some family pictures, so we have a little slide show. Around 4 the workmen come to assess the leaks. They tell Eve that the problem is “outside rain is leaking in”. I know <i>that</i> already. They also look at the toilet, and explain to me for the hundredth time, how to flush a Chinese toilet. I explain that I know how to flush, I have successfully done it dozens of times, but for the past two days, the toilet does not drain without using the plunger. They shrug and leave.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Lucy and Cate return from shopping and sightseeing. The rain has finally stopped and we walk up to the Qing Dynasty restaurant up the street and have a lovely, festive meal, served by the same sweet English speaking waitress we had when we went with Hope and Lily. She also allows us to go sit in on a <st1:state><st1:place>Sichuan</st1:place></st1:State> mask show, and explains the history of the restaurant, only 7 years in existence. But the property and the gardens stem back to the first Qing emperor, some 300 years ago. We walk back to the apartment, and Lucy and Cate get ready for an early flight to Xian.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Tuesday. blue sky and very windy. The rain really cleaned things up!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Lucy and Cate are gone before I wake up. Katie heads off to school and Stefanie joins her as part of the photo documentary she is producing on Katie. I get a call from Mrs. Liu that the workmen will be here at <st1:time hour="8" minute="30">8:30</st1:time> to fix the leaky windows. They arrive and I move all the furniture out of the porch. One guy (who has responded to all my toilet emergencies) ties a belt onto his co-worker and the co-worker steps up onto my narrow (non-existent?) windowsill and hovers over the 17-story drop, while he shoves caulking or some sort of<span style=""> </span>white goo into the cracks outside the window. They do the same outside the other windows. We’ll see if that solves the problem. The rain has gone and it is a gloriously sunny, bright, clean and windy day. Feels like autumn. For the first time, I see real clouds, not smog and haze, in an otherwise blue sky. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 6pt;">I leave at 10 to give a guest lecture in Judy’s history of journalism class. The students are primed with good questions about why western media is biased, why don’t we report that the Dalai lama is a liar, why doesn’t Jack Cafferty get fired from CNN, etc. etc. I do my best to defend my profession, to encourage them to read multiple sources over time, and to tone down the rhetoric. I discuss the <st1:place><st1:placename>Duke</st1:PlaceName> <st1:placetype>University</st1:PlaceType></st1:place> student, a Chinese national, who tried to encourage dialogue between pro-Tibetan and pro-Chinese students, and ended up being harassed. One lovely email advocated boiling her in oil for being a traitor. I wonder if my comments, encouraging dialogue between the Dalai Lama and the Chinese government will spark a similar response. I hope I have helped sway some students to take a more measured, objective approach.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 6pt;">I then head to my office and get ready for my class. They are unusually quiet today, and when I tell them the VOA guest has cancelled because of fear of harassment, they laugh. I ask them why they are laughing, and they say he is silly to be afraid. But I say my western journalist colleagues aren’t laughing at all the harassment they’ve been receiving and this Duke student’s parents apparently had to flee their home in Tsingtao because they were so afraid….I don’t see what is funny. But I keep getting nervous laughter….strange. I brought a few more photos for Eve of Yiyang and as she is transferring them to her portable drive, all the girls hover around and look at family photos of Rory and Jeremy and start chattering in Chinese at how handsome my sons are. I agree!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I spend the afternoon reading “Now They Tell Us”, a pretty scathing indictment of journalism pre-Iraq war….my profession is far from perfect, but it is still not the demon the Chinese media has made us out to be.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Tonight I cut about five inches off Katie’s hair….would love to cut even more. She has a big sports competition all day at school tomorrow and unfortunately<span style=""> </span>I can’t go. Thursday is her exhibition on endangered animals in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>. She presents her group’s findings to a Chinese middle school. I’d love to go, but she says no way. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Wednesday – gorgeous, cool, blue sky.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I head into my office and look through some DVDs that I brought showing some good professional and student examples. On one <st1:stockticker>DVD</st1:stockticker> I see two stories: one on the “Tiananmen Papers” which were leaked in he late 90s showing the power struggle between<span style=""> </span>the senior Party members about whether to crackdown on the demonstrators is 1989. We know who won that battle. The other was on <span style=""> </span>Harry Wu, journalist dissident, detained and arrested repeatedly in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>. I wonder how much trouble I would get into if I showed either of those to my classes?. I had lunch with my PhD candidate/teaching assistant, Jessie, and asked her what she thought. She was pretty sure I’d get into a lot of trouble. She explained to me the Marxist theory of journalism -- that it stems from class struggle, and it is there to serve the Communist Party, not to challenge it. I knew that but am intrigued that they call it journalism and not propaganda. The division that supervises the media is translated as Ministry of Propaganda, so they are clearly not offended by the term.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We leave lunch and I once again get nearly mowed down by a car. I explain to Jessie that traffic rules are an apt metaphor for the differences between <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> and the <st1:country-region><st1:place>US</st1:place></st1:country-region>. In <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>, the pedestrian has no power, the bigger the vehicle, the more they dominate the rules of the road: trucks cut off cars, cars cut off bikes, bikes cut off pedestrians. In the <st1:country-region><st1:place>United States</st1:place></st1:country-region>, if a pedestrian puts a foot into an intersection, all traffic stops. The individual rules. It does seem odd that one individual has the power to stop bus loads and carloads of drivers, but it works. We all get where we need to go, more or less safely. Here, with the cars all trying to cut each other off and angling to get a two inch advantage, it is chaos. And the little guy is left standing at an intersection for 5-10 minutes waiting for the cars and trucks to move on. Here, more pedestrians are killed by cars than anywhere else in the world, so I am told. <span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">In class, I plan to play some of George Clooney’s Goodnight and Good Luck, but the projector does not work. While we wait for the technician, I ask the class about the Carrefours boycott and demonstrations outside the French embassy. And for the first time this semester, all the previously mute students speak up. And their English is flawless!! Why have they been so quiet? We abandon the film and keep discussing Jack Cafferty, CNN, and all the so-called “western media bias” coverage. One very earnest girl, who somehow reminds me a Catholic nun relative of my mother’s, says she is praying for <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>, and for the Olympics, but she is very confused about all the conflicting reports about <st1:country-region><st1:place>Tibet</st1:place></st1:country-region>. When I ask her what sources she reads that she trusts, she answers, “the government”.<span style=""> </span>Discouraging. I wonder what she would say if I played the “60 Minutes” Tiananment story!<span style=""> </span>After class I come home and Stefanie is here taking more photos of Katie. She stays for an hour or so while I cook dinner. Lucy and Cate are due back from Xian around dinner time. I am reading Ian Johnson’s book<i>, Wild Grass</i>, and I want to give copies to all of my students. Johnson profiles three brave but ordinary Chinese citizens who are trying to work within the legal system to ease their tax burdens or keep their homes from being demolished and yet, the legal system gives them no protection and they still get screwed. Depressing, but extremely well written and well documented. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Cate and Lucy return after a nice visit to Xian. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Thursday. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Spend the morning with Cate and Lucy at the <st1:place><st1:placename>Summer</st1:PlaceName> <st1:placetype>Palace</st1:PlaceType></st1:place>. There are throngs of tourists and the walkway that I walked in solitude ten years ago in January is packed with people chattering away in Chinese. Not at all how I experienced it. We make a quick visit and head home, but not before buying a few trinkets, different stuff than I have seen at any of the markets. Cate and Lucy head off for the airport. I am so glad they came and we had a nice, quiet time together. I tidy up the apartment and go out and buy milk. Stephen calls from the airport around 2.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">At <st1:time hour="15" minute="30">3:30</st1:time> Katie arrives home from school (with Stefanie in tow again) and Stephen has still not made it from the airport, so we decide to walk out the west gate and wait for him. And in the distance we see him dragging his suitcases. Katie makes a dash and Stefanie hopefully gets some nice shots of their reunion. Great to see him!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">After he settles in, he and Katie go out for a walk while I make dinner. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">After dinner they go for another walk to the grocery store. Stephen is trying to stay awake for as long as he can. By <st1:time hour="8" minute="30">8:30</st1:time> he and Katie are both out for the night. I read Jonathan Franzen’s article in the <i>New Yorker</i> about birding in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> -- another depressing take on the nascent and frustratingly powerless environmental movement here.</p>Anne Donohuehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17213801988680297535noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9151003418006851422.post-65649659783265763282008-04-18T18:24:00.001-07:002008-04-18T18:29:50.589-07:00Week 9 and feeling fine…Thursday April 10 <p class="MsoNormal">Up early and packed, ready for <st1:city><st1:place>Shanghai</st1:place></st1:city>. Katie is off to school with Shen Shifu. <span style=""> </span>Katie will come to <st1:city><st1:place>Shanghai</st1:place></st1:city> tonight on the night train with Celine. I walk out to the gate to get a taxi to the airport. Not sure what terminal I am supposed to go to, but with some hand gestures and a bit of cryptic Chinese, the taxi driver and I decide Terminal 2, not the new terminal 3, and it is a wise choice. The plane is delayed 40 minutes and I know I have a <st1:time hour="14" minute="0">2pm</st1:time> lecture at <st1:place><st1:placename>Fudan</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>University</st1:placetype></st1:place> in <st1:city><st1:place>Shanghai</st1:place></st1:city>, so I am a bit concerned. We arrive in <st1:city><st1:place>Shanghai</st1:place></st1:city> at <st1:time minute="40" hour="12">12:40</st1:time> and I am greeted by a consulate driver who speaks no English. He grabs my suitcase and we literally run, ala OJ Simpson, through the airport to the car. I arrive at the Ritz (!) and quickly check in. Alys Spensley from the consulate is waiting downstairs with a sandwich that I quickly inhale enroute to Fudan. I don’t dare drink the Coke because in stop and go traffic I know I will have it all over my fancy clothes. Shanghai from the highway looks like a semi-cleaner and greener city. (Flying in, I noticed solar panels on many roofs and a whole neighborhood of green roofs –maybe it was Astroturf, but it looked like real stuff growing up there). We arrive at Fudan and I ask the 40 or so students in the classroom what kind of journalism they hope to do: print, television or online? No one raises a hand. I think it is an English issue so I ask again more slowly, and still no response. Apparently, no one in the room wants to go into journalism. They are communications majors who want to do PR or media management. Why am I here?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I give the lecture and at the end ask for questions and not surprisingly the first question: why is the western media so biased against <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> re: <st1:country-region><st1:place>Tibet</st1:place></st1:country-region>? (She sited the ubiquitous three photos that were on the cover of <i>China Daily</i>, one of which shows Nepalese soldiers arresting Tibetan protestors and the caption called the Nepalese “Chinese soldiers”). I say I do not think there is an intentional bias, but a few careless editing mistakes were made and the offending news organizations have apologized. I argued that newspapers on deadline, working with young staffers who may not know <st1:country-region><st1:place>Nepal</st1:place></st1:country-region> from <st1:country-region><st1:place>Tibet</st1:place></st1:country-region> on a map, make mistakes. But over time, many days and from many sources, emerges the truth, I argued, and it is decidedly different from what the <i>China Daily</i> reports. The rest of the questions were tamer but I am not sure I won many converts to the virtues of western journalism. It is uncanny how many people parrot the party line. These kids seem to have little critical thinking ability.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">From Fudan we head to the consulate for a <st1:time minute="0" hour="18">6pm</st1:time> reception. I have about an hour to kill before the evening event so I walk around the neighborhood where the consulate is located. This is the old French concession (<st1:city><st1:place>Shanghai</st1:place></st1:city> was divided among the big powers in the early part of the century) and the streets feel more like <st1:city><st1:place>Paris</st1:place></st1:city> than <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>. Old European style buildings, gardens, quaint little shops, a gorgeous French bakery, and lush green, tropical vegetation everywhere. Very nice. The consulate has a big open green lawn, more green space than I have seen in two months in <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:city>. The building itself was an estate owned by an opium dealer and financier before 1949 and was converted into a “re-education” center under the early Communists. It is a lovely building with gorgeous wood paneling lining the walls. I try to imagine it filled with the opium dens of the first owners and the Mao-jacket clad residents of its later years. I speak with the consul general for a while, a <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> scholar from <st1:state><st1:place>New York</st1:place></st1:state>, who gives me his version of Tibetan history, somewhat different than I’ve been reading in the <i>China Daily</i>.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The reception, where unbeknownst to me, I am the keynote speaker, is an odd collection of Chinese who have been Fulbrighters or are involved in Chinese journalism. After my very brief talk (translated into Chinese after every sentence), I meet some very interesting folks, many of whom want me to come to their university/newspaper to give an additional talk. I would be more than happy to return. By <st1:time hour="20" minute="0">8pm</st1:time> I am exhausted and hungry. The guests have left and the consulate staff ends up in the kitchen wolfing down the remaining reception food. I guess this is dinner.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I return to the Ritz and take a luxurious bath before climbing into my unbelievably comfortable bed. I could get used to this!</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Friday April 11</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Celine and Katie arrive by overnight train, a little bleary eyed, but happy to sit in the room and watch TV before heading out. They spend the day going to all the high rise towers in Pudong that I, acrophobe, have no interest in seeing. <span style=""> </span>I leave at 10 to go to the Shanghai offices of the dreaded <i>China Daily.</i> The consulate staff has told me to be as frank as I want to be and I am ready to express my deep concern over their western-media-bashing coverage. Ostensibly, I am there to talk about new media but when I ask how many are working on web stuff, none are. They do not have a website! (The <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:city> office does all that). Why am I here? I ask about how the paper is financed and whether they rely on advertising for some of their budget. A Chinese guy tries to respond but is apparently told by another Chinese colleague to be quiet. None of the Chinese speak up. There are a few non-Chinese there, the English language experts who edit the paper, and they seem very disheartened when we talk about censorship and government pressure. Finally, one Chinese guy, an editor, who I met at the reception last night and who has studied in the <st1:country-region><st1:place>US</st1:place></st1:country-region>, is quite candid. He says they push to say what they can, but they know there are off limits topics, and they have no control over what their bosses in <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:city> will do to their stories. He says things have improved a lot and will continue to improve. “We must be patient.” I say he is more patient than I will ever be….but assure him that there will be more freedom in my lifetime, assuming I live to be one hundred!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">We leave <i>China Daily</i> and Alys from the consulate and Rob, who has come down from the Beijing embassy for these talks, go to lunch with me at a great Shanghai-style restaurant, Lynn’s. Alys orders, thankfully, and everything is delicious. We have a good conversation about <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>, politics, <st1:country-region><st1:place>Tibet</st1:place></st1:country-region>, and journalism. This is what I came to <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> to do, yet I have had very little opportunity to do it in <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:city>. Frustrating. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">After lunch we go to a journalist “association” meeting. In <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> there are no official “associations” that could, conceivably, advocate for press freedom, so I worry this will be a bunch of party yes-men. There are about 50 people in the room and my talk will be consecutively translated since most of the audience does not speak English. It is a very time-consuming process, and my 20 minute power point turns into an hour in translation. There is only a 30 minute window for Q&A, but the questions are great. Right on point. These are working journalists trying to figure out how to survive with the web, the exact audience I was hoping to meet. It was a great discussion, albeit in painful translation. The translator, Fifi, is actually a wonderful person and according to the bilingual embassy staff, she is quite good. But the process is very difficult and time-consuming. You DO lose a lot in translation!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">After this event I am free to relax. I go up to my comfy room at the Ritz and await the return of Celine and Katie. I am eager to go try out some new restaurants, but Katie is tired and there is a looooong line to get a cab so we just walk to a nearby California Pizza Kitchen and eat. The movie <i>Jaws</i> is on TV and Katie is eager to go back and watch it. Like me, she is concerned with media bias: she is concerned that the movie is unfair to sharks, because sharks are not likely to eat people! </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Fearing no sharks, we check out the Ritz pool and hot tub and I feel rejuvenated. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Saturday April 12</p> <p class="MsoNormal">After a hefty dose of television, Katie is ready to see the city. We head out to YuYuan, a very touristy, but still lovely old part of the city. It is a huge area of traditional Chinese style architecture housing shops, including that famous Chinese coffee place: Starbucks, and Haagen Das, as well as a famous dumpling joint and lots of stalls with Chinese trinkets. It is pretty well packed with Chinese tourists. There is a fee to enter the Yu gardens but we pay and find a much more tranquil ancient Chinese experience. Beautiful gardens with <i>koi</i> filled ponds, wisteria and azaleas in bloom, neat round gateways and beautifully carved alleyways. Celine was so enamored with the fish in the ponds that she bent over and “gave” her sunglasses to them…</p> <p class="MsoNormal">We leave there and walk to the Bund, the famous pre-war waterfront with western-influenced building design. Across the river from the Bund is Pudong, the new glitzy high-rise architectural extravaganza. The Bund is in need of a facelift, and Pudong needs to get off steroids (this whole vast skyline was rice paddies less than 20 years ago).</p> <p class="MsoNormal">We take a taxi to one of the lunch places I had read about, a Balinese restaurant inside a park. The setting is lovely, eating outside beside a pond with the beautiful blooming park all around. The food was just OK. From there we head back to the hotel for a “rest”. I fall sound asleep. Katie is happy watching TV and Celine is on her laptop. Rallying the troops to go out for dinner is not easy. Under duress, Katie agrees to go to the French quarter to walk around. We take a cab to the consulate and re-trace my steps from Thursday, assuming we’d see more of the same European style neighborhood. But we quickly end up in a more typical noisy Chinese neighborhood. We decide to take a cab back to the hotel and return to <st1:city><st1:place>Lynn</st1:place></st1:city>’s Restaurant for dinner. Yummy chicken dish and more soup dumplings. <span style=""> </span>I would have liked to explore more, but dealing with whiney Katie has taken its toll and I accept defeat. Back to the room and TV.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Sunday April 13</p> <p class="MsoNormal">We start to pack up and then head out to the <st1:place><st1:placename>Shanghai</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Museum</st1:placetype></st1:place>. Katie does not want to go, but is forced. We arrive and see that the line to enter circles around the block, but it appears to be moving. The building is shaped like an old Chinese bronze pot.<span style=""> </span>It takes about a half hour to get in, but it is well worth the wait, at least for me. We go to the porcelain exhibit and it is just fabulous, from rudimentary clay pots (very similar to Native American designs) to the blue and white Ming porcelain, just exquisite. There was a small furniture exhibit and one gallery was dedicated to the costumes of all of <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>’s ethnic minorities. 26 of the 59 ethnic minorities live in <st1:place><st1:placename>Yunnan</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Province</st1:placetype></st1:place> in the southwest of <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>, and that is where I have just booked a trip for our spring vacation May 1<sup>st</sup>. It looks fascinating. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">After the museum we head out to People’s Park (formerly the Shanghai Horse-racing track in pre communist times). A zillion little kids are out with their families for a Sunday stroll, all of them in their little split pants. I really don’t see how split pants is a good idea, but every kid, rich and poor, wear them. I am sure the kids love not wearing diapers but I think the likelihood of the ‘waste’ missing the clothing, and landing somewhere not damaging a rug or a lawn (or a pair of designer shoes on a public sidewalk (!)) are not good. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Katie is again not thrilled to be dragged to another sightseeing destination, but we take a cab to Xin Tian Ti, an area designed by the same guy that did <st1:city><st1:place>Boston</st1:place></st1:city>’s Quincy Market. It is an old <st1:city><st1:place>Shanghai</st1:place></st1:city> building and home with sidewalk cafes lining the streets outside it. It is a lovely day and we enjoy a French lunch in the sun. Maybe I should have applied to be a Fulbrighter in <st1:city><st1:place>Paris</st1:place></st1:city>?<span style=""> </span>Next to this complex is the building where the first meeting of the Chinese Communist Party took place in the 1920’s. It is a museum now, complete with a life-size wax scene of Mao standing up before a table full of his comrades….looks remarkably like the Last Supper or perhaps the iconic picture of our Founding Fathers in <st1:city><st1:place>Philadelphia</st1:place></st1:city>? The museum is full of anti-imperialist vitriol. If Mao and his buddies could only see the Starbucks next door! Over and over I keep asking, “what would Mao say now?” Everywhere, I see scantily clad women in tight jeans, spike heels and gobs of make-up ….and then I open up the book I am reading about Nixon and Mao and see pictures of Mao’s crazy wife in her bulky, dull, blue pantsuit, dark rimmed glasses and severe hair style.<span style=""> </span>What a difference 30 years makes.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">From the founding of the C-Party museum we incongruously taxi it back to the Ritz! Check out, but leave the bags at the front desk. Celine is off to her new hotel, where she will be staying with a C-NBC News crew for the week. Katie and I head for the pool and hot tub.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I am feeling very pampered and I really needed this. Thank you Uncle Sam for allowing me to come to the Shanghai Ritz!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">My overall impression is that <st1:city><st1:place>Shanghai</st1:place></st1:city> is a much more sophisticated city, more open space, and more variety to the skyline. <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:city> is just one boxy block of malls after another, very little green space. I have seen more westerners in <st1:city><st1:place>Shanghai</st1:place></st1:city> in four days than in 2 months in <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:city>. And <st1:city><st1:place>Shanghai</st1:place></st1:city>’s air/climate, at least these four days, is much brighter and cleaner than <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:city>. I am really regretting we did not choose to spend the spring in <st1:city><st1:place>Shanghai</st1:place></st1:city>. That said, if we were in central <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:city> or if we had been placed out in the hinterlands in <st1:city><st1:place>Shanghai</st1:place></st1:city> in a sub-standard apartment, I might reach a different conclusion.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">At <st1:time hour="15" minute="30">3:30</st1:time> we go out to get a taxi for the airport. About 10 minutes into the ride, I notice in the rear view mirror, that the driver’s eyes keep closing. And as they close, we decelerate. Then he wakes up and pushes on the gas. I am alarmed, but we are in stop and go traffic, so the worst that can happen is a fender bender, right? As the car slows and lurches, I keep yelling “wake up” from the back seat, but he doesn’t seem to respond. The windows are open and the radio is on and I am just another noise that he clearly is tuning out. He nearly misses the exit for the airport, but then swerves across several lanes of traffic and goes down a ramp. We are accelerating rapidly now, reaching almost 50-60 miles per hour and his eyes are completely closed. I can’t hit him because he is encased in the clear plastic barrier that separates a cabbie from his passengers, so I keep yelling “wake up”, grab Katie tight and say a prayer. The driver, now sound asleep, nods forward, hits his head on the steering wheel, and comes to, just as we are about to hit a jersey barrier. I want to get out, but have no way of stopping him. My palms are sweating and my heart is racing. Thankfully, we are stuck in traffic so as long as he stays at this speed, we’ll survive. And we do. He pulls up to the curb at the airport and I am a wreck.<span style=""> </span>I really want to report this guy, but don’t know how. I fear he will pick up another fare. Good luck to them. <span style=""> </span>I say goodbye but keep saying in my useless Chinese “get some coffee, buddy!”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The plane is delayed about 30-40 minutes and for the two and half hour wait at the airport, the non-stop public address announcements are making me crazy. I really am suffering from noise pollution as much as any other kind of pollution. Every mall store has its own blaring music, the constant hammering on car horns or people yelling at each other in every exchange, is relentless. The Ritz was peaceful and completely quiet. And I dread going back to the noise of the apartment. But return we must. We finally board the airplane and Katie and I are just getting settled into our seats when Katie pokes me. She is holding up a piece of white chewy candy and embedded in it is a blood-soaked tooth! I quickly get her some Kleenex and she shoves a wad of it up into the new hole in her mouth. This Chinese candy is pretty chewy!!<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We get home around <st1:time minute="30" hour="9">9:30</st1:time>. Katie has fallen asleep in the taxi and I have to wake her up at the gate because the guard will not let the taxi drive in. We schlep our suitcases all the way back to the apartment building and crash.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Thankfully, no military drills until <st1:time minute="0" hour="23">11pm</st1:time> and the construction crews seem to be making fewer trips in their noisy truck outside our building. The tooth fairy deposits a few yuan under a pillow and hits the hay.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><st1:date year="2008" day="14" month="4">Monday <st1:date ls="trans" month="4" day="14" year="2008">April 14, 2008</st1:date></st1:date> – very warm and hazy</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The sun is shining through a thin haze and it is very warm, maybe 75. The new toilet is not working….it must be the pipes. I call the waiban to tell her we are not out of the woods yet. She suggests we move across the hall, but the aggravation does not seem worth it. If we could move to a QUIET place downtown, I’d do it, but I don’t think that is in the cards. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I spend the day reading accumulated emails, unpacking, doing laundry, planning a vacation to the west of <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>, and planning the week. We have company, Lucy and Cate, coming on Thursday. Before dinner we decide to walk down to the Friendship Hotel, where I hear there is a great pool. The hotel is gorgeous and the pool immense, maybe ten lanes by 50 meters. It costs 100RMB to use it, about $13, which is pricey, but I am ready to dive in. We discovered another TGIFriday’s and eat there. We also found another decent grocery store and stock up on some food, including my favorite cereal that I have not found elsewhere. We take a taxi back, but he cannot get through the gate, so we schlep all six bags. Katie is tired and I am getting really sick of being a mule. Katie is now in bed, yelling at the window for the “hop-1-2-3” guys marching outside to shut up…no chance of that. It is after <st1:time hour="10" minute="30">10:30</st1:time> when the shouting and marching stop. I fall asleep but at <st1:time hour="11" minute="15">11:15</st1:time>, I am awakened by someone knocking on our door. I wait, but no one knocks again. Then I see a bright light flashing in the living room and I think someone is in the apartment, but when I go out, no one is there. I check on Katie but she is fast asleep. No idea what that was all about. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Tuesday 4/14</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Katie came home yesterday and announced she wanted to go to a basketball game today after school, so I signed the permission slip and told Shen Shifu to pick her up at 5. I worked at home all morning. I talked with a fellow mom of a Yiyanger in <st1:city><st1:place>Boston</st1:place></st1:city> who has asked me to contribute to a book on adoptees returning to <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>. We had a conversation via Skype and it sounds like a project that I’d want to be part of. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">In class today, the students played their second audio stories and while the editorial quality is great, the production and pronunciation is still a work in progress. After class Sophia asks to meet with me and because Katie is going to be late at school, I am free. Sophia is a serious girl, from a northeastern province up by <st1:country-region><st1:place>Russia</st1:place></st1:country-region>. She wants to be a war correspondent, but first wants to serve in the Army to “get strong”. She is very concerned about the Olympic torch relay and does not understand why the world hates <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>. I try to explain the role of protest, and of distinguishing between the actions against the government and feelings toward Chinese people. But she, like most of her classmates, is sad that the Olympic efforts are being tarnished.<span style=""> </span>Later that day, Eve from Yiyang shared this sentiment that she read on one of the anti-American/western blogs that are flourishing:</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"><i>When We were called Sick man of </i><st1:place><i>Asia</i></st1:place><i>, We were called The Peril.<br />When We are billed to be the next Superpower, We are called The threat.<br /></i><i><span lang="ZH-CN" style="font-family:SimSun;"> </span><br />When We were closed our doors, You smuggled Drugs to Open Markets.<br />When We Embrace Freed Trade, You blame us for Taking away your jobs.<br /></i><i><span lang="ZH-CN" style="font-family:SimSun;"> </span><br />When We were falling apart, You marched in your troops and wanted your "fair <span style=""> </span>share".<br />When We were putting the broken peices together again, "Free </i><st1:country-region><st1:place><i>Tibet</i></st1:place></st1:country-region><i>" you screamed, "it was an invasion!"<br />(When Woodrow Wilson Couldn't give back Birth Place of Confucius back to Us,<br />But He did bought a ticket for the Famine Relief Ball for us.)<br /></i><i><span lang="ZH-CN" style="font-family:SimSun;"> </span><br />So, We Tried Communism, You hated us for being Communists<br />When We embrace Capitalism, You hate us for being Capitalist.<br /></i><i><span lang="ZH-CN" style="font-family:SimSun;"> </span><br />When We have a Billion People, you said we were destroying the planet.<br />When We are tried limited our numbers, you said It was human rights abuse.<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"><i>When We were Poor, You think we are dogs.<br />When We Loan you cash, You blame us for your debts.<br /></i><i><span lang="ZH-CN" style="font-family:SimSun;"> </span><br />When We build our industries, You called us Polluters.<br />When we sell you goods, You blame us for global warming.<br /></i><i><span lang="ZH-CN" style="font-family:SimSun;"> </span><br />When We buy oil, You called that exploitation and Genocide.<br />When You fight for oil, You called that Liberation.<br /></i><i><span lang="ZH-CN" style="font-family:SimSun;"> </span><br />When We were lost in Chaos and rampage, You wanted Rules of Law for us.<br />When We uphold law and order against Violence, You called that Violating<br />Human Rights.<br /></i><i><span lang="ZH-CN" style="font-family:SimSun;"> </span><br />When We were silent, You said you want us to have Free Speech.<br />When We were silent no more, You say we were Brainwashed-Xenophoics.<br /></i><i><span lang="ZH-CN" style="font-family:SimSun;"> </span><br />Why do you hate us so much? We asked.<br />"No," You Answered, "We don't hate You."<br /></i><i><span lang="ZH-CN" style="font-family:SimSun;"> </span><br />We don't Hate You either,<br />But Do you understand us?<br /></i><i><span lang="ZH-CN" style="font-family:SimSun;"> </span><br />"Of course We do," You said,<br />"We have </i><st1:stockticker><i>AFP</i></st1:stockticker><i>, CNN and BBCs..."<br /></i><i><span lang="ZH-CN" style="font-family:SimSun;"> </span><br />What do you really want from us?<br />Think Hard first, then Answer...<br /></i><i><span lang="ZH-CN" style="font-family:SimSun;"> </span><br />Because you only get so many chances,<br />Enough is Enough, Enough Hypocrisy for this one world.<br /></i><i><span lang="ZH-CN" style="font-family:SimSun;"> </span><br />We want One World, One Dream, And Peace On Earth.<br />- This Big Blue Earth is Big Enough for all of Us.<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal">There is a real sense that <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> is once again being persecuted by the western powers, just like in the 1800s. History is not easily forgotten here. Or at least certain history…..other events, Tiananmen 1989, 1950’s <st1:country-region><st1:place>Tibet</st1:place></st1:country-region>, is not taught at all. But I can sympathize with the average Chinese who has seen so much progress, wants <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> to succeed, and then gets slapped down in its moment of pre-Olympic glory. I am not trying to forgive the behavior of the government, and if the Chinese knew half of what is reported in the west about their government’s behavior, I am sure the Chinese would understand better where the angry demonstrators are coming from. But I am not sure embarrassing <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>, causing them to lose face, is going to lead to improvement here. If anything, there is a better chance it will fuel nationalism and further repression.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">After school, Katie arrives home in a basketball uniform, covered in sweat and dirt.<span style=""> </span>I had thought she was going as a team supporter, having never played basketball in her life, but she was one of the 5 players on the BISS team! And she scored two “goals”, presumably baskets. The score of the hour long game? 12-4 with Katie’s school coming out on top! Yao Ming watch out!!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">After dinner, and thinking about how I might contribute to this book, I decide to probe a bit into Katie’s thinking about <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> and adoption now that she is living in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>. It was an awkward discussion and she was clearly uncomfortable discussing many issues. We decided that I would write questions on a pad of paper and she would write answers. Some questions were too emotionally hard for her to answer and other answers she wants kept private, and I’ll respect that. But overall, she has a pretty positive attitude toward <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>, learning Chinese, returning to <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> and being among people who look like her. She does not like it when people expect her to understand Chinese, but she does like trying to communicate in Chinese when people are nice and smile at her. She is open to the idea of returning to Yiyang with Eve, but says she had so much fun there the last time with Half the Sky and all the friends she made, that this time might be different. I am sure it would be if we decide to go. First, there won’t be other kids for her to play with and she is older so “gets it” a lot more than she did three years ago. And I also want to do any searching of records that are allowed and ask difficult questions, which I’m sure Katie would rather avoid. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I have been informing the folks at the embassy about our housing issues and they think we ought to consider moving. I am really torn, the devil I know may be better than the devil I don’t know….and it would be a big hassle to find a place and physically move. But the prospect of a nice, quiet, functional place is very appealing. I hate for this housing to be the source of an otherwise potentially more positive experience here. What to do, what to do?!</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Wednesday: Sun, covered in white soup hazey, about 70 degrees</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I have not been to the last two Chinese language classes and after a restless night’s sleep, decide to skip this one too. I think I have learned all I am going to learn, enough to get in a cab and get where I need to go, find a bathroom, and order food. I wish I could learn more, but at some point you weigh the likelihood of ever coming back and really needing it against other things I’d rather be doing, in this case, sleeping in!!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I work at home until 10 and then go to meet my student Michael at my office. He wants to talk about his future. Michael and I go to the bank (where I begin withdrawing the maximum allowed over the next four days which<span style=""> </span>I will need to buy airline tickets for our vacation to <st1:city><st1:place>Chengdu</st1:place></st1:city> and Lijiang next week) and then to a really nice coffee shop that I never knew existed in the basement of the Renmin Business school. Michael is not sure he wants to be a journalist although he clearly loves it. He is afraid of the political climate and not being able to speak the truth. He thinks the book publishing industry might give him more freedom. You are allowed to say more in books than mass media, because only elites will ever read the books and the government is less threatened by that. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">At eleven, Eve comes by my office and we chat for more than an hour about the latest CNN flap. Apparently, the commentator Jack Cafferty has insulted the Chinese and the blogosphere and the Chinese government are going berserk again. There was apparently a nationalist demonstration planned for outside the gates of <st1:place><st1:placename>Tsinghua</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>University</st1:placetype></st1:place> today. And students are getting text messages to boycott American and French stores, Wal-mart and Carrefour. Things are getting interesting….I also talk to Eve about when we might return to Yiyang, probably late June. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I return home for lunch and get my copy of the <i>China Daily</i> and the CNN story is the lead: “China Demands CNN apologize for slander”.<span style=""> </span>Well, Cafferty and CNN did issue an apology, saying the criticisms were against the government and not the Chinese people, but that gets short shrift in the <st1:country-region><st1:place><i>China</i></st1:place></st1:country-region><i> Daily.<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal">At one, I meet with the three PhD candidates who I am asking to give research presentations in June. They have passed in their first “research” assignment and it is totally opinion, impressionistic with no research. So we go over expectations and they seem daunted by this task….stay tuned.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="">We go to class and I do my schtick on Watergate and how the resources that the <i>Post</i> dedicated to investigating Nixon would probably not have happened in today’s newspaper economy. I show the film <i>All the President’s Men</i>, but it is too “inside baseball” and the dialogue is too muffled for them to really understand. So I try to explain what is going on. We see about 40 minutes of it total and they clearly aren’t following, so I abandon that plan. This class is real work. Either their English is not great and/or they are unwilling to participate in any debate or answer any questions. A couple of them are good, but several just give me the blank stare. They are not taking it for credit, so why do they keep coming every week?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">After class I head home. I check my email and Mark Ma, our adoption facilitator from Yiyang ten years ago, who I have not heard from in YEARS, sends me a column written by a UC Berkeley Prof. that advocates a middle ground between <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> and the west.<span style=""> </span>I email Mark back telling him that we are IN <st1:stockticker>CHINA</st1:stockticker>; he emails back that he is in <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:city> working for the World Wildlife Fund!!! Katie is doing her big presentation at BISS on endangered species in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> and she wants to interview Mark.<span style=""> </span>This is a small world! We make plans to see Mark next week after Stephen arrives.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Meanwhile, Eve’s roommate, Stefanie, wants to do a photo essay on Katie/Chinese adoptees and she comes over at 4 to ask permission. Katie is reluctant, but finally agrees. While Stefanie is there, Mercy and the other young professor with good English named Judy come over. I have not heard from Mercy since the disastrous night when she inspected my toilet after I yelled at her, so I am glad she is still speaking to me after my bad behavior! Judy wants me to come and speak to her classes about western media and why/if they are biased. I am thrilled to have an opportunity to defend my profession and my colleagues, so I agree to do two lectures/Q&A.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Finally, everyone leaves and we have dinner and then a quiet night reading. Katie is reading <i>The Diary of <span style=""> </span>Ma Yan </i>and I finallllllly finish the book <i>Nixon and Mao, the week that changed the world. </i>While I’ve just spent the afternoon railing about what a paranoid, evil character Richard Nixon was during Watergate, I have to say, I must thank him for the overture to <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>. Without that move, who knows where US-China relations would be. We haven’t talked to <st1:country-region><st1:place>Iran</st1:place></st1:country-region> in almost 30 years. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Rather than ranting about the noise outside, I am now recording it to add to the blog (if I can figure out how to do this). And now that there is a mission behind the madness, I am somehow bothered less by the incessant “hop, 2, 3, 4”.<span style=""> </span>I am really trying to change my attitude, and if every day were as full as this one, it would be easier. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><st1:date month="4" day="17" year="2008">Thursday, <st1:date year="2008" day="17" month="4" ls="trans">April 17, 2008</st1:date></st1:date></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Sunny, I think, but covered in intense milky haze. I can taste the air and it is burning my nose and the inside of my throat……<i>and I haven’t left the house yet.</i> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Lucy and Cate are arriving today from the States so I pick up the apartment a bit. Adrienne from NBC contacted me. She will be in my neighborhood today so we plan to meet at <st1:time hour="12" minute="0">noon</st1:time>. She says NBC could use some help this summer, but I need to figure out the housing and visa issues, (and decide if I reallllly want to be here that long). Part of me wants to stay, assuming the Olympic sideshow is going to be a big story, I don’t want to miss it. But part of me is eager to head home. For the second day in a row, the headline in the <i>China Daily</i> today is about CNN’s Jack Cafferty “insulting the Chinese people”. Why are the Chinese propagandists beating this anti-western media thing so hard?? Who cares what Jack Cafferty says?!? I don’t want to be a target of some pissed-off nationalist nut.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">When Cate and Lucy arrive they bring some really wonderful gifts and cards from friends in <st1:city><st1:place>Belmont</st1:place></st1:city>, and I am really feeling very far away from home. Katie’s friends and Girl Scout troop made a big banner with one flag from each girl. It looks like a Tibetan prayer flag and when I hang it in Katie’s window, I wonder if the authorities will think we are Tibetan separatist sympathizers! My friend Heidi sent a Red Sox card and pencils and it occurred to me that I did not even know baseball season had started! That is a first. How are the Sox doing anyway?! And the Rifkins next door to us in <st1:city><st1:place>Belmont</st1:place></st1:city> have a new dog that apparently likes to visit our front steps! Katie really would like to be home to see that puppy! Now I guess I really DO have to get her a dog when we get home.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I cook up a little supper and then we all take a walk around the campus on this balmy 70 degree night. Lucy manages to stay awake until 9, and Cate is still chatting away with Katie at 10….so no jet lag here! Now if they can sleep through the marchers chanting outside, that will be a real success.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Eve has sent a lovely, moving letter to Katie. She emailed it to me in Chinese two weeks ago and has now translated it into English. She talks about Yiyang and her sadness that Yiyang could not provide for Katie, but her happiness that Katie will have many opportunities that she might never have had if she had been raised in Yiyang. Very poignant. Eve is a gifted writer and I am moved to tears. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">This has been the best week in a while, maybe in the entire time I’ve been here. Let’s hope this keeps up.<o:p></o:p></p>Anne Donohuehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17213801988680297535noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9151003418006851422.post-6524970150340425882008-04-17T17:30:00.001-07:002008-04-17T17:30:55.341-07:00Week 8…of 18…if I make it that long!Friday – 4/4 <p class="MsoNormal">The most glorious day since we’ve been here. I left the house in my fleece and parka and within five minutes was back, shedding the layers. Probably 65-70 degrees outside.<span style=""> </span>Overnight everything bloomed. Pink and red tufts of perfectly formed buds cluster all the little trees outside. It is a holiday today, Tomb Sweeping Day, kind of like Memorial Day. (April 4<sup>th </sup>was the day of my father’s funeral so this feels appropriate somehow). The campus is quiet and everyone is moving at a more leisurely pace. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Katie did not have the holiday off and has gone to Exlila’s after school. I must go to the center of the city to retrieve her, so I head in around <st1:time hour="12" minute="0">noon</st1:time> and spend the afternoon walking around Liuliucheng, the old-fashioned antique/arts shopping area. It is a lot more touristy than I remember, although there are some authentic art galleries; one had several artists at work doing calligraphy and painting. I ended up walking east into a hutong, extremely poor, and ended up at <st1:place>Tiananmen Square</st1:place>. The hutong was a real slum, about an eighth of a mile from the Great Hall of the People…..kind of ironic. I then went into the City Planning Museum where there is this huge model of the city, every building within a five mile radius of the center is there in 3-D and the rest of the city is depicted in aerial photographs that are laid out under glass underfoot. Essentially you have a bird’s eye view of the city at your feet. I had been here three years ago, but now knowing my way around a bit, it was even more impressive…..and more illuminating on just how far we are from the action. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I got Katie at Exlilia’s and went to TGIFriday’s for a burger. As we are leaving, an elderly man holding a baby approaches me. Initially, I think he is trying to hand me the baby. I don’t know what to do. My heart is pounding. He keeps pushing the baby toward me.<span style=""> </span>This happened in <st1:city><st1:place>Guangzhou</st1:place></st1:City> ten years ago and the woman <i>was</i> trying to give us a baby. But here, smack in the middle of ex-pat <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:City>? I am holding a bag of leftover food, French fries and potato skins, and hand it to him as I rummage for some cash. He takes the food and disappears. It is one of those ‘colliding culture’ moments where I can never quite switch gears fast enough. TGIFriday’s and desperately poor <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>. It is hard to get your head around the income gap here. I am reading a children’s book, “The Diary of Ma Yan” about a 13 year old girl in <st1:place><st1:placename>Ningxia</st1:PlaceName> <st1:placetype>Province</st1:PlaceType></st1:place>. The annual income there is $48, yes, the equivalent of 48 U.S. dollars per YEAR….about what I just paid for a burger and fries at TGIFriday’s. How can we keep living with this insane disparity? The whole baby incident leaves me shaken and I am sure it was disturbing for Katie. I gave her a big hug and said ‘desperate people have to make desperate choices’. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">We took the subway about half way home and took a cab the rest of the way. I hope the subway out to our area opens soon. It would make life much simpler. Although, the trains are pretty packed and it is rare when you can find a seat. But tonight, a nice young man, seeing Katie under the weight of her giant school backpack, offered his seat to her. That was a first. All in all a good day!</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Saturday. 4/5</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Gray, gloomy, and sleepy. We did not leave the house. I wanted to go for a walk but Katie had no interest. Eve from Yiyang came over in the morning to go over her Thoreau speech and we had a nice chat about philosophy and poetry. She loves William Butler Yeats and recited <i>Innisfree</i>, a poem written about an island in a lake about a mile from where my grandmother Donohue was born in <st1:place>Sligo</st1:place>. Yeats spent summers in <st1:place>Sligo</st1:place> and my grandmother was a big fan. Eve’s competition started at <st1:time hour="12" minute="0">noon</st1:time> and she text-messaged us throughout the day updating us on her status. She was very nervous but ended up in the top ten, which means she goes on to compete in the next round next weekend. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I spent a lot of time messing with photo and audio software. Managed to make a quick slide show with audio I already had on itunes, but I cannot open software to allow me to import new audio to edit or mix. Need to figure this out. My tolerance for taking on new frustrations has definitely gotten more practice here! </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I cook up some rice and veggie stir fry and have a quiet evening at home. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">We ended up watching a movie, a <st1:stockticker>DVD</st1:stockticker> we bought here (at full price, not pirated – we are the ONLY people of 1.3 million Chinese to have done this, I am sure!), it’s the Keira Knightly re-make of “Pride and Prejudice”, which Katie really liked…..especially at the climax, where Mr. Darcy is professing his love, and the automated voice on my computer interrupted with “It is <st1:time hour="10" minute="0">ten o’clock</st1:time>”. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Sunday 4/6</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Katie’s school is having a picnic and soccer game at a park on the far eastern side of town. The weather is gloomy, but I did not see any word of cancellation on line, so we get in a cab with directions in Chinese that I badgered Katie’s teacher to send us. The taxi driver takes us to a Holiday Inn, not the park. So much for advance planning! <span style=""> </span>So I pull out a map and show him where the park is. He is yammering away in Chinese, but eventually gets us to the park. The one parent who I know is there and we have a nice time talking and meeting with some of the other moms. I go to see where Katie is and find her sitting watching the soccer game with the girls, not playing. I encourage her to play, that is the main reason we are here. But she says no. Within a few minutes it starts to rain, the second time in 8 weeks, and I am totally unprepared, no raincoats, umbrellas, or shelter. I tell Katie we need to leave. She is not happy, she wants to play soccer! I tell her she had her opportunity, but I am getting soaked and we are leaving. She is not happy and will make me pay for this for the rest of the day. We hop in a cab and meet our first cabbie who understands some English. He was very funny trying out all his new phrases. He had a tape in the car so he can practice and he imitated it very well, although I am not entirely sure he knew what he was saying.<span style=""> </span>I call another Fulbrighter, Beth Farmer, who I made plans to go rug shopping with. She meets us at the Kempinski Hotel….where I order a cup of tea (for $7!!!) and try to dry out. I am soaked and my clothes are unfortunately very absorbent. Katie is in a nylon jacket that dried quickly so she does not get to experience the joys of rain as I do…..Beth arrives and we check out a few rug stores and see some nice rugs, but I have no idea how prices would compare with US, so I take pictures of some of the rugs and decide to wait until Stephen arrives to buy. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">The last rug store is not far from the Pearl Market, so Katie and I opt to go there. She is still in a snit…(and it did stop raining very soon after we left the soccer game, so she is even more mad)….so we did not buy a thing at the Pearl Market. Hard to believe! <span style=""> </span>Head home via subway, get off at Wadukuo station where the map says there are a couple of pizza places. I can’t find one of them, and there is a half hour wait at the Pizza Hut. I am not waiting even though I am craving pizza. (Have not had any since we got here). We go to a French bakery, get some bread and head home for another night of Annie’s Mac and Cheese.<span style=""> </span>I need to prep for a lecture on Watergate, and I have a PBS documentary “Watergate at 30” produced in 2004. Katie, surprisingly, really wants to watch it with me, and asks a lot of good questions. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Monday. 4/7 gray and gloomy</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Chinese class. I am getting more and more lost. The students who are taking all three classes are really progressing, but I am not able to keep the characters straight and the teacher is speaking more and more in Chinese, less and less in English…. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I walked back from class this morning, and stopped by the old women doing line dances in the park, except today they didn’t have their boom box blasting their Chinese disco tunes. Dancing without the music is an apt metaphor for <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>. The Chinese are enjoying much better lives materially now than at any time in living memory, but something essential is missing. The longer I stay, the angrier I get at the total control the government has over everyone, and how resigned, even the younger generation, is to the way things are. It is crushing, physically crushing, to listen to them talk about ideals that will never become realities, and even worse, they know it and accept it. <span style=""> </span>I understand that the desire for stability outweighs the desire for many other things and given <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>’s history over the past century and a half, stability is a rare commodity. But I hope change will come, peacefully, soon. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I am pretty sure I will not be staying in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> any longer than required. I am so sorry this has not worked out as I had hoped. And maybe things will turn around – I am eternally hopeful.<span style=""> </span>I think many things could have made this experience better: more Chinese language proficiency would be high on the list, closer proximity to the center of the city, more connections with colleagues. But there are some things that could not have been improved and would always cast a pall over <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>. The pollution is hard to get past. I need a lot more sunshine in my life. Today, I cannot see the buildings at the east end of campus, maybe a half mile away. There is this whitish gray milky cloud just hanging over everything. To make matters worse, the headline in the <i>China Daily</i> propaganda rag today is essentially encouraging Chinese to go to the most popular web portal in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>, sina.com, and sign a petition attacking western media bias. Even more disturbing, I heard from my colleagues at the Foreign Correspondents Club of China that some of their members have received death threats, some so severe and specific that one journalist has the left the country for his own safety. Not so mysteriously, personal data, including addresses and phone numbers of foreign journalists (which they all must supply to the government), have ended up posted on a very nationalistic website and journalists are getting inundated with nasty phone calls. Celine said that at NBC she fielded nasty calls all day. And the icing on the cake, I just read a new report from the Pew Center on the Internet and Society, on Chinese and the internet:<span style=""> </span>85% of Chinese support government controls of the web, and three quarters of Chinese web users trust the Chinese government’s web information* So it is an incredible uphill battle to even imagine a more open society when there are very few clamoring for more freedoms. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">*The study was not specific to journalism on the web, and may have been a reaction to pornography and on-line gaming, so I may be reading too much acquiescence to government controls into this.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">When Katie came home from school we took a walk to the grocery store and stocked up on a few essentials. Made a nice dinner of curried chicken, rice and green beans with the curry sauce Stephen sent over from Trader Joe’s. It never tasted so good! We also defrosted the Ghiardelli brownies he baked and sent over (which I froze to save for a chocoholic day). Let me add an oven to the list of things I am coveting!<span style=""> </span>Watched the rest of Watergate at 30, and Katie is decidedly a democrat after watching this!<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">At <st1:time hour="21" minute="0">9pm</st1:time>, I attempt to flush the toilet and it overflows onto the floor and doesn’t stop, there is about an inch of water on the bathroom floor and it’s still coming. I try calling Mercy, then the waiban Mrs.Liu and finally, against my better judgment, the student, Michael, but no one is answering. I go down the elevator with a Chinese-English dictionary and start miming and attempting to explain in <i>Chinglish</i> that there is a minor flood on the 17<sup>th</sup> floor.<span style=""> </span>If nothing else, the folks on the 16<sup>th</sup> floor will be down soon if the water is landing on them. Finally, I call the “Saline-Solution”, Celine, and ask her to translate via cell phone the situation to the woman at the front desk. I return upstairs and the water has subsided and gone down the washing machine drain. A few minutes later my new best friend in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>, the plumber, arrives, flushes the toilet with no problem. He attempts to show me for the tenth time how to flush a toilet. I thank him, <i>again</i>, and go to bed…but not before emailing Mercy, the waiban, and Ann McConnell at the embassy, to let them know that the toilet has got to go, or I do…. .and for some reason Gloria Gaynor’s “I will survive” keeps running through my brain. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Tuesday. 4/8</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Not much sleep last night. They are doing construction through the night and the trucks keep going over the speed bump in front of our building and making a racket every time they go by. That coupled with the militaristic “hop-2-3-4-“ drills that go on until after <st1:time hour="23" minute="0">11pm</st1:time>, I am exhausted. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">My class is a lot of fun today. We go over their scripts for their second stories. They all picked good, challenging, off-campus topics…migrant children’s school, one-child generation, inflation, lack of toilets at the Olympic venues (I can reallllly relate to this one).<span style=""> </span>(I did not raise the attacks on western journalists because I didn’t want to get bummed out if they thought this was a good thing). We work on their voice and delivery, but I am really focusing on making them speak in understandable English so I can actually understand the finished product (which I unable to on their first assignment).Confusing V with W and R with L are the ones they have the hardest time with. And I am beginning to understand why. <span style=""> </span>The Chinese R is actually a <i>zhrrr</i> sound that is made by putting the tongue about half way between where we put our tongue for R and L. Aha! Now I know how to pronounce a Chinese R!!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Ann McConnell from the embassy calls after class to discuss housing. I tell her I am not ready to move yet, if they are truly going to replace the toilet. But if it still acts up, I’ll call her next week about plan B. It would be a dream to get moved closer to the center of the city, but I doubt that is in the cards. I think they’d move me across the hall, which would not be much better. Ann also wants me to come down and talk to folks there about the harassment of western media. I am not sure I know any more than what has been reported in the papers, but I’m happy to discuss this. I at least hope the <st1:country-region><st1:place>US</st1:place></st1:country-region> government will register a protest, and try to get the journalists’ phones and addresses taken down from these nasty websites. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Wednesday 4/9</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I skip Chinese class this morning. Too tired and too much else to do before my trip to <st1:city><st1:place>Shanghai</st1:place></st1:City> tomorrow. I head into office and finish up my Murrow lecture preparations. One of my undergrads has sent me a nice email with all kinds of ideas of what to do and where to eat in <st1:city><st1:place>Shanghai</st1:place></st1:City>. Very sweet. I also had a few emails from friends back home that made me laugh, and I begin to realize that most of my dissatisfaction with my time here is that I don’t have friends to share all the laughs and frustrations with. All of my Chinese colleagues’ English is too poor to carry on a substantive conversation and certainly not good enough to understand the subtleties of humor.<span style=""> </span>And the other Americans live too far away in the Chaoyang district. I have not seen any other Caucasian adults (other than the students in my Chinese language class) in this neighborhood at all. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Eve from Yiyang comes to visit me in my office, ostensibly to go over her speech for her competition on the weekend, but we end up chatting for more than an hour about Yiyang, adoption, identity, and the one child policy. She says she is 100% sure Katie would come from a rural family and the woman would hide her pregnancy by going to live with relatives in another village until they find out the gender of the baby. If it’s a boy, keep it, if not, not. Eve says in the letter she wrote to Katie in Chinese that she sent me the day she met Katie, she wrote that if Katie had stayed in Yiyang she would be working in a field or sent off to work in a factory in <st1:place><st1:placename>Guangdong</st1:PlaceName> <st1:placetype>Province</st1:PlaceType></st1:place>. She would have had no chance for higher education. Eve is concerned that the one child policy is causing this, and also causing the imbalance in male/female births. At last count, there were 120 male births to every 100 female births. A nation of millions of bachelors….She says the sex industry is booming and bride selling will become more common than it is. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I give my Murrow vs. McCarthy lecture to the grads and showed sections of a documentary on Murrow.<span style=""> </span>Relative to the Cultural Revolution, McCarthyism must look like child’s play to them. The documentary is a bit “inside baseball” and even for an American, there are a lot of names and references that would be challenging. My students are lost, but at least they are asking questions to explain that they are confused rather than just blankly staring. I guess this is progress. At the end of class I have about 15 minutes left and talk to them about censorship and how you go about getting the truth when the government so blatantly lies. They are very candid that things are not good, but one guy Tony, says most of <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> is worried about where their next meal is coming from and don’t know or care about democracy. Good point. But for the millions who are riding this economic boom, they don’t seem to care either. The material life is too good to rock the boat. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">After class I check my email and the <st1:city><st1:place>Shanghai</st1:place></st1:City> consulate has a last minute change in my itinerary – I’ll be giving a lecture at <st1:place><st1:placename>Fudan</st1:PlaceName> <st1:placetype>University</st1:PlaceType></st1:place> and meeting with <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>’s oldest journalism association, but instead of going to <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>’s largest web portal, I am going to the offices of my favorite propaganda rag, <i>The China Daily</i>!<span style=""> </span>I will have a hard time NOT telling them exactly what I think of their brand of “journalism”. If you don’t hear from me again, you’ll know why.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I return home and they have installed a BRAND <st1:stockticker>NEW</st1:stockticker> TOILET.<span style=""> </span>(Bring in Bob Barker here saying, “Anne Donohue, Come on Down, You are the Lucky Winner of a BRAND <st1:stockticker>NEW</st1:stockticker> TOILET).<span style=""> </span>It is much bigger than the old toilet, but I am trying not to take that personally. Neither Katie or I dare to be the first to ‘christen’ it….</p>Anne Donohuehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17213801988680297535noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9151003418006851422.post-25554053284587627262008-04-04T10:38:00.001-07:002008-04-04T10:38:31.894-07:00Week 7<p class="MsoNormal">Friday March 28,</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Hope and Lily pack up and return to the ol’ USofA.<span style=""> </span>I am jealous. When I last wrote, let me see, we had no lights one day, no electricity in the outlets the next, no hot water for two days, and was told by “Horace”, no internet, but apparently that still works. So Friday comes along, Hope and Lily take off and I go to do a load of laundry and take a shower. NO water! No hot, no cold, nada. Joy of Joys! It is raining in Beijing for the first time in six weeks, and ironically TODAY there is no water. I pick up the apartment, move the furniture, rummage through collected debris, and about two hours later, the water is running, brown at first, but then clear, so I do the laundry and take my shower. The heat has been off for a few weeks, everywhere in Beijing,<span style=""> </span>but today is so damp the laundry is taking forever to dry. Katie comes home from school and we hang around here, have some of our glorious Annie’s mac and cheese for dinner. She plays computer games while I watch the movie “Michael Clayton” that Celine gave me on the other computer. It is the first day since I have been here that I did not leave the apartment. I needed a down day. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Saturday March 29</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Wake up and first thing I do is use the toilet and attempt to flush, but it overflows. I am plunging like a maniac, but no dice. The lovely contents are spilling over. I clean up as much as possible, get dressed and call Mercy. I’ve had enough. This place is a disaster. Like a little exclamation point, the curtain rod that holds up the shower curtain crashed on Katie’s head during her shower this morning. I tell Mercy to get a plumber over here asap. She says she’ll come over herself, but I say that won’t do. I am taking Katie to a friend’s and I will be out until it is fixed. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I take Katie all the way across town to Exilia’s and we have the opportunity to stumble upon the pool, spa, gym, and playground in Exila’s apartment complex. She is steps from a grocery store. She is on the subway line….not that she needs it, she has a car.<span style=""> </span>Not everyone in Beijng is living like we are, and for the first time in my life I am insanely jealous of someone else’s material goods. I am the ugly American. <span style=""> </span>I want that pool in MY building. I want an elevator that is well lit and does not smell of sewage. And yes, I know, it is one of the Ten Commandments to not covet your neighbor’s goods…..but, sorry Mom, I am COVETING my neighbor’s toilet!!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I spend the day on the subway, popping up at various stops to see the sites, find an English language book store, and later a Daoist temple with the most bizzaro statues where humans turn into animals or demons in one of the 18 levels of hell. <span style=""> </span>Funny, weird and scary all at once. I get back to Exilia’s at <st1:time minute="30" hour="16">4:30</st1:time> to retrieve Katie. They want another <span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>tomorrow and I say tentatively OK. We take the subway, with three not terribly direct connections, to the Walmart station about a mile from our apartment. We stock up on a few essentials at Wa-la-ma-la, three bags of groceries, takes about 90 minutes to find, and wait in long, slow, crowded lines with people cutting in front of me. We then take a taxi home. It is <st1:time minute="00" hour="20">8pm</st1:time>. I have not eaten since breakfast, and I really need to pee. I unload the groceries and head to the bathroom. There it is, as I left it, the lovely contents of the toilet overflowing. I LOSE IT. I call Mercy and start yelling. I have never been so mad in my life. She says she’ll come over in the morning. I tell her NO. If the toilet is not fixed tonight, I am going to a hotel. Five minutes later a maintenance guy comes, I assume to fix the toilet, but he starts repairing the broken shower curtain rod. I go into the bathroom and mime for him to fix the g.d. toilet. I need to GO! He disappears, comes back about fifteen minutes later with another Chinese guy and a French speaking resident, who is supposed to translate…accept I don’t speak French and he doesn’t speak much English, or at least does not know his plumbing vocabulary. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">The three of them go into the bathroom and I go into the study to cry. It is also about 30 degrees outside now, at <st1:time minute="0" hour="21">9pm</st1:time>, so the apartment might be 55 degrees at best. I am frozen, and of course, still have to pee!<span style=""> </span>Then someone knocks on the door. It is Mercy. She is sympathetic, but she cannot translate plumbing issues either, so against my explicit request, she calls one of <i>my students</i>, Michael, to come over here at <st1:time minute="0" hour="21">9pm</st1:time> on Saturday night to examine the contents of my toilet! He arrives, I am mortified, angry and tired. There are now five people in my tiny bathroom yammering away in Chinese. Meanwhile, Katie has decided to clean the apartment (her way of bringing order to chaos) and is sweeping and wiping off the table…she too has to pee. By <st1:time hour="9" minute="45">9:45</st1:time>, the toilet is allegedly working, and I tell everyone that Katie and I need to sleep so they can continue their chatter elsewhere. Mercy and Michael try to explain to me that the problems are caused by a hot water thermos in the kitchen that is too full. I explain that the thermos was not in use when the electrical and plumbing problems occurred. Then they decide it is because we are taking showers and the steam is getting into the electrical system. I explain, given that the hot water heater is about a five gallon drum, there have been NO long or steamy showers here! I am really concerned that the wiring and the plumbing mix is going to electrocute us. I go to sleep with that happy thought, under two down comforters and two wool blankets. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Sunday</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>Quiet Day hanging around the house. Celine calls mid afternoon and says her parents want to take us to dinner. They pick us up at 5 and we head to a restaurant that serves food from <st1:place><st1:placename>Shandong</st1:PlaceName> <st1:placetype>Province</st1:PlaceType></st1:place>. The lobby is full of fish tanks and other prepared food where we can pick out our meal. I tell them to order what they like and we’ll sample. We have a very enjoyable meal with Celine translating. Her father has been to every province in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>, so offers us some good tips on vacation destinations. Her mom is very quiet but enjoys Katie. Her dad is in the salt business. They moved to <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:City> from <st1:city><st1:place>Kaifeng</st1:place></st1:City> in <st1:place><st1:placename>Henan</st1:PlaceName> <st1:placetype>Province</st1:PlaceType></st1:place> when Celine was in high school. <st1:city><st1:place>Kaifeng</st1:place></st1:City> was the home of <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>’s earliest Jews, who came here from <st1:country-region><st1:place>Persia</st1:place></st1:country-region> via <st1:place>Silk Road</st1:place> in the 8<sup>th</sup> century. There was a Jewish temple there until the 19<sup>th</sup> century but was torn down after a flood.<span style=""> </span>The Jews were persecuted during the Cultural Revolution and few remain. Maybe 200 people now.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Monday</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I head out to Chinese language class and the classroom has HEAT! Someone has managed to get the AC unit to generate heat. Too much for most students but I am sitting right under the heater and it is blasting me and I am happy, happy, happy. When the students complain that it is too hot, the teacher, in very Chinese fashion, says she does not control it, and moves on. Well, someone controls it, someone got it to work this morning, someone must know how to turn it off or down. Not her.<span style=""> </span>“I do not control it.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I am not learning much Chinese, but at least I am warm! </p> <p class="MsoNormal">My office is colder than the apartment so I opt to stay home and work under a blanket. I attempt to get our air conditioner to turn into a heater. I find the remote for the AC unit and turn it on, but all I get is cold air. Of course, the remote is all labeled in Chinese, so I don’t know what buttons to push. <span style=""> </span>I am preparing three lectures, one on the First Amendment, one on McCarthy and Murrow, and one on New Media that I will present in Shanghai next week. A very productive day, and the laptop generates enough heat that I keep it on my lap like a little kitten to keep me warm. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Tuesday</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Go into my freezer of an office for office hours and get a lot of work done. No visitors. Because it is April Fool’s Day, I am going into class pretending to be Hillary Clinton and the students are going to have a mock press conference with Hillary. It is a big hit. They were very well prepared, and caught “Hillary” in a few gaffes (what is her position on <st1:country-region><st1:place>Taiwan</st1:place></st1:country-region>? Ummm, I dunno).<span style=""> </span>They all thought it was very funny and wanted my autograph at the end.<span style=""> </span>After class, a student named Eve asked if I would help her with a presentation she was doing on Saturday and I agreed to meet with her on Wednesday. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Wednesday</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Katie has no school because it is conference day (and she hasn’t been here long enough for the teacher to want a conference with us yet) so Celine is supposed to be here at 10 to babysit. At 10, the cleaning people arrive and I decide Katie and I should go to my office and wait for Celine. My student Eve arrives and meets Katie. She asks if she is Chinese and I reply yes, from <st1:state><st1:place>Hunan</st1:place></st1:State>. Eve says she is from <st1:state><st1:place>Hunan</st1:place></st1:State>. I say Yiyang and Eve gasps and says she is from Yiyang! What are the odds of that? Well, 1.3 Billion Chinese, only 4 million people from Yiyang, and my class only has ten students….This makes all my “didn’t I go to Camp Huckins with you?” small world encounters seem like small potatoes!<span style=""> </span>We decide we need to talk more about this later, but I am crashing to get ready for my <st1:time hour="13" minute="45">1:45</st1:time> lecture. Meanwhile, Eve has asked me to listen to her speech. She is in a competition where she has to memorize and recite aloud a speech in English. She has chosen a passage from Thoreau on “Solitude”. When I tell her I swim at <st1:place>Walden Pond</st1:place> she is blown away. Thoreau is her favorite philosopher!<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Off I go to class and bore the students to death with First Amendment Law. Instead of inspiring them, this topic seems so remote from their reality, they are more glazed over than usual. At the end of class we talk about press reform and whether there are any efforts to try to change the system here, to open a dialogue between journalists and the government propaganda office, but only one student seems engaged and optimistic, the rest seem so resigned “this is China”, “that’s just the way it is”, “we are used to it”. It is sad but painfully realistic. Rocking the boat here is a very bad idea. Most of these students were too young to remember Tiananmen 1989, and none learned about it at school; all they have known is <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>’s economic growth, yet all of them seem so passive. I don’t know if they have been taught to be cautious and fearful by parents who do remember darker days or if they are just happy to ride the economic wave and think civil liberties are unimportant. I am mystified. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Intellectually I knew that the Chinese had immense control over individual’s lives here, but in reality it is even more pervasive than I could ever imagine. Obviously on the big issues, family planning or free speech, there is total control. But on even the littlest things, the government dictates your life. Take the heat, for example. The city of <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:City> (and I think all of northern <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>) shuts down the heat everywhere on March 15, whether it is 10 degrees outside or not. It is not just my apartment that is cold. You cannot escape the cold. Restaurants, malls, everywhere is the same raw cutting cold.<span style=""> </span>I teach in a brand new gorgeous building, but the classroom is bitter cold. When I asked my students what we can do about it, they shrug and say, “wear warmer clothes”.<span style=""> </span>I am wearing a turtleneck, a polartec fleece and a down parka! Well, as global warming takes center stage, maybe all of us will be living like the Chinese, but I hope not. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I head home and Katie is still out with Celine. Around <st1:time hour="16" minute="45">4:45</st1:time> I hear a knock on the apartment door and it is Eve. She has been all over the city looking for food from Yiyang to bring to Katie. Hours on busses trying to find the right stuff. She says she called her mother to tell her about Katie and she and her mother cried. They are so ashamed that girls are abandoned in their city and that they cannot provide for these children.<span style=""> </span>Eve says she is quite poor, but scored #1 in all of Yiyang on the college entrance exam. She must pay her own way at Renmin and has several jobs. She says she loves Thoreau and solitude, and does not love Renmin. It is too crowded, six students to a small dorm room, and she finds the students shallow, not interested in philosophy. She wanted to go to <st1:place><st1:placename>Beijing</st1:PlaceName> <st1:placetype>University</st1:PlaceType></st1:place> but did not have the right “connections”, <i>guangxi</i>.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Katie and Celine arrive and Katie is too enamored with Celine to be sufficiently grateful to Eve, but I insist we oooooh and ahhhh over the Yiyang food: dried fish snacks, bean powder, noodles, and sesame cookies. (The cookies were not bad). I ask Katie if she wants to ask Eve anything about Yiyang or would like to return to Yiyang with Eve.<span style=""> </span>Katie has no questions and does not care if we go to Yiyang. She is clearly not into this self-exploration.<span style=""> </span>Eve leaves and Celine (who we are now calling the Saline Solution) plays with the AC remote and gets the HEAT to come out of the AC!!!! I am jumping up and down with joy. The heat is only in two of the four rooms but I find a fan and try to draw it down to my bedroom and the living room. Amazing what a little warmth can do for one’s disposition.<span style=""> </span>All in all, a really good day.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Thursday.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I was supposed to go into NBC News today to talk about staying through the Olympics but my contact there was sick and cancelled. We’ll try again in a few weeks. I am not terribly optimistic and not completely sure I want to be here that long. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I spend the morning tackling the power point presentation for the four lectures on new media that<span style=""> </span>I’ll give in <st1:city><st1:place>Shanghai</st1:place></st1:City> next week. Then I start working on the Murrow – McCarthy lecture for next week’s class. As awful as blacklisting and McCarthyism was, it pales compared to the Chinese experience during that period, and especially the Cultural Revolution of the 1960s.<span style=""> </span>Those days were like McCarthyism-on-steroids. People were beaten and killed for their beliefs here. I wonder how this topic will play with my students.<span style=""> </span>I am trying to drill into them tales of heroic journalists, to inspire them to push the envelope, but given the powerful force they are pushing against and the draconian punishments for those who have pushed, I wonder if I am being hopelessly naïve and idealistic. Hu Jia, a dissident journalist, was sentenced today to several years in jail for his benign attempts at heroic journalism. Case closed.</p>Anne Donohuehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17213801988680297535noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9151003418006851422.post-60346900379644507572008-04-03T06:05:00.000-07:002008-04-03T18:06:13.308-07:00Weeks 5 and 6Friday March 14. Shen Shifu and I drop Katie off at school and head into the embassy for a meeting I have scheduled with an “embassy official” <span style=""> </span>who has the pulse of Chinese journalism. . I have an address, written in Chinese and English, that says the ambassador’s residence is at <st1:street><st1:address>17 Guang Hua Road</st1:address></st1:street>.<span style=""> </span>We arrive at #17 around <st1:time minute="30" hour="8">8:30</st1:time> and see that #17 is the embassy of <st1:country-region><st1:place>Singapore</st1:place></st1:country-region>. Shen asks the guard a few questions, gets back in the car, attempts to take left down the next street and is rebuffed by a soldier. I get out and show the address to the soldier and he points me back down the road toward the west. We get back in, circle the block a few times and still come back to Singaporean embassy. I start making phone calls and after wading through voice mail hell,<span style=""> </span>am told by various English speaking employees of the <st1:country-region><st1:place>US</st1:place></st1:country-region> government to go toward the <st1:place><st2:sn>St.</st2:sn> <st2:middlename>Regis</st2:middlename> <st2:sn>Hotel</st2:sn></st1:place>, or some other nearby venue. We circle the neighborhood for an hour and fifteen minutes, getting quite familiar with Guang Hua Road, until we finally see the poorly marked embassy about a hundred yards from where we started – a building marked #24 (but whose address apparently<span style=""> </span>is really #17) Guang Hua Road. Poor Shen Shifu, he is clearly embarrassed. But he shouldn’t be. The problem was not Chinese, but English (or Arabic numerals, to be more precise!) <p class="MsoNormal">The embassy folks are there, both waiting patiently for our <st1:time hour="9" minute="0">9am</st1:time> meeting; it is now <st1:time minute="40" hour="9">9:40</st1:time> and they have other meetings at 10.<span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>I could spend all day talking to one guy. He is full of great info about who gets slapped for what in Chinese journalism. He uses the analogy of the dog with the electric fence, except the borders of this fence are constantly moving... Journalists, especially Chinese journalists, are never sure what is safe or “within the electric fence”, and what will get them<span style=""> </span>zapped. He said one series of articles on the private lives of retired politburo members got published, but then the writer got fired. His crime: discussing the golfing, reading, and lecturing habits of these retirees. Not exactly Eliot Spitzer expose stuff here.<span style=""> </span>It seems there is just a gentle pushing of the boundaries of what is OK, and a lot of self-censorship. Getting fired for pushing the envelope is actually a badge of courage that will quickly get you hired at another news organization.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">When I tell him that my students seem to be “talking the talk” about democracy and free press, he raises an interesting question: we might be using the same terms, but don’t necessarily mean the same thing. I need to probe more deeply. {Coincidentally, and unbeknownst to me at the time, while we are having this conversation, the embassy is putting out a warning to all <span style=""> </span>US citizens to avoid <st1:country-region><st1:place>Tibet</st1:place></st1:country-region>…things are percolating there. This will be quite an interesting case study of how Chinese media, western media and my students perceive the same event}. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">From there I head to the <st1:country-region><st1:place>US</st1:place></st1:country-region> government resource center to get some DVDs about Murrow and Watergate. My power point presentations are undoubtedly fascinating (!), but a few audio visual props might keep the students more engaged. I get to the right building easily and enter the elevator to push the 18<sup>th</sup> floor. There is no such button. It starts at the 22<sup>nd</sup> floor. I get off, look bewildered, and a nice Chinese couple gets off with me to help. They start calling the resource center and then tell me it is on the 28<sup>th</sup> floor. I look at my address, and there it is in PLAIN ENGLISH: 28<sup>th</sup> floor. I am totally embarrassed. It is bad enough that I can’t find my way around Chinese names and signs, but this was in my native tongue and I still got screwed up. I am normally pretty good with directions and pride myself on being able to find my way around (at age 10 I got lost in Manhattan and found my way back to the hotel….to my very worried mom). Maybe I’m just in a perpetual haze from the smog! I view several DVDs and take out a few that I think will be helpful before heading off to a meeting at Katie’s school. Her class will be spending the rest of the year on a research project of their choosing. The teachers want to meet with the parents to explain the project. I really like Katie’s teachers and I like the idea of the project, especially if it is on a topic that I can get into. In previous years kids have designed new playground layouts for the school….not a topic I can get into, but others have been more global in focus. After the meeting, I put Katie in Shen Shifu’s car. She is going home where Celine is waiting to babysit her, and I have an afternoon to explore before a dinner with some embassy and Fulbright folks.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I take a LOOOOONG walk from the <st1:city><st1:place>Bell</st1:place></st1:city> and <st1:place><st1:placename>Drum</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Towers</st1:placetype></st1:place> (including a one hundred BIG step*staircase up to the top of the <st1:place><st1:placename>Drum</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Tower</st1:placetype></st1:place>), through a upscale hutong neighborhood to the Houhai area. The Houhai area is a bunch of upscale touristy restaurants and shops around a lake. (Imagine Quincy Market, but add A LOT of red lanterns and rickshaws/pedi-cabs). There is an old man using water on the pavement to create<span style=""> </span>beautiful Chinese calligraphy. And no sooner is the work of art complete, it evaporates. How Zen!<span style=""> </span>Another group of old men play traditional Chinese musical instruments. I take it back, this is much nicer than Quincy Market!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">On the map it indicates <st1:place><st1:placename>Beihai</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Park</st1:placetype></st1:place> should be across the street but there is no obvious entrance, just a long brick wall, so I go into a tourist info booth and ask where the entrance is. I have encountered my first truly rude service person in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>. This young girl points with her left hand in an easterly direction while pointing on the map in a westerly direction. I am trying to NOT get lost so I press her for more clarity. She grabs my map, slams it on the table, and points to the Park. I can see the park on the map, I explain, but where is it in reality, from where we are standing right now? She points out the front door and I get the message: GO. I am dealing with the <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:city> soup nazi – NO directions for YOU! I cross the street and easily find the entrance to this LOVELY quiet park, big lake with willows just starting to bloom, a young kid fishing with a string wrapped around a coffee can. Off to the west are a bunch of temples and what are probably offices and housing for senior Party types. The Chinese flag flutters on the roof of one of them. It is amazing how noisy, smelly, crazy <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:city> an immediately slip away inside these walled parks.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I walk and walk to the southern tip of the park, along the back side of the <st1:place>Forbidden City</st1:place> and end up at Wanfujing, the street I stayed on when I first came to <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>. The Palace Hotel where I stayed was about $60/night in 1998. It is now five times that, at least. Too tired to keep walking, I attempted to grab a cab. Not easy during rush hour, but finally get one and head for my dinner engagement. We are meeting at a restaurant inside the North Gate of Ritan Park. I wrote down the name of the restaurant on a pad of paper, and now I realize, to lighten my load,<span style=""> </span>I gave that pad and the DVDs I got from the <st1:place><st1:placename>Resource</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Center</st1:placetype></st1:place> to Katie when she was heading home. Fortunately, there is only one restaurant that fits the description and quickly I see some familiar faces.<span style=""> </span>It is a lovely place and it was nice to compare notes with some of the other Fulbrighters. We are all doing about the same, a mix of good and bad. At least two people had real hassles with housing. One is moving into her apartment this weekend and has been “camping out” at another place for a month!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">At dinner our hostess and Fulbright contact person at the embassy tells us that the situation in <st1:country-region><st1:place>Tibet</st1:place></st1:country-region> is not good. Apparently protests all week turned violent, monks were beaten. There have been deaths. No details but it looks like <st1:country-region><st1:place>Tibet</st1:place></st1:country-region> will be closed down for a while, probably through the Olympics. As we leave the restaurant Stephen calls my cell phone to tell me <st1:country-region><st1:place>Tibet</st1:place></st1:country-region> is making the news back home. It looks like our plans to go there will be one of the more inconsequential casualties of the crackdown. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Sat 3/22.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Check the local media for news about <st1:country-region><st1:place>Tibet</st1:place></st1:country-region>. The China Daily has three sentences <span style=""> </span>buried at the bottom of the first page: “Dalai Lama behind Sabotage….the recent sabotage was ‘organized, premeditated, and masterminded’ by the Dalai Lama clique….The sabotage has aroused the indignation of, and is strongly condemned by, the people of all ethnic groups in <st1:country-region><st1:place>Tibet</st1:place></st1:country-region>.”<span style=""> </span>I go to the NY Times website where the story with pictures is there for the world to see. How can they bury this story? Within hours, Youtube (which had posted video of the rioting) is shut down. No access. Stay tuned as this unravels.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">CCTV state run television reported it this way:</p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="">CCTV 12:00<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="">Governor of </span></i><st1:country-region><st1:place><i><span style="">Tibet</span></i></st1:place></st1:country-region><i><span style="">, Xiang Ba Ping Cuo, said at a press conference today, that 13 civilians had been killed; 4 policemen were severely injured; 61 soldiers were injured and 6 severely; there had been arson to over 50 vehicles and over 300 locations. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="">Reporting of CCTV: (no broll)<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><st1:city><st1:place><i><span style="">Lhasa</span></i></st1:place></st1:city><i><span style=""> has calmed down now. Soldiers in </span></i><st1:city><st1:place><i><span style="">Lhasa</span></i></st1:place></st1:city><i><span style=""> had been doing their best to protecting civilians and treating the injured. There had been enough evidence to believe that the protests and violence were results of operations of Dalai Lama. And Dalai Lama had been reaching inside </span></i><st1:country-region><st1:place><i><span style="">Tibet</span></i></st1:place></st1:country-region><i><span style=""> and tricking unacknowledged civilians to join the violence. Dali Lama's so-called nonviolent policy is nothing but a lie. </span></i><st1:country-region><st1:place><i><span style="">Tibet</span></i></st1:place></st1:country-region><i><span style=""> is a inseparable part of </span></i><st1:country-region><st1:place><i><span style="">China</span></i></st1:place></st1:country-region><i><span style=""> and that any activity aiming at </span></i><st1:country-region><st1:place><i><span style="">Tibet</span></i></st1:place></st1:country-region><i><span style="">'s independence will end up in failure.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="">CCTV </span></i><st1:time minute="0" hour="19"><i><span style="">7 pm</span></i></st1:time><i><span style=""> <o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="">At a press conference today, the governor of Tibet said that the protests in Lhasa was organized by forces abroad and that any attempt of separating Tibet from China would fail.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="">The mayor of </span></i><st1:city><st1:place><i><span style="">Lhasa</span></i></st1:place></st1:city><i><span style=""> said today that order had been restored in </span></i><st1:city><st1:place><i><span style="">Lhasa</span></i></st1:place></st1:city><i><span style=""> today. He also said that major streets had been cleared and regained traffic; schools had been reopened; food markets had been back to business; and stores that were seriously damaged had been offered relief supplies.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The New York Times and other news services have at least 80 dead and the violence spreading to <st1:state><st1:place>Sichuan</st1:place></st1:state> and other Provinces. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And then there’s this from the Chinese English language blog Danwei:</p> <p><i style="">We can always count on </i><st1:country-region><st1:place><i style="">China</i></st1:place></st1:country-region><i style="">. Just when the place seems filled with normal people going about their happy business, the government reminds us that its paranoia reaches every aspect of our lives.<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p><i style="">Take the baseball game in </i><st1:city><st1:place><i style="">Beijing</i></st1:place></st1:city><i style=""> last Saturday. It was the first in </i><st1:country-region><st1:place><i style="">China</i></st1:place></st1:country-region><i style=""> between two American pro teams, the </i><st1:city><st1:place><i style="">Los Angeles</i></st1:place></st1:city><i style=""> Dodgers and the </i><st1:city><st1:place><i style="">San Diego</i></st1:place></st1:city><i style=""> Padres. Even though the contest was an exhibition, it was historic. Baseball is </i><st1:country-region><st1:place><i style="">America</i></st1:place></st1:country-region><i style="">'s national pastime because it's a link between generations and a touchstone of the nation's culture. That baseball wants to extend to </i><st1:country-region><st1:place><i style="">China</i></st1:place></st1:country-region><i style="">, that </i><st1:country-region><st1:place><i style="">China</i></st1:place></st1:country-region><i style=""> welcomes the game, and that 12,000 baseball fans could gather in a stadium on a lovely spring day, are all signs of harmony under heaven.<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p><i style="">One especially excited group was Cub Scout Pack 3944, which is comprised mostly of Beijing-resident American kids under the age of 10. About fifty of them arrived at the game in blue uniforms bedecked with American flags and merit badges, accompanied by their den mothers and scout masters. The night before, they'd learned that the Dodgers had invited them onto the field after the game to meet the players.<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p><i style="">But just before the game, the Haidian district police barred the scouts from the field. Why? Because thousands of kilometers away, in the </i><st1:place><i style="">Himalayas</i></st1:place><i style="">, monks and others in Tîbet had launched protests against Chinese rule. The government apparently feared that the young Americans would use their moment on the grassy infield to agitate for Tîbetan independence. This fear that a pack of cub scouts would politicize a baseball game drove the government to politicize the event more effectively than any Tîbetan splittist could hope for, and disappointed a group of bright-eyed kids in the process.<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p><i style="">Don't worry too much about the Cub Scouts – they had a grand time anyway, and the Dodgers dispatched a couple of players into the stands afterward to sign autographs. But it's worth considering the thoughts that went through the heads of the Haidian district police.<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p><i style="">Your correspondent suspects they ran something like this: Tîbet is in turmoil. Foreigners support Tîbet. Foreigners want to embarrass </i><st1:country-region><st1:place><i style="">China</i></st1:place></st1:country-region><i style="">. If foreigners embarrass </i><st1:country-region><st1:place><i style="">China</i></st1:place></st1:country-region><i style=""> on our watch, we'll lose our jobs. So we'd better assume the worst of these foreigners, even if that means taking some fun out of the game.<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p><i style="">For those of you who thought </i><st1:country-region><st1:place><i style="">China</i></st1:place></st1:country-region><i style=""> could pull off a great Olympics, the exhibition on Saturday was cause for pause.<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style=""><o:p> </o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Saturday afternoon Katie has a playdate! We are going by cab to one of her classmate’s houses, then to the Blue Zoo, and lunch. The cab ride is nearly an hour and he leaves us in front of a Walmart in far eastern <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:city>. We call the girl, Exilia, (a Chinese-Canadian) and within a few minutes she and<span style=""> </span>her mom arrive in a red SUV. They offer us a ride to the Blue Zoo. One less bit of traveling to negotiate! We eagerly jump in the car. The Blue Zoo is really an aquarium with the most gorgeous collection of undersea creatures. Red fish that I have never seen before. Spectacular. At one point you get pulled through on a conveyer belt and the fish tank engulfs you with sharks and rays and sea turtles floating overhead, while this lovely calming musak plays along.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">From there, Exilia, really, not me or Katie, really it was Exilia, suggests we go to <st1:stockticker>TGI</st1:stockticker> Friday’s for lunch….had quesadillas with salsa and guacamole, and no regrets! We spend the afternoon in <st1:place><st1:placename>Ritan</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Park</st1:placetype></st1:place> where the girls go on kiddie rides and exercise with the old folks. One woman, not quite my mother’s age but sporting plenty of gray hair gets on a jungle gym upside down and hangs there, stretching and then starts doing sit ups from her hanging position, while her two grandsons (I’m assuming) stand at the top of the jungle gym striking Muscle Man poses. This woman was way past 70 and clearly had watched Jack LaLane in her younger days! North Face has erected a climbing wall in the park and I watch Chinese spidermen (and women) scale the face in seconds. The other ‘great wall’ of <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>. Gorgeous blue sky day. I hear they are closing down factories, experimenting with how to turn off the smog.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We return Exilia to her very fine apartment and <i>ayi</i> (nanny, cook, cleaning person) and head home. Katie wants to know why everyone else has an <i>ayi</i> (including people without kids) and we don’t. Good question! </p> <p class="MsoNormal">No sooner are we home and its time to go out again, to meet another Fulbrighter for dinner near us at <st1:place><st1:placename>Tsinghua</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>University</st1:placetype></st1:place> (<st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>’s MIT). We have a little trouble finding each other but end up at a very nice restaurant that half way through the meal turns into a very <st1:stockticker>LOUD</st1:stockticker> karaoke place. Check out this neighborhood after dinner and there is a lot going on, and only about a 10 minute drive from our house. We’ll be back.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Sunday</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><st1:time hour="8" minute="0">8am</st1:time> call from Ann McConnell, our embassy liaison. She has graciously offered to take me out to a furniture area on the outskirts of the city. We meet near her apartment (and discover a great German grocery store that sells warm pretzels). Her husband is driving a very comfy SUV. The furniture area is out at the Fifth Ring Road, the boonies on the far eastern side of the city. No skyscrapers here. Initially, it is all ramshackle single story cement buildings with corrugated metal roofs. Some roofs are just roofing paper weighed down by a few random bricks.<span style=""> </span>William, Ann’s husband, brings us to a few places with a lovely selection of furniture. One is across from a lot where they are reassembling a house that was brought in from some rural province. Each piece is numbered. Kind of an extraordinary undertaking. Sort of like the house rebuilt at the <st1:place><st1:placename>Peabody</st1:placename> <st1:placename>Essex</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Museum</st1:placetype></st1:place> in <st1:city><st1:place>Salem</st1:place></st1:city>. We go to another shop where 8-10 guys are carving wood. The place is so dimly lit, with no ventilation for all the sawdust, I’m not sure if they’ll lose a finger or their lungs first. We go to a paint store and a brass store; each<span style=""> </span>shop is in the front and the tiny room where the family lives is out back. Very poor but apparently not for long. Just down the street they are re-creating an entire village where upscale shoppers will soon come to buy the furniture that these folks are supplying. Looks like a Chinese Williamsburg. Glad I got here before the crowds. From here Bill takes us out to no man’s land, down a long dusty bumpy road, in and around some unmarked walls and alleys and we end up at a furniture making “factory” where Ann and Bill are having something restored. They are not happy with the work that was done and begin a long negotiation about how to fix it. Meanwhile, Katie has spotted some little dogs and spends a few hours taking about a hundred photos of the puppies. I see some great furniture at great prices, but have no way or no time to figure out how to get it home. I’ll come back with Stephen in May.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Monday</p> <p class="MsoNormal">School and work. Check my email and find out that Hope did not get her visa and is stuck in <st1:city><st1:place>San Francisco</st1:place></st1:city>. Hopefully she can get it in a day and be here tomorrow. Ugh! </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Tuesday</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Spend the morning in my office reading my colleague Chris Daly’s not yet published history of American journalism. Great story telling. I am struggling with how to condense 250 years into 90 minutes…</p> <p class="MsoNormal">During class I ask the students if they have been following events in <st1:country-region><st1:place>Tibet</st1:place></st1:country-region>. All of them have. Where? <st1:place><st1:city>CNN</st1:city>, <st1:state>NY</st1:state></st1:place> Times, <st1:stockticker>BBC</st1:stockticker> website. So the lame attempt by the government to shut down YouTube mystifies me. The headline in the China Daily today is “Police exercised ‘great restraint’ in quelling riots”…well at least they are acknowledging there were riots! They claim to have used no lethal force and sixteen “innocent civilians” were burned or stabbed to death.<span style=""> </span>Military was “not involved in quelling the riots” but participated in “rescue work”. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Hope and Lily arrive safely with a giant suitcase that Stephen has given, full, and I mean full,<span style=""> </span>of American goodies, home made chocolate chip cookies, Ghirardelli brownies, and Easter eggs and candy for Katie.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Wednesday</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Hope and Lily head to <st1:place>Forbidden City</st1:place>, Katie and I go to school.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">For dinner we go to Qing Dynasty fancy restaurant down the street and get a little private dining room.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Thursday, Katie head out to school and Hope Lily and I take off for the Summer Palace and have a long walk around the lake and take a wrong turn up a mountain, but survive. There is netting along the slope to prevent erosion, but we keep getting our feet stuck in it. Lily coins this a “tourist trap”. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">At <st1:time minute="0" hour="12">noon</st1:time>, Shen Shifu retrieves Katie from school and then picks Hope, Lily and I up for a trip to <st1:place><st1:placename>Nanyuan</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Airport</st1:placetype></st1:place> for our departure for <st1:place><st1:placename>Hainan</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Island</st1:placetype></st1:place>. <st1:place>Hainan</st1:place> is in the <st1:place>South China Sea</st1:place> very near <st1:country-region><st1:place>Vietnam</st1:place></st1:country-region>, further south than <st1:place>Hong Kong</st1:place>, and <st1:state><st1:place>Macao</st1:place></st1:state>.<span style=""> </span>Tropics Chinese style.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I am still not sure we have real tickets, and no one seems to have heard of Nanyuan airport. Shen Shifu drives south quite a while, leaving all the skyscrapers of <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:city> behind us and ventures into the southern suburbs, with all one story crummy looking buildings, much more like the <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:city> I remember from 1998. We eventually pull off the road onto windy side road and through the trees see what appears to be a parking lot for used planes, dust-covered refuse from<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg98sT06DXkoUDebB_5vyVfEcyyGXquj1Fld4XOtU2xkvovbZb2xp61MI8AqB91dtlm_-BGfVJ6kBJz4AnVHTIYgttDe9igmqDnLe4pwD0qwgTeHprfWMJ-hTospszdkAPEJtRJo0nU-gQF/s1600-h/trustworthiness+store+at+airport.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg98sT06DXkoUDebB_5vyVfEcyyGXquj1Fld4XOtU2xkvovbZb2xp61MI8AqB91dtlm_-BGfVJ6kBJz4AnVHTIYgttDe9igmqDnLe4pwD0qwgTeHprfWMJ-hTospszdkAPEJtRJo0nU-gQF/s320/trustworthiness+store+at+airport.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5185189672218576498" border="0" /></a> some long lost airplane rummage sale. I am not instilled with confidence. Hope and I are getting giddy – laughing in the face of death? We unload the car and enter a new, but tiny terminal with one desk and two security scanners for luggage.<span style=""> </span>We are told to wait, we cannot check in until <st1:time hour="14" minute="00">2pm</st1:time>. We find a few chairs to camp out on and Hope takes a walk. Outside she discovers a tiny store next to the terminal with an English sign that reads “Trustworthiness Store” – I think it might be a good sign, especially if they are selling spare parts for planes!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">A bit before <st1:time hour="14" minute="0">2pm</st1:time> a nice <i>jiaoxie</i> (service girl) approaches and mimes for us to go bring our luggage to the security check in.<span style=""> </span>All goes well, they accept the tickets (eureka!) and our luggage and we go upstairs to wait to board. Here, they confiscate my Swiss Army knife which contains our only corkscrew, so I ask if I can put it in my checked luggage, which has already gone through security and onto the plane…..and amazingly, they agree to let me return downstairs where some guy miraculously finds my suitcase, I deposit the knife, and away it goes again. The joys of a small airport and the benefits of playing the dumb American!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I have been so concerned about the dubious tickets and the airport logistics that I have somehow managed to not print out the name of the hotel we will stay at in <st1:place>Hainan</st1:place>. But, I have a rare brilliant idea: have Celine text message me the words “Holiday Inn” in Chinese and then I can show my cell phone message to the airport taxi driver. She does this and I breathe a big sigh of relief. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">On board, I am not seated with the others, but happily read Chris Daly’s History of Journalism for three hours on the plane. Great peaceful reading time. We arrive at <st1:place>Hainan</st1:place> and after we get our luggage, we head out into the balmy tropical air.<span style=""> </span>Immediately we are besieged by men offering taxi rides. I am leery and look for some sort of taxi stand that looks official but to no avail. I keep saying “meter”, hoping that will keep the unscrupulous guys at bay. Somehow we land in a cab and when I show they guy my cell phone text message saying “Holiday Inn”, he says “which one?”<span style=""> </span>Oh shit, there are two?!?!? No idea. Hope thinks it is <st1:place><st1:placename>Sanya</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Bay</st1:placetype></st1:place>, I am not sure. <st1:place><st1:placename>Yalong</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Bay</st1:placetype></st1:place> sounds familiar too.<span style=""> </span>He is driving us toward the Yalong one but I ask him to call one of the two and see if we are registered… He calls and after several miscommunications, he determines that we are heading in the wrong direction and makes a U-turn to go back to the Sanya hotel. It is after dark and as we approach the hotel, we see vast darkness on the right side of the road, and Hope is convinced that is the bay. We pull in to the hotel driveway and the sign Holiday Inn look like a knock-off, not neon, not exactly the logo I think of in the <st1:country-region><st1:place>USA</st1:place></st1:country-region>. We go in skeptically, ask to see the rooms and they are lovely, clean, and fine. We check in, get settled and Lily and Hope go downstairs for a poolside barbeque for $30 apiece. Welcome to resort prices.<span style=""> </span>So if dinner is $30, why is the room only $80…..?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">That night I hear airplane noise and think we must be pretty close to the airport. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkdspjNs7XS7mLn7cBP5ZtbhxKhE-6yJugIZJQSPz1JdP6XguAnpl-lfqYu8zZqYg1RPHV4MRnDsjzDJ0vz_IEaRsdctwf7VYbi6YeYkJTOcArEfP0G9NmkT5zoNrIMl0UOpQDJMlCmUoo/s1600-h/hope's+bay.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkdspjNs7XS7mLn7cBP5ZtbhxKhE-6yJugIZJQSPz1JdP6XguAnpl-lfqYu8zZqYg1RPHV4MRnDsjzDJ0vz_IEaRsdctwf7VYbi6YeYkJTOcArEfP0G9NmkT5zoNrIMl0UOpQDJMlCmUoo/s320/hope's+bay.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5185188147505186386" border="0" /></a>Friday March 21. As morning breaks I open the curtains to see that the “bay” Hope had seen was really a rice paddy covered with garbage and water buffalo and about 500 yards beyond that is the landing strip of Sanya airport! We could have walked here last night!!</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_9COYEJzoBQgv3XxeuCf-zx0QW_XY2jciod-2BBIEM-zM7eEksamp4IQBfknON_gDhbo9aLrkPDvUw7r1ATzRpKzaLXArCWhV2dEX4umbWjxl7ORjZt-y0WahYRpPBSE8ni7RNMgc8gtI/s1600-h/hope+and+katie+in+South+China+Sea.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_9COYEJzoBQgv3XxeuCf-zx0QW_XY2jciod-2BBIEM-zM7eEksamp4IQBfknON_gDhbo9aLrkPDvUw7r1ATzRpKzaLXArCWhV2dEX4umbWjxl7ORjZt-y0WahYRpPBSE8ni7RNMgc8gtI/s320/hope+and+katie+in+South+China+Sea.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5185187451720484418" border="0" /></a>Fortunately, the other side of the hotel has the lovely pool and the ocean is just across the street, so it is in fact, a very nice place, (great brunch buffet, which we rip off for lunch as well…) despite our initial concerns.<span style=""> </span>But just to be sure, we decide to go out to <st1:place><st1:placename>Yalong</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Bay</st1:placetype></st1:place> and see what the other Holiday Inn is like. We “hijack” a free hotel mini-bus (who was only supposed to go from the hotel to<span style=""> </span>a mall in downtown Sanya). Having no idea where <st1:place><st1:placename>Yalong</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Bay</st1:placetype></st1:place> is, we ask if he’ll take us. He shows us his cell phone with the #120 on it. I assume he wants to call someone to see if it is OK for him to continue driving us, so we say, sure!<span style=""> </span>About a half hour or 45 minutes later we arrive at Yalong Bay Holiday Inn. We have passed resort after resort, five star deluxe hotels. Now the guy wants us to pay him 120 yuan (so THAT is what he was showing us on his cell phone – duh!) No problem, <i>mei wenti</i>! </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghpRqWcm1bBeVZC1m_OG3-TnK1hGsuRT7Rn2iZjj21yVf55X1RotbQwKbPv-hZByZddeBmS0TU2Tq9BnzE3aHP_Em76qWZjnVna5mzpk8vX-p1l4mCBD5FNdTW9aLjngnNRpBZMkr6iXmd/s1600-h/katie+and+lily+at+yalong+bay.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghpRqWcm1bBeVZC1m_OG3-TnK1hGsuRT7Rn2iZjj21yVf55X1RotbQwKbPv-hZByZddeBmS0TU2Tq9BnzE3aHP_Em76qWZjnVna5mzpk8vX-p1l4mCBD5FNdTW9aLjngnNRpBZMkr6iXmd/s320/katie+and+lily+at+yalong+bay.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5185188710145902178" border="0" /></a>This Holiday Inn’s cheapest room is $170 but there are none available at that rate, and the only other room is some suite at $690. Thanks, but we’ll stay with our $80 digs. Fortunately, we brought bathing suits with us for the day, so we act like we are guests at this Holiday Inn and avail ourselves of their private beach. I have forgotten sunglasses so pay $25!!! For a pair that would probably<span style=""> </span>be 25 cents in downtown Sanya mall!! <st1:place><st1:placename>Yalong</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Bay</st1:placetype></st1:place> <span style=""> </span>is lovely, but muggy and slightly overcast. Meanwhile, I had previously planned to connect with<span style=""> </span>another Fulbrighter, Yoni Schwartz, his wife Linda and two boys (who Katie played with at orientation) who <span style=""> </span>were staying in <st1:place>Hainan</st1:place> this week, so I phoned them and turns out they are just a few resorts down the beach. So later in the afternoon we went to their place, Hoizon Resort, and swam in several of their five pools, complete with waterslides, lazy river and waterfalls. Lovely. And Katie now has a playmate, so she is ecstatic. We leave the Schwartz family with plans to reconnect tomorrow at <st1:place><st1:placename>Monkey</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Island</st1:placetype></st1:place>. We toy with taking a public bus back into town, but the concierge seemed completely unable to suggest a restaurant in Sanya. It is late, we are sunburned, so opt for a meal in the resort area. Hope finds a great Thai place and we have a great meal. Taxi back to our humble Holiday Inn. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Saturday 3/22</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Hope opts to skip the monkeys, so Lily, Katie and I hire a driver to take us about two hours northeast to a monkey preserve. We drive thought rice paddies and terraced hillside, water buffalo and chickens. At one point a big black pig is blocking the road. Reminds me a lot of <st1:country-region><st1:place>Indonesia</st1:place></st1:country-region>. Working rice paddies looks like excruciatingly back-breaking labor. I see old stooped women and wonder what it must be like to be a widow here, where your kid or kids have moved to the city. How do you maintain a place like this in your old age?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">But is amazing to be out where there is blue sky, clean air and more green than I have seen in many months. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">We easily connect with the Schwarz’s and take a gondola over to <st1:place><st1:placename>Monkey</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Island</st1:placetype></st1:place>. The gondola (ski resort tram, not <st1:city><st1:place>Venice</st1:place></st1:city> style gondola) takes us high above a bay where many hundreds of boat houses are docked, linked together really. This looks like a permanent water city below us. Very poor. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">We get dumped off the gondola and there to greet us were several little monkeys. And then more monkeys and then more monkeys! There were monkey comedy shows, monkeys on bikes, monkeys-on-goats-on-tightrope, and even monkeys at a Buddhist temple (Lily was nearly converted accidently….). The signage was all in Chinese but I got the sense that this was more amusement park than animal refuge and there didn’t seem to be much on endangered species or animal facts.<span style=""> </span>The first statue we saw when we arrived was a parody of Rodin’s “The Thinker”. It was of a monkey, with hand resting on fist, sitting on pile of books – and the author of the books was “Darwen” (their misspelling). Our driver was waiting for us thankfully, we said goodbye to the Schwartzes, and took the two hour journey back to our hotel for a much needed cool swim. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Sunday 3/23 was raining, first rain I’d seen in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>. Not heavy, but not beach weather. We took the public bus into the center of Sanya. Initially it is fine. I am in the front seat behind the driver, Hope and the girls are somewhere behind me. But before long the bus is bulging at the seams, way more people than can safely fit. Several guys are hanging in my face, one coughing up some nasty stuff, another grabs hold of the bus driver whenever he needs to steady himself and the bus driver lurches to push him away. I have no idea where we are going or when we will be at our stop. Hope is confident that we’ll get to the right mall. The driver appears to have forgotten about us and when I ask if we have reached our destination, there is a lot of chatter among the driver and other passengers in Chinese, then he makes a turn and tells us to get off, and mimes for us to head down this alley.<span style=""> </span>We go down the smelly alley, full of grimy little “restaurants” and women stooped over baskets selling fruit. Katie and I are suffering from sensory overload. We duck into a store, selling Lancome and Clinique, and all sorts of glitzy western cosmetics. The contrast between outside and in is unreal. Back out on the sidewalk, a loony guy starts pointing at me and Katie together, laughing, following us and pointing. I am not amused. <span style=""> </span>We go into a store and <span style=""> </span>find a place to get good junk cheap so Katie has trinkets to bring back to her teacher and classmates and head back via cab to the hotel.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Monday<span style=""> </span>3/24</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Lily’s 16<sup>th</sup> birthday, and we attempt to sing it to her in Chinese over brunch. We arrange for late check out of one of the rooms, pack everything into Hope’s room, and head out. We are determined to take a city bus but after one arrives overflowing, we opt to take a taxi ride from one of the poor guys who has been begging Hope for a gig for ten minutes! We are going to see the Lady Buddha, Guanxing?. It is a big deal locally, lots of tourist busses. The Lady Buddha is about the size of the Statue of Liberty, pure white statue set out at the end<span style=""> </span>of a pier in this lovely seaside park beautifully manicured lush gardens of every color flower imaginable.<span style=""> </span>It is 12 <st1:time hour="12" minute="00">noon</st1:time> as we approach her, hot and muggy. The last time I was at a major Buddhist attraction was Borabodor in <st1:country-region><st1:place>Indonesia</st1:place></st1:country-region>. It was also high <st1:time hour="12" minute="00">noon</st1:time> and hot. I think your odds of having a spiritual experience at one of these sites is enhanced by the near heat stroke you are experiencing!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Hope and I kneel before the Lady Buddha, much to Lily and Katie’s embarrassment. Some guy is also gawking at Katie and expecting her to talk in Chinese so she is mad at me for embarrassing her. After a failed negotiation to get a cheap cab ride back, Hope asks the driver of what appears to be a tour bus (but is in fact a nice big city bus) if it goes by our hotel and he motions for us to climb aboard. Nice view from high up on the bus of the old island huts and rice paddies being supplanted by one resort after another. Buy now! Sad, but reality. We spend the afternoon lounging at the pool and I even get a massage (45 minutes, $17 dollars!). Clearly the big brunches have been agreeing with me. The two young <i>xiaojie</i>s look at and then touch my belly and say “new baby?”. No, just fat I tell them with a laugh. Then off to the airport and onto the plane. Unknown to me, we are in first class coming home! I knew the return tickets had a higher price, but that can happen in the <st1:country-region><st1:place>US</st1:place></st1:country-region> too, so for about $40 we had a nice upgrade. Hope had an incident with her seatbelt that kept us laughing to tears for much of the ride home, and for days afterwards. I’ll let her explain it if she wants….</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Fortunately, Shen Shifu had offered to pick us up at the airport (since it was arriving at <st1:time hour="23" minute="0">11pm</st1:time> and it isn’t an airport frequented by taxis). It was an INSANE crush of 200+ passengers crawling like ants at the tiny turnstile where the luggage came through. I saw more than one person fall the ground after being jostled and pushed. Hope braved the crowd and got all our bags somehow, without being crushed. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Tuesday 3/25 Katie has no school so she will go out with Hope and Lily. I am worried that I have not prepared enough for my classes and head into work early. The headline in the China Daily on Monday (which was left under the door of my room – inexplicably the only day it was left) was that western media were deliberately distorting reporting about <st1:country-region><st1:place>Tibet</st1:place></st1:country-region>….the paper was complete with photos cropped by CNN, and images from <st1:country-region><st1:place>Nepal</st1:place></st1:country-region> labeled as <st1:city><st1:place>Lhasa</st1:place></st1:city>. So I decided to take the plunge and directly ask my students what they thought of the coverage. Naively, I somehow was expecting them to see that the China Daily was propaganda and the western press got it mostly right, despite not being able to get into <st1:country-region><st1:place>Tibet</st1:place></st1:country-region>. I was crushed when almost all of them agreed with China Daily and felt the western media had it in for <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>. Some agreed with the government decision to prevent reporters from visiting Tibet, and at least one felt that western media is incapable of understanding Tibet and China and therefore should not be allowed to report on it.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">We quickly moved on to more mundane matters of audio levels and ambient sound in radio reporting so that I would not lose my temper….and perhaps my job! I warm up some leftover rice and veggies from the freezer</p> <p class="MsoNormal">For a belated Lily’s birthday we got a bizzaro shiny lemon cake from the campus bakery and had a nice time singing <i>Sheng ri Quai le</i>. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Wednesday 3/26 Hope turns on the bathroom light in the morning and boom, off goes the electricity. We manage to work around it. Katie is off the school, and I head off to Chinese lessons. Hope and Lily are off to the Great Wall. I ask my Chinese teacher to write a note saying my electricity is out and I bring it to the woman at the front desk of my apartment building. <span style=""> </span>I go <span style=""> </span>to my office for a few hours, making power points of Chris Daly’s history book. I return home at lunch and see that the lights are back on, but discover that the water is cold and none of the electrical outlets work. I go back downstairs and try to explain that new issue, thanks to a nice passerby who translates for me. I return after class and the plugs are now working but I get a call from “Horace” who does not speak much English, and am told not to plug in the water dispenser in the kitchen (there are two and he does not know which one, so I unplug both). Then I notice that the hot water heater in the bathroom is already unplugged. No hot water.<span style=""> </span>Horace says that will get fixed tomorrow. The hot water heater is leaking in the bathroom. How is that related to the electricity? Are we going to get electrocuted by the water and electricity mixing together?<span style=""> </span>We do have power for the hotplate and microwave, so when Hope returns I cook up ravioli, then warm up sauce, and defrost some more pasta from the freezer in a verrrry slow weak microwave. We eat in stages…and realize the frig has not had electricity all day and the ice cream is melting…. Heat water to clean up. Camping in <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:city>!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I am tired, of <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>, of this apartment, of everything.<span style=""> </span>The only saving grace is that at least my grad students didn’t appear to be so in lock-step with the China Daily, and had a more nuanced view of the <st1:country-region><st1:place>Tibet</st1:place></st1:country-region> coverage. One of my students actually works with one of the brave 29 intellectuals who signed a petition asking the government to stop the propaganda, stop revving up nationalistic, anti-Tibetan, cultural revolution-esque language. <span style=""> </span>There are glimmers of hope here.<span style=""> </span>But the China Daily is really ratcheting up the vitriol, taking letters from a newly sprouted website – www.anti-CNN.com and printing them. All the letters to the editor are, not surprisingly, attacking the western media, saying the west is afraid of <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> getting too powerful and that this is all part of a big plot by the west to bring down <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> before the Olympics. Does anyone really believe this??!?!?!</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Thursday 3/27 I am off to American embassy offices to help select two Chinese candidates who will get a free ride to a year at <st1:place><st1:placename>American</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>University</st1:placetype></st1:place> and an internship at VOA. On paper, one candidate is clearly my #1 choice: a dissident journalist who has been fired from every place he’s worked for speaking the truth. He was an assistant for the New York Times and was fined, jailed and prevented from doing any writing for three years. I want him to go to <st1:country-region><st1:place>America</st1:place></st1:country-region>. The only problem is, when the interview begins, he is speechless. He is clearly not capable in English, one of the main requirements. He can barely compose himself, and when we offer him a glass of water, his grabs it and bows his head trying to regroup. <span style=""> </span>He tries answering in Chinese but is told it must be in English. He struggles through the interview in halting English, but it’s a lost cause. My heart is breaking. Here’s one of the good guys and we can’t do anything for him. <span style=""> </span>The other candidates are really a mix. I decide to be brave and ask THEM what they think of <st1:country-region><st1:place>Tibet</st1:place></st1:country-region> coverage, and about half are parroting the China Daily and the anti-CNN crap. But the others are more sophisticated and get what the game is. We pick two great candidates, and sadly leave two or three others out. I am haunted by what is going to happen to my #1 dissident guy. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">One of the other people who is helping to choose these candidates is the VOA Beijing correspondent. He I just back from an aborted effort to get into <st1:country-region><st1:place>Tibet</st1:place></st1:country-region>. He got to <st1:city><st1:place>Chengdu</st1:place></st1:city> in <st1:place><st1:placename>Sichuan</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Province</st1:placetype></st1:place> and then by bus toward some Tibetan towns in western <st1:state><st1:place>Sichuan</st1:place></st1:state>. But the bus was stopped, many people, including monks, were taken off the bus and sent who knows where. The VOA guy was also forced off the bus and sent back.<span style=""> </span>Despite all the satellites, internet, cell phones, if <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> does not want us to know what is going on there, they win, it seems.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Meanwhile, a select group of journalists have been invited to go to <st1:country-region><st1:place>Tibet</st1:place></st1:country-region> for a government orchestrated tour…..and despite the best efforts of the Chinese to showcase the story they want (that the Tibetans attacked innocent Chinese), a few monks manage to get to the western journalists and mouth off that they are not free. Charles Hutzler from AP got it out first. The China Daily trashed<span style=""> </span>the westerner’s coverage the next day. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">After VOA, I want to take Hope and Lily out to a nice dinner before they leave. We arrange to meet at Da Dong at <st1:time hour="17" minute="0">5pm</st1:time>. I leave VOA at <st1:time minute="30" hour="15">3:30</st1:time>, get to Katie’s school to pick her up at <st1:time minute="40" hour="16">4:40</st1:time>, lots of traffic, take another 40 minutes to get to Da Dong. <st1:time hour="17" minute="0">5pm</st1:time> no Hope. I call her just to make sure she’s still coming. No answer. <st1:time minute="15" hour="17">5:15</st1:time>, no Hope. <st1:time minute="30" hour="17">5:30</st1:time> no Hope, no phone. At <st1:time minute="35" hour="17">5:35</st1:time> she calls, phone was broken, stuck in traffic, taxi is lost. We go out to the main street and look for them, no dice. Go back into the restaurant cuz Katie is cold, and someone says Hope has called the restaurant, and<span style=""> </span>she and Lily are at the OTHER Da Dong. I knew there were two and specifically circled which one she should go to. I reach her and ask if she will come to us, because I am fried, have already been in two hours of traffic, Katie is doing her homework on the floor of the restaurant lobby. At <st1:time minute="40" hour="18">6:40</st1:time> she and Lily arrive. If there is a way to screw up communication and logistics in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>, I have discovered it. I, me, Anne Donohue, circled the WRONG address on the info I had given to Hope. I sent her there, and sent me here. I am an idiot, I am an Idiot, I am an Idiot!!! But the food is great, and we end up laughing, (splitting bottle of wine between us didn’t hurt either).<span style=""> </span>Cab ride home takes about 20 minutes. What took about three hours to do in <st1:time hour="17" minute="0">5pm</st1:time> traffic, is a blip on the screen at <st1:time hour="21" minute="0">9pm</st1:time>.<span style=""> </span>Oh, I forgot to mention. “Horace” of building maintenance called to say hot water is working….but now, he says, my internet is gone. JOY, JOY. The Chinese rollercoaster ride continues.</p>Anne Donohuehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17213801988680297535noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9151003418006851422.post-75764456476838478452008-03-23T18:56:00.000-07:002008-09-19T15:12:02.105-07:00Week Four -- beware of whining<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh78CFzWsSzO3jGmdqOe62T7_Rky3uoGJXzTabGypPp1XYP7eVHg2M9-UQUDMyNO0jEDxOdfCFPrLk2IrL9G6kl4HkLc_hReTVNQQB2oy7QeZUtYlX4rx9XPcUr6WQb9jhnm3fK-Cv05Cfg/s1600-h/smogviewrenmin.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh78CFzWsSzO3jGmdqOe62T7_Rky3uoGJXzTabGypPp1XYP7eVHg2M9-UQUDMyNO0jEDxOdfCFPrLk2IrL9G6kl4HkLc_hReTVNQQB2oy7QeZUtYlX4rx9XPcUr6WQb9jhnm3fK-Cv05Cfg/s320/smogviewrenmin.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247858502073310962" border="0" /></a>View from our apartment at Renmin University. Smog City.<br /><p class="MsoNormal"><st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> Week Four </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">When exactly are the ides of March? Must be about now, because it’s been a tough week here in <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:city>. Beware – whining ahead. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">All the stuff that was new, different and “challenging” a few weeks ago is becoming, old, tiresome and infuriating. Smog, traffic, miscommunication, isolation. We are pretty far out from the center of the city and most of the activities we’d like to go to, and more importantly, all the kids Katie would like to play with, are too far away for after school play dates. We have seen no kids her age anywhere around, except for the first day we arrived. I am told that Chinese kids who are her age are in school 6 days and study all day and all night. No fun. She’s been pretty down since Stephen left last Thursday and there hasn’t been much (besides wonderfully helpful Celine, my BU student), to keep Katie amused. Katie is a social animal and there aren’t many fun opportunities to socialize here at Renmin.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And it’s not just Katie who is hitting a wall. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Thursday the 6<sup>th</sup>, I booked airline tickets on-line to go to <st1:place><st1:placename>Hainan</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Island</st1:placetype></st1:place> (<st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>’s beach resort) for Easter weekend. I went to bed, but was awakened an hour or so later by a call center saying that I could not use my Bank of America credit card to buy tickets on line. I had three options: 1. send them my passport and credit card (not a good idea, methinks), 2. go to the airport and buy the tickets in person with cash (pain-in-the-A) or 3. pay a courier to deliver the tickets and pay him cash. I opted for the courier. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So Friday morning I go out to the local ATM before my <st1:time minute="00" hour="8">8am</st1:time> class to take out the wad of money needed for the courier, and the ATM cuts me off after I’ve extracted about a third of what I need…..so, where to get the money?? I call Mercy who tells me she will go with me to the bank and resolve this. Friday afternoon we head to the bank and I am told I cannot take more money out, I cannot open an account there, if I give them a <st1:country-region><st1:place>US</st1:place></st1:country-region> check it would take 40-50 days to clear(!), but I could go down the street to another bank and try their ATM. Off we go to bank #2 and withdraw another wad of cash, but still not enough before that bank cuts me off. I go home, call Celine to see if I can borrow money from my former student – how embarrassing is that?! She, of course, says no problem, “mei wenti”, my new favorite Chinese phrase. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The courier is arriving Saturday morning with the tickets, so after I call home to wish<span style=""> </span>Jeremy a happy 19<sup>th</sup> bday, I go out once more on Saturday morning to try to withdraw from bank #3 and I get nothing, NADA, nil, no way, account shut down. So now, I’m going to fork over every penny (yuan) I have to an unknown courier, borrow from my poor student… and still be broke. I call Stephen who is just back from <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:city> and he calls Bank of America. They won’t talk to him, since it is my card, so I need to call Bank of America directly. I get on Skype, place the call and get put on hold with musak for five minutes…get connected…give call center lady #1 my life history (date of last automatic deposit?, where I opened the account? etc)…she puts me on hold…and Skype craps out. DISCONNECTED. I call back. On hold with musak: 10 minutes. Talk to call center lady #2, give her a new and improved version of my life (dog’s name, mother’s maiden name, etc), she puts me on hold. Skype craps out AGAIN. Call back. Third time’s the charm, right? On hold five minutes more musak, talk to call center lady #3, give her every detail of my banking life imaginable. She puts me on hold. Skype craps out a third time!!! I GIVE UP. Call Stephen, who is totally jetlagged and was ready for bed about four phone calls ago….and he says he’ll deal with it the next day. But, I try <st1:stockticker>ONE</st1:stockticker> MORE TIME. I will not be defeated!!! <span style=""> </span>I decide there is something about the silence of the second “on hold” that is causing Skype to crap out. So I decide I will sing, hum and chatter during the hold. I get on with call center lady #4, who….miraculously….(bring in angels singing here…..) went to Burbank Elementary School in Belmont, Massachusetts, Chenery Middle school and graduated from Belmont High School in 1986. I know I have hit the jackpot. I beg her, sweet Belmontian, “even if we get cut off, can you release the hold on my account and increase the amount I can withdraw”? Sorry. Even a fellow Marauder cannot do that without putting me on hold! So I get on hold with great trepidation that Skype will fail me again; I sing my heart out, praying good ol’ Skype will respond to the mellifluous tones of Annie more than silence, and keep me connected… and THANK GOD it does. At last, nearly two hours since my first call, I get connected to the QUEEN of Bank of America who agrees to lift hold on my account! Halleluiah!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I run out to ATM, get the rest of the cash, just as the courier is due to arrive. Meanwhile, while on Skype hold, I have used my cell phone to call another Fulbrighter who was the person who recommended this online travel service that I am about to fork over many dollars to, and asked her if she had always paid in cash. NOOOO, she says, she used a <st1:country-region><st1:place>US</st1:place></st1:country-region> credit card, no problemo, got e-tickets. No cash, no courier. Ugh! The acid churning in my stomach from the repeated aborted bank calls has now burned into a wad of worry. What kind of fool am I to fall for this? Whoever heard of paying cash for plane tickets??<span style=""> </span>So, what do I do? At the appointed hour, teenage-ish courier, who speaks no English, hands me an envelope with something that does not look like any plane ticket I have ever seen, and I insanely hand him a stack of bills about six inches high (the largest Chinese bill is 100 yuan, worth about $13…and I am paying $2000…that’s right, the equivalent of two thousand American green backs… for airline tickets). I had to take a picture of the guy holding my money, ( to show the police what the con artist looks like, when undoubtedly, I find out next week that I cannot board the plane to Hainan). To be continued……</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">3/7. Friday I had lunch with my Chinese language teacher, Ms Chen Chen. She seems like a lady in need of a friend. I was surprised when she told me she had a 9 year old daughter. I pegged her as a serious woman who lived for her work. When I asked if she might want her daughter (whose favorite subject is English) to play with Katie, she seemed put off by the idea. Her daughter was too busy studying.<span style=""> </span>Chen Chen wants to get a Ph.D. She kept saying she “has plans” which I read to be unfulfilled ambitions. Chen Chen says she was born in 1971, but she strikes me as someone older, or at least influenced by an older generation of thinking. Her mother was a medical doctor/researcher. Her father was a professor, but during the Cultural Revolution (1966-69) he was forced out (all university professors were brutalized or “sent down” to work as laborers or farmers). Chen Chen seems to have carried some of those scars or bitterness from that era with her, even though she was not yet born. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Friday night I had dinner with Mercy and four other members of the journalism faculty, all of whom spoke varying degrees of English. There are about 1000 journalism undergraduates at Renmin. Yet the building we are in seems deserted. All of these faculty members had experience in the field of journalism before teaching. I got straight answers to almost all my questions, knowing nods when I asked about the Firewall, but they either didn’t understand, or deliberately “didn’t understand” when I asked about whether students had already learned about the principles embodied in the <span style=""> </span>1<sup>st</sup> Amendment.<span style=""> </span>I have mentioned free press, democracy, transparency, and the need for an informed citizenry, in both of my classes on several occasions and all the students seem to agree that these are the principles they aspire to hold as journalists. I get the sense that the students view the government as a necessary overlord, but not something that affects their daily lives. They have not yet worked at one of the government run media enterprises where editors are routinely instructed to <i>not</i> cover certain topics.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The dinner was at one of the restaurants on campus and the food was good. Katie was with me, and was angelically quiet, only spoke when spoken to, and always with some very cute observation. About half way through the meal, I complimented her on how good she was being and she winked and put out her hand under the table, “five quai” (slang for five bucks)!</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">3/8. After Saturday’s disaster with the bank/air tickets, Katie and I decided to do some shopping – now that I was assured my cash flow would continue. Despite the awful looking air, we went to the Silk Street Market downtown. This had been an open air street market when I was here ten years ago. But now it is in a huge four story building, not far from the <st1:country-region><st1:place>US</st1:place></st1:country-region> embassy. Katie spotted an Abercrombie t-shirt she wanted and the sales clerk started at $30. I laughed and walked away. Katie was mad. “Why can’t we get it?”<span style=""> </span>As I’m walking away, the sales clerk is running after me, dropping the price a few dollars with each step we took away from her. By the time she caught up with us, it was down to $5. <span style=""> </span>I got tired of her chasing me, so we bought it. I am sure we could have gotten it for less. Katie started getting the hang of shopping—or at least shopping with a kazillion tourists and ruthless hawkers. We got a few more small items but it gets tiresome having these hawkers yelling at you, clinging onto you.<span style=""> </span>But I’m sure we’ll be back again before we head home.<span style=""> </span>Pearls anyone?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">From there we took a taxi to meet Celine for dinner. She took us to a fabulous place, called Da Dong, small, quiet rooms with five or six tables, white linen table cloths, and upscale, tasteful decor. No red lanterns to be found. What a difference from the noisy eateries we’d encountered to date. Far and away the best meal I’ve had in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>. The waitress showed us three different ways to eat Peking Duck, and as a special treat, offered me the head of the duck (which sat before me un-eaten for the duration of the meal). <span style=""> </span>This is the first place that made me agree with what Julia Child was talking about when she said the five greatest cuisines in the world were French, and four Chinese provinces. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Katie and I attempted to watch a movie when we got home, but all the movies I recorded off our <st1:stockticker>TIVO</st1:stockticker> before we left won’t play. So I guess we’ll join the rest of the Chinese and buy the pirated version for $1.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Smoggy Sunday, 3/9. I call my sister to wish her a happy birthday, since it is already March 9 where I am, but she’s gone out for Saturday night dinner. Katie and I decided to explore another market closer to where we live. Vast, endless rows of everything under the sun. And not a Caucasian in sight. This was a real working class market in a pretty rundown neighborhood. I felt like we might be invading their turf. We try to take a picture of some baby chicks and get told “mei you”, no way. Katie said she doesn’t like going to places like this, because people stare. And I did feel like we were getting more hairy eyeballs here than elsewhere. Katie said she likes going out with Celine, because people assume she and Celine are related and they don’t stare. She wants us to adopt Celine as her big sister. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">From there we take a taxi to our new favorite grocery store wah-la-mah-la, (Walmart), and stock<span style=""> </span>up on goods for the week. We get more than we can easily carry ourselves. Big mistake. We take a taxi home, but for some reason the taxi can’t enter the campus, so we schlep the groceries across the campus to our apartment. I cook a Stephen-esque chicken, broccoli and white sauce. Enough for two nights. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">3/10. Monday comes as a relief. Back to routine. I pay Shen Shifu, our driver, and Katie heads off the school. I go to Chinese language lessons, then to my office and get a lot of uninterrupted work done before Katie gets home at <st1:time hour="15" minute="30">3:30</st1:time>. Hope Kelly will arrive next week and I want to prep for as many classes this week as possible so I’ll have more time to spend with her.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">3/11. Tuesday. I’ve arranged to meet one of my students, Ashley, at <st1:time hour="8" minute="0">8am</st1:time> to do some interviews. We meet at the Tai Chi park and talk to one of the older women. She is adorable. 69, been doing tai chi for ten years. Former chemical worker. She encourages me to try it and I promise to come back another day. Then we talk to some older women doing what looks like a country western line dance,(Chinese cotton-eyed Joe?) to the tune of some very cheesy pop music. Barry Manilow Wang? The women have two pieces of bamboo in each hand with a long red sashes flowing out. They smack the wood together, sort of like castanets, as they dance. One of the women graduated from prestigious <st1:place><st1:placename>Fudan</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>University</st1:placetype></st1:place> in 1950 with a degree in business management – a degree that she was never able to use under state-run communist system. She is charming, with a slight wave to her silver hair. And she and the other gals, all in their 70s and 80s, can really dance! It is amazing to consider what that generation of Chinese has lived through: civil war, Japanese invasion, communist revolution, cultural revolution, opening up to the west, Tiananmen crackdown and now a “capitalist” revolution. I would love to talk to all of them at length. So much to do, so little time. We venture around the park, serendipitously meet a student photographer who readily agrees to take photos of all the folks we’ve been interviewing.<span style=""> </span>Two hours later, about a dozen beautiful photographs arrive in my email inbox. Just when I’m feeling most stressed out about dirty, urban, frustrating <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:city>, the people I meet more than compensate for the environs. Every person I have encountered, except for the pushy guy at the grocery store, has been exceedingly nice and generous. If only they could live in a cleaner city. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">After my class gets out, I go straight home. This is the first day Katie will be coming home alone. Until now, either Stephen or I have been there to greet her. Shen Shifu* will get her to our house around <st1:time hour="15" minute="30">3:30</st1:time> and I get out of class at <st1:time hour="15" minute="30">3:30</st1:time>, so she may arrive to an empty apartment for five minutes. I unlock the apartment door and Katie is sitting inside crying hysterically. She can’t tell me what happened and I am freaking out that something AWFUL has happened. After she calms down a bit, she tells me that her key got stuck in the door and when she went to force it, she broke her brand new Olympic key chain!!! Well, I am greatly relieved, but decide I don’t want to come home to this scene again where a more serious drama might have unfolded. I am going to move my class back 15 minutes so that I get out at <st1:time hour="15" minute="15">3:15</st1:time>, and I am also going to tell Shen Shifu to drive more slowly or find some traffic to get stuck in on Tuesday and Wednesday when I teach. Wouldn’t you know, the days you WANT traffic, there is none and when you don’t want it, it abounds.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">*Learned in Chinese today, that Shifu is a generic name for driver or laborer! And Celine, who has been translating messages between me and Shen Shifu, tells us his name is Shen, not Shun.<span style=""> </span>Glad we finally got his right name after a month!</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Weds 3/12. Still horribly smogged in. Five days of really bleak skies. But things are looking up. They have filled the pond in tai chi park, so spring must be coming. For the past two weeks, my Chinese teacher Chen Chen has worn the same turquoise turtleneck with a big lime green lion on the front. Today, she has a new spring outfit! And my Tajik classmate is dressed like John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever, pin striped bell bottom suit with white patent leather pointy shoes. The Australian in my class who has been studying Chinese for four years, has been catapulted out of level zero and is gone. And I actually am starting to use Chinese to communicate my needs – and people understand what I am saying (more or less!).<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">After Chinese class I head in to the central city. I have arranged to have my students meet with my friend Rob Gifford from NPR. He’s in <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:city> on a book tour, peddling his great new book <st1:street><st1:address><i style="">China Road</i></st1:address></st1:street>.<span style=""> </span>Rob, Melinda Liu from Newsweek, James Kynge from the Financial Times, and Jon Watts from the Guardian are speaking on a panel at Beijing’s English language hang-out, The Bookworm (part paid lending library, part bookstore, part bar/restaurant/coffee joint). The panel is sold out, although I got a complimentary ticket, so my students can only see Rob after the main event. The panel is great. Reminded me of why I am here, why I love <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>, why it is so fascinating. There were 350 foreign journalists in <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:city> when I was here last. Now there are more than 700. And 21,000 accredited and 10,000 unaccredited journalists are expected to be here for the Olympics. The panel said many press restrictions had been lifted, and they were split on whether this would continue post-Olympics. On one hand, if the Games go well, <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> will feel that opening up the system worked. But if things don’t go well, and <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> is embarrassed in any way, things could get very ugly after the Olympics. Melinda Liu said the Olympics or nationalism, maybe boosterism is a better word, was the new ideology, and when that is over, what will replace it? Jon Watts pointed out that while things are easier now for journalists, the sources journalists interview are still hassled, detained, or worse. Rob posed the question, are journos presenting a realistic view of <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> to the world…too negative, or panda-hugger? His relatives arrived here a few years ago and were surprised that the Chinese drove cars, not all bikes Some images die hard. .(I am actually surprised by how many are still riding bikes…I hope that habit never dies) Jon Watts’ mother arrived here two years ago and whispered, ‘can we talk?’, assuming every utterance was being listened to by Big Brother.<span style=""> </span>Is this really what folks think about <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> now? Melinda Liu visited No. <st1:country-region><st1:place>Korea</st1:place></st1:country-region> recently and was struck by how much it was like the <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> she first knew in 1980. When she asked a North Korean guide/minder how tall a statue of Kim Il Sung was, he responded, “out of respect for the Great Leader, we do not speculate on its height”. She said ‘come on, you know how tall it is”. He responded, “off the record?” She was surprised he knew what off the record meant….but said “sure, off the record, how tall is it?” and he responded, “I don’t know”. That bizzaro exchange would have been typical of <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> in the late 70s, early 80s. But now she says it could not be more different. An entirely different country in every way. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">My students arrive at The Bookworm (many of them I have never seen before!) and Rob graciously holds court-- in Chinese, thankfully for my students, for another half hour or so. I run into Mary Kay Magistad and another Fulbrighter Allen Lepp (who first clued me in to Rob’s visit a few weeks ago). Here in this ex-pat enclave, the Sanlitun/Chaoyang section of the city, it is easier to imagine living here, and having a life that is not so different from the life we had in <st1:city><st1:place>Boston</st1:place></st1:city>. Out at Renmin, it is not totally alien, and it certainly is not an authentic “Chinese” experience, like living in a rural village, but it is also not going to feel like home if we can’t make real friends or go out to places that we enjoy. There is no sense of community out here….at least not yet. I think if we lived more centrally, we’d be able to make connections more easily, at least with other ex-pats, and probably more worldly Chinese.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">3/13 Thursday. We finished our first of six months today. It seems like we have been here FOREVER. But when I look at my calendar, it is filling up fast and I am sure the time will start flying by. It is an absolutely GLORIOUS blue sky, 60 degree day today. Where did all the crap from the last five days go?? My mood is totally dependent on the color of the sky. Rory just sent a line from some <st1:city><st1:place>London</st1:place></st1:city> sage who said something like,’if the color of the sky and the color of the sidewalk are the same for more than three days you go crazy’. Well, if that is the case, then I am certifiably NUTS. Grey, grey, grey! But today was spectacular.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I went out this morning and took the plunge: I actually participated in tai chi this morning, rather than just watching from the periphery. Several people came up to me to say welcome and offer tips on how to not look like a complete fool: “bend your knees more, lower, lower”, “move gradually”, “do not use any strength”, “relax” – easy for you to say, you know what you are doing, I wanted to fire back. But I just smiled… I look like an ostrich out there. But it was fun!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Spent the rest of the day at home prepping for lectures on first amendment and history of journalism. Looking at the history of my profession, it is striking how cyclical it is. Today’s blogger is the lonely pamphleteer of 1776, albeit on steroids.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">After dinner, Katie and I go out the on campus grocery store looking for milk, but no luck. Lots of yogurt, but no milk. Go to the mini-mart on campus and find pints of whole milk but no half gallons of skim. I loathe, loathe, loathe going to the big grocery store outside of campus, too smelly, too crowded, too much of a pain to lug it all back. I am really missing being a lazy suburban housewife with a car, a driveway, a full-sized refrigerator, and a grocery store with a ventilation system. And I’m tired of clothes that are stretched beyond recognition in this washing machine and stiff as boards after hanging on the line. Wah, wah, wah. I’ll stop now.<span style=""> </span>On balance, I’ll take this change in scenery over six months in <st1:city><st1:place>Belmont</st1:place></st1:city> anyday. But I am not sure I could ever make <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:city> my home. </p>Anne Donohuehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17213801988680297535noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9151003418006851422.post-63965333766718036872008-03-16T14:38:00.000-07:002008-03-16T14:39:13.987-07:00Week Three<p class="MsoNormal">Week Three</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Friday Feb 29 Leap Day</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Go to my second day of Chinese language class and the teacher asks me after class if I would like to be her language partner to help her practice her English. I am more than happy to, as long as she’ll suffer through my tortured Chinese. The class is an hour and a half. A bell rings at 8 and another rings at <st1:time minute="30" hour="9">9:30</st1:time>. If we are done with the lesson, she just reviews until the bell rings. No cutting out early, not by a minute. I walk home via tai-chi park and see a group of older women, maybe in their 60’s, playing badminton. I need to get some rackets and birdies. How do you say “birdie” in Chinese? Could be a fun activity for me and Katie. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Work around the house until <st1:time minute="30" hour="13">1:30</st1:time> when my former BU student Celine Li comes over for tea. Great to see her and hear of her adventures with NBC News. At <st1:time minute="30" hour="14">2:30</st1:time> we head out. Shun Shifu is going to drive all of us to Katie’s school and then on to IKEA. Traffic is not great, but we pass by the Olympic park and it is pretty amazing.<span style=""> </span>Almost equally amazing is IKEA: good stuff cheap. And Celine is a great translator/Katie entertainer. She and Katie really hit it off.<span style=""> </span>IKEA has exactly what I am looking for: a thin foam mattress for my bed and a cheapo fold out couch for comfortable reading location with extra bed for guests. We get both. At last, hopefully, a good night’s sleep awaits! We have a lovely dinner of IKEA’s Swedish meatballs, and head back to the apartment, again passing the Olympic village. It is even more spectacular lit up at night. We realize that one of the odd-shaped buildings that we can see in the distance from our apartment window is right next to the Olympic village and is still under construction. Huge hot embers are flowing down 50-60 stories. The welders must be working around the clock to get this built by August. We have been using this odd-shaped building to gauge the air quality: if we see it clearly, it is a good day, if we can’t see it at all? stay inside!</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Saturday March 1.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Call mom and Jeremy via Skype. What a deal! 2 cents a minute.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Morning of laundry, moving furniture to make room for new couch, hanging more pictures, trying to feel at home. We were told there would be a cleaning service that would clean house and change our linens, but so far, no one has appeared. We were also warned by our American neighbors that the cleaners actually lived in the apartment whenever the former Fulbrighter here went away for a weekend or week. Not sure we want this service, so we spend the better part of the morning, sweeping and washing. The dust is incredible. Katie is having a real homey Saturday morning experience: set up with Youtube on the computer watching Saturday morning cartoons.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The air is the worst we have seen it. We cannot see the odd-shaped building over by the Olympic village. In fact, we can barely see the building at the far end of campus less than half a mile away. You can taste the dust. I’m not too thrilled about going out, but need to get some exercise, so we walk about a mile north of campus hoping to make it as far as <st1:place><st1:placename>Beijing</st1:PlaceName> <st1:placetype>University</st1:PlaceType></st1:place>. Katie is whiney and I am really bothered by the air both in my mouth and my eyes. We take a cab back to the apartment. I hope this is not the future air quality.<span style=""> </span>Katie does her homework while Stephen and I dump our camera photos on to the computer. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">We decide to check out one of the on-campus restaurants for dinner, and unintentionally end up at one that only serves western food.<span style=""> </span>Pizza and ribs. We then head to the on- campus bakery, a little hole-in-the-wall place, maybe even student run? Very nice selection, and gorgeous cakes. Across the street is a little grocery store and we go to get milk. Apparently they are about to close, but let us in despite our protests that they don’t need to stay open for us – “Mei wenti”… no problem. Stephen quickly grabs a half gallon of milk, only to find out when we get home that it is really a half gallon of plain yogurt. Reading labels is very tricky. The first week we were here I was washing all the dishes in this nice smelling liquid, but it didn’t seem to lather up like American dish-washing liquid….come to find out, I’d been using fabric softener! I’m glad to report, our clothes are now softer and dishes now cleaner!</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><st1:date year="2008" day="2" month="3">Sunday <st1:date ls="trans" month="3" day="2" year="2008">March 2, 2008</st1:date></st1:date></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>Hung around the apartment in the a.m. Stephen decided to check out the Chinese church in the neighborhood, but I needed to stick around to wait for the IKEA delivery. They were supposed to be here at <st1:time minute="0" hour="13">1pm</st1:time>, but knowing delivery services, decided to wait all morning just in case. But at exactly <st1:time minute="0" hour="13">1pm</st1:time>, they knocked on the door, came in, assembled our $100 pull out couch and left. At last a comfortable place to sit, and for the last two nights, a comfortable bed thanks to the new foam pad we got at IKEA on Friday night. Life could not be better.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We venture out for an afternoon walk to what appears on the map to be a park about a half mile away, but apparently it is now a big construction site. Another green space bites the dust. We then go to the mad-house grocery store. It is packed on a Sunday, but its packed every day it seems. Everyone is shoving. No sense of personal space. “I need yogurt and I’ll bulldoze right through you until I get it”. Even at the checkout line, a guy starts to cut in line to my right, so I push my cart forward to let him know I’m no American pushover, then he tries to cut in on my left, and I elbow him back. Then he goes around me and tries to cut off the guy in front of me, but gets rebuffed there as well. Finally, he cuts in on the person in the line next to me who isn’t paying attention. People wait in line breathing down each other’s necks and think nothing of walking right into you. I am so busy trying to remember how to say “oh, I’m sorry, excuse me” even though they barreled into me, but they are already long gone. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Another difference I’ve noticed is that people don’t like to get involved. Yesterday this young woman on a bike plowed right into a parked car and fell off her bike. I jumped to go see if she was OK, yet none of the Chinese gave it any notice. They looked at her from the sidewalk and then just walked past her. <span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I think Katie is getting bored with no kids to play with. I’ve got to track down some kids in the neighborhood. Even if they speak Chinese, she could play badminton or soccer. We play <st1:stockticker>UNO</st1:stockticker> almost every night. Last night we attempted cribbage, but I forget the rules and looking them up on line did not jog my memory.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><st1:date month="3" day="3" year="2008">Monday <st1:date year="2008" day="3" month="3" ls="trans">March 3, 2008</st1:date></st1:date></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Off to Chinese class on a gorgeous blue sky day, meandering slowly through tai chi park. Where did all the dust and dirt of yesterday go? <span style=""> </span>The Chinese language teacher, Ms. Chen Chen (convenient when the first and last names are the same, you can avoid that awkward “should I call them by their family name or given name” issue) gave dictation and we were supposed to write down what we hear. There are four tones in Chinese, and I am clearly tone deaf! But I am learning and listening, so hopefully with time I will get the hang of this. But I can’t be too sure --- one of my classmates has been at it for four years and is still in level ZERO! </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Full employment and global warming: Everyday I enter my beautiful new office building and there is a man there in a business suit. Sometimes he is opening the door for the handful of people who are entering; sometimes he just stands next to the fully opened door and lets the heat blast out. He isn’t wearing a security uniform, and there is almost NO traffic into this building, so I am not sure why he’s there, but he is there for at least 8 hours every day. Just Standing.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I go to my office hours and no one comes to visit. THAT has never happened at BU. It is amazing how much more productive you can be when you aren’t interrupted!! I prepared for my Tuesday undergrad class on writing and reporting with no difficulty. But prepping for Wednesday’s talk on new media, I met the Chinese Firewall. I went to search some sites for info on new media, but was stymied. My very astute friend Leigh sent me an article by James Fallows in the latest issue of the <st1:place>Atlantic</st1:place> that describes exactly what, why and how the Chinese are messing with internet access. Very interesting and frustrating. They’ve certainly thwarted my efforts to gather information. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Stephen has a call to <st1:city><st1:place>London</st1:place></st1:City> right before dinner, so my days of the pampered wife are over: I attempt to make dinner. But just as we are ready to eat, the phone rings. Someone is at the East Gate of the campus (about a half mile away) with a delivery. Stephen goes to retrieve the package, while I watch my chicken and peanut dish turn to shoe leather. The delivery guy keeps calling every minute, and in broken English says he is waiting and cannot wait all day.<span style=""> </span>It occurs to me that maybe Stephen went to the wrong gate, so I send Katie out to the WEST gate, right around the corner, to see if she can find Stephen. Apparently the elevator Katie was in got stuck enroute, and people started asking Katie questions in Chinese which she didn’t understand. She returned home peeved. Stephen returned home about the same time, also peeved: no package and no sign of delivery guy. Another day of communication frustration in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Whenever we get into cabs and try to pay the cabbie in a 100 yuan note (the largest bill they have, about $13) the cabbie puts the bill up to the light to check and see if it is counterfeit. Meanwhile, Katie, has been getting an allowance for taking out the trash, putting away laundry, cleaning her room (one yuan or about 13 cents per chore – Chinese wages are really low!). It is pay day and Katie wants her allowance. We give her a ten yuan note and she holds it up the light to make sure it’s the real deal! No pulling the wool over her eyes. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Tuesday March 4</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Held office hours and had three students visit – unfortunately two came to have me sign a form to drop my class! I signed the form, no idea what it said in Chinese. But when I arrived in my class that day, both of the students were there, plus about a half dozen who were not there the first week. About half are taking the class for credit, the other half “for fun” (their words, not mine)…we’ll see how that goes.<span style=""> </span>The students’ first writing assignment was OK, not stellar, but not as bad as I’d been warned to expect. I am definitely going to have to scale back my ambitious agenda and cover much less material than I had planned.<span style=""> </span>But the kids are eager and fun. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I prepped most of the morning for my Wednesday lecture on new media. The <st1:country-region><st1:place>US</st1:place></st1:country-region> consulate in <st1:city><st1:place>Shanghai</st1:place></st1:City> has invited me to give a lecture on journalism on the internet in April. So I’ll use much of this same material there. It is always difficult to know how much your class/audience already knows about<span style=""> </span>a subject and where to enter the discussion. In doing the prep work,<span style=""> </span>I was able to access most websites (however, not wikipedia, blogspot, wordpress) but not any blogs. I emailed Jim Fallows and got some tips on circumventing the firewall, so we’ll give that a whirl. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Katie has adopted my BU student Celine as her new big sister, best friend, and cool college kid. Apparently she has been text messaging Celine all day, and around 8 tonight, goes down the hall to her room and before closing the door announces, (parroting Stephen) “please don’t disturb, I am getting on a business call” (with Celine!).</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><st1:date year="2008" day="5" month="3">Wednesday <st1:date ls="trans" month="3" day="5" year="2008">March 5, 2008</st1:date></st1:date></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Leave early for Chinese language class so I can spend more time watching the tai chi folks in the park. There is also a group of singers that <span style=""> </span>I’ve seen there before, practicing some sort of high-pitched, almost wailing sound. I need to go there with a Chinese speaker and find out what that is. The tai chi folks are so soothing to watch, fluid motion. I am tempted to just walk over and try it, but feel like I would be a disruption to their serenity.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I ask my Chinese language teacher if I can join them and she cuts me off abruptly, so maybe it wouldn’t be cool, or maybe she doesn’t like taking personal questions before class? She gives dictation and I get about a third of the words and/or tones wrong. I am hopeless!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">My Wednesday afternoon class goes better than last week, but still not as engaged as the undergrads. There was a full room, but assume many are auditors or just there to gawk at the crazy American. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">When I arrive home, I know Stephen is up to so something. This is his last night and he’s gone to the upscale grocery store on the far side of campus to get some special treats. Here’s tonight’s one burner wonder: Mashed potatoes, braised cauliflower, chicken and broccoli in a white creamy CHEESE sauce, and the pieced résistance, green tea ice cream! To make the mashed potatoes, he boiled them, put them in one of the trillion zip lock bags I brought (more on that later), and pounded and squished them together with cream and butter. Who needs a masher, blender, food processor when SUPERcook is here!<span style=""> </span>It was the best meal I’ve had in ages. Green tea ice cream was, shall we say, interesting. Kind of like spinach ice cream might taste….there will be lots of it in the freezer awaiting future guests! </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Stephen is an amazingly resourceful traveler and improvises whatever he needs. His glasses broke a few days back and after a futile trip to an eyeglasses store, he came home, stripped a twisty from a bread package and took the wire out and threaded it into his glasses to hold them together</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Future Fulbrighter take note: when someone at an orientation suggests you bring zip lock bags, or Kleenex…bring a package or two. For whatever reason, perhaps because I packed in stages over many weeks, I kept throwing zip lock bags and Kleenex into boxes and suitcases. We now have more than half a dozen boxes of baggies, and maybe 50-60-70(?!) little Kleenex packages. Every time we are running out of milk or some other staple, Stephen suggests I eat Kleenex!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">We decide to take a walk to the grocery store after dinner to buy Katie some treats. I think we’re going to really miss Daddy around here. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">After <st1:time minute="0" hour="23">11pm</st1:time> there is a rowdy party going on upstairs. We’ve been hearing some weekend shenanigans but now mid-week! Stephen has had enough. He gets dressed and heads upstairs. No phrase book required, he knocks hard and says “shhhhhhh”. “oh sorry, sorry sorry”, says the occupant, and the party breaks up about 20 minutes later. I asked Stephen if he would have done the same thing if we had just moved into an apartment in <st1:state><st1:place>New York</st1:place></st1:State> or some other part of the world. He says no, but we’re older than most of the residents and we’re guests, so he felt OK doing it. I’m not sure I would have done the same. But I’m glad he did and hope the partiers find another place to hang out.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Thursday March 6. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Katie says goodbye to daddy and heads off for school. I attempt to call Rory several times, with no luck. He is leaving for <st1:city><st1:place>London</st1:place></st1:City> tomorrow and I want to wish him bon voyage.<span style=""> </span>My family will be strewn over three continents!! Stephen packs up and then we decide to go to out to lunch. We check out a campus restaurant, but it serves just “expensive” (by our new standards), steak and pizza, so we opt to go off campus. There is a noodle joint down the street so we go in. The menu is all in Chinese, no pictures. The food smells and looks good, but we don’t have the phrase book, so no way to order. We leave there and head to another chain we’ve seen, Mr. Lee’s California Noodles (Mr. Lee looks a lot like Col. Sanders on the Kentucky Fried Chicken sign next door). There is a menu with pictures. But all the pictures look the same, noodles with some sort of meat topping. We point to two items and end up getting spaghetti in beef bullion. OK, but nothing to write home about ( —oh, I guess that is exactly what I am doing)! There have got to be good restaurants; we just are too clueless to find them. Next week I start taking students out to lunch and learning the ropes here.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Spring has sprung. The sprinkler system (and the firehoses) are flooding the dusty park. So now we have mud season! We saw forsythia, or a reasonable facsimile, beginning to bloom. I think there is a huge plot of peonies or similar plant emerging in the garden across the street. This place will look a lot more colorful soon. The sky has been blue, temps around 45-50F. Very pleasant. Stephen can take home Katie’s never-worn boots and snow pants.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Stephen finishes packing and after a teary goodbye, heads out…only to return a few minutes later with a broken suitcase handle. I help him carry one of the suitcases and he puts the broken one over his shoulder and we head out to the West Gate. A girl on a water bottle delivery bike nearly plows into us, and I say something snide in English. Then she stops and gestures for us to put the suitcases on her bike trailer so she can carry them for us. We graciously decline. It is clear, people are not being rude when they plow into you, it is just the way it is done. I think I am beginning to get the hang of how to maneuver in the streets. First, it is a lot like jumping rope: no one is going to stop swinging the rope to let you in, you have to seize an opening in the crowd and then jump in. Then you just get pulled along until it is time to carefully jump out.<span style=""> </span>The bikes, cars and deadly silent mini-bikes grab whatever advantage they have, swerving so close to you, you are sure you are going to be hit, but they never knock anyone over, at least not that I’ve seen.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Katie arrives home and it really hits her that dad is gone: mom is cooking dinner! There are a lot of tears (<st1:stockticker>AND</st1:stockticker> NOT <st1:stockticker>JUST</st1:stockticker> BECAUSE I AM COOKING!). I think this is going to be a long six weeks for both of us until Stephen returns.</p>Anne Donohuehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17213801988680297535noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9151003418006851422.post-30363690873275522592008-02-29T19:31:00.000-08:002008-03-23T18:44:40.785-07:00The 2nd of Many<span style="font-size:78%;">Friday Feb. 22 </span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;">Frustration! We had planned to go shopping for a comfortable chair and foam rubber for the rock hard beds, but my BU student who is here, Celine Li, who was going to help us translate “foam rubber” “back ache” and “sleep deprived” had to go off to <st1:state><st1:place>Hunan</st1:place></st1:state><st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:city> from <st1:city><st1:place>Tokyo</st1:place></st1:city> are screwed up: Kyrie’s tour guide only (“only”!!! says the Gringo who barely speaks English) only speaks Japanese and Chinese and cannot explain over the phone in English where we are supposed to meet. After a dozen phone calls between Kyrie’s mom, Junko, and me checking a million guide books for all the possible venues for acrobatic shows in <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:city>, I think we figure out where to meet. But neither of us, Junko or I, have a clue where anything is, so it is a crap shoot whether we will actually get together. I am nearly in tears with frustration. If I can’t figure out a simple meeting place, how am I going to get around to do anything?!?! province with NBC, for whom she is interning. Then, our plans to meet up with Katie’s old friend Kyrie, who is visiting </span><span style=";font-size:78%;" > </span><span style="font-size:78%;">I am sure it sounds silly but I so wanted Katie to have this special treat to make up for the crappy week she has had getting settled. We decide to leave at <st1:time minute="0" hour="14">2pm</st1:time> for a <st1:time minute="0" hour="19">7pm</st1:time> date, having quickly </span><span style="font-size:78%;">learned that distances are MUCH farther than they appear on a map (kind of like the rear view side mirror on a car, except in reverse) and if we end up at the wrong place, maybe we could find our way to the right place by 7pm. We get in a cab holding a picture of the <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing </st1:place></st1:city></span><span style="font-size:78%;">acrobats, with some Chinese characters, which we hope is the address for acrobats theater.</span><span style="font-size:78%;"><st1:city><st1:place></st1:place></st1:city> We drive for more than half hour in almost no traffic and get dropped at what might in fact, be the right place.</span><span style="font-size:78%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_iLh3RrdGZOkdPwuccHTM_MGqjIYM8okfqLaM13rz_5tduOJXvKMZZ6qr1Z5398KRWmX6Bvx4ad6XchWMX3IcoS9dOs_IbqeiaJxWn2qGD8ulo0UeXn7Ds2jsfHvKqUtOOX0MUXPultwK/s1600-h/We+found+it%21+acrobat+theater.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_iLh3RrdGZOkdPwuccHTM_MGqjIYM8okfqLaM13rz_5tduOJXvKMZZ6qr1Z5398KRWmX6Bvx4ad6XchWMX3IcoS9dOs_IbqeiaJxWn2qGD8ulo0UeXn7Ds2jsfHvKqUtOOX0MUXPultwK/s320/We+found+it%21+acrobat+theater.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5181110724597695906" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:78%;"> We walk around the area for a few hours, all through the embassy area, to Ritan park, scene of many a cold war meeting. The park is lovely, people exercising, singing religious hymns or at least tunes </span><span style="font-size:78%;">that</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9G2fY0GDfo5ycWYPqhLCtZAjImOdWHx_bNzXz_i70DZqrSuPOyozliPkAIaSJX6TxQFQhFeQaDrbmZwlOuXRVL2bL0X_7aO0C0tmnTZHN1oZYrbzP-Ng90zZqJNieWcg7tFDsGuSiFvoV/s1600-h/Ritan+Park.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9G2fY0GDfo5ycWYPqhLCtZAjImOdWHx_bNzXz_i70DZqrSuPOyozliPkAIaSJX6TxQFQhFeQaDrbmZwlOuXRVL2bL0X_7aO0C0tmnTZHN1oZYrbzP-Ng90zZqJNieWcg7tFDsGuSiFvoV/s320/Ritan+Park.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5181117235768116786" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"> I recognize from church with oddly different Chinese lyrics! </span><span style="font-size:78%;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;">Walk to the old Friendship store, where you can get </span><span style="font-size:78%;">all sorts of western goods at inflated prices, and stumble on a TGIFriday’s. Stephen is mortified that we are going to eat there, but I am really in the mood for something familiar. I enjoy a fabulous hamburger and a big fat brownie sundae! At 6, Stephen leaves to go back to the apartment via subway for a </span><span style="font-size:78%;"><st1:time minute="0" hour="21">9pm</st1:time> conference call back to the States. Katie and I head off to acrobat theater. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisw9tnC7vjwIDdKXLkc3mQwlyEc4CajfEF1V2UoMduETfFnHthGtkKzyhxQ-HMraAnKdb0RObNnh6y4HCKVWAwV9UFHHlMwkm_K19mX4YBaUfz0DK_FwyEbXUh6vgdbcx4tIfStQyiLc1G/s1600-h/Katie+and+Kyrie+reunited%21.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisw9tnC7vjwIDdKXLkc3mQwlyEc4CajfEF1V2UoMduETfFnHthGtkKzyhxQ-HMraAnKdb0RObNnh6y4HCKVWAwV9UFHHlMwkm_K19mX4YBaUfz0DK_FwyEbXUh6vgdbcx4tIfStQyiLc1G/s320/Katie+and+Kyrie+reunited%21.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5181114654492771874" border="0" /></a>I have not told Katie that </span><span style=";font-size:78%;" > </span><span style="font-size:78%;">Kyrie would be there, because I am so sure this plan is not going to work out. But lo and behold, Kyrie and her mom and sisters appear at the theater! What a nice little reunion! Katie is really happy! The acrobats are stupendously splendorific…in other words, amazing, but over the top kitsch at the same time. How DOES one bend into a pretzel while standing on someone else’s head on a moving bicycle!?!? After the show, farewell to Kyrie with a promise to try to visit <st1:city><st1:place>Tokyo</st1:place></st1:city> later this spring. Then we cab it back to Renmin -- I actually say the right pronunciation ZHREN-MEAN-DIE-SCHWAY-SHEE-MIN (Renmin University West Gate) </span><span style=";font-size:78%;" > </span><span style="font-size:78%;">and for the first time I do not have to show the cabbie a map to get home. Small victories! Only problem is, once we get to the campus, I don’t know how to say “take a right, left, stop”, so I just start waving money and he lets us out reasonably close to our apartment. I have got to remember more vocabulary!</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;">If you want to see short video and a few stills of Stephen and I dancing the Tibetan two-step:</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><br />Photos can be viewed at: <a href="http://gallery.mac.com/rperci/100084" target="_blank">http://gallery.mac.com/rperci/100084</a><br /><br />A short (half-minute) video from the festivities at the Tibetan restaurant is at:<br /><a href="http://gallery.mac.com/rperci/100094" target="_blank">http://gallery.mac.com/rperci/100094</a></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;">Saturday Feb 23</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;">Wake up to the sound of what seems like troops marching and grunting militaristic chants along the lines of “left, left, left, right, left”. It is <st1:time minute="0" hour="6">6 a.m.</st1:time> and there are maybe a hundred guys in uniform jogging around the campus for the better part of an hour. There are also more old folks practicing tai chi than I’d noticed before. I want to get out next week and try it. Later our neighbor informs us that she thinks all freshmen must participate in military training, kind of like ROTC. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;">Our trip to Ikea is cancelled again. Our escort-translator and BU student, Celine, is stuck in <st1:place><st1:city>Changsha</st1:city>, <st1:state>Hunan</st1:state></st1:place> with NBC on an adoption story. I am dying to find out what it is all about when she returns. We spend the morning trying Skype and manage to call my mother, Rory and Jeremy for 2 cents a minute over the computer. Also, I attempt the blog, but am denied access. Jeremy agrees to post what I send him once a week. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;">We spend the afternoon walking north from the campus about a mile. It is mall after mall and crowd after crowd out doing their errands. Every once in a while you’ll find an old single story building, typical of what all of Beijing was ten years ago, but almost all of them have been razed to make room for yet another glitzy mall, with muzak at a decibel level that is tough to talk over. For someone who has spent most of the past many years avoiding malls at all costs, this is not my idea of a good time. Katie, of course, is in heaven. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;">For dinner, Stephen cooks up a meal of Ramen and veggies and he and Katie go out to the store after dinner. I sit and read a book, other than a guide book or Fulbright official business, for the first time since we’ve been here, and realize there is not a comfortable place to sit in the whole place. The beds are like rocks, the chairs in the living room are OK but not good for reading. I really want to get to Ikea and get a good chair!</span><span style=";font-size:78%;" > </span><span style="font-size:78%;">Sometime around <st1:time minute="0" hour="2">2 a.m.</st1:time> I am awakened by a rowdy party, apparently in the apartment above us. Goes on for another hour at least. The walls are pretty thin. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;">Sunday Feb 24</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;">Our neighbor invites us to join them at their church, saying it might be a good place for Katie to make friends who live in our area. The “church” is a rented room in the basement of an office complex here. You must show your passport to enter. The Chinese govt. will not allow Chinese citizens to enter any non-govt. sanctioned churches. The service is very high-tech Christian, a bit much for me. The lyrics to the hymns are displayed on three large screens and the minister’s sermon is done with power point. But the minister is a Red Sox fan and has a good sermon. Katie does meet some nice kids at the Sunday school, so we may return in the future, maybe.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;">Can’t find good food in <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:city>? Hard to believe. Yet, we managed to spend the afternoon in search of a decent place to eat. Stephen and I are too busy trying to please each other that we please no one. We end up back at the same mall we ate at yesterday. I get an outrageously spicy noodle dish. The muzak is deafening. We are suffering from sensory overload.</span><span style=";font-size:78%;" > </span><span style="font-size:78%;">There are clearly better places to eat in <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:city>, we just can’t seem to find them, and even if we did, we’d have no idea how to order unless the menu has pictures. I am going to ask my students on the first day to tell me where the good eateries are, and write down in Chinese what to order.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;">At <st1:time hour="16" minute="0">4pm</st1:time> Mercy, our Renmin host, and </span><span style=";font-size:78%;" > </span><span style="font-size:78%;">our driver Shun Shifu, and a curly-haired undergrad student who has given herself the English name Hannah arrive at our apartment to take care of business. It amazes me that no one takes a day off. Mercy and Hannah arrange for copying to be done, discuss at length how little or how much students should be expected to read in one week. Then Hannah, whose English is better than Mercy’s, negotiates a rate to pay the driver Mr. Shun to take Katie to and from school every day. He drives a hard bargain and we pay him more than we’d pay a cabbie for the same ride, but he’s a known commodity, who drove the daughter of a previous Fulbrighter to the same school that Katie is going to, Beijing International School of Singapore. In the <st1:country-region><st1:place>US</st1:place></st1:country-region>, this entire process might have taken 10 minutes. Here it took an hour. I have no idea what they were talking about in Chinese. I am regretting every day how little Chinese I managed to learn. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;">After they finally leave, Katie and I go on a mission to find an Olympic water bottle for school tomorrow. We walk several blocks to the store we saw them at yesterday but come to find out they are really thermoses and cost more than $20 a piece. We opt instead for the $5 Olympic key chain.</span><span style=";font-size:78%;" > </span><span style="font-size:78%;">In <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>, not EVERY item is cheap. While we are gone, Stephen cooks up a lovely dinner of spaghetti and pork meatballs (no hamburger to be found). It is nice to have non-Chinese food once in a while. But cooking more than one item with our single hot plate is a real challenge!</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;">Katie is getting all prepped for her first day of school, checking the school’s website for lunch offerings, making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for the ride home, getting her backpack with BU water bottle ready to go. It is beginning to feel more settled around here.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;">Monday Feb. 25</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;">Katie is up and ready to go about an hour earlier than she needs to be. Stephen is going to go with her for the first few days until she’s (or is it we? are) comfortable with Shun Shifu.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;">I try to check my email and there is no internet connection Stephen informs me that he tried to get to some blogs last night, and searched some sites on religion in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>, and within minutes the internet was down. I am fuming. What if we get our internet cut off completely? Are we being monitored? Stephen is convinced this is only a coincidence and not to worry. He goes off with Katie and I continue to try repeatedly to connect, with no luck. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;">Around 9, Stephen returns and voila, the internet is back in operation. He laughs it off saying his punishment was a 12 hour slap on the wrist. I wish I knew if this was a technical or political issue.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;">At 10, I go to meet the waiban, Mrs. Liu. She is lovely and sweet, but can’t seem to give me a direct answer to any of my questions, i.e. can I take a Chinese class? get a food card to use in the cafeteria? extend my stay through the Olympics (we just learned that my nephew, Kevin, </span><span style=";font-size:78%;" > </span><span style="font-size:78%;">is now ranked #2 in the country in breaststroke after a hugely successful swim meet over the weekend – his time beat Michael Phelps, and Kevin is second only to the world record holder, so the Olympics don’t seem like a complete long shot after all). </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;">I am beginning to get a feel for <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> – ambiguity and complication surround what should be simple issues.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;">I spend the day working, preparing some power point slides for tomorrow’s class. At <st1:time hour="14" minute="30">2:30</st1:time> Shun Shifu comes to pick me up so that I can go retrieve Katie at school. I attempt to have a “conversation” with Mr. Shun, using my trusty Mandarin phrase book. I learn he has one son who works for Siemens. But after 20 minutes of trying, that is just about all I can understand of what he is saying. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;">Katie emerges from school very happy. She forgot her water bottle and we return together to her classroom to get it. I meet her teacher, Anya Dalais? Several of Katie’s classmates are there and all hovering around to say goodbye to Katie. A very welcoming feeling. Katie gave it an 8 on a scale of 1-10. She is eager to get her homework done, so we abandon the idea of</span><span style=";font-size:78%;" > </span><span style="font-size:78%;">visiting a Walmart on the way home (I had actually written down how to ask Mr. Shun to drive us there. The Chinese word for Walmart is pronounced Wa-le-ma-ra.) </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;">After Katie has a snack and does her homework, we decide to walk to Walmart, even though we have learned the hard way that ‘distances on maps are farther than they appear’. It is after 5 when we leave and Stephen is determined to walk. We speed walk, and it takes over an hour to get there. The sidewalks and bike lanes are chock full of people. But for the first time since we’ve been here, a driver actually pauses to give the pedestrians a chance to cross. Usually it is the driver who rules the road. Apparently there is a new law coming into effect which will lay partial or complete blame on the PEDSTRIAN if he or she is hit by a car. The leading cause of death among foreigners in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> is auto-pedestrian accidents. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;">We finally arrive at Wa-le-ma-ra starved and there is no visible food court. We wander hungrily and aimlessly through the store, hoping to find foam rubber to cushion the beds, or a cheap, but comfortable chair for reading. We strike out on both. We do manage to find a dustpan and brush, bleach, air freshener, and house plants – items heretofore we had been unable to find.</span><span style=";font-size:78%;" > </span><span style="font-size:78%;">At the checkout we spot what we assume is a Walmart fast food gross restaurant, but out of desperation we try it and the food is surprisingly good….or else our standards are rapidly slipping. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;">At one point, the man sitting at a nearby table pulls his chair around so that he can turn and STARE at us for several minutes. I mean really STARES. I have noticed this a lot. I assume they are struck by the Asian kid with the American parents. Sometimes, an older woman usually, smiles knowingly. Often, younger people look puzzled or even pissed off when they see us together. Once, a nice old man on a bike stopped and asked in English, “Chinese? Adopted? Hen hao!” (very good). </span><span style=";font-size:78%;" > </span><span style="font-size:78%;">I don’t know how widely known it is in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> about how many Chinese kids are being adopted internationally. When I told my students about Katie, some smiled with an “isn’t that nice”expression. Others looked embarrassed or sorry – uncomfortable about adoption in general, or <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>’s treatment of girls? I don’t know, but hope to find out in future weeks. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;">Tuesday Feb 26</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;">Katie is off to school, as am I.</span><span style=";font-size:78%;" > </span><span style="font-size:78%;">I head to my very spacious office and discover there is still no heat. Mercy, my Renmin host, has told me there is a remote control that controls the air conditioning. But apparently in Chinese, air conditioning can mean heat and cold (makes sense, actually). So I find the AC remote and get blasted with hot, dry air smack above my head. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;">Next, I tackle the computer. I figure out how to turn it on, but all the desktop icons are in Chinese. I call Mercy to see if she can help me. She arrives and decides to download a Chinese-English dictionary and I am supposed to look up each icon to know what is what. Well, if you’ve ever had the opportunity to thumb through a Chinese dictionary, it is not exactly an easy proposition finding a word. This is not going to work. I decide I’ll need to bring my laptop back and forth each day. I then attempt to plug the laptop in, but it doesn’t work with the printer I have in my office. Thank God Stephen is still here and is so tech savvy. I call him and he comes over and figures out how to make it all work just perfectly. What am I going to do when he’s gone??</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;">At <st1:time minute="30" hour="13">1:30</st1:time> Mercy, Hannah, my curly haired undergrad assistant and I head over the the classroom to sort out the powerpoint. (I hadn’t realized when Hannah was negotiating the rate for our driver on Sunday, that she would be one of my students. Imagine having an undergrad come to my house in <st1:city><st1:place>Belmont</st1:place></st1:city>, before the semester begins, haggle with laborer on the best rate, and then show up as a student in my class on Monday!!)) The whole “smart” podium is locked up. To unlock it you call a number and ask something in Chinese, and presto, it opens…..to a computer with, not surprisingly, Chinese icons!! Hannah and Mercy push a slew of buttons and down comes a screen and up pops my power point slides. As long as Hannah is never absent from class, I’ll be in business!</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;">The class is 15 undergrad girls, one guy who is the MONITOR (more on this later), and one male PhD candidate who wants to audit the class to help him with his English. The girls are great, very funny, seem to understand English very well, respond enthusiastically to questions. As far as I am from BU, this all feels very familiar: about a third of the girls want to be entertainment or fashion reporters. One wants to do sports, and only one aspires to be a foreign correspondent. Despite this, I am feeling right at home. At the end of the class, they break out into applause!! I am really touched. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;">I get home and learn that Katie has also had a great day, 9 out of 10. The big problem seems to be the Chinese teacher. Katie is in over her head since the other kids have been learning Chinese for a while and the teacher speaks mostly Chinese. To make matters worse, the Chinese teacher yells, makes kids stand in the corner, and even made a boy cry. Stephen and I are slightly appalled but mildly amused -- this sounds a lot like many a nun we had in our past. And we tell Katie that there are different ways of teaching in <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region> and be glad she only has this teacher for one subject. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;">Wednesday Feb. 27 </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;">Good news, the waiban, Mrs. Liu says I can enroll in a basic Chinese class here for free. So at <st1:time minute="0" hour="8">8am</st1:time> I am off to baby-Chinese. I walk by the old folks doing tai-chi in the park, while lovely Chinese music is piped in on the campus outdoor sound system. It is so soothing to watch them. I vow, next week to get out here earlier and try to follow along. Later, the same loud speakers pump out what must be notices for the day. I imagine this sound system was an effective propaganda tool during the heavier days of communist indoctrination.</span><span style=";font-size:78%;" > </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;">My language class, level: zero, </span><span style=";font-size:78%;" > </span><span style="font-size:78%;">is a mini-world: students from <st1:country-region><st1:place>Kazakhstan</st1:place></st1:country-region>, </span><span style=";font-size:78%;" > </span><span style="font-size:78%;">(not named Borat), <st1:country-region><st1:place>Tajikistan</st1:place></st1:country-region>, <st1:country-region><st1:place>Germany</st1:place></st1:country-region>, <st1:country-region><st1:place>Australia</st1:place></st1:country-region>, several from <st1:country-region><st1:place>Korea</st1:place></st1:country-region>, one other American and me. All males! The most amazing thing is the instruction is in English, the native tongue of only three students in the class. The poor Koreans that don’t know English letters or Chinese characters must be completely lost!</span><span style=";font-size:78%;" > </span><span style="font-size:78%;">I am pleased that I remember some of the very basic pronunciation rules. After class, an incredibly nice boy from <st1:country-region><st1:place>Korea</st1:place></st1:country-region>, offers to take me to buy the textbook. He has spent some time in the States so his English is flawless. There is no bookstore, per se, it is rather a classroom with two elderly gentlemen (one with no fingers) handing out books and kids are tossing loads of cash into a box. My Korean buddy orders me three books and pays for them, since I have forgotten my wallet. I realize I don’t need all three, just one, so we return the other two. All of this transaction takes place in Chinese, so this Korean student is clearly miles ahead of me in Chinese. Again, thank God for the kindness of strangers helping this old lady negotiate her way through <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;">Mercy has told me she will tell me by <st1:time minute="0" hour="12">noon</st1:time> how many graduate students are enrolled in my <st1:time minute="0" hour="14">2pm</st1:time> class so that I will have time to make the right number of copies of materials. It is cutting it a little close for compulsively organized Annie, but I am patient. Mercy says the grads are very weak in English so they are afraid to take the class. Most students take English as Freshmen and Sophomores so the undergrads are up to speed, but they lose it in the intervening years before grad school…..I sure know how that goes. Four years ago, I had mastered the freshman Chinese book, oral, written and reading Chinese at a basic level. I forget almost everything. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;">At <st1:time hour="13" minute="30">1:30</st1:time>, still no Mercy and so I start trying to figure out the copy machine, again, all instructions for operation in Chinese. I am now loading the paper into the back of the machine one sheet at a time. Clearly there is a paper drawer on this machine to do mass copies, but I’ll be darned if I can find it. I get all the copies done just as Mercy arrives in my office….and she yanks on the machine and voila, shows me the paper drawer! </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-size:78%;" > </span><span style="font-size:78%;">Off to class with my lovely new grad assistant Jessie. About ten students arrive so I am heartened that it won’t be too small. But several are clearly not understanding a word I say. One is sleeping. In all my years at BU I’ve never seen that.</span><span style=";font-size:78%;" > </span><span style="font-size:78%;">I ask questions and some of the men respond but it doesn’t feel like they are engaged. At the end of class I ask them what they want to get out of this, what their goals are, and I get very few helpful answers. This class will require a lot more work. No applause from this group!</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;">More bad news. The embassy has checked out what the likelihood of me extending my visa through the Olympics and it looks bleak. The university would need to tell the authorities that I am teaching through August in order to extend my scholar visa, and they are not going to lie for me. One idea is to go to <st1:place>Hong Kong</st1:place> just before my visa expires, and try to get a tourist visa for 30 days. However, in the weeks leading up the Olympics, when my current visa expires, the Chinese are expected to be very reluctant to extend visas. In addition, my housing will be difficult to hold on to, since the university is hosting some Olympic guests. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;">I hurry home because Katie and I have been invited to a dinner engagement downtown, during rush hour. For Bostonians reading this, we are located at the Chinese version of <st1:street><st1:address>Harvard Square, northwest</st1:address></st1:street> of the central city,</span><span style=";font-size:78%;" > </span><span style="font-size:78%;">and the main ex-pat, tourist destinations are about the distance to <st1:city><st1:place>Quincy</st1:place></st1:city>, or maybe <st1:city><st1:place>Braintree</st1:place></st1:city>, via a permanently clogged southeast expressway. I am reluctant to head downtown, but also want</span><span style=";font-size:78%;" > </span><span style="font-size:78%;">to start making connections with Katie’s friends. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;">Katie is having her first Chinese version of the “I hate math” tantrum as I arrive back at the apartment. Clearly we have both not had good days. She finishes her math, under duress, and we head out. Stephen opts to stay home to work – good choice. A mother of a girl from Katie’s school, who also teaches at the school, has kindly invited us to a pizza party celebrating her daughter’s adoption day from <st1:country-region><st1:place>China</st1:place></st1:country-region>. She cannot send us the address in Chinese characters, but in an email, she writes how to pronounce <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOT88PFWEZLLtea8qXX6XwWeR0-rlsjT-tEHz0rSNtGcUXQww0g3-hUpQhzXeNg9uXNCNl82LDT7FIKQ1qiisIake2vppveNaB0yFB4YXuJwt-0aMBcM2mG-hl-ZMlgp6lzYJflxdgR4va/s1600-h/Beijing+traffic%21%21.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOT88PFWEZLLtea8qXX6XwWeR0-rlsjT-tEHz0rSNtGcUXQww0g3-hUpQhzXeNg9uXNCNl82LDT7FIKQ1qiisIake2vppveNaB0yFB4YXuJwt-0aMBcM2mG-hl-ZMlgp6lzYJflxdgR4va/s320/Beijing+traffic%21%21.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5181112678807815650" border="0" /></a>the name of where we are going. Lesson learned: get addresses in Chinese characters. We tell the cabbie where we want to go, he repeats a few words that sound like what we think we are going to, and off we go….and stop. <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:city> traffic at <st1:time minute="0" hour="17">5pm</st1:time> is a lot like the beltway around <st1:place><st1:city>Washington</st1:city> <st1:state>DC</st1:state></st1:place>. Only the air is so noxious that I am gagging in the back of the cab. At one point the cabbie pulls off, and I think we must be close. He stops the car, pulls on the emergency break, leaves the car running, and heads into a public toilet! A few minutes later, he emerges and away we go….and stop. One hour and ten minutes later we have traveled about 5-6 miles and the cabbie leaves us off at a place that is NOT the restaurant we were supposed to be going to. </span><span style=";font-size:78%;" > </span><span style="font-size:78%;">OK, now what? Brilliant Katie spots a map at a bus stop and we realize we are only a block away from where we want to be. The gods are watching us now. We join the party for the largest and most delicious pizza I’ve ever had, and I even go wild and have a salad – the first fresh veggies I’ve had in two weeks. Lettuce never tasted so good. We’ll see how well it likes me later.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;">Thursday Feb 28. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;">Putter around the apartment getting organized, and decide mid-day to venture into the center of the city in search of foam rubber. We see in a guide book that there is a place that sells these cheap. It dawns on me, (duh!) that we have a copy machine in our apartment where we can Xerox the address of</span><span style=";font-size:78%;" > </span><span style="font-size:78%;">where we want to go in Chinese characters and hand it to a cabbie! <st1:city><st1:place>Eureka</st1:place></st1:city>! Maybe we won’t be so damn lost all the time! </span><span style=";font-size:78%;" > </span><span style="font-size:78%;">It is embarrassing that it took us this long to figure out this simple survival tip. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;">The cabbie drops us of at “furniture is cheap” store. Couches that fold into beds for about a hundred bucks. I am interested, but haven’t a clue how to negotiate delivery options. There are no foam pads, just straw mats that don’t provide much cushion.</span><span style=";font-size:78%;" > </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;">We leave the store and see a sign for a hutong around the corner and decide to explore. Hutongs are the old alleys and small single story stone <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpqcXhftaq-Ty2MqSIwRTZmFE6J1XqNa-cymqjtga1Oq-xcf1KlNQdzeGr4tWi_xgx62cQ3r9z5JZE-GCOEqqxowNtXo3d6l0xQvffYAXFKgeZX8iKruscjk3e_UkOSZJJy9F7iO_C3dlA/s1600-h/Hutong+alley.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpqcXhftaq-Ty2MqSIwRTZmFE6J1XqNa-cymqjtga1Oq-xcf1KlNQdzeGr4tWi_xgx62cQ3r9z5JZE-GCOEqqxowNtXo3d6l0xQvffYAXFKgeZX8iKruscjk3e_UkOSZJJy9F7iO_C3dlA/s320/Hutong+alley.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5181113280103237106" border="0" /></a>walled-in “huts” that not so long ago were the main architecture of <st1:city><st1:place>Beijing</st1:place></st1:city>. There are some high-end renovated hutong homes, but not around here. This is really quite poor and dirty. Stephen feels a little voyeuristic, but I feel more like I am in the old North End where the older gentlemen are out playing cards or shooting the breeze, and the older women are sweeping their stoop or coming back from the market. It has a very close community feel to it. And despite the decrepit quality of the structures, there is a real charm to the place. We meander around, see fresh meat being butchered on the sidewalk, guys on bikes hawking their wares, and one guy welding a bike cart back together without the benefit of any eye protection (this is universal in China – you see these guys late at night, several stories up on bamboo scaffolding </span><span style=";font-size:78%;" > </span><span style="font-size:78%;">welding stuff without any protection at all). There seems to be a public toilet on every corner, so we assume there is no indoor plumbing in this area. We are <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzP0xmbUk-y-uP0tQOdVAyvWkXI8eudsFsc8bBfFEE0cDNvBtm4HD4-O-74GAoVXSlMbvvVrslH5dEJdi1oy1hXQOpiQsWZpXVkV1UNalQYZzCYO6DF59e9mGunMLMFSLaN37oBgWBK8T5/s1600-h/school+kids+at+attention.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzP0xmbUk-y-uP0tQOdVAyvWkXI8eudsFsc8bBfFEE0cDNvBtm4HD4-O-74GAoVXSlMbvvVrslH5dEJdi1oy1hXQOpiQsWZpXVkV1UNalQYZzCYO6DF59e9mGunMLMFSLaN37oBgWBK8T5/s320/school+kids+at+attention.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5181113915758396930" border="0" /></a>about a half mile from <st1:place>Tiananmen Square</st1:place> where some hotels are hundreds of dollars a night and apartments are in the hundreds of thousands, if not millions of US dollars.</span><span style=";font-size:78%;" > </span><span style="font-size:78%;">The rich and poor of Beijing are in very close proximity.</span><span style=";font-size:78%;" > </span><span style="font-size:78%;">We stop outside a school where the 6 or 7 year old kids are standing at attention, back straight, chin up, shoulders back, and all EXTREMELY seeerious, even as this crazy American stands in front of them trying to take a picture. I’ve never seen such discipline on a playground in the <st1:country-region><st1:place>US</st1:place></st1:country-region>. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;">From there we decide to hoof it to Katie’s school and catch a ride with her driver back to the apartment. Did I mention that “distances are greater than they appear on maps”? It is about a one and a half hour walk to her school through a very dull neighborhood of high rise apartments and neon store fronts. But we arrive to find there is a Starbucks and MacDonald’s outside the wall of her school that we hadn’t seen before, so we camp out there for a few minutes until she’s done with her day. She has signed up for an after school class in ceramics, so gets out at <st1:time hour="16" minute="20">4:20</st1:time> on Thursdays. She’s had a good day, and even dreaded math is looking up. They gave her a math assessment test and she scored into the highest math level!! Given her difficulties back home, I am very surprised, but happy that she won’t be overwhelmed, which is what I feared. And even Chinese class was OK today. She learned how to order Sprite, Hamburgers (ham-bow-bow) and BEER in Chinese! Now we can really start having fun!</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;">As we enter the apartment building the lady at the front desk chases after us and brings us to a mailbox in the lobby, where someone has apparently ordered a daily delivery of the English language “China Daily” newspaper. There are about two weeks worth of papers stuffing the mailbox! We grab them and begin devouring a lot of news we had been missing. The paper is a mouthpiece of the government, but I am struck by how many critical comments are allowed to get by the editors. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;">For dinner, we are all tired, so we crack into the first batch of “comfort food” I brought from home and have a lovely dinner of Annie’s macaroni and cheese. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;">It’s hard to believe I’ve only been here two weeks. And the second week was decidedly better than the first. I really feel settled and I am happily soaking up all that is new and different, rather than being bothered by it, as I was much of last week. Maybe tomorrow we’ll go to IKEA and finally get me someplace comfortable to rest my bones. </span></p>Anne Donohuehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17213801988680297535noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9151003418006851422.post-6904699573958293042008-02-26T19:52:00.000-08:002008-09-07T17:19:11.593-07:00communication<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1B2fTwKqoumdP8iSOzHYwO_CIZfhapu23yia4tpbhSy5iAQrK_SIO-aCsDoKmiUD1LJliXKo7rKj-k8zBHZ7BVkzGluU5atJABa267Y4R15_F7hiLkNgRQlG-mgvAifOolCZBe0YtpCCZ/s1600-h/%E5%90%88%E5%BD%B153.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1B2fTwKqoumdP8iSOzHYwO_CIZfhapu23yia4tpbhSy5iAQrK_SIO-aCsDoKmiUD1LJliXKo7rKj-k8zBHZ7BVkzGluU5atJABa267Y4R15_F7hiLkNgRQlG-mgvAifOolCZBe0YtpCCZ/s320/%E5%90%88%E5%BD%B153.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243438372530595986" border="0" /></a><br />I can post to my blog, but cannot access it to see it. So if you are responding to the blog, please send me an email, not a message within the blog. Thanks. AnneAnne Donohuehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17213801988680297535noreply@blogger.com0