When I arrived in mid-September the city was already going into lockdown, with increased safety precautions, beefed up security, and approximately 800,000 civilian volunteers on buses and street corners ready to report on any suspicious goings-on. I found it highly amusing that Beijingers responded to the presence of tanks and armed soldiers on the boulevards by, what else, taking and posing for pictures.
The CCP spared no cost in sprucing up the city for the celebration on October 1st, decorating everything from train stations to pedestrian overpasses in red and gold, and hanging lanterns and flags wherever they weren’t already.
Every night in the week before the big day there were huge galas on TV featuring famous performers singing patriotic songs for delighted proles and stone-faced bureaucrats (and that hasn't entirely ended; just last night I watched part of a show where families competed against each other to perform the most impressive rendition of a patriotic song extolling the virtues of Chairman Mao and the Chinese nation). In my first weeks here I spent most evenings watching television and eating exotic fruit with Auntie Zhang and Feifei the cat, a habit which both helped me to recover some of my language skills, and engaged my curiosity about modern Chinese nationalism. It didn't go far, however, in helping me to befriend the crotchety-est cat I’ve ever met.
Feifei was the childhood pet of my landlords daughter who has now settled in Australia with her husband. She is more than 20 years old, mostly blind and deaf, and totally neurotic.
Sure, she looks cuddly here, but one ought to let sleeping cats lie...
...lest they wake up and glare at you with large, dilated pupils and demonically narrowed eyes,
and howl piteously at all hours of the day and night:
Feifei's Lament from Le Kougre on Vimeo.
(she really does this EVERY DAY, usually more than once. Inside cats are crazy)
I think we’re buds now but her howling still freaks me out sometimes. I also find it endlessly weird that she actually enjoys drinking warm water. Sometimes when she meows it is a request for someone to refill her bowl from the pitcher of hot water that sits next to it, after which she drinks enthusiastically.
In general I’m very happy with my living situation. I live with a retired couple, Auntie Zhang and Uncle Mu, in their tidy 4th floor apartment near the 2nd ring road. The area is ideal - very central and well-served by public transportation, and the building is nice, with a big central garden and benches frequented by old couples and young mothers.
Uncle Mu is a retired 干部，or cadre, who used to work in the ministry of coal. These days he spends as much time as possible fishing and the rest of the time watching tv or hanging out with his old buddies at the retired cadre center. He tends to be a man of few words, and due to his intensely thick Beijing accent (meaning he speaks Chinese like a mumbling pirate, swallowing most of his consonants), those few words are quite difficult for me to understand. It's good practice at the very least, and on the few occasions I've been able to engage him on politics he has proved to have many a strong opinion. We all watched the National Day parade on television together and ogling the PRC's greatest military display gave me an opportunity to learn about Uncle Mu's military experience (3 years flying planes in Vietnam in the late 60s) and opinions of President Bush the younger (made the world a more dangerous place for everyone). I'm anxious to learn more, but it will take some time before I can fully penetrate the murky garble of his accent.
Auntie Zhang, thankfully, speaks quite a bit more clearly. She's a charming, vivacious little woman who laughs and smiles often and only scowls when someone tries to help her with something. In her early 60s, she recently returned to her work part-time in her old position as an accountant in the same department where Uncle Mu worked. When I first got here I usually stuck around the house until the early afternoon and when I woke up in the morning I would always find a plate of sliced and peeled apples or pears waiting for me in the kitchen. She fusses over me in a motherly way sometimes, fearing that I'll catch cold or that I haven't eaten enough turnips to fortify me for the day, but she never interferes in my business, and, thankfully, her feelings aren't hurt if I decline to eat something she has served. I should add that the two of them were both delighted when I explained to them that I had filmed the cat and put it on the internet. We all get along nicely.
And now, some photographs from Tiananmen Square, where the floats from the National Day parade attracted hundreds of thousands of tourist and locals eager for a glimpse of spectacle.
56 pillars, each representing one of China's ethnic groups (55 of which make up 8% of the population, which is 92% Han Chinese) surrounded the square on both sides. During the nighttime extravaganza on the evening of National Day fireworks shot out of the pillars.
Each of China's provinces, autonomous regions (like Tibet and Xinjiang), municipalities administered as provinces, and disputed territories (hello Taiwan) was represented by a float. This one was for Tibet, and depicted the Beijing-Lhasa train apparently emerging through a Tibetan palace. No reason why that would be in questionable taste, is there?
Sichuan = pandas AND skyscrapers.
Xi'an's Terracotta Warriors as re-envisioned by Ripley Scott.
Floats glorifying the great proletarian revolution.
The Uighurs of Xinjiang LOVE to dance!
Another father blinded by the nationalism of the youth.
