The small matters are mostly mere frustrations: the fact that I can’t take a proper shower at home for instance. My first day here Auntie Zhang explained that hot water was limited and sporadic, and demonstrated her system: a pair of shallow buckets to fill with warm water and then splash oneself with after turning off the shower spigot. I joined the gym the next day. But some days I just don’t have time to go and there’s no choice but to curse and shiver my way clean.
Another source of irritation has been the construction work on a neighboring building. Every single day for more than a month there have been construction workers less than 15 feet from my window
building this:
Apparently it will keep the building’s residents cooler in the summer. I’m so happy for them.
The noise isn’t usually too bad, but being forced to choose between light and privacy is. I’ll be working at my desk with the curtains open and then look out to find that a ruddy-skinned country boy (all of the construction workers in big Chinese cities are from the countryside, officially termed the “floating population”) is staring at me dumbly. Do you know how frustrating it is when you don’t even have the one-finger salute in your communication repertoire? It isn’t nearly as satisfying to scowl and close the curtains with a dramatic flourish, but what else can I do? I really need to learn some offensive Chinese hand gestures.*
Many of you have heard already about my research troubles and I won’t elaborate here, aside from saying that it is exhausting and disheartening to be denied at every turn. I’m learning a little through my own channels but I can’t get official access and I’ve gone down so many roads that have turned out to be dead ends. I don't like being without a meaningful task and I feel like I'm disappointing my committee and wasting my time.
Y'all know I'm not exactly thick-skinned, and so the worst part of living here is also the best: I find everything so curious and compelling and that leaves me wide open to letting things affect me, both positively and negatively. I think that’s an important quality for an anthropologist and I don’t want to lose it, but it can also be draining. Although urban life suits me nicely and I feel far more at home here than I ever did in Bloomington, this is also a dense, dirty city with more than twice the population of New York. Sometimes, on what I like to call “bad China days” my favorite quote from The Wasteland comes to mind:
Unreal city,
Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,
A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,
I had not thought death had undone so many.
I do enjoy getting caught up in all the chaos, losing myself in the powerful currents of urban life, but it takes a certain degree of engagement that I don’t always have the energy for. When I first got here I could stand on the subway entertained by watching and listening to people for the entirety of my 40 minute commute to campus but more and more I’ve been relying on electronic devices to help me pass the time while being jostled and squished and trying not to think about communicable illnesses. Ever since I got my iphone unlocked and started carrying it with me everywhere again, I have frequently fallen prey to the dangers of shuffle. I am just not strong enough to deal with the disjointing combinations that result: listening to Starship Trooper (the "Awesome" version, of course) while perusing vegetables at the market, enjoying the mashy goodness of The Grey Album as my bus staggers past Tiananmen... it's just too much for my tiny brain to handle. Time and distance collapse and contract and I'm everywhere and nowhere all at once. I'm sure you've all had similar experiences.
I once spent a long melancholy day at the Peking University library after spending my commute listening to the entirety of an album on constant rotation on my last few days in Seattle and which made shimmering water and steep hills appear before me like mirages. Oh dry flat dirty populous city, you cannot compare, you cannot compare.
*Since I first wrote this, I have not only learned a uniquely Chinese offensive hand gesture, but also verified that flipping the bird is in fact comprehensible to the majority of the population. Sadly, the construction next door is almost finished.
This year, to stave off disappointment, I had originally planned to let the day pass without telling anyone but then I let it slip at a Fulbright event the week before and was consequently ordered to invite everyone to come out and celebrate with me. I tried to hide it on facebook but stealthy birthday hunters found me out and rained their love down on me. The indefatigable Siano went all-out, successfully getting all Up in My Inbox.
The day itself was fairly low-key. I went to the gym in the late morning and ran into my buddy Li Chao, one of the trainers there. He insisted on taking me out to lunch so we went to a tasty hole-in-the-wall muslim restaurant.
I ran some errands in the afternoon, watched a movie, ate a specially-prepared dinner with Uncle & Auntie, dressed myself up in a seasonally-appropriate party dress,
(apologies. I went several rounds with photobooth but was unable to capture anything but pure dork)
and went down to the Treehouse an hour or so before my comrades were due to arrive. I’ve always wanted to buy a round for the whole bar but fiscal circumstances have never before made it feasible. Not only are beers super cheap here, but I welcomed another opportunity to give the Treehouse my money and show my appreciation to the staff for making me feel so at home.
I’d never been there so late on a weekend night though and I was glad to see that business was booming. I spent about 200RMB ($30) on 20 beers and felt successful. Most of my favorite regulars were there, and by some lucky (celestial?) stroke none of my erstwhile suitors were among them. I mentioned how strange I found it that so many Chinese men have expressed their romantic interests towards me on this visit and not on the last (though I should point out that I am still terrifying enough in aspect to make children in Shanxi cry). Uri, studying China-Middle East relations at Peking U., helpfully theorized the origins of the interest: an assumption that Western girls were good bets for a 一夜请 (one-night stand). Veronica, carrying out a photographic study of Chinese farmers, shared a story from the first week she was here, stretching out after jogging, when one of the security guards on the campus of her language program attempted to engage her in conversation using a program on his cell phone which gave painfully awkward English translations and prompted him to ask questions such as “do you often eat food?” and “do you like to harden the body?”, causing poor Veronica to fear she was being asked out by a 14-year old.
It was good times. There’s nothing like boozing it up in an alley to bring you closer to people you hardly know. The next day was another Fulbrighter birthday and many of us met up with Ariane, studying the consumption of internet news, at a Hot Pot restaurant with noodle swinging acrobatics (a slender man all in white swung a 2-meter long noodle over our heads and then dropped it into the pot to boil and be consumed) where we were given not only bibs and chair covers (to protect coats) but also tiny plastic bags to keep our cell phones in. Brilliant! Afterwards we went to Q Bar for cocktails both scrumptious (Ginger Martini!) and so-so (Green Tea Long Island), ending the evening at a silly, overpriced neo-Gothic subterranean nightclub called Punk. I accidentally lost a hand-knitted scarf in the pile of winter wear built when we all went out on the dance floor, but chalked it up as a sacrifice that afforded me yet another happy birthday.
And today, I'd like to wish a VERY HAPPY BIRTHDAY to my dear SARAHSAURUS!
The theater is in the Great Hall of the People, built in the 50s in the Soviet style, so there ain’t no luxury boxes, but because it is in the Great Hall of the People, there’s plenty of flash-photography, loud arguments over seats, sleeping, and people answering their phones (a guy 3 seats down from me thoughtfully put his head under his little desk to take a call that lasted a WHOLE scene). My companion helpfully explained to me that these were people of "low quality" (素质低), a disconcertingly common remark among middle-class Beijingers.
白毛女 was one of the 8 model plays, the most famous of the few operas and ballets permitted during the 10 years of the Cultural Revolution by Chairman Mao's unpopular 4th wife, Jiang Qing. It tells the story of a young country girl who, after losing her father and her maidenhood to an evil landlord, flees into the woods, turning feral and white-haired.
The stylistic inspiration for her transformation appeared to be the hit musical "Mamma Mia".
After a few years of living in the wild, terrifying the nearby villagers who think her a ghost, her true identity is discovered by the 8th Route Army (the early CCP), and, after years of therapy, she once again becomes a human being. Don’t worry, she gets to keep the pretty hair.
At the climax of the tearful reunion scene, the red sun, which represents Mao Zedong in high-socialist era imagery, entered from stage right. There was applause, but it seemed cursory. I suspect the effect was dimmed a bit by the fact that due to a technical mishap the sun made its first appearance during the father's suicide scene in the first act, prompting a ripple of laughter across the theater.
In the final scene, the white-haired girl and her whole village are led in a struggle session against the landlord and his crony. It was satisfying, even if it did hit a little close to home. [I know you're not like that mom].
At curtain call, the main actors tossed their bouquets into the audience, causing small scrambles not unlike those seen at wedding receptions. Later, waiting for the subway, I found myself standing next to a middle-aged woman who was posing for a picture, proudly cradling one of the bouquets as the train rushed into the station behind her.
翻身！翻身！
The secret to winter-time leg warmth.
mute orphan + poacher ready for a change of heart + endless gratuitous shots of frolicking baby pandas = smokin hot eco-porn
Oh yes she did. Trucker hat with feline patch courtesy of air Montana.
Approximately 6 Shiba Inu puppies.
p.s. Guess who's in town?
On Tuesday afternoon I had the pleasure of showing the friend of a friend around Beijing, and while my tour was far from comprehensive, it had the merit, at least for me, of providing an excuse to walk around some pretty places and eat dumplings in good company.
Yonghegong lama temple looked especially seasonal bearing a thin layer of snow, although it made a strange topping for all the trees and bushes that haven't yet lost their leaves.
A sight which pleased me even more was this young boy and his father hailing a taxi. The 7-year old inside me was moved to great envy by the boy’s puffy jacket, which appeared to have built in (and perhaps even retractable!) alien ears. A close up may be necessary.
In this inset, we can better see that his jacket reads “SEEK THE BABY”, or possibly “SEEK THE BADY”, both of which make perfect sense to me.
Wednesday was pleasantly cold but I assumed, based on my first winter in Beijing, that the snow wouldn’t stick around for long. I was wrong. When I woke this morning there was a fresh layer of powder outside and it was still falling steadily. Thinking I might wait it out, I tucked back into bed with tea and Middlemarch, daydreaming of the high-tech winter gear back in storage in Seattle, whose promises of “wind-stopping”, “moisture wicking”, and “thermal insulation” might act as incantations against the snowfall, if nothing else.
After lunch I went shopping with Auntie Zhang so I could carry home the groceries for Uncle Mu to start dinner preparations with after she went back to the office. It was the realization that it was really very pleasant outside (and perhaps also a little fear at what kind of dinner Uncle Mu could cook up with duck skins and lotus roots) that decided me on venturing out for the rest of the afternoon. It was a good decision. Campus, already an inspiring place, is lovely today.
Even the concrete maw of the library and the fierce lion-dogs that stand sentry in front of it look a little softer: edges blunted, light refracted, just sparkly enough to still be taken seriously.
