I am writing this from the comfort of my living room, back here in the good ol' US-of-A.
(I feel like I should give my best Toby Keith sneer when I say "US-of-A." And then maybe there should be beer).
My trip to China was incredible. I lived as a minority in a city older than my own language. I ate food that my culture would eschew as dangerous, or gross or pets. I got to spend time in the homes of very kind and very polite people with deep spiritual convictions, intense dedication to family values, and a household yearly income lower than my monthly salary. I walked the streets and talked with the people and bought a handbag for my wife. I loved my time there as a tourist, as an outsider, and as a curious observer.
One thing I learned is that getting into China is much, much easier than getting out of China. Do you remember how they tell you to get to the airport 3 hours before an international flight, and how you always wonder why when you get through customs and security and still have 2 hours and 45 minutes left to wait?
Apparently, China is the reason they made that rule.
Greg and I got there 2.5 hours before our flight. We spent the first 20 minutes or so being misdirected to several locations in the huge Pudong airport by airport-staff who meant well, but who had apparently been hired some time that morning. Once finding the proper check-in site, we were able to breeze up to the front of the line in about ten minutes. Upon getting to the front of the line, we were greeted by a very smiley and very polite Korean Air woman, who, while very kind, wasn't really in a great position to do business with a couple of Americans trying to get back home.
(Please don't hear this as me being angry at her...we are the Americans who don't speak her language...and she tried very hard to speak ours. She worked very hard to make it work, but it didn't).
After she had called over another woman and checked in our bags to make sure they would follow us to Seoul, then Los Angeles, then Laguardia, then finally to Cincinnati, we began the process of explaining that we were not, in fact, going to LAX or Laguardia, which began a good 15-minute conversation on how Chicago and New York are not the same place, and that CVG (Cincinnati's airport) and PVG (Seoul's airport), despite having similar 3-letter-codes, have several important geographical differences.
I'm still not sure where she got the Los Angeles part from.
After we had sorted out the bag-destination piece, she sent me to the counter where I was meant to pay for the baggage-shipping. This counter was manned by one very very old lady and five teenagers who, it can be presumed, were there as some sort of detention. I waited in line until I got to the front, where I watched a very nervous-looking girl try unsuccessfully to fill out the required baggage paperwork. Several times. Nine, actually. Nine times. She tried nine times. I counted. Nine. There were no computers, so when I say "paperwork," I mean ancient-looking Chinese-government forms which must be filled out in triplicate in Chinese. She would work through each set of three forms all the way before deciding something about them wasn't working for her, then crumple and throw away and start over. Nine times. 30 minutes. Watching her fill out one form.
When she finally had filled it out to her satisfaction, she passed it to the very old woman, who I gather was a cashier. The old woman looked at the ticket and handed it back to the girl, muttering something in Chinese.
The girl threw the form away and started over.
She must have gotten it right on the tenth try, because the old woman took the form, read it over, and pulled out an abacus. As in, "welcome to the museum of natural history, please take a moment to look at this abacus and marvel at its ancientness. Now, on to the stalactite collection..." I'll give you, she was a whiz at the abacus, but still. She wrote out my receipt in Chinese and sent me on my way.
I returned to the counter, where they promptly sent me to security to verify that my electric toothbrush was not a bomb. It was, in fact, not.
We jumped on the plane and went to Seoul. It was a great flight, and very relaxing. Somewhere around midnight, we got off the plane in Seoul and headed out the gate to the "Transit Hotel" which is a hotel cleverly built into the airport, intended to allow international travelers who are simply laying over in Seoul to a place to rest without having to collect their bags and go through customs and immigration.
Aaah, the best laid plans of mice and men...
Apparently, when they built the transit hotel into the Incheon International Airport, they neglected to tell the staff of the Incheon International Airport that they had built the transit hotel. The woman whose job it was to make sure we got directed to the right place had actually never heard of the transit hotel, which was weird because it was her job to send people there. She even had a list of people who had reserved rooms in the hotel in her hand, which ended up becoming the focal point of a very confusing debate between us and her as to whether or not the hotel exists. (She maintains no).
She sent us through immigration (despite a letter in my hand from the hotel which says "DO NOT GO THROUGH IMMIGRATION OR CUSTOMS") and out to Customs before we finally got fed up enough to find someone else to help us. By the fourth person we asked about the hotel, we finally found someone who had heard of it. As it turns out, it's right next to the gate. Aaaaah. Damn sneaky hotel. 90 minutes after beginning our quest to get to our "easy and convenient" hotel, we were able to convince the one employee left in the airport at 1:30 in the morning to allow us through to the hotel. I tried to sleep that night...but honestly, I was pissed enough that I didn't sleep. I did, however, watch the movie "Honey," with Jessica Alba, which, mercifully, had all of its dialogue over-dubbed in Korean.
The rest of the trip home was relatively peaceful, with another magnficent flight on Korean Air. I was sick for the last few days of my visit, and knocked myself out with cold medicine for most of the flight, but my few waking hours were spent munching on great Korean food and playing Tetris with Greg. (He came out the big winner...won twice as many as I did in the end). I got home somewhere around 3:30 on Friday, exhausted and very, very grateful for my trip.
As wonderful as the trip was, though, I will tell you that I'm very, very happy to be home. Upon my return, I got home, fired off a couple of quick emails, and joyously waited for Stacy to get home. She had cleaned the entire house, and made me my very favorite dinner, which was entirely meat-and-potatoes, and undeniably American. She made my favorite dessert and even lit candles. It was magic. I hit the couch immediately afterward, and have slept for 26 of the last 44 hours.
I will upload the final pics Greg and I took (mostly Greg, he has the nice camera) to the ol' Flickr account shortly, and hopefully share a couple more stories. Thanks for prayers and interest throughout my trip...it was really great knowing that my friends back here in the States were following the journey; it made home feel close, and that was very good. I look forward to having slideshows, and catching up on what's going on here. A week's not a long time to be gone...but I was very far away, and really out of touch with American media...so you'll have to let me know if anything really crazy happened.
It's been a fun journey. Thanks for being a part of it. I may head back in April for some follow-up work...I'll keep you posted.
Peace,
Justin
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
The Cod That Refused to Be...
I have been in research all day for two straight days. As a result, I have no pictures to share. In lieu of pictures of those days, I offer you this picture from my first day here, when we ate a fish whose head joined the rest of itself on our dinner table.
I'm learning that "ordering" in Shanghai, China is not what it is in the U.S. in the US, when you "order" something, whether it's a dish in a restaurant or asking to buy a jacket in a store, the employees generally consider this a mandate of sorts to provide you with the thing you asked for.
In China, it seems, "ordering" is actually just an opportunity to open up a dialogue in which the server/shopkeeper gets to tell you what it is you REALLY wanted, and then bring it to you.
Greg ordered a cod. The picture you're looking at is very not a cod. It's some kind of very weird Mandarin fish dish. Greg pointed at the cod on the menu. The waiter pointed at a dish on the other page. Greg said, "No," and pointed back at the cod. More enthusiastically, the waiter pointed at the dish on the other page. Clearly thinking the waiter was simply misunderstanding where he was pointing (I assumed pointing was an international language of sorts), Greg pointed vehemently at the cod. Even more vehemently, and somewhat nonplussed at Greg's refusal to speak Chinese Point-Finger, the waiter pointed at the cod, took the menu, and walked away.
Fifteen minutes later, out came this thing.
It was a fish. A whole fish. They were kind enough to separate the fish's head from it's body, as is traditional in Western fish-eating, but did not go so far as to actually remove the head from the plate. Instead, they deep-fried the head along with the fish, and then doused it in vegetables and some kind of mung-sauce.
We ate a lot of bread.
Some of the Chinese food has been really good. Some has been really not good. Most has just been very exotic, and I'm glad to have the option to try it. Here are a few of the dishes I've tried in the last couple of days:
1. Loose grass-clipping tea
2. Raw "black chicken" (chicken whose skin is naturally black)
3. Pumpkin rind
4. Teriaki eel strips
5. Drunken fish
6. Raw beef
7. Sino-Italian Grapa moonshine
8. Bulgur wheat tea
9. Pork-tofu
10. Unnamed animal on a stick
So, last night, in the middle of the NYC of China, I ordered up my favorite Chinese dish yet.
It was a cheeseburger. And it was delicious.
i have loved this country. But I'm looking forward to my return home.
I'm heading back to the Yu Yuan gardens tomorrow...the thought of having visited such a place without taking pictures made me ill. (Well, that and the raw chicken). So, Greg and I head out tomorrow morning to shoot some shots of the Gardens. I hope to post 'em before I get home on Fri afternoon.
Please pray for our safe return if you find the time and the spirit, and I'll keep ya'll posted.
Peace,
Justin
Monday, February 12, 2007
My Day As an Asian Man...
It's kinda hard to blend into Shanghai, China when you're 6'2", pale as a blister, and wearing a solid white button-up.
Because of overcrowding on our research team, I "subbed out" today while the rest of the team went to do the research throughout greater Shanghai. So, I'm left at the facility in the middle of the city by myself, with 9 or so hours to kill. So, I did what any self-respecting white guy with a nigh-paralyzing fear of the unknown would do...
...I went out.
For those of you who are naturally oriented towards world-exploring in strange and unfamiliar cultures, this story will seem stupid and banal. For those of you who land somewhere in the middle, this story will just seem banal. But, for those of you like me, who automatically think "I wonder if I can find an English-language gameshow network on the hotel room TV" when you have spare time in an unfamiliar country, this story may be slightly inspiring.
...I spent the last five hours, by myself, wandering around downtown Shanghai.
Unfortunately, I sent all four of the cameras that I brought with me out with the research teams, so I don't have any photos to share of my adventures. So, I'll have to use my rapier wit, my cunning language, and my "descriptive words for dummies" tome to paint the picture for you.
As I stood in the elevator of the research facility, I knew I had a choice to make...I was either going to take the easy road and go back to the air-conditioned comfort of the Westin, or I was going to go it alone. I breathed deeply, walked out the front door of the World Trade Tower, and just started walking.
I walked for nearly an hour, peeking into shops and repeatedly saying "Bou Yow" (no thanks) to people who kept yelling "Hello sir! DVD, Bag, Watch, Gucci, Prada?" (The fake stuff black market is alive, well, and downright ubiquitous here). I navigated the streets, I figured out how the crosswalks work, and I dodged entire families piled high on little motorscooters as they weaved in and out of traffic without regard for signals or right-of-way. I exchanged currency, bought water, and asked for directions...all fairly complicated tasks when you don't speak Chinese and the vendors don't speak English. I meandered down the narrow alleys and back roads, ducking under laundry lines and passing fruit stands and lots of men smoking. I got pointed at and laughed at by little Chinese children, which is the furthest thing from offensive and actually quite endearing. (BTW: Chinese children may be the cutest children on the planet. If you have a degree in advanced genetic manipulation so Stacy and I can have one, please let me know). I chatted with old men who spoke English, I admired the waterfront and massive Chinese tugboats at the Huangpu river, and I met a guy who cuts paper and sells it to tourists (again, more interesting than it sounds).
I eventually picked a destination, the Yu Yuan Gardens, and spent another good hour looking for it. I eventually found it, after trading odd directional hand-gestures with several polite Chinese policemen, and paid my 30RMB (US $3.50) to go inside.
I can't possibly do it justice here.
The gardens were built during the Ming dynasty, and have continued virtually unchanged ever since. They are pristine, stunning, and intensely Chinese. It was like walking into a rice-paper painting...every bit as delicate and intricate. The halls and gardens had names which translated to "Hall of Mildness," and "Thoughts While in Silence." The goldfish were huge and odd and, somehow, just as Chinese as their surroundings. People were quiet and respectful, and the loud, bustling city around disappeared among this architectural and horticultural masterwork. My eyes watered with awe throughout...I literally dumb-struck...I didn't speak a word for nearly two hours as I wandered the gardens. It stung deep to not have my camera with me, but the experience will showcase in my brain-movies for years and years to come.
I left the gardens in a sort of Buddhisty trance, and felt lifted and washed.
I was also hungry and desperate to pee...and toilets and English-friendly restaurants have both been a bit elusive here. I pushed and excuse-me'd my way through the throngs of Chinese New Year celebrants in the Yuan district, and eventually found a cafeteria-ish thing with tons of food and a restroom. Score.
I have no idea what I ate. I'd like to guess, but it would be pure speculation. The meat thing seemed to be cooked-animal-kabob, but it didn't taste like any animal I've eaten before. The soup involved a grain, and the drink was either watermelon juice or some kind of coffee. I had the honor of coining the international symbol for "where can I sit to where I'm not looking directly into the sun," and, again, got laughed at by Chinese children. I ate in courage, and, in some ways, I ate in victory.
As I walked back to the hotel, I met a Chinese "friend" (read: guy who pretends to be interested in Americans so he can take you to a hole-in-the-wall store in order to sell you cheap crap), followed him to a tea shop, and chatted for some time about Buddhism, communism, and what a great deal I could get on a genuine Rolex.
(I am now the proud owner of a $40 "genuine" Rolex...it was more about the experience than the having).
As I walked back to the hotel, my feet hurting and my chintz-bag in tow, I felt victorious. I had, in some ways, beaten my fear and done something scary. I couldn't wait to get here and share it with you.
Today was a big day for me. I'm growing.
Peace,
Justin
Because of overcrowding on our research team, I "subbed out" today while the rest of the team went to do the research throughout greater Shanghai. So, I'm left at the facility in the middle of the city by myself, with 9 or so hours to kill. So, I did what any self-respecting white guy with a nigh-paralyzing fear of the unknown would do...
...I went out.
For those of you who are naturally oriented towards world-exploring in strange and unfamiliar cultures, this story will seem stupid and banal. For those of you who land somewhere in the middle, this story will just seem banal. But, for those of you like me, who automatically think "I wonder if I can find an English-language gameshow network on the hotel room TV" when you have spare time in an unfamiliar country, this story may be slightly inspiring.
...I spent the last five hours, by myself, wandering around downtown Shanghai.
Unfortunately, I sent all four of the cameras that I brought with me out with the research teams, so I don't have any photos to share of my adventures. So, I'll have to use my rapier wit, my cunning language, and my "descriptive words for dummies" tome to paint the picture for you.
As I stood in the elevator of the research facility, I knew I had a choice to make...I was either going to take the easy road and go back to the air-conditioned comfort of the Westin, or I was going to go it alone. I breathed deeply, walked out the front door of the World Trade Tower, and just started walking.
I walked for nearly an hour, peeking into shops and repeatedly saying "Bou Yow" (no thanks) to people who kept yelling "Hello sir! DVD, Bag, Watch, Gucci, Prada?" (The fake stuff black market is alive, well, and downright ubiquitous here). I navigated the streets, I figured out how the crosswalks work, and I dodged entire families piled high on little motorscooters as they weaved in and out of traffic without regard for signals or right-of-way. I exchanged currency, bought water, and asked for directions...all fairly complicated tasks when you don't speak Chinese and the vendors don't speak English. I meandered down the narrow alleys and back roads, ducking under laundry lines and passing fruit stands and lots of men smoking. I got pointed at and laughed at by little Chinese children, which is the furthest thing from offensive and actually quite endearing. (BTW: Chinese children may be the cutest children on the planet. If you have a degree in advanced genetic manipulation so Stacy and I can have one, please let me know). I chatted with old men who spoke English, I admired the waterfront and massive Chinese tugboats at the Huangpu river, and I met a guy who cuts paper and sells it to tourists (again, more interesting than it sounds).
I eventually picked a destination, the Yu Yuan Gardens, and spent another good hour looking for it. I eventually found it, after trading odd directional hand-gestures with several polite Chinese policemen, and paid my 30RMB (US $3.50) to go inside.
I can't possibly do it justice here.
The gardens were built during the Ming dynasty, and have continued virtually unchanged ever since. They are pristine, stunning, and intensely Chinese. It was like walking into a rice-paper painting...every bit as delicate and intricate. The halls and gardens had names which translated to "Hall of Mildness," and "Thoughts While in Silence." The goldfish were huge and odd and, somehow, just as Chinese as their surroundings. People were quiet and respectful, and the loud, bustling city around disappeared among this architectural and horticultural masterwork. My eyes watered with awe throughout...I literally dumb-struck...I didn't speak a word for nearly two hours as I wandered the gardens. It stung deep to not have my camera with me, but the experience will showcase in my brain-movies for years and years to come.
I left the gardens in a sort of Buddhisty trance, and felt lifted and washed.
I was also hungry and desperate to pee...and toilets and English-friendly restaurants have both been a bit elusive here. I pushed and excuse-me'd my way through the throngs of Chinese New Year celebrants in the Yuan district, and eventually found a cafeteria-ish thing with tons of food and a restroom. Score.
I have no idea what I ate. I'd like to guess, but it would be pure speculation. The meat thing seemed to be cooked-animal-kabob, but it didn't taste like any animal I've eaten before. The soup involved a grain, and the drink was either watermelon juice or some kind of coffee. I had the honor of coining the international symbol for "where can I sit to where I'm not looking directly into the sun," and, again, got laughed at by Chinese children. I ate in courage, and, in some ways, I ate in victory.
As I walked back to the hotel, I met a Chinese "friend" (read: guy who pretends to be interested in Americans so he can take you to a hole-in-the-wall store in order to sell you cheap crap), followed him to a tea shop, and chatted for some time about Buddhism, communism, and what a great deal I could get on a genuine Rolex.
(I am now the proud owner of a $40 "genuine" Rolex...it was more about the experience than the having).
As I walked back to the hotel, my feet hurting and my chintz-bag in tow, I felt victorious. I had, in some ways, beaten my fear and done something scary. I couldn't wait to get here and share it with you.
Today was a big day for me. I'm growing.
Peace,
Justin
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Fruity Oaty Bars...
Doesn't this billboard just make you wonder, "what's in the bowl?" The little girl seems to know...in kind of a sly way, at that.
Wow. This morning, Greg and I wandered around Shanghai, shopping and exploring. Wow. This is a very very different place.
I can't wait to tell you stories. We're running out the door now, but I'll write tonight, which will be your this morning.
If I didn't write about it in the next entry, please remind me to tell you about the quest for the black jacket, how to say no to a watch salesman, and the cod that refuses to be.
Peace,
Justin
Wow. This morning, Greg and I wandered around Shanghai, shopping and exploring. Wow. This is a very very different place.
I can't wait to tell you stories. We're running out the door now, but I'll write tonight, which will be your this morning.
If I didn't write about it in the next entry, please remind me to tell you about the quest for the black jacket, how to say no to a watch salesman, and the cod that refuses to be.
Peace,
Justin
Saturday, February 10, 2007
Fri 743 p.m. (US)
As I write this, I'm eight hours into a 14-hour flight from Chicago to Seoul, South Korea (the good Korea)...and the little map in front of me tells me we're somewhere over Alaska.
I’m flying on a Korean Air 747-400…the double-decker kind of jet…and I’m up on the upper-deck. We took a Comair puddle-jumper from Cincy to Chicago…Delta (sigh)…and I couldn’t help but laugh when they announced that, due to our imminent approach to Chicago, “service would be discontinued in the cabin.” By “service,” I’m assuming they mean the surly woman who grumbled by me with a six-ounce (not kidding) Dasani water bottle and said “want water?” with the same enthusiasm a polite man in a downpour asks, “want my umbrella?” They also offered a tacky piece of dried biscotti in a Delta cello-wrap. Frankly, I was pleased to see it discontinued.
This is compared with Korean Air, where, after being escorted to the upper-deck and shown our all-in-one-music-TV-movie-videogame-shopping-massage-phonecall-vibrating-recliner-seat (with about four feet of legroom), we were given slippers, a glass of wine, a glass of fresh watermelon juice, and a plate of warm cookies. This was followed by two four-course meals during the course of our flight, any number of liquor, wine, beer and coffee services, a bunch of random foods, 65 napkin-replacements, and about 46,000 bows. (Read as in “bow at the waist” not as in “nice bow in your hair). God help me, they even gave us face-spray.
If you read my last blog entry, you'll know that I'm afraid of Asia. Not Asians, mind you...who doesn't like Asians?....but Asia itself. I don't know if you've watched much National Geographic Channel, Travel Channel or anything else at all, but if you have, you may have noticed that Asia is very different than the US.
In China, they speak languages which sound nothing like ours. They write with strokes that look more to me like beautiful little sketches of houses than letters. They don't wear shoes inside. And they eat ducks.
Yes, quite different.
And that kinda freaks me out. I know virtually nothing of China. I can say "hello" in Mandarin, and have learned a number of very dirty curse words from Firefly, but that's about the extent of it. I'm going to be helping out on a project in the middle of a culture I can't possibly understand. I'm nervous.
I miss Stacy already. She always makes me feel comfortable. She's great at that.
I'm REALLY looking forward to this week, but it's a really healthy blend of fear and joyful anticipation.
I'll post pictures. I'll describe things. I'll probably fall asleep fairly early by their clocks, but I'll do my best to post what I can.
China man....freaking China.
Cool. (Slow, slightly shuddery breath). Cool.
Peace,
Justin
Sat 3:48 a.m. (US) 5:48 p.m. (Korea)
I am writing to you from the Sky Lounge from the airport in Seoul, South Korea. Since I’ve been in Korea (which has been about an hour now), and given only the evidence that one can gather from one’s plane at gate 17 to one’s Sky Lounge near gate 26, I have learned several things about South Korea:
1. Koreans are very clean.
2. Koreans are very polite..
3. Koreans are very, very sweet and helpful, even to stupid Americans.
4. Koreans spend a lot of time in airports.
If China is half as clean and kind as Korea, I’m set. (In fact, the rumor is that China is exactly half as clean and kind as Korea). In the 22 hours that I’ve been on this trip so far, I’ve yet to see my fears realized. No attempts to thieve my passport, no communist prisons, no bird flu or SARS, and very little kung-fu battling. Greg and I have gotten along just fine, as everyone seems to speak at least a little English, and we smile and bow our heads a lot.
I’m starting to get tired…as you can see, it’s 4:00 in the morning by my standards, and sleeping on the plane, while pleasant by comparison to most airplane experiences, was still far from restful. I’ve just downed 12 oz of some Korean drink called “Pocari Sweat” which, according to the English side of its label, “is quickly absorbed into the body tissues due to its fine osmoalaity and contains electrolytes.” I also picked up a carton of “Seoul Milk,” which, despite the great opportunity for a heart-inspiring play on words, is actually just milk from Seoul.
I’ve half a day tomorrow to attempt to catch up on sleep…but I think I’d rather spend it out and about. We’re not really going to have any touristy time during our stay in China, so I’ve got to get whatever shopping/tourism in tomorrow morning. For me, this means going to Shanghai’s shopping district, and trying to find something pretty to buy for Stacy. I hope I find something cool…I am very, very far away, so I want to bring back something that feels exotic. I’ll keep you posted.
We’re off to our quick flight to Pudong airport in Shanghai.
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