In Xi’an, I met a couple of college students volunteering at the Terra-Cotta Warriors site. They were there to practice their English, so the next day we walked around Xi’an together and talked about American and Chinese culture. When they wanted to know if I’d seen any stars while living in Los Angeles, I tried naming a few people I’d seen. They’d never heard of Jessica Simpson. I decided they probably didn’t know who Darius McCrary (aka Eddie Winslow), my personal favorite LA sighting, was.
Before I left Qinhuangdao, I visited the area’s seaside resort area, Beidaihe. I’d heard it was gorgeous, and it did not disappoint. The water was a lovely blue-green, the sand was, well, sand, and the air was so…clean. The whole town was so surreal, though. Walking through a shopping area, I couldn’t help but think of the studio tour at Universal. Riding through Universal’s sets two years ago, I saw buildings and storefronts that were “a city” or “a European city” or “anywhere suburbs.” And that’s how I felt walking through this newer shopping district (seen above). Although I’ve never been to Europe, I felt like some of the rows of buildings were part of a “here’s a street in Europe” set.
Partially influenced by the Europeans’ and Americans’ stationing themselves there in the early 1900s and more recently by the Russians’ flocking to Beidaihe’s beaches, apparently the architecture of the area has always been a bit less Chinese. So although it was surreal, it wasn’t necessarily surprising.
But walking back to the bus stop, I had to rub my eyes to make sure what I was seeing was for real. As I spotted a new housing development area rising behind some banners, I couldn’t believe what my eyes were seeing. Here, in a country where hutongs (those labyrinth-type housing structures…think like the ones seen in Mulan) still exist, I was seeing a true American suburb. “North-American style” housing those banners proclaimed. I’d heard these Yankee ‘burb-type areas existed in China, and Beidaihe, with it’s already non-traditional architecture, is probably a perfect fit for these cookie-cutter homes sponsored by the Canadian ADS. But really. American/Canadian suburbs outside of a seaside Chinese suburb?
A big fan of street vendors, I’d often eaten from their donut and hot dog carts in New York City.
China has far more vendors than the Big Apple, and I’d read on more than one occasion that the country offers some of the best street food in the world. So, when I was hungry in Shanhaiguan, I decided to walk through a row of carts and fire pits. Although the hot dogs looked mighty tasty, I opted against the German-born, New York-famous treat. I had no idea if they were really “hot dogs” or what was in them. Instead, I had a tasty cold noodle dish prepared by a friendly gal in a pink apron.
I realized later, though…that my not-eating-a-hot-dog philosophy was pretty silly. It’s not like I know what’s in the hot dogs in New York.
Walking in the Dragon Head scenic area, I was immediately greeted by this sign. I was sure I’d see more of these cheerful signs donning the American-born smiley face. However, signs here leaned on the safety variety. My favorites were the no-smoking signs, seen below (click on the thumbnails to see them full-size).
Yesterday I visited the “Dragon Head,” which is the point at where the Great Wall meets the sea. Apparently it gets its name due to the shape of the towers and wall at the very end. Perhaps I don’t have a very vivid imagination, but I don’t think Dragon Head would have been the first parallel drawn in my mind…but I guess it does remind me a bit of the Luck Dragon from The NeverEnding Story.
Walking around that portion of the wall and the nearby Sea God Temple, I got to read more about the US’ invasion of the area and destruction of those two landmarks (Both were rebuilt much later). Armed with more information and taking a little more time to look on the Internet, I did find quite a bit of information about the battle. One professor from Wisconsin, gives a pretty good run-down on it. However, I find it interesting to think about how the two groups have even named the conflict: the signs call it an invasion by the Eight Powers (including US, British, French, Japanese, Italian, Austrian, and Belgian forces); Americans refer to it as the Boxer Rebellion. “Invasion” interesting in that the Eight Powers had already been there and were responding to attacks. “Rebellion” interesting considering the Eight Powers were not their government to be rebelled against…
However the conflict is referred, though, it is blamed for much of the destruction of the wall, which had to be rebuilt later in the 20th century. It also means that what I saw yesterday is just as much new as it is old. BUT, destruction by foreign forces or not, I’ve found that much of the Wall and the other historic sites have been reconstructed or restored and are rarely seen in their unrestored condition…
Forrest Gump didn’t really create the yellow smiley face we’ve come to know and love. Nope. It was Harvey R. Ball, an owner of an advertising and public relations firm in Massachusetts. Still, these signs around The First Pass Under Heaven have a Gump-like philosophy to them. These are just a few of them…and sure, they’re not all yellow. But a green or pink smiley face can be cheerful, too. (Click on the thumbnails below to see the full-size images)
“You learn more about who’s telling the history than you do about the history itself,” was the basic premise of a world history course I once took. At first the idea seemed like academic-theory hogwash to me, but then I came to see what that chubby Australian professor was trying to teach us. Does a missing story in U.S. high schools’ history textbooks mean it didn’t happen? Hardly…it just tells us what today’s writers of history, and our society, value.
I thought about that premise often today as I visited The First Pass Under Heaven, a pass (uh, the first one) through the Great Wall in Shanhaiguan. Although the weather was dreary, and the attraction isn’t a big one for tourists (I only found it mentioned in Frommer’s guide books), I thought I’d still give it a go. Although not too much to see, (especially because a big portion of Shanhaiguan and the Wall are undergoing renovations for the 2008 Olympics), there is some; portions of the towers and walls have authentic and replica army clothes and weapons on display. But that’s not where I spent most of my day. Nope. It was the included museum visit. The nearby Great Wall Museum took me a good couple of hours to wander through. With way more information on bricks and towers than most people would enjoy, the museum chronicles the Wall start to finish.
Near the end of the exhibit was a room on Shanhaiguan’s strategic military importance and the battles fought there. The U.S. was mentioned a couple of times, most notably for a “slaughter” in 1900 and the country’s aligning with China’s nationalist party when it was struggling for power against China’s communist party. Um, yeah, not the most loving descriptions of America (although another room did have a huge photo of Ronald Reagan walking on the Wall), I’d say, and the descriptions of China throughout…well, they were obviously much more glowing.
When I came home, I looked online for the 1900 battle mentioned in the museum; I found nothing. Then I reread Frommer’s description of Shanhaiguan, and it gives a far different description of the city’s strategic importance. But, I’m not surprised at all. And I can’t tell you who’s right. But if that world-history lesson is true, I’d say our Chinese friends still only trust us as far as they can throw us. (Which with our rate of obesity, ain’t very far)
Wherever I eat, I can usually get by with my phrase book. I’ll use it to either ask questions or decipher the menu. Well, by “usually,” I mean in Beijing.
Now in a much smaller city, where the number of tourists is extremely low (two English-speaking college students that I met on the train, laughed when I said I was coming just to visit), I’m finding that my phrase book isn’t as helpful and that I stick out severely. This was defined by my late lunch today. I ventured into a restaurant, that upon my passing I’d noticed had a picture menu. When I asked to see the menu and was told something I didn’t understand at all, I told the hostess I only spoke English. By the time I got to the last page of the menu, I had six staff members gathered around me pointing at the menu and telling me a million things (in Chinese). Taking a table, a new group of four staff members gathered round and listened while I tried to order a doufu (tofu) dish. After the waitress spent five minutes asking me questions by writing them on paper, she finally went to fetch someone else. The waitress she brought over spoke great English, and I easily ordered what I’d been eyeing. But it was too late; I was already the spectacle of the restaurant. The table next to me kept staring and talking about me through the entire rest of their meal. As they left, one of the two women kept watching me even as she walked through the door.
The whole incident brought me back to my first year in LA. Back then, some friends and I had celebrated someone’s birthday at the racetrack in Inglewood. After the races (and a free, nostalgic Spin Doctors concert), we decided to stop at a local Latino bar. When our car full of non-Latino teachers strode into the dark room, every person stopped what they were doing to stare at us. It was no exaggeration to say that the music skidded to a stop. There was literally a moment of dead air as we made our way to the bar and Shania Twain replaced the Spanish-language music that had played before our entrance. We were stepping onto their territory and were quite the spectacle, but they still tried to make us feel welcome. Soon a little Mexican dude approached our group and asked me to dance. I obliged, smiling. Dancing with him, I felt like I was in middle school again (we danced with his hands on my hips and mine on his shoulders, and he was a good three inches shorter than me), but it was still OK.
Later, the birthday boy, who knew I usually ignore guys who hit on me (or pretend I don’t speak English), said, “That was really cool of you to dance with him.” I told him, that it was kind of fun, but moreso, I felt a bit like I had to. We were the outsiders coming in, and I knew that the first interaction with someone from our group had to be good. I represented us all.
And that’s how I felt again today. Although a part of me wanted to stare down the other guests staring at me, I knew I shouldn’t. It’s obvious they don’t see Americans here often, and however I act will be a large part of their idea of who we are. So even though I’m treated like a freak with three heads, I have to smile and be courteous and let them stare. But at least I didn’t have to dance with anyone today.
Traveling, I am acutely aware of the US dollar’s strength. I often check the local exchange rates now, so I can see just how far my savings will take me. With my international plane tickets already paid for, my biggest cut into that savings is me sleeping. And as the Chinese yuan climbs in strength to our dollar, I’m often doing the mental math of just how much that gain will affect me once I get to said place and have to pay for the room.
As I started this journey, I had a couple of requirements for where I’d lay my weary head. I’m a pretty low-maintenance gal, so all I said I needed was: 1) my own room and 2) a good internet connection in my room or one that was easily accessible in the lobby. I thought my best bet would be staying in single rooms at hostels.
And for the last week in Beijing, I stayed at a quaint hostel that had a great front-desk staff, daily free breakfasts, and an unfaltering wireless network. I also slept on a twin bed and shared a bathroom with I don’t know how many others. And that’s OK. I’ve “bathed” with wet wipes and used an outhouse for God’s sake (which it actually was…I was helping build a non-denominational church camp for inner city kids from Chihuahua, Mexico). But that was a few years ago. And I had reason to do it; I had no choice. But a few days ago when I booked the rest of my trip in China, I realized that I actually DO have a choice. So, as I reserved my rooms, I added one more thing to my list of “musts” for places I’ll stay: 3) must have own toilet/shower in room.
Checking into my new room, I’m ecstatic. I’m probably the only Westerner in the whole hotel (which I enjoy, because I know it will force me to learn a bit more Chinese), but I have a Western-style toilet, a shower stall, and a closet. Who knew this would make me so happy? And even with today’s unfavorable exchange rate, it should only be about $9 USD more a night. Definitely worth it, my dears. And here’s to hoping our dollar gains in strength!
Being in any city, it’s often easy to forget just how close nature is to us. So, Saturday I went on a outside-of-Beijing hike with about 20 expats and local Beijingers. We took a bus about 1.5 hours outside of the city, and it was amazing. There was no smog. No buses. No bicycles.
Out there, I felt completely untouched by American life (well, except for every time I saw the one hiker’s McDonald’s backpack that said “i’m lovin it”) and even Chinese life too. I know that feeling won’t last long, though. Our hike ended in a farm town, and on the outskirts of it, they were building a fancy-schmancy hotel. Well, maybe I can come back and stay there when it’s finished. It did look pretty cool.
