Sunday, September 21, 2008

Wisdom of China

Wisdom of China

In my travels I have put in a lot of time studying about China and everything Chinese. I now have the tendency of beginning statements of intentional wisdom with "The Chinese say . . ." or "The ancient Chinese believed . . . "

This is a bad habit, and one that was just imperviously pointed out to me by my sister - the Diamond Cutter of Wisdom.
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Wade from Vagabond Journey.com
in Upstate New York, USA, September 21. 2008
Travelogue -- Travel Photos
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I was drinking a beer and my family was in a discussion about the perceived harm and benefits of alcohol consumption. I had spent two semesters of my university education studying Chinese medicine and I was throwing out an entire wall of "The Chinese say this and that" at my poor family.

Finally, my sister Nicky put an end to this barrage by stating simply:

"If the Chinese are so damn smart then why are they so short and living in their own smog?"

The well traveled Chinese scholar found himself tongue tied.

The Chinese say that it is better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to open your mouth and remove all doubt.

Links to previous travelogue entries:
Wisdom of China
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Sunday, September 07, 2008

English Teaching Urumqi Xinjiang China

English Teaching Job Urumqi Xinjiang China

I very, very nearly left this New York City fiasco behind and took the first flight out to Urumqi in the Xinjiang Autonomous Region of China. The prospect of a high paying math/ science teaching job reached my ears and I jumped on it.
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Wade from Vagabond Journey.com
in Philadelphia, PA, USA- September 7, 2008
Travelogue -- Travel Photos
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This job was to be at an advanced high school that needed a foreign teacher to teach math, science, and computers in English to prepare the students for university in the west. I received an email from my friend Carl, who has been teaching English in China for the better part of this decade, and I replied that I was interested - of course. I was then looking for anyway to get out of filling out a rent application and dealing with the tidings of what can only be called the "real world of responsibility, commitment, and strife."

This way of living finds me sadly unfit.

So I told Carl that I would take the first flight out to China as soon as I was sent my contract. I reassembled my English teaching CV, lied about a few details, and mailed it into the teaching organization's headquarters in Beijing.

Luckily for my much coveted university degree, I did not get the job.

Good. Now I can stay in Brooklyn without the prospect of a premature leave. I can remain in New York City with a clear mind that is unclouded by desert daydreams of Islamic China. I can go to Muslim lands once I am covered by the sheepskin of my matured and completed university education.

English teaching jobs are easy to get in China. This is especially true as of late because of the visa changes that the Chinese government carried out prior to the Olympics. You now cannot change a tourist visa to a working visa and the Chinese consulates have recently been less inclined to give foreigners working permits. The result is that there is now a great deficit of qualified native speaking English teachers in China to fill the great demand, which will mean that when I am finished in New York I will probably have many teaching jobs available to me all through China. I really want to go make a few month stop in Xingjiang, and teaching English is a good "in" into a culture, as it provides the traveler with a plethora of opportunities to befriend people as well as a thorough identity within a community.

But I have realized that I am ever on the mercy of wild whims of leaving. If offered a way out of anywhere I am sure to take it. To say yes to everything is to live a life free from the arduous perils of discretion.

But the old Javanese proverb again rings in my ears:

"When going north, go north. Do not go east, west, or south."

I began going north when I began my university studies and I continued going north when I returned to the USA to complete my degree. Now I shall continue in this direction until its gentle way has been traveled to fruition.

Until graduation.

"No sleep til Brooklyn."

Links to previous travelogue entries:
English Teaching Urumqi Xinjiang China
* Travel Blog Directory * Vagabond Journey.com * Travel Photos * Travel Questions and Answers

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Thursday, August 14, 2008

Opening Ceremony Beijing Olympics

Opening Ceremony Beijing Olympics

I was impressed with the opening ceremonies of the Beijing Olympics; I was happy for China on their "coming out party" to the world. It was an interesting performance and keenly showed the degree to which China can organize and control large masses of people. It was almost frightening. Thousands of Chinese with Christmas lights strung around them running around a stadium collectively making designs of flowers, mountains, and shapes with their bodies used as virtual pixels is impressive. And the message was clear: China is grasping with both hands at the superpower title of the 21st century.
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Wade from Vagabond Journey.com
in Budapest, Hungary- August 14, 2008
Travelogue -- Travel Photos
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But as I was watching the opening ceremony of the Olympics on television at the Bubble Hostel in Budapest, a Dutch tourist sitting across the room from me said something to the effect of, "look at all the money they [the Chinese] spent on this performance when there are starving people sitting right outside the stadium."

I came to a start. Where did he get such a statement from?

"What people are starving?" I asked him a little too sharply.

"The people of China."

"No, the people of China are not starving; actually, they are doing very well for themselves," I retorted in an unbecoming priggish manner.

"No they are not," countered the Dutchman.

I then told him that I had traveled China from stem to stern for a year and a half, lived in a monastery in Qinghai, hitch-hiked from Mongolia to Vietnam, and went into the middle of nowhere in Yunnan and have yet to see any of these starving people. Conversely, I mostly saw people working hard, being industrious, smoking cigarettes, drinking beer, eating food, driving trucks, digging in mines, picking tea, riding bicycles, driving cars, laughing, spitting, visiting prostitutes, and fighting. It is my assumption that starving people would not do any of these things.

The Dutchman did not reply.

I was taken in by the Dutchman's comments not only because he had never been to China before and did not have any backing to his statement, but mostly because he was merely mimicking the voice of the Western media. A voice which seems hell bent on showing the rags of a nation as the whole for the amusement and pride of a Western audience. I think that we are on the precipice of a new Red Scare:

"China violates human rights!" "China does not let Chinese people go to church!" "China kicked people out of their homes to build things for the Olympics!" "China is a dictatorship!" "China is corrupt!" "Chinese people are going hungry while millions of dollars are being spent on people bobbing up and down in boxes to celebrate the Olympics!" "The Uigurs are uprising!" "Xinjiang is a hotbed of fundamentalist Islam!" "The Olympic tourists are in danger!"

I have been watching these reports on the BBC for the past few days, and it is my impression that the West is becoming vastly insecure about the success that China is obtaining. The streets of even the biggest or most far out Chinese cities tend to be relatively clean and safe, the businesses seem to be doing well in much of the country, and the people are active and industrious. I cannot say the same for my own country.

In fact, I have seen more hungry and destitute people in the Greyhound bus stations of the USA than I ever had in China. I grew up near a city whose downtown area is absolutely squalid, full of beggars, and most of the shops have long ago closed down and boarded up their windows. In lieu of this, the bustling, active, and generally well-kept Chinese city came as a surprise to me.

I fail to understand why journalism need to uncover some obscure point of exploitation and horror to be considered viable? Why does Western society take criticism and cynical-ism as indications of intelligence? No, Western journalists are not sitting in the comfortable homes of middle class Chinese families, drinking tea, riding in cars, and talking about how safe, clean, and prosperous China has become (true, this would be a little boring). Rather, they are finding every scrap and speck of dust on the underbelly of China to show it as a human rights violating, oppressive society.

If the Olympics were in the USA this year would foreign journalist make reports about the crackheads in the Greyhound stations? Would they talk of all of the visitors that are being mugged in the streets? Would they show the USA as a poor, human rights violating country? Would they run stories about how a gang of police once busted down my door with their guns drawn and beat me up because I had just moved into an all black part of a city and they wanted to find out what I was up to? Would they focus on the squalor and downfall of the Great Lakes cities? I don't think they would.

All governments violate human rights, this seems to be a mutually inclusive part of governing. I am taken aback that George W. Bush and the leaders of Western Europe can even look China in the eye, let alone deliver lectures on human rights.

But I do know that China is awful, China is polluted, China is totalitarian, and China is gross, that parts of China are on the brink of environmental collapse, and that China violates human rights, but China is doing what works - at least for now - for China. The lens of Western culture cannot be applied equally to every culture in the world. The people of the West seem to be raised with the virtually incorruptible notion that their ways are best (even if they do not realize it), that their system of governing should be the modal for the world, and any other cultural variants should be made Western; all while pretending to accept and appreciate cultural diversity. Costumes, songs, crafts, and tourism is not culture. Culture is the feeling of repulsion that one feels when they cannot understand the ways of another society; it is the drive to say that something that other people do is wrong, unjust, and violating. One's own socialization never surfaces more vehemently than while criticizing the ways of another culture.

It makes me laugh to meet Western people who boast of their cultural awareness and openness while criticizing Islamic countries for their treatment of women, complaining that China violates human rights, while talking about democracy coming to the Middle East as if this is beneficial for the people, and taking a stand in "popular" global issues that I assume they know only from television, print media, and what is currently fashionable. If someone starts whining to me about human rights issues in a far away land that they know only through newspaper clippings, TV news, and magazine articles I cannot help but to wonder how they really know what they are talking about. Really, how do they know?

I don't even know and I been to many of these places.

It is my impression that you either accept cultures for what they are - for better or for worse - or stomp out the incense and acquiesce with the mono-cultural foundations of the ideology of your own culture. I would never berate someone from the back-country or south of the USA for being culturally insensitive. You either take a country and a culture for what it is, or you don't. I do not brag about being culturally accepting; I know that I am not. But I believe in what I experience rather than what runs across the CNN, the BBC, or from the lips of a dreadlocked fellow in a Tibetan clothing shop.

Sure, I don't understand many aspects of other cultures. Many things that I experience in other lands seem pretty stupid to me. But just because something seems stupid does not make it unfounded. I believe that most cultures in the world have sense. Yes, I am baffled by the fact that it takes five grown Indian men in a shop to bag a single sack of tea, I cannot for the life of me figure out how Japanese people think, I don't know why I need to act like a macho-ass in Latin America to prevent all guys in a fifty mile radius from trying to pick up my girlfriend, and I find the Three Gorges Dam repulsive. But I have faith that cultures do things for a reason, as silly and wrong as these reasons may seem to me.

I admit that I am a socialized, acculturated human being. I am not culturally defaced. I inherently know that I carry with me an entire truck load of ingrained stupidity. It is my impression that a multi-cultural perspective means being able to accept and identify your own culture as much as all others. This means knowing that YOUR own culture is just as stupid, wrong, misplaced, and backwards as every other one on the planet. It means that if you feel revolted by the practices of another culture that you should turn right around because the people of that culture probably feel just as revolted about you. A multi-cultural perspective means being able to shrug your shoulders, look on, and accept what you have been socialized to believe is wrong. It means recognizing that not all people who live in mud huts without money are poor.

China governs and makes decisions based upon what works well for China. They are Chinese and they take care of themselves as Chinese people always have. Their socialization is different than mine. They often seem stupid, wrong, rude, and intolerable. But I love China for precisely these reasons: I am taken aback in situations where all of the Chinese people around me seem to perceive as being normal.

"I think the Three Gorges Dam is good," a Chinese girl once said to me like a robot.

If a Chinese lady tries to cut in front of me in a grocery line I put my elbow in her chest and tell her to back off. This feels wrong to me, but this is how it is done in China. I can remember reading in an ethnography once about how the anthropologist hated the society that he was researching because of the ways that they treated each other. He found that the ways that he was socialized to treat people had no regard in the culture that he was living in. For months he lived on the periphery of the society completely exasperated, until a fortunate event happened: he had finally had enough of living like himself and began to live like his research subjects. One day he was laying in his hammock and a man just walked up and overturned him out of it upon the ground. The man then sat in his hammock like it was a normal practice just take whatever he wanted without asking - it was. But after months of being bullied the anthropologist had enough and he knocked the man out of the hammock who had just debunked him moments before. To the anthropologist's surprise the man was not angry, and he just got up off of the ground and calmly walked away. In this way that anthropologist learned that he, and not the culture he was studying, was out of step. From that day on he was accepted as being a part of the village, and he continued to overturn men from their hammocks.

"The nail that sticks out gets pounded back in," wrote Chairman Mao. It is my feeling that this has always been the Chinese way. It seems un-accepting, mean spirited, and even fascist to me - especially as I am a nail that sticks out in my own culture - but this seems to work for the Chinese.

I hate discussions like the one I had with the Dutchman, but I had had enough. For days I have been keeping an eye on the BBC and watching the Olympics as I work at the Bubble Hostel. I have become appalled at how the international media is portraying China.

But should I expect anything else? Really, should the media of any country in the world broadcast stories that are not consistent with the preconceived notions of their audience? Should they really give an impression of the world that is not their own?

Should I expect the Dutchman to not make the statement that he did?

Perhaps I need a lesson in accepting the stupidity of my own culture as well as that of others?

Links to previous travelogue entries:
Opening Ceremony Beijing Olympics
* Travel Blog Directory * Vagabond Journey.com * Travel Photos * Travel Questions and Answers

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Wednesday, July 30, 2008

Chinese Migration Business and Global Conquest

Chinese Migration, Business, and Global Conquest

"Chinatown is not a place where the Chinese run to to take shelter from the locals; it is a place that they build up to keep the locals from getting to them. . . and I can say that it is very racist; they don’t like to inter-mix."
-From an interview that I did with Toney Leong, an overseas Chinese in India, on November 16, 2006.

Overseas Chinese in India

At the Four Tigers market in Budapest, my imagination was stricken by the stories of these Chinese immigrants whom, at least from those that I had spoken with, were right off the boat from their native land. They came to Hungary as a part of the mission that the Chinese have been practicing for hundreds of years: to be covertly at the forefront of every economic surge on the planet. A clever investor only has to look at the number of Chinese immigrants in a given city to know of its potential for economic success.
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Wade from Vagabond Journey.com
in Budapest, Hungary- July 29, 2008
Travelogue -- Travel Photos
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The foreign Chinese tend to not live in dead cities, and they jump upon the boom towns like ants on a befallen scoop of sidewalk ice cream. I would bet anything that a timeline of global capital and investment patterns would be nearly identical with that of Chinese migration.

I do not know how they do it, but if you look at early incidences of mass economic expansion - from the west coast of the USA, to the east of India, to southeast Asia, to Latin America, to the Silk Road, to the recent economic explosion that is taken place in their own country - Chinese traders and laborers have been present at nearly every modern investment boom.

Follow the Chinese and you will be OK.

But this new wave of Chinese immigration seems different than the ones that proceeded it. The Chinese who are now emigrating seem, at least from my conversations with the Chinese in Budapest, to be coming from the north of China. This is in stark contrast to the historic pattern in which Chinese immigrants came southeastern provinces. Perhaps this is because China has opened up, making it much easier for these groups to set up businesses in other countries? Maybe this is because many of the social factors that pushed the Hakka and Cantonese to travel are not as present in contemporary times? Or maybe it is because there is a huge pot of plastic and tupperware gold in China that can easily be sold all over the planet?

At first appearance, it seems as if the Chinese emigrated because China was a poor, feudal country that did not have the necessary resources to fend for its population. But on further insight, it seems to me that the Chinese have always been very opportunistic travelers. In an interview that I did in 2006 with overseas Chinese in India, I was told that " . . . the Chinese first began coming to India to fill the British military needs for high quality leather products. As most native Indian communities have a strong taboo against producing and using leather goods there was a vacant niche that the Chinese willingly filled." It seems as if Chinese migrants are still filling vacant niches all over the world, and are setting up shop in other countries because China is wealthy and is now replete with resources that can be shipped across the globe. These are resources that - in many cases - can be better tapped from abroad. In point, it seems as if the Chinese are emigrating not because they have to, but because they know that they can make more money abroad by continuously bringing the contemporary resources of China to new parts of the world. The Chinese have become masters at import/ export trade and have taken their grassroots small business network global.

It seems to me mildly ironic, but China is becoming monstrously wealthy off of simple, petty, insignificant, and cheap business in foreign lands. The goods are made in China, purchased from China, shipped through Chinese means, distributed by Chinese warehouses in foreign countries, and then sold in Chinese owned shops. All the while money is ever being filtered back to China.

Chinese goods are cheap, and people the world over like cheap. China is also a culture that works on the premises of Guanxi - connections - and, therefore, the flow of these goods are often kept within the bounds of Chinese communities. From Wikipedia: "Guānxi describes the basic dynamic in personalized networks of influence, and is a central concept in Chinese society." -http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Guanxi

In point, China is now an economic beast with more than 40 million arms in over a hundred countries. The Chinatowns of old are now rekindling communication with the motherland, and are becoming exceedingly wealthy for the effort. China, in turn, now has sizeable social and economic settlements in nearly every city on planet earth.

"Name one city on earth that you have been to that did not have Chinese people?" a university professor once asked me in Costa Rica. I could not answer in the affirmative. In nine years of travel, I have seen the bobbing black heads of the Chinese everywhere.

In part, China's former desolation and emigration pressures has now amounted to a culture that has the potential to be the most powerful, influential, and widely dispersed that the world has ever known. Kurt Vonnegut once wrote a fictional story in which the Chinese took over the world by making themselves shrink to the size of microbes. When they first began the shrinking process, nobody really took much notice as they were small and mostly kept to themselves. But they then slowly infiltrated and took control of every political and economic sector on the planet. I am laughing at the sci-fi overtones of these words, but, in many parts of the world, the Chinese have spread their cheap junk like a microbic cloud.

The Chinese invade with population. It is my impression that Tibet cannot now be liberated, because the majority of its population is Han Chinese. "We are a minority in our own country," a Tibetan refugee once spoke to me through tears (Seekers of Refuge in a Land of No Return). Yes, bring democracy and self rule to Tibet, and you will just confirm and vindicate the rule of the Chinese. Tibet is now Chinese: to liberate it would necessitate action on par with ethnic cleansing. Xingjiang, Guangxi, and Yunnan do not seem to be that much different. I was told by a Chinese professor that every school child is still taught the old Maoist songs of how China aspires to take over the world. The lyrics to the song starts out with China claiming Tibet and Taiwan, and then moving across the world taking over each land sequentially until they finally claim the United States of America.

Once the USA is conquered the song ends with the Chinese being the victorious captors of planed earth.

I hesitate to say this, but I think that there is a certain amount of truth to this little song. I can remember many conversations that I have had with people in China in which they seemed to take if for granted that China and the USA will come to blows, and China will reign victorious. The matter of fact way that these conversations are spoken initially left me aghast. From my experiences, the notion of global warfare seems to be burnt into the cultural consciousness of the Chinese much like how people in the West take it for granted that a human induced apocalypse is inevitable.

China still believes in manifest destiny.

They are a proud culture.

By the mandate of heaven.

But if there is one population on the planet that I would approve of furthering its influence, it is the Chinese. The people learned how to work; they learned how to eat bitter; they know how to fend and provide for themselves and their communities; they know the value of retaining a strong cultural identity. Now, after a few twists and turns of history, the Chinese are collectively becoming the richest and most powerful people on planet earth.

A billion pennies adds up to ten million dollars.

Further reading:
Overseas Chinese in India
Chinese in India

Links to previous travelogue entries:
Travel Guitar
Hostel Life in Budapest
Bomb in Budapest

Chinese Migration, Business, and Global Conquest
* Travel Blog Directory * Vagabond Journey.com * Travel Photos * Travel Questions and Answers

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Tuesday, July 29, 2008

Chinese Four Tigers Market in Budapest

Chinese Four Tigers Market in Budapest

"I want moon cakes!" exclaimed Kaitie from the Loft Hostel. "I want moon cakes!"

When Kaitie says that she wants something, she means it. A trip to Chinatown was in due order.

I have lived and traveled in China for a long time, but I cannot say that I had any idea what in the world a moon cake was. Kaitie told me that they were from the Middle Kingdom, so I pooched up my Asiatic authority and stoutly pretend to know what she was talking about. She then invited me to put my expertise to use and join her on a mission to the Chinese Four Tigers market in the eighth district of Budapest. I, of course, could not decline such an invitation, and at the word "Chinese" and my head automatically entered into a fit of frantic nods and I probably even jumped up and down in excitement. Simply put, I am longing for China and anything Chinese here in landlocked Europe.
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Wade from Vagabond Journey.com
in Budapest, Hungary- July 29, 2008
Travelogue -- Travel Photos
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The simple leafing through a National Geographic China Special Issue has sent me into a mania for China that nearly shipped me off for the far side of the globe a few days ago. I love that country, and it is my favorite place on earth. Any exposure to anything Chinese makes me frantic with deep feelings of Romance. So I gathered up my tea thermos, put on my boots, and ran out the door bound for Budapest's Chinatown.

Photo of the entrance of the Chinese market in Budapest, Hungary. Photographs and cameras were highly prohibited, but I took some anyway, and only had one minor altercation.

This mission for moon cakes included Kaitie, her boyfriend Cliff, Samoan - a tall, model-looking girl from Perth who is the younger sister of some famous Australian actress - and myself. We went out into the streets and jumped into a crowded city bus and rode out to the Chinese/ Turkish district of Budapest. We grew excited when the bus route began to leave the huge stone buildings of Old Budapest behind for the shanties and slums that make up the market grounds of the Asian district.

The Chinese market was proportionately sized to the country that is its namesake: It was huge. The market stretched for over a mile on both sides of a road and stretched away from it at least another quarter on each side. Within the market were, yes, Chinese people. I feel oddly at home in large groups of Chinese. I tried to quickly assemble and rekindle my knowledge of Mandarin.

I speak Chinese decently. I studied in Hangzhou at Zhejiang University for two semesters and for another semester with a private tutor in India. But I learned to really speak the language while hitchhiking across China from Mongolia with Loren Everly in the summer of 2007.

Chinese people playing cards in Budapest's Chinatown.

As our group approached the first little Chinese food market in search of moon cakes I did not assume that Mandarin - or Putonghua- would be understood by the girl behind the counter. Most Chinese in Chinatowns across the world either speak Cantonese, Hakka, or have forgotten Chinese all together and just speak the native tongue of the region they immigrated to. My Mandarin has never gotten me too far in Chinatown before.

When Kaitie began trying to explain to the counter girl what she wanted, I intentionally hung back to avoid jumping into a potentially embarrassing situation. I did not want to speak what sounded like Chinese in front of my friends and not be understood. So I let Kaitie try first with English. But the Chinese girl gave her a little attitude and I became slightly annoyed. More than any other people in the world, I refuse to be disrespected by the Chinese. So I jumped in and asked the girl if she spoke Mandarin. She understood my Chinese and said that she did. In my rashness, I had committed myself to explaining something that I had no clue of in a language that I have not spoken in over a year. I did not know what a moon cake was or what they even looked like, so I asked her if she had anything that was sweet, sort of like bread, and made from lotus seeds - which were the attributes that I guessed that a moon cake should have. She looked at me like I was nuts. I felt nuts, and added to this feeling by pulling up my shirt and showing the girl the big tattoo of a lotus flower that spans across my stomach. I then asked her if she had bread from the seed of this flower, while pointing at my exposed belly.

She thought that I was really nuts now.

So I gave up my assault and asked her if she knew at all what I was talking about.

"Bu Zhidao," she said while looking at me a little sideways.

I gave up and said goodbye to the girl as we went to look for another store. She just laughed at me and returned my zaijian politely.

Group of Chinese men at the Four Tigers market in Budapest.

The next store had a nice looking Chinese girl behind the counter, and we fell into an affable conversation. At Kaitie's prompting I again tried to explain what I thought a moon cake was. The girl understood Mandarin as well, and said that she did not have what we were looking for. I then flaunted my Chinese a little more as we told each other where we were from and that I had traveled and studied in China.

I was in my glory.

Budapest's Chinese market.

Chinese underwear for sale with a Chinese man looking at them.

Kaitie then seem to grow disheartened at our fruitless search for moon cake, and we all just walked around the market looking over the illegally imported Chinese goods being sold by illegally imported Chinese women. Knockoff jeans hung next to knockoff sunglass which sat next to knockoff watches, and the vendor women wore knockoff scowls. I cannot say that tourists are made to feel welcome here. But plastic junk abounded everywhere, which Kaitie and Samoan shamelessly delighted in, while I shamelessly delighted in surprising shop owners with my unexpected linguistic knowledge.

Samoan - from Perth - posing for glamour shots in Chinatown.

I was surprised that so many of these Chinese traders were speaking Mandarin. They were straight out of the north of China, and spoke a standard Mandarin that was crystal clear and free from dialect. I haggled for cheaper prices just to speak Chinese, and they became annoyed with me.

I was in my glory.

Now that I am back in Anglo-Budapest, my mind is ever more in the clouds of Asia and China. I smile because I have an end of the rainbow to travel to. I smile because I know that I can go to "China" in any country of the world.

Links to previous travelogue entries:
The Lying Swede Portrait of a Misanthrope
Travel Cheap with Hobohideout.com
Loft Hostel in Budapest

Chinese Four Tigers Market in Budapest
* Travel Blog Directory * Vagabond Journey.com * Travel Photos * Travel Questions and Answers

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Thursday, July 24, 2008

Around the World Travel to China

Around the World Travel to China: an Excercise in Patience

Some reckless soul in the Loft Hostel in Budapest left a National Geographic China Special Issue laying out upon a table. I was immediately drawn to it, and opened it to find my own love of East Asia boiling up within me. Every morning I have to grit my teeth and bite my tongue to prevent myself from making a manic jump to Japan, Hong Kong, or China. Each day, in the lull of my thoughts, the sweet smells of the East arise to meet me. I try to suppress these feelings, as I know that if I did not do so I would never travel anywhere else in the world beyond the great Buddha arch that runs from Japan to the north of India to the Mongolian shrub-lands on its way back to Japan. My very soul travels this route every night in dreams, and I awake with the vibrant taste of East Asia in my mouth.
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Wade from Vagabond Journey.com
in Budapest, Hungary- July 24, 2008
Travelogue -- Travel Photos
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I love China. I love it's grit, I love it's grim, and I love it's slippery market floors drentched in blood and vegetable guts. I love the obnoxious floresent lights of Chinese cities at night and I love the wind the blows through the dusty noman's lands that lay forgotten by the even the Chinese themselves. I love in China the same qualities I hate in the rest of the world: factories, shopping complexes, loud men blowing snot rockets and chain smoking in trains, young girlfriends throwing temper tantrums at their young boyfriends, city traffic, the black "dust" that clings to ever stationary surface, the noise, and the squalor of slums. I love China and I do not really know why.

But I know that there is an entire world out here that I want to live out and learn from. East Asia always lays at the end of my rainbow - it is my pot of gold - and, therefore, I know that I will arrive there at the terminus of this journey around the world. My love for this always far off land can only ripen as I slowly creep across the globe, ever getting closer and closer.

Temple in mountains of China.

I looked through the pictures of the fields, mountains, peasants, factories, and shining-light cities of China in the National Geographic magazine, as the splendors of the antique white-man land that I am standing in seeme to shrink to a measly pulp. It is funny how contrast has a silly tendency to belittle the present. I tried to ignore these feelings - I tried to find interest in the landscape of Budapest which stretches out before me like a stone cold universe. But my mind, instincts, and intuition have already packed for the East. I knew that this would happen soon enough.

Today it is raining in Hungary's capital. It is the kind of rain that keeps people inside of walls and behind doors, the kind of rain that seems to have nothing else to do other than keep raining all day long. The sky is dark and the city darker. Days like this make me want to run. I am restless. So I went looking for airfares to Turkey in a lustful effort to jump these few remaining Western hurdles that lay in my Path to the East. I saw a sign in front of a travel agency that offered a $200 ticket to Istanbul. In more modest times, I would have thought this an expensive price to pay, but now it was a feast to behold. But what to do about my bicycle? What to do about riding east? Would I pack the bike on a plane? Do I really just want to fly over Romania and Bulgaria? Do I really feel like bothering with walking into a travel agency, booking a ticket, paying for it, going to the airport, being raped through security, and sitting on a sterile airplane full of sterile people just to do what my own legs can do on their own (if given the proper amount of time, of course)?

I am on a Vagabond Journey Around the World. Do vagabonds fly in airplanes?

I quickly grew tired of thinking and just returned to the hostel feeling as comfortable as a rainy-day, soaked-wet alley cat. I did not bother going into the travel agency. It is difficult for me to remain in a place when I want to leave. I tend to go at the first urge of going. But I am learning patience, and staying put through these sporadic urges is good training for the mind. I listen to my intuition always, and I am being told to sit tight and enjoy this excercise in patience. It is my head -not my Heart - that is telling me to run.

Europe is wonderful, but Europe is about friends. I have friends here in Budapest - good people, too - but something about the city seems as hard as the stone it is etched from. I feel as if I cannot penetrate this place.

No, I feel as if I cannot step out of myself here. My walls of introversion have become as hard as these streets that I walk upon, as unpliable as the great stone walls that I sleep within. For some reason I am not breathing air deep down into my gut here, but am rather taking in short, shallow breathes. The Loft Hostel is good, but I am a private sort of person. There is no privacy in any hostel, and constant contact with people makes me want to take flight and hide for cover. There is nowhere for me to abscond to.

"Too much contact with people brings conflict, hatred, and attachment. To rid myself of inner conflicts and hatred, I must walk."-Japanese poet monk Taneda Santoka

So I abscond in my mind alone and think and dream of China and East Asia, and curse the damn photos in the National Geographic that threw these images back into my face just as I was settled and comfortably traveling through Eastern Europe. China is like an old dirty friend that has worked its way deep into my heart, history, dreams, and life. I like my dirty friends.

But I shall not be flustered by such flights of mind and memory! I shall not fall victim to impulse overriding true intuitive discipline and go rushing off to another land before I have even begun to taste the one that I am standing in! I have done this far too often in these 9 years of travel. Throughout this time, my Path has been wrought with global zigzags, jumps, sputters. Now I feel as if I want to carry through a continuous journey around the world from West to East.

Always moving East.

I watched a girl cook pea soup in the hostel yesterday. She cooked and cooked and tasted and added more ingredients all day long. Seriously, she made pea soup for like four hours. She cooked that damn soup until it was cooked perfect - until it could be cooked no more. She had patience to make the soup exactly as she wanted it. Then she enjoyed thoroughly the spoils of her labor to supreme delight. Every time I looked at her for two days she had her face stuffed into a bowl of pea soup, ever enjoying the sustenance of what took so much patience to prepare.

Likewise, I will watch as the landscape and people - as well as myself - gradually cook, as I patiently move from West to East; ever and always taking in the entire Path between the flip-sides of planet earth.

As I slowly boil my big pot of pea soup.

Links to previous travelogue entries:
Hennessey Hammocks
Cheap Travel Means Studying Foreign Language
Postcards from Around the World
Bicycling to Budapest


Around the World Travel to China: an Excercise in Patience
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Tuesday, February 12, 2008

Chinese Food

Chinese Food: An experiment in travel fiction

It was my first time in China and I was already nervous about eating the food. Before leaving home, my mother warned me not to eat the vegetables because they are grown in human manure, which could give me hepatitis, my father made jokes about how Chinese cows “meow” instead of “moo,” and my little brother added additional “meow” sounds to emphasize the fact that I could possible eat someone’s family pet. But I cast their warnings aside and set out for China with high hopes that, if the food there did not seem edible, I could survive for the first week on my hearty provision of Cliff Bars that my mother packed away for me (and I held onto that care package for dear life for the entirety of the ten hour flight to Shanghai).

For the entire flight I could not contain my excitement. I had finally commenced upon my journey to travel the world! “Jannie Schipper, world traveler,” I thought to myself with glee.

Once my plane landed in Shanghai, I obediently followed the signs and arrows that took me through the sinister grey corridors of the immigration, baggage claim, and customs formalities, and then rudely spit me out into the great unknown of China. I was now beyond the directional coddling of the arrival terminal- past the point of no return- and at the beginning of my study abroad adventure. In this moment of exposure, I stopped for a second to try to take bearings on my new environment. I saw before me a brooding gauntlet of Chinese men in slick black uniforms who were holding white signboards that had names written on them like Mr. Dong, Wang Fujing, and Ms. Shuntu Yujing, with funny characters drawn beneath them that look to me like robots (and I was suppose to learn how to read these? ?). In this moment of inter-cultural hesitation I was nearly pummeled from behind by a pushy Chinese woman with a cartload of luggage and shoved quickly through the gauntlet of sign holding Chinese men.

Now safely on the other side of this chasm, I knew that I was either going to have to sink or swim, it was make it to my school in Hangzhou or bust. I was told by my study abroad advisor at my home university in New York City that I just had to go to the bus station outside of the airport, pay 40 Yuan for a ticket, and take the bus to the stadium in Hangzhou, where I would be met by a representative from the host University. So I took some money out of an ATM, followed the airport signs to the bus terminal, and took my place in a line of hurried Chinese travelers who were also buying bus tickets. I was very nervous and did not know what I would say when I got up to the intimidating women behind the window, who was grumpily doling out tickets like they were moldy hot-cakes. But before long, I was up to the window and staring blankly into the face of the women behind the glass partition, who was staring blankly right back at me. After a moment of hesitation, as I struggled to find my voice, I managed a weak “Hangzhou,” while trying my best to pronounce it like my study abroad counselor. Without further ado the women behind the counter promptly shoved a piece of paper into my hand while simotaneous ly snatching away the small bundle of bills that I was clutching. She then quickly divided out her share of the money, tossed back the rest, and sent me away with a point in the direction of my bus. I felt ecstatic- it worked My first interaction in China produced a satisfactory result. I was now looking brightly forward to all of the new challenges that I would face while studying abroad

Newly restored with confidence I strode up into my bus and took a seat behind the driver. I was completely taken aback by how nice and new the bus was, it had soft cushiony seats that were completely clean, television sets liberally placed in many locations, and the engine even started up with a clear gentle hum. It was a far cry from the noisy and dirty Grey Hound busses that I was accustomed to riding in the United States- and I though China was suppose to be a developing country ? So well provided for, I enjoyed my comfortable ride to Hangzhou, trying hard not to doze off for fear that I would miss the first impressions of my new home. I soon arrived at the stadium in Hangzhou, which was easy to determine because it was the last stop on the line, and excitedly hopped off of the bus into my new city But before I even had time to look around, I was quickly met by the representative of my host university. She warmly greeted me and said that her name was Zhouyi.

“Pronounced like your American name, Jo-ey,” she said with a smile.

I liked her immediately and all my fears about China quickly vanished. Zhouyi and I walked for a couple of blocks and then hailed a taxi. The green painted cab quickly stopped and we got in. The cab driver then began chattering excitedly in Chinese to Zhouyi, who was sitting next to him in the front seat while I was seated in the back. After a few moments Zhouyi turned to me and translated for me what the cab driver was saying:

“He wanted to know where you are from,” Zhouyi told me. “When I say that you were from USA, he did not believe me. He say that you are too skinny to be from USA, he say that all of the fat people in USA must have eaten all of your food. That is why you had to come to China.”

We all laughed at this and I knew then that I was going to like this country.

Our cab driving comedian soon let us off at our stop and Zhouyi pointed up (high up) to my new home. It was a blank off-white colored high-rise that stood inconspicuously in a sea of identical off- white high-rises. I gulped a little at the surrealness of my new living quarters and had to wonder how anybody was able to find their home in such a uniform landscape. But I came to China to have adventures, so I strode with Zhouyi past the smiling door guard and into the elevator that took me high, high up to my room.

We soon walked in through the door of apartment # 802 and, before I even had a chance to look around, I was quickly seized upon my new roommates. One was a girl who looked to be around twenty years old and was wearing a colorful free-flowing skirt that had pictures of Indian gods and goddesses sewed all over it. She told me that her name was Nicky and welcomed me to my new home in China. My other suite mate was a guy who seemed to be a little older, he had a long black beard and colorful tattoos ( ) that ran down his arms to his fingers. He told me that his name was Ishmail, but I had a hard time believing him- it seemed a little too “Moby Dick” for my liking.

After I was acquainted with my new suite mates, Zhouyi quickly left me in a cloud of smiles and waves. I was in my new home in China and everything seemed to be looking up. After walking around my new place and looking out at the city through the large widows that almost completely covered the walls, I became conscious of an empty feeling in my stomach. “Oh no,” I solemnly said to myself, “I am hungry.” I then quickly made way for the Cliff Bars that my mother packed for me, and quickly tore one open.

I was quickly assailed by Ishmail, who exclaimed with a gesture of exasperation, “What are you doing ? I hope you didn’t come all the way to China just to eat Cliff Bars ”

“Come on ” Nicky added. “We’re going out to get some food It is not far.”

What was I going to do? I did not want to seem like a party pooper my first day with the people that I would be living with for the next three months and, anyway, they were right, if I wanted to eat Cliff Bars I could do so at my mom’s house in New York. I came to China for the adventure

So we all strode out of the room, down the elevator, waved good-bye to the smiling door guard, and walked down the street a few blocks to a little modest restaurant on a corner. Upon stepping inside, I was immediately repulsed by the chipping pink paint on the walls and the yells of drunken men from an adjacent room. But I figured that since I was already there, I may as well eat something. So I picked up the menu that was laid on the table in front of me by the quickly moving waitress and, to my absolute horror, it was all in Chinese Those little robot like characters covered the whole page and did not leave room for a single Roman letter among them. I was obviously looking troubled, because Ishmail soon cut in and offered to order my food for me.

I thanked him with a sigh and leaned back to take in my first glimpses of the real China. The old wooded table was a little lopsided and rocked a little whenever anybody leaned on it, the walls were covered with photographs of mountains with little rivers pouring down them, and there was an odd looking plastic gold cat on a mantle piece that was busily moving one paw up and down. “That’s funny,” I thought to myself. I then heard the drunken men in the next room let out wails of uproarious laughter as the waitress passed through the door and into our section of the restaurant. She quickly took our order and Ishmail spoke for all of us. I could not make out anything that he ordered, but when he pointed to me he said something that sounded like, “go-ro.” This was an odd word I thought, as I tried to match it with the food names that I have read on the menus of Chinese Restaurants in New York City. I could not recollect reading anything that was even close to “go-ro,” but I was not really too concerned. “I came to China for the adventure,” I reassured myself.

The three of us then sat around the table making small talk. Ishmail really had a thing for bad jokes and puns. He was cranking them out left and right and really kept us in stitches. Finally our food came on steaming hot white porcelain platters. There were plates full of luscious greens, heaping piles of rice, delicious soups, and a portion of meat that I could not really identify.

This meat was chopped into many portions and was still connected to small bones that ran through the center of it. It sort of looked like a kind of chicken that I had once eaten in Chinatown that was really delicious. So, putting all of my fears away, I reached over with my chopsticks, closed in a piece, picked it up, and stuffed it straight into my mouth. I chewed away at if for some time and realized that it wasn’t chicken, though it did not have a particularly offensive taste. It actually tasted rather good. I then went to grab another piece when I was stopped short by the stares of Ishmail and Nicky.

“What?,” I stammered rather unsteadily. I was becaming a little nervous at this point.

“What did I just eat,” I asked hesitantly.

Ishmail and Nicky looked at each other as if they were about to burst for a moment and then exploded with uncontainable laughter:

“YOU JUST ATE DOG MEAT ”

Wade from Vagabond Journey.com
Morocco
Sometime in September of 2007

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Friday, January 18, 2008

China Poems

China Poems

Hangzhou is a nice city to leave with a smile

cranes made it home
people building more city
like they are
ants
they kind of look like ants too


Another year without

roses, another year-
on the run


Shangri-la, I laugh

silly tourist photograph
Han Chinese in masks


Yunnan Blues


Tan khakis and-
a Shangri-la of every town,
in this land

Wade from Song of the Open Road

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