This morning held an opportunity I could have only imagined before: a private conference with the diplomats of China's Ministry of Foreign Affairs. The panel that sat at the Front of the press room were Deputy Director Shi Yuanqiang -- who gave no speech but led us through question and answering afterward -- Deputy Director General Xie Feng -- who did most of the talking throughout -- Assistant Minister He Yafei -- who left for another meeting immediately after his opening remarks -- and Councilor Feng Tie -- whose speciality appeared to be SARs (Special Autonomous Regions) like Hong Kong, Macao and Taiwan, but who received no questions from us at all after his speech.
Questions were naturally given preformulated answers or, for unexpected questions, vague interpretations of already mostly obvious answers. Considering my intimate connections with Japan at this point, I took it upon myself to ask at least one question regarding Chinese-Japanese relations. In answer to my request for a description of China's response to Japan's Prime Minister Shinzo Abe's call for militarization -- which was supposedly cued by North Korea's explicit nuclear armament -- Deputy Director Xie replied that relations have been mostly peaceful with Japan since the war but that China hopes it has learned its lessons from that time. This is a good example of a vague interpretation of an alreadly obvious fact or likely opinion. However, this is expectable of diplomats, expecially those representing any form of government endorsing the simple message of peaceful international harmony and national development. The extent to which international harmony was stressed, though, was beyond what I had expected.
We then split into several smaller groups, to allow us to have a larger number of our questions answered, as well as to allow the interning representatives for these representatives to practice addressing our questions. In my group, I put a little pressure on the intern to list any concerns the CCP (China's Communist Party -- which has held the primary legislative and executive positions in China's government for decades now) or other government officials might be showing for the degradation (perhaps soon to be near obliteration) of the cultural identity for the Chinese minorities (less often regarded ethnicities) living in the SARs. With the CCP in place as it is, local democratic governments of any region are consistently bureaucratically managed by installed authorities of the CCP, all aiming (in a very monistic fashion) toward the goal of a nationally unified economic development and higher ranking GDP: a more highly recognized economic status at the price of (among other things) minoritarian cultureal erasure. He remarked that respect for these culture was still a point of attention for the government -- as can be seen in its granted funds to refurbish the Buddhist monasteries and temples in Tibet -- and that the CCP, since its formation in 1921, has always served as the country's most active agent in the democratic movement. (By the way, do not forget that I am NOT referring here to a form of democracy that necessarily resembles our American form of government.) Of course, the matter of the prolonged banishment of the Dalai Lama and his brotherhood services remains a problem left unaddressed...
Several hours later, we were on a plane bound for Xi'an, far away from the observable centralization and racing industrialization taht Beijing displayed. It was time to see another face of China.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Day Four
This morning, we made an early trek out to the Temple of Heaven. The parks around it, filled with hordes of people practicing tai chi, fan dances, and just general wandering, stretched in all directions, it seemed. The music and song of old China rose in pockets between the lines of trees, to remind us occasionally of the sheer age and depth of culture into which we were entering.
Within the actual temple grounds, we came upon the central Hall of Prayer for Good Harvest, a three-tiered monolight that punctured the gray sky above with its tip. The first tier depicted carvings of clounds; the second, the heads and torsos of an army of phoenixes; ending at the top with an army of dragons. These designated the realms of Earth, the emperor's domain, and Heaven, respectively. The temple grounds felt immense for such a small place, and in the distance, one could see the outskirts of the city, modest in its proximity as if scared to approach the depth of geographical sacredness the place held.
Following that, we dined at an ethically diverse cafeteria-type restaurant, the Yu Friendship Store. I tasted practically everything laid upon the inset turntable (to which I was quickly becoming accustomed), unable to contain my excitement to eat. (I suppose it is still one of my top absolute favorite things to do.) The bottom floor featured an arts exhibition, with glass shelves and counters arrayed with all manner and color of fabric by creation. I had earlier that morning bought a traditional-design robin's eggo blue sild pillow case for a friend, and decided that I wanted to purchase a small, darkly blue-and-purpled bird that sat among a flock of much taller roosters and pheasants, all of them inlaid with intricate patters of copper lining between which paints were set, fired, and glossed. Walking around, I became obsessed with the mastery of the makers of all these pieces, as they openly created them right there in the room for others to observe. I was particularly enraptured by the process of one man who painted -- in the centuries-old sumi-e style (I do not yet know the Chinese word for it) -- upon the inside of hollowed glass globes, pictures of everything from zodiac animals to market places to battlefields.
Our final group destination was the Great Wall. I captured everything I could on my cellphone camera, having sadly used up my digital memory from the previous couple of days and no time to upload it to the internet or somewhere. (Memory cards were intolerably expensive where I was, and I had had no practical foresight to buys any before coming.) I did my very best not to go overboard, allowing my senses to take in the most there was to experience in the place -- the age, the immensity, the singularity of its design and purpose, the sheer coercion of its construction without regard to slope or topographical obstacles. We stood together in the light fog surrounding the mountains, watching people of arbitrary ethnicities climb over and through the wall's convoluted structure, like ants investigating an ancient and warped spinal column in the cool mist. The very dynamics of its intended polarization -- inside and outside -- now deintensified by the lack of the geopolitical border it once maintained, made it seem lonely but forever tenacious in its purpose. It was one of those few things that highlights the sacred truth that the dead always live on.
The day ended with the best Indian curry (a vegetable kofta, to be precise) that I have ever tasted. Just when you think you have already had the very best of something...
Within the actual temple grounds, we came upon the central Hall of Prayer for Good Harvest, a three-tiered monolight that punctured the gray sky above with its tip. The first tier depicted carvings of clounds; the second, the heads and torsos of an army of phoenixes; ending at the top with an army of dragons. These designated the realms of Earth, the emperor's domain, and Heaven, respectively. The temple grounds felt immense for such a small place, and in the distance, one could see the outskirts of the city, modest in its proximity as if scared to approach the depth of geographical sacredness the place held.
Following that, we dined at an ethically diverse cafeteria-type restaurant, the Yu Friendship Store. I tasted practically everything laid upon the inset turntable (to which I was quickly becoming accustomed), unable to contain my excitement to eat. (I suppose it is still one of my top absolute favorite things to do.) The bottom floor featured an arts exhibition, with glass shelves and counters arrayed with all manner and color of fabric by creation. I had earlier that morning bought a traditional-design robin's eggo blue sild pillow case for a friend, and decided that I wanted to purchase a small, darkly blue-and-purpled bird that sat among a flock of much taller roosters and pheasants, all of them inlaid with intricate patters of copper lining between which paints were set, fired, and glossed. Walking around, I became obsessed with the mastery of the makers of all these pieces, as they openly created them right there in the room for others to observe. I was particularly enraptured by the process of one man who painted -- in the centuries-old sumi-e style (I do not yet know the Chinese word for it) -- upon the inside of hollowed glass globes, pictures of everything from zodiac animals to market places to battlefields.
Our final group destination was the Great Wall. I captured everything I could on my cellphone camera, having sadly used up my digital memory from the previous couple of days and no time to upload it to the internet or somewhere. (Memory cards were intolerably expensive where I was, and I had had no practical foresight to buys any before coming.) I did my very best not to go overboard, allowing my senses to take in the most there was to experience in the place -- the age, the immensity, the singularity of its design and purpose, the sheer coercion of its construction without regard to slope or topographical obstacles. We stood together in the light fog surrounding the mountains, watching people of arbitrary ethnicities climb over and through the wall's convoluted structure, like ants investigating an ancient and warped spinal column in the cool mist. The very dynamics of its intended polarization -- inside and outside -- now deintensified by the lack of the geopolitical border it once maintained, made it seem lonely but forever tenacious in its purpose. It was one of those few things that highlights the sacred truth that the dead always live on.
The day ended with the best Indian curry (a vegetable kofta, to be precise) that I have ever tasted. Just when you think you have already had the very best of something...
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Day Three
6:30 wakeup call; 7:30 bus departure. We left in our formal suits and dresses for our first private lecture at Tsinghua University. The lecturer was Dr. Yuan Peng, whose specialty and lecture topic concerned Sino-American relations and foreign policies. I took extensive notes...
At the end of the lecture, during questions-and-answers, a single Chinese girl -- first in Chinese, than in English -- asked the professor about cooperative government and then turned to us, Americans, to ask by what means we demonstrated our love for our motherland, as she herself wished to do. One or two people hesitatnly made comments about volunteer work or what-not, but I came to realize that not one of us had adequately understood the question. It would seem, at least now to the Chinese students and professor in that room, that the idea of a steadfast love for one's country, to the same extent as for one's mother, has practically to residence in the mainstream concept of politics for young Americans. What is 200 years, anyway, compared to 5000, no matter how long we may be adjusted to our present economy and form of government? It is an idea with little ground for us...
We had lunch on campus, where each table of seven or eight people was joined by a university student. To my excitement, my table was joined by a Ms. Maeda Yoshie (前田よしえ), who was originally from Kobe and had come to Beijing to study law (-- her mother was Chinese and her dad provided the law influence). It was unexplainably lovely to exchange some words in her native tongue, making me realize, after our brief conversation about my job and her family, how very intimately Japanese has become a part of me, a part that felt as though it had been holding its breath before surfacing, now forced again for the time being to remain submerged. She proffered her card (名刺), and I planned to contact her again as soon as I could.
The next stop was the U.S. Embassy, into which I was prohibited to carry even a pen and paper notebook to record the one-hour interview with four of the embassies staff members; I have thus forgotten their names. They took their seats at the front of the small, florescent-lit delegation room -- three more or less obviously American middle-aged men, who specialized respectively in diplomatic relations, education/environmental/cultural policy reform, and economic reform: and between them sat a woman of Asian descent whose primary office, I believe, was human resources. They each gave a brief outline of their role and position in the embassy and then immediately opened the floor to questions. We, the students, as expected jabbed them with a few difficult, or at least detailed, inquiries, to which the staff members responded with a good deal of beating around the bush -- no less than Dr. Yuan had in response to questions that entailed giving his personal opinion or equally detailing answers. Many of us failed to get our questions addressed at all. A great opportunity given too little time to experience it.
We returned to the hotel, changed clothes, and had our debriefing of the past two days. It was rather difficult to believe that we had in fact covered as much ground as we did in just under 48 hours. But many of the deeper implications to what we had seen and heard still seemed lost on some of the (many) less contemplative group members. It still seemed to me taht everyone was continuing to speak of democracy and capitalism as though America represented the only true model of either, and I made an open comment about it toward the end of the meeting. I hoped that even a few were truly comprehending my lead. To be unaware of our language, in whatever realm of subject, especially in a country as foreign as China, can too easily be compared to walking into a dark room with a sword you only think you know how to wield -- everyone is prone to the diplomatic error of forgetting that they are the very embodiment of assumptions about life and what it even means to be living, let alone forgetting what some of those assumptions are. Knowing we would soon leave Beijing in another day, I quietly anticipated finding out how deep some of those assumptions lay for us considering the experiences we would soon have away from the familiarity and comforts of the city.
The evening ended with a trip to the theatre: a narrativeless piece comprised in its entirety of body motion, in dance, kung-fu, and stunts of balance and pain that again challenge the assumptions of what the body can do. The story of the hero, aspiring endlessly to become a perfect master in his art, even as to avoid the temptations of a beautiful woman from his dreams, deeply moved something in me, churning my melted innards to the rhythm and tones of a mix of traditional (and modernly-depicted 'traditional') soundtrack. I fell in love with the lights and colors and hot smells as well as the fluctuations of speed that marked the phases of inner evolution of the boy-monk becoming master of the bodymind, becoming out of the pure necessity of his fated being. The warrior in me -- aware, too, of the warrior in you -- stirs at the thought.
At the end of the lecture, during questions-and-answers, a single Chinese girl -- first in Chinese, than in English -- asked the professor about cooperative government and then turned to us, Americans, to ask by what means we demonstrated our love for our motherland, as she herself wished to do. One or two people hesitatnly made comments about volunteer work or what-not, but I came to realize that not one of us had adequately understood the question. It would seem, at least now to the Chinese students and professor in that room, that the idea of a steadfast love for one's country, to the same extent as for one's mother, has practically to residence in the mainstream concept of politics for young Americans. What is 200 years, anyway, compared to 5000, no matter how long we may be adjusted to our present economy and form of government? It is an idea with little ground for us...
We had lunch on campus, where each table of seven or eight people was joined by a university student. To my excitement, my table was joined by a Ms. Maeda Yoshie (前田よしえ), who was originally from Kobe and had come to Beijing to study law (-- her mother was Chinese and her dad provided the law influence). It was unexplainably lovely to exchange some words in her native tongue, making me realize, after our brief conversation about my job and her family, how very intimately Japanese has become a part of me, a part that felt as though it had been holding its breath before surfacing, now forced again for the time being to remain submerged. She proffered her card (名刺), and I planned to contact her again as soon as I could.
The next stop was the U.S. Embassy, into which I was prohibited to carry even a pen and paper notebook to record the one-hour interview with four of the embassies staff members; I have thus forgotten their names. They took their seats at the front of the small, florescent-lit delegation room -- three more or less obviously American middle-aged men, who specialized respectively in diplomatic relations, education/environmental/cultural policy reform, and economic reform: and between them sat a woman of Asian descent whose primary office, I believe, was human resources. They each gave a brief outline of their role and position in the embassy and then immediately opened the floor to questions. We, the students, as expected jabbed them with a few difficult, or at least detailed, inquiries, to which the staff members responded with a good deal of beating around the bush -- no less than Dr. Yuan had in response to questions that entailed giving his personal opinion or equally detailing answers. Many of us failed to get our questions addressed at all. A great opportunity given too little time to experience it.
We returned to the hotel, changed clothes, and had our debriefing of the past two days. It was rather difficult to believe that we had in fact covered as much ground as we did in just under 48 hours. But many of the deeper implications to what we had seen and heard still seemed lost on some of the (many) less contemplative group members. It still seemed to me taht everyone was continuing to speak of democracy and capitalism as though America represented the only true model of either, and I made an open comment about it toward the end of the meeting. I hoped that even a few were truly comprehending my lead. To be unaware of our language, in whatever realm of subject, especially in a country as foreign as China, can too easily be compared to walking into a dark room with a sword you only think you know how to wield -- everyone is prone to the diplomatic error of forgetting that they are the very embodiment of assumptions about life and what it even means to be living, let alone forgetting what some of those assumptions are. Knowing we would soon leave Beijing in another day, I quietly anticipated finding out how deep some of those assumptions lay for us considering the experiences we would soon have away from the familiarity and comforts of the city.
The evening ended with a trip to the theatre: a narrativeless piece comprised in its entirety of body motion, in dance, kung-fu, and stunts of balance and pain that again challenge the assumptions of what the body can do. The story of the hero, aspiring endlessly to become a perfect master in his art, even as to avoid the temptations of a beautiful woman from his dreams, deeply moved something in me, churning my melted innards to the rhythm and tones of a mix of traditional (and modernly-depicted 'traditional') soundtrack. I fell in love with the lights and colors and hot smells as well as the fluctuations of speed that marked the phases of inner evolution of the boy-monk becoming master of the bodymind, becoming out of the pure necessity of his fated being. The warrior in me -- aware, too, of the warrior in you -- stirs at the thought.
Monday, May 28, 2007
Day Two
I awoke the next morning to find a rather different city than the one I had sleepwalked through the night before. Parts of it did indeed still resemble my home city in America -- probably the same parts that every other city in the world shares with Nashville. But the characteristic differences in Beijing were far easier to perceive in the light.
It started with some features of the hotel itself. The oddly placed Western suburban appearance to the room was slightly jostling but more or less easy to adjust to. An open arena, with the exception of the fenced-in basketball and tennis courts, resembled a small park and children's gymnasium setting -- though what it basically comprised was a strip of strikingly green grass and some trees, erratically spotted with what were actually brightly colored adults' manual athletic devices. All this was encompassed by a straight, looming wall whose full-length printed illustrated depicted the outside of a traditional leisure house surrounded, to the entiretly of the left side, by a blue-green quiet marsh, complete with a crowd off lilypad heads. Fading red, pink and white chrysanthemums stood in waist-high patches along portions of the concrete walk, which eventually came to an open patio marked on one side by a red and rust-brown covering for a row of opposing benches. Just in front of that stood a vertically poised stone of a short man's height, embedded in a white concrete founding. The open patio area was aligned by tiling, set off by dark borders, and let me to guess that it was an area for independent taichi practicers. A nostalgic but small grove of bamboo grew to the right of the benches, right at the base of the photographed leisure house and next to a stylish gazebo that matched the bench covering, including even a ridiculously small and insignificant waterfall.
Beyond the wall, I could see the tracks to one of the nicer trains I thought I would see; just beyond the tracks, another strip of park whose color of green and off-color chrysanthemums resembled the first. Just beyond that, separated only by a lime-green fencing and forcing a stark contrast with the city that grew all around it sat a block of old houses, connected at lenght by their brick and concrete walling, their roofs revealing the true color and traditional form the bench covering and gazebo had been intended to imitate.
act spontaneously within the limits of the moment
touch the kingdom with a gentle hand
embrace peace and cultivate stillness
shape your intention and let it overflow
allow good things to happen without meddling
allow your bodymind to order itself
-- Tao Te Ching, Ch. 57
It started with some features of the hotel itself. The oddly placed Western suburban appearance to the room was slightly jostling but more or less easy to adjust to. An open arena, with the exception of the fenced-in basketball and tennis courts, resembled a small park and children's gymnasium setting -- though what it basically comprised was a strip of strikingly green grass and some trees, erratically spotted with what were actually brightly colored adults' manual athletic devices. All this was encompassed by a straight, looming wall whose full-length printed illustrated depicted the outside of a traditional leisure house surrounded, to the entiretly of the left side, by a blue-green quiet marsh, complete with a crowd off lilypad heads. Fading red, pink and white chrysanthemums stood in waist-high patches along portions of the concrete walk, which eventually came to an open patio marked on one side by a red and rust-brown covering for a row of opposing benches. Just in front of that stood a vertically poised stone of a short man's height, embedded in a white concrete founding. The open patio area was aligned by tiling, set off by dark borders, and let me to guess that it was an area for independent taichi practicers. A nostalgic but small grove of bamboo grew to the right of the benches, right at the base of the photographed leisure house and next to a stylish gazebo that matched the bench covering, including even a ridiculously small and insignificant waterfall.
Beyond the wall, I could see the tracks to one of the nicer trains I thought I would see; just beyond the tracks, another strip of park whose color of green and off-color chrysanthemums resembled the first. Just beyond that, separated only by a lime-green fencing and forcing a stark contrast with the city that grew all around it sat a block of old houses, connected at lenght by their brick and concrete walling, their roofs revealing the true color and traditional form the bench covering and gazebo had been intended to imitate.
>>><<<
do things without appearing to do thingsact spontaneously within the limits of the moment
touch the kingdom with a gentle hand
embrace peace and cultivate stillness
shape your intention and let it overflow
allow good things to happen without meddling
allow your bodymind to order itself
-- Tao Te Ching, Ch. 57
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Day One of ISLP study abroad in China
Seems it's always just trying to get to the airport on time that's the hardest part. I set my alarm for 5 and 5:30 AM, assured that if one did not get me up the other most certainly would, though 5:30 would have been a significantly late start. When I opened my eyes to the morning sunlight, the reflex linked to some unconscious understanding of the time given the amount of light in a room flung me across the bed to wrench my cell phone, which read 5:45, from its charger on the bedstand. I made my fastest morning exit ever at 5:48 and took an extra three minutes to discover that my suitcase was too unwieldy to ride my bicycle with. Knowing no taxi phone numbers and that the first city bus did not make its rounds until 7:30 -- almost an hour after the bus departure for the airport -- I wielded the lumbersome brick of a suitcase over my shoulderblades, clutching the handles on either side, and ran (if you can call it running) like mad in the direction of the station on the bank of the inland sea ferry ports. Another impossible situation where all I could do was raise my face up and say, "Okay, I'm doing my part here..."
The only convenience store within a manageable distance, considering the time, was crowded -- no use calling for help there. Then, raising my head again to break the perceptual rhythm of my awkward panting, I saw a single black taxi cab, in all its shiny chrome glory, sitting quietly at the curb less than a block up the street. I used what energy was left to bound up to it and wheeze my destination to the driver.
I got to the terminal about twenty minutes early.
-- ibid, Ch.58
>>><<<
A long day as expected.
We began with a two-plus hour orientation, reviewing points of culture and history, as well as terms of behavior to apply to the length of our visit. There was also an introduction, a brief synopsis of who each of us were, followed by where we were from and some 'unique point' about ourselves, each given by the individual on our left within a congregation of eight or nine small circles. From across the room, I heard the point made that someone was a vegan and a feminist -- I took note of her and later learned her name, E---. By the end of the day, I would come to know her and a couple of others a little better.
We were on our own for lunch, so I trailed a few other people by taxi to a local mall. Walking with two other guys up floor after floor of fashion and garment design, gaining bit by bit more confidence in my ability to decipher the Chinese characters through my Japanese training, I eventually found myself standing with them within a crowded top-level food court, congested with four-chair tables, fake plants, neon lights, and confusing mixtures of smell. My self-confidence had for whatever reason peaked by that point, and I took us up to a counter for Chinese donbori (whatever that might be in Chinese). It seemed all too easy: just say "I want" and the number of for the set in the menu listed above. I chose tofu -- again, proud that I could read that it was indeed that -- and pulled off my most nonchalant Chinese ordering voice. "I want five." The woman looked at me blankly and gestured toward a copy of the menu that lay on the counter between us. I pointed and said again, "I want five." The woman looked up to me.
"Five?"
"Yes."
She then began to rattle off questions concerning size and side orders, and I managed to complete the rest of my stunt through pointing and grunted confirmations. She seemed inclined to sell me the drink in a special dinky thermos that had a built-in straw, and not having the stamina, nor even the actual ability, to argue with her, I agree to it.
I turned to the guys next to me with what must have been a look of boast on my face when the woman handed me a large clear bag filled with drink thermoses over the counter. I blinked, absolutely lost to what was happening, just as the full nature of my error dawned on me. I quickly tried to get the woman's attention, racing through the practically nonexistant vocabulary list I had with which I might tell her what I meant; a girl my age behind me even asked if she could help, in clear, nearly perfect English, because she was tired of waiting in line to order. But even as she talked between the clerk and me, trying to reach what was supposed to be such a simple agreement of terms, the result of the damage revealed itself at the left of the cashier: a tray of five tofu rice bowl sets ready to be picked up. The error eventually cleared up, but the blood in my face did not go away for several long minutes. I made plans to study Chinese more thoroughly later that night.
The Gate, literally just across the road from the Square, stood as a massive wall, featuring on its front the renowned face of Mao Tsetung in painting, and having bridges lead one into its ominous and dark tunnel entrances. Despite their appearance, the entrances immediately gave way to the light of the first courtyard of the outer palace to the Forbidden City. For the next two or three hours, we caravanned thorugh courtyard after courtyard, intermittently enlighted by stories of the emperors and their successes (or failures) provided by our tour guide.
Having finally reached the inner palace, where no men, save the emperor and his eunichs, had been allowed to enter only a couple of centuries before, we viewed leisure rooms and statues for emperors of every dynasty. Our last stop before exiting was the imperial gardens, where stood in magnificent architectural grandeur stones imported from Thailand that ellicited images of waterfalls with not water, and cedar tees that we were told included many as old as two and a half centuries.
Our evening concluded with Peking duck -- the likes of which I do not think I have ever tasted and cannot begin to describe in its marvelous, succulent flavor -- and more stories about tables about people's backgrounds and intentions for travel. I was exhausted by eight fifteen.
Through more unraveling of the beautiful mystery, I met a guy who also had a keen interest in philosophy, though his special interest was Kierkegaard. I told him a bit what I was looking into, and then, as the talk began to become more focused on the nature of belief in today's philosophy of politics, I gave him Slavov Zizek's name (that's right, Tom -- you became extensive that night too), saying I had never read him but that the couple of lectures I had seen him give were fantastic (...and controversial for me). Andreas seemed pleased, and we parted promising another discussion before our final departure.
This was in the dark bar on the botoom floor of the hotel. Several members of the group had gathered there for some 'buy one, get one free' Beijing draft opportunity. We, the Americans were noisy... I had gone down there to chat some more with with E---, but as she became engaged with a couple of others, I instead came to know Eugene (originally from Ukraine and whose real name I cannot pronounce), Garry (who had also been bent on teaching English and studying Japanese through the JET Programme, but was some reason rejected), and Maria (who was also originally from abroad, Puerto Rico). In my free second draft stupor, I expounded generalized observations about Japanese psychology, Chinese-Japanese relations, language (of course), and a couple of other points of interest, and had to work to reserve myself to listen to their stories as well -- it is amazing to me how active my mouth can be once it is loosened. I then went to bed, head spinning but mostly happy, with a book of Chinese grammar in my restless hands.
The only convenience store within a manageable distance, considering the time, was crowded -- no use calling for help there. Then, raising my head again to break the perceptual rhythm of my awkward panting, I saw a single black taxi cab, in all its shiny chrome glory, sitting quietly at the curb less than a block up the street. I used what energy was left to bound up to it and wheeze my destination to the driver.
I got to the terminal about twenty minutes early.
>>><<<
few understand the wisdom of unforced non-action
because it can not be expressed with words and labels
it can only be intuitively felt
it can only be understood with the softness and formlessness
of water
it can only be implemented with the softness and formlessness
of water
-- the Tao Te Ching, ch. 43
>>><<<
happiness
misery
the seed of one is always within
the other
-- ibid, Ch.58
>>><<<
A long day as expected.
We began with a two-plus hour orientation, reviewing points of culture and history, as well as terms of behavior to apply to the length of our visit. There was also an introduction, a brief synopsis of who each of us were, followed by where we were from and some 'unique point' about ourselves, each given by the individual on our left within a congregation of eight or nine small circles. From across the room, I heard the point made that someone was a vegan and a feminist -- I took note of her and later learned her name, E---. By the end of the day, I would come to know her and a couple of others a little better.
We were on our own for lunch, so I trailed a few other people by taxi to a local mall. Walking with two other guys up floor after floor of fashion and garment design, gaining bit by bit more confidence in my ability to decipher the Chinese characters through my Japanese training, I eventually found myself standing with them within a crowded top-level food court, congested with four-chair tables, fake plants, neon lights, and confusing mixtures of smell. My self-confidence had for whatever reason peaked by that point, and I took us up to a counter for Chinese donbori (whatever that might be in Chinese). It seemed all too easy: just say "I want" and the number of for the set in the menu listed above. I chose tofu -- again, proud that I could read that it was indeed that -- and pulled off my most nonchalant Chinese ordering voice. "I want five." The woman looked at me blankly and gestured toward a copy of the menu that lay on the counter between us. I pointed and said again, "I want five." The woman looked up to me.
"Five?"
"Yes."
She then began to rattle off questions concerning size and side orders, and I managed to complete the rest of my stunt through pointing and grunted confirmations. She seemed inclined to sell me the drink in a special dinky thermos that had a built-in straw, and not having the stamina, nor even the actual ability, to argue with her, I agree to it.
I turned to the guys next to me with what must have been a look of boast on my face when the woman handed me a large clear bag filled with drink thermoses over the counter. I blinked, absolutely lost to what was happening, just as the full nature of my error dawned on me. I quickly tried to get the woman's attention, racing through the practically nonexistant vocabulary list I had with which I might tell her what I meant; a girl my age behind me even asked if she could help, in clear, nearly perfect English, because she was tired of waiting in line to order. But even as she talked between the clerk and me, trying to reach what was supposed to be such a simple agreement of terms, the result of the damage revealed itself at the left of the cashier: a tray of five tofu rice bowl sets ready to be picked up. The error eventually cleared up, but the blood in my face did not go away for several long minutes. I made plans to study Chinese more thoroughly later that night.
>>><<<
The first group event after the orientation was a visit to Tian'anmen Square. The largest city square in all the world, it can apparently hold up to half a million people within its massive scape. As I walked along its borders, taking photograhps and jotting notes about the location of the Parlaiment Building and other surrounding monuments, I reflected on the nature of the horror that took place on this very square in 1989, when thousands of people, many students, stood in numbers here to foice their dissatisfaction with the Communist Party of China, only to be herded, beaten, and even shot, by soldiers and martial law officesr sent by the leader of the CPC at that time, Deng Xiaoping -- some, I believe I read, had even been crushed, run over by the tanks manned by these 'keepers of the peace.' It was a horrendous historical event that I was very surprised to have not heard mentioned at all by our tour guide, as he led us toward the Heavently Gate of Peace.
The Gate, literally just across the road from the Square, stood as a massive wall, featuring on its front the renowned face of Mao Tsetung in painting, and having bridges lead one into its ominous and dark tunnel entrances. Despite their appearance, the entrances immediately gave way to the light of the first courtyard of the outer palace to the Forbidden City. For the next two or three hours, we caravanned thorugh courtyard after courtyard, intermittently enlighted by stories of the emperors and their successes (or failures) provided by our tour guide.
Having finally reached the inner palace, where no men, save the emperor and his eunichs, had been allowed to enter only a couple of centuries before, we viewed leisure rooms and statues for emperors of every dynasty. Our last stop before exiting was the imperial gardens, where stood in magnificent architectural grandeur stones imported from Thailand that ellicited images of waterfalls with not water, and cedar tees that we were told included many as old as two and a half centuries.
Our evening concluded with Peking duck -- the likes of which I do not think I have ever tasted and cannot begin to describe in its marvelous, succulent flavor -- and more stories about tables about people's backgrounds and intentions for travel. I was exhausted by eight fifteen.
>>><<<
The night extended before bedtime, however.
Through more unraveling of the beautiful mystery, I met a guy who also had a keen interest in philosophy, though his special interest was Kierkegaard. I told him a bit what I was looking into, and then, as the talk began to become more focused on the nature of belief in today's philosophy of politics, I gave him Slavov Zizek's name (that's right, Tom -- you became extensive that night too), saying I had never read him but that the couple of lectures I had seen him give were fantastic (...and controversial for me). Andreas seemed pleased, and we parted promising another discussion before our final departure.
This was in the dark bar on the botoom floor of the hotel. Several members of the group had gathered there for some 'buy one, get one free' Beijing draft opportunity. We, the Americans were noisy... I had gone down there to chat some more with with E---, but as she became engaged with a couple of others, I instead came to know Eugene (originally from Ukraine and whose real name I cannot pronounce), Garry (who had also been bent on teaching English and studying Japanese through the JET Programme, but was some reason rejected), and Maria (who was also originally from abroad, Puerto Rico). In my free second draft stupor, I expounded generalized observations about Japanese psychology, Chinese-Japanese relations, language (of course), and a couple of other points of interest, and had to work to reserve myself to listen to their stories as well -- it is amazing to me how active my mouth can be once it is loosened. I then went to bed, head spinning but mostly happy, with a book of Chinese grammar in my restless hands.
the mysteries of the world
come to you in a living light
that breathes as you breathe
infused with your own thoughts
yet outlined as some distant place
or thing
-- the Tao Te Ching, Ch.47
>>><<<
I subsequently found myself six hours early for my reserved flight – the bus trip not having been quite the overhaul of a trip I thought it would be. I read though a dozen chapters of the Tao Te Ching and brushed up on Chinese greetings. Finally, two hours before the flight, the line opened up to accept departures. Baggage check and currency exchange, and I was ready for take-off…on a plane that would not board for another hour and a half…a little more Tao Te Ching and some new Chinese phrases.
Once aboard the plane and in my seat, I felt my head begin to spin from the foreigness, in a few brief encounters with Chinese people on the way to the gate and on the plane. I had almost forgotten what it was like to step into a new world, where gestures, facial expressions, words – in short, language and custom – is back in the unfamiliar; it’s a feeling like having all that you have finally grown comfortable with in your ‘adult’ world taken away from you, sending you back to a time of confusion, curiosity and mimicry. I began immediately to curl up into a safe ball of Japanese and overt formality, but these would be useless now outside of their cultural domain. At least some English broke the unfamiliarity every now and then – and when all else failed, Japanese kanji (former Chinese characters) look just enough like Chinese for me to convince myself that I got a gist of what I was looking at. But the waves of auditory speech were invasive, and I had to remind myself a couple of times that Japanese had once been the same to me only a few years before.
In any case, I quickly relaxed into the mere joy of the act of travel, as nomads do, and that was about when I met the man who had been sitting behind me. He said he was originally German (although his English was impeccably British) and that he had been living in Shanghai for three years now, spending another year somewhere in there to conduct sociological research for Tokyo University. He was a lawyer, on business now in returning from Kyoto to attend a meeting in Beijing the following day. He spoke as though he were forty (thought I had assumed a decade younger) in mentioning his French wife and two children living back in Shanghai. We happily admitted the complexity of second (now beginning third) language acquisition – he kept wanting to use Chinese in Japan, and I had an obvious counter tendency. He gave me his name as we parted ways at the arrivals exit, I having caught sight of a sign with my name on it held by a naturally pretty Chinese girl, who smiled as I nodded to her. I cannot for the life of me recall his name now.
The girl was named Rosa. It is common for many Chinese who work in international realtions to have an English name that perhaps most people are able to remember (and say) with greater ease than their original. Rosa had chosen a Spanish name, however, and sure enough she spoke seemingly fluent Spanish. Her first smile, and every one that folowed, was highly contagious, and I quickly relieved myself of my tensions into her care. She asked a couple dozen or so questions throughout the private taxi trip to the international hotel, simultaneously revealing a good deal of her own background in the process. She had never been outside the country, despite her apparent mastery of Spanish and decently conversational grasp of English. She had been working as of nowtour guide / interpreter, and was sure to point out some of the interesting details of the places she had ssumed I (and the group I had yet to meet) would visit tomorrow.
All the while, I peered out my window into the Beijing nighttime setting. I was taken back by a familiarity to my American home -- it was as though someone had instead flown me into Nashville, Tennessee, just after changing the highway signs and building titles into Chinese characters and measurements. Sizes, shapes, all felt familiar in this way. The driver side, even, was loacted on the left side, forcing me to mentally switch from an alreadly accustomed prior switch to the right, remaining all the same a switch to a sort of familiarity.
Having said goodbye to Rosa and found my hotel room, I stared outside over the almost city outskirts of Chicago. The hotel room resembled the middle-class suburban interior I once knew in the houses of Shreveport, Louisiana. Am I just seeking surface, or am I projecting surface to cover up the phenomenon of homogenized difference, I thought to myself. Probably both. I wondered what I would see by tomrrow to warp my mind yet again.
he feels
that dreams are far more tangible
than waking truths
-- ibid, Ch.49
come to you in a living light
that breathes as you breathe
infused with your own thoughts
yet outlined as some distant place
or thing
-- the Tao Te Ching, Ch.47
>>><<<
I subsequently found myself six hours early for my reserved flight – the bus trip not having been quite the overhaul of a trip I thought it would be. I read though a dozen chapters of the Tao Te Ching and brushed up on Chinese greetings. Finally, two hours before the flight, the line opened up to accept departures. Baggage check and currency exchange, and I was ready for take-off…on a plane that would not board for another hour and a half…a little more Tao Te Ching and some new Chinese phrases.
Once aboard the plane and in my seat, I felt my head begin to spin from the foreigness, in a few brief encounters with Chinese people on the way to the gate and on the plane. I had almost forgotten what it was like to step into a new world, where gestures, facial expressions, words – in short, language and custom – is back in the unfamiliar; it’s a feeling like having all that you have finally grown comfortable with in your ‘adult’ world taken away from you, sending you back to a time of confusion, curiosity and mimicry. I began immediately to curl up into a safe ball of Japanese and overt formality, but these would be useless now outside of their cultural domain. At least some English broke the unfamiliarity every now and then – and when all else failed, Japanese kanji (former Chinese characters) look just enough like Chinese for me to convince myself that I got a gist of what I was looking at. But the waves of auditory speech were invasive, and I had to remind myself a couple of times that Japanese had once been the same to me only a few years before.
In any case, I quickly relaxed into the mere joy of the act of travel, as nomads do, and that was about when I met the man who had been sitting behind me. He said he was originally German (although his English was impeccably British) and that he had been living in Shanghai for three years now, spending another year somewhere in there to conduct sociological research for Tokyo University. He was a lawyer, on business now in returning from Kyoto to attend a meeting in Beijing the following day. He spoke as though he were forty (thought I had assumed a decade younger) in mentioning his French wife and two children living back in Shanghai. We happily admitted the complexity of second (now beginning third) language acquisition – he kept wanting to use Chinese in Japan, and I had an obvious counter tendency. He gave me his name as we parted ways at the arrivals exit, I having caught sight of a sign with my name on it held by a naturally pretty Chinese girl, who smiled as I nodded to her. I cannot for the life of me recall his name now.
The girl was named Rosa. It is common for many Chinese who work in international realtions to have an English name that perhaps most people are able to remember (and say) with greater ease than their original. Rosa had chosen a Spanish name, however, and sure enough she spoke seemingly fluent Spanish. Her first smile, and every one that folowed, was highly contagious, and I quickly relieved myself of my tensions into her care. She asked a couple dozen or so questions throughout the private taxi trip to the international hotel, simultaneously revealing a good deal of her own background in the process. She had never been outside the country, despite her apparent mastery of Spanish and decently conversational grasp of English. She had been working as of nowtour guide / interpreter, and was sure to point out some of the interesting details of the places she had ssumed I (and the group I had yet to meet) would visit tomorrow.
All the while, I peered out my window into the Beijing nighttime setting. I was taken back by a familiarity to my American home -- it was as though someone had instead flown me into Nashville, Tennessee, just after changing the highway signs and building titles into Chinese characters and measurements. Sizes, shapes, all felt familiar in this way. The driver side, even, was loacted on the left side, forcing me to mentally switch from an alreadly accustomed prior switch to the right, remaining all the same a switch to a sort of familiarity.
Having said goodbye to Rosa and found my hotel room, I stared outside over the almost city outskirts of Chicago. The hotel room resembled the middle-class suburban interior I once knew in the houses of Shreveport, Louisiana. Am I just seeking surface, or am I projecting surface to cover up the phenomenon of homogenized difference, I thought to myself. Probably both. I wondered what I would see by tomrrow to warp my mind yet again.
>>><<<
when his heart and mind are upliftedhe feels
that dreams are far more tangible
than waking truths
-- ibid, Ch.49
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