The DJ and I went to eat at a nice restaurant tonight. At the end of the meal, the waitress asked us to fill out a survey about our experience. Tonight wasn’t the first time this has happened to us. Actually, it happens whenever we go to a nice place. For some reason, they seem to really value our opinion. The odd thing is not so much that they ask us to complete the survey and, seemingly, no one else. The odd thing is, precisely, that they (i.e. 2 or 3 people) stand over our shoulder while completing it and when finished, look immediately at what we wrote. Of course we all know, or I thought we all knew, that you can’t expect an honest answer without anonymity. Perhaps they think us being foreigners, we 1. have high dining standards and 2. are always direct with our opinions. Well, yes, this may be true, but our manner dictates that you never come to someone’s place and tell them to their face that the food or treatment is poor. Or, perhaps, and much more likely, they know this and the manager on duty that night is only looking to show the boss that two foreigners had a satisfying experience on his or her watch.

Long before rappers had beef, restaurant owners and patrons had MSG - a powerful punch of flavor that became and remains a taboo in American Chinese restaurants. Of course, I (think I) love it and consume large quantities on a daily basis.

The real story - one that started in Japan, made it’s way into American Chinese restaurants, was shunned thanks to the letter of an American Chinese Doctor, and later became ubiquitous throughout Asia and across the world (even back home, although you don’t know it) - is captivating. Read it here.

P.S. To be fair, I ate BBQ with a friend last week who refused to eat MSG. I couldn’t tell a difference.

Perhaps the most enriching part of living in China is being able to interact with the generation who grew up during the Cultural Revolution. Most who I can “touch” are established business people, say the owner of a small factory, real estate developer or construction contractor. None of them received a college education and many never graduated from High School. Self-made, they are newly wealthy but maintain the roughness that got them where they are today. A map of China’s modern history is written on their faces, hidden beneath their fingernails, stuffed in their pop bellies, and exposed in those charmingly imperfect grins. They are concerned with money, but not so pre-occupied by it that they neglect other issues like politics and “culture”. When they tell their rags to riches stories, they speak in terms of decades. You listen as hard as you can to catch their words before they are washed by any interpreter. They are funny and direct. Warm and open. Pure, but definitely not innocent. They are startling different from the generation that followed them.

Smoking while eating is like refilling a glass of water. Over the course of a 2-2.5 hour meal, it can easily happen 10 times.

Liu Zong and I

你好！新年好！

I’m back from Spring Festival. WF welcomed me to his hometown, Pengzhou, about an hour away from Chengdu. The city is small, with about 700K people. The experience was one of the greatest I’ve had outside of the States and definitely since being in China. Not only was I able to experience the new year, but also join (not watch) a wedding. And I rekindled my off and on relationship with bai jiu (Chinese white wine - nasty as hell, but a great result). Just can’t keep her at bay. We ate and drank in excess the whole time. One night, at home, we had 14 dishes on the table. 13 of which were meat.

The night before the wedding there was a party. There was so much food that we were literally stacking 3 levels of dishes on top of each other to fit it all on the table. Most people ate quickly and left because, saving themselves for the next days festivities. Not us. All the guys went to karaoke and finally to xiao kao (outdoor BBQ), where, after absurd amounts of drinking, I gave a toast: “Brothers drink until we throw up”. I drank and immediately threw up. We slept for just a few hours that night.

The best way I can describe the wedding is…..CRUNK! All the guys gathered at the groom’s house at 7AM. We set of fireworks and decorated the cars and then went to the bride’s house. Her friends try to keep the groom out, so we have to help in bust in. First the apartment building door, then the apartment door, and finally her bedroom. It’s super exciting. Finally he grabs the bride and carries her to the living room. They offer his parents some tea and then he carries her away. More fireworks. Back to his house for the offering of tea to the parents. It sounds formal but it’s not. It’s fast and casual. Only the bride, groom, and best man were dressed up.

By this time it’s about 930. We eat something. I have to go to the bathroom. The restaurant is basically a converted storage space behind a cinema. No bathroom. But a public one is available. No stalls or doors. No problem. I choose the 3rd space from the door. Opening the door gives a clear shot at me. A guy is already in #5. He finishes and as he walks out spots my face. He’s so surprised he stops in his tracks and stares at me. I smile like, yeah, we handle business just like you. He smiles back and walks out.

At 11 we arrive at the restaurant where the wedding is held. Outside, the groom greets everyone with an offer of 2 cigarettes and the bride with 2 pieces of candy. She lights your squares. You give a red envelope of money if you didn’t already the night before. 12 noon, it starts. All the guys line the aisle. We have these huge “poppers”. They come walking down and we explode these things all over. At the same time, fireworks that are lining the aisle shoot in the air. We’re inside, though! And no one expected it, so people are like WTF?!, moving their chairs and jumping out of the way to avoid catching on fire.

Complete rowdiness. I love it. They go on stage and offer the parents tea and receive red envelopes of money in return. They say a few words and that’s it. It’s kinda hectic because all the groom’s friends are crowding the stage, so most people probably couldn’t see. It’s was not what I would classify as romantic, but was definitely fun. I want one like that. Just a big party.

Then we sit down to eat. Everyone is so spent from the night before and the morning rush that it’s touch to tackle the food and bai jiu that are waiting for us. Finally, one guy says, “he jiu?” (drink?). We all nod.
Other highlights: I played ma jiang and then got angry when they wouldn’t let me gamble my money with the pros. I didn’t know WF had told them not to let me. haha. I drove in China for the first time. I bought new jeans. I grew my beard the whole time. And a lot of other things I can’t put in writing. Check out some pics courtesy WF.

Me, Ma, and WD

Da Ma Jiang

A walk in the park. WF, WD, and me.

Me, LL (groom), and WL (bride)

Love, Love, Love

Going for the wedding candy on a string.

Trying to eat, drink.

Me and HL drinking tea.

The Chinese New Year is right around the corner. And you know what that means - company party. A memtastic time. Lots of food, drink, games, friends, and fun.

Top 3 highlights:

1. We had an awards ceremony and, much to my chagrin, I was voted “most laowai”. I know who decided that one.
2. XW’s hair caught on fire
3. I almost blew my hand off when I held onto what I thought was a roman candle but turned out to be a large bottle rocket

Photos courtesy: LYM

Pics from my birthday dinner courtesy Zhang Jian Xin. Bump those stuffy banquets where you gotta spin the wheel of food. Hot pot is the perfect setting for birthdays or meals hosting large groups of people.
Me and the fellas fighting over a dumpling. 都那么帅啊！

The ladies. 都是姐妹儿！

中国的最好的设计师和我说： 日你的。。。

How to drink? Like this. 怎么喝呢？别是笨蛋喝这样。。。

The cake with cool candle.

When I first came here, I would see people rubbing money and putting it up to light, both methods to determine if it is counterfeit. I thought it was weird, especially when it was money coming from friends or a reputable business. Don’t they trust each other, I thought. Well, as time went on, I realized it’s less a matter of trust than it is the proliferation of funny money here in China.

I just came from lunch with a couple of friends. One paid for all of us. Her change came and she thought the bill was a fake. I did the rub test (Mao Ze Dong’s left shoulder has some small ridges in it. I like to say Mao has a chip on his shoulder. hehe) and confirmed. Change it, I told her. No, I’m afraid, she said. She didn’t want to make a fuss. French, she said, are always taught not to cause a stir (that seemed new to me;-). I agreed that in the US it’s the same (that’s probably new to you ;-), but insisted that this isn’t the US or France. In China, you should speak up. You must speak up, out. It’s a part of the culture. I did it for her and we got a new bill, but it still left me thinking why, when we clearly have the right, do we back home and in other nations, resist speaking out. Do we have “wa” like the Japanese? Or are we just afraid of rejection? Or, let me guess, you never censor yourself for the sake of harmony?

Think about calling the waiter in a restaurant. I love it in China. You don’t even look. Just call. And you can even say “hurry up”. It’s not offensive.This should be adopted everywhere. International standard. Serious. Because we are paying for their service; why should we wait for them to walk by to ask for the check or a refill of our water. So long as we don’t disturb other patrons, it should be fine. How about changing your position/seat in the subway? Afraid to ask that young guy to close his legs, so you can take that empty seat next to him? Or when the cabbie takes his tip out before giving you back your change? Will you ask for that buck 50? How about when you’ve been overcharged for something? Do bad service/manners deserve, as a response/reward, good service/manners? And why am I writing like this/that?

Officially, today is my birthday, but yesterday evening I wanted to treat my colleagues and friends to hot pot. We were 10 plus deep. While sitting at the table waiting for the rest of our party to arrive, I watched another group of folks drinking and doing the standard restaurant madness that I love so much. They’re table was next to ours, but I was on the opposite end, Chairman style. One dude, probably in his 40s, caught a glimpse of me. We made brief eye contact, and I knew his thoughts immediately. I’ve seen his type all over China. His next steps played out just as I anticipated. He didn’t hesitate. He yelled for my friend sitting at the opposite end of the table, closest to him. Stood up, shook his hand and then said something to him while looking at me. My friend hesitated. And then walked over to me. On his way, my other friends asked what that guy said. He responded and my friends all said, “no”. But he had to ask. “Jesse, that guy wants to drink with you.” “No”. He delivered the message and the guy couldn’t have gave more a standard response. He pulled out his ID (that’s the oldest move in the book), which must have showed he was a Police or other Government official. Like I care.

I really don’t understand the motivation. I mused before about the reasons young guys do it in a club, but I’m always perplexed at the older dudes. It isn’t friendly, that’s for sure. It’s not welcoming. It’s not polite. If you don’t know me or someone I am with, don’t approach me. There is this myth that Chinese are passive or shy, but the longer I stay the more situations I find them as aggressive, not just in language but in actions. Nearly every time I go out, I find myself in a conflict with some idiot. But it’s a game, almost. Not almost. It is a game. Usually I don’t mind. I don’t want them to lose face in front of their friends, but because this guy was discrete, the rejection had no impact beyond that to his ego. Sometimes I just want to impart common sense - I can fill and drain a cup just like them. But that’s never enough. At that point, you become a novelty.

Anyway, the dinner was good. We ate and drank a lot. My friends brought a wonderful cake and an exploding candle that played the birthday song. We decided to change places. Standing outside discussing the next move, a couple walked past and I heard the magic words - “laowai” (foreigner). You called me laowai? I’m not a laowai. I’m a visitor, a foreign guest, a VIP (in Chinese it sounds real funny because the second word for each of these is the same - lai bin, wai bin, gui bin. If you rattle them off in the right manner, it’s comical and effective). You have no manners!! You are rude!!! Not polite!!! He kept walking.

Food is tasty. Drinking is fun. Music makes me dance. History is interesting. But language….language IS culture. How people speak gives you insights into how they think, more so than any other so called cultural elements. And if you have any exposure to the Chinese language you know well that “laowai”, no matter how common it is, is not a friendly term. If you believe otherwise you’re either naive or in denial. It is the equivalent to calling a Chinese a chink. I was super pissed, so decided to go home. WF and some guys wouldn’t let up. Good friends are persistent. They forced me to go drinking. We went to a bar and started drinking and playing games, four guys. A girl came up to our table, glass in hand. Here we go again. Someone wants to toast. This reminds me of a story: I’d been to this place before and a girl came over to toast me (on a dare I guessed, because her giggling friends looked on from their table in suspense). I gave her face: smiled, drank, filled her glass and she left. I asked what was the polite response. WF told me I should go toast her table. Just one glass. So I went over. Her mates thought I was just toasting her and continued their laughing. But then I motioned my cup toward theirs and they were startled. Stumbling to fill their glasses, everyone stood up and I lead the toast. In Chinese, I wished them a happy national day. So surprised I could speak 5 words of their language, they nearly forgot to drink. I digress. Back to last night.

This girl came over. But her glass was empty. Mistake. We filled it and drank with her. She sat her self down. Mistake. Turns out, this was the bar’s CRM girl. Not a waitress, just someone who floats around and makes sure everyone is having a good time. Except she wasn’t floating. She lit her cigarette before the other guys who were lighting up. Mistake. Then, as the alcohol was drying up, she poured her glass first. Mistake. I thought - is this girl really working here? Can she be in customer service? No alcohol. Honestly, I’ve never been intentionally rude to people I didn’t know (if I know you that means I can be rude to you ;^) until I came here. I couldn’t help myself. I told her she was bothering us and that she needs to give us something for free. Free stuff is common here. Lots of places will give you free fruit or peanuts or something. I started the bidding for alcohol, and then fruit, then peanuts, and finally napkins (some places charge for napkins). Nothing. She said she didn’t have the authority. I couldn’t let up. I told her: You have the authority to come over here, sit down without being invited to, drink our alcohol, generally disturb us, but not give us some peanuts? We kept back and forth and my speech got more outrageous. I started giving her a lesson in etiquette, customer service, business, etc. Finally, she took me to see her boss (20 years old). I told him the same thing. He obliged and agreed to give us some fruit. Days go by…and still I think of fruit…no fruit. We’re going, I told her. Wait, if you go, I’ll lose face. Okay, 5 minutes. No fruit, NO FACE, we’re going, going, gone!

Anyway, this is a normal day. I can’t document all the absurdities, but figured I’d give you the birthday special.

Unless you want to make new friends and have lots of fun.

It’s important to start a long trip off with a memorable night. When I left the US, Ryo received me at the airport, brought me to his home, where I was given a shower, a comfy bed for a quick rest, and a super gourmet Japanese meal, all before an all-nighter in Roppongi where I met Shin, who treated me to my first Nabe (Japanese hot pot). It set the tone for the rest of my time over here. So, a few months ago, when I saw the opportunity to do the same, I grabbed it.

At Beijing immigration, a Japanese guy asked me what was going on. See, the trip from Tokyo to Chengdu requires a stop off in Beijing for immigration. But only a handful of passengers are usually making the whole trip (most are just going to Beijing), so the Chengdu bound folks are herded into a separate area. I told him not to worry, just standard operating procedure, not a massacre. We started to talk a little. Very little, because I’d forgotten all my Japanese and him all his English. I just knew that he was going to Nepal the next morning and had yet to find a hotel. And he didn’t speak any Chinese. Seemed that he was in for a troublesome night.

I told him he could stay at my place. He accepted. So for the next couple of hours I plotted an all-night itinerary. When we landed I had messages waiting for me. A couple of friends made a plan for dinner. We took a cab home, dropped the bags and rushed to dinner where my friends were waiting. They speak Korean and Chinese, but no English or Japanese, so we had no choice but to communicate with alcohol. Next stop was a bar. We drank a lot, and just when we couldn’t take anymore, decided to leave.

Walking out I received a call from a friend. Where are you? I am at XYZ. Me too. Turn around. There he is. He was with a large group of co-workers, maybe 10. Of course he wants us to drink. Okay, who am I to refuse. Besides, I like to see how Japanese and Chinese mix it up (my first experiment was a disaster. Will write about that some other time). The Chinese, of course, for as much as they say “I hate Japanese” (and they say it a lot. Bring up Sushi and they’re gonna tell you, “I hate Japanese”), were welcoming to my new friend. But I think that’s also because I’m the connection. I’m a good friend, so a good friend of mine is one of theirs, too. Actually, not a friend, but will at least give me face. Anyway, we drunk a lot more…I was thankful the Japanese guy could hold his own…not exactly a pro, but passable.

By then it was 3am. His flight was at 7am. There was no going to sleep. So we went to street meat for more drinking and food. He fell in and out of sleep as we drank and chowed. Gotta make it a memorable night. At 5, we went home and grabbed his bags. I put him in a taxi and off he went.

Last week I received another email from him. He’ll be back on the 18th and we’ll do it again, but maybe with less alcohol and some Japanese friends to help translate.

If there is one thing that baffles me about Japanese people, it is their willingness to spend large sums of money on small portions of food that their mothers could prepare. Some say they are paying for the atmosphere and service. For others it is the ingredients and preparation. But for a country boy like me, I simply wonder, ‘you guys weren’t always eating in restaurants. Japanese food is, after all, and like other cuisines, home cooking. So why the urge to splurge?’ Finally, someone takes up the subject.

I’m not sure why I didn’t blog about this earlier, but after a reminder last night, I put it on my (mental) ‘to do’ list for today. I get to how exactly I was reminded at the end, but first the story.

I went to the Philippines via Shanghai. I took a train from Chengdu to Shanghai. On that train, the opposite bunk was occupied by a young (22) girl from Chongqing, currently living and studying (English) in Chengdu. From the moment I boarded the train, she was a pleasant presence, helping me with my bags after I slammed by head on the overhead compartment while climbing up to the top bunk. She smiled, extended a hand, and a friendly hello. I responded in Chinese and so set out our relationship to be one in the Chinese language. It wasn’t until hour 34 that she started to speak some English. I was relieved, because I was tired of pretending to understand what she was saying (but nodding and grunting can get you a long way). We traded numbers and promised to keep in touch after the National holiday.Nearly a month had passed since returning home when I received a message from her. She asked if I was free for the lunch the next day. Sure thing. At 12:30 we met at the designated landmark and I told her a group of friends were waiting for us at a nearby restaurant. She responded with surprise (she had already told me the day before, but I hadn’t understood), because she wanted to personally cook lunch for me…at her home!!! Well, who am I to turn down such an offer. Apologies to my friends who had already ordered a bunch of dishes and we went to her house.

“I have a roommate, but she’s not home”. OK.

She cooked and I faux-assisted. The food was delicious and she forced fruit on me afterwards to ensure I was full. I must admit, I was impressed. Most young girls won’t invite you to their pad the second time you meet and even fewer will (know how) cook for you. But I’m so naive, so I didn’t think much of it. And then she said, “when do you have to go to work?”. I was casual, “whenever, no rush”. Of course, I didn’t want to be rude and pull a eat and run. She said, “can you help me with something?”. Who am I to turn down the request of this Iron Chef???

“Let’s go in my room”. OK

A bed, a desk, posters of Korean dudes, girly fare, etc. Sit down, pointing toward the desk. She pulled up a stool and accompanied me. ‘Where is this going?’, I thought. I’ve never encountered such circumstances. Is this some cultural thing I don’t know about? My friends and colleagues hadn’t mentioned this.

She reached for a stack of papers and set them in front of me…..English!!! She wants me to help her write an essay…..oh snap. All white people ain’t English teachers. A lot of us don’t even speak English. I’m not the resident English teacher either, babe. But I helped, cause her cooking wasn’t half bad. Anyway, this slightly annoys me, because it kinda ruins everything before - a friendly and beautiful girl contacts you for lunch, leads you to her home, cooks for you, dotes on you…and then has you do her homework. I’m searching for purity, but I just find Pretense!

How did I remember this? Last night I’m laying in bed, just about to hit REM, when my phone goes off. It’s late, this better be a hot chick buzzing me for a late night rendezvous (sp?). She’s hot, she’s buzzing, but for what reason? Homework!!! No “ni hao”, no “how have you been?”. Just the assignment (written in Chinese) and the directive of “get back to me when you have time”. Mind you, this is our first contact since the food for homework deal. Well second. First was, “my teacher loved the essay. thanks”. But to be honest, I prefer this method - direct. At least I know where I stand.

What is this? A menu posted on that dull, cemented wall? Chairs and tables stacked outside? The fat chef with his dirty apron? Get back in the kitchen, homey! The sign? I know those characters!!!! 兰州 slangin’ noodles and Sichuan cai BIA!!!

When one door is boarded up, another one opens. The restaurant that closed down has re-opened next store, where a (legit) massage parlor once stood. Space is smaller, prices are higher.

In other news, a visit to my favorite street meat spot last night revealed that “City Management” had cracked down on unlicensed vendors. DD and BB have ceased operations indefinitely.

Yesterday, I was at lunch with a friend’s husband. It wasn’t the first time we’d met. He had treated me to lunch two times before. He’s older, but this time I wanted to pay. Toward the end of the meal he said, “Jesse, wo fu, wo fu”. In Chinese, “wo” is “I”. Sometimes people mix in some basic English for humor, so I made an allowance for what I thought was a mis-pronunciation of “full” and interpreted him as saying, “I’m full. I’m full”. I responded accordingly with “hen hao hen hao” (very good very good) and laughed at his joke. The check came and he reached for his wallet. I interjected and paid the bill. Then, later, I realized I had made a mistake. In Chinese, “fu” means “pay”. He wasn’t saying, “I’m full”. He was saying, “I’ll pay”. And I had responded with “very good very good” and a big smile. Lucky for me I paid.

Several of you have asked for a follow up to my Guilty by Association post.

About a week later I sat down outside a restaurant by myself and ordered some food. While twiddling with my mobile, I felt a presence in front of me. I lifted my head and there she was - gap-toothed smile and plate of fried rice in hand.

“Can I sit here?”, she said. I smiled and welcomed her. She started talking, and I kept thinking about our first meeting, unable to focus on whatever it was she was saying. She was completely oblivious to what happened.

Soon enough, she leaned forward and, in a secretive tone, said, “Guess what. Last time, I forgot to pay that restaurant”. We both exploded in laughter, though for different reasons, and I said, “I know. I paid for you”. I told her the rest of the story and her smile turned south as she launched “excuse me” and “sorry” 100 times over across the table. She was genuinely embarrassed and to make up for it, paid for the meal I was eating.

I’m gonna try to get a pic of this girl and post it here. Don’t hold your breath!

Uncle Sam blessed me with a tax refund, so I went to the Philippines with Ryoko. Granted, China is big and beautiful enough to never leave, but during Golden week, there are just too many people traveling domestically, so international travel is more ideal. Besides, leaving China every now and then isn’t a bad idea if for no other reason to remind myself that I am not in the “center” of the world. And also to remind me that Shanghai people might not be so far off when they call Sichuan the “countryside”. Our fight was from Shanghai, but I was tired of flying between cities in China, so I took the train. I reserved a hard (not really hard) sleeper for the 36 hour trip. I set off on a Saturday evening. After a Friday night that I dare not put in writing, I was a little agitated, tired, and looking for a change of scenery. The train was a great experience. In classic Chinese behavior, as I was leaving, YYL said “oh, I’m leaving, too. I will send you to the train station”. The train station is totally out of the way, but she hawked a taxi in the middle of rush hour, chasing it down in her heels, got me past security, made sure I was stocked with food, and saw me all the way to the train.

The train station is classic. Think Greyhound station in the States, times the size and amount of people by 50 and that’s the view. Tons of weirdos, so that was fun. On the train, our cart had open (no doors) compartments, three beds vertically stacked on each side. I had the top bunk. A 22 year-old “Chongqing” beauty was opposite me. Below me was a male student and below him, another young female. Those two didn’t talk much to me. Below Chongqing was a classic Chengdu “ayi” (aunt), 50+, and then her husband on the bottom. The ayi was funny - always talking in vibrant local dialect. Her husband poured baijiu into a water bottle for the trip. The trip on the train was priceless. Lots of stops. I saw several nuclear power plants and other manufacturing facilities. Everyone on the train is friendly. Sharing food and space like we were all old friends. The ayi even started giving massages. But she is clever. She knew the young girls wouldn’t allow that, so she ended up on the receiving end from them. I ended up getting one, too. Only in China. The level of casualness and comfort is undeniable, addictive. What is lying beneath is debatable, but that’s for you to decide.

I spent most of my time communicating with “Chongqing”. She helped with my bag as I was initially climbing up to my bed. I hit my head on the overhead compartment and she showed some genuine concern. Despite her being an English major, we mostly spoke in Chinese, until the last few hours when she asked if we could use English. We still mixed, but to be honest, I felt relieved. The bathrooms are not super clean, but not as bad as people said. We arrived in Shanghai at 9am on Monday and I tool the subway to Ryoko’s apt. She met me at the station and went to her “tasteless castle” of an apartment (note: much nicer than my apartment). After and shower, we went for lunch. Pizza and beer in an area patronized by lots of foreigners. An interesting community - some experimental “intellectual property” area. Usually, in China, if one business is successful, the folks next store also enter the market. Basic economics really - if there is profit, then competitors enter. The result is huge clusters of businesses that sell the same thing - sometimes it’s textiles, but sometimes it’s toilets or solar panels or whatever. Maybe that’s good for consumers (so long as there isn’t any price fixing going on), but it makes for a dull community and also a lack of innovation, with everyone satisfied with the stat quo. Just getting by mentality. Anyway, every business in the community made a pledge to not steal ideas, etc. That night we dined at another cool spot.

The next morning, we left early for the flight to Manila. The Shanghai airport security took my shaving cream, so I am sporting a beard right now. We flew two hours to Hong Kong and had a three hour layover. During the approach to HK, we encountered some turbulence and the plane started to wave a little. The kids kept yelling “fun, fun” each time the plane moved. I was in a panic, of course. Their parents didn’t help (me). Instead of telling them to quiet down, they egged them on, also saying “yeah, fun, fun”. Anyway, we landed safely, though with sweaty palms.

It was my first time in HK airport. Last time I came to HK, I flew to Shenzhen and crossed the border overland. The airport is great - super clean with good service. Huge. Like a shopping mall of luxury brands. Makes me ashamed of JFK. We flew to Manila (another two hours) and were welcomed by the tail end of a typhoon. The airport was not so great, but the immigration signs called us “visitors” and had smiley face stickers saying, “immigration with a smile”. Tried to imagine that in the US. The Philippines, like Hong Kong is bi-lingual. It seemed like everyone spoke English. TV commercials and personalities often mix Tagalog and English. Our taxi driver explained that when it rains there is a lot of flooding, so we had to take a detour. First thing to notice is the “Jeepneys”. These are basically public transportation created by and for the people. They are ubiquitous. Think a tuk tuk on steroids. Japanese engine. The body is custom built. Long body, with benches along either side in the back. Hop in the back, pass your money up front to the driver. On and off as you please. No two are the same. They are tricked out with tons of designs, accessories, and colors. Some are dedicated to girlfriends, others to God, etc. The other way to get around are “trikes”. A motorbike with a side car to seat two or three (or sometimes more). Also tricked out. The other thing that caught my attention was the school kids - the girls in long white skirts. The sailor top. The boys in slacks. All waiting out the rain or piling into Jeepneys. And maybe the coolest are the public urinals. These big, pink enclosures that you can go take a piss in. But you just piss on the ground, into a sewer. Our taxi driver stopped for a leak and I snapped him.

Our accommodation for the night was someone’s house that had been converted into a “hometel”. Basic, but it sufficed. We were in a residential area and after checking in, walked around before finding a local place to eat. We dined on a bunch of dishes that I can’t recall the names of. And San Miguel beer. The food was good, as was the service. The infrastructure in the Philippines is not as developed in China, but it is much cleaner. The next morning we went to the airport, only to be told that we were at the wrong terminal. How to get to the right one? A train? No. A taxi! We had given ourselves extra time so that wasn’t a problem. The flight to Kalibo to an hour, then a L300 van to Caticlan and finally, a boat to Boracay, a small island.

Vendors were not very aggressive like in other countries I’ve been too. But still, whenever I visit a touristy place, I always feel an uneasy sense of interdependence. It’s like the only thing we have in common is the money/product/service we are exchanging. Maybe that’s not all bad, but sometimes I want more than to relax or eat. I want to know something about the place or people, so my mission is always to break through that “tourist-local” (mental) barrier and make some meaningful connection. Mine didn’t come until my last night (keep reading) and confirmed my initial impression - Filipinos are friendly, but don’t not overtly like the Chinese. They are laid back but when they smile, it’s truly magical.The Spanish influence more pervasive than the Asian, as shown in the flashy styles, smiles, and personalities of the people.

Only two things irked me. First, all the fees - environmental fee, terminal fee, security, this tax, VAT tax. From the moment you enter until you leave. I don’t mind spending money, but I hate the feeling of having to reach into my pocket every five seconds. And some of the fees are not actually required. They try to get you to pay, but if you don’t then there is no penalty. Some people are smart enough not to pay, but if you don’t know any better, you pay (I paid). But this kind of treatment leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Second, I’m always miffed at why, after I spend a lot of money on a plane ticket and go to a lot of trouble to get to a place, the only thing I can find to eat are hamburgers and pizza.

Boracay is beautiful. The beach is covered in white sands and blue coral. The water is clear blue and clean. It was cloudy most of the time and we got at least a little rain each day we were there. A lot of Koreans and some Chinese were also visiting the island. Classic is when they bring one bowl of rice when you order rice. The Chinese guy looks at his wife like, “what is this?”. I was feeling his pain, really. Who charges for rice and then just brings a tiny bowl. They ordered more. Isn’t bread and rice a human right? I hate a la carte. Anyway, it will be interesting to see how tourism changes as more Chinese begin to travel abroad. How the restaurants and hotels will adapt to their expectations in regards to types and portions of food. I think it will be great for tourists in general because the Chinese are more likely to push than their Western counterparts. We had cable TV, so I watched American television for the first time since I’ve left the US.

On our way back to Manila, we met a Korean guy who had traveled to Boracay alone. He spoke Chinese, so we were able to communicate. I negotiated a bus trip for the three of us. I got a one dollar discount. Those guys don’t care, but for me it is about principle - the locals were paying a lot less. We basically subsidize their transportation. I hate that. We were back in Manila for the final night and even though I swore off Italian food, we found ourselves in an awesome Italian place getting bent on wine and other delicious food. People were playing music and singing. After that it was serious gun talk with the security guards at the hotel. A classic conversation. I’ll give you an entry from my Moleskine later.

Pictures soon.

Happy Mid-Autumn Day!! The festival, which falls each year on the 15th day of the 8th lunar month, is highlighted by eating tons of moon cakes (”yuebing”) that are packaged in really spiffy boxes. Why moon cakes? Well, because of the full moon. After some history (copy/pasted) on the festival, a few photos of how we got down in the office. Don’t just scroll past, either. Better read that!

The festival has a long history. In ancient China, emperors followed the rite of offering sacrifices to the sun in spring and to the moon in autumn. Historical books of the Zhou Dynasty had had the word “Mid-Autumn”. Later aristocrats and literary figures helped expand the ceremony to common people. They enjoyed the full, bright moon on that day, worshipped it and expressed their thoughts and feelings under it. By the Tang Dynasty (618-907), the Mid-Autumn Festival had been fixed, which became even grander in the Song Dynasty (960-1279). In the Ming (1368-1644) and Qing (1644-1911) dynasties, it grew to be a major festival of China.

Folklore about the origin of the festival go like this: In remote antiquity, there were ten suns rising in the sky, which scorched all crops and drove people into dire poverty. A hero named Hou Yi was much worried about this, he ascended to the top of the Kunlun Mountain and, directing his superhuman strength to full extent, drew his extraordinary bow and shot down the nine superfluous suns one after another. He also ordered the last sun to rise and set according to time. For this reason, he was respected and loved by the people and lots of people of ideals and integrity came to him to learn martial arts from him. A person named Peng Meng lurked in them.

Hou Yi had a beautiful and kindhearted wife named Chang E. One day on his way to the Kunlun Mountain to call on friends, he ran upon the Empress of Heaven Wangmu who was passing by. Empress Wangmu presented to him a parcel of elixir, by taking which, it was said, one would ascend immediately to heaven and become a celestial being. Hou Yi, however, hated to part with his wife. So he gave the elixir to Chang E to treasure for the time being. Chang E hid the parcel in a treasure box at her dressing table when, unexpectedly, it was seen by Peng Meng.

One day when Hou Yi led his disciples to go hunting, Peng Meng, sword in hand, rushed into the inner chamber and forced Chang E to hand over the elixir. Aware that she was unable to defeat Peng Meng, Chang E made a prompt decision at that critical moment. She turned round to open her treasure box, took up the elixir and swallowed it in one gulp. As soon as she swallowed the elixir her body floated off the ground, dashed out of the window and flew towards heaven. Peng Meng escaped.

When Hou Yi returned home at dark, he knew from the maidservants what had happened. Overcome with grief, Hou Yi looked up into the night sky and called out the name of his beloved wife when, to his surprise, he found that the moon was especially clear and bright and on it there was a swaying shadow that was exactly like his wife. He tried his best to chase after the moon. But as he ran, the moon retreated; as he withdrew, the moon came back. He could not get to the moon at all.

Thinking of his wife day and night, Hou Yi then had an incense table arranged in the back garden that Chang E loved. Putting on the table sweetmeats and fresh fruits Chang E enjoyed most, Hou Yi held at a distance a memorial ceremony for Chang E who was sentimentally attached to him in the palace of the moon.

When people heard of the story that Chang E had turned into a celestial being, they arranged the incense table in the moonlight one after another and prayed kindhearted Chang E for good fortune and peace. From then on the custom of worshiping the moon spread among the people.

Another day, another story for a cocktail party. Life here is crazy, beautiful, exciting, unexpected.

Yesterday, as I was leaving the office and waiting for the elevator, a girl came around the corner, also to wait for the elevator. She said, “hello”. As much as I wanted to (because how does she know I speak English? I could be French.), ignoring her wasn’t an option because it was a business setting, so I said, “ni hao”. She asked me if I spoke Chinese, and I said “no, I don’t speak Chinese”, in Chinese, which always prompts a laugh and a little confusion. We exchanged introductions on the ride downstairs and, as we walked outside, I asked where she was going. She was grabbing lunch and asked if I’d like to join. I’d already eaten, but I told her I’d sit and chat. She wasn’t pretty, but neither am I, and I still talk to myself, so I figured it wouldn’t hurt. Besides, her personality was fun. Really a Chengdu girl…personality wise.

We sat down outside a small restaurant and she ordered and bowl of rice noodles. She talked and talked and talked. Her food came, but she kept talking. I fought to get a word in - only possible when she had to chew some meat. This girl was funny. 23, had lived and studied in Beijing, working in sales, etc. Totally casual, which made her kinda cute and made me start to think…. And she was patient with my Chinese, which made her even cuter. I should get a word in, I thought. Finally, I took over the conversation and dominated with all my background information and other random anecdotes about me - I have a bike, I live 10 minutes away, and I’m single. lol. Now, I know what you’re thinking…I’m gonna take this girl home with me, on my bike, right? No no no. That’d make for a cool story, but fact is always better than fiction.

Anyway, she finished eating and we got up to leave, her back to the office and me home. I arrived home and realized that my phone charger was missing. I remembered bringing it with me to the restaurant and setting it on the table, so I went back and asked the boss if he’d seen it. But this guy was especially unhelpful and rude. Not even speaking in local dialect. I think that shit was Shanghainese (they were selling bao zi) or Klingon (he looked like Worf). I could only understand 钱 (money) and 买 (buy) or was it 卖 (sell), because they both sound the same to my untrained ears. And he couldn’t even understand my 你有没有吗？(You have or don’t have?). I just played it cool and said I’d bring a Chinese friend so we could communicate. On my way to the office, I ran through all these scenarios of what happened to my charger…

Did they crush it up and use it for ingredients in bao zi?
Did he sell it to some random person who came by and saw it?
Did that girl come back and take it?

ZY accompanied me back to the restaurant and translated for me. You know what happened, right?

That girl didn’t pay for her noodles, so the boss was holding my charger hostage. Since I was so friendly with that girl, he explained, I was to pay if I wanted my charger back. Guilty by association. ZY explained that I didn’t know that girl. That we’d just met, in the elevator. But that didn’t matter to the boss. I felt where he was coming from, though. After all, 4.5 RMB (63 cents) is some make or break shit, right? So I gave him 4 RMB (50 cents) and they pulled my charger out from hiding. The exchange was smooth and no one got hurt.

Bad for my health. Good for my Chinese.

“Is your government still good?”

That’s what I’m wondering.

I can’t get enough of this city, this country. It’s fantastic. Irony, vindication, sadness. It’s all right around the corner, literally.

One of the joys of dining in China is the freedom to sit outside. The food is great, but the open-air atmosphere is bett…ok, I’ll just say easily 50% of the experience. If I was to say that there is one thing that I like about China that I cannot find in the States it would be outdoor dining. Yeah, you New Yorkers will say you have it, but come one, that’s like no space at all, the tables are so close together….it’s not even close. And there are no extracurriculars (musicians, shoe shiners, little kids selling roses, etc.) around to keep you company.

Yesterday we took a trip to a chuan chuan (meat and vegetables on a stick steeped in a big bowl of “flava”) restaurant near LJ’s house. I’d been to this place a couple of times before. The second time there, I was sitting outside with another friend, when a gentleman in his 50s (?) approached us and said hello. He asked which country I was from. I responded accordingly. He proceeded to tell me just how bad he thought my government is. Nothing new here - we start wars all over the world, etc. He’d worked in Iraq for two years, so maybe there was some emotion at play. That’s cool. I’m emotional, too.

But he wasn’t aggressive, a real grinner, actually. The type who just wants to share his opinion, so I smiled back, offered him some food, and listened patiently until I had a chance to reply. “How about your government?”, I asked, basking in the glow of facts I had at my disposal. “Very good. Very good”, he replied enthusiastically, genuinely. I could only laugh at this (like the ones who love to tell me all about my own country: abortion is illegal, Americans don’t love there families, we shouldn’t have guns, etc.), my smile wrapping around to the back of my head. It wa