If there’s one thing we can all agree on, it’s that the Chinese are pure. If there’s one thing we cannot all agree on, it’s what adjective to place after pure.

You may recall, about a year ago, I wrote a short entry about me and HJ buying peaches from two old women on the side of the road in a city about an hour away from Chengdu. The one lady, “so country”, I said, thought that I was from another province, not another country.

Well, it’s peach season again and the DJ was on the buy. Here is his story.

“4 RMB for half a kilo”, she said.

“That’s too expensive”, I (the DJ) said.

“But of course, you’re a foreigner”, she replied matter of factly.

I asked the DJ what he thought about it -

“I know that, but she’s not supposed to tell me that’s why I am being overcharged.”

“Were you mad?”, I asked him.

“Not mad, just astonished.”

“But not mad? Why not?”

“If you get mad, you play the game.”

“What game?”

“The China game.”

Spoken like a true Chinese veteran.

My thoughts -

If you can understand this story, you can basically understand the Chinese psyche. That woman was unquestionably pure in her beliefs and actions. She believed she possessed the right to overcharge him for the peaches and needn’t be discrete about it.

Where does this perceived right stem from? From the fact that he’s a foreigner? In part, but she also would have overcharged a Chinese with an accent from another region. So the perceived right stems from the fact that the party is different? That’s one way of looking at it, but it basically boils down to information asymmetry - she knows the buyer doesn’t know the local price. She overcharges not out of a personal dislike toward the buyer, but merely because she can get away with it.

Can you get with it?

After the earthquake, everyone started wearing t-shirts that say “I {heart} China”. Most are rip offs of the “I {heart} NY” design, but some vary a little, like the one that says, “I {outline of China} ONLY”. I guess it means they only love China? That’s my personal favorite, of course, and the one I was planning to buy before one of my colleagues, not wanting me to be left out of the revolutionary zeal, bought me a different one. I’d like to share it with all of you. Please forgive the fact that Chna is misspelled.

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.

If I had to write a business novel, like that one we had to read in Operations class, “The Goal”, by Eli Goldratt, my main character would, without a doubt, be the DJ, if for no other reason than he produces quotes like this:

“In business, you’ve got to be a bastard!”.

I ate dinner with him last night and he talked a little about a quality problem he was having with one of his company’s products (a headlight) that was ruffling the feathers of a new customer. Today, he would have to re-emphasize the importance of quality to his workers.

During the meeting, he grabbed a big headlight, as an example, and slammed it on the floor, shattering it to pieces. Next time, he said, it wouldn’t be a headlight, it would be a head

The fool, pictured above…是你！

One of the most unexpected, and perhaps guiltiest pleasure of living in China is….Korean girls, or KCC’s (Kim Chi Chicks) as I like to call them You’d never think that the land of Kim Jong il would produce such fine women, but it does. KCCs are a genetically modified hybrid of J and C girls. They have the fashion intelligence, though sometimes dark and boyish, of Js and the no non-sense of Cs. The empathy of Js and feistiness of Cs. The impeccable manners of Js and those sly social engineering skills of Cs. The cute coquettishness of Js and the drive of Cs. Could they be the perfect East Asian women? Let’s find out.

There’s WMY, WBY, LMY, and the one with the glasses that always wears the track suit and dances really well and speaks excellent Mandarin, whose “bap” I couldn’t manage to “bibim”…and then there’s Min Seon…Ah. Also known as “hao hao” (ok ok). Ah…Min Seon came to Chengdu to study Chinese for one year at Sichuan University. I can’t tell you how we met, but it had something to do with my love for both Korean pao cai (i.e. kimchi) and paoing mei mei. I think it really started around December of last year. I remember it was kinda cold…and I had a cold. And there was a lunch together. And then, somehow, we started text messaging…all the time. She seemed to always want to “da” (hit) me, not to be confused with wanting to “do” me. She made me Christmas card with Chinese and Korean text. And she was always saying something about AV….she watched her brother’s AV on accident. Right.

Anyway, Min Seon had studied Chinese for even less time than me, but her level was far superior, though her local dialect was not. One day Min Seon invited me to her “love house” for dinner. Of course she didn’t trust me, so two of our other friends also showed up. She can cook pretty well. After she saw I wasn’t the wolf I seem to be, she let her guard down and next thing I knew I was spending 4 or 5 nights a week watching bootleg DVDs at the “love house”. She wouldn’t watch the director’s cut of “Lust Caution” with me, though. Can you blame her? (note: The pronunciation of that movie in Chinese sounds like my name, backwards. How ironic). One night she cooked me kimchi pizza. She didn’t use bread for the crust, though. She used nian gao, which is glutinous rice. You can guess how that was. But aside from that, we always ate chips and those Japanese Pocky sticks. And xiao kao（street bbq), of course, but usually without MSG. A small sacrifice to make for a good friend. It tastes about the same, actually.

Min Seon uses words like “entropy” and “fucking damn”. She calls me “ma” and I call her “ba…bo”. She told me that all Korean actresses should be 48 kilos. She taught me that when eating Korean BBQ, you have to take it all in with one bite. Once she didn’t, and that hot sauce of theirs fell all over her shirt. ha! Her use of pinyin is second only to the King - yours truly. She taught me about the men in trench coats that expose themselves to schoolgirls (it’s like a right of passage or something). She would always walk me out of her apt under the pretense of politeness and making sure I find a cab home, but really she does it as an excuse to flirt with the security guys at the entrance to her building. She said that if I go to Korea, I’ll be able to take food into the public baths, especially yogurt, rub it on myself and then eat it. She taught me how to say “help!!!” and point to my back, so I can get old Korean men to rub yogurt on me and scrub my back with that brillo pad they use (she gave me one of those brillo pads). Once, she made me smell spoiled kimchi. She contemplates, deeply, questions like, “would you make your bf carry your purse?”. And then shows me a Korean movie about a guy who, conceding the purse, ended up walking in his gf’s high heels. And “kill kill kill” is Korean for “ha ha ha”.

Sometimes she would come out drinking. RS had told me to be careful of Korean women - they can drink any man under the table, she said. Ah…true indeed. She can drink and always appears to be just the same as when first sat down at the table. She also bought me a “cao mei beizi” (strawberry cup). She has a matching one. Anyway, as our friendship progressed, Mean Sun, as I sometimes like to call her, started to put new demands on me. Like going to IKEA for fun. She said we could get free coffee there and even food. Plus, there is a free bus that runs between the University and the store, so it would be convenient.

Hell no. She kept pushing, though. She knew IKEA was like world peace, so she settled for some other, more achievable “missions”. One was getting me to go to the Marco Polo bridge. Despite being only a 10 minute walk from her place, I never wanted to venture there. The other was to eat “banana cai”, basically fried bananas with syrup. And another was to watch a classic Chinese movie, “tian mi mi” (sweet secret). One day in April, anticipating that I’d be headed back to the States, I called up Min Seon and got down to business, fulfilling all of the missions except “IKEA travel”, as it translates to from Chinese. We documented it all, of course, but she has the pictures on her blog (see link below).

I added one mission of my own. In the most moving scene of the movie, there is a guy on is bicycle and a girl on the back and the theme song playing. This (the bike thing) is ubiquitous in China. It’s romantic, really. When I bought my bike, I had a China dream - put a mei nv on the back of my bike. Well, the first night I bought my bike I fulfilled that dream, but since Min Seon hadn’t, I figured she should be given the chance. That’s right, after doing all she asked of me, I thought it appropriate for MS to ride a bicycle with ME on the back. Oh yeah, and she had to sing the theme song from the movie.

She crashed the bike.

After the earthquake, MS went back to Korea. We never got a chance to say goodbye or go to IKEA….thankfully. She is busy protesting American beef imports, watching her brother’s AV stash while he’s away at his 2 year compulsory military duty, and updating her new blog, “mo dei wenti” (”no problem”, in local dialect).

Gotta check out my close friend and former roommate getting busy on the canvas.

Kadar Brock’s second solo exhibition at BUIA gallery in Chelsea opens Thursday, May 1. Details below.

HEAVEN IS A PLACE ON EARTH
Kadar Brock
www.kadarbrock.com
May 1st – May 31st, 2008
Opening reception: Thursday, May 1st, 6-8 pm

BUIA GALLERY
541 W 23rd St
NY NY 10011
www.buiagallery.com

If he can’t remix?

Yesterday, a few people started popping up on MSN with {heart}China{heart} as their MSN name. Today, even more had. I was afraid to ask, but I didn’t have to. Out of no where, XW sent me this link.

Here is a translation:

-Please copy this section to your MSN name: (L)China (L)
-Please put your name to the left
-Please use this case combination: China
-We recommend you use # 2 heart
-We also hope that you can mark your website, blog, or personal home page
-Let’s see an ocean of red!

Did the Ambassador change his MSN name? Damn right I did. I’m officially:

(L)China’s girls(L)

I meant to write about this earlier, but forgot and was only reminded of it yesterday.

I have a friend from Europe. He’s tall, muscular, and handsome. And when he works, he’s dead serious. He’s in charge of his company’s China operations, which includes a factory in a nearby city. One day, the assembly line went down, a technical malfunction of some sort. He was furious, but being culturally savvy as he is, he wanted to express his anger and resolve the problem entirely in Chinese. So he asked for a drawing of the technical specifications. In Chinese that would be “tu zhi” 图纸. But he’s local and knows that Sichuan people don’t pronounce the ‘h’, so he calls out “tu zi”.

“Tu zi! Tu zi!! wo yao tu zi!!!” （The specs! The specs!! I want the specs!!!)

But the problem is, when you take out that ‘h’, if your tones aren’t correct, the meaning altogether changes. What does it change to? In this case, 兔子, which means “rabbit”.

As the workers looked on dumb founded as my friend yelled for a rabbit, one found the courage to speak up and ask for clarification. A small girl, nearly half his size, with both hands forming “peace” signs, gave herself bunny ears and asked with a curious smile:

“兔子?”. (rabbit?)

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

On Tuesday, a friend’s phone was stolen out of her purse while on the bus. On Wednesday, another friend’s phone was stolen out of her purse while walking. I met a different friend on Thursday night for a drink. As we were leaving the bar, she showed me a new charm she had bought for her phone - a huge teddy bear. She stuck the phone in her coat pocket, but the bear was still hanging out. In a very brief moment of clarity, I thought that her cute care bear was just screaming for the attention of pick pocket artists (yes, here, they are artists) that stalk the streets. But the thought was fleeting and I didn’t say anything.

On Friday evening I sent her a SMS asking what she was doing. No response. A little odd I found it, but thought she might be sleeping as it was kinda late (after 9PM). I sent the same message again on Saturday afternoon. Nothing. Saturday evening we found ourselves at another fancy dinner. The private dining room, big round table sort. Gold tipped chopsticks, spoons, and plates. The place was new and really nice. Luckily, there was no intense toasting. Just wine. But when you don’t drink, that means you have to talk and, well, think. This restaurant’s designers were smart enough to know that can be a drag, so they installed big flat screen TVs in all the dining rooms.

I had a perfect view of the screen. It was one of the hidden camera exposes that you can find on almost any channel. That is, if your daring enough to watch TV here. The picture was shaky, grainy, but I thought I recognized some stores. It looked like the street lined with (mostly women’s clothing) stores outside of my apartment complex. I kept watching. All the shows here have subtitles because the spoken language is not standard, but the the written is. I was reading the subtitles and my street name popped up. And then more shots of the stores. I nudged FY, my friend/co-worker/roommate/guy sitting next to me. That’s us! What is this show about?

Initially, when I found out we had to move apartments because our old landlord’s relatives needed a place to stay, I was a little disappointed. But after seeing our new place, I was thankful. Actually, the apartment itself is just okay, but the location is amazing. Yeah, it’s center city, but what really matters is all the stores nearby. Stores = women. Young women. Lots of them. So if you lived here and wanted to pick up girls, there wouldn’t be a need to wait until night, dress up in fancy clothes, put gel in your hair, and then spend a fistful on bottle service. Instead, you’d just walk outside. Or you might even just ride the elevator. The inhabitants aren’t that bad, either. That said, what was the show about? Hookers, of course {buries face in hands}.
I digress. After dinner I sent my friend another SMS. A few of us were going to a bar for a drink and I wanted to round up some more folks to join us. No response. Finally, after leaving the bar, I checked my phone and found a message from her number:

“This is not my phone. I stole it.”

I can’t remember if I ever wrote about this girl I met a while back. It was before another night of clubbing. We went to eat street meat and I asked where the bathroom was. The boss said there wasn’t a bathroom, so I broke out some local dialect, got loud and loose - which Chendgu girls love - and before I knew it, I had a girl yelling “handsome guy” (that’s the rough, pretty corny/lame translation, but in Chinese it sounds cool…believe me) to get my attention.

Anyway, I started talking to this girl and her friend. They were semi-cute. I had my friends with me - two Chinese and another fo fo foreigner. The Chinese pretended to be Koreans and the girls ate it up, telling them how good their Chinese was, etc. It was fun and we exchanged numbers. One of the girls texted me and I set up a dinner with her and the friend. At the dinner, I was trying to make conversation and told her I wanted to buy a new phone and asked for her help. I wasn’t really too serious, but she was happy to help and set up a day and time to meet.

Anyway, the day was crazy because we took the bus everywhere and then back and back again and everywhere and I was just hungry. Feed me, woman! And I didn’t know her motive. I just wanted to go to a regular place, but she took me to a shady place and I got a cheap phone from her “friend”, but maybe she got a commission. I don’t know. HJ warned me about this this type of scheme when I first met him. It reminded me of high school when our mission was to get our friends with part-time jobs to “hook us up” with free socks, hamburgers, sneakers, whatever. As long as it was a “hook up” or a “plug”, we were happy. So I was a little nostalgic. Maybe for that reason and also because she is generally a cool girl to hang with her (she is fun and more relaxed with me than most Chengdu girls), I didn’t care her motive.

But the problem is this. She thinks my Chinese is better than it actually is. I gave her the wrong initial impression, so she just rattles of sentences in local dialect like it is nothing. Well, to her it is nothing. Actually, she can’t speak Mandarin, so maybe this is unavoidable. Maybe she has same idea, because once she said, “I’m not sure how much you understand?”. And, of course, just to perpetuate this whole thing, which is kinda amusing, I said 70% or more. Besides, if you tell people you don’t understand, they won’t speak to you and then you won’t learn Chinese. That’s my belief, at least. So just nod and smile. Or maybe it is grunt “Oh” if you are in Chengdu.

Anyway, we only met those two times, because after that I got into this 2005 50 Cent “Get Rich or Die Tryin’” phase and have been staying busy with work ever since. But, we stayed in touch by phone. A few weeks later my new phone broke. I can send messages, but not talk. The other end can hear me, but I can’t hear them. So I sent out this bulk text message saying that until further notice, everyone needs to text me or call my office. But this girl keeps calling my phone. Everyday. She refuses to send messages. But I won’t answer the phone because I have already given notice. It’s principle. It’s like Office Space. She didn’t get the memo? And I won’t send a text saying, “what do you want?” because I think if it is important, then she should text me.

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.

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.

That’s 3, 4, and 1! Tones, baby! I’m your master.

Back from the trip with the notorious HJ and his Mother, and Wife, which are both much better looking than him. One day was snowing and super cold, so we were forced to drink bai jiu. It was my first snow since leaving the US, so I was happy nonetheless. The next was better suited for sightseeing and picture taking, some of which are included below (credit: HJ). I did not include any pictures of me looking stupid (there are plenty) or the one of a tree that looks like a…camel toe. Also, I’m a camel.

This was taken at a rest area on our way up the mountains. The old lady rockin’ the pink slippers was smokin’ some heavy weight shit in her pipe. Anyway, HJ pretended to take a picture of me, while actually snapping them. We’re so discrete it’s not even funny.

This is at the same rest stop. That sign is a promo for the one-child policy.

Snow.A camel. A dinosaur.

Leaves.

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.