Between Hong Kong and Yunan

As a got off the plane in fresh from my trip to Hong Kong, I was struck by the extent to which I could literally taste the Beijing air. During the winter, the amount of coal being burnt to heat the city increases and, with this increase, the pollution becomes intolerable. I know that I harp on the pollution quite often, but it is honestly the thing that I’ve found the most disagreeable since I arrived in Beijing. Were the pollution not so bad, I think that living here would be much, much easier.
After returning to Beijing I only had 36 hours in the city before getting back on a plane and heading to Yunan for a few days. While I did not go back to Beijing specifically to attend the Yale Club Christmas Party, I was happy to be able to attend the event. While the party ran smoothly and has a complete success, there are a few points about the party that I’d like to point out. The first is that sharp contrast that existed between those people attending the party and the lao bai xin, or “regular joe” Beijingers on the street. Don’t get me wrong, the ability to have a conversation in English from time to time and to attend a function that feels as if it is taking place in the States is one of the reasons that I like living in Beijing—it’s comforting to know that, should I want to feel like I’m in the States, I’m able to do so. The one thing that struck me most about the party, however, was an aside that one of the younger club members made to me. While having a glass of wine/chatting away, I mentioned that the cost of attending the event and joining the yale club—only club members and their guests were allowed to attend the party—was rather steep. I went on to say that, as a recent graduate who only teaches enough English to support his language study and travel habits, I found the price to be nearly out of my range. After explaining this concern, she flippantly replied, “well, you come from money, anyways, so it really doesn’t matter.” Wow.
For the most part, this young woman is very amiable and agreeable, so I don’t want to speak poorly of her. My point is that her assumptions that I: a) came from money and b) implicitly, that mommy and daddy/my trust fund were funding my time in Beijing infuriated me. In short, the reason that I liked Yale is that I never encountered that type of moneyed and elitist snobbery while I was an undergrad. Moreover, hearing that while at a party that cost me as much money as I spend on food for at least two weeks made me realize that there are two worlds in a place like Beijing: one for those with money, and one for those without. I’m not saying that I’m in the latter group—I’m far from it. The more I read about migrant workers in this city and see their working conditions, the more I realize that I’m incredibly lucky. My point is just that, as someone on a limited budget who bikes everywhere instead of taking a cab to go from place to place, I think that I see, breathe, taste and live in a different world than many expats here.

Hong Kong

While buying a thank you note for my hosts in Hong Kong, I struck a conversation with the clerk at the store. I said that I was blown away by the cleanliness, modernity and comfort associated with life in Hong Kong and how that contrasted to life in Beijing, Hong Kong’s bigger, grittier, and more “Chinese” cousin. The clerk casually replied (in English), “what did you expect? Hong Kong and China are different countries.” Technically, that’s not true. Sort of. Nonetheless, his comment was insightful and prescient. Hong Kong is China, but it’s different. While mostly Chinese, the city has a very Western flavor. The stores are Western, the infrastructure is Western, and the ethos of the city is, in my opinion, closer to Sydney than it is to Beijing. Perhaps one reason is that the city is sub-tropical—I walked around in a t-shirt, while I’ll have to bundle up before going out in the sub-zero temperature here in Beijing. Do to the similarities with the West, Hong Kong seems like it’d be an easier place to have a family and raise kids than Beijing.
In Hong Kong, a beach with surfable waves is only 30 minutes by car away from the heart of the city. Moreover, the sleepy area around the beach had the feel of a southeast asian beach town, not of China. Within the city limits, one could get any kind of Western food or product he or she desired. Also 30 minutes from the heart of the city, although this time by foot, is the top of a mountain that looks down on the skyline and, in my opinion, the prettiest harbor in the world not in a city named Sydney.
While I’m much happier to live in Beijing than Hong Kong now—for one, people in Hong Kong generally don’t speak Mandarin, but rather Cantonese—Hong Kong is the type of place that I could see myself living in when I’m older. Beijing I’m still not too sure about. I mean, I could see my mother living comfortably in Hong Kong, which would be impossible in Beijing. I realize that this is a weird piece to come on the heels of one about spending four months on the road in rural China, but, at the age of 23, I’m constantly caught between looking into the future and living every moment in China as if I’ll never have another chance to travel and be young.

Houseguests and Graciousness

Since moving to China, I’ve spent extending periods of time with two families, first in Beijing and then in Hong Kong. In both of these instances, I’ve been touched, overwhelmed and constantly left speechless by the kindness, warmth and generosity these families have shown me. Not only have they taken me into their homes, fed me, given me a place to stay and taken me to amazing places, they’ve all made me feel as if I have a home away from home here in Asia.
The reason I bring this up is because I want to make the point that hospitality and warmth have the ability to lift someone’s spirits and put him or her in a better place both physically and emotionally. Without my friend’s family here in Beijing, I would have been lost. And alone. With them, I had a structure, a family, a mother to go to when I felt sick. The same can be said for the family in Hong Kong; I arrived sick and tired and left happy and healthy. Maybe it’s something about the expat lifestyle that draws such caring and compassionate people. Maybe it’s that they see me and see themselves, 30 years ago. Regardless of what it is, spending time with these people has made me appreciate how far a little bit of kindness can go, how little it takes to make someone feel better, and how nice people can be to those they barely know.

Solitude

Sitting in a small coffee shop central Hong Kong I realized that what I want, what I think I need, is solitude. Don’t get me wrong, I love my friends in Beijing and hanging out with people, but I think that, at some point in the near future, I’ll have to get away. There are two ways in which I mean get away: the first is in terms of reading and studying in a quiet place for long periods of time; the second involves traveling to rural China and exploring it by myself. I don’t know why, exactly, I want to get away from the city, from other people, from the stresses of daily life, but I think that I need it. Call is catharsis, call is running from life as an adult (either is fine), the point is that I want to get away. I want to travel. Relax. Think. Walk.
As of right now, I’m planning on spending April and May traveling alone in China. Thus far, there are three things that I’m contemplating doing: 1) I’m hoping to do some research/spend time with local leaders in small rural areas. Many of these individuals are involved in resistance campaigns against corrupt local cadres. I’ve been in contact with several professors who do this kind of work, so hopefully something will work out. 2) Doing Kung Fu in a monetary in the mountains of Yunan. As I’m going to Yunan tomorrow, I’ll soon have a better idea as to whether or not spending time here is something that I’d be interested in. 3) Buying a one-way ticket to a city in China and just going for it. Taking a guidebook, a few changes of clothes, and figuring it out as I go.
I should also note that I’ll be traveling with a good friend from June 5th – August 5th through many parts of China. By combining these two trips and a visa run to Hong Kong in the middle, I think that I’d really be able to see and experience China. I also think that a few weeks by myself followed by 2 months with a good friend would be a great way to refocus my energies and myself before looking for a “real” job in August.

Doing It

As all of you know, I live in Beijing. After spending a few days in Hong Kong, I’ve realized how raw, exciting and different life in Beijing is. From the workers smoking cigarettes, riding bikes and doing construction in sandals to the sweet potatoes sold off of garbage can-like rolling carts on the street, life in Beijing is different. And interesting. But, given the large expat population, it is very easy to eat Western food, only speak in English, and get from place to place in a cab. While this lifestyle has its merits, it makes it hard to see, observe and truly experience life in Beijing. To really live the lifestyle here, I think that one needs to bike, one needs to eat in the small shops on the street, and one needs to observe. After coming back from Hong Kong, I’ve realized that I was in autopilot in Beijing—not taking pictures of my surroundings, not experiencing things as I should.
Linked to these observations was a talk a had with my older sister last week. She pointed out, correctly, that this is my year to experience China and explore. If the jobs I’m interested in regarding law reform and the practice of law here in Beijing don’t pan out in August, I’ll have to go home and start my life in the States. While this wouldn’t be the end of the world, it made me realize that my time here in China is short. And precious. And that I should use it as best I can so I return to the States with no regrets. I’ve tried to do this the last few weeks through checking out cool sites in Beijing, finding a better and more convenient English-teaching job, going to Hong Kong and resolving my visa issues, and deciding to go with a group of volunteers to Yunan to spend a weekend volunteering and teaching English in a remote mountain village.

A Bad China Week

Last week, I had what many people call “A China Week.” China Weeks are something that every expat living here experiences—or, shall we say, endures—from time to time. My China week started Thanksgiving night. After speaking with several friends, I realized that the way in which I had decided to renew my visa was expensive, laborious, time consuming and riddled with complications. Obviously, coming to this realization put me in a less-than-stellar mood. After dinner, I biked back to my apartment, I packed my bags and got ready for a weekend of dog sitting at a friend’s place. The dog sitting gig was something that I’d been looking forward to for a long time. Beyond the Western style food, which is nice, I was truly looking forward to some time alone. To think. And relax. And watch T.V. And reflect. It’s not that I had been unhappy with my life here in Beijing, it was just that I wasn’t doing what I wanted to do. For example, I wanted to spend a lot of time with Chinese but found myself hanging out in expat bars; I wanted to explore the city, but I’d never been to the Westside; I wanted to spend time reading and studying, but I always seemed to be busy, etc.
The next day, I woke up; still a little miffed by the visa complications, I began to bike over to my friend’s house. On my way over, a cab suddenly veered off the road and into an entryway, and, in the process, sideswiped me as I passed the very same entrance to the Worker’s Stadium. Bike wheels bent. Glasses broken. Face bleeding. Back in serious pain. Stunned, I was unable to remember the license plate number of the cabbie. And, while most accidents are settled at the scene, this one wasn’t—the cabbie took off the second he saw that I was a lao wai, or foreigner. Honestly, I would have done the same thing. I eventually got up and walked my bike to a local shop, where I man slowly and diligently fixed my bike. This service, which cost 50 cents, took about 30 minutes, the entirety of which I spent bleeding out of my face. Eventually, I made it to my friend’s house, where I had my first “I need to leave China…now.” moment.
After spending a few days in seclusion, I spoke with my older sister, who pointed out that I was living in China, and that I should treat everyday as an opportunity to explore, to do something interesting. (the contents of this conversation, and how it effected me, will be the subject of my next posting). Nonetheless, this conversation inspired me to get on the subway and go to a random spot the next Monday. I eventually ended up at the Military Museum—a big, Communist building with marble staircases, 25 foot ceilings, and a 20 ft. statue of Chairman Mao in the entryway. After several hours of wandering through picture after picture of the Chairman, and looking at artifacts from the Revolution, I decided that it was time to leave the museum. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to do this until I walked through a huge retrospective—complete with videos, testimonials, and artifacts—of the Long March, which was celebrating its 70th anniversary. When I asked a Chinese about why, exactly, the Long March retrospective was at the end and something that was forced upon ever visitor, she responded that Chinese people like to save the best for last. Don’t I do the same thing when eating grapes, she asked. I replied that, as an American, we generally like to see the good stuff first—upon entering a museum, Americans always run to the most famous painting first (i.e. the Mona Lisa). That night, I grabbed dinner with a good friend.
The next day I went to the Lama Temple with a friend. The Temple was nothing special, but it was nice to do another touristy thing. Moreover, it was finally hang out with her as we’d been having the “you’re fun and we should get together at some point” conversation for a month or so. After walking through the Temple, we wandered around hutongs and eventually settled on a place for a 5 pm snack. After parting ways, I went to the gym in an attempt to get in to shape for this March 31st Half Iron Man.
Wednesday after school, I went to work. After tutoring a few kids and eating a Subway sandwich for dinner, I returned home, where I proceeded to eat some of the Chinese food in the fridge. I’m not sure if it was the Subway, the 2 Snickers, the Chinese food, or the combination, but something I ate woke me up in the middle of the night with a case of la du zi (or hot stomach). While this wouldn’t have been all that bad normally—stomach problems and living in China go together pretty well—I had been having a bad week. And I had both an interview for a new English teaching job and a meeting with a Beijing-based lawyer I’d been trying to meet with for months on Thursday. Sick as a dog and a little green, I managed to convince the English teaching firm to hire me and then went on to have a great conversation with the lawyer.
As a recent grad, I consistently feel pressure to get a good job, to make something of myself, to enter the work world. Indeed, most of my friends from college are either in grad school or making $70,000+ a year ibanking or consulting in New York. At time, juxtaposing their lives—work, drink, work, work—with mine, makes me feel as if I should be doing something more with my time than living in Beijing, studying Chinese and working. Other times, this contrast makes me glad to be doing something interesting, something that I’ll remember.
It turns out that the lawyer I met with—who is now a big deal with an international firm—spent two years after college teaching English in China. He then spent a year living in Taipei before returning to grad school in the States. During our talk, he said that I should take the 4-month backpacking trip in rural China I’m planning to do from April – August. And, like every other older expat living in Beijing with whom I’ve spoken, he thought that spending a year traveling, studying Chinese and making enough money to survive was the right thing to do. Although the stomach was still a little off after our talk, he helped reinforce my belief that I should treat this year as a year to be young. To explore. To travel. To do interesting things.
The next day, I left for Hong Kong, where I spent 5 days reading, relaxing, and resolving visa issues.