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.
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.
posted by jr at 7:24 AM
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