Stick a Chopstick in Me - I'm Done

In a few hours I'll board a plane to Vancouver and put my month in Beijing behind me. I'll also leave behind three t-shirts, a pair of pants, shoes, and a well-soiled baseball hat to make room in my luggage for Tommy Bahama knock-offs. I will, however, take away fond memories, lifelong friendships, and video footage to preserve the former and strain the latter.

While I wait for the Air Canada ticket agents to complete their pre-shift inspection and song, I’ll share a few observations about Beijing and China. As I mentioned in an early post, I had expected a crowded, loud, and dirty city. Beijing is a far cry from that caricature. It is a clean (smog excepted), safe, and relaxed community where the people will always soften their curious stare with a smile when one is offered to them. I have found my hosts and the service to be welcoming, warm, and gracious from arrival through departure.

There have been some headaches. Email is hit-and-miss and the security infrastructure often removes even the most benign file attachments. While I have been able to keep this blog, I can't actually read it because the blogspot.com URL is blocked. I won’t miss taxi rides that rival the final lap at Talladega for terror, nor the army of vendors that has attempted to sell me a Chairman Mao wristwatch. But why whine about that when all you really need is meat on a stick, a fifty cent beer, and a karaoke catalogue full of Whitney Houston ballads. Beijing has plenty of that.

My time here would not have been one of my most rewarding and satisfying experiences without the friendship of my fellow CTPers - Dylan, Elaine, Habeel, Louise, Matthew, and Nadia (and honourary CTPers Thao & Dave). Whether it was bargaining for shirts or snoring through foot massages - I'll remember every minute of our time together and I'll miss you all. For those continuing your travels, I'll be thinking of you. For those showing up at work over the next few weeks, I'll be calling you to grab some deep-fried pork fat.

Lost in Translation

On the whole, Chinese to English translations have been very good, but I have stumbled across some amusing exceptions.

From menus across the city:

Franch Style Fried Gooseliver
Chicken Leg in Salt
Younger Sister's Spicy Prawn Palace
Hogs Feet Through the Secret Way
Eight Immortals Crossing the Sea
Sliced Beef Knuckle in Soya Sauce
Goose Flapper with Mushrooms

The best yet is this banner draped over an outdoor beer garden:

(Please keep your voicedown.don't distub the neighbours! Remember shut up just drink!)

Temple of Heaven

The Temple of Heaven is my final sightseeing visit in Beijing. Like Beihai Park and Hou Hai, the Temple of Heaven is a quiet sanctuary within an ambitious megalopolis. The temple’s walls partition the roaring city from a peaceful 2.7 million square meter garden that cradles the brilliant shrine. Passing through the temple gates and leaving the traffic behind, we found relief from the thirty-six degree heat in a cool forest of stout evergreens. The temple was constructed in 1420 and was used by the emperors of the Ming and Qing dynasties to worship heaven and pray for bountiful harvests. Today, the main buildings such as the Alter of Prayer for Good Harvests (pictured) are swarmed by tourists, but the park remains a tranquil refuge where Chinese families find serenity over a picnic lunch and a game of dominos.

And I Thought They Used Chopsticks

Last summer, at my favourite retailer, my mother found a fly swatter that executes insects by electrical charge (and stings a human pretty badly if he is senseless enough to touch the business end). At the time, I thought it was just a novelty, but with Beijing's mosquito season in full swing, the hotel staff has launched a Shock and Awe campaign against the pests. The industrial version of the swatter has a double-layered electrical grid and an oversized raquet head. When caught by an inside-out forehand, the bug is killed and cremated. It is a weapon for the jihad of mosquito wars.

Chinese Medicine

At the end of another off-key karaoke, with Eminem's Without Me ringing in my ears, I relented to the urging of friends and tried a Chinese foot massage. This is no reflexology session. You are not asked whether you prefer eucalyptus- or lavender-scented essential oil. There is no musical fusion of surf and oboe. The manhandling is delivered by an attendant who may understand "ouch" and little more. Before you can back out, your shoes are gone, your ankles are seized, and your feet are plunged into scalding-hot water. With your eyes tearing from the pain, you're given a back and shoulder massage that is as relaxing as a flurry of kidney punches. Once parboiled, your feet are removed from the cedar basin, knuckles are driven hard into the soles of your feet, and your toes are pulled so viciously that they make the sound of a whip cracking. Whether I fell asleep or passed out from the pain, I was awoken after ninety minutes by the the clapping of hands under my nose. Torture. I have a follow-up tomorrow.

Brand Piracy

Further to yesterday’s post on trademark infringement, I discovered this car not far from the university.

Who'd have thought a Camry could look so stylish?

The Silk Market

Bargaining is an unsettling ordeal for most westerners, but it is especially so at Beijing’s high-octane Silk Market. Slowing to look at the merchandise is an invitation for a full-court press by the vendor who will do anything to stop you from walking away, usually applying a vice-like grip with acrylic nails dug deep in your arm. Some will hook your backpack with a metal pole and reel you back like a helpless sunfish. Buying an item for your wife prompts the sales girl to suggest, deadpanned, an additional purchase for your girlfriend, in yet another example of how the French are tarnishing the good name of western society.

Although the Silk Market is an obscene flouting of trademarks, there is superficial acknowledgement of a problem with apparently random inspections by authorities. I nearly had several digits severed at the knuckles during one such “roust” when, while browsing through fake Gucci watches, a warning call from the escalator cued the sales girls to slam the display cases shut and toss them behind the counter. Several minutes later, a couple of disheveled inspectors strode by, throwing only a cursory glance at the remaining wares.

I didn’t find the Silk Market as intriguing as Nassau’s Straw Market, for either the merchandise or the people. It’s an air conditioned and sterile multi-level complex that made me think of Sears on crack, but if you like to shop, this could be your Mecca.

"I don't take my shoes off for anyone"

Our colleagues visited from Shanghai over the weekend, so we rode through the Hutongs (back allies) in a parade of rickshaws to show them old Beijing. Unlike the grubby operators on Toronto's Front Street, who pull rickshaws on foot, advertising hot oil massages, the Chinese have recognized the benefits to both operator and patron of using a bicycle. Starting at Hou Hai, our convoy whipped through the narrow roads, scattering wide-eyed tourists, before we were delivered to a Malaysian restaurant off the beaten path. The restaurateur deposited us in a quiet and dimly-lit lounge where we sat cross-legged on a bed of pillows (apparently we were supposed to be shoeless) and sipped iced mojitos while the staff wandered off into the Hutong maze to buy fresh ingredients for our meal. The dinner itself was one of the best we've had in Beijing. Served in an open courtyard, we ate curries, grilled fish, and tarot pudding, and actually needed propane heaters during a welcome reprieve from the withering summer heat.

A Chinese Leon Phelps

Our Great Wall adventure was made possible by our guide, Leo, the name he chose after seeing Titanic and concluding that sharing DiCaprio’s name would be an advantage with girls. He speaks with a thick cockney accent, the result of learning English from British, Australian, and American clients, and he has mastered pick-up lines in dozens of languages. The route we took was of his own scouting, research, and design – guaranteeing the absence of other people. Leo left his home on the China-Russia border only two years ago at the age of eighteen, but he has already been featured in The Seattle Times for leading groups through the Mongolian grasslands and to hell and back on the Great Wall. His youth is belied by both the flecks of white in his hair and the maturity with which he handles clients – attending to every need be it food, hot showers, historical context, or discretely waking up laggards. He mixes well with westerners and possesses a curiosity of the broader world that prompts endless questions about politics, geography, and, of course, women. In a place where westerners are often concerned about being fleeced, our two days in Leo’s charge were worth every penny of the $100 spent.

Lactic Acid in Beijing

The guest house in Shuihu was little more than three cinderblocks around a paved courtyard that served as both dining area and bonfire pit. When we entered through the gate, two enormous mongrels growled at us and pulled on chains that were lashed to walnut trees. I was uneasy about the dogs, unsure of whether they were pets or livestock, but it crossed my mind several times that evening that they could appear on the breakfast table just as easily as the trout that floated listlessly in a trough beside the outhouse.

In our wasted state, comfort was of little concern and a cardboard box full of sweating Tsing Tao and ice water was welcome relief. Our hosts went right to work in the kitchen and tabled a feast of kung pao chicken, barbecued fish, and crispy river shrimp. I didn't last long at the campfire and my head soon hit the sack of rice at the end of my cot. The next morning, confident the dogs had made it through the night, I enjoyed fried bread, omelette, and corn meal porridge - my first warm breakfast since arriving in China.


Sympathetic to our stiffening limbs, Leo spared us the torture of another climb and took us to a resevoir called Suichang Cheng (water side of the Great Wall) where I could enjoy the Wall from the safety of solid ground. On our way back to Beijing, we stopped at a restaurant that offered not only the best eggplant in China, but also the world's most utilitarian lavatory (below).


Our final stop was at the Ming Tombs where we were reunited with the herd of western tourists that migrates between Beijing's headline sites. At this point, my quadriceps had stopped cooperating and I waddled to a bench in the parking lot to watch French Canadians helplessly search for their tour buses.

Point Me to the Escalator

Departing the hotel yesterday in air-conditioned comfort, my expectations for visiting the Great Wall of China were along the lines of a Team Canada trade mission where we all posed leisurely for publicity shots and then spent a relaxing hour sauntering the Wall before jumping back in the van. I imagined visiting the Starbucks that is now stationed at the Wall, even buying a cold beer or two from vendors whose English vocabulary is limited to “Hello – water, coke, beer”. I did not anticipate repeated near-death experiences at 1200 meters.


Now, those of you who have been with me skiing, canoeing, to Canada’s Wonderland, to a darkened movie theatre, or to Milwaukee, know that I am a big chicken and will assume that I am exaggerating. I am not. Perhaps I should have been suspicious about the text message that Leo, our guide (more on him another day), sent to us at dinner on Tuesday reminding us to wear hiking boots. Maybe I should have clued in when Leo appeared to bribe a gatekeeper to just let us near the Wall. Doubtless, I should have clung to the earth and thrown a tantrum when I read the sign, “The Great Wall Closed for Reconstruction”, that was clearly posted at the spot where we left the van. It seems, however, that the abundance of extreme caution that governs my life on every other day called in sick yesterday and I ignorantly bounded up a mountain, the top of which I could not see.


It took us an hour reach the summit, my lungs burning as though I’d finished a marathon (alright, the 100 meters) and my legs shaking like the paint machine at the hardware store. At this point, a quick survey of my surroundings suggested this would be a fairly brief visit because, in either direction, I could not detect any possible way to travel. There are parts of the Great Wall that the Chinese Government has spent a fortune restoring and walking it is like taking a stroll on a boardwalk. This is not one of those places. I don’t think the Chinese government cares very much about the psychopaths that attempt to travel on this part of the Wall. It’s telling that in a country with one billion people and many tourists, we did not see another human being for the next seven hours.


The section of the Wall that we followed is called Jiankou, for its resemblance to a bow, and it is the most blood chilling place on earth that I have been. Entire sections of the Wall have eroded and crumbled into the valleys below. At times, we would be climbing a steep incline with nothing to either side except sky. The Great Wall traces mountain ridges, and many of the dozen or so peaks we crossed required the use of both hands and feet to ascend an earthen wall or nerves of steel to gingerly shuffle down crumbling granular that gave way under foot like marbles on ceramic tile. At one point the Wall became impassible, forcing us to descend a 70-degree incline along its side using apricot trees as belays.


Terror aside, each foot of the Wall left me in awe. I can say this because I took the it one foot at a time, too petrified to look beyond. The Wall itself is obviously an impressive work of architecture and engineering, the bricks held together in many places with a mortar made from sticky rice. Even from my white-knuckle vantage point, the view from the Wall is breathtaking in every direction, and it was especially so as the sun dipped low on the horizon, bringing each contour of the Wall and its enveloping valleys into focus in the softer light.


After four hours of exhausting climbing (and in my case, clinging), we reached our final peak and the steepness and the heavy thicket that had sliced our shins and tugged at our clothes gave way to a reasonably relaxing walk. The presence of actual wall to both sides allowed me to resume breathing. As the sun set, we left the Wall, descending to Xiang, a dried reservoir, where we were an easy (and flat) walk to a primitive guest house in a village called Shuihu.

Stay Tuned

We're leaving this morning for a two-day trek to the Great Wall. We've arranged for an english-speaking guide and driver to take us by van to the Wall where we'll stay in a guest house overnight. On the way back we plan to visit the Ming Tombs outside the city.

Beihai Park

The Beijing summer that I'd been warned about has set in and it's an oppressive thirty-three degrees. To escape the heat we visited Beihai Park, a welcoming oasis within the city, sandwiched between the Forbidden City and Hou Hai and cooled by a strong southwesterly breeze off the water. From the island on the east side of its lake, you can climb a steep set of stairs to the towering White Dagoba, built in 1651. From there, you have a great view of the city, for as far as the haze will permit. There's a joke in the city that Beijing's official bird is the crane and, in every direction, construction cranes dot the horizon as the city grows before your very eyes.

Bentonville to Beijing

To prepare for a class about Wal-Mart's pay equity challenges, we paid a visit to the local Supercentre. Beijing's Wal-Mart is not a big-box island in a sea of parking, but a multi-level department store housed in an office tower. No fewer than seven greeters welcomed us to "Wah-R-Mar" and there was always a blue smock trailing me through the aisles armed with the same awestruck stare to which I'm starting to become accustomed. This is not my first trip to a Wal-Mart store on foreign soil, but unlike Kathy, the sporting goods manger in Seneca Falls, NY, nobody at this store congratulated me on my command of english. The most notable distinction between North American stores and the Beijing store is the unused floor space. The aisles are wide and empty, so you don't have to squeeze around end-caps and baskets overflowing with rubber balls, and the shelves are much shorter. To my surprise, DVDs were priced at less than $2 Canadian - only pennies more than they go for on the street. I'll suspend my suspicion and assume that Wal-Mart is not risking the liability of selling pirated films. Now, if only I could find a Giant Tiger...

When in Rome...

Last night we strayed from the beaten tourist path and experienced Beijing as locals. Afternoon reconnaissance by two of my friends led us to a dimly-lit lane where we dined outdoors at a teetering card table and drew dumbfounded stares from the regulars. Despite warnings from friends before I left, I tasted my first Chinese street meat - skewered goat, chicken, and shrimp barbecued on a primitive hibachi. After the street meat, we feasted on mutton stew, eggplant, and fried rice. It was one of the best meals I've had, no doubt assisted by the endless flow of Tsing Tao beer.

We capped the night off with karaoke. Unlike at home, where I have viscously assaulted the senses of strangers and embarrassed friends and family, the Chinese limit the damage by giving each group its own room where you are free to butcher any and all songs in its catalogue. For those of you who are wondering, I did manage to find a few George Strait tunes and introduced Beijing to Fool Hearted Memory.

About that weight loss...

Last night I discovered a dish for which I have waited my whole life. Fried cubes of pork fat served in hot sauce. Giddyup!

Fitness in Beijing

At 5:00 a.m. the campus is already busy with people walking, running, stretching, and performing martial arts. Adjacent to the running track, there is a medieval-looking exercise yard that, while not exactly Venice Beach circa 1979, allows weightlifters to wake the rest of campus by smashing out reps. My favourite activity is the ballroom dancing that takes place in the Pavilion across the pond from my hotel and in many parks across the city. The music starts after breakfast and elderly Beijingers, many in their eighties, dance well into the evening when the facility is lit with lanterns.

There are some quirks in how people go about their exercise. For example, in a place where running shoes can be found for less than $10 Canadian, I routinely see businessmen jogging in dresspants and wingtip shoes. The oddest activity I've seen so far was a man in a shirt and tie throwing a heavy white rock several feet in the air with one hand and catching it with the other. When the rock hit the ground, he contorted his body in any possible way to reach it without moving his feet and then resumed his game of catch.

I expect to lose quite a bit of weight during my stay, but that has more to do with the absence of French fries and Big Bacon Classics than it has to do with my participation in any of these activities.

Joy ride

At the risk of either my mother or my wife reading this post, I borrowed a friend's bicycle to drop off my laundry today. This is a perilous venture anytime, where the rules of the road are determined only by vehicle size, but is particularly thrilling on a $10 bike with one working pedal. I'll be cabbing it to pick up the clothes.

My hysterics aside, Beijing moves quickly even during rush hour. Despite the apparent chaos, I have only seen one fender-bender and no gridlock, at least as we know it in Toronto. In fact, it is easier to travel from one side of Beijing to the other than it is to do the same at home.

Forbidden City

It was a perfect day in Beijing with enough wind to keep the smog from covering a bright blue sky and the mountains that surround the city. We took advantage of the mild weather and visited the Forbidden City, a 750,000 square-meter palace that is a maze of red walls and pavilions overlooking Beijing. It took us four hours just to walk around the complex without really exploring its many rooms and galleries. We recovered over dinner at Hou Hai Lake, where cobblestone pedestrian streets are lined with lakeside patios.

A new standard for service

There was a small fire in the kitchen of our hotel's restaurant today, closing it for lunch. Instead of turning us away, the manager, Mr. Lee, drove us and an english-speaking hostess to a fine dining restaurant elsewhere on campus where they served us a magnificent lunch of stuffed duck, fish casserole, and green vegetables. Throughout the meal, our hostess stayed by our table assisting us through the menu and even tolerating our request for entertainment recommendations. At the end of the meal, Mr. Lee, who had stayed at with us, graciously returned us to the hotel. Even better than the Hampton Inn.

A few quick thoughts

I've now been in Beijing for three full days and I'm finally starting to recover from the sensory overload. I arrived on Thursday in a driving rainstorm and, despite obvious communication barriers with my cab driver, was safely delivered to Tsinghua University's Jin Chun Yuan Hotel. The accommodations have exceeded my expectations in every respect. The hotel has an excellent restaurant (with colourful pictures to assist with ordering) and every amenity one would expect from a full service hotel (including high speed Internet). The campus is beautiful with gorgeous ponds, islands, and parkland to explore. I'll describe the campus and show some more pictures in a subsequent post.

My colleagues helped my Chinese immersion immediately with a hot pot dinner (think fondu). The adventure was heightened by a power failure that made each bite a surprise. I'm really fortunate that three of my friends are fluent in Mandarin, but this will likely just ensure that I remain a clueless and lazy tourist for the duration of my stay.

On Friday we visited Tiananmen Square and explored some of the Hutongs (small narrow streets) in and around the city centre. It's in a restaurant off one of these allies where I had my first taste of Peking Duck and the best hot and sour soup I've ever had, bumping Spadina Garden from the #1 position on my list of all-time great hot & sour soups (I thought Spadina Garden would hold on to the top spot for at least a couple of weeks).

In northwest Beijing, where I'm staying, there is a cluster of several universities. I have spent the last couple of days exploring this district and the Tsinghua campus itself. It is an exceptional campus, rivaling even Queen's University in Kingston (note, I did not say besting). We start our teaching tomorrow, but I'll try and post something every day to keep folks at home up to date on what I'm up to.