Strange Stones: Zhangjiajie Day One

Hello everyone. Hope your work week went well. Those of us lucky enough to be in "Communist" China got (almost) the whole week off for National "day." Don't get me wrong, I love America as much as the next guy, but we need to reevaluate our levels of patriotism. If we as a nation can shut down the government over a bill that's already been passed by congress, signed by the president, and vetted by the supreme court, then why can't we collectively decide to take 4-days off to celebrate our national independence like our red friends across the pond?

I'm just kidding America. I love you for all your backwardness, and Chinese holidays are as deceptive as their meat dishes. For example in honor of the recent Mid-Autumn festival we were given Thursday and Friday off, buuuuut we had to make up Friday's class on Sunday, essentially only giving us one vacation day, and shifting our weekend so that the next work week was a brutal 6 days long. Weird stuff. At least I know I can count on the American congress never, ever, nevereverever, making me go to school on a Sunday. Plus, the Chinese aren't even stoked about their National holiday. The country that invented fireworks doesn't even like to use them at the seemingly most appropriate time. No one talks about the nation, or puts up flags, or shows any extra sort of patriotism. They just enjoy the time off, visit their families, and, if they're able, travel across the country. It's odd, and different, but I wasn't complaining. I joined in the lack of festivities, packed my bags, and went to the topic of today's blog: Zhangjiajie (aka where Avatar was filmed). Fair warning: I took more pictures than a preteen girl in a bathroom, so brace yourself.

Zhangjiajie is located in Hunan province, which, conveniently for me has some of the spiciest food in all of China. As an added bonus, my friend/travelling companion/classmate Paul can't handle spicy food, so I got to watch him survive a three-day hiking trip on a diet of rice, potato, and egg dishes (Paul if you're reading this, you did great buddy). The attraction of course, has nothing to do with the food, and more to do with the scenery which, in a word, is stunning. Seriously. I had only heard of Zhangjiajie because of people posting crazy pictures from it on the internet, and I was not disappointed. My sister, who takes photography a bit more seriously than me (I have an adorable 2-inch Nikon Coolpix, she has cameras and equipment worth well over $1000) could have spent weeks there. I almost felt guilty for not bringing a better camera.

Before you get to see all the pictures, a little necessary background. Zhangjiajie is a national park in China, and a UNESCO World Heritage Site, so you know it's the real deal. As I said it's in Hunan province, which is right above Guangxi province/semi-autonomous region (don't ask), but it was still a bit of a journey. We took an overnight train from Guilin to Changsha, the capital of Hunan province, which took about 9 hours, then it was a 3 or 4 hour bus ride from there to Zhangjiajie city, and finally a 40 minute cab-ride from the bus station to our hotel, which was a few miles from the park itself. Needless to say, the train beds and bus seats were designed for the average Chinese man or woman, not my tall, awkward self. This meant that they left a little a lot to be desired when it came to leg room, padding, and other conveniences I've sadly realized I rely on. When we arrived at our destination I was more than ready to get to the park the following day and stretch my legs. Ha. Ha. Ha.

Day One: Walk, Take pictures, Climb Stairs, Take pictures, repeat for 12 hours or until there is no feeling in the Gluteus maximus or minimus.

We woke up at 630, got ready, ate breakfast at the hotel, hopped on a bus and arrived at the park at around 830. The tickets were 150 kuai or about $25 American for a three day pass. They give you a card that gets scanned upon entry and take your thumbprint because... well, it's China, who knows. We walked in eager to start our day's hike. We had met three Chinese girls at our hotel, and the suave devil Bryan, our groups' nearly fluent go-to white guy, latched our group on to theirs, and we used them as free tour guides. AND Bryan eventually ended up getting a number. You go Bryan. The entrance itself was cool:

And within five minutes our free tour guides/new friends had us walking along one of the many scenic paths. That's where these were taken:

These were just the warm-ups, the foreplay if you will, of the sights, and of the amount of exertion it would require to see them. Pretty soon, we had gone deeper into the park, and arrived at the bottom of set of stairs. They looked innocent enough. They went up and then wrapped around the corner and you lost sight of them. After all, I'm athletic, and it is just stairs. 

Wrong. So very wrong. Those stairs that curled seductively around the corner of the mountain led to another set of stairs, and another, and another. We climbed up steep, uneven, crowded stairs for about an hour and a half straight. I was struggling after about half an hour. Chinese people amaze me though, some of these people were at least 60 or 70 years old, and they just kept on climbing. Slow and steady, one step at a time, until they reached the top. I hope to be half as active at that age. Their attire was interesting too. The Chinese don't put a lot of stock in buying different clothes for different occasions, say, hiking all day up mountains for example. While I was equipped in shorts, hiking boots, and my awesome Reptar t-shirt, I saw Chinese women wearing dresses, skirts, and even heels. The men weren't much different either. Some wore slacks, leather dress shoes, and button-down shirts (most of which came off, or were rolled up very soon into the ascent). One such man, who I assume was a middle aged businessman, had already ditched his shirt, but it wasn't enough. On one of the landings where climbers sought brief reprieves, he vomited, and boy did his friends laugh. I couldn't get a good translation, I was exhausted, they used dialects, (insert several other excuses here) but I'm pretty sure they were calling him the Chinese version of a little b*tch. They were relentless too, their hazing would make even the most depraved Fratboy think twice. Eventually, the man who vomited had to use what has to be the most ridiculous service I've ever seen: The aforementioned old men, one on each side, offer to carry you up this ridiculously steep, and ridiculously tall mountain in a litter. The thought of hiring someone to do that just blew my mind. Thankfully, for my conscience's sake, I only saw the man who had vomited, and who probably had heat exhaustion, and one clearly rich, clearly lazy woman, take them up on their offer. But still. Really?

Anyways, the hike was hard, really hard, but it was worth it, really worth it:

We had thought we had reached the top of our mountain. The stairs seemed to start their descent, and their didn't seem like there was anywhere higher to go. Wrong, again. The path took a slight downward orientation before hitting a small market with overpriced goods (or completely fairly priced if you consider that someone had to carry them all the way up there) Then we saw the sign:

In suitably broken English, and entirely clear Chinese, it taunted us. 186 steps and you were there. The landing above was called Heavenly Peak if I remember correctly. After trudging up exactly 186 steps (of course I counted) we made it:

We took our time at the top, taking in the sights, and I celebrated our success with a rapid imbibing of a weak alcoholic beverage through a perforation in the lower quadrant of the aluminum can in which it resided, assisted by the dual forces of air pressure and gravity (in layman's terms, I shotgunned a beer). 

The first picture posted above, with the large pagoda in the distance, was actually our destination. We continued our hike and arrived at the 4-story pagoda/gift shop:

From there we exited through the back of the Pagoda, where Bryan and I were ambushed by two very excited, very hyper preteen Chinese girls. They asked us if they could take pictures with us, which was odd, but we agreed and just made a funny pose. You know, I never thought people would rush up to me asking to take pictures with me, but I really never thought that the reason for said rushing would be the color of my skin. Every now and then I do catch a Chinese person trying to coyly snap a picture of me, but it's a weird feeling. I didn't ask for this fame, guys.

Anyways, we left the pagoda and found a small stretch of market stalls selling the typical tchotchke. And then I saw it. The symbol of the corporation that started it all. Representing the entirety of American cultural imperialism in two, beautiful, curved, golden arches. That's right, folks, McDonalds put a restaurant on top of a f'in mountain:

'Murica. In spite of my usual impulse to eat anything that is even vaguely considered unhealthy, because it usually tastes great, I passed on the Mickey D's this time. It was the middle of the hike, and I didn't want to end up like these guys: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vaS1xQvQEKg

Also at the top of the mountain are railings where you can place locks as wishes for certain things. The wish corresponds to the placement of the lock. For example there was an area for family health, romance, and old age. In typical Chinese fashion they took care of the family first:

We journeyed onward for hours, before descending a different tortuous set of stairs. My knees felt like giving out the whole time, but we made it back to the hotel, ate some dinner, got some sleep, and geared up for Day Two (coming soon to a blog near you) A few bonus pictures, because you guys are worth it:

  

Hostels Aren't That Hostile

Due to popular demand, you guys get two posts today. This past weekend I went to the town of Yangshuo with some classmates and teachers. It's a happening little town and it's only a 2 hour bus ride from Guilin. The purpose of the trip was to see a live performance directed by the same guy who directed the Beijing Olympics opening ceremony. Just as during the ceremony, the show relied on massive amounts of performers working in unison to create some really cool visual effects. This time, however, the entire show was on the water, which made it even more impressive. It was incredibly well done. My pictures didn't turn out very well so I've only included the one, a picture of the three biggest floating stages: 

We stayed the night in a hostel called Monkey Jane's. It was my first hostel experience and it wasn't all that bad. They had a rooftop bar with WiFi and a beer pong table. You got a free t-shirt if you beat Monkey Jane in beer pong (each attempt cost $5) or carried ten cases of beer up the stairs to the bar. (Our group did not win a free t-shirt, but only due to poverty and laziness) The place was relatively clean and I appreciated their sense of humor:

The next morning we went hiking/explored the relatively small town. Even though the town itself didn't have much to offer outside of large open-air market, the scenery was incredible.

View from a pagoda atop one of the karst mountains: 

My buddy Paul and I:

Candid shot of my friend Brian and I

Because, China:

River Cruise:

Yangshuo is a cool little city tucked away in the mountains, not unlike the college town I usually call home. We ate at a British expat's restaurant and I enjoyed (no, really, I did) some of the worst pizza I've ever had, and just took in the change of scenery. It was a welcome break from Chinese food and Guilin, and I even got to sample some authentic German beer with our group's authentic German, Jochen (pronounced Johan). You'd be amazed about how particular a German is about his beer, the amount, the glass it's poured into, and a million other factors that apparently influence taste. As a 20 year old American college student I was just stoked I could drink in public. I looked on with envy because I believe the American legal system is the most just and should be applied all over the world, and I of course wanted to lead by example.

RIP CND

Diggin' the New Digs

Ah, big-city livin'. Well, kinda. Guilin is a big city by any of the world's standards, but it sprawls in all directions, and the square mileage and population count can include towns and suburbs that are hours away, so it can be a bit misleading. Regardless, this is the first time I've lived in a city for any extended period of time, and apart from the virtual apartment tour you, valued reader, are about to receive, allow me to share a few other aspects of my daily life, that cannot be easily captured by a camera. First and foremost has to be the construction. There is construction, and the noise that accompanies it, seven days a week, at any hour of the morning or night. They are building a strip mall right outside my apartment complex, beyond the wall on the right side of this photo:

Next are the children: Even with the one-child policy, and the lack of interest or ability of many Guilin(ers?)(ites?) in affording multiple children, there are plenty of the little buggers running around. They're quite often hilarious, and I understand them better than their parents or other adults (probably because their vocabulary is almost as limited as mine). Many of them speak a little English and parents often drag their mortified children towards me and order them to speak English (not unlike a mother of mine insisting that my sister speak Spanish to anyone who could be, is, or has ever known, someone of Hispanic descent). I often just smile and say hello as friendly as possible, and this usually elicits a smile from the child, who realizes that my outside demeanor isn't nearly as off-putting as my country's (zing), and the parent, who is happy their child has had one successful interaction with a foreigner and will now indubitably climb to great heights in either the world of international business or the Chinese Communist Party. Awkward interactions aside, the children are loud, gregarious, and, excuse my french, they generally don't give a shit. They run around and scream and disregard their parents in all the ways I'm familiar with, and some I'm not. Today I saw what was probably a 5 year old girl climb to the very top of her mother's hybrid shopping cart/race car (which, as a child who had to squeeze every bit of fun out of only standing on the front of the cart, would be awesome to begin with) and proceed to berate her mother from her new-found position of power (the high-ground is always a good choice) for minutes on end. Basically, Chinese children are just as obnoxious and just as cute as American children, and can be just as lovable and inspire just as much condom use. I live very close to a kindergarten and get the great pleasure of watching the toddlers do aerobics stand around, drool, and watch their teachers do aerobics, every day. It's great.

This is my building: I live on the top floor on the left side.

Oh and by the way, there's no elevator, so it's a six story hike every time I go in and out:

The front door to my place. From what I could elicit from my roommates the signs are for good luck and to ward away bad spirits although I'm pretty sure the small pink one is to warn the neighbors that a disgusting, barbarous foreigner has just moved in to their building, and tell them that they shouldn't panic.

View from inside the front door. There is nothing upstairs except a mattress that doesn't get used and the hot water heater.

Our Kitchen. Believe it or not they forgot to buy silverware so my roommates and I have had to re-purpose wooden sticks to grab our food with. Huh.

The entertainment area, which never gets used:

Living room/collection of traditional Chinese decorations. Not sure if a naked picture of your infant child counts as traditional or not, but...well....it's there.

Our own personal fountain, also never gets used:

Decorations part deux:

My favorite part of the entire house and quite possibly the greatest photo ever taken by man:

More interesting baby-art:

Our dual shower/squat toilet:

My room, with my saving grace, the AC, figured prominently. Also came equipped with a crib, just in case I decide to adopt (KIDDING MOM).

From the other side:

My Bathroom Area, just as organized as back home:

My personal Jacuzzi tub. Now, I know what you're thinking, "Jason, you rascal, how did you pull that off?" Well, I suppose I got lucky. The only bad news is that it's built for someone half my size and takes an hour and a half to fill with hot water. I use it as a big, fancy toilet paper holder.

My saving grace, the Western Style toilet. 'Nuff said. 'Murica.

Soccer Shapeup and the International Language of Someone Hitting Themselves in the Face with a Soccer Ball

I apologize for not posting another update in a while, all my classes have really picked up and I took a short weekend excursion to Yangshuo (a small, very scenic, very fun town). I’ve now come to realize didn’t fully understand the seriousness of my workload before coming here. I am in class for 27.5 hours per week, a 12.5 hour jump from my standard college load in the states. On top of that I have to commute to do just about anything, which used to take around 15 minutes by foot, and now takes about 5 minutes by bike (I bought a new mountain bike with the assistance of a CLI intern for 370RMB, about $60. One of the pedals keeps falling off and I haven’t had time to ride it back to the dealer to get it fixed/exchanged, so I manually tighten the bolt holding it before each ride, but hey, that’s China). With commuting, homework, eating out, my sanity saving daily Skype dates with the girlfriend, and class, my time management skills are being put to the test. But enough about my petty tribulations, and on with today’s story:

I arrived in Guilin on a Friday. The following Sunday my roommate Richard told me about a weekly soccer match that CLI’s property manager hosts at a local field. I warned him of my absolute lack of skill and experience, but he assuaged my fears and told me it was a very amateur game. Determined to be more of a “Yes Man” in China, I agreed to suit up and play my first live game of soccer.

Having thoroughly schooled my girlfriend in FIFA (THE soccer video game), I confidently walked on to the pitch and imagined my future glories: Strikes whizzing by incapable keepers, expert tackles slowing down the enemy attack, and precision passes maneuvering through any and all defenders who naively tried to intercept them, all the while hearing the commentary of Martin Tyler and Alan Smith lauding my achievements. Then I discovered real, scrappy, street level soccer.

First off, it was a bilingual game, with some players speaking only English, some speaking only Chinese, and others speaking a garbled amalgam of both. It was informal and 5 on 5, but if someone got tired they would just sit down, leaving their team to fend for themselves. The player’s skill levels were about as varied as their language skills. Some had obviously played their entire life, and took full advantage of the less experienced/coordinated/athletic participants. Not knowing anyone on the field, I sat off to the side and watched for a while. They asked me to join and I reluctantly capitulated, again warning them of inexperience.

I’d now like to berate my parents for not getting my started in soccer as a child. It is incredibly fun, regardless of how well you play it, and it’s so simple in purpose that it’s easy to pick up, but so complex in execution that you could play and watch it forever without getting bored. I tried to hang back and play defense use my over-sized American frame to get in the way of the more skillful players, but soon I was making runs and even scored three goals before the day was over. My subsequent outings haven’t been as fruitful, but they have been just as fun.

During the game, I began to realize why they call soccer the world’s sport. As I mentioned, I think the game’s simplicity has a lot to do with it. It makes it so accessible to people of any background/language/level of wealth that it’s instantly intriguing. Then the unlimited room for improvement makes you hunger for more. Along with its universality, I discovered that despite language barriers all sports, once learned, easily translate through the actions themselves. An impressive goal makes everyone clap, and the mistakes of amateurs make everyone laugh. Luckily, I wasn't the cause of the laughter this time. This time a fellow American (it’s always us letting our country down) was unguarded and trying to save a bouncing ball from going out of bounds by flipping it over his head. He succeeded in striking the ball, but his trajectory was a bit off, and he sent it straight into his own nose, causing onlookers, regardless of language or ethnicity, to howl with laughter.

It’s moments like that, when you look over at someone with whom you could barely communicate speaking words and you both share a laugh, that you realize how relatable the human condition really is, and how much in common we all have. It may sound corny, but being a foreigner in a country where I understand little, and am often misunderstood, finding these little slivers of understanding, like the humor of a soccer ball to the nose, makes the experience a little easier and all the more enjoyable.

That’s all for now, I have to get some rest, big soccer game tomorrow. Hope all of you are doing well. I've attached some pictures of our venue for these weekly matches. It’s a pretty cool setup, entirely weatherproof (except for the heat, no way to keep that out). 

Dumpling Dynamo

This past Friday, after everyone was finished with their classes and in need of a little relaxation, we (my aforementioned roommate Richard, my soon to be mentioned roommate Jeremy, and myself) hopped on a bus and visited another international student’s apartment further into town. The goals of the trip were simple: 1. Learn how to make dumplings 2. Make a prodigious amount of dumplings and finally, my personal favorite, 3. Devour Dumplings. I’m not sure if I just wasn’t thinking (we received this invitation early in the week) or if I have some sort of sick, subconscious hatred for my digestive track, but the day before, Thursday, I decided to treat myself to my favorite hole-in-the-wall dumpling shop, twice. I know what you’re thinking, casual (and probably American) reader, “Jason, dumplings are delicious, and I bet the ones in China are even better than the ones at home, why are you complaining?”

WELL, you’re right, dumplings are delicious, and the one’s in China are better than the ones at home, buuuuut it just so happens that I decided to order 30 dumplings each time I went to my little shop. For those playing along at home, that’s 60 dumplings lurking menacingly somewhere in my digestive system, pre-dumpling fiesta. I my colon never stood a chance.

The digestive impossibilities notwithstanding, dumpling night was a huge success. Myself, and my two roommates, and the two other international students, and their two roommates, had a blast. Making dumplings is surprisingly easy, and between the six of us I think we downed around 90-100. I’ve attached some pictures below of the entire process/dumpling making dream team. Surprisingly, myself, another international student from New Hampshire and our two female Chinese hosts were the best at folding and creating the dumplings. My roommates, who I think aren’t accustomed to cooking themselves, were hilariously bad at the simple process.

All in all I’ll chalk this one up as a win for the mind, spirit, and the ability for me (and other Americans) to persevere through incredible odds to eat truly ridiculous amounts of food (The Man v. Food guy would have been proud), but a loss for the body. I won’t go into any detail, but I’ll just say this weekend was happily dumpling free, and leave it at that.

Initial Impressions: Richard the Roommate

Once I was through Customs and had found my baggage, I turned the corner into the arrival bay of Guilin International Airport. I was expecting to see my two Chinese, college-aged roommates, what I found instead was a small (even by Chinese standards), curt cab driver whose family name was Mo (pronounced Mwah). She had my name sloppily written on the back of a piece of printer paper in handwriting worse than my own. Me, being the cultural sensation and tactful traveler that I am, eloquently said, in perfect Chinese English, "Uh...That's me." She promptly about-faced and exited the airport, waving for me to follow. In the time it took us to get to the cab, I was able to elicit her family name, which I misheard the first time (I thought it was Guo). I then tried to explain, in Chinese, that I mispronounced it only because I had a teacher named Guo in America. She cut me off midway through the sentence, she was having none of my broken, poorly pronounced Chinese. She showed me where to throw my bags in the car, whipped out a cell phone, started speaking Chinese faster than I ever thought possible, and then handed me the phone. Surprised, but unfazed, I conjured up, in perfect Chinese English, "Uh...Hello?" What happened next took me by surprise.

Maybe it was the juxtaposition of what I heard versus the immediate dismissal I had received at the hands of the Cab Driver,  or maybe I was just as anxious as he was. Whatever the case, my first experience of Richard, one of my two Chinese roommates, was a frantic, whirlwind phone call in the parking lot of the airport. He explained who he was (my roommate), where he was (our apartment), where the cab would take me (again, our apartment), how excited he was to meet me (very, very, excited), and how long the cab ride would take (forty minutes or so), in less than 30 seconds. His English was good, with only a few mispronunciations and stutters where he searched for a word. All in all, his English was leaps and bounds better than my Chinese. After our conversation was finished I handed the phone back to the crabby cabby and listened to another astonishingly fast salvo of a language I had supposedly been studying for two semesters. She hung up, and then drove me to the apartment, angst coming out of her pores. Her driving was erratic and dangerous (I'll have to make an entire post devoted to Chinese traffic), but we arrived in one piece (after getting lost and calling Richard twice (to her obvious annoyance).

Richard, donning a worn-out Virginia Tech hat, and a Virginia Tech T-shirt much too wide for his modest frame, waved us down and rushed to my door smiling from ear to ear. I got out of the cab and noticed his height, an even 6 foot. We shook hands and he asked me to get my bags and he would show me our apartment. I obliged, and he rushed to grab one of them. I explained that they were very heavy, but he would not take no for an answer. Unbeknownst to him, he elected to choose my huge, stuffed to the rim, hard-shell suitcase, weighing an impressive 48 pounds, leaving me my much more manageable 32 pound duffle bag. I smirked to myself as I watched him struggle with the weight. I offered to trade him but he would have none of it. As we walked from the cab to the door to our apartment building he never stopped speaking for even the slightest of moments, he had much to explain, and Richard is very good at explaining.

By the fifth floor however (our apartment is on the sixth) the combined effort of continuing constant chatter and the physical exertion of heaving and hauling a 48 pound hunk of dead weight, left him, for the time being, speechless. He dropped the bag and rushed up the stairs to enlist the help of my second roommate (Jeremy). They awkwardly two-manned the suitcase the last flight of stairs, much to my amusement.

We had arrived. We dropped my bags at the door, and Richard then gave me what had to have been the most exhaustive tour of a two-bedroom apartment ever accomplished by man. Every nook and cranny, every feature explained in exquisite detail. I asked a few questions, which he would usually begin responding to before I had even finished them. He was impetuous, and as I would find out, that's just a part of his nature.

Over the next two days, Richard took me all over Guilin to show me the sights and get me acclimated to the city itself. I must have had some luck because I got what could have been the best English speaking tour guide in Guilin to show me around for free. Over the course of our excursions I found out that he is 21, is interested in Political Science (he even wanted me to outline the pros and cons of Obamacare as I shared my housewarming gift, a liter of Jack Daniel's Honey Whiskey, with him and Jeremy), and loves the American TV show Gossip Girl. Yup, you read that right. Gossip Girl. He even recites the show motto fairly often (something about your number one source of gossip in New York City..?). His phone background, the main character of the show. When he asked me if I liked the show I explained to him as gently as I could that it was a show watched by a predominantly female audience, but not even this could deter him from his love, he quickly responded that he had heard that, and that he did not care! He liked the show, and enjoyed watching it to practice his English, since the girls on the show talked so fast. In our first discussion about dating, he even said he needs to find a girl like the show's main character.

Richard is an English major at the local university, and loves hanging out with me to ask me how pronounce certain words, or to have me correct his grammar. He had particular trouble with the word, "symmetrical," and would turn and ask me during lulls in the conversation if he had mastered it yet. We developed a sort of barter system. My struggle word for that day was DuoSiuFeng (Solitary Beauty Peak, where the pictures in the last post are from, and where Richard and I took our first picture together).

 I look forward to learning more of the Chinese language and culture through Richard, helping him to polish his English, and discovering any more interesting foibles he has hidden away. Just not through Gossip Girl, sorry Richard.