DUBROVNIK, CROATIA
Dober Dan... Salut... Guten Tag... Ni hao...
i find myself mixing up these silly languages more and more; changing from one to another feels like rubber, stretching your minds crevices and when it snaps! ahhh... you run with it.
I am in Dubrovnik, a thousand year old town in southern Croatia, where the city walls still stand and the stone floors are worn smooth from the endless shuffling feet. It juts out into the Adriatic Sea, on clear days you can evidently see the faint outline of Italy. I am staying with an old lady (a friend of Paul Banicevic¨s uncle) for at least another week, at which time my finances will have dwindled to dangerous levels. The options are clear: make some bucks quickly, or hire myself out to a yatch, and scrub floors for rich vacationers cruising around the Mediterranean. huummmm....
Monday, August 11, 2003
Friday, August 01, 2003
enroute to Bavaria
FROM BASQUE COUNTRY, TO PARIS, THEN BAVARIA
I am buggered, as they say in Aussie, having spent most of the night up with Paul during our spontaneous rendez-vous at a hukkah bar. Passed out on the car seat, my dad's driving us from Paris to Frankfurt at dangerously high speeds. Its curious the need for adrenalin in order to secure focus - whether its in fast cars, waves, or leaving a 10 page paper for the last minute. But that's another story; what happened on the drive to Germany requires more pressing attention!
I awoke from a pseudo-conscious slumber as we drove in the town of Reims, an hour east of Paris. In typical style, my father claims here is THE cathedral to see in Europe, and indeed it is absurdly fantastic. huge, ornate Gothic spires, skylights of stained glass illuminating everything. The stone is so heavy yet the feel is light. To think what this place represents is baffling: longing for divinity, hierarchies of power, all the wars in its name. The cathedral contains the spectrum of good-bad in humans, it is so thick with meaning. And these are thoughts of a 20th c. science-indoctrinated Brasilian/American; what would the peasants, nobility, monks of the time have thought??
When we visited the Bilbao Guggenheim museum in Spain I also felt some awe. The building is INCREDIBLE, an organic mix of titanium scales, stone, and glass. Like a curvaceous fish going through electric shock treatment. And inside is equally impressive, no right angles anywhere, the modern art exhibitions fitting in perfectly. But why build a $100 million craziness in an industrial, trashy city on the Basque coast? what better way to revive the economy than create a magnet for tourism, a focal point for creativity and wealth. Like the cathedral, the cost of this place to society is disproportionate, but what emerges is excitement and imagination. The medieval, institutionalized Church had its degenerate aspects, and wonderful sides; but isn't the tourism, science, the overall modern vision which binds society also somewhat degenerate? only with the luxury of hindsight do we indulge in criticism, but perhaps neither is worse than the other. Then again it might matter little compared to the stoke that people (like me!) get from seeing these monuments... as a wise man who never existed once said, the inconsequentialities of frivolity!
arriving in Frankfurt I realize I am due to begin work at Hotel Chiemgauhof very soon. And i am struck by a need for my own time, space, after these non stop 3 weeks - or is it 3 months? Though I hope to escape into the anonymity of youth hostel life for a few days, or perhaps a week, this is not to be. A friend is conveniently driving to Munich tomorrow, and once I arrived I found myself boarding a train for Lake Chiemsee, just like that. It felt like I'd been wading in a stream, but it vortexed into a fast river; I could have jumped out, but the view was beautiful all the rapids were swirling; and when the river dumped into the ocean there was a big storm, which uprooted many trees and threw things to Chaos. So I had a night to rest but already in the morning there was much clean-up work to do at the hotel, and pretty soon I was in the kitchen doing dishes.
For 10, 11 hours a day in the kitchen, I learnt how to say plates silverware pots pans in German, and eat yummy salads and ice cream of course. The work was disciplined, not sure if its the German ethic or the restaurant business, but the intensity was high. But outside was paradise, long swims in the morning, warm still sunshine enveloped by the Alps around us. On my day off I rode a bike (cruiser!!) around the 68km lake, charging through the forest in search of the next ideallic pebble beach to cool off in. energy begins to dwindle, however, when the whole workday is spent in one stuffy place washing dishes. I didn't want to leave, these were my parents friends working hard, so who was I to just bail out, and maybe a bit of post-college manual labor is what I need. But that compulsion for time, space, beckoned so strong, my own creativity and exploration. So I left, though the decision wasn't at all easy to make, and I still feel very confused and sad, though relieved. The ocean I'd been dumped into was too big and I had to keep going.
My last weekend at Lake Chiemsee was fantastic when out of sheer coincidence both Lauren Slater and Paul decided to visit me. Riding the ferry all day long, between isles with little castles, playing around the wooden piers; then in the evening drinks at the outside bar at the hotel, watching the piercing colors; and finally rowboat out to the lake for a nudey sunset swim. my friends all extended their stay at Chiemsee, and I was so glad to give them the chance to be here. Then the next day I left, feeling awkward but excited as I hop on the train to Vienna, where I'm staying with Lauren for several days.
She's in an internation dance festival, blowing her mind during the day with inspiring dancers and playing at night. I roamed around the city, the vestiges of Austro-Hungarian empire still standing, stylish coffeshops with smoooooth coffee. This is a transition stage though, as I'm riding another train this afternoon, this time with Paul and girlfriend Abby, heading to Croatia. Things are 'up in the air' like never before, but I see like sparks of opportunity in the horizon and I hope to grasp them.
I am buggered, as they say in Aussie, having spent most of the night up with Paul during our spontaneous rendez-vous at a hukkah bar. Passed out on the car seat, my dad's driving us from Paris to Frankfurt at dangerously high speeds. Its curious the need for adrenalin in order to secure focus - whether its in fast cars, waves, or leaving a 10 page paper for the last minute. But that's another story; what happened on the drive to Germany requires more pressing attention!
I awoke from a pseudo-conscious slumber as we drove in the town of Reims, an hour east of Paris. In typical style, my father claims here is THE cathedral to see in Europe, and indeed it is absurdly fantastic. huge, ornate Gothic spires, skylights of stained glass illuminating everything. The stone is so heavy yet the feel is light. To think what this place represents is baffling: longing for divinity, hierarchies of power, all the wars in its name. The cathedral contains the spectrum of good-bad in humans, it is so thick with meaning. And these are thoughts of a 20th c. science-indoctrinated Brasilian/American; what would the peasants, nobility, monks of the time have thought??
When we visited the Bilbao Guggenheim museum in Spain I also felt some awe. The building is INCREDIBLE, an organic mix of titanium scales, stone, and glass. Like a curvaceous fish going through electric shock treatment. And inside is equally impressive, no right angles anywhere, the modern art exhibitions fitting in perfectly. But why build a $100 million craziness in an industrial, trashy city on the Basque coast? what better way to revive the economy than create a magnet for tourism, a focal point for creativity and wealth. Like the cathedral, the cost of this place to society is disproportionate, but what emerges is excitement and imagination. The medieval, institutionalized Church had its degenerate aspects, and wonderful sides; but isn't the tourism, science, the overall modern vision which binds society also somewhat degenerate? only with the luxury of hindsight do we indulge in criticism, but perhaps neither is worse than the other. Then again it might matter little compared to the stoke that people (like me!) get from seeing these monuments... as a wise man who never existed once said, the inconsequentialities of frivolity!
arriving in Frankfurt I realize I am due to begin work at Hotel Chiemgauhof very soon. And i am struck by a need for my own time, space, after these non stop 3 weeks - or is it 3 months? Though I hope to escape into the anonymity of youth hostel life for a few days, or perhaps a week, this is not to be. A friend is conveniently driving to Munich tomorrow, and once I arrived I found myself boarding a train for Lake Chiemsee, just like that. It felt like I'd been wading in a stream, but it vortexed into a fast river; I could have jumped out, but the view was beautiful all the rapids were swirling; and when the river dumped into the ocean there was a big storm, which uprooted many trees and threw things to Chaos. So I had a night to rest but already in the morning there was much clean-up work to do at the hotel, and pretty soon I was in the kitchen doing dishes.
For 10, 11 hours a day in the kitchen, I learnt how to say plates silverware pots pans in German, and eat yummy salads and ice cream of course. The work was disciplined, not sure if its the German ethic or the restaurant business, but the intensity was high. But outside was paradise, long swims in the morning, warm still sunshine enveloped by the Alps around us. On my day off I rode a bike (cruiser!!) around the 68km lake, charging through the forest in search of the next ideallic pebble beach to cool off in. energy begins to dwindle, however, when the whole workday is spent in one stuffy place washing dishes. I didn't want to leave, these were my parents friends working hard, so who was I to just bail out, and maybe a bit of post-college manual labor is what I need. But that compulsion for time, space, beckoned so strong, my own creativity and exploration. So I left, though the decision wasn't at all easy to make, and I still feel very confused and sad, though relieved. The ocean I'd been dumped into was too big and I had to keep going.
My last weekend at Lake Chiemsee was fantastic when out of sheer coincidence both Lauren Slater and Paul decided to visit me. Riding the ferry all day long, between isles with little castles, playing around the wooden piers; then in the evening drinks at the outside bar at the hotel, watching the piercing colors; and finally rowboat out to the lake for a nudey sunset swim. my friends all extended their stay at Chiemsee, and I was so glad to give them the chance to be here. Then the next day I left, feeling awkward but excited as I hop on the train to Vienna, where I'm staying with Lauren for several days.
She's in an internation dance festival, blowing her mind during the day with inspiring dancers and playing at night. I roamed around the city, the vestiges of Austro-Hungarian empire still standing, stylish coffeshops with smoooooth coffee. This is a transition stage though, as I'm riding another train this afternoon, this time with Paul and girlfriend Abby, heading to Croatia. Things are 'up in the air' like never before, but I see like sparks of opportunity in the horizon and I hope to grasp them.
Tuesday, July 29, 2003
Serendipity in Paris
Many amazing things are happening... I have spiralled my way back to Lake Chiemsee in Germany, little paradise enveloped by the Alps, warm still days with unpredictable yet always intense thunderstorms, like an exclamation point stuck awkwardly in the !!! sentence. I've been working long long hours in the kitchen though, peaking anxiously through the windows at the colors outside, and many thoughts have arisen in my mind. these thoughts are cementing into changes, and as I look ahead to the unknown decisions I can't help but feel.... confused. but I feel it's worth rewinding the tape a bit, back to where I last wrote in Lisbon. For why do I write anyway? if i may humbly ask. i figure writing is for the writer, re-thinking and re-feeling what happened to get a grasp on what is now; i definitely need this so-called 'grasp'. if you care to join me in this catharsis then I am most honored........
Riding the train from Lisbon to Biarritz, I had a week left with my dad before we were due to part ways, him back to US and me to Lake Chiemsee. The wheel of time would come to a confused full circle, 38 years having passed since my dad was here, and he would re-meet some old acquantainces. This was odd, because so much time had passed - we were staying at Francois's house, the 15year old grommet surfer turned 53 with wife and two kids. The town of Biarritz is great, many pretty girls driving scooters with big helmets and skimpy clothes, warm croissants and cheerful little houses. in the Basque country bordering Spain, the coast has waves, with mountains nearby. We stay here a few days.
I walked out of my room one night and the moon was full, and the light was exceptionally clear. This is what they call a 'moment'. Patchy thick clouds covered the sky, the moon sometimes hidden sometimes peaking out between the gaps. Backlit clouds with very precise white rims, yet a very black black interior; and when the moon finally found a large enough hole it stood as an intense beacon, the wind pushing the guarding clouds around. i held my breath, it was so quiet, then a car drove by. there was also a cat. when the moon was covered by the cloud i went to sleep, only to awake several hours later with an sharp pain in my stomach. i went outside feeling the need to throw up, bent over and then I looked up for a second and saw the moon was still there, very orange near the horizon now. Cloudless sky. try as i might the noxious substances in my tummy wouldn't leave and when the moon set behind the mountain I crawled back into bed in enlightened frustration. I couldn't tell if I should feel sorry for my condition or thankful, but I spent all morning in bed and that wasn't fun.
on July 13th we drive north toward Paris, and stoped at Chateau Chenonceaux for the evening. Castle built on rockbed in the middle of a river, with a network of moats around its gardens. We came at night and the castle was lit up outside, classical music playing and tourists crusing about, couples making out. Erase all of that and you see this place as a glorious/repressive powerfigure, defensible by the surrounding water and tall walls, its inhabitants under siege and stranded by the barbarian hordes. The peasant population working the surrounding fields paying tribute or whatever. the whole thing is romantic, noble, and depressing.
The next morning we drive into Paris and turns out not one but TWO friends of mine are here by chance. Paul arrives from a month in Reunion Island this morning, and Mina arrives from touring with a fellow Indian 'gypsie' band. I meet Mina at a restaurant with his troupe from India, with their broad moustaches and flowing clothes. We spend the next day running amok at the Louvre, the Arab Institute, all mixes of old and new, glass pyramids and steel frames with medieval stone monuments around, carvings and artifacts. The evening is exciting as an approaching thunderstorm sparks anxiety all around, we're trying to find a restaurant with my dad, things aren't flowing and fall apart when the crazy rude taxi drivers refuse to cooperate. Th popular belief that everyone is rude in Paris is not true, but the taxi drivers seem to embody that notion with great force. I say goodbye to mina but still I havn't seen Paul. Evidently he's at a certain Hotel Printemps but there are 8 such hotels in Paris, we are even staying at one just in case Paul happens to be there. Finally at midnight we connect after a long sequence of scribbled notes and emails, spend a few hours with him at an Egyptian hukkah bar then I leave the next morning with my dad, start our return to Frankfurt.
These have all been a series of mini climaxes, but the turning point when I arrive in Chiemsee is still to be ahead...
Riding the train from Lisbon to Biarritz, I had a week left with my dad before we were due to part ways, him back to US and me to Lake Chiemsee. The wheel of time would come to a confused full circle, 38 years having passed since my dad was here, and he would re-meet some old acquantainces. This was odd, because so much time had passed - we were staying at Francois's house, the 15year old grommet surfer turned 53 with wife and two kids. The town of Biarritz is great, many pretty girls driving scooters with big helmets and skimpy clothes, warm croissants and cheerful little houses. in the Basque country bordering Spain, the coast has waves, with mountains nearby. We stay here a few days.
I walked out of my room one night and the moon was full, and the light was exceptionally clear. This is what they call a 'moment'. Patchy thick clouds covered the sky, the moon sometimes hidden sometimes peaking out between the gaps. Backlit clouds with very precise white rims, yet a very black black interior; and when the moon finally found a large enough hole it stood as an intense beacon, the wind pushing the guarding clouds around. i held my breath, it was so quiet, then a car drove by. there was also a cat. when the moon was covered by the cloud i went to sleep, only to awake several hours later with an sharp pain in my stomach. i went outside feeling the need to throw up, bent over and then I looked up for a second and saw the moon was still there, very orange near the horizon now. Cloudless sky. try as i might the noxious substances in my tummy wouldn't leave and when the moon set behind the mountain I crawled back into bed in enlightened frustration. I couldn't tell if I should feel sorry for my condition or thankful, but I spent all morning in bed and that wasn't fun.
on July 13th we drive north toward Paris, and stoped at Chateau Chenonceaux for the evening. Castle built on rockbed in the middle of a river, with a network of moats around its gardens. We came at night and the castle was lit up outside, classical music playing and tourists crusing about, couples making out. Erase all of that and you see this place as a glorious/repressive powerfigure, defensible by the surrounding water and tall walls, its inhabitants under siege and stranded by the barbarian hordes. The peasant population working the surrounding fields paying tribute or whatever. the whole thing is romantic, noble, and depressing.
The next morning we drive into Paris and turns out not one but TWO friends of mine are here by chance. Paul arrives from a month in Reunion Island this morning, and Mina arrives from touring with a fellow Indian 'gypsie' band. I meet Mina at a restaurant with his troupe from India, with their broad moustaches and flowing clothes. We spend the next day running amok at the Louvre, the Arab Institute, all mixes of old and new, glass pyramids and steel frames with medieval stone monuments around, carvings and artifacts. The evening is exciting as an approaching thunderstorm sparks anxiety all around, we're trying to find a restaurant with my dad, things aren't flowing and fall apart when the crazy rude taxi drivers refuse to cooperate. Th popular belief that everyone is rude in Paris is not true, but the taxi drivers seem to embody that notion with great force. I say goodbye to mina but still I havn't seen Paul. Evidently he's at a certain Hotel Printemps but there are 8 such hotels in Paris, we are even staying at one just in case Paul happens to be there. Finally at midnight we connect after a long sequence of scribbled notes and emails, spend a few hours with him at an Egyptian hukkah bar then I leave the next morning with my dad, start our return to Frankfurt.
These have all been a series of mini climaxes, but the turning point when I arrive in Chiemsee is still to be ahead...
Wednesday, July 09, 2003
Lyon, Lisbon & More
many days later and I've emerged in front of the 'Praça dos Restourados' in Lisbon, the monument that marks the restoration of the city after a massive earthquake in the 16th century. it is a city-phoenix, arisen and burbling with satisfaction, the funny portuguese cruising about in picturesque trams and buses. it's nice to just be able to babble in the local language without having to struggle - it's amazing how the ability to communicate defines identity. have i mentioned the architecture is cool? monumental churches and bridges, short stumpy houses with pillars and cute windows. europe seems to have such limited growth, all the old buildings are just chillin' there uncaring about modernity.
even cooler - super duper dude - was the Basque architecture in southern france. we drove around the soft lit hills, classy farmhouses, old stone shelters emblazed with graffiti for the independence of 'le pays Basque'. hey, wait a second i though the struggle with colonialism over in like the 50s. Oh yeah, the basque, kurds, armenians, etc... we just cruise into the little town, gawk at the historical heritage and draw out our euros. the pluses and minuse ehh, what's right and what's reality is a confusing mix. their radical sport 'Jai Alai', i think its called, is growing fast with the tourism, borderline nuts with a hard small ball flung from baskets attached to your arms - intense stuff. The countryside is magic, fields and steep rocky slopes...
a few days ago we stayed at Lyon (central-southern France), with a friend of my dad's from Brasil. she lived in a bohemian part at the top of the hill, narrow mini roads with artists, cobblestone sidewalks, and strategic placings of dog poo. We ate Berber food from Algeria (kind of like Chef Karim's in SB) with the approaching thunderstorm. The day stays light till about 10pm, the poor europeans are apparently quite sun starved so they remain outside all day long in summertime, savoring everything until the thunderstorm sends us packing. We also spend a whole day at the friend's Chateau - vineyard and winery passed down the family line - basking with wines and cheeses.... the luxuries of bourgeoise ancestry are too pleasant to dismiss.
soon we catch the train to Biarritz on the western coast of France... the crowded trains with backpackers are always an adventure, a study in space maximization. we shall see what Bastille day on the 14th unveils.... should we run around with american flags and attempt to provoke conflict?? these are the kinds of compelling ideas my dad gets, silly man, hopefully i'll be able to keep away from much bodily harm. .
Wednesday, July 02, 2003
Europe trip begins here
WHERE?!?
I´m sitting in front of Lake Chiemsee, in the Bavaria region of southern Germany, listening to bossa nova. The ´foothills´of the Alps are the backdrop, sheer granite and intense mountains coming out of the flat valley. This is where I´ll be working next monthö for now we´re just in passing, having spent the last few days with the senior beadle (bob) at a sports trade show in nearby Munich. Quite fun- blondes in bikinis, motorbike demos, odd new products which cross-breed scooters and camera tripods. The event was 5 or 6 indoor football fields worth of goods & services, all designed specifically for the enjoyment of us hedonistic humans. Fun - image - adrenalin - all require a lot of creativity these days.
TWISTs
Then there was Amsterdam, about a week ago. For a place that is associated with hedonism it sure is classy; the 17th century buildings and canals merge with the drug & sex culture in a very natural, unselfconscious way. Not forced in-your-face profit oriented abuse of our mischivious desires like the kind of hogwash in Las Vegas. It´s Isla Vista meets european San Fransisco, with bikes everywhere, funny sounding trams, and cozy coffee shops (ahhhemm...) definitely worth an extended visit. A random coincidence was stumbling into my friend Lauren Slater - we just happened to be on the internet at the same time, found out we happened to be in the same city, met at Haagen Daz ten minutes later, and went dancing. Its sure to become one of the techno-buff urban myths... Serendipity through the internet is a groovy thing indeed.
Monday, June 16, 2003
UCSB Graduation
9:00 AM - Graduation Day
Thousands of black hats, black gowns, and smiling faces all around me. The sun is beating down hot in the Santa Barbara blue sky, and I'm glad I only have boardshorts underneath the ceremonial gown. I undo another button, let the breeze in my chest, and scuff my flip flops under my chair.
Just when I think this graduation event might turn out to be the predictable, uninspiring ritual that others have claimed, someone hands me a box which reads, "To Kristian Beadle. Pass it on." How did this package finds its way through the crowd of anonymous thousands, I wonder.
I open the box and a sweet jasmine fragrance erupts from within. A dozen fresh hawaiian leis sit inside, smelling like yellow golden goodness. I pile them high on my chest, bright flowers glinting on my gown's plain black, and pass them out to friends that sit nearby.
The time comes to pick up the diploma. I stride across the stage, bobbing up and down, an extra lei held surreptitiously by my left hand. The chancellor sticks out his right hand to shake mine, while holding the diploma in his other hand; a well-coordinated maneuver which he must repeat thousands of times.
I hope he welcomed the break in repetition, as I pulled out the lei, and clasping it with both hands, offered it him. With the grace of a public veteran he bent his neck and allowed me to lei him; because like it or not, he couldn't stop the show.
Later on, I was proud to see the chancellor's wife walking around with the lei around her neck. Does that mean she got lei'd? or did I?
Thousands of black hats, black gowns, and smiling faces all around me. The sun is beating down hot in the Santa Barbara blue sky, and I'm glad I only have boardshorts underneath the ceremonial gown. I undo another button, let the breeze in my chest, and scuff my flip flops under my chair.
Just when I think this graduation event might turn out to be the predictable, uninspiring ritual that others have claimed, someone hands me a box which reads, "To Kristian Beadle. Pass it on." How did this package finds its way through the crowd of anonymous thousands, I wonder.
I open the box and a sweet jasmine fragrance erupts from within. A dozen fresh hawaiian leis sit inside, smelling like yellow golden goodness. I pile them high on my chest, bright flowers glinting on my gown's plain black, and pass them out to friends that sit nearby.
The time comes to pick up the diploma. I stride across the stage, bobbing up and down, an extra lei held surreptitiously by my left hand. The chancellor sticks out his right hand to shake mine, while holding the diploma in his other hand; a well-coordinated maneuver which he must repeat thousands of times.
I hope he welcomed the break in repetition, as I pulled out the lei, and clasping it with both hands, offered it him. With the grace of a public veteran he bent his neck and allowed me to lei him; because like it or not, he couldn't stop the show.
Later on, I was proud to see the chancellor's wife walking around with the lei around her neck. Does that mean she got lei'd? or did I?
Wednesday, November 13, 2002
chinese grannies & freezing weather
Crazy changes in weather in Beijing, have thrown us innocent foreigners into a frenzy. From sweaty, baulmy, t-shirt at night climate to frigid mitten wearing days. I feel like I slept through autumn, not sure where it went. The supply of thermal underwear at the local supermarket has kept us alive, profiting greatly from us unprepared Californians. Most harsh was the lack of heating in our building, until just recently. Collectively controlled by the government, their anticipated startup date was Nov. 15th. Early cold weather spell ensured that even midday in our apartment, you could marvel at your our breath condensing in the air. This we feel is not normal!
Our apartment came without the most basic of items: a fridge. But that is no problem now. The outside veranda is sufficient refrigeration, for anything but icecream. The result of this cold weather is unexpected changes to our psyche and psysiology. Periods of irritability are not uncommon, as is a general refusal to exercise our sappy bodies. It is increasingly difficult to crawl out of the blankets in the frosty morning, and make it to the bathroom to "convenience yourself", as the chinese say. The slap in the face comes when you peak out the window and discover the dozens of 70 to 80 years old are in the patio below, diligently practicing tai chi or their fan-wielding dances, as if it were mid July. Not sure how they get their bodies in motion at such inhospitable temperatures. Perhaps its the same perplexion others have when I plunge into the ocean for a pre-dawn surf sesh. So I guess I can sympathize...
The old folks in this country are phenomenal. It's as close to utopia for those of "advanced age" as is possible. In driveways, parks, under highway overpasses, every morning hundreds are out perfecting their bodies for ancestral veneration. Whole communities of ball room dancers, drum circles, tai chi, and innumerable eccentric ways to stretch your calf muscle. When I first arrived in Beijing I was struck by the number of playgrounds scattered around town. Turns out they're all exercise 'toys' for the old folks. Must see to believe. So wonderful it warms the heart in the coldest days!!
After weeks of gossip and misleading reports, "they" have turned on the heaters, earlier than scheduled!! Bless the flexible & sympathetic souls of the central government.
Thursday, November 07, 2002
The art of chair sitting
With midterms done I have some breathing space to write. To all those people that claim studying abroad is chill, travel, fun&games - you have deceived me!! this learning chinese business has turned me into a somewhat serious student. Hours spent pouring over the dictionary, deciphering the puzzle of characters on my page. then more hours training my hand/brain coordination in order to write a fraction of the language. Such joy of discipline, my hedonistic and busy life in Santa Barbara could never afford. Why Harvard students excel: "Boston is boring, so we study well". I scoff at this kind of self-annihilation. But I too, have now suffered the fate of multiple hours on a chair, squinting and exercising my human intellect. So when I admit to being a "somewhat" serious student, it is purely in relation to the collossal efforts my Chinese comrades undertake. A visit to the campus library, to witness this phenomenon, is a humbling experience. Students literally "set up shop" at the library desks, with an array of food supplies, from milk powder to instant noodles. It is also very crowded. Reportedly, the 7am opening time sees a rush of students hussling to find a good spot, which they guard throughout the day until the 11pm closing time. The vast majority of the people are studying english on their own, preparing for some insane test several months away. No classes to attend, just reading books, listening to tapes, working. And if you don't pass your test, you get to hang out at the library for another year, till your next chance. two, three, even five years, every day at the library, to get into graduate school, to get a good job. I find this abosulutely mind-boggling.
And no wonder, given the brutal job market here in China. My hairwashing lady (God bless her - she does a wonderful job) has a daily 12 hour shift, one day off a month. Most people actually live where they work, in bunk bed style dorms, so it's just one continuous cycle. Oddly, or perhaps not, the chinese are the most chill, relaxed of all peoples - always have a few minutes for conversation and laughter. By the way, if you ever come to China, get your hairwashed: 45 minutes of scrubbing, conditioning, complete with a facial and back massage, all for just over US$1. The minimum wage of US$35/month keeps things nice and cheap. Meanwhile us sappy foreigners can cruise in to literally any school and get paid $12+ per hour to teach english. So yeah I give props to the kids at the library plugging away for a better life - work ethic is where it is at. Gotta admire them, and next time i'm confused/frustrated about the meaning of life perhaps I won't worry as much, and instead I'll just get on with it.
Friday, October 11, 2002
Stirring the pot
The past 2 weeks things have mellowed down, and I've had a bit of much needed reflection time. Although previously I planned to extend my stay in Beijing until June next year, during the past couple days I've thrown myself back into the limbo of indecision. a variety of reasons are churning through my fickle mind, but currently i'm leaning towards going back to the US in Dec, so any potential housing for winter and spring in SB let me know!! I'm going to head out this weekend to a old decaying section of the Great Wall, which a chinese friend recommended, do a bit of solo hiking and chillin - we'll see what happens.
Thursday, October 03, 2002
Tiananmen and our new apt
Fellow comrades,
currently in the middle of China's national celebration holiday, where everyone gets a week off work and school. on the dawn of tuesday, October 1st, watched the big red flag being raised at Tiananmen Square, together with a few other thousand enthusiasts, some waiting since the wee hours of the night. We appropriately wore green military communist attire (lent to us by our curiously odd landlord), which the Chinese all loved - just about everyone in a 100 foot radius around was asking to take pictures with us. A wonderful sight to behold.
Our new apartment is quite a piece. 5 min walk from campus, along a tree lined road with alleys branching off, people selling everything from haircuts to fruit to CDs, and of course ice cream (and we just found a popcorn vendor!!) Our building is bordering on the side of "ghetto", primarily since the stairway is stinky dirty and dark, window broken, etc... But no more intimidating than riding the elevator, which is always manned by an extremely eccentric individual: a midget lady, a grumpy chain smoker, or a lovable old grandpa. Only thing they have in common is their radio, and the stick used to poke at your floor number (violently at times), from their seat in the corner of the elevator.
Finding our door on the 5th floor can be challenging since the buttons for the lights are hard to spot in the pitch black darkness. But once you open the door, aaaaaaHHHHHHH, relief, our lovely apartment. We have been decorating it diligently, after doing a major clean up effort (chinese hygene standards are very..... practical). Had a maid come in to help, paying her almost twice as much as the going rate - meager $1 an hour. Now besides the cockroaches, in eternal battle with us, our apt is taking on a sweet and hospitable feel. Not too bad for US$150 a month per person - though not as cheap as the chinese 8 person dorms (8!!!) which go for US$60 a year. that's right, a year.
Good news is that as of a month ago a new law came into effect stating that foreigners can live in 'Chinese people' buildings, as long as they pay a certain amount per square foot. So maybe, though it is not certain, our living situation might no longer be illegal. Wasn't really a problem anyway, since just about everything is illegal in China, to one extent or another. We've heard great stories of cops busting foreigners' apartments, kicking them out, so we had a few concerns, but now things appear to be taking on a postive outlook. Exciting stuff.
Our landlord is called HeHe (just like the sound you make when you laugh out loud), and we call him the He-Man. Not a word of English, and speaks chinese too fast for our pathetic little brains, but somehow we communicate. Our neighbor is a fat Chinese lady that babbles like there is no tomorrow. Her daughter is learning English and wants us to help, so we're rapidly developing some 'guanxi' - connections/relationship. I must say, if nothing else our living situation right now has a whole bunch of character, I love it.
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