The Safety of Thailand

Before and during my trip, I would receive emails and warnings from my parents, cautioning me about the dangers of travel in Thailand because of the 'riots and unrest'. I could scarcely keep myself from laughing sometimes, not because of mom and dad's concern, which was touching, but at what they were concerned with. Thailand was far and away the safest country we visited on our trip; they're even democratic! (contrary to rumors, I did not say, 'smells like freedom', when I crossed the boarder into Thailand). Of course I'm not naive enough to believe that simply being democratic makes a country safer, just ask any of my friends who've been mugged in D.C. It's just that when the other countries I visited were... let's just say 'fast and loose' with laws, Thailand comes out smelling like roses.

Not getting a warning about Cambodia was simply amusing because it was far and away the most dangerous. It's desperately poor country, rife with corruption, and they are still reeling from a genocide more resent than our Vietnam War, but generally these days it doesn't make the news much, so it's trouble aren't on peoples minds.

How bad is it there? One night when we were on the beach in Shianoukville we went to the bars on the beach for drinks. Suddenly, around midnight, the music shut off. We were very confused, because all day there had been people passing out fliers on the beach promoting a party at the bar, drumming up interest and such, but here they were killing the music at midnight. When it didn't turn back on after a bit we walked up the bar and struck up a conversation with the westerners who worked at the bar. It seems that starting 2 nights before the police had come to every bar on the beach at midnight and ordered the music turned off, throwing bottles at one bar and waving their pistol in the air at the next. Nobody wanted to offend the bottle throwing, pistol waving policemen, so the music stayed silent for another half hour. By then someone had enough whisky courage to turn the music back on, abit very low. Within a few minutes a shadowy policeman appeared on the sand, calling over the manager, carrying his AK47 rifle strapped to his back. The music turned off, everyone went home. Nobody argues with a policeman with a rifle.

It's this story I reflect upon when I think of dangers in South East Asia. My boat accidents and motorcycle fall were either self inflicted or due to lax standards, but the potential for an unhinged cop to wave a deadly weapon at a bar for playing music too loud brings uncertainty to a higher level. I never felt unsafe in that way in Thailand, which is why I'm always so amused by my warning over peaceful Thai protests, when there were much bigger, scarier fish in the sea.

Why I avoid boats

I promised you 5, and somehow I'm guessing traveling internationally with swine flu about doesn't count (besides, it would seem to be hitting the US much harder than Thailand anyway). Allow me to quickly breeze through the two least exciting near death moments, because frankly they weren't that close...

The first was on the Thai island of Ko Tao, where the idiots running our snorkeling tour parked the boat at high tide, but then found themselves beached when we tried to leave at low tide. Myself and the other members of the top deck had to suddenly rush to one side of the boat and throw our weight about, because as they gunned the motor it caused the boat to pitch so far that tipping over and capsizing was a very legitimate possibility. We lived, eventually the boat got unstuck, and aside from about 3 really terrifying seconds, this is a pretty terrible story.

The other snoozer of a catastrophe was returning from Ko Tao back to the mainland. Do you remember those stories about ferries in Thailand sinking to the bottom of the ocean with all the tourists aboard? Well, we were scheduled to go on exactly that type of easily sunk ferry - in the middle of a rainstorm at that. We lucked out because we had prepurchased train tickets, so when our sinkable boat was going to get us to the train late, they transferred us to the high speed catamaran. Relieved not to be in the boat with the 50/50 shot of sinking, I can't tell you how elated we were to be in the sturdy, new and totally enclosed fast boat. Yes we did suffer from seasickness, but when the boat drops over 15 foot waves, I guess thats what you expect. I'll take a little seasickness over sinking anyday.

That's 4, there is only one left, and thankfully it's better than the last two. I could see your eyes glazing over in the last two stories as you thought, "Dan, this isn't 'near death', you lame-o. This is maybe a little scary, but don't sell these as near death." And I think I agreed with you. Thankfully, the last one is a doozie. What could possibly have put me so close to the brink of existence? A Mekong River Cruise!!

Alright, cruise is the wrong word. Due to circumstances we needed to get from the Laos/Thai boarder to the city of Luang Prabang quickly. The options were (a) 14 hour bus ride through windy mountain roads, (b) a 2 day boat trip down the river, or (c) a one day boat trip down the river. Option (a) was bad because Adrienne gets motion sick and we would have arrived at 2 in the morning. Option (b) was bad because, like I said, we needed to get there quickly. This left option (c), which was bad because, well let me quote the Lonely Planet Guide: "Fastboats are not the safest transport south, and fatalities are not uncommon. When we passed there was even talk of banning foreigners from these boats." Oh yeah, and it had been raining all morning. We chose (c).

Imagine a long, fast wooden boat with a giant prop motor sitting on the back. All the luggage is piled in the front of the boat, under a few blue tarps to keep them dry, while the 8 passengers are arranged 2 by 2. They sit on the bottom of the boat, with their arms clutching their knees, because there is no space to spread out, not even to sit cross-legged. All of them are wearing life vests and helmets (as if that would save them in a crash). Now imagine the driver whizzing them along at speeds of near 50 mph. This was our boat.

As dangerous as that sounds, it gets worse - the river was terrifying. I've been whitewater rafting, even gone on some class 4 rapids, but I've never seen a river with real whirlpools. The currents in this river were going every which way, all at once, which meant our little boat got pushed around, bouncing over depressions and sinkholes. Yet as any raft guide will tell you, it isn't the currents that kill you, it's the rocks that make the currents (at least that's what I think the guides should say...). Scattered along the entire 5 hour trip were scores of large, jagged rocks sticking up everywhere! We would weave in and out, dodging them along with the driftwood and trees dislodged by the heavy rain. We even stopped to help another small boat like us file out a chink in it's propeller because they'd struck a rock! It goes without saying that any actual collision with these rocks, traveling at those speeds would have been certain death, helmet or no.

Thankfully we made it. We even had entertainment! On our boat was an Englishman who lives in Thailand, but was taking a month of vacation with his friend. He had decided they would take the fastboat down river, but to muster the courage after reading the Lonely Planet bit, he began to relieve the contents from a bottle of rice whiskey. Having finished a full 12 oz bottle before boarding the boat, it came as no surprise when he refused to wear his helmet, went swimming with his passport in his pocket, and fell in. Twice. Had we gone the way of the Dodo, at least we would have died laughing. Thankfully, we didn't.

Falling off the bar

I promised 5 near death experiences. The truth is none of the rest are nearly as exciting; in fact 3 of them involved boats. The helplessness of a person on a boat is nearly equal to that of a person on a airplane, however boating accidents are way more common. Sure I can swim, hell I used to be a lifeguard, but when the seas can swallow a winabago and not even burp even Michael Phelps new suit couldn't save him. Thankfully these are called 'near death experiences'.

The first boating accident occured in Cambodia, off the coastline of Shianoukville. We'd chosen a windy, windy day to go out snorkelling (which we couldn't do, because it was windy), on a beautiful river boat. The problem with a 'river boat' on ocean swells is... it's prone to tip over!!! Mercifully, it didn't, but the boat was rocking so hard 'Pearl Jam' would have been jealous. The bartender told us "don't worry, but for your safety you should hold onto the bar so you don't tip off your stool." And it would have been good advice had not three waves later the bar litterly lifted off, broke in two and sent me hurtling to the floor in a cumble of glass, dishes and bar stools. Meanwhile, the boat chose not to stop pitching, making removal from the rubble rather difficult. In the end I escaped with only a small piece of glass caught in my foot (removed by a nurse who happened to be aborad). I had escaped a near death experience!

I should have taken the hint and stayed off boats for the rest of the trip, but I didn't. I got on boats again and again and again...

5 Near Death Experiences

I've been remiss. Let me start with an email from my brother:

Hey hermano

you break your fingers in that moto accident? cant write email? im glad to hear you are well, even if it is only through what mom and dad tell me.

just cuz you are in an OECD country you think you dont have to make blog posts anymore? you aren't on a honeymoon or anything, i expect intelligent analysis of foreign cultures, comic retellings of common day activities and exquisite exposés on ethnic gastronomy.

sorry for the accusational tone above, i hope you are having a good time, and im just curious as to what my big bro bro is up to.

have you put any shrimp on the barbie? had a fosters? gotten in a boxing fight with a kangaroo? found nemo?

Toodles,

Nick

ps new yorker and atlantic monthly both have all their content available online. hours of high brow entertainment and education. if ya know you need a rest from seeing the world and just want to read about it instead.

Nick, you are right, I haven't fulfilled my duty as blogwritter these past many weeks. I hope that it isn't too late to change that. I vow to write a new post in my blog every day (or nearly every day) for the next 10 days! And more beyond that! I'll write about Asia! I'll write about Australia!! I'll try to provide pictures!

I suppose the first thing I need to address is my brothers reference to a moto accident. It is true that indeed I did have an itsy bitsy motorbike accident, but as I said to my parents - no broken bones and I survived, which is the important thing, right?

The story of the accident isn't super interesting. I was in Laos, having left Adrienne behind in the city of Luang Prabang, while I ventured on to Phonsavan for a day. We were only sepereated for about 60 hours and only because Adrienne didn't relish the idea of the extra 9 hours on the bus my side-jaunt would take. In short, the accident happened while I was alone!

Phonsovan is famous for 2 things: (1) it was the most heavily bombed provence in Laos during the Vietnam War [and Laos has been the most heavily bombed country on earth, thanks to the 'secret war' the US waged contiuously as its efforts in Vietnam], and (2) it is home to 'The Plain of Jars', which was what really enticed me. To sum up 'Da Jars' in brief: A field full of mysterious stone jars, older than Christ and origionally created for unknown purposes - a veritable asian Stonehendge. Bombs and Old stuff; that's how I travel.

Obviously I needed to get onto a motorbike inorder to crash it - so upon arriving I met a fellow traveler (who happened to own and ride a motorcycle back home in England) who convinced me to skip the lame tour groups and ride a bike and see everything on my own. The next morning we set out for a 30 mile ride out to see a cave which had been bombed out, killing everyone inside over 30 years ago. The ride out was beautiful, the cave somber and the return trip disasterous. We agreed upon leaving the cave to meet back in town for lunch at 'the indian restaurant'. About 5 minutes down the road the experienced rider sped on ahead and left me behind. Not 3 minutes later than rounding a turn did I come in too fast, panic, break incorrectly (with the hand break, not the superior footbreak) and skid out into a pile of gravel.

Surprised and relieved to still be alive, I quickly concluded nothing hurt that much, but the discompashionate cars which drove pass annoyed me. Would nobody stop of a crashed motorcyclist? Someone did - the owner of my hotel who was driving the tour group I'd shunned in favor of a motorcycle trip. He hopped out, helped me up, checked out me and my bike - I assured him I was fine but was more concerned for the bike [breaking them is terribly expensive]. After satisfying his concerns, the hotel owner drove on and I gingerly hopped back on my bike to drive back to town.

I was lucky. Very, Very Lucky. I had some scrapes on my knees, which looked worse than they were thanks to the blood they poured onto my pants. My left elbow got it worst, which the next day I went to the hospital to have cleanned professionally. And the bike landed on my foot giving me a limp for a few days, but nothing serious, nothing long lasting, nothing unlucky.

But I still hadn't seen my jars. After returning to town, I cleaned myself up with my first aid kit, had a rest then met up with my travel buddy to head out to see 'Da Jars'. We got to two of the 3 sights (the best two, by rumor) and were awed by the idea. To be honest they don't blow you away like Stonehendge, but jars aren't as exciting as precariously balanced rocks; that's just a reality. It was still cool and to prove I made it there:

So, in retrospect perhaps I shouldn't have gotten a motorcycle, or at least I shouldn't have driven so fast. But as they say in South East Asia: "You haven't done South East Asia until you've had 5 near death experiences." That's one, stay tuned for the rest of the list!

Sweat and Malaria Tablets

I haven't written. I know, I know, what good is a blog if you don't write, and how will anyone know I'm alive if I don't feed the blog, but the internet isn't exactly the most reliable thing when you travel, at least not in South East Asia. Things here run differently to back home, as you might have guessed. For one, heat is a given. I encourage you to find a clip of Robin Williams in "Good Morning Vietnam" doing the weather report - "Hot today, hot yesterday, hot tomorrow", but I'm pretty sure he uses more profanity, being Robin Williams and all. But somehow I don't think you'll be satisfied with a simple paragraph telling you that the jungle is hot. No, you want more:

1) We're terrified of mosquitos. They're invisible biters and cary nasties with them. We take a malaria pill each night after dinner (if you want to know how well they work at preventing malaria, ask my brother). Adrienne's makes her photosensitive, which doesn't mean that she turns green and produces energy (which is what I thought it meant, she asured me that was photosynthetic), but means she get sunburned easily. I already slop so much sunscreen on there is no way to tell if mine is as well. Yet we're not afraid of malaria (hell, malaria is curable, just ask my brother). We're quaking in our sandles about Dengue Feaver: uncurable and absolutly miserable! We were at a swanky bar in Saigon and they had a cocktail called "The Dengue Cure", so we had to order it. On a tangent, the bartender was a friend of ours who had won best mixologist in Shanghai last year, a city of many classy bars... this was a delicious drink! But back to the serious matter at hand - I am relieved that I come from a place with next to no infectious disease inherent in our mosquitos.

2) Vietnam is a forgiving country. You'd expect them to be rather upset with the USA for fighting them, occupying them and causing thousands of birth defects as a result of chemical warfare (agent orange). Yet they're just not that angry. In the north there wasn't much fighting (lots of bombing, but not hand to hand fighting), so they were rather realxed about the whole thing. In the south it was more intense, especially around Saigon, where there was fighting and American troops. But people like my motorbike driver, who was from the south, was very philosophical about the war. He told us, "My father went to the war against the Americans but was very unlucky, he didn't come back." Those are not the words of an angry bitter soul.

The only time I felt any animocity towards my country was at the Chu Chi Tunnels - the tunnels outside Saigon the VietCong faught their war from. They were amazing to see, and unbelivable, considering they lived, ate and slept in these tiny little subterranian tunnels. Before we went in the tunnels they showed a propoganda film from the 70's about local men and women who'd killed lots of Americans and what heroes they were. It was odd to sit in a room and watch a video explaining how great it was to kill an American.

Other than that incident though, Vietnam seems to have mostly moved on from the war. That isn't to say some people aren't angry or effected, but the unused bunkers dotting the country side seem to have blended into the landscape and history of the country, not like a black eye, but like another story in Vietnams long history.

3) At the tunnels we got to fire M16s. They were loud, they were awesome!

4) The Temples of Ankor Wat are one of the 5 most amazing man made things I've ever seen. They're older than almost any church in Europe, bigger than any church in Europe and can be covered in elaborate carvings. I mean, some of these awesome temples are older than England... that's old!!!

Don't Tell My Mom

Please don't tell my mom; it's not the type of thing she's want to hear. My dad maybe could handle it, but mother's don't like to know these things. Yes, I did it because it seemed fun, and No I didn't get hurt, so there shouldn't be any problem. No harm, no foul, right? Still, don't tell my mom that we skipped out on our bus ticket from Hue to Hoi An and hired motorbikes to drive us 100 miles down the coast.

Our drivers, Nho and Ty (Easyrider), were just supposed to drive us around the old tombs and city of Hue during our 5 hour bus layover. We were just supposed to get back on the bus and ride to Hoi An that afternoon, but the more we rode, the more fun we had, the more they talked up riding down on the bikes and after a while it seemed like a darn fun idea. So we did.

Of course riding a motorbike through the windey highways of Vietnam, past the rice paddies and mountinous jungle isn't the safest way to travel, but there just isn't a better way to see the country. They took us to a mountain waterfall with a swiming hole below to relax at. They took us over the seaside mountain pass outfitted with a US bunker from the war, as the green hills which looked on raced to the blue Pacific below. They took us along the miles and miles of beach, past the resorts, restaurants and men lounging on plastic chairs. They took us off the tour bus and into the real Vietnam, bringing us local snacks (gelatinous rice steamed in bannana leaf with shrimp) and local restaurants. It you ever come to Vietnam, please hire a motorbike.

But please, don't tell my mom. These kinds of things tend to worry mothers, so please don't tell mine.

Life on the Road

I'd like to say I'm jet-setting around Asia, but that's not quite true. I'm more of 'slow bussing around Asia.' It's been a busy week, traveling from the foothills of the Himilayas to the Gulf of Tonkin and the Pacific Ocean. Adrienne and I are adjusting to life on the road still, with each day presenting new challanges and new adventures.

Leaving China left me with the problems of traveling in a unique country [Vietnam] without the requisite bag of tricks I'd developed in China. Adrienne has told me I need to smile and say, 'no thank you', to street people, instead of just ignoring them like in China. Also, I've found the Vietnamese slightly less punctual as the Chinese. Plus there are more scams.... much more.

Talking to people makes you wonder why you'd come to a country where almost everyone has their own scam story on either a bus, travel agent, taxi or xe om (motorcycle taxi). The scams are all the same, from extortion to overpricing, to bait-and-switch to outright theft. I sit on edge waiting for my crack at this seedy underside of Vietnam, suspecting everyone of harboring an inner swindler. Not the most enjoyable way to travel, but as time passes my feeling has been dissapating. Hopefully it won't be my lingering memory of this country.

Aside from that I've been taking a lot of busses. Overnight sleeper busses where instead of seats there are proper bunk-beds, like in a first class airplane but much more cramped (up to 40 bed on a bus!). The roads suffer more than the buses, as we traveled 7 hours from the tiny village of YuanYang to the Vietnamese boarder, travling the entire way benath the completed but unused highway - Vietnam hasn't built it's side at the boarder yet, so China forbids travel on it's half. In addition to the Chinese government's urban transportation policy, descending and climbing the hills near the Sino-Vietnamese border on the tiny windey roads can also be cause for nausea. Or at least it was for an old gradma 3 rows behind me, yacking into a bag as we climbed the hills to the village of YuanYang. I just put on my iPod and rubbed Tigerbalm under my nose to cover the sound and smell....

The decent from the mountains of Lijiang, through the rice village of YuanYang, the rainy hills of Sapa and down to the metropolitan hub of Hanoi has been a dizzying display of minority villages, fantastic panaramas and lots of rain. The best thing I've seen in the past week was Halong bay - an oceanic playground of hundreds limestone cliff islands shooting up from the green-blue water below. It's an experience to kayak through a small cave into a hidden lagoon surrounded by towering green cliffs on all sides.

I'm catching a bus down the coast in 10 minutes to Hue and Hoi An. Beach here I come!

Chinese Sunscreen

We often use the word 'Chinese' to describe something with uniquely Chinese characteristics, which celebrates the heritage of the country, like 'Chinese Food' or 'Chinese Martial Arts'. However, sometimes the word is used to designate something of low quality, 'Chinese quality' for example (or just look at all the fuss the PRC kicked up over Guns and Roses latest album - 'Chinese Democracy'). We'll I am afraid I need to rail on 'Chinese Sunscreen'. The quality is low.

Adrienne and I arrived in the remote western tourist city of LiJiang this week, expecting to see timeless Chinese Streets (used in the first meaning), and breathtaking scenery. On our first full day we saddled up on some bicycles and headed out of town, being sure to slop on some sunscreen before we left. Adrienne and I both have a bottle of sunscreen, but Adrienne's is from the 'Cancer Prevention Center of Australia', mine is from China. Choosing to rub the Australian stuff on our faces and necks, we set out on a very sunny bike ride to a small, rather decidedly uninteresting and unworthy-of-the-hype town nearby. As we paused for lunch we realized how red our arms were becoming and pulled out my Chinese sunscreen to remedy the problem before the burn was absolute.

The sunscreen did nothing. It might as well have been water. In no way, shape, or form did it prevent a single UV ray from our sun from reaching our skin; in short if we'd have been from KFC we'd have been served extra crispy. Thanks Chinese Sunscreen.

Not to fear, we made the best of it, setting off on a 2 day hike of Tiger Leaping Gorge the next morning, burned as can be, but happy to be traveling. The hike was strenuous at times (900m elevation gain), but to see the 5500m tall mountains sweep down nearly 4000m to the bottom of the gorge was unforgettable. To put it in perspective, the distance from the bottom of the valley to the top is almost as great as the distance from sea level to the tallest mountain in Europe. We might have been red from Chinese sunscreen, but I've no complaints about the Chinese mountains.

To the road...

As I write this I am less than 12 hours from getting on a plane out of Shanghai without knowing when or if I will return to this city. It's been a fascinating interesting experience, you might even call it life changing. The past two weeks have been understandably busy, scurrying around to ship off all my things and say goodbye to friends before I leave. This end, like most, is bittersweet; As excited as I am to travel, and as excited as I am to leave, departing a place where friends have been made and an enjoyable life lived always has a twinge of sadness. Because I've been busy I haven't been able to write everything I wanted to write in here the past few weeks, so I'm going to hit you with some quick hit paragraphs about Shanghai.

This city can be beautiful. Who knew?! At the City Urban Planning Museum they showed a map of the downtown and had all the parks and streets lined with trees and flowers highlighted in green, which stunningly displayed how much of this city has greenery if you care to see it. Now that the usual grey has abated for the past two weeks and the sky is blue, everything seems greener and more natural.

And Shanghai isn't taking this beautification lying down either, hoards or workers and public works projects are making this drab grey city more and more vibrant by the day. A block from my house an old decayed street was redone with more trees, more flowers and a new paint job that took the street from depressing to leisurely in a few weeks. Elsewhere in the city paint on the old grey block houses gives them a lighter presence, casting the mind back not to the communist era, but before that when Shanghai was really coming into its own. Perhaps in a few years the city will complete its transformation, which I no doubt will return to see.

The Shanghainese can learn, and learn fast. The World Expo is coming and Shanghai needs to be ready for it's big debut. As a result there have been posters, fliers, people with microphones urging pedestrians on the escalator to... Stand on the Right, Walk on the Left. You may recall I railed against the Chinese inability to grasp this concept, which I suspected at the time was because nobody had ever told them to. Turns out I was right, and all they needed was a massive government campaign to tell the people what to do and think, and compliance has been exceedingly swift! Westernization here they come!

Unfortunately the Expo brings other problems for the expats living in Shanghai. The government here has already unrolled a campaign of advertisements which will run nearly 24/7 on every available viewing screen proclaiming this upcoming expo as the seminal pinnacle of human creation for all of history. I'm not kidding, May 1 marked the '365 days until' point and the ads ratcheted up from boiling to straight vaporization. Thankfully I'm leaving and I'll never need to gaze into the happy eyes of the large 'toothpaste-looking' mascot ever again. The rest of the expats remaining behind in Shanghai will no doubt have reoccurring nightmares about this creature and will need psychiatric care... Good luck to you all.

On an unrelated topic, I've realized China does a pretty good job at recycling. I don't know how accurate my last statement is, but my personal experience in the past week while trying to throw out all the junk I didn't want left me realizing how much other people in Shanghai wanted my junk! Now, I've experienced the strange bottle recycling phenomenon before. Every city has recycling and every city has can and bottle people, but rarely are these can and bottle people seemingly homeowners with leisure time to play majong. Whenever I try to bring my empty bottles to the trash cove in my building complex, I make it halfway there before some old man comes running up to me to take the bottles from me, which wouldn't surprise me half as much if he hadn't been relaxing in our guarded compound playing majong with his buddies. I don't even know where the recycling place is near my house, but he does and I know how to find him, which is all that matters. Also, as I was Cleaning my room, I had loads to throw away, the useless junk I'd collected but had no intention of paying good money to send home, every trip I made to the dumpster full of bags had been seized by curious collectors before I returned with the next load 5 minutes later. Somewhere in Shanghai people are enjoying baggy sweaters, extra reading lamps and broken suitcases and I hope they enjoy them. Here's to you, Shanghai's secret recyelers!

Finally, as a last ditch 'Tourist in Shanghai' moment, I saw the Chinese Acrobats Show on Sunday night. Between the lady who balanced 20 water glasses on her chin before climbing a latter in high heels and the gentlemen who flipped off see-saws onto waiting chairs 30 feet above, I was most impressed by the one man who juggled a porcelain pot the size of a mid sized TV on his head. He would toss this massive pot in the air, catch it on his head, then tossed it from lip to lip on his head, all without dropping the thing which would have caused a massive headache, had it not crushed him completely. Nothing like a little good old fashioned tourist razzle dazzle.

And so, for the next 4+ months I expect nothing less than the usual tourist razzle dazzle. This isn't the end of the blog. Although I can't get Shanghaied in Shanghai anymore, I can still write about everything I see in South East Asia and beyond. I'll write soon.

Simple pleasures

Sometimes we forget about the simple joys in life, and I've found one of the simplest. First, let me set the scene.

China has it's own ways of doing things, for example many people still prefer to poop in a hole in the ground, so in many less westernized cities most of the bathrooms are simply 'squat toilets'.

Now, living in Shanghai I feel privileged to be surrounded by a world of toilet seats, meaning I don't need to stand in a room whose floor is covered in... well, you get the idea. Unfortunately, plumbing in Shanghai isn't always up to snuff. As a result, many toilets, like the ones at my office, cannot accommodate flushed toilet paper; instead a small waist bin sits in the stall next to the toilet and everyone tosses their used paper in there.

Are you ready to hear my simple pleasure? It's walking into the bathroom to discover that the trash can is empty. It means nobody has used the toilet since the cleaning people came, how great is that!!! I imagine this phenomenon is much less common in womens' rooms, but it still isn't that common in the mens'. Unlike in the west, where we can only gauge the cleanliness of the bathroom with our eyes, here in China we have proof of its cleanliness in the emptiness (or fullness) of its trashcan. Believe me, when the trash can is full, I search for a different bathroom. It may be a simple joy to find and empty one, but aren't the simple pleasures the ones which make life great?

The Mystery of China

Following my trip to Nanjing, and in the spirit of 'see it before you leave China', my girlfriend and I traveled to the city of Hangzhou, a small city and lake an hour and a half southwest of Shanghai which was voted the #1 tourist city in China in 2006 (by China). Everyone in China has seen the TV advertisements urging you to visit the city; there is only 1 English speaking channel and they show the ad every commercial break, ending with the comically endearing slogan, "Discover the Mystery of China!" Hangzhou lives up to the hype.

Though the town is lackluster, the West Lake evokes the classical beauty we've come to expect from Chinese scroll paintings. Before I left, I was told that "Hangzhou may be more beautiful when it's cloudy because the mist only adds to the atmosphere." Sceptical as I was of this tidbit, imagine my joy to discover they were correct, and the clouds and rain couldn't spoil my journey.

Most of my day was spent ambling across the miles long causeway across the west side of the lake. At one point we took a short boat cruise to the island in the center, which provided stunning views of the pagodas, hills and bridges in the distance. Any shore provided a fantastic vantage of the green natural beauty of the place, whether it was the bridges on the causeway or the tea house we lunched in. Green and natural as far as you could see.

All this greenery comes as quite a shock after living in Shanghai for a year. Hardened to the dreary existence of grey that permeates the Shanghainese life, escaping to a land of utter green is like opening the door after a tornado whisked you away to Oz. But to focus solely on the natural beauty almost does the people of Hangzhou a disservice: the area itself is clean. Unlike Shanghai where litter is strewn about like peanut shells after a baseball game, the tourist areas of Hangzhou were devoid of debris. Even the air felt cleaner!

All this environmental 'can-do' might explain why Hangzhou has some of the most famous tea in all of China. Having sampled some at the tea house, we proceeded to the National Tea Museum for the rainier section of the afternoon. After getting schooled on the finer points of Chinese tea history (more interesting than you'd think... for example: did you know that before the Song dynasty most tea was crafted into tea cakes, which had to be cooked, not steeped, before drinking and was more soup like than today's teas?), we ended up in the gift shop a few hundred yuan poorer and a few canisters of tea richer. Personally, I didn't care much for the tea when we were at the tea house, but when in Hangzhou, do as the Hangzhouns do.

The trip lasted barely over 24 hours, but I got to see the sites, drink the drinks and eat the eats (Hangzhou is famous for fish and a clay-pot roasted pork dish). My only regret is that I didn't get there sooner!

The Massacre of Nanjing

The Year: 1937. The place: Nanjing, China, home of the government of the Republic of China. 2 years before most history books record the start of WWII, and 4 years before Pearl Harbor was bombed by the Japanese, the Empire of the Rising Sun launched the first attacks of the most gruesome war in history. Technologically and strategically superior to the divided Chinese armies, the Japanese quickly swept through Shanghai and seized the capital Nanjing. What followed was a shocking atrocity - in 6 short weeks, 300,000 citizens of Nanjing were brutally killed.

In Nanjing, I visited the memorial to the massacre, a large, solemn memorial and museum on the burial site of one of the massacres. The massacres are both a sore point for the Chinese people and a rallying cry of nationalistic angst. Many of my students refuse to accept that the Japanese ever apologized for this dark point in history, yet evidence is to the contrary, as the Japanese Prime Minister has done so on numerous occasions. Although it would seem time for the Chinese to let their anger pass, there is no doubt they have reason to grieve the horrific events of 1937.

After seizing the city, the Japanese decreed that many soldiers had likely taken off their uniforms to blend in with the civilians, a claim which the Japanese said gave them license to round up and murder thousands of civilians. One story of a rickshaw-puller explained how Japanese soldiers had set upon him while he was cooking, claiming that he must be a soldier because he had calluses on his hands (no doubt from pulling a heavy rickshaw all day). He was lead into a field with over a hundred other men, who were then shot down en mass by the soldiers. The young rickshaw driver only survived because he was shot in the arm first and fainted, only to awaken later among a pit of bodies. Horrible stories like this were too common in the museum.

Yet the murders are not all. Over 80.000 cases of rape have been reported, concerning women from the age of 12 to 70. Daughters were raped in front of fathers, mothers in front of sons. Brutality of this sort is hard to forgive, but not to be forgotten.

A few things shocked me during my visit. The most notable was that the most staunch defenders of the public, the people who brought sense to the madness and who helped ease the death toll, were mostly German. The leader of the international committee which created a 'safe zone', was a Nazi representative, sent my the 3rd Reich to oversee business interest in the region. The Red Swastika League buried countless bodies, providing decency and preventing outbreaks. How a few years later Germans would become known for their own holocaust, while preserving so many lives in China was unexpected.

Also shocking was the purveyors of brutality. I have studied bits and pieces of WWII, and my impression is that while it takes a nation to be complacent in a holocaust, the killing done by the Nazis was carried out by a select crew of SS officers, specially hardened and warped. Yet in Nanjing, the mode of execution was no gas chamber, but the end of a rifle. And the killings were not carried out by special, hardened madmen, but large, general parts of the Japanese Army. These were the regular soldiers committing unspeakable acts against civilians - had none of them morals?! Was the mindset of the average Japanese so far removed from humanity that it could produce huge squadrons of executioners? I feel the horror of Nanjing lies as much in the scale of the victims as it does in the scale of the criminals.

There is no doubt Japan should be sorry for what it has done, and perhaps it hasn't been enough. China has every right to be upset by the past. But why neither nation seems wiling to find common ground only lays the seeds for more unspeakable disasters.

One Night In Nanjing

"Wait, Dan, you didn't tell us anything about Nanjing!!"

So true. So, what do four expats on holiday in the historic city of Nanjing get up to on a Saturday night? Well, let me tell you from personal experience, it's far worse on a person's body than you might expect. Let me explain:

Me and my three travel buddies (my girlfriend Adrienne, and two other co-workers Cortney and Alison), had just left the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom Museum for a stroll around the restored old part of town near the Confucius temple. The museum gave an awesome PRC slant to this group of rebels (we call it 'The Taiping Rebellion, after all), which disregarded their fanatical, crazy brand of Christianity (the leader claimed to be Jesus's brother) and puritanical laws which would John Carver would protest to, and instead claimed them a sovereign 'kingdom' defending the rights of the poor peasantry in imperialist occupied China. Good stuff.

As I was saying, we'd just left and walked around Fuzimiao (the old town, which as you can see from the lights, was doing it's best to look young and hip). Stopping in an ice cream parlor to get off our feet, we asked the waitress a good place for dinner or drinks. Our conversation was strained, half in English, half in Chinese, but all she kept repeating was "One Nine One Two". So we hopped in a taxi and shouted "Yi Jiu Yi Er" and were whisked away to a giant complex called, well "1912" filled with bars and restaurants. After downing a considerable amount of hot pot, a wonderful dinning experience where they boil a pot of broth on your table then bring you plates full of raw vegetables and meat, which you can cook, season and eat at your leisure, we found a hip bar playing live western music (live Chinese music is called karaoke and is to be avoided). After playing a few hours of a game which involves dice, gambling and bluffing, we decided to turn in so we would be refreshed for our sightseeing the next day and sought out a taxi.

The taxi ride, however led our night astray. We were going home, we were going to sleep, but we were hungry. If you're hungry in China and it's after 11pm, there is unfortunately only one place to go - McDonald's. We informed our driver half way home of his new task, finding a 24-hour McDonald's. After the first 24 hour McDonald's was closed (how can a 24 hour restaurant be closed?!) we arrived at the promised land of quarter pounder goodness. Had we gone home that night we would have only caused our self dietary harm, unfortunately we weren't smart enough to do that: someone proposed a relaxing massage and all agreed. Our fate was sealed.

We eagerly sought a massage parlor, hailing a taxi whose driver delighted us in telling us that she knew of two places. The first place she took us too was covered in bright neon lights outside. We sent an emissary to check out the situation, while the rest of us had waited in the car. The response was something to do with 'men only' and 'shower' - we suspected it was one of the 'for men, by men, in the shower' massage joints. We moved on.

The next place was a hole in the wall, but didn't involve showers and was only 5 bucks for an hour massage. Never mind that it was dodgy and dirty ( just look at the picture!), it seemed perfect. It seemed. Perhaps my massage artists had been woken up by our 1am arrival; perhaps my artist had just broken up with her boyfriend; perhaps my artist had a hatred of westerners; or perhaps she just didn't like me. Whatever the reason, the next hour was reminiscent of what I expect a few minutes in a boxing ring with a kangaroo would feel like. She hammered away, push pressure points, bruising my bones, muscles and self-esteem in the process. It was far from a relaxing massage.

The next morning when we woke, we had a full day of sightseeing planned. Aching, we dragged ourselves around the top tourist sights, imagining how great we could have felt had we just skipped that darn massage. Our last stop on the day was Dr. Sun Yat-Sen's Mausoleum. The first president of the Republic of China after the last dynasty in 1912, he is considered the many to be the father of modern China. He was also a hug advocate of steps.

Taiping Rebellion. McDonald's. Massage. Stairs. Nanjing.

Keep Holy the Holy Day

"Thou shalt eat no leavened bread with it; seven days shalt thou eat unleavened bread therewith, even the bread of affliction; for thou camest forth out of the land of Egypt in haste: that thou mayest remember the day when thou camest forth out of the land of Egypt all the days of thy life." - Deuteronomy 16:3

For millions the world over, this passage has decreed abstinence from leavened bread on Passover. As Jews are not to eat bread, Catholics are not to eat meat on Fridays of Lent. These 'sacrifices' of joy and convenience help millions focus their faith and expand their spirituality. In China, however, it couldn't be easier.

Bread is no longer part of my weekly diet. Now, before all you 'carb-haters' decide to flood to China, it wasn't that I wasn't living carb free; rice and noodles are a near daily occurrence. Aside from the odd treat from the pastry shop or the occasional sandwich from Subway, it's like Passover everyday in China - except the wine sucks so you'd never ever want to drink 4 cups.

As for my personal Catholic dilemma surrounding meat, again it's a breeze! Nobody cooks vegetables like the Chinese - nobody. As a 16 year old, I never would have thought I could be so happy eating half my meals without meat. When my mom came to visit, she was sceptical of the meatless dishes, but after a week of non-stop Chinese she too had seen the light. Eat Vegetables with Glorious Chinese Characteristics! Non- meat is a non issue.

I celebrated my Easter with friends at a decedent western-style buffet at one of Shanghai's swankier hotels. Meat is allowed on Easter, so roast pork and lamb, an array of seafood salads, dim sum, Thai and Indian dishes, not to mention the giant cheese plate (I haven't had brie since I was home in January) and a chocolate fountain graced my plate, er plates. Full and feeling the size of a house I set out with my girlfriend for a weekend in Hangzhou.

Somehow train-rides and Easter go hand in hand in my mind, no doubt a holdover from a children's Easter TV special I watched when I was a kid. The ride was swift and pleasant, this time leading us south of Shanghai towards the stunning natural beauty the lake at Hangzhou provides. I didn't make it to church this year, I tried the English church in Shanghai last Easter and left feeling more than disappointed; it was far more preachy and narrow minded than anyone raised on guest lecturing theologians from the Weston School of Theology could bear. Resolved to not miss out completely on the holiday's religious side this year, I threw on Jesus Christ Superstar and gazed out the window.

With the weather as perfect as it gets now, and the countryside mirroring the springlike atmosphere, bursting forth swaths of yellow rape-seed flowers among the rundown houses, fields of green and misplaced apartment complexes, the train ride the prefect backdrop to an Easter's day.

I can't comment on religion in China, but they say it may soon have more Christians than any other religion in the world. It's encouraging that there are at least a dozen churches in Shanghai. Understandably people are still learning about religion, recovering from the cultural gap which has always existed and the more recent rift in culture sharing between East and West. I've explained more times than I can count that according to dogma, Easter is more important than Christmas, questioning to myself how many Americans are aware of that fact. Perhaps religion can eventually be used to bridge the gaps between the West and China, not widen it. Besides it's easy to be religious in China - we don't eat much meat and bread to begin with!

The Train

To celebrate the long weekend I just had for Qing Ming Festival (that's Tomb Sweeping Day to you), some of my fellow teachers and I took a trip to the city of Nanjing. Nanjing is a pleasant medium sized city, located about 2 hours from Shanghai by train and known by most of the world for one of two reasons: it has twice been the proud capital of China, or because it was the sight of the horrific Nanjing Massacre by the Japanese invaders during World War II. The dreary part of it's history aside, Nanjing was a much calmer, greener and relaxed place than Shanghai - an ideal get away. However before going there was the important 'getting there' hurdle we needed to pass.

Train tickets for non-overnight journeys go on sale 5 days before the travel date. That means that anyone wishing to travel on the Saturday of the long weekend holiday needed to buy their tickets last Tuesday, including us. As Saturday was (1) the first day of a long weekend, and (2) a holiday where families are supposed to travel to the countryside graves of their ancestors in deference, we were rather terrified at the prospect of all of Shanghai trying to book tickets on our train. Arriving at a hotel near work around 12:30, we discovered a 50 minute long line at this ticket station (one of possibly over a hundred around the city). After the nerve-wracking wait (nothing like having your trip ruined because you couldn't buy a ticket), we had tickets in hand for noon, which was the earliest tickets left available! Whats more, we had to return two days later to buy our return trip (thankfully, and strangely, most Chinese people seemed geared towards traveling only 2 of the 3 days they had off). Finally, we had our tickets!

You know the guy who wrote the 1,000 places to see before you die book? Well he left out a big one - you must experience a Chinese railway station on a holiday. I'll agree Shanghai's probably doesn't compare to it's counterparts in India, but it's a sight to behold! Thousands of people streaming through 4 checkpoints to get onto their train sounds chaotic, but it's amazingly organized. After the first ticket check to get into the rail station, there is a baggage examination to make sure nobody is plotting something sinister. Having cleared that you must identify your train 'waiting room', of which there are 10, and you can only board your train from the correct room. They check your ticket getting into the waiting room, where you, well. Finally they'll call your train and a quarter of the people in the waiting area rush the gateway and begin a mad sprint (I kid you not, a wild, fiendishly blind sprint) for the platform and their seat. Settled into your seat, the train eventually pulls away from the station, and everyone with a seat gets a free bottle of water, yup free water. China, what a country!

Arriving in Nanjing results only in more confusion - if you though a throng of people was running around in the daylight of the Shanghai rail station, the underground corridors filled, as far as I could see, with short, little black haired Chinese people (literally, I'm a head taller than them I stood out like a lightning rod). The chaos was acute. You should try it.

Speaking of standing out like a lightning rod, I was the subject of countless photos of strangers this weekend. It seems to happen every time I venture outside of Shanghai. On my last day in Nanjing I noticed a Pizza Hut with a line out the door - for Pizza Hut! I decided I needed to take a picture, but was slightly embarrassed to take it directly, so I tried to look as casual as possible, while snapping photos of every nearby building before zooming in on the Hut. When Adrienne, my girlfriend noticed this, she pointed out my elaborate display was unnecessary, as literally dozens of Chinese had shamelessly and plainly taken my photo this weekend - it seems fair that I can snap one of them. So I did:

Rubs me the wrong way

Chinese parents take very good care of their children. They smother them with tons of attention (it's an entire country of only children), and if the parents are busy the grandparents are more than happy to step in and take over. The little tykes are bundled up in winter until they actually resemble the Maggie Simpson five point star, complete with immobilized arms from all the padding. Chinese children are pampered... except for their rumps.

All children between the age of 1 and 4 are required by government law to wear pants with slits from front to back exposing their butts and bits. Okay, it's not the law, but basically ever kid wears these ridiculous pants. How can the parents do this to their children? First - don't the kids get cold? It seems silly to have them bundled to the 9's then let them run around with their tiny red balls exposed for jack frost to nip away at. Secondly - it must be uncomfortable. As a young male, back in the US, baby butts were a pretty rare thing for me to see, but the butts here look pretty red from rubbing them all day on the floor, sidewalk, etc. It must really hurt. And finally - how unsanitary is it? Letting my kid rub his truly unmentionables over the ground soaked black by dirt and rainwater seems like a terrible idea, but that doesn't stop anyone here. Cold, uncomfortable, unsanitary - not to mention degrading.

But when you're that young you don't know degrading from a busy intersection. Last week in the subway I saw a mother cradling her daughter, pants around the knees, over a trash can so she could pee into the plastic bag below. As horrified as I was I have to admit it wasn't shocking. The week before I saw one of the youngsters from my new favorite noodle place squatting next to the curb outside on a major motorway. It took me a minute or two to realize what was going on - but sure enough after a minute I saw his little brown creation beneath his squat, as he patiently looked around the busy intersection he was in, waiting for mom or dad to ... I have no idea what he was waiting for them to do, but it looked like this wasn't his first time pooping on the street in front of the restaurant (forcing me to think about the cleanliness inside this restaurant, which I try not to do). Unashamed, this split panted boy guarded his handy work until it could be dealt with. These ridiculous pants are worn by those too young to know otherwise.

The best of this story however, might be hearsay. If you go to the zoo in Shanghai, you'll see many animals, and lots of animal dung. You can even see human children's dung, which is visible in the children pooping area - a small concrete park littered with little presents left by the young visitors. I haven't seen it, but I've heard it's true and that's enough for me. Not only are the Chinese loving parents, they save on diapers too!

While it lasts

There is an old adage in Shanghai - "You should go outside and enjoy Spring, both weekends". Well, Spring is here in Shanghai and I'm trying to take full advantage of it. The weather is generally either hot or cold and always wet, except for a few magical weeks every year in the spring. The humidity is manageable and the sun shines and life is good. I love spring in Shanghai.

This is a sharp contrast to spring in Boston. In Boston I grumble for months on end about how much nicer it would be if summer would hurry and come; winter holds on, dumping snow well past it's expiration date while reminders of how great summer can be (baseball, sunshine, the odd warm day) only torment me as goals just out of reach. Spring is my least favorite season back home.

But in Shanghai it's lovely. I'm taking a trip next weekend to a nearby city, and this weekend I intend to go out and peruse some of the prettier parks in the city. The trees are all in bloom and the parks are bursting into a luscious green. I spent part of my Wednesday morning sitting atop the MoCA museum in the out door cafe, sipping fresh mango juice, overlooking People's Park, gazing at the sky scrappers beyond and recalling how I've only seen such a beautiful, well lit contrast of public greenery and private buildings of enterprise in only a handful of cities (New York, Hong Kong, Tokyo... and Boston), which I revere as the most fantastically wonderful cities on earth. I respect Shanghai, but that is quite noble company in my opinion.

So for now all is good. Shanghai is sunny and warm, the heat isn't oppressive, it's great. Somewhere birds are singing; Somewhere children shout.

Urban Bamboo Forest

For all the environmental flack China gets from the rest of the word, there is at least one resource the Chinese use creatively and efficiently - Bamboo. As a renewable resource, which can renew itself in a few days during the rainy season, bamboo makes for a wonderfully useful plant. Aside from appearing in numerous dishes (pork fried with oyster sauce and bamboo shoots is one of my favorite dishes), bamboo is widely utilized in construction, even in Shanghai. Rare is the ingredient which can be used to build the restaurant, then be used in that restaurants food.

It was yesterday, while I was on my way to fetch some of my favorite fried pork dish, that I happened to walk down a street near my office which seemed to have been overrun by a growth of bamboo. Every facade on the entire street was being re-done and the workmen were busy assembling scaffolding made from bamboo shoots. Ten meter long shoots were being tied together with extra long twist-ties. The scaffolding only stretched 3 stories high, but when erected on both sides of a narrow street for the entire block, it begins to feel rather encompassing. On each story of the scaffolding the floor was made of woven bamboo mats covering support shoots. And although the thought of twist ties holding together hundreds of pounds of bamboo balanced above my head was nerve wracking, the workers didn't seem to mind as at least a dozen bounded around on different levels, securing more shoots and ties.

It's not the first time I've seen construction in Shanghai using bamboo scaffolding. In fact it is so common in Shanghai I have more confidence in it than I do in the rusted metal poles which are used on occasion for taller structures (the awesome sky scrappers get proper professional scaffolding - we don't want those falling down). I have no idea what they do with the bamboo after it's used for construction. Perhaps they eat it.

The Passport

If I were forced to choose a theme song, The Beachboys I Get Around might not be a bad choice. I have been blessed with the resources, education, family and desire not only to create, but to feed my wanderlust. If you haven't heard, I'm living in China now, but didn't always. I was fortunate enough to spend a year studying in London, running over Europe on my off days; and I've been privileged to see much of my fair country with both friends and family. And future travel plans aren't in short supply either, as I have made plans to leave my teaching gig here in Shanghai to depart on a 5 month bonanza vacation. Is it crazy to quit a job and blow so much money on travel during the worst economic crisis of my or my parents lifetime? Probably. Will I regret it? Probably not.

Americans, however are not expected to venture far from our shores. I say this because if you compare your US passport to those of most other globalized countries you'll quickly discover that we have significantly less pages in our passports than they do. We have more than enough room for stamps, but when countries decided to take up a full page with a visa, then a second with a residence permit (then another with a second residence permit), the pages start to disappear all too quickly (lookin' at you China...). In short, if you travel enough you're gonna need more pages added to your passport.

When I realized this fact last fall, I began to look into what steps I would need to fulfill to get these bonus pages. On the internet the prospect looked bleak, as I was only going to be home for a month over Christmas and the State Department said it would take up to 6 weeks to return it to me by mail, unless I expedited the work (at the cost of $60) and they'd have it back to me in 2 weeks - there was no 'in person' option. I had reluctantly resigned myself to spending 400 Kung-Pow Chickens on upgrading my travel papers when I learned of an alternative: the US Consulate in Shanghai.

Apparently adding pages isn't difficult. Less than half an hour after I arrived at the consulate, I was walking out with 24 fresh new pages in my little blue book, and I didn't even have to pay a dime! Covered with background landscape scenes from around the US, they were just stuck right in the middle of my old passport. Talk about expedited - 30 minutes and FREE! Needless to say I was excited, so I celebrated by throwing on some Beachboys and heading out for some Kung-Pow. It's amazing how bureaucratic rigmarole we go through for passports sometimes, and how easy they really can be to make and update.

Camping in Shanghai

Things age faster in Shanghai. You know the old saying, "A 10 year old airplane is younger than a 1 year old computer"? Well a 10 year old building in Shanghai is older than a 20 year old building in Boston, or is that 30 year old building in Boston? It's hard to tell, but things here weren't built to last - and it shows.

I loose power in my apartment every 2 hours, and it doesn't even matter if anything is plugged in or turned on, it just goes off. Turning it back on isn't hard; I just need to walk to the circuit breaker and flick the switch back to on, but that's not the point. Everynight I go to bed knowing that shortly after I fall asleep my heater will switch off and I'll wake up shivering sometime early in the morning. I've drawn on my camping experience to prepare for the night, but this isn't Yellowstone, it's Shanghai! I'd point to this being a faulty switch, which I'm sure it is, but the curious part is that this is the 2nd (out of 3) apartments in which this has happened to me here. How hard is it to build circuit fuses that don't fall to the off position merely from the suggestion of gravity? Apparently hard enough.

In my office we've had the opposite problem: sweltering heat. The weather outside isn't that nice, still light jacket weather, but the office is t-shirt and shorts weather. The building administrator refuses to turn on the air conditioning until the outside temperature reaches a designated number, which it hasn't. Our classrooms, stuffed with 25 students turn into small ovens and we all bake, which unfortunately doesn't seem to be a huge concern to my bosses (and the teachers' office, which is hotter is even further from their minds). It seems unfair: I either freeze at home or melt at the office with no means of regulating the surrounding temperature - just like camping!

Everybody is Irish (if they want to be)

Today marks my second St. Patrick's day here in Shanghai, and it simply pales in comparison to the festivities in Boston. If you went to school in Boston you KNEW when St. Patrick's day was because it was one of the biggest festivals of the year: Christmas, Your Birthday, St. Patrick's Day. Let's face it, there are a few finite rules to celebrating the holiday, which if obeyed will resulted in an awesome time had by all. 1) Everyone wears green. 2) Everyone claims to be part Irish (no exceptions). 3) Eat something Irish - an Irish fry-up or corned beef. 4) Drink good Irish beer. That's it. 4 Simple rules which, if followed, allow everyone to share in this special holiday. Yes, yes, I'm sure it's nothing like how the holiday is celebrated in Ireland (I imagine that none of the 4 rules actually apply) - but the beauty of St. Patrick's day is that its such an international festival. It's about inclusiveness and togetherness - We're all Irish Today.

I'm intrigued, especially on this most inclusive of holidays, by an advertisement for the 2010 World Expo in Shanghai that airs everyday on the subway. Staring the incalculably creepy mascot Hairbo - who resembles the old Crest toothpaste mascot if he had been on happy drugs - the ad opens with this animated creature sways and waves from the hills of Tibet, while young children and women in traditional Tibetan dress excitedly run up and wave along side it. Next Hairbo appears in Xinjiang, the Muslim northwest province of China, amidst Persian looking girls in long flowing dresses dancing to rhythmic drums amids grape vines and feast filled tables. Finally, Hairbo is a giant, standing tall aside the skyscrapers of Hong Kong, peeking and waiving from behind the buildings, bridges and peaks of the stunningly beautiful city. All three places Hairbo promotes the World Expo are gorgeous - and I wonder if all 3 would rather consider themselves separate from China.

It seems strange to me that someone (the government?) is trying to create buzz and excitement over the expo in the same way it was created for the Olympics. For the Olympics, China's status as host to the world spurred patriotism and excitement, but how can it work again when the fact is that the expo won't generate half the buzz the Olympics did. I'd even go so far as to doubt the people of Tibet and Xinjiang know there still IS a world expo (did you?), let alone that it will be in China. Why do the advertisements for the expo revolve around fringe elements of Chinese society?

In light of St. Patrick's Day, when everyone is happy to call themselves Irish, this ad crashes headlong into a mental divide I cannot seem to bridge. The people of China, never mind it's government, will fight vehemently that these societies are part of China and that they always have been, yet at the same time they slight them at every chance they get, blaming them for all the crime and making it difficult to create upward mobility or move to cities. Maybe I'd feel better about it if my students didn't tell me Tibet is a dangerous place, or that most of the crime in Shanghai is from migrant Xinjiangnese, but as it is these 'Chinese citizens' seem to be disregarded as second class and only trumpeted when images of national unity are desired. No matter how great China claims to be, or how inclusive it tells it's people it is, I don't know of a holiday where people claim to be Chinese. Go Ireland.

A joke

In an effort to alleviate growing international criticism, the CCP decided to implement a new media relations strategy. For this purpose the government recruited the top young party members who had just recently received degrees in communications and political relations from top western universities to train the older members. One of these recruits, Li, was sent to work with old time party member Wong and his aid.

"Alright", Li said, "I'm going to ask a question and I want you to respond like I was a member of the media. What do you say to the allegations that China is among the worlds leading polluters?"

"How Dare You Insinuate that China is Responsible for Global Pollution! You must be banished to Xinjiang! No one will ever hear of you again! You worthless pig!", shouted party member Wong.

"No, No, remember we're working with the new media relations guidelines, you need to be more understanding", Li interjected. "Let's try it again. What do you say to the allegations that China is among the worlds leading polluters?"

This time Wong responded, "We understand that pollution is a concern for all growing and globalized countries. The government is issuing new regulations and working with companies to curb the impact China has on the global environment."

"That's great! We'll continue the training tomorrow", Li said as he left the room.

Turning to his aid, Wong asked what he thought of the training.

His aid responded, "It's good, but we'll have to send him to Xinjiang, he knows about the pollution."

Tina's eggs are ready

If you've felt that I've been remiss in writing over the past few weeks, you are most certainly correct. My online time, and much of my life has become centered around farming. "Farming?", say surprised that anything can grow beneath Shanghai's rainbow of greys. Yes, online farming.

Recently a Chinese co-worker introduced a social website with a farming application to our office. Having spread like wildfire through the teachers' office, you're more likely to hear us discussing eggplants and pumpkins than exclamations and punctuation. Frankly, we're all obsessed.

The game is straight forward enough. You plant seeds in your plots of land, which then take somewhere around 24 hours to 'grow' before they are ready for harvest. You then need to harvest and sell your plants before anyone else can steal them. The interaction comes from being able to steal from each others vegetables if they're slow to harvest them, or put weeds and bugs in their crops to diminish their crops quality. The more money you have, and the more points you accumulate allow you to expand your farming empire, buying more land and even a cow for milk and a chicken for eggs.

Most of the past two weeks all office talk has centered around this game. What's the best crop to grow at different levels? Should you use the expensive fertilizer (which makes your plants grow faster) or the cheap stuff? Whose crops are ready to be stolen? Alliances have been built and trampled, but the general rule is if someone's crops are ready to be harvested and they're off teaching class... tell everyone else in the office so they can steal their crops.

I'd write more but I need to harvest my eggplants before anyone steals any.

What a way to go!

As I've said, I didn't go anywhere over spring festival, instead choosing to relax and readjust to China by cooking and stuffing myself on home-made delicacies. My girlfriend and I took turns alternating as head chef each night, while the other usually arranged the side dish or something. One of our dishes we had planned to make was a succulent stew of chicken, olives and tomatoes. The problem is that much like Christmas, rather than going out to eat at a restaurant, everyone cooks for the festival. This meant that there was no chicken breast left on the shelves of Carrefour and we were forced to improvise.

Selecting to instead purchase a whole chicken, which we could quarter on our own, we thought we could save money and still have our chicken dinner. What we were slow to realize is that... they like to use more parts of the chicken than we do!

As we cut the chicken free of it's packaging the first glaring difference lay across the cutting board. It still had it's head. We had expected this and it had been made clear that severing the chicken's head from its body was a mans task, and that I would need to do it. Wishing I had a black robe and a guillotine (which would have made it much easier) I had to settle for a beer to calm my nerves before severance could be served. Then with one big whack (followed by a lot of smaller whacks and some sawing...) the head came free and was immediately bagged and placed in the trash. We had won, I cut off the monsters head!!

The second fear was that the bird would have all of its innards, a thought which almost lead me to despair before I realized that the bird wasn't stuffed with its organs (they're too valuable and are sold separately), but instead was stuffed with it's own feet. That's right, after they killed and shaved the chicken they shoved his feet up his butt. What a way to go! Removing the feet proved far easier, and after some discussion about saving them for a future broth, they joined the head in the bottom of the bin.

The dish turned out great. The chicken's dignity, not so much.

Whistle Power

As the world economic crises thickens, countries around the globe are searching for ways to get people off the street and into jobs. Like the United States, China has launched it's own initiative to provide work for the excess of 20 million men, women and children recently laid off from factories and other jobs. One solution the government had was to put crossing guards, armed with whistles, at ever intersection between my house and the subway with express intentions to piss me off.

I appreciate that these men have jobs, and congratulations to the government for providing for them. It's just that... well, I can't stand them. Stationed 4 to an intersection, these reflective-vest-wearing state employees were given whistles and instructions not to let anyone set foot off the curb if they don't have a green walk signal. Why is the government targeting a crackdown on the ever dangerous jay-walking when none of the vehicles seem concerned for the rules makes me wonder if the police are treating the paper cut because the knife wound looked too daunting.

Or maybe I'm just bitter. These men have no tact, manners or soul. Last week, having absent mindedly taken 2 steps off the curb while waiting for the light to change, the nearest whistle bearer came running over, whistle shrieking at full tilt until he was 5 feet away and continued to lay on the noise until I'd retreated the yard back to the curb. Not to be cliche, but I've never seen so little power go to someone's head. The overreaction to the offense seems vastly disproportional, but then again... isn't China known for over reactions and power going to peoples heads?

Not that I wish these people didn't have jobs, nor am I unhappy that China is at least trying to enforce a rule - for a change, and nor is my life vastly effected by this change (I now patiently wait on the curb and watch in astonishment at the vast number of startled offenders whistled off the crosswalk). What dismays me is the attitude of these men. My story above isn't an isolated experience, I've witnessed dozens of others befall the same screeching fate in the past few days. But in a country better known for authoritarianism than humanitarianism, perhaps it isn't surprising that pedestrians are treated like misbehaving dogs.

Paper Plates

In an effort to keep western traditions and to ensure human interaction, my girlfriend and her roommate threw a brunch this past weekend at their apartment; I was to be employed as official egg maker (a task which I feel I satisfactorily completed). This brunch, attended by about 15 people ranging from the age of 2 to 30 something (a married couple brought their child), was a veritable smorgasbord of food - eggs and bacon, waffles, Dunkin Donuts, home-made hummus and vegetables, chips and salsa, pate and sushi. If that isn't an international spread, I don't know what is. Enjoyable as the brunch was (with the cleaning up was not so much), the more humerus incident happened the night before.

We had ventured to the Carrefour near my girlfriends apartment to buy supplies - eggs, bacon, utensils, etc. After securing all the edible needs, we proceeded to hunt around the bottom level of the store for the paper goods, including paper plates which were curiously hidden from us. After 5 minutes of hunting on our own near the disposable silverware, paper cups and bowls, we got smart and asked one of the workers where we could find paper plates. Her response: "We don't have any because there isn't an event [or holiday] this month, come back next month."

The sheer Chinese-ness of the response is beautiful. While completely illogical (what do you mean no events? My brunch isn't an event?), it has a screwball grain of thought behind it (most people wouldn't be buying them, so you shouldn't either). How a store which carries over 30 varieties and brands of green tee (they have a green tea isle, where no black, herbal or medicinal tea is sold), can not carry any paper plates is still a mystery to me. But then again, so still is most of the culture here.

Of Birds and Men

In the past two days I saw two interesting bird events. Something as simple as the relationship between men and birds can seem so different in different cultures, and I don't just mean the dishes we put them in. Birds here usually are for eating, but sometimes, just sometimes for pleasure.

I saw a collection of white pigeons in the park the other day. While this may not seem like a revolutionary observation, the more I think about it the more interesting it becomes. Pigeons of any sort are rare in Shanghai. I tend to think they're all eaten by the locals (hence the number of pigeon dishes in the restaurants) but I have no proof. Instead, these birds are clearly government sanctioned, complete with ankle tags and a seed-selling vendor nearby: These are show birds, which may explain why they're white. Most pigeons I've seen are a mix of black and grey, with the occasionally albino thrown in, but this group was all white. I guess they just looked cleaner, I can't think of any other reason. It also mystifies me because when I show my students pictures of doves they always call them pigeons. I can't help but wonder about the unique pack of strange white pigeons in a city devoid of free birds.

But this pales in comparison to what I saw yesterday - a man walking his bird. The man carried a cage alongside him, while his small black bird flew in a zig zag patter across the path in front of him, pausing each time to make sure his master was still with him. This bird, untethered as far as I could see, flew alongside his master up the path and onto the steps to their apartment. At this point, the man bent over, opened the cage door and the bird hopped inside. I couldn't scarcely believe it. I've heard of birds with loyalty to their masters, and seen it in movies, but to see a bird act like a dog was a totally new experience. I love it.

A word on Hope

Hope. A word we've heard more of this year than we have in long time. President Obama has given us a cause to hope again, yet the feeling still seems generally foreign and forgotten. It's an emotion our society doesn't speak about in earnest much these days, preferring to retreat to the scepticism and pessimism instilled in us from abundant heartbreak in our past. This pessimism inflicts our thoughts - we don't trust the kindness of strangers on the street, and our dreams for the future - we all still hope the world gets better, but are far from certain that it will. Honest to goodness Hope is in short supply.

The other emotions get more face time; joy for example sees its fair share. And although joy would seem to be the opposite side of the coin from hope, hope realized if you will, I've seen much more joy than childlike hope in the past decade - at weddings, graduations, parties and whatnot. So where is the hope?

We have holidays for love (Valentine's Day), holidays for fright (Halloween). We have holidays for luck (St. Patrick's Day), for patriotism (Independence Day), and even holidays for reasons we don't really remember (Cinco de Mayo). Christmas was once a day, a season, of hope, but now it's shed that image to mean more in some ways, less in others. But I wouldn't say Christmas is a time we're filled with hope. New Year's could be a day of hope, but generally we chose to look back, not forward. So why isn't there a holiday of hope? I say there is. And it's today.

If there ever were a day which represented hope - unchecked, wild and delirious hope it is today: Pitchers and Catchers Report to Spring Training. Hope Abounds.

The Dissapearing Man

China is different. I'm not the same either, but China's different. And not from when I left in December, at least not as far as I can tell, but I finally deduce a difference. The loudspeakers men are gone.

When I first came to China there was a humorous (if unnerving) phenomenon where men would ride bicycles in slow motion through residential areas and around housing complexes with loudspeakers blaring a man's voice shouting in Chinese. For a long time I had no idea why this was or what it was for. I suspected it was communist propaganda being spilled constantly onto the minds of the unsuspecting citizens. The information saturation was complete and total, and even more invasive than I could have imagined. Fortunately, this wasn't the case. The truth is the men are advertising their interest in purchasing old refrigerators, air conditioners, appliances, etc. Not nearly as exciting or juicy as propaganda, but much more sensible.

But now these men are gone. Was a law passed banning this activity? Is the economy hurting that bad? Did they buy each and every old appliance in the city already? I don't know and probably never will. All I know is the men with the loudspeakers (the men who let me imagination run wild), are gone.

Where have all the dumplings gone?

Anyone who asked me what I was looking forward to back in China while I was home got pretty much one of two responses - my girlfriend and the food. I've blogged here numerous times about my love of meals - noodles, dumplings, Peking Duck. Which is why the reverse-reverse-culture shock is so terrible now - I cannot find good food!

Over the holidays at home restaurants close, some might even be closed for a week, heaven forbid! It's a fact of life we can all accept. But what happens in China is both shocking and terrifying - restaurants close for a month!

Since I arrived the week before the Spring Festival, all my favorite little dodgy restaurants - the ones I was looking forward to most, have been closed. That means were going on 3 weeks now of no greasy kung-pow chicken, no authentic sweet-n-sour pork, even Noodles is still closed (on an unrelated note, I've moved back into the neighborhood where Noodles the restaurant is located, so joy and delectable noodles will soon rain upon me eventually, just not yet). How torturous is it to look forward to something so simple, so ubiquitous as food from cheap dodgy restaurants in China, only to have it snatched away by the great Spring Festival?

I understand they're family restaurants, and that everyone has returned to the countryside to be with their families. I understand that this long trip can only be taken once a year, so why not make it count. I understand all this, but as a sad little westerner in Shanghai, I miss the food!

Mae day

A slow week at work, with most of the staff and students still on holiday, leaves ample time for students and teachers to get into more detailed discussions than normal. Not that the regular "where are you from?", "what do you think of Shanghai?", "can you speak any Chinese?" discussions aren't fun, but yesterday I had an exceptionally rare candid conversation with a couple of students. One in particular, we'll call her Mae to protect her identity (and because I forget her real name), astounded me with insight both new and old to me, but rarely discussed within the walls of EF.

Or first exceptional topic was philosophy, which is a pretty incredible thing to discuss with a group of Chinese. We were comparing the two 'fathers' of Eastern and Western philosophy: Socrates and Confucius. It was noted that Confucius is a fan of order and respect to elders, leading to students, sons and citizens asking less critical questions of their superiors, where as Socrates seemingly encourages systematic revolt in some students. At this point Mae chimed in that Confucius was one of many Chinese philosophers, but because his views supported the existence of whichever government held power, he had always been touted as the best. This insightful haymaker was followed by her rightfully calling Confucius a misogynist (in so many words). I was a little shocked, but honored to be present, for a student letting slip such candid opinions, especially because I can't help but agree with them.

The next topic was one which I felt slightly more uncomfortable about: Guns in America. Students often ask this, expecting reality to bear out their wild imaginations of gun crazed Americans waving firearms in the air as they race to be first in the supermarket check out line. I try as delicately as I can to dissuade this notion from my students minds (although my inner regionalism leads me to believe it may be true somewhere in Houston). After covering this initial base yesterday, the students asked about the gun laws and why they aren't changed, and I explained the lines of though (guns are dangerous vs. guns are for protection/protected by the constitution) as well as the politics surrounding them - ie the NRA. This was when Mae again chimed in with a though which seemed impossibly radical being made among a small group of Chinese and their American teacher. She said she though guns were good for people because if people had guns, they had the power, not the government. She proceeded to express her opinion that people in China have no real power, that the government holds it all, but if people were able to arm themselves they would be prepared to disagree with the government when the time came. She said this is why democracy in America works, because the people have the power. I don't know if I'd never thought of it that way before, or if Mae saying it just caught me off guard, but it hit me like a revelation.

The conversation was lengthy, and we certainly did discuss the mundane topics of the day - the meaning of toddler for example, but any conversation with a few wonderfully insightful ideas is a good conversation. It was memorable and surprising perhaps because they seemed such western ideas coming from such a Chinese woman, or perhaps because I'm not used to hearing this kind of talk coming from my students, but I think it struck such a chord because I agreed with Mae.

The Pastime

Much like anywhere, holidays are a time when people can relax with their families. In Boston, we huddle around the fireplace, in Australia they head to the beach, but in China they head to the park, which is where I went this week.

The park was jam packed with what seemed to me was half the city, but in reality was probably a just a fraction of the folks in the surrounding apartment towers. As I strolled through the park I came across people doing all sorts of recreation: from thrill rides to bumper boats, from old ladies doing tai chi to a rowdy crew singing Italian opera to the accompaniment of an accordion. My two favorite groups were the Chinese who'd learned African Tribal drumming, and were out burning a dance beat and the hoards of wanna be seamen who'd rented one of the motorized boats in the lake, and accidentally turned it into impromptu bumper boats - thank goodness for slow speeds and flimsy rubber bumpers. Truly everyone who was anyone was out and about, relaxing in the unseasonably warm day.

Yet nothing was as captivating as those engaged in one of China's favorite pastimes - kite flying. In a scene straight out of The Kite Runner, I sat and counted upwards of 25 kites in the air, with another half dozen in the stages of launching. Trying to figure out who on the ground controlled which sailing vessel proved to be impossibly fun. Some of the fliers were near professionals, with expensive bicycle-wheel-like apparatuses to pull and slacken their lines with. The best managed to put their kites so high in the sky they seemed little more than dark flecks on the rare blue sky. Most of the people, however, were armatures content simply to raise their kites to reasonable levels.

Yet observing the scene was remarkable because it was not static like I imagine it would be. Like any good scene, there was humor in the children running wildly to hopelessly raise their kite as they meanwhile tangled their short strands in the lines of far more advanced fliers, whose kites were indistinguishably off in the distance. Yet tangles did happen, and when adults tangled, watching them maneuver on foot to steer their kites out of danger, discussing with other fliers the best direction to go to avoid entrapment, the scene took on a social level I've never considered kite flying to have. Needless to say, I'm rather eager to get a kite and fly one myself now.

Perhaps we don't fly kites on our major holidays. We don't even go outside for our biggest ones unless you count the shiveringly dangerous game of tackle football many play on Thanksgiving. Yet it was unmistakably familiar to walk around that park - families with families, doing simple things that give them joy.

The War of the Ox

Sunday night at the stroke of midnight, Shanghai ushered in the new year a month later than the rest of us. The Chinese year of the Rat was over, hello year of the Ox. It should come as no surprise that littered around Shanghai's financial districts were honorary giant golden bulls resembling the one flexing on Wall St. Rumor has it there is no Chinese year of the bear. This most important holiday is celebrated a far cry from pretty trees and carols about silent nights, with the locals instead opting to throw a firework show to end all firework shows.

First, imagine the best firework show you've ever seen. Most of you, being from Boston, would muse that the Boston Pops accompanying the millions of dollars of pyrotechnics on the Esplanade would be your pick. That show was a highly condoled burst of explosives choreographed by professionals, detonated almost a quarter of a mile from where you stood, leaning out from underneath a tree to get a better look. In Shanghai, a city of 17 million people, everyone lights off a box of their very own fireworks... in their own backyard.

These fireworks are no humble sparklers. Some, designed for noise, look like someone stole a role of bullets while Rambo wasn't looking and wrapped them in red paper before lighting it. Others, designed to fly into the sky and explode into pretty colors (the one's we're used to), come in 1'x1' boxes, armable by a small battery driven fuse in the corner. Somehow, either brilliantly simple or mindlessly stupid, these baby war toys have been made accessible to the masses.

And people do not seek clear areas, or at least what in the west would constitute a clear area. No, the Chinese are more than content to set them off on the walkway between apartment buildings, with sparks splattering the windows of residents on floors 8-20, with the noise echoing between the complex walls, as a gunshot through a canyon. Standing inside the bedroom, watching awestruck as fireworks exploded beneath me, a dread fascination to view the experience from the balcony gripped me. As I opened the door, I was hit by a wall of noise, a crushing physical blow of sound waves to my body; I hesitated. It was like stepping into war. Between the bursting shells in the sky and the ground being littered with the rat-tat-tat of the noise makers, the only thing to do besides stare in awe and cover my ears was to be thankful I was in China, and not someplace else.

Eventually the mayhem died away, visibility was reduced from miles to meters by smoke, families retreated inside. The government gives all employees 3 days off work, but only the first and last are big firework nights. Technically fireworks aren't legal inside the ring road, but that doesn't seem to stop too many people. I've talked to other expats who've been here for new years past, and they seemed to agree it's been bigger (making it harder to sleep) in years past. Perhaps the reduction in firework boom corresponds to economic boom, but if my past week has been any indication, China still has plenty of boom to go around.