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Published On: Mar 07, 2006 03:02 PM
Published On: Mar 07, 2006 03:02 PM
Fri - July 23, 2004
Generation Gap
At the end of our last vacation in China, on the
train back to Kunming, I was already starting to daydream about being back in
the US. When a vendor wandered through our railroad car selling toys, I got an
idea about how I could use one of them in a project I'd be working on at
home.
I bought a plastic gyroscope for about a dollar. As
I looked it over it, it caught the eye of the little girl sitting across from
me. I had already noticed her; she was bossy and spoiled like many kids in
single-child families. She asked - almost demanded - to play with it. We'd be
traveling together for some time and I wanted to avoid conflicts. Since it was a
toy first, and a possible source of parts second, I
agreed.
After a few mostly unsuccessful attempts at spinning and balancing the gyro she got discouraged. Distracted by something else, she handed the toy back to me. I started taking it apart, checking out it's potential for other purposes.
Within minutes, the little girl, bored with her last distraction, asked to play with the toy again. I showed her the handful of pieces that no longer even looked like a gyroscope. She studied the mess I'd made, and announced indignantly - "Grownups shouldn't play with toys!"
After a few mostly unsuccessful attempts at spinning and balancing the gyro she got discouraged. Distracted by something else, she handed the toy back to me. I started taking it apart, checking out it's potential for other purposes.
Within minutes, the little girl, bored with her last distraction, asked to play with the toy again. I showed her the handful of pieces that no longer even looked like a gyroscope. She studied the mess I'd made, and announced indignantly - "Grownups shouldn't play with toys!"
Posted at 09:16 AM
Sat - July 3, 2004
Marketing Emergency
One of the surprises of traveling is discovering
what you can buy and where you can buy it.
In Ghana, buses stuck in traffic jams attract
swarms of fruit sellers with baskets on their heads, conveniently displaying
their wares at the passengers' eye level. In Turkey, restaurant diners get
approached by vendors selling packs of
socks.
Today, we visited a big park in Kashgar. For a few pennies admission, families come to spend the day sitting on carpets, which they bring in to cover the ground worn bare by countless footsteps. Unprepared, we sat on a bench.
We were soon discovered by packs of entrepreneurial ten year old boys. The flocked around us, showing off round metal trays arranged with their inventory. We were offered gum, candy, and other treats; when we politely refused, they politely insisted. When we declined more forcefully, they insisted more forcefully.
One boy's strategy was to place chocolates on my lap or shoulder. Whenever I picked one up to hand it back, he dashed out of reach. How he expected to take my money wasn't clear.
But the boy I felt was least likely to succeed was not selling candy. Although the candy was getting increasingly shopworn, with wrappers tattered and faded from exposure, it would eventually be sold to one of the many big families with small children.
The kid sure to go home with everything he stocked was the one selling Band-Aids. There's a kid who needs to understand fun.
Today, we visited a big park in Kashgar. For a few pennies admission, families come to spend the day sitting on carpets, which they bring in to cover the ground worn bare by countless footsteps. Unprepared, we sat on a bench.
We were soon discovered by packs of entrepreneurial ten year old boys. The flocked around us, showing off round metal trays arranged with their inventory. We were offered gum, candy, and other treats; when we politely refused, they politely insisted. When we declined more forcefully, they insisted more forcefully.
One boy's strategy was to place chocolates on my lap or shoulder. Whenever I picked one up to hand it back, he dashed out of reach. How he expected to take my money wasn't clear.
But the boy I felt was least likely to succeed was not selling candy. Although the candy was getting increasingly shopworn, with wrappers tattered and faded from exposure, it would eventually be sold to one of the many big families with small children.
The kid sure to go home with everything he stocked was the one selling Band-Aids. There's a kid who needs to understand fun.
Posted at 12:09 PM
Fri - July 2, 2004
The eye(brow) of the beholder
I have heard that beauty is one thing that people
agree upon around the world. Now that I have come to Xinjiang, I think this may
not be true.
In the last month before we return to the US, we
will be traveling in China's far north-western border province. Xinjiang may be
part of China, but the majority of people here resemble their neighbors across
the border in Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, and the other central Asian Muslim
republics. It's not at all like the China we've lived in for the past 10
months.
I'm not surprised to find that people eat flatbreads instead of rice, or that people's noses are bigger. But I didn't expect that the hallmark of a beautiful woman would be what we derisively call the unibrow.
I haven't yet seen that many women with a natural single eyebrow. What I have seen is many women who pencil in a connection between their unpleasing two, to join them into one. Even little girls do it, turning playgroups into a convention of mini Frieda Kahlo impersonators. Clearly, this is an admired appearance.
It's reassuring to know that, somewhere in the world, every possible look is attractive.
I'm not surprised to find that people eat flatbreads instead of rice, or that people's noses are bigger. But I didn't expect that the hallmark of a beautiful woman would be what we derisively call the unibrow.
I haven't yet seen that many women with a natural single eyebrow. What I have seen is many women who pencil in a connection between their unpleasing two, to join them into one. Even little girls do it, turning playgroups into a convention of mini Frieda Kahlo impersonators. Clearly, this is an admired appearance.
It's reassuring to know that, somewhere in the world, every possible look is attractive.
Posted at 12:58 PM
Fri - June 25, 2004
Something Unexpected
This afternoon, when I went for a massage at the
same clinic where I have had 19 previous massages, I imagined it would be the
usual--which is heavenly.
There are three rooms, each with two or three
massage tables, and I have always been massaged in the front room. I suspect
that has nothing to do with me and everything to do with the fact that it's the
boss, Dr. Zhang who does me. I assume he wants to keep an eye on who comes in
the door.
When I arrived today, the front room was full, and I was escorted through the unlit middle room where one patient lay, to the small one in the back, where laundry dries in the window. Dr. Zhang was watching TV in the adjacent staff room and an underling prepared the table for me. I climbed on, he arranged the sheet over me, and I closed my eyes. I could hear Dr. Zhang walk away from the TV and speak to the patient in the middle room. A few seconds later, I heard music.
The massage clinic has an impressive collection of CDs. Dr. Zhang favors New Age music, but sometimes the younger staff put on Chinese pop music. Once, inexplicably, I heard "Tis a Gift to Be Simple." But the music I heard today was not coming from a CD. I was certain I was hearing live violin music, expertly played. I was so curious that I climbed off the massage table, and wandered out to the darkened middle room.
The patient who had been lying there was now now standing and playing the violin for Dr. Zhang. They burst into smiles to see me. I stood in my bare feet and listened. When he finished, I told the violinist, "Hen hao ting!" (Sounds great!) and Dr. Zhang said he really should be massaging me. Then the three of us went into the back room. While Dr. Zhang massaged me, the violinist played, mostly traditional Chinese songs, thankfully not of the screeching variety. It was the first time I have ever received a massage with live music, and really, probably the last time too.
When I arrived today, the front room was full, and I was escorted through the unlit middle room where one patient lay, to the small one in the back, where laundry dries in the window. Dr. Zhang was watching TV in the adjacent staff room and an underling prepared the table for me. I climbed on, he arranged the sheet over me, and I closed my eyes. I could hear Dr. Zhang walk away from the TV and speak to the patient in the middle room. A few seconds later, I heard music.
The massage clinic has an impressive collection of CDs. Dr. Zhang favors New Age music, but sometimes the younger staff put on Chinese pop music. Once, inexplicably, I heard "Tis a Gift to Be Simple." But the music I heard today was not coming from a CD. I was certain I was hearing live violin music, expertly played. I was so curious that I climbed off the massage table, and wandered out to the darkened middle room.
The patient who had been lying there was now now standing and playing the violin for Dr. Zhang. They burst into smiles to see me. I stood in my bare feet and listened. When he finished, I told the violinist, "Hen hao ting!" (Sounds great!) and Dr. Zhang said he really should be massaging me. Then the three of us went into the back room. While Dr. Zhang massaged me, the violinist played, mostly traditional Chinese songs, thankfully not of the screeching variety. It was the first time I have ever received a massage with live music, and really, probably the last time too.
Posted at 09:03 AM
Tue - June 22, 2004
Family Matters
For their final examination, I have been asking the
freshmen English majors to tell me a story about their childhood. An awful lot
of them talk about the bad things they did, but that's not what's most
surprizing.
One girl told me about playing hide-and-go-seek
with her older brother. She hid in a well, and when her brother couldn't find
her, he forgot about the game - and her. She fell asleep, and hours later, when
her parents realized she was lost, the whole village was called out to look for
her.
I have also heard about kids who cheated on tests, who unintentionally burned down their neighbor's property, who came home at midnight after walking 20 kilometers when they missed the last bus home. Students told me about near fatal bike accidents and getting lost on ill-planned adventures.
The one thing that all these stories have in common is, no matter how foolish, or reckless, or irresponsible the children were, the parents never got angry. Or if they did, their kids didn't remember it, which is almost the same thing.
Whenever I asked them about their parents reactions, they always seemed surprised that I wouldn't know. "My parents were so happy I was safe," was a typical response.
This helps explain one of the other common themes of the stories - how much the students love their mothers and fathers.
I have also heard about kids who cheated on tests, who unintentionally burned down their neighbor's property, who came home at midnight after walking 20 kilometers when they missed the last bus home. Students told me about near fatal bike accidents and getting lost on ill-planned adventures.
The one thing that all these stories have in common is, no matter how foolish, or reckless, or irresponsible the children were, the parents never got angry. Or if they did, their kids didn't remember it, which is almost the same thing.
Whenever I asked them about their parents reactions, they always seemed surprised that I wouldn't know. "My parents were so happy I was safe," was a typical response.
This helps explain one of the other common themes of the stories - how much the students love their mothers and fathers.
Posted at 01:55 AM
Wed - June 16, 2004
Building Boom
China's construction explosion is sometimes almost
literal.
Right next door to our apartment they're building a
new residential area with more than a dozen six-story apartment buildings. The
workers are busy day and night; we hear them as we go to sleep and when we wake
up. It's the rainy season now, but even downpours don't stop the
project.
As in the US, the workers mark the completion of the building skeleton with a little rooftop ceremony. But here, instead of placing a pine tree at the top, or a national flag, or a banner for the construction company, they light off thousands of firecrackers. The explosions go on for about as long as a 4th of July grand finale; I've timed them, and they last over 75 seconds.
The Chinese invented gunpowder and first created firecrackers over 1000 years ago; they still haven't gotten tired of them.
As in the US, the workers mark the completion of the building skeleton with a little rooftop ceremony. But here, instead of placing a pine tree at the top, or a national flag, or a banner for the construction company, they light off thousands of firecrackers. The explosions go on for about as long as a 4th of July grand finale; I've timed them, and they last over 75 seconds.
The Chinese invented gunpowder and first created firecrackers over 1000 years ago; they still haven't gotten tired of them.
Posted at 12:30 AM
Sat - June 12, 2004
Ugly Americans
CCTV, the national television network, has recently
revamped their programming and newscasters. The changes are not all
improvements.
Now, on the weather reports, instead of a scrolling
list of temperature forecasts, we have "personalities" who stand in front of
maps and tell us little stories. That would be bad enough, but what makes it
unbearable is that the two guys they've chosen for the roles are complete dorks.
And what makes it embarrassing is that they both seem to be
Americans.
These are the kind of boys that mom would want you to bring home for a prom date; young men with so little testosterone, date rape would be out of the question. It's possible too, that they are Canadians, because they seem to be so nice. Probably the most famous Westerner in China is a big lunk from Canada nicknamed "Dashan." He is cheerful and goofy and about as unthreatening as his homeland. Of the two new weather guys, one looks like Dashan's little brother, and the other looks like a Pee Wee Herman clone.
China seems to like unattractive foreigners. Ads for everything from internet service to underwear use Westerners to emphasize how fashionable they are. But the people they choose, both men and women, are completely ordinary looking. Displaying their faces in public feels almost impolite, like staring at a cripple. If you're going to be looking at someone, you want them to be attractive, right?
About the only consolation I take in this is knowing that, if these stubbly, pale faced, charmless guys are considered appealing, then there's hope for me.
These are the kind of boys that mom would want you to bring home for a prom date; young men with so little testosterone, date rape would be out of the question. It's possible too, that they are Canadians, because they seem to be so nice. Probably the most famous Westerner in China is a big lunk from Canada nicknamed "Dashan." He is cheerful and goofy and about as unthreatening as his homeland. Of the two new weather guys, one looks like Dashan's little brother, and the other looks like a Pee Wee Herman clone.
China seems to like unattractive foreigners. Ads for everything from internet service to underwear use Westerners to emphasize how fashionable they are. But the people they choose, both men and women, are completely ordinary looking. Displaying their faces in public feels almost impolite, like staring at a cripple. If you're going to be looking at someone, you want them to be attractive, right?
About the only consolation I take in this is knowing that, if these stubbly, pale faced, charmless guys are considered appealing, then there's hope for me.
Posted at 01:03 AM
Tue - June 8, 2004
Red Alert
Foreign policy has a way of creeping up on you when
you least expect it.
Yesterday, when I came back home for lunch, I saw
about a dozen posters with bright red characters plastered onto the glass of the
bulletin board by the gate where the school employees live. Several people were
gathered around reading them intently.
I always feel a little uneasy when something appears to be important, and I can't read it. So later, when I walked by the posters with one of our friends, I asked her what the signs meant. She said "They are notices of defense."
Over the weekend, the government announced that, should Taiwan declare independence, China would attack. I started wondering if these were instructions for us to follow in the event of a counterattack. Perhaps modern a day duck-and-cover strategy?
Before my imagination could take me too far along the anxiety path, Deb clarified that the notices were announcing dissertation defenses. This is, after all, a college campus at the end of the semester.
But now I'm left wondering, just what kind of reaction does China expect from Taiwan, and what are we supposed to do about it?
I always feel a little uneasy when something appears to be important, and I can't read it. So later, when I walked by the posters with one of our friends, I asked her what the signs meant. She said "They are notices of defense."
Over the weekend, the government announced that, should Taiwan declare independence, China would attack. I started wondering if these were instructions for us to follow in the event of a counterattack. Perhaps modern a day duck-and-cover strategy?
Before my imagination could take me too far along the anxiety path, Deb clarified that the notices were announcing dissertation defenses. This is, after all, a college campus at the end of the semester.
But now I'm left wondering, just what kind of reaction does China expect from Taiwan, and what are we supposed to do about it?
Posted at 07:37 AM
Sat - May 22, 2004
Walking in Someone Else's Shoes
Even though I am generally known for my speedy
pace, when I hike in the mountains with my friend Zhou Xueying, I can barely
keep up with her.
The incredible thing is her footwear. She scrambles
over rocky paths in the normal shoes she wears to work, and sometimes even in
decidedly ladylike sandals. One time as she waited for me to catch up, she
looked down at my heavy-duty, New Balance Gore-Tex hiking boots and said, "Do
you think it might be your shoes that make you so slow?"
Posted at 01:59 AM
Tue - May 18, 2004
Rocky Mountain High
In a Tibetan cultural center, a painting of
mountains showed me more than a landscape.
At first I took it to be a generic image; if you
asked me to draw some mountains, I'd sketch a few scratchy lines and fill in the
rest with greens and grays. That's what I took this to
be.
But after a few days traveling in the area, I realized that the painting was an extremely detailed reproduction of the region's actual mountains. One of the mountains is the sacred peak Meilixue, and this was accurately rendered with its unmistakable galcier. But every other peak was captured as well, with a characteristic jagged top or snow filled valley, with every crag and irregularity in the right place.
In some ways it was a work of the imagination, because there is no vantage point from which all of the mountains in the range could be seen as shown. It was produced as a map, taking a privileged view of a region to provide guidance and omniscience.
When someone draws a portrait, you expect to be able to identify the subject. For this artist, and perhaps for all of his audience, the mountains were no less deserving of a faithful appearance. It was essential to get it right; these images were as devotional as a saintly icon.
But after a few days traveling in the area, I realized that the painting was an extremely detailed reproduction of the region's actual mountains. One of the mountains is the sacred peak Meilixue, and this was accurately rendered with its unmistakable galcier. But every other peak was captured as well, with a characteristic jagged top or snow filled valley, with every crag and irregularity in the right place.
In some ways it was a work of the imagination, because there is no vantage point from which all of the mountains in the range could be seen as shown. It was produced as a map, taking a privileged view of a region to provide guidance and omniscience.
When someone draws a portrait, you expect to be able to identify the subject. For this artist, and perhaps for all of his audience, the mountains were no less deserving of a faithful appearance. It was essential to get it right; these images were as devotional as a saintly icon.
Posted at 11:20 PM