On a more personal note...
Today started out as one of “those” days in
China and suddenly morphed into something else entirely. Perhaps I’m prematurely nostalgic because I’ve been contemplating the fact that I’m leaving this place for good in a matter of months. Or maybe I’ve really grown to love
China more than I thought. Whatever the case, it all started with this taxi driver.
As many of you know, most of my experiences with
Beijing taxi drivers have been fairly dodgy. Upon seeing my decidedly white face—or hearing my decidedly foreign accent as was the case today—about 85% will take you on the scenic route, act like they don’t understand you, or be openly insulting in their actions towards you. Luckily, the other 15% are on the opposite end of that spectrum. These drivers are happy to see a foreigner who speaks Chinese and will test your skills by asking you every question under the sun until you have to admit “wo ting bu dong” -- I don’t understand. At that, these drivers will laugh raucously and continue to converse anyway, this time trying their English out on you. The raucous laughter comes back after each enthusiastically emphatic “O! K!” Unfortunately, my driver today was one of the 85%.
I asked him to drive me to a friend’s place that’s only a short distance away from my apartment. After I picked up my friend, we were going to go to an art gallery showing an exhibition of female artists in honor of International Women’s Day. I told the driver that we would be going to another place, but he was too impatient to wait on my friend Ivan, who walked out of the his building 5 seconds after the impatient driver had become openly hostile and I had let him go on his way.So, a little frustrated by the driver, I walked down the street to find another taxi. When we arrived at the line of taxis waiting on the main road, we found all of the drivers playing cards. In typical fashion, with each turn, they were throwing the cards to the ground so that they slapped the pavement, “whapping” the ground with each throw. The fervor with which the Chinese play cards is really admirable, actually, and it’s always a blast to watch. When they saw us standing there, the drivers all got up and asked where we were going. They were laughing and happy to help us. They pointed to one driver and gave him the fare. “O! K!” As we left they all said “Ah, zai jian, zai jian” – goodbye, goodbye – and waved as we took off. These were some of the 15%. We arrived at the gallery to find a smattering of art: there was the vaginal stuff you would expect to see and then there was everything from landscapes to old Communist propaganda posters. I can't do it justice here, but we walked away laughing at the warrantless pretention of the place. Afterwards we went to a fantastic café in an area that I frequent, and as we were leaving I said, “I can’t believe that I didn’t know about this place before.” To which Ivan replied, “See, just when you’re leaving It didn’t help that later tonight I met some friends to go eat yangrou chuanr, which is basically mutton on a stick that is cooked over an open fire on the sidewalks of As I was walking back to my place, I heard an all too familiar Chinese folk song, except this version had a techno base beat and was moving pretty fast. The weather finally warmed up this weekend, and there was a group of Chinese exercising to the music in the park. They were doing a dance that combined elements of aerobics, hip hop and who knows what else, and I stopped to watch as I often do. Many spectators were jumping in and joining the fray, but one man, despite the booming base beat, was practicing tai chi to his own slow pace some distance away from the group. The whole scene summed up the entirety of my day, and perhaps the entirety of my Chinese experience. Despite the frustrations and seeming contradictions of this place, it’s always fascinating and strangely beautiful. And I will miss it. I realized today that I will honestly miss it.
Beijing, you’re going to find all these things that you really love about it.” It was an innocent comment, but it got me to thinking.
Beijing and often accompanied by considerable amounts of beer. This is one of my favorite things to eat in
Beijing, mostly because of the atmosphere. You sit on a stool no more than a foot or two of the ground and watch as your meat is taken out of a plastic bag and cooked in front of you. You order a bottle of beer and wait. You could sit there for hours ordering chuanr and beer, and the Chinese often do. It doesn’t matter how cold it is or how uncomfortable, friends and strangers all share a good laugh and good conversation huddled around the fire. Tonight, Juyeon, Jacob and I did just that. As we left, Jacob commented that he didn’t want to go home yet, but that he was going to anyway. I had that same restless feeling.