abroadsided

HEAVY MEDAL

2008-08-29T18:09:00.000-07:00

THE CLOSING CEREMONIES DREW ALMOST ALL OF CHINA'S 1.3 BILLION PEOPLE TO THEIR TELEVISIONS, MOST LIKELY MAKING IT THE MOST VIEWED EVENT IN HISTORY.

The party is over. Beijing planned for upwards of seven years to bring a city known for its pollution and poor infrastructure into the world stage, and for the most part, they succeeded. Quick responses from the police minimized the protests that could have dominated the nightly news. Through Project 119, China focused their energies on overlooked sports and emerged with an impressive 51 gold medals. Despite security concerns from abroad and at home, the 16-day nationalistic orgy went off without a single terrorist threat, the heightened security clearly proving effective at diffusing underlying social and political tensions.

But as the torch fades from marvel to memory in the minds of people across China, many wonder, now what? This past week was much like any other this summer. Walking through oncoming traffic simultaneously posed both a risk and a rush. Fog (smog) settled on the city for a few days after a week of incredible weather, despite the continuance of "pollution controls" imposed until the end of the Paralympics. The inefficient crowd control in subway stations continued to create bottlenecks that boggle the mind. China's future after the games is very much an unknown, and many residents, both native and expatriate, feel that same uncertainty about themselves, not really knowing what comes next after so much energy spent on expectation.

I came to China for the Olympics, and while I didn't have the luxury of Bob Costas's "I tell you what to feel and you feel it hard" emotional manipulation, it was hard not to be moved by the weight of such a magnificent event (see 'Nationalistic Treasure'). But now that the games (as well as my internship) are officially over, I find that I'm facing those same kinds of questions myself (at least, for the next 50 hours until my departure). When I'm sitting through my third consecutive movie in a dark, empty theater, gorging myself on Tex-Mex and tater tots, will I crave the delicious 饺子 (jiao-zi, or stuffed dumpling) that abound in the alleys around my apartment? When I can freely visit any political blog that the heart desires, will I yearn for that rush from using an illegal proxy? When I go to the gym, Oprah and Mad Money gracing every television hanging from the ceiling, will I miss the period Chinese dramas and replays of Chinese medals ceremonies that once accompanied my 38 minutes on the elliptical?

The answers to these questions (as well as the view outside my apartment window) are increasingly unclear, but if NBC can manipulate my emotions, and the Chinese government can manipulate the weather, then I should at least be able to manipulate myself into leaving the most reflective and existential of queries for the plane ride home (Why I am here? Why is the presidential election so incredibly bizarre? Why did Heath Ledger have to die so young? Why did Georgia send troops into South Ossetia? Why I am paying $18 dollars for a used pillow and blanket?).

SUGAR, SUGAR

2008-08-25T07:08:00.000-07:00

THE FIRST CONCOCTION RESEMBLING ICE CREAM WAS MADE IN CHINA DURING THE TANG DYNASTY (618-907 AD).

I love everything about peaches – the way the fuzzy skin feels in the palm of your hand; the feeling after you bite off a chunk too big to chew, juice dribbling down your lips; the sweet, sticky residue left on your fingers once you've devoured all but the wrinkled pit. I also love everything "peach-flavored," regardless of whether or not it actually tastes like that delicious nectar – peach Jolly Ranchers, peach tea, peach beer (thank you Belgium) and, most recently, peach popsicles. My choice of snack at the Olympic venues (see 'Nationalistic Treasure'), these delightfully refreshing, semi-frozen treats sustained me through the highs and lows of the days leading up to the Closing Ceremonies, which will go down as the strangest two-hour performance to ever feature the combination of unnecessary bike helmets, erotic acrobatics and David Beckham (perhaps a subliminal metaphor for "safe-sex" and, thus, population control).

POPSICLE 1, THURSDAY, 3:30 PM (3 RMB)

I took a surprise trip to Shunyi, the self-proclaimed suburbia of Beijing, for my final Olympic event, flat-water rowing and kayaking. Despite the thick mist that settled on the "sorry we had to take your province's entire water supply for two months to build an unnecessary lake in the middle of nowhere" venue (free multi-colored ponchos, however, were a plus), my afternoon peach pick-me-up brought me back to clarity, regardless of the fact that I had no idea what the difference between rowing and kayaking actually were (to clarify, rowing involves standing and kayaking, sitting).

POPSICLE 2, SATURDAY, 10:10 AM (1 RMB)

After going almost 48 hours without that sweet, icy escape, I gave in for a quick taste after my visit to 白塔寺 (bai-ta-si, or White Pagoda Temple), which was rebuilt in 1457 after a fire destroyed the original during the fall of the Yuan Dynasty. I hopped on the subway and made my way to the "Egg" (the National Centre for Performing Arts), which residents either love or loathe (and passionately, I might add). I then walked to Qianmen, Beijing's old hub for commerce, entertainment and vice (the perfect place to nurture all of my addictions: book shopping, television and the occasional roulette game [I always go with black 23, because Michael Jordan was the biggest baller ever]).

POPSICLE 3, SATURDAY, 12:45 PM (2 RMB)

After getting my gamble on (I did, however, manage to resist all purchases of traditional Chinese medicinal tools and fancy kites – I'm still evolving!), I purchased another frozen fun-sicle to hold me over until lunch, which was still a subway ride and misguided amble away. An hour later, I had finished my Sichuan feast and found my way to 智化寺 (zhi-hua-si, or Wisdom Temple), which was built in 1443 and is one of the best-preserved examples of Ming-dynasty architecture in the city.

POPSICLE 4, SATURDAY, 2:25 PM (1 RMB)

Ending my history lesson for the day, I purchased some more peach passion and made my way to the Stone Boat Cafe in Ritan Park (日坛, or Sun Temple), where I passed the rest of the afternoon drinking mojitos and reading an intellectually titled book so that other foreigners would notice me (my ploy worked: a friendly New Zealander asked me what I thought of Stiglitz's argument on globalization with a human face – I nodded my head, smiled and put my hand through my excessively long hair, trying to change the subject to something I knew more about, like Beijing's wide variety of cheap, frozen treats).

POPSICLE 5, SUNDAY, 11:00 AM (1 RMB)

I purchased my penultimate popsicle on my way to the Beijing Zoo (PANDAS!!!!!), but in the interest of not sliding into a deep depression due to the treatment of the other, less-widely appreciated fauna, I hustled out of the park after seeing my black-and-white furry friends and made my way to 五塔寺 (wu-ta-si, or Five Pagoda Temple), originally built in 1473. I then hopped in a cab to the seriously strange China Millennium Monument (I went there for the 3D, circular timeline mural, which I couldn't even find, but the ticket was free – so only a semi-EPIC FAIL). I accepted my moral defeat and moved on to 白云寺 (bai-yun-si, or White Cloud Temple), which also ended up being free, except I later realized that I'd inadvertently snuck in without paying, depriving the friendly Taoists of a little over $1 (the debt was subtracted from my karma account, which I recently augmented by picking up trash along the Great Wall – thanks Captain Planet!).

POPSICLE 6, SUNDAY, 2:05 PM (1 RMB)

After a deliciously cheap lunch of 小吃 (xiao-chi, or Beijing snacks), consisting partly of tomatoes covered in sugar (I thought it was salt at first glance, but I was startlingly mistaken), I headed over to my new favorite temple, 天宁寺 (tian-ning-si, or Temple of Heavenly Tranquility), which was built around 1100 and claims the title of oldest structure in Beijing. I had my last taste of heaven (melting seriously prevented the full enjoyment of my last licks) as I progressed to my final (successful) stop of the day, 报国寺 (bao-guo-si, or Compensate the Country Temple), which was founded in 1103 and houses a less-crowded version of Panjiayuan (see 'Market Power'). I later tried to go to Niujie Mosque (I wasn't wearing pants – DENIED), Zhongshan Park (mysteriously closed in the middle of the afternoon – DENIED) and Three Trees Cafe (there was no room at the inn-door/outdoor renovated hutong – DENIED). After facing three consecutive denials, along with an oddly out-of-place rooster's crow, I heeded the biblical allusions and made my way home to prepare for the mourning of the morning after Olympia ended her fling with Beijing and moved on to someone older, wiser and more financially stable.

NATIONALISTIC TREASURE

2008-08-21T06:23:00.000-07:00

MORE THAN 4,000 CHINESE CHILDREN HAVE BEEN NAMED 奥运 (AO-YUN), WHICH MEANS "OLYMPIC GAMES," SINCE CHINA'S FIRST BID FOR THE OLYMPICS IN 1992.

I couldn't take my eyes off of the torch. There was something truly mesmerizing about that enormous blaze – what it represented for China, what it represented for the athletes and what it represented for me. Participants shattered world records; a country struggling to define itself debuted to billions on television screens across the world; spectators screamed their hearts out for their countrymen – all beneath the glow of that Olympic flame. Fourteen months ago, I decided that I wanted to be in Beijing for the Summer Games, and last night, I found myself in the Bird's Nest, three rows from the field, witnessing history.

A few days ago, I attended a US v. Germany men's water polo game. It was my first time at an event where an American team was competing, and I didn't exactly know how to behave. During the Opening Ceremonies, I declared myself a "citizen of the world" – I became a passionate representative for the Cuban baseball team last week, leading my entire section in cheers for our friends from the south. I was a vocal supporter for Angola during the women's handball game, much to the dismay of my Norwegian friends surrounding our small party of four. I wore my maple leaf on my sleeve at the boxing match, yelling words of encouragement for the oft-pummeled Canadian in the red corner.

But sitting poolside, flanked by fellow Americans, I felt a surge of nationalism greater than any I had ever felt before (including that time Reese Witherspoon beat out a bunch of British beauties for a Best Actress BAFTA). Even though part of my heart was cheering for the Cardinal, as several members of the team were Stanford alums, for the first time in my (relatively short) adult life, I actually felt proud of my country (thanks for the inspiration, Mama Obama). In the heat of the moment, iced honey peach popsicle in hand (the only edible concession available at venues – see 'Mixed Media'), the politics melted away (almost as quickly as my delicious, refreshing heaven-on-a-stick), and all I could think about was how badly I wanted the red, white and blue to come out on top.

This new sense of nationalistic pride had also started to affect my sentiments towards China, who have been cleaning up in the gold medal count for the past two weeks. My daily hormonal cycle was suddenly dictated by how well the Americans did in the day's events, and my mood considerably soured every time CCTV aired another medal ceremony for their most recent weightlifting/shooting/judo/gymnastics/diving victory. I even started arguments with co-workers on the dangerous effects of institutionalized cheating in gymnastics, an issue which, before America's disappointing performance last week, interested me even less than the continual decline of the Olsen Twins empire (even Bob Saget saw that one coming).

At the Bird's Nest, however, everything changed. I saw Usain Bolt's ecstasy when he broke the men's 200m world record, and my heart was with the Jamaicans. During the women's hammer throw medal ceremony, as Aksana Miankova mouthed the word's to Belarus' national anthem, her nation's flag waving in the distance, I was proud for every Belarusian there that night (probably around 17). The entire crowd vigorously cheered for every runner lapped by the competition (the Burmese [no, not Myanmarian – my own form of protest against the military junta] runner couldn't catch a break), and I was honored to be a guest at China's grandest celebration.

Taking advantage of my amazing seats (someone took pity and offered the ticket a fair price for someone who would truly appreciate it), I screamed myself hoarse for each American athlete that entered the stadium. As I was surrounded by Chinese citizens, the athletes immediately picked me out of the crowd, choosing to acknowledge my presence with the "thanks for cheering for America" trademark head nod/eye contact combo. I got to personally congratulate Sheena Tosta on her silver in the women's 400m hurdle final, and I've never been so proud of the familiar flag draped around her shoulders.

During the men's 5000m heats, I cheered on the American competitors (at a volume I didn't know my vocal chords possessed) as they passed by on each of their twelve laps around the track. I caught the tail-end of a conversation between two women behind me, as they commented on my passionate behavior. "That American screams each time they run past him," she said. "He supports his country, regardless of how they do. That's exactly what the Olympics are about. I can't believe we're here. This is it." As I lifted my eyes to that blaze in the sky, I couldn't believe it either.

WALK IT OUT

2008-08-19T05:17:00.000-07:00

GROUPS OF MODEL CITIZENS AND VOLUNTEERS ARE POSTED AROUND THE CITY OF BEIJING TO HELP DISCIPLINE PEDESTRIANS AND CYCLISTS WHO VIOLATE TRAFFIC REGULATIONS.

An unidentified, dilapidated black bicycle was pronounced dead on Friday, August 18th at approximately 6:30pm. The preliminary cause of death was determined to be a deflated rear tire, although it appears that other factors may have also contributed to its untimely demise. As noted on its license sticker, its spare parts will be donated to other two-wheelers desperately in need of transplants. The prime suspect was last seen on foot as he fled the scene of the crime, heading towards the subway and enjoying the blue sky day.

After weeks of waiting, I finally had the weekend weather I needed to make my last sightseeing pilgrimage in Beijing to the Summer Palace (颐和园, yi-he-yuan). With the newly released Beijing by Foot in hand (shameless plug), I entered the park, which surrounds Kunming Lake, a former reservoir built over 1,000 years ago during the Yuan dynasty. I strolled along the tree-lined pathways for a few hours, taking artsy photos of shadows, bridges and unsuspecting children, as I tend to do. I thought some time in the fresh lakeside air would help restore my sense of smell (I am currently very susceptible to death by gas leak/methane exposure), but all I got, once again, was some minor heat rash and a nosebleed (kid can't catch a break).

I continued my journey through the past to the aptly named Old Summer Palace (圆明园, yuan-ming-yuan), which was built a few decades before the glamorous, aforementioned neighbor to the west. The Old Summer Palace isn't so much a "palace" as it is a "testament to the aggression of the Allied Powers when they unjustly invaded a sovereign China" (their words, not mine, although I mostly agree). I felt a little on edge as I wandered the ruins of the royal residences, which, before their demolition, featured remarkable combinations of Western and Eastern architectural styles. Controversy actually surrounds the existence of the park, as some individuals feel that a complete restoration could display the great achievements of past dynasties, while others believe that the fragments of columns strewn across the grass serve as a reminder of the unnecessary destruction caused by foreign aggressors.

Trying to put these complex feelings behind me, I entered into a state of meditation (I don't have any Enya on my iPod, so I went for Bob Marley and Joni Mitchell) as I made my way through the stone labyrinth, another strange attraction at the Old Summer Palace. After two minutes of battling with other participants brandishing their sun-brellas as weapons, I realized that if I was unable to succeed, my self-esteem would drop to a precipitous low (I was already two-and-a-half nosebleeds in at 12:15 in the afternoon). So, I proudly exited the maze before I could fail, bought a popsicle (iced honey peach!) and continued my way through the park.

After deciding against picking a giant lily-pad out of the lake and wearing it on my head like a wide-brimmed hat (everyone else was doing it, but considering my luck, I'd probably be the one to stick out), I tried to find a pizza place nearby for lunch (it was on the map, so I knew it had to exist). I made one pass, missing the restaurant, and continued walking for another 15 minutes. Once I realized the error of my ways (and consulted with some old ladies sitting on the side of the road), I stumbled upon the eatery, only to find that it had closed three weeks ago and could now be found a few miles from where I was standing. Dejected, depressed and dehydrated, I made my way down the street to Beijing University (北大, bei-da) and ate the best Big Mac I've ever had the pleasure of poisoning my body with (I'm told that in China, McDonald's cooks with real animal fat, not the vegetable oil that "health-conscious" branches use in the United States).

As the blue sky slowly faded back into the ominous gray of weeks past, I made stops at the Golden Five Stars Market (SO MANY MANBAGS), the Wangfujing Nike Store and a street of restaurants nearby my apartment for some dinner. By the end of the day, I'd been walking for close to 10 hours, and my feet felt almost as bad as my perineal nerve does at the end of a long day of bike riding. But as my friends Bill Withers and DJ Unk would have said if they ever made music together, sometimes in our lives, we all have pain, we all have sorrow, but if we are wise, we know that you have to do it like you do it and just walk it out. Now walk it out.

MIXED MEDIA

2008-08-14T06:25:00.000-07:00

IN CHINA, MANY OF THE LARGEST MEDIA ORGANIZATIONS (CCTV, PEOPLE'S DAILY AND XINHUA) ARE AGENCIES OF THE CHINESE GOVERNMENT.

I've been fairly critical of the Western media over the past two months (see 'A Day in the Life'), but I've been pleasantly surprised this last week at the eerie accuracy of news outlets in mirroring my current sentiments about Beijing (now I know what that Argentinian journalist posing as an umbrella saleswoman meant when she said she wanted "to protect me from the storm" – my weakness for girls with accents will probably lead to an early death, or at least recruitment as a paper-pusher in a mid-level government agency).

Before arriving in China, I remember hearing about Beijing's pollution and thinking it couldn't be any worse than the "heat advisory" days during Texas summers, when newscasters warn those near the cradle and the grave to avoid venturing outdoors. Thinking I could take anything after 19 consecutive Julys of 100% humidity and temperatures at 100°F and above, I embarked on my first afternoon in Beijing without a hint of concern for my personal health. Needless to say, the fog (smog) left me with some minor heat stroke and a nosebleed (just like my once-a-week meltdowns during recess in elementary school – one of the many side effects of childhood obesity). A week later, I found the BBC's Beijing Pollution Watch, but because the data is posted with a 12 hour delay, it doesn't actually have preventative benefits – it just helps to quantify the day-to-day reductions in my life expectancy.

In addition to the "Your Body is Slowly Deteriorating" In Pictures page, the BBC also broke a story concerning the empty seats at Olympic venues. After noticing that very phenomena while watching the Opening Ceremonies, I decided to take a stab (non-violently, of course) at persuading volunteers to let me in to the Worker's Gymnasium, which hosts boxing and judo matches. My friend and I argued with one of the head officials, trying to find out what harm could come from letting us in as paying spectators. The man informed us that ticketless individuals would most likely be terrorists (which he emphasized by saying the word 'terrorist' in English, multiple times, with great gusto and emphasis), so officials were unwilling to risk the safety of other attendants. While we were fortunate enough to be approached by a scalper in the midst of this extremely heated (but not radical) argument, I'm still bothered that, even though all of the events are "sold out," every venue I've visited has had at least 1/3 of its seats without a spectator. While the city is currently hiring local residents to don matching yellow shirts and cheer for both sides (to promote a balanced and enjoyable Olympic experience), I'm frustrated to be sitting in an artificially chilled apartment doing my 5th load of laundry when I could be watching some hot girl-on-girl action at the women's badminton semi-finals (you got this one, Indonesia!).

My podcast obsession (thanks ABC World News Webcast!) alerted me to another story that the Western media had surprisingly picked up on – the horrendous food at Olympic venues. I arrived at handball this Monday, having held out on my daily 7-11 croissant for the delicious hot dogs and sandwiches I had been promised on the Olympics website. Sadly, I had to settle for a choice between the President's dried noodles, Bimbo bread or stuffed sausage, among other delectable and sexually-suggestive reconstituted treats.

Of all the spot-on stories to break this week, I sympathized the most with the ugly step-sister of the Opening Ceremonies, who suffered a real-life re-enactment of Singin' in the Rain. Seven-year-old Yang Peili was replaced by a prettier, less-talented Lin Miaoke after a politburo official said Peili's crooked teeth and chubby cheeks were inappropriate for the face of the country's future (I bet she cayn't stand'im). While I've been taking measures to make sure this never happens to me (Invasalign: Tray 17 out of 40), I hope little Peili gets her revenge - or at least a Lifetime Movie of the Week.

CONTRACTUAL OBLIGATIONS

2008-08-10T08:55:00.000-07:00

OPENING CEREMONY ORGANIZERS SHOT OFF 35,000 FIREWORKS TO MARK THE START OF THE BEIJING 2008 SUMMER OLYMPICS.

I've never witnessed first-hand a human being's emergence from the vaginarius canalera (I tried to find the actual term in latin, but I got so grossed out by pictures of seconds-old babies that I had to stop googling), but I imagine it's a spectacular (-ly nauseating) sight to behold. At least, that's how I felt during the viewing party of the Opening Ceremonies – proud and queasy.

Beijing had to endure a particularly lengthy gestation period of eight years for the arrival of 08/08/08 (the number eight in Chinese, 八, is pronounced 'ba,' which sounds like the word for prosperity/wealth), and the pregnancy of this new global metropolis has had its fair share of labor pains. For weeks, fog (smog) covered the city, only receding after immense rainstorms (induced by the weather doctors' desires to ease the capital's discomfort). Protesters called into question the legitimacy of China's western provinces (the Dalai Lama [Mama] thinks paternity tests may be unnecessary). Residents even disputed the "renovation" of hutongs across the city, as government officials cleared the way for the baby's bedroom (they went with an aviary motif) and tub (the changing light displays put the ba-ba-ba into bathtime!).

And even though I've only lived here for seven weeks (far short of the 417 experienced by long-time Beijingers), I was incredibly anxious for the big day to pass through the annals (canals) of speculation and have its height (a little over 4 hours), weight ($40 billion for the venues and infrastructure) and eye color (red, duh) etched into Olympic history. I was relatively calm when the ceremony first started (by now I'm used to the fireworks, which I thought were bombs on my first night [see 'I Made It']), but I was calling for an epidural once the 57 ethnic babies handed over the Chinese flag to the police state (I prefer flashing lights to subtle symbolism). During the parade of nations, I turned to Dr. Jager/Mr. Heineken for increased relaxation (I had everyone in the room pick a color, and when the flag of the entering country featured that color, they had to 'relax' just a little bit more).

I had some pretty strong false contractions once the United States made its debut (the first character for US in Chinese is 美, mei, which has nine strokes – nations entered in the ascending number of strokes), but I assuaged my fears with a rousing (-ly off-key) rendition of The Star-Spangled Banner. I got a little louder with the respective emergences of Germany (Dirk!) and Chile (my soon-to-be nation of residence), but I saved my most heartfelt screams for the extraordinarily large (7 ft 6 inches to be exact) entrance of the Chinese flag-bearer. It was as if the walls of the entire country were expanding (dilating) with the cheers of over a billion people, their crowning moment slowly creeping into view. Once the torch was finally lit, we ran to the balcony, simultaneously watching the fireworks through both the television and window screens (contributing to the continued mental decline of an overstimulated generation).

The city's (and my own) hangover were palpable the next morning, but as Beijing has quickly matured from infancy and the terrible twos to pre-pubescent obesity and teenage angst over the past few days, I find that I'm still experiencing a combination of pride and nausea (and not from over-consumption, at least this time). In the two events I've attended so far (boxing and handball, both of which I understand very little), I've been overwhelmed by the nationalistic exhilaration of spectators cheering endlessly for the success of their fellow countrymen (with no US presence at today's contest, I rooted for the Angola women's handball team, who subsequently suffered a morale-crushing loss to Norway). However, the rumblings of unrest, increases in security and undercurrents of instability are still present at every corner, subway station and Olympic venue. Although I initially chose Beijing solely for the purpose of being here during the Games, I find myself secretly longing for the IOC chairman's call for the reunification of the world's youth in four years time during the Closing Ceremonies (the accompanying drinking game should ease the pangs of death little by little).

In the meantime, I'll sit and wait (and hopefully snag some more tickets) until the morning of August 25, 2008, when this city will suddenly wake up from an eight-year dream and wonder, What's next?

A DAY IN THE LIFE

2008-08-06T07:49:00.000-07:00

IN 2007, BEIJING'S NOMINAL GDP WAS $118.4 BILLION, A YEAR-ON-YEAR GROWTH OF 12.3% FROM THE PREVIOUS YEAR.

I read the news today, oh boy,

about a lucky man who made the grade.

And though the news was rather sad,

Well, I just had to laugh – I saw the photograph.

Keeping up with the happenings of the far distant Western world has been an interesting challenge for the past six weeks. While the discovery of Google Reader has revolutionized my use of the interweb (finding the truth is now less inconvenient - thanks Al!), my eyes have been opened to the immense trivialities that plague the American media. CNN's Political Ticker reads like the who's who of "Stuff That Won't Matter Three Months from Today and In the End Won't Actually Impact Your Life." My once-beloved Entertainment Weekly spews out insignificant facts concerning the day-to-day occurrences of D-list reality stars and no-surprise box office bombs (maybe if Mulder turned out to be a transgendered alien stripper from Uranus people would have believed in the X-Files sequel). I've drifted toward the BBC, but I'm realising there's a connexion between changes in my writing endeavours as a traveller and my new favourite programme. Bollocks.

He blew his mind out in a car.

He didn't notice that the lights had changed.

A crowd of people stood and stared.

They'd seen his face before – nobody was really sure if he was from the house of lords.

Beijing is a crowded city, and there's no place you notice it more than on the streets (or underneath them). The concept of the "queue" doesn't really exist in China, a fact which I quickly discovered when my trip through customs at the airport turned from a quick five minutes to nearly an hour. Continually perplexed by the absence of lines (Americans complain about having to wait, but they do it anyway), I asked my cabinmate on the Shanghai-->Beijing train (see 'Chinamerica') why chaos was the norm in public transportation. His response blew my mind: Because there are so many people in China, he said, if you don't fight for yourself, you'll be completely left behind. In the subway stations, if you don't push to get on the car, chances are you won't get on. The same reasoning can be applied to the roads, as well – three-lane highways often have five lanes of cars, as drivers who aren't aggressive are left in the dust (CO2 emissions). After understanding and embracing this train of thought, I now prefer the body surfing of a crowded transfer station to the "respect my personal space" of the Western world.

I saw a film today, oh boy.

The English army had just won the war.

A crowd of people turned away,

but I just had to look, having read the book.

The part of my heart reserved for Hollywood has slowly atrophied during my time in Beijing. I haven't been to a movie theater since I saw Kung Fu Panda in preparation for my trip to China (and if you're wondering, all pandas don't sound like Jack Black - a fact I was disappointed to discover during my trip to the Beijing Zoo). China only allows 20 foreign movies to be released each year, and they usually aren't the best of the bunch. Instead of The Dark Knight and Wall*E, I've had to wade through 27 Dresses, The Mummy: Tomb of the Dragon Emperor and Fool's Gold (This is my punishment for paying money to see Step Up 2: The Streets).

Woke up, got out of bed,

dragged a comb across my head.

Found my way downstairs and drank a cup,

and looking up, I noticed I was late.

Found my coat and grabbed my hat,

made the bus in seconds flat.

Found my way upstairs and had a smoke.

Somebody spoke, and I went into a dream. Ah.

I've finally mastered the 30-minute commute (I'm still working on the uncontrollable sweating). Once I overcame my fear of permanent brain damage/death, I was able to embrace the challenge of weaving through Beijing's non-stop rush hour. Not to say that I haven't had my fair share of difficulties – I've paid almost half the original price of my bike (a steep $26) in new parts and repairs. In my six weeks in this city, I've already purchased a new bike seat, pedal, brake pad, tire tube and bike chain. Today I broke my record of two visits in an afternoon to the bike repair man after having three completely unrelated things go wrong in less than an hour (missing screw, broken chain and malfunctioning pedals). If there was a Tour de Chance of Your Bike Breaking, that yellow jersey would be completely soaked in my uncontrollable sweat.

I read the news today, oh boy.

Four thousand holes in Blackburn, Lancashire.

And though the holes were rather small, they had to count them all.

Now they know how many holes it takes to fill the Albert Hall.

Beijing has gotten a lot of negative press in the past few months. After spending time with the people and getting to know this city, it's become far easier to spot the blatant biases and insensitive overtones that plague coverage from most major news sources. Yes, China has problems, and yes, the pollution is bad, but there is so much more to this city than the fog (smog) and censorship. The people in this country have been waiting eight years for 8:08:08 on 08/08/08, and I am thrilled to be here to share it with them. The municipal government declared Friday a city-wide holiday, so I'll be out in full-force, cheap ($0.44!) beer in hand, watching Beijing's coming out extravaganza (Ellen must be feeling pretty sad, since she only got a TIME magazine cover and a daytime talk show [on an unrelated note, I'd love to turn her on]).

WONDERWALL

2008-08-03T05:43:00.000-07:00

CONTRARY TO POPULAR BELIEF, THE GREAT WALL IS NOT A SINGLE, CONTINUOUS ENTITY – SECTIONS ARE LAID OUT LIKE STRIPS OF A RIBBON ACROSS VAST SWATHS OF TERRITORY.

There's an old Chinese saying that claims if you haven't climbed the Great Wall, you aren't a real man. Despite living all these years thinking I had racked up enough points in the masculinity column (participating in a male beauty pageant and shaving my legs as a freshman set me back a few steps), I truly embraced my manhood (and gluttony for heat rash) and embarked on an epic (and partly air-conditioned) journey to 长城 (chang-cheng, literally "long city").

Since my history of excursions outside the greater municipality of Beijing have resulted in abandonment (see 'Mountain Man') and cultural estrangement (see 'Chinamerica'), I played it safe this weekend, opting for a seat on a climate-controlled, private van stocked with a fully competent driver and a dozen Westerners eager to discuss the issues facing our world today (like why China is so wacky, or why Paris Hilton should feel threatened by Obama's increasing status as the world's biggest celebrity). While I spent most of the ride being a little too blunt with my opinions on U.S. politics (not really a problem I face when using simple sentences in Chinese), I did meet the brother of a British Olympic rower and subsequently received my first Olympics hat pin (it was like being back in middle school, minus the self-esteem issues and obesity - well, minus the obesity).

It's hard to describe what seeing the Wall for the first time was like (the adjective 'great' was already taken, and my severe dehydration severely limited my vocabulary), but I think 'awesome', 'pretty' and 'excessively-long' should do the trick. I spent the three hour hike mostly in silence (I focused my energy on 1. not dying and 2. preventing heat rash), trying to comprehend how I'd come to be climbing a wonder of the world. I added even more gravitas to the moment by declaring myself the first Flink to walk the wall – a completely unsubstantiated fact, but one that will hold true until proven otherwise (an argumentum ad ingnorantiam – thanks LSAT Logic in Everyday Life!).

About three-quarters of my way along the journey (most of which was along unrestored sections of the wall, increasing the danger and masculinity factor ten-fold), a Chinese girl approached me after hearing me speak in Mandarin to one of the tower guards. She said she wanted to finish the hike with a foreigner, so we talked about what we were studying in school and lamented the poor playoff performance of the Dallas Mavericks (she's an avid NBA fan). Once we reached the endpoint of my journey (which was through 30 towers and a little under five miles), she asked me to write down my Chinese name, 林敏生 (Lin Min-sheng, part of which means sharp, acute gentleman), and bought me an engraved medal commemorating the momentous occasion of climbing the Great Wall (and, subsequently, becoming a real man).

So anytime anyone questions my obsession with American Idol, my dream to become a singer-songwriter or my tendency to take overly artistic photos, I'll whip out my imitation bronze medal (gold would have been excessive and egoistic) as a testament to my love for cold beer, the existence of a Y chromosome and my intense discomfort when hearing the words 'tampon' and 'yeast infection.'

MARKET POWER

2008-07-27T08:07:00.000-07:00

CHINA SUPPLIES 95% OF THE WORLD MARKET OF CULTURED FRESHWATER PEARLS.

Shopping in Beijing is oddly similar to the sexual history of your average American male: The first time, there's a lot of excitement, but you usually end up feeling cheated once it's over. The next few times, you focus on stamina, trying to stay in the game for as long as possible until you get the best deal. After a while, though, you only want the end result, so you cut straight to the chase to make it as quick and painless as possible.

Since the weather this weekend was near abominable (pushing 270 micrograms per cubic meter, whereas the WHO guideline maximum is 50), I spent two days navigating the ins and outs (extended metaphor) of Beijing's market scene and found the experience to be far more exciting than the how-to (haggle) guide had suggested it would be.

PANJIAYUAN

I lost my bargaining virginity at Panjiayuan, Beijing's most famous antique market. I didn't really know what I was looking for at first (which is why this kind of thing should be taught in middle school), so I spent the first hour in total disbelief at how much bigger it was than the pictures I had seen on the internet. I awkwardly approached a couple of vendors, not really knowing how to start an interaction. Was I supposed to take a quick look around and then quickly walk away, feigning disinterest? Or was I supposed to give the person a quick taste of what it was I wanted, but then leave them desiring more from me? I found some paintings that I really liked, but after arguing about the price, I couldn't make up mind as to whether or not they were something that I really needed. She tried to make the deal more enticing, but I just couldn't commit.

After walking away empty-handed, I got this feeling deep in the pit of my stomach that we were meant to be together, despite the doubts I had had before. I woke up this morning still thinking about them, so I took three subways and a taxi back to the market, made a beeline to her stall and asked her if she remembered me from yesterday. She got straight to the point, offered me our previously agreed-upon price, and I walked away with my purchase in hand. I browsed the market for a few minutes, but when I returned to the stall, I saw a new painting that I liked better than one of the ones I had just purchased. Not wanting this jealousy to taint my first experience, I confronted the attendant, and she even showed me some other prints from the same collection. So as not to rush this incredibly important decision, I took my time, trying to decide which way to position the images in order to get the most pleasure out of them. I picked my favorite four and left the market forever, refusing to look back.

HONGQIAO

I learned how to play the field at the Pearl Market. I bounced around from vendor to vendor, trying to figure out who could give me what I wanted for the lowest price. I meticulously collected information, making notes and judgments about each seller in a my little black book and decided to return the next day. With all of the prices at my disposal, I played the employees against each other in order to get the best deal. While I may have felt the stain of deception on my heart, nothing could blemish the purity of my grandmother's pearls.

LIULICHANG

Fearing a pattern of routine and meaningless encounters, I wandered down some (recently renovated) alleys in search of the purchase that could recharge my shopping drive. I walked by countless vendors, all offering their exotic inventories, but I had to control my urge to purchase and wait for the perfect fit. A small store filled with antique books and maps caught my eye, and it was time to make my move. I played a game of cat and mouse with the owner, trying to play off my blatant interest in his collection as flippant curiosity, but as soon as he showed me the goods, I couldn't hold back. He had maps of Beijing dating back to the 1700s, incluidng a rare English map of "Peiping." He had Chinese world maps where the left half of Africa was simply labled "French West Africa." Resisting the temptation of these more extravagant offers, I stuck to the first item he showed me, pulling the "I'm a student" card to get the lowest price possible. I left his store with a renewed sense of confidence and energy. I was back on my game.

XIDAN OUTDOOR MARKET

It's important never to build your hopes up to high, lest you be crushed by a sense of failure and fatalism when reality proves to be far less than what you expected. The market closed four years ago, so I bought a popsicle to make myself feel better.

ALIEN STREET MARKET/YAOBALU

I was getting bored, so I searched for something foreign to satisfy my needs. I ventured to the Russian markets, hoping to cross some items off of my list of "things I'd always wanted to try but couldn't get 'normal' vendors to do for me." In my interactions with a woman selling ties, I pulled off the perfect walk-away, eliciting a price drop from 250 RMB to 15. This increased sense of confidence, however, got me in trouble later that day. After searching through thousands of hats, I finally found exactly what I was looking for, but, having been so successful in my last encounter, I got a little cocky. I lowballed the vendor, offering far too small a starting price. He got offended and put the hat away, leaving me to apologize and raise my price until we agreed on something that could work for both of us. I may have gotten ripped off a little bit, but that's the price you pay for arrogance (and a really soft fur cap).

I filled every need I had (and everything on my gift list) in my shopcapades this weekend, so it's time for me to practice abstinence (which they do teach in middle school). Besides, I don't want people to think I'm a store whore.

A CHANGE IS GONNA COME

2008-07-22T07:32:00.000-07:00

THE TRAFFIC RESTRICTIONS IN BEIJING ARE EXPECTED TO REMOVE 80% OF THE CITY'S 3.3 MILLION CARS DURING THE OLYMPICS.

Beijing is nine months pregnant with quintuplets (see 'Field Trippin') and ready to pop. The already packed subways are buckling under the pressure of one million additional passengers no longer able to drive to work every day. Gardening goes on around the clock to put the finishing touches on the city's beautification projects. Locals are being instructed to refrain from spitting on the street and speaking negatively about the Olympics. Foreigners are invading like the plague of locusts that inch closer every day from the wasteland of Inner Mongolia. It's intense. And surreal.

Last Friday, I took a sightseeing day (best job ever) to explore some more of the city. I started out my day at the Mao-soleum, determined to finally get a glimpse of the Chairman in all his (waxy) glory. After being dropped off by the taxi driver next to the Chinese government headquarters (top secret!), I discovered that Tian'anmen Square had been transformed into an urban jungle, with new, unnatural metal sculptures accompanied by a small forest of oversized potted plants (Bob Costas may look affable and warm on the air, but these changes are probably a part of his contract. I mean, if I had his magnetic charm and raw masculinity, I'd probably have demanded to be flanked on both sides of my desk by baby pandas while sharing the heartbreaking story about a pregnant and syphilis-ridden Olympic athlete who nearly died of a cocaine overdose but overcame everything to place 4th in women's table tennis).

After the mandatory bag deposit (cell phones and wallet only - probably the only place in this whole country where pocket-size digital cameras are banned), I queued up in the line to enter the antechamber, which felt eerily similar to cattle being lead to their slaughter (I was told the sky was bluer on the other side of the building, so naturally I followed without question). The more reverent guests purchased 3 RMB ($.45) flower bouquets to place at the feet of the Lincoln-esque statue in the entryway to the viewing room, which were probably reused every single day to produce a steady and efficient stream of cash (Mao would have approved). Rumors abound about wax body doubles and cryogenic freezing, but seeing Mao's actual (or fake, whichever you believe) body covered by the Chinese flag and pounds of preservatives was chilling (which may have been because if the temperature rises above 65° F his corpse would start to melt).

I spent the following days ticking off landmarks in my stellar Insider's Guide to Beijing (shameless plug), but as I wandered across the city, I started to sense something unusual (not a bout with the merciless campylobacter - I have yet to encounter my Peruvian foe). Even though I've only been here a month, I've noticed subtle changes in my beloved China, ones which require a moment of mourning: Restaurants on the fondly named "Cockroach Alley" near our office are closing for "renovations" until October (RIP Donkey Pockets). I'll no longer be asked by Beijingren how much I weigh or whether I'm married or why I'm in Beijing (all these questions have been forbidden by the Olympic committee). My novelty as a 外国人 (wai-guo-ren, literally outside country person) has worn off, as swarms of white young adults are flooding the city from abroad. My daily battle with the Chinese firewall over the CNN Political Ticker and Entertainment Weekly TV blogs (apparently the Chinese government REALLY doesn't want their citizens to know who will be dying on Heroes next season) will soon come to an end, as websites once blocked will be made available for the entire population during the Games.

In the words of Sam Cooke (and more recently, American Idol 2nd runner-up Syesha Mercado), it's been a long, long time coming (eight years, to be exact), but I know a change is gonna come. Oh, yes it is. T-minus 18 days and counting.

MOUNTAIN MAN

2008-07-15T06:50:00.000-07:00

THE MUNICIPALITY OF BEIJING IS CHARACTERIZED BY FLAT LAND, EXCEPT FOR THE HILLS THAT DOMINATE THE LANDSCAPE TO THE NORTH, NORTHWEST AND WEST OF THE CITY.

For the past two years, I've been trying to become more adventurous. First, I bought a book about backpacking (aptly titled Backpacking). Then I got a car (aptly named George Michael, not after the WHAM! frontman but the endearingly awkward Bluth teenager) with four wheel drive (which I still don't know how to/have never used). Then I lost self-control at REI and bought a sleeping pad and hardcore backpack (both overpriced and unnecessary). But as much as I tried (and as much as I deluded myself), I never escaped my roots as an overcautious suburbanite. Until now.

Everyone in our office was assigned an "excursion" (defined as a trip outside the urban sphere) in order to update the directions in the guidebook. After perusing the list/reading without thinking, I chose 紫云山 (zi-yun-shan, literally Purple Cloud Mountain), mostly because I thought it sounded mysterious and exciting (also, something you'd probably find in Candy Land). I made my first attempt to make the trip on Saturday morning, but when I received blank stares upon asking "Do you know the way to Purple Cloud Mountain?" (they probably thought I was a crackhead), I decided to give up the adventure for the day and enjoy the beautiful, fog- (smog-) free weather.

I woke up Sunday morning determined to find this mythic peak and arrived at the bus station confident that Purple Cloud Mountain was a real place and not just a figment of my (and Milton Bradley's) imagination. The first bus took me an hour and a half outside of Beijing, dropping me off at a transfer station in a neighborhood north of the city. As happens to most dazed and confused foreigners in China, I was approached by a man offering to take me to wherever it was I was going. We bargained for a few minutes, but after getting the price down from 50 to 30 RMB ($7.40 to $4.50), I explained that, being a reporter, I needed to take public transportation. He insisted that the bus wouldn't be arriving for another hour, but amazingly it arrived at that very moment (and the ticket was only 2 RMB, which is about 30 cents). I was well on my way to completing my quest (or so I thought).

After my first sighting of the Great Wall (EPIC), the bus driver dropped me off at my destination. So proud in my abilities to navigate China's long distance bus system, I hopped off and admired the view as my last link to humanity drove off into the distance. It was at that moment that I realized that not only did the bus stop for Purple Cloud Mountain look like it was nearing antiquity, but there also wasn't a park anywhere in sight. Trying to control my state of panic, I walked across the street to some old women enjoying their Sunday brunch and playing Mahjong. I asked them if they knew where Purple Cloud Mountain. Two of them laughed together as the third told me that Purple Cloud Mountain had been closed for almost a year. After recognizing the twinkle in my eyes as one of fear and not romantic sentimentality, she informed me that the gates were still open if I wanted to take a look around.

Since I was already in the middle of rural China without a method of returning home, I decided to go check out the abandoned nature preserve (I know, it sounds like the start of the summer thriller The Purple Cloud Mountain Project, penned for a summer 2010 release). I was trying to read a sign in Chinese (which for all I know could have said 'Enter at your own risk: Most people die upon visiting. Enjoy your hike!') when I was approached from behind from a man guarding the property. He said that another company had bought the land and was refusing visitors. After explaining that I was working for a travel guidebook, he decided that since I was alone I could look around for a little while. I started to walk up the path, but I soon realized that every took I step away from the main road was a step closer to my certain (overdramatic) kidnapping at the hands of rogue Purple Mountain separatists who would take me to the Lemon Drop forest and demand a life supply of jujubes (they bring good luck!) in exchange for my safe return.

Upon returning to the main gate, I asked the attendant for a suggestion on where to go next, as I'd already wasted 2.5 hours on this magical mystery tour. He told me that there was another park down the road where I could go hiking, and minutes after saying goodbye to the sorcerer's apprentice, a bus arrived and took me a mile up the road. I hiked for the rest of the afternoon, took in as much (never enough) fresh air as I could and made my way (successfully!) back to Beijing. While my ultimate failure means I'll be excursion-ing again this weekend, I feel like I'm finally legitimizing my status as an amateur adventurer (yes, I may have had cell phone service the entire time and never actually been in any severe danger, but I did hike all the way to the top of the mountain: baby steps). Maybe this Saturday I'll finally use my sleeping pad and enormous backpack as we camp out on the Great Wall. Now that would be a truly epic return on investment (for stuff that I didn't ever really need).

BLUE SKIES

2008-07-13T05:18:00.001-07:00

THE BEIJING WEATHER MODIFICATION OFFICE EMPLOYS 37,000 PEASANTS NATIONWIDE, WHO SEED CLOUDS (AND INDUCE RAIN OR SNOW) BY FIRING ROCKETS AND SHELLS LOADED WITH SILVER IODIDE.

It finally happened: a day with no pollution, fog (smog) or rain. Either the measures the Chinese government have taken to improve the air quality are succeeding, or God finally decided I deserved to take a deep breath (without shortening my life expectancy) and relax. Since science and faith clearly don't mix (John Locke! Jack Shephard!), we'll have to let the island (Jacob!) decide which side will win in the end (which is May 2010, when the series finale will air).

After a failed attempt to visit Purple Cloud Mountain (more on that tomorrow), I rode my bike as fast as I could (about 10 mph, since my brakes are seriously deficient) to 景山 (jing-shan, literally coal hill), which I had been waiting to visit ever since I arrived in Beijing. Because the top of the hill provides a 360° view of the entire city, I'd been putting off a trip to the park until the perfect day, and yesterday provided the best opportunity I'll probably get all summer. After having some serious difficulties climbing to the top (the gym membership has still eluded me), I discovered that Beijing is surrounded by mountains, which was a surprise to me, as I've never been able to see more than half a mile away since I've been here. I also realized that the wheezing that usually accompanies my heavy breathing was nowhere to be seen (I can't say the same for the old man who I passed on the way down - I just hope he was wearing his Life Alert lanyard).

I continued to take advantage of the amazing weather by visiting every outdoor sight that was left on my list. I went to the Temple of Heaven, which was absolutely breathtaking (seriously - stairs are incredibly difficult). While walking around for the next few hours, I listened to so many BBC podcasts that I started speaking Chinese with a muted British accent (they do this in order to prevent "betraying their locality" - thanks Wikipedia!). I then made my way to the Ancient Observatory, which was interesting only because of the three helicopter fly-overs that took place while I was on the roof (see Mom, they are following me - watching Alias made me alert to my surroundings, not borderline schizophrenic). I then returned to Tian'anmen Square to take some photos without the gray haze that covers every picture from my first visit to the Mao-soleum (sadly, I once again missed the visiting hours for his embalmed corpse, but I'm dying [cheap] to see it).

After leaving the Chairman to rest in peace (too easy), I made my way via taxi (I put a limit on how many calories I burn every day to maintain my optimal weight) to 北海 (bei-hai, literally north sea), a beautiful lakeside park. I climbed some more stairs and saw some more old buildings (clearly my enthusiasm had waned after 8 hours of walking), but eventually I found my way back home (foot-->taxi-->subway-->bike). Overwhelmed by the beauty of the day (and probably the heat stroke), I had a noodle bowl (MSG!), watched some Dexter (they can curse because they're on Showtime!) and fell into bed. I dreamt of the mythical Purple Cloud Mountain, where Arrested Development was never canceled and the only overdose Heath Ledger (too soon?) ever suffered from was an overdose of happiness (I'm clearly dealing with a combination of dehydration and reality avoidance).

FOOD SWINGS

2008-07-12T02:29:00.000-07:00

THE TEN GREAT TRADITIONS (十大菜系, shi-da-cai-xi) REFER TO THE TEN MAJOR REGIONAL CUISINES IN CHINA: BEIJING, SHANGHAI, ANHUI, CANTONESE, FUJIAN, HUNAN, JIANGSU, SHANDONG, SICHUAN AND ZHEJIANG.

As you may have noticed, I have a strange obsession with childhood obesity (my own, that is). I used food as a solution for my emotional problems and subsequently mastered the art of eating while bored, tired and upset. In recent months, I discovered that, while no longer obese, remnants of these heavy issues have reemerged: I felt a compulsion to always finish what was on my plate, regardless of whether or not I was already full. This overeating led to a feeling of nausea post-mealtime, which then made throwing up the only way to move on with my life. After realizing these tendencies essentially made me bulimic (as well as sarcastically overdramatic), I decided it was necessary to change my ways (or start using smaller plates). (just to clarify: the only eating disorder I've ever suffered from is an inability to use chopsticks - I'm on a 12-step plan, and my sponsor says I'm making progress.)

When I first arrived in Beijing, these problems seemed to have disappeared forever, as I found it nearly impossible to ever feel full after eating. At first, I felt as if all my problems had been solved: I could eat and eat and eat and never be full. But after a few days of consequence-free (SO false) eating habits, I (with the help of Professor Wiki P. Edia) came up with a theory concerning my superhuman abilities to consume mass quantities of food without wanting to vomit: When your brain sends a signal that you are hungry, you try and think of a solution to satisfy your craving. You could go to your favorite restaurant (Qdoba), make your favorite meal (Qdoba) or pull your favorite snack from the pantry (Qdoba). Since many of the foods I usually crave (Qdoba) are nowhere to be found in the Middle Kingdom (the nearest heavenly burrito franchise sits in Anchorage, AK, a mere 3,969 miles from my apartment), I was unable to satiate my hunger pangs.

As I'm not a picky eater, I would let my co-workers order for me every time we went out to lunch as an office. Since almost every dining experience is family style here, I made a point of trying every dish that came to the table, regardless of how much I would have opposed eating it before arriving (tofu is not the demonic meat-replacement I once thought it was). While the first time I actually felt "full" was my 4th of July outing to the American Café (they say you can't put a price on happiness, but that meal came to around $12.00), I'm starting to love a lot of the dishes offered all across this great city.

My two strangest dining experiences took place this week, both of which are worth mentioning. On Thursday night, I met up with a friend from high school (TEXAS) and some of her friends at the Donghuamen Market, which is a large open-air nighttime food extravaganza. I stuck with relatively ordinary dishes (dumplings, and what is apparently the equivalent of a Chinese sandwich and burrito), but my friend decided to try some of the fried scorpion (apparently it doesn't really have a taste; the snake, however, did, and it wasn't stellar). Some of her classmates were even more daring, trying silkworms, cow's kidney and some other mystery meats (the lamb testicles were rightfully avoided by all).

Last night, in attempt to at least temporarily quench my unrelenting cravings for Tex Mex (I had a subpar taco salad at the American-themed Grandma's Kitchen earlier this week), my roommate agreed to accompany me to Pete's Tex-Mex restaurant. It was incredibly surreal. Texas flag paraphernalia decorated the walls, a Texas Rangers banner hung in one corner and every other semi-tacky knick-knack (angels branded the Texas star, ceramic roosters, birdhouses shaped like country chapels) filling the restaurant looked like they were plucked right out of any house I've ever entered in the Park Cities (I would have said that our's is an exception, but we DEFINITELY have the exact same birdhouse hanging outside the kitchen window). Feeling daring (and desperate), I ordered a burrito and chips and queso. The burritos were actually mediocre soft tacos, and the "queso" (I use quotes here because I would never deem my favorite appetizer in the same category as what I ate last night) came already poured on the tortilla chips, not in a chip-and-dip bowl shaped like a cowboy hat. Needless to say, I'll have to find another way to control my urges (my current screensaver may or not be the Mi Cocina menu). I know I have a problem, but admitting it is the first step. So:

"Hi, my name's Mason, and I first knew I was addicted to queso when I took an almost empty bowl to my room and licked it clean. My mom walked in as I was finishing. It was awkward." Happy?

CHINAMERICA

2008-07-10T06:46:00.000-07:00

SHANGHAI IS CHINA'S BIGGEST CITY, WITH A POPULATION OF OVER 20 MILLION PEOPLE.

A coworker recently informed me that Shanghai was the "whore of the orient." Since Jesus associated with the prostitutes and whores of Babylon, I decided (WWJD?) to hop a southward bound locomotive (surprisingly not the 'Oriental Express' – James Bond boards this vessel in the classic film From Russia With Love, which I watched today after purchasing the complete series of Bond films in Shanghai for less than $60 - DEAL) to China's red light district.

After the 11 hour train ride, I found myself on the doorstep of two Texans, ready for my fill of 'merica (that's how you say it). After a tasty (and overpriced) breakfast burrito and peach daiquiri (alcohol slushies!), we made our way to the American Chamber of Commerce's America Day Celebration. They had everything there that I have ever and will ever associate with the great US of A: Budweiser (free), hamburgers (free) and sensual massages (free). In weather oddly similar to that of Dallas (38.8° C - conversions!), I came in last in a watermelon eating contest (EPIC FAIL), mostly because I didn't want to stain my white shirt red (a patriotic pussy - Shanghai clearly was having its way with me).

On Sunday, we saw all that there was to see of historic Shanghai in two hours (the whore didn't really have a compelling self-narrative - it was pretty much only good for the instant gratifications of alcohol and pirated goods). In my quest to satisfy one of the aforementioned desires, I found my way to "Even Better Than Movie World," conveniently located across the street from "Movie World." Since I'm a sucker for boxed sets (probably a vestige of my father's own container fetish, which isn't so much with boxed sets as it with boxes), I found myself relapsing into my habit of "buying things that I don't really need" (see 'I Pity the Fool-Monday'). After deciding that I would limit myself to only one purchase, I eschewed the 'every Disney movie ever released' treasure box in favor of the Ultimate 007 Collector's Edition, which looks IDENTICAL to the listing on Amazon. After watching the first two films in the series (Dr. No and From Russia With Love), I've realized that these movies were way more entertaining as a pre-pubescent middle schooler (childhood obesity), although I still get a laugh every time Sean Connery encounters women named 'Honey Rider' and 'Pussy Galore' (these ladies would LOVE Shanghai).

On the train ride home, I made my first Chinese friend (we connected over our passion for photography! a globalization-sponsored Hallmark moment!) and discussed Sino-American relations, Russia's position in the international system, the one-child policy, pollution in Beijing and youth in China with an older passenger in my car (this was all in Chinese - at times when I paused he would tell me that I could speak freely, except that my hesitation was because I had no idea how to express my thoughts on global issues in Mandarin). After understanding about 60% of what he said to me, I'm pretty sure that he either came away from the experience with a better impression of the American population or a general sense of confusion after talking to someone who said that in the face of scarce resources we should limit production of hydroxylamine (which sounds extremely similar in Chinese to the word 'child'). Or maybe he thinks that we aren't that bad - it's just that we just love blowing things up. 'MERICA!

I PITY THE FOOL

2008-07-07T02:39:00.000-07:00

BEIJING IS ONE OF THE VERY FEW CITIES TO POSSESS MULTIPLE RING ROADS, OF WHICH THERE ARE CURRENTLY SEVEN.

As a child (and young adult), I frequently threw myself pity parties. As the only attendee, I spent an undue amount of time complaining about my poor, pitiful (overdramatic?) life. Having honed these skills over the past decade, I would like to inform you that if you need a designer for your soirée's invitation after reading this post (my job has to be the most enjoyable employment that ever existed), you know how to reach me (Paige gets a discount because she was always the one who notified me of the time, date and location of my own festivities: childhood reverse psychology at its best).

MONDAY

Following the field trip (see 'Field Trippin'), we took the rest of the afternoon to visit Yashow Market, known for its enormous collection of fake goods (this place could give Pamela Anderson a run for her money). As we wandered through stall after stall of shoes, purses, polo shirts and man bags (alas, I still haven't found the perfect fit, but I am confident that my man-purse is somewhere in this city, waiting to be discovered), I was overwhelmed by the sheer (shear) volume of merchandise. Yashow has five floors of every brand imaginable, and the grabby attendants will make sure you know this (every time I passed a shoe stand, someone pulled on my arm and asked me if I wanted to buy a cheaper version of the Asics I was wearing at the time). After realizing I was standing in a warehouse full of stuff I didn't need (I'm evolving!), I walked away, confident in my abilities to resist a unnecessary purchase (sadly, I realized I possessed this skill after buying the two-disc deluxe version of Mean Girls, since CLEARLY the interactive Burn Book was an indispensable extra).

TUESDAY

As the workday came to an end, all of the interns geared up for the semi-annual Amazing Intern Race. Since two of the three words of this event (clue: the middle one is unnecessary, as is middle child Jan Brady) form the best reality show ever and my post-graduation plans, I thought I would be a shoe-in for first place. I was wrong.

Still not trusting my bicycle (clearly a good choice: see Wednesday for more details), I chose what I thought to be my best bet: the 地铁 (di-tie, literally earth iron or the only reason Jared Fogle is famous). Although my mode of transportation was one of the only ones with air conditioning, I came in second to last. I was beat by a bicyclist, motorcyclist, runner (I know, right?), car and taxi. The only person I beat was my roommate, Nat, who was a 'free agent' (things didn't turn out as well for him as they did for Spud Webb). He arrived 100 minutes after I did, having gotten lost on every mode of public transportation imaginable. Some in the office are demanding a recount after the poor representation of Beijing's buses, but recounts aren't always the solution: despite losing by only a hundred votes to Ruben Studdard, Clay Aiken's demands for a re-tally were ignored, which may have been the best thing that could have ever happened to America.

WEDNESDAY

Alright, I'm tired of you pitying yourselves. Send some sympathy my way:

After not recognizing the "I'm giving you this bike for so cheap that you can't bring it back" as a definite warning signal, I started having a falling out (off) with my bicycle. I pulled up to our neighborhood bike-fixing shop, only intending to buy a new seat (the pressure from poorly-made bike seats can cause perineal nerve damage, which leads to infertility: now you know!). However, I saw that my brake pads were frayed, so I asked the employee what the problem was. Turns out my brand new tire was deformed, and I had to buy a new one (amidst all of this, Mr. Bike Man was telling my roommate that his cheaper, used bike was in far better condition than my own).

After being confident that I had spent my last kuai on that stupid bicycle, my pedal broke the next day on the way to work. They now know me at the bike repair shop as the sweaty foreigner who has become better acquainted with his bike vocabulary (thanks Immersion Guides Mandarin Phrasebook! [shameless plug]) because he thought that newer was always better (I attest that this is still true most of the time: see Aretha's "RESPECT", The Departed and New Mexico).

THURSDAY

I left the office around 3:00pm to spend the afternoon at a newly-opened mall (I know, it's unfair). I wandered past the Starbucks and Coldstone (no joke) for my first Beijing shopping center experience. Here's my listing:

"More Malibu than Middle Kingdom, the Solana Park shopping center will make you forget your surroundings as you stroll around this suburbian strip mall. Even though some shops are still under construction, the 200+ stores will keep you occupied for an entire afternoon. If the summer sun proves too hot to handle, make your way inside for an escape to a winter wonderland: the indoor ice-skating rink should be fully functional come August."

Thursday night I was provided with yet another opportunity to stuff my face and not spend a dime (free food!). It's like it doesn't even count in the long run (except it does, especially when you have to live your whole life knowing that you only ran five laps instead of six during the mile run in the 3rd grade because of your childhood obesity: sorry Coach Allred!).

I ventured with some co-workers to a new restaurant on the other side of Beijing, as it needed a listing for our Olympics map coming out next month. The name, 西堤 (xi-di, which means tasty), is pronounced she-dee, which sounds like both 'shitty' and 'seedy', which is unfortunate but accurate. Here's my listing:

"While Alice in Wonderland throne-style chairs and dangling bead strands create a setting fit for a hippie king, the food will fail to blow thy mind, Your Highness. The 98 RMB 7-course meals look exquisite on the page, but the dishes combine rather disparate flavors, resulting in a royal (and odd-tasting) mess."

FRIDAY

In celebration of America (apple pie! country clubs! obesity!), I went by my lonesome to the American Café – a small, overpriced restaurant around the corner from my office building. I ordered a cheeseburger, fries and a vanilla milkshake to celebrate my American heritage and nationalistic desire to increase my risk for heart disease. I also spent the entire day copy-editing (I love using my pen as a weapon) the forthcoming Beijing by Foot, a collection of pocket-sized cards with micro-journeys all across the city. Not only do I feel more informed as a current visitor of this great city, but I also get my name on the publication card! 'Editorial Intern' is TOTALLY a step up from 'Administrative Assistant' (my fake title for my many years as a secretary at my dad's office). I'm moving up in the world.

FIELD TRIPPIN'

2008-07-01T07:17:00.000-07:00

THE BEIJING OLYMPIC MASCOTS WERE ORIGINALLY CALLED "THE FRIENDLIES," BUT THE NAME WAS CHANGED TO 福娃 (fu-wa, literally 'good luck dolls') BECAUSE OFFICIALS THOUGHT THE ORIGINAL COULD BE MISREAD AS "FRIENDLESS" OR "FRIEND LIES."

Office field trips are the best. On Monday, we took a tour of the factory where our magazines and books are printed. As intellectually stimulating as that may have been, what came after was even more rewarding: lunch in the elusive Milu (some kind of deer-elk hybrid) nature preserve. The Olympic statue garden definitely stood out as the highlight (the green maze came in at a close second), and the photo essay that follows chronicles my first interaction with the Olympic Friendlies. The names of all of them when said together actually sound like 北京欢迎你 (bei-jing-huan-ying-ni, which means 'Beijing welcomes you'). Jingjing is my favorite because I love pandas (I was told this has to do with anthropomorphic selection, which is where we are drawn to animals that are "cuter" and have more humanistic qualities).

Beibei (贝贝）

gender: female

element: water

design: Fish

personality: creative, lively, knowledgable

represented ideal: prosperity

represented sports: aquatic sports

hobbies: eating out and letting other people get the bill

Jingjing (晶晶)

gender: male

element: wood

design: Giant panda

personality: sympathetic, honest, optimistic

represented ideal: happiness

represented sports: weightlifting, judo

hobbies: stripping bamboo to make ends meet and put food on the table

Huanhuan (欢欢)

gender: male

element: fire

design: Olympic torch

personality: extrovert, enthusiastic, expressive

represented ideal: passion

represented sports: ball sports

hobbies: matchmaking

Yingying (迎迎)

gender: female

element: earth

design: Tibetan antelope

personality: shy, sensitive, loyal

represented ideal: health

sports represented: track and field

hobbies: skipping out on her commitments

Nini (妮妮)

gender: female

element: air

design: Swallow

personality: adventurous, carefree, stubborn

represented ideal: good fortune

sports represented: gymnastics

hobbies: spitting

HUTONG HIGHWAYS

2008-06-29T07:34:00.000-07:00

HUTONGS ARE NARROW ALLEYS LINED WITH 四合院 (SI-HE-YUAN, COURTYARD RESIDENCES), TRADITIONALLY ASSOCIATED WITH BEIJING. THEY ARE DISAPPEARING AT AN ALARMING RATE.

I love walking in Beijing. Despite the smells (fog/smog), danger (pedestrians do NOT have the right of way) and heat rash (the most unwelcome sequel since National Treasure 2: Book of Secrets, which I may or may not have paid $11 to see on opening night), I'm overcome with independence each time I step out of the apartment, pockets stuffed to the brim with my six travel essentials (passport, wallet, cell phone, camera, keys and iPod; well, seven if you count my emergency supply of Immodium AD). I have the freedom to turn any which way I choose, regardless of the fact that I plan my entire journey and highlight the route on my trusty Immersion Guides (shameless plug) city maps before leaving the "safe zone" for the outside world.

This weekend, I found myself exploring the ins and outs of the neighborhoods surrounding my own. I visited the Lama Temple, an active lamasery for Tibetan monks. One of the most famous temples in Beijing, it houses an ENORMOUS statue of Buddha, nearing almost 80 ft in height. After inhaling enough incense to last me until my next lifetime, I made my way around the corner to the Confucius Temple, dedicated to the famous Chinese scholar. I then meandered down a nearby hutong, simultaneously learning about the termination of education funding in California (I'll be bahck in January) from my disembodied friends at the BBC. Many of the more tourist-frequented alleyways in Beijing have been completely gentrified, with the outer skeletons of former Chinese courtyard houses transformed into rustic antique shops and quirky cafes.

Continuing on my journey through Chinese history, I walked toward the Drum and Bell Towers, which have been around in their current forms for almost 300 years. After a grueling climb up the stairs in the first tower (I struggled almost as much as the past her prime 60-year-old woman who caused a small traffic jam with her heavy breathing and unwillingness to continue up or return back down the small, steep corridor), I resolved to find an indoor gym (smog/fog) to elevate my level of physical fitness from "could manage in an extreme emergency" to "elevated heart rate in normal activity only when dreaming about Angelina Jolie" (Look at me, I'm going places with my life).

In an attempt to be successful at my job this summer, I wandered into a few stores on the way home, my favorite being Underground Kidz (yes, with a z), a British Invasion-themed clothing store replete with leather jackets, torn jeans and uncomfortably tight artsy t-shirts. After my first experience with hotpot (similar to meat fondue), we met up with some of the interns on what is now my favorite street in Beijing (every other building is a coffee shop with overstuffed chairs and antique bookshelves in a hollowed-out hutong; my most favorite, Three Trees Coffee, has authentic Colonial Williamsburg-style Ginger Ale!).

Today, I embarked on my bicycle (take that, heat rash!) in search of a piano (it's been like 9 days–I need a fix). I stumbled upon a shop far closer than I expected (quality was sacrificed for proximity, but my bike seat is wicked uncomfortable) and practiced for an hour. After revisiting Three Trees Coffee (I'm hoping to go so many times that I gain expat-frequenter status), I returned home to my enormous bed for some online television. This weekend, I watched the 4th season of Entourage and am well on my way into finishing the 1st season of Mad Men (I still can't believe TV shows get away with the "it's okay that we make racist and sexist jokes–we're painting a picture of the period"). At first, I was worried that I was wasting my precious time in China sitting in bed watching low-quality streaming television, but I realized that everyone needs a little relaxation. Besides, it wouldn't be summer if I didn't spend an inordinate amount of time escaping into the world of serial dramedy. That's just how I roll.

I LIKE TO RIDE MY BICYCLE

2008-06-27T07:38:00.000-07:00

THERE ARE OVER 10 MILLION BIKES IN THE CITY OF BEIJING.

I remember the first time I learned to ride a bicycle. Vaguely. Most of the event has been blocked from my memory, either because it was 1) too traumatizing or 2) too unexceptional. But since I tend to over-dramatize and exaggerate many of the events from my childhood (except for my weight: I was once used in a simile with a beached whale), I've associated the separation from my training wheels with feelings of angst, frustration and emotional trauma.

I have this distinct image of my mom giving up on my whining and refusing to help me succeed. I had been complaining for the entire afternoon as she tried to get me up on my own, but I refused to work hard, claiming amidst intermittent sobs that I would never need to learn how to ride a bike: I could just rollerblade anywhere I wanted to go (I miss the 90s). As she helped my younger brother off the roof of the Volvo, my dad pretended to put the video camera away, even though he was secretly still recording. After I thought everyone had gone inside, I started talking to myself (A Beautiful Mind in the making), trying to conquer my inadequacies: I would become one with the bicycle (zen), and I would succeed. So I got back on that seat, started pedaling like there was no tomorrow (there was) and fell over into a giant bush. It was embarrassing. And it's on tape (rehearsal dinner!). But eventually I figured it out, and the knowledge I gained that hot July day has helped me through college (biking with no hands while talking on the phone is one of Stanford's major contributions to my skills set) and now, as it turns out, through my transportation woes in Beijing.

After growing tired with all this walking and subway-ing (unrelated, but the ubiquitous sandwich franchise has a store across from my office: Jared haunts me and my over 6 grams of fat lunch choices), I decided it would be in my best interest (as well as my budget's) to find a cheaper form of transportation. I left work a bit early, took two subways (meatball) and eventually found my way to the bike store. I had the grand intention of purchasing a used bike from the pawn shop, but when I walked into the store, the salesman informed me that not only would the old bikes be more expensive, but they would also be of higher quality (I'm pretty sure I misheard him). He told me he could give me a new bike for 170 RMB ($24.78), but if the pedals broke, I couldn't bring it back. Since I couldn't possibly imagine the pedals falling off of a bike after only nine weeks, I thought the purchase would be worth the risk.

The attendant told me to follow him around back to pick out the model, and warning sirens started to go off in my head (I live in a state of constant preparedness/paranoia: thanks Alias!). After rounding the corner into a sandlot enclosed by a tall, chain-link fence, he showed me the storeroom with all the bicycles, and I said in my best Chinese approximation, "No, that's okay, I'll stay here while you get the bike. Oh would you look at all those people over there! Gosh, I really shouldn't be carrying a handgun, I could probably go to jail. Do I want a black bike? I mean, it would go great with this black belt that I received after mastering Portuguese Jujitsu and Nicholas Cage Fighting."

After realizing my heightened sense of security was unnecessary (and ridiculous), the employee wheeled out a shrink-wrapped bike that was in eight different pieces. I watched him put it together on the sidewalk as I looked up key phrases in my FAR superior Immersion Guides (shameless plug) Mandarin Phrasebook (My favorite was "Can you please raise the seat a little bit? I'm unsatisfied with its current height"). The bike failed its first quality test (the brakes broke), so he continued to tighten the screws until I had something that would mostly bring me to a stop as long as I never went faster than 10 mph. I then picked out a bell so I would fit in with the rest of the local cycling community, and I was on my way (to my death).

I almost crashed into three taxi cabs (I maintain that they almost crashed into me, but there were no other witness to verify that statement) but eventually made it home without too many problems. After eating with a coworker at a Russian restaurant (they had ketchup!) around the corner from the motherland's embassy, we made our way with my newly-arrived roommate to an awesome hole in the wall bar (in all seriousness, you actually climbed through a hole to get in) for some mojitos (how ethnic!). We met up with some other friends and found our way to a random club by the historic Bell and Drum towers, which I'll be visiting tomorrow.

While on the dance floor, the DJ selected a song that left me in complete shock. I couldn't figure out the title or artist, but here's the chorus in its entirety (I kid you not): "Plano, TX USA. This is what I gotta say. I do things in my own way. Plano, TX USA." After dealing with that mind-blowing (numbing) performance, Rihanna came around and told me that when the world has dealt its cards and if the hand is hard, together we'll mend my heart.

So let's hope that the sun shines tomorrow. Because it's really hard to take pictures and hold an umbrella at the same time. Unless you're with Rihanna. Because then I can stand under hers. And we can shine together. Ey Ey.

SLEEP, EAT, SLEEP, EAT

2008-06-25T05:29:00.000-07:00

PEKING DUCK (北京烤鸭, bei-jing-kao-ya) HAS BEEN SERVED SINCE THE YUAN DYNASTY (1271-1368) AND IS NOW CONSIDERED ONE OF CHINA'S NATIONAL FOODS.

I love not having food allergies. It's actually one of the things I'm most thankful for in life. Why? Because when you 1) can't read the menu, 2) don't know what's in a dish even if you can read the name, and 3) don't even know what the ingredient tastes like if you're fortunate enough to know the name of the dish and what's in it, you can just have people order for you and hope for the best.

Every day we go out to lunch as an office, and, being the newb in a pool of China experts (I mean, it's what they get paid for), they just order whatever they want, and I end up eating it. As a child, eating was one of my favorite hobbies (I specialized in eating while bored, regardless of whether or not I was actually hungry). But now, stranded in a foreign land, I have to rely on others to help fill my cravings. Today, we went to a nearby mall (the third-nicest in Beijing according to my insanely informational colleagues) for some food. After eating a dozen dumplings (饺子, jiao-zi) filled with God knows what, I had a hankering for something sweet and familiar, so we proceeded down to the basement of the mall.

Upon entering the gastronomic wonderland (cupcakes! pizza! fried chicken! gelato!), I realized that I was actually already full, but after seeing all that Western food, I suddenly felt an urge to to stretch the tensile strength of my gastro-intestinal system. According to one of my co-workers (a Harvard-educated Plano-ite), I was suffering from "food panic." Since I'd been in Beijing, my stomach hadn't been treated to its normal dietary choices or desired level of caloric intake, so when my brain saw so many familiar brands (Pizza Hut! KFC!), it immediately decided to refill the reserves, since these comfort foods could possibly disappear for days to come (I guess you could equate this to a caveman trekking across the wilderness and suddenly seeing his favorite pre-processed fried-boar stand and having to stock up on fat and protein for the rest of the journey).

So as I continue to improve upon the irregularity of my sleeping and eating cycles (last night I fell asleep at 8:00pm and woke up three hours later to eat half a pack of Chips Ahoy!), I know that within the next few weeks, after trying every dish that comes my way (hungry or not), I'll eventually find my favorites.

Besides, my taste buds need to be broadened, as Quiznos and Qdoba hardly befit a citizen of the world. That being said, I'd probably trade my entire stipend for a Honey Bacon Club or Chicken Queso Burrito. Mmmm, queso.

I'M ALL IN

2008-06-23T09:27:00.000-07:00

AIR POLLUTION LEVELS ON AN AVERAGE DAY IN BEIJING ARE NEARLY FIVE TIMES ABOVE THE WORLD HEALTH ORGANIZATION STANDARDS FOR SAFETY.

So I must admit, I had my doubts about this summer after my first few days here. I was in a foreign land with foreign people and foreign service. I kept "playing it safe" by depriving my body of proper nutrients (the heinously overpriced vitamins remain in mint condition) and reverting back to foods I knew well as an overweight child: crackers (CARBS), cookies (CARBS), and soft drinks (SUGAR AND CARBS). But after today, I'm positive that this summer will be on the same level as solving the bonus round puzzle on Wheel of Fortune (I'm not bitter, I just dwell on the past).

This morning, I planned to meet Reid, one of my coworkers, at the subway station near our apartments. Armed with my croissant and my How Stuff Works podcast (apparently, cursing at work can bring colleagues closer together–duly noted), I left the flat and showed up a few minutes early at the metro entrance. At first, I was worried that he wouldn't be able to find me, but after realizing that I was the only person in the entire district wearing J. Crew cobalt blue shorts, a white polo shirt, and über-reflective aviators, I knew that he'd probably spot me from a mile away.

After making it through the first staff meeting and being treated to lunch (FREE), I returned to the office to discuss my assignments for the summer. My editor, Adam, gave me the entire collection of Immersion Guides publications, including two new phrasebooks (sorry Berlitz, I'm over you), various maps to the city, and an excursion guide for trips outside Beijing (FREE). In the face of some pretty tough choices (not), I settled on Sightseeing and Shopping as the two chapters I would be updating and editing this summer. Although Shopping is reputedly a beast of a topic to tackle, I wanted two sections that would force me to constantly get out in the city and continually rely on my language skills. And also, why wouldn't I want to spend the next 10 weeks wandering around Beijing checking listings on all major sightseeing and shopping destinations (FREE)? I have the best job ever.

After attending a dinner for some people leaving the company (FREE), I went for an adventure with Devon, another intern, to one of her friend's apartments in West Beijing. Turns out the kid is from Austin and went to high school with one of my friends from Stanford, which was pretty weird. We sat around playing Texas Hold 'Em (obviously) for a winner-take-all pot of 10 RMB (about $1.45). Using the skills I learned from the experts on television (that summer I spent watching four hours of Celebrity Poker Showdown on Bravo every day FINALLY paid off), I managed to hold my own, take some calculated risks, and come from behind to win big (I'm on a tight budget, so every bit counts).

I went all in a number of times, and the payoff turned out to be beyond what I ever could have imagined (except for winning the bonus round on Wheel of Fortune, which I fantasize about every single minute of every single day).

OVERCONFIDENCE MAN

2008-06-22T05:26:00.000-07:00

BEIJING IS CHINA'S SECOND LARGEST CITY AFTER SHANGHAI.

I wonder how many people die of overconfidence every year. I imagine it's upward of 100,000 (since Wikipedia has no corresponding statistic, I will add this one to the "overconfidence effect" article, solidifying its existence as a pure and undeniable truth).

My first sign of this clearly dangerous miscalibration of subjective probabilities (thanks Wikipedia!) was my statement that yesterday would be my last of jet lag. After an ill-fated six-hour afternoon nap, I fell asleep around 3:00am only to wake up three hours later with no hope of returning to a deep slumber. As I laid in bed weighing my options for the day (seeking protection from the unfamiliar under the feather comforter seems to be the default mode I inherited from my grandmother), I decided to conquer my fears and explore the city. I settled on the most touristy location in Beijing for my first day as an urban prowler: Tiananmen Square.

Armed with four different guidebooks, my Chinese dictionary, and Berlitz, the ill-intentioned phrasebook, I walked the streets of Beijing a free man (and also an informed one: my BBC World News podcast alerted me to the resurgence of hula-hooping as a popular form of exercise and social dance). I stopped by 7-11 and bought some water and a croissant (how ethnic!) and made my way to the subway. A thick fog (smog) clouded the city, and after descending into the underbelly of Beijing, I was presented with my first warning that I may have been overstepping my bounds.

I walked up to the automatic ticket dispenser and pulled out my 100 RMB bill (the smallest denomination in my wallet–I'm flashy, what can I say?) and tried to purchase a ticket. After failing to see the label that said only 5/10 RMB bills could be used (TAKS clearly isn't an accurate measure of reading comprehension), I approached one of the women in the security booth and attempted to buy a ticket. After waving me away and pointing me back to what I thought was the same machine, I tried again (in vain) to pay my fare and returned to her desk, firm in my conviction that she, the trained expert, had misheard my clear and perfect (wrong) Chinese. After realizing that she was pointing to the next booth over, I found another employee who could give me change, and I made my way to the tracks.

After successfully managing my first subway transfer (nailed it), I came up

the stairs and was suddenly overwhelmed at the sight of the Tiananmen Gate. I had seen the classic image countless times (it graced the cover of my latest aptly-titled read, Beijing), but actually being in Tiananmen Square made me truly realize that I, a culture-shocked Texan, was in China (I'm slow to the uptake). I remained in awe for the rest of the morning, making my way through the iconic Forbidden City with a trusty audio-listening tour (one guidebook said Roger Moore would be accompanying me on my journey through time, but I was disheartened upon hearing the voice of an embittered, anti-Western elderly woman instead of Mr. Bond).

After spending a good three hours listening to tales of intrigue, deception, and scandal, I found myself unable to endure the sight of one more bronze sculpture or antique vase (a trait I clearly didn't inherit from my grandmother) and decided to make my way to lunch. Unable to find a nearby restaurant in my small library of Beijing encyclopedias, I took my chances and decided to start walking until I found something.

I settled on 泽园酒家 (ze-yuan-jiu-jia, literally Ze family garden wineshop) and upon being seated pulled out the big guns (this qualifies as a pocket dictionary only for rapper-turned-preacher MC Hammer) to avoid repeating last night's failures. I successfully ordered a bottle of water (nailed it) and attempted to ask the waitress for a recommendation (this was Berlitz's idea, but after the phrase failed two times in a row, I'm going to either find the correct way to say "what do you recommend?" or resort to random selection).

After deciding on Chariman Mao's Favorite Braised Pork, the waitress asked me what else I wanted. Since last night ended with two dishes that had more than half of the food left on the plate, I attempted to tell her I didn't want anything else. However, since I don't know how to say that in Chinese (and my universal hand signal of "no, I'm fine with just the one dish–I have a small stomach" was clearly not conveying my meaning), I quickly chose Fried Rice Cakes (Fried Rice is my Chinese food default) to relieve my sense of language anxiety.

Once the food arrived, I attempted to eat the food with chopsticks amidst laughs from the table to my right. They asked me what I had ordered, but since I had no idea how to say it in Chinese, all I managed was "it's very tasty, thank you!" Amidst this embarrassing interaction (they asked me what nationality I was, and I reluctantly responded American, trying to avoid perpetuating the "I'm a WASP and out of my element" vibe), the waiter brought me a soup spoon so I could have an easier time getting the meat from the plate to my mouth. The couple nearby giggled some more at my expense as I tried to finish the food left on my plate. The waitress then brought the fried rice cakes, which, as the English title would entail (public school clearly failed me), were sweet, fried rice patties. After managing to swallow two of them, I asked for the bill (I've got that one down) and left the restaurant.

I continued my historical journey through Tiananmen Square (unfortunately, Mao's Mausoleum where his body is on display closed at 11:30am), and after realizing that just because I'm from Texas doesn't mean I can endure extreme heat without consequence, I decided to make my way back to the apartment. While on the subway, the girl I was standing next to started to lean backwards with a look of terror in her eyes. After realizing that she wasn't frightened by the past demons of China's imperialist violators (the bitter, elderly woman's choice words), I slowly backed away to the other side of the subway car, hoping to diffuse responsibility. She probably lacked the necessary Texan constitution to handle the heat and was feeling the aftermath of not staying hydrated (copious and clear: words to live by). After finally making it back to the flat and reuniting with some desperately needed Gold Bond (I made the fatal error of leaving the triple-strength bottle at home), I told myself I could only sleep for two hours in order to avoid repeating yesterday's mistake.

Upon waking, I discovered that Chairman Mao and I disagreed on our favorite pork dish and immediately proceeded to find some food for my upset stomach that would be 1) bland and 2) risk-free. After realizing that I probably hadn't had any vitamin C since my $4.50 Odwalla smoothie (I know, right) at SFO, I walked down to the grocery store in front of my apartment and, foiled by my lack of Chinese food vocabulary, stuck to brands I recognized. I made away with some Ritz crackers, Chips Ahoy! (exclamation marks are underutilized!), Sprite and Minute Maid. I finished off my cashews for my daily source of protein, and as I eagerly await the cooling of my (what I hope is) orange juice amidst the explosions (this time it's lightning) of Beijing, I've decided that I'm okay with playing it safe every once in a while (or all the time). I mean, today I took some risks and look what I ended up with: a third degree heat rash, an aversion to pork, and further evidence that I lack language skills in both English and Chinese. That being said, I wouldn't trade anything for today's trip through the halls of history.

Except for the heat rash. I hate being rubbed the wrong way.

PANICATTACKAPHOBIA

2008-06-21T09:34:00.000-07:00

THE DIFFERENCES BETWEEN THE 11 MAIN CHINESE DIALECTS MAKE THEM MUTUALLY UNINTELLIGIBLE.

Today was a day of many firsts:

My first full day in Beijing.

My first encounter with the Chinese police.

My first cultural panic attack.

Today was also a day of many lasts:

My last day of jet lag.

My last feeling of confidence in my language abilities.

The last supper for these wide-eyed and innocent goldfish.

I woke up this morning and went to the police station, which conveniently sits right across the street from my apartment (falling under Rolling Stone's definition of security state). While waiting for my residency forms to clear (which they did! hooray!), the female police officer asked me how long I had been studying Chinese. I told her two years, and she turned to the other officer and either said "His Chinese is good for two years of university study" or "His Chinese is terrible for two years of university study." Since my listening comprehension falls behind my other Chinese skills, it's probably safe to assume that she said the latter. I mean, I'd probably agree with her based on my extreme inability to communicate with locals today.

After leaving the police station (the characters on the building translate into "public safety," which is reassuring), I went to the ATM for some cash to buy minutes for my cell phone. Since I can't even understand what the employees at the Cingular store tell me about my service plan, I had pretty much given up any hope at comprehending the intricacies of China Mobile. All I know is that I paid 100 RMB, which should last me over a month, and I can only receive, not send, text messages, which is like telling a morbidly obese person that he has to watch other people eat ravioli and vanilla cupcakes while being force-fed Triscuit crackers and Brussels sprouts (falling under the U.S. Constitution's definition of cruel and unusual). So either I'll learn to do without SMS, or I'll shift my addiction to something else (probably), like podcasts (I just subscribed to 17 new ones, including the desperately cool Hollywood Rap-Up, where "rapper Infinite-1 condenses all of the week's top stories into an extremely funky recap").

After learning of my loss of texting privileges, I retreated to the apartment, overwhelmed by my communicative disease and isolation in this enormous city. I sat at my desk finishing off my can of Pringles (pin-ke in Chinese), and instead of mustering up the courage to go eat some real food, I sought refuge in my bed (feather comforters=familiar and safe) and fell asleep. For six hours. I woke up hungry and disoriented and decided to build up my confidence and go outside.

I walked to the nearest restaurant that my Insider's Guide (I start work on Monday!) recommended to anyone looking for authentic Beijing cuisine. I arrived at 花家怡园 (hua-jia-yi-yuan, literally flower joy garden) and asked for a table for one. After struggling to say no-smoking section (I blame that one on the inadequacies of Berlitz, my phrasebook), they seated me upstairs away from all the nicotine fiends (I was trying to avoid shifting my addiction to the one that currently controls 2/3 of Chinese men). In an attempt to overcome my sense of insecurity, I ordered a giant beer (thanks Gaieties!), which it's finally legal for me to do (in Beijing, that is; 305 days and counting). While I failed to communicate to the waitress that I wanted a bottle of water, I did successfully order the two dishes she suggested: Braised Shark's Fin & Abalone with Seafood in Chicken Soup and Spare Ribs. After finishing, I walked down Guijie (literally "food vessel street"), which is well-known for its large number of restaurants and the lanterns that hang above them.

After confronting my first debilitating culture shock, I've decided that it's important, as Dr. Leo Marvin says, to face your phobias (xeno-, auto-, arachno-, etc.) with baby steps. So tomorrow I'll be exploring the subway so I'm not horrendously late for work on Monday. But just in case, my iPod will serve as an EpiPen should hyperventilation rear its ugly head (my "Stop Overreacting, Mason, You're a Grown Man" playlist features Simon and Garfunkel, Jack Johnson, and the Killers' song "Everything's Gonna Be Alright").

I MADE IT

2008-06-20T05:52:00.000-07:00

BEIJING HAS A POPULATION OF 8.5 MILLION IN ITS URBAN SECTOR and 17.5 MILLION IN ITS ENTIRE MUNICIPALITY.

As I sit here in my empty Beijing apartment (Tracie, the owner, works 16+ hour days with the Olympics Hospitality Committee) drinking Sprite and eating Pringles (the closest I could find to comfort food at the 7-11 down the street), I can't believe I actually made it to Beijing. I've been talking about this journey for almost three months, and I've finally arrived.

While in line waiting to check my bags this morning at SFO, I feverishly paged through my tiny Mandarin phrasebook, trying to remember the difference between the words for "I would like four" and "I feel like dying" (they are strikingly similar). As I uttered the phrase "The ATM ate my credit card" under my breath as if my life depended on it, the men standing behind me asked me if I knew any Mandarin. This was my chance. I could finally get over my fear of speaking Chinese to people besides my teacher. However, my anxiety got the best of me (my pocket dictionary was buried in my suitcase), and I told them I only spoke a little. After a few minutes, the man asked his father to speak to me. My heart started racing (I feared retribution after eavesdropping on their conversation for the past 45 minutes) and timidly responded to his question. But it wasn't that bad. We spoke for a little while, and the younger man told me it was important to use the Chinese I had learned while in Beijing, as locals would treat me with greater respect. And since I kind of radiate that "I'm a WASP and totally out of my element" vibe when in unfamiliar situations, I would need all the extra R-E-S-P-E-C-T I could get.

United Airlines blessed its passengers with three full meals (noodle bowls! how ethnic!) and four in-flight movies. I felt sorry watching Diane Keaton and Queen Latifah silently (I opted out of the $5 headphones) degrade themselves in Mad Money. It was pretty on par for Katie Holmes, however, who doesn't have much lower to sink considering her current marital situation. I got the most excited while flying over Siberia (RUSSIA!), but otherwise I focused my energy on writing down useful phrases in my tiny moleskine journal (the words for 'I'm lost' proved useful later in the day).

After being blessed by the airline gods with the timely receipt of all my checked bags, I made my way to the taxi rank. For the last hour of the flight, I practiced the phrases "Please take me to this address" and "If you don't turn on the meter, I will not pay you," so I felt relatively prepared. But my attempts at gaining respect from the locals were misguided, as my utterance of my first memorized sentence garnered an incredibly disdainful look from the cab driver. After asking four times whether or not he had turned the meter on (my fear of an exorbitant kidnapping plot overcame my sense of reason), we spent the rest of the ride in silence. As we neared my apartment, he turned to ask me which one it was, and I replied with my best, "I'm sorry, I don't have a prepared phrase for 'I've never been to Beijing before and have no idea what you just said to me.'" We stopped to ask some incredibly friendly people on the street where the hell the building was, and after a few failed attempts and some frustration on the part of the driver (I misinterpreted his embarrassment as humor and inadvertently mocked his inability to find my apartment), we finally found the building.

Once he dropped me off (after I insulted him again by paying him what I thought was a generous tip to only come up short 10 RMB), I trudged down the street with my enormous backpack and precariously balanced roller suitcase situation (overpacking is a Flink family flaw). Because I still lack the ability to read English, I spent half an hour asking people if I was in the right building (it was clearly printed on my email, as I later realized after coming out of my panicked, 'I'm in Asia' stupor). I walked up six flights of stairs with all of my luggage and knocked on the door, only to receive a frightened and mostly muffled response in Chinese from behind the other side of the wall. I freaked out, thinking I was in the wrong apartment complex altogether, and walked down the hall to find an elevator, which clearly could have saved me from my sweat-induced freak out. I gave up, pulled out my cell phone, and turned it on, hoping something magical would happen. China Mobile popped up, and I miraculously got through to Tracie. (Everyone knows God doesn't give freebies, so the cost of this miracle will show up in the form of a heinous roaming charge. Sorry Rando!) After getting lost twice more, I finally made it into the flat, drenched in sweat, deliriously searching for clean water (after my run in with the campylobacter in Peru, I'm determined to avoid that whole epic diarrhea thing this go around. Take that, gram-negative intestinal bacteria!)

One of Tracie's friends, Rob, came over to help me get situated. As I'm incredibly needy, I battered him with questions about cell phones, food, subways, and, of course, water. Turns out he's in the microbiological water purification business, in addition to being a Texan. So we were destined to be friends. After helping me get everything worked out, I raced back to the apartment to avoid getting caught in my first Beijing dust storm (Loess Plateau!). Since I'm still on edge (22+ hours and counting), I mistook the summer rain for bullets and the distant explosions for bombs. (FIREWORKS! AND IT'S NOT EVEN A HOLIDAY! JACK DONAGHY WOULD LOVE IT HERE!)

It's time to collapse in a pile of my unpacked clothes. I have to wake up tomorrow morning at 8am to go to the police station and register my temporary residency. Apparently, since I give off that "I'm a WASP and totally out of my element" vibe, they'll know exactly why I'm there. I won't even have to say anything. Sometimes, it's just that easy.