Wednesday, Nov 24.
Live extravagantly. That's what I call when it's all-you-can-eat sushi/sashimi/Japanese ryoli for a meagerly RMB150. Actually now that I do the math, that comes out to be close to $20, so I guess it wasn't such a bargain. But then again, you get your own little room. All you can drink sake :) Made-to-order dishes. And you get a little bell to get the waitress' attention. For that I was a little uneasy at first. I suppose my uncomfort came from this mental image that I got from the fancy cat food commercials, where the invisible owner ring the bell and this lazy snow white persian fat cat comes running for the fancy food. I know there is no clear analogy here, therefore further compounding my conscience. Then I realized the bell is inevitable product of the awkward layout of the resturaunt and the staff's desire for minimum locomotion. Well I suppose the three uni nigiri also helped to easy my mind :)
The afternoon was spent browsing the so-called antique market at PanJiaYuan. Of course the place is a mixture of traditional art and craft, and innumerable attempts at forgery of various sophistication. Well, we were like two near-sighted mice, nearly-frozen, shuttling from one stall to the next. Ooooo and Aaaaing about the pretty little rocks/minerals/semi/precious stons were fun, but only to a certain degree. So we soon gave up trying to find cool and inexpensive gifts for my co-workers--it was tough considering half of them were Chinese so the usual suspects when it comes to "gifts" from China had all been tapped!
We finished the afternoon preparing for our overnight train ride to Shanghai. We bought instant ramens, sunflower/pumkin seeds, roasted chestnuts, cooked chicken, and drinks. Oh, it was going to be so romantic and comfy, having the entire four-bed cabinet to ourselves. Well, naturally, the plan falls apart when we finds two middle-aged men in suits occupying half of the cabinet. Adding our ferocious argument on top of that, oh the ride to Shanghai ended up been a long night.
What's wrong with this picture?
The other day, the immenent missile defense system of the U.S. government suffered
a big setback during its first full-flight test. Well, one would say it's pretty difficult, trying to shoot down an intercontinental ballistic missile. That's why the U.S. military has and will continue to sink tens of billions of dollars into this project.
In more relevant news, an U.S. base in Mosul got attacked yesterday. The initial report is conflicted on the method of attack: rocket/mortar, planted bomb or suicide bomber, although the latest news has put more weight on the
suicide bomber theory. On NPR I heard a curious comment though. In short, the military people were relieved that it was a bomb delivered by a person on the inside, rather than a rocket launched from outside the base. Leave aside the idea that suicide bombers are easy to deal with, here's my question.
Which is easier to shoot down from the sky? A mortar rocket or an intercontinental ballistic missile?
Well, the truth is--I don't know. But a large part of me think it would be easier to knock down a mortar shot, which probably costs a few hundred dollars, than an ICBM that costs hundreds of times more, right? Now if we can't protect our soldiers gathering for some chow inside their protected base from some Iraqi insurgence, what made us think the government will protect us from missiles from North Korea. Or how about this? Before we spent a hundred billion on how to shoot down ICBM, shouldn't we be trying to find ways to shield our troops from these mortars and shoulder-launched rockets? Just a thought.
Words of the day, aka the day George W. taught me a lesson
President Bush gave a speech this morning. Blah blah blah, social security is broke. Blah blah blah Rummy is great. Blah blah blah
Russo-American relationship is complicated. Wait. He corrected himself:
But this is a vital and important relationship, and it's a relationship where -- you know, it's complicated. It's complex rather than complicated. It's complex because we have joint efforts when it comes to sharing intelligence to fight terrorism.
Well, the transcript cleaned up his bumbling, but there was a pause and emphasis on changing to complex. So what's the difference between the two adjectives "complicated" and "complex?" I had to look this up. According to
The Maven's Word of the Day:
[Complex,] when used as an adjective, it's used most often in a denotative way, simply describing things that have a lot of parts.
[But complicated also] means 'composed of many elaborate interconnecting parts'.
So, when do things get complicated? Usually, when an element of frustration enters in. The use of complicate as a verb gives an indication of this: if you complicate things, the implication is that you're making a situation unnecessarily complex. Complicated is more connotative of annoyance or puzzlement in its use.
So the take home message is that things can be complex, but don't have to be complicated unless you aren't bright enough to follow the intricacy of the subject. Now, some may argue that America's alliance with Russia in the war on terrorism is in fact confusing, or complicated, considering Putin has replaced democracy with autocracy, and obsecured the nationalist goals of the Chechyn rebels with a blanket label of Islamic terrorists. But it's hard work to try to change another country, especially when it's half way around the world, and it holds a bunch of WMDs. Hey, now I put it that way, it doesn't seem so complicated, or complex anymore.
But the bigger question is, did W. let it slip and finally showed us his true intellectual color? The man know's the difference between "comlicated" and "complex!" I know what you cynics think, oh Karl Rove must have berrated him for using the wrong word for the fear of calling something complicated and therefore confusing, thus offending someone. But I rather believe that my president aced his fifth grade english.
Thursday, Nov 25. Part II
After lunch, we were trying to walk around the People's Park when we stumbled upon the new Shanghai Art Museum. I don't remember it been here--it used to be a library and a bookstore. But there it was, the Shanghai Biennale, that we had heard from friends of my gf. So we gave it a try. It was entertaining to say the least, and we ended up spending the whole afternoon in it. While much of it has to do with experimentation with new medium forms, it also included something quite traditional.
Paper cutting craft. It was a survey of some 170,000 people in Shaanxi about the native paper-cut craft. This resulted in some 15,000 personal files, with basic bio, a picture, a sample and some short statements. To me it's not really the paper-cuts that interests me, but rather it's glimpse into these people's lives. Often, the statement they give are merely stating that they started when they are in school and kept doing it out of boredom. But occasionally it shows something deeper, usually the shadow of a life full of hardship and family burden (for a vast majority of them were women). The organizers do bring up the point this show is symbolic of the distance and connection between two poles in today's China, the rich, modern China and the poor, backward China. Both Shanghai and Shaanxi could be considered the birthplace of Chinese communist party. The first CCP congress was held in Shanghai, and of course, CCP found its rebirth in Yanan after the long march. Yet the difference between these two locales are as drastic as light and day (you think Blue and Red states in the U.S. are different?) My gf wondered about the monetary impact of such survey wouldn't be better served in other programs, but I thought at least it made people who saw the exhibit think about people from Shaanxi.
The rest of the exhibit is mixed. I had to agree with my uncles (at a later dinner). Some of the art today is too-"difficult." One always worries about whether one "gets" what the artist is trying to express. And sometimes it seems that the artist is purposefully trying to make that difficult. Other times, the artist is simply doing what he or she wishes--I suppose to express one's individuality and creativity--without any regard for the audience. Call me old fashion, I would like a piece of art to be beautiful or breathtakingly powerful, without having to worry about decoding the artist's message. Hey if I want to be needlessly shocked and disturbed, I will watch everyday TV news.
We then went across the river to Jinmao, Grand Hyatt, for a few drinks in one of its bar/lounges. Maybe it was the weather or because it was still early, the bund looked dim. But it was nice to sit down for the first time in five hours.
The dinner was at a restaurant near my dad's place, nestle in the back of the whole-sale seafood market. We picked out a fish (to be steamed), shrimp (boiled), snail (stirfried in butter), bamboo clam (cooking in some sauce), trunk freshwater mussel (sashimi-ed and cooked in porridge) and something that I can't remember now. It was only four people, including my uncle-in-law. He has a funny personality. He's the kind of person that do the most of the work, but refuse to take any credit. Fight to pay the check, but criticize everything. Telling you how good something is and must try, but take the worst and try the least for himself. I have grown used to his dichotomy. But this seafood feast was hands-down the best in my life. I can't think of ordering seafood in a restaurant for a long time. The best part, the check was only $90! That includes the trunk freshwater mussel, which cost $20 per lb, at 2.5 lb, it was more than half the bill! Well, it was good.
Well, nightlife after dinner. I have to admit, I never liked Xintiandi. But people in Shanghai always talk about it, even my gf knows about it. Of course, Dave had always told me so, but I keep hoping that I would be surprised. Well, I'm not again. We went to XTD (it was raining), and walked around like most people. I can't see how this place is viable. We went into a couple of places. One place aptly called Jazz-Cigar-Wine. Well, the jazz was so-so, the wine (and everything else, including hot chocolate) overpriced, and cigar... We sat next to a "no smoking" sign, go figure. Besides the watered down black label and hot chocolate, we saw something amusing. A couple got a bottle of red--probably cost as much as our dinner--and a pitcher of ice. Then they proceed to dump cube after cube of ice into their glass, WITH THE WINE. This led me to believe either the wine was terrible, or these people were terribly misinformed. We then got the hell out of there. Then went to another bar that I had been to a couple of times previously. It took me awhile to figure out why it looked so much smaller now--half of what it used to be had become a cloth store. But the bar still looked empty. We were told by a waitress, she thinks they will close at 1 AM, maybe. All of us were relieved to find out that was in fact the case. Too bad it was raining, otherwise I would have dragged my gf to Park 97 or even Jinmao.
Thursday, Nov 25.
After a nice, short, refreshing train ride from Beijing (NOT!), I woke up in the city of my youth, with a raging case of dry mouth and sore throat. But nevertheless, once we got off the train, it feels different from the Northern Capital. I'm more at ease here. It just feels familiar. It is not really that I know where everything is in the city, or where the roads lead to. In fact, I have an upside-down perception of the city--I orient myself from my father's home in Huangpu district, facing south toward my mother's home in Luwan district, so to me up is south, left is east, and so forth. But at least I got some sense of direction.
After checking in with dad, we decided on today's schedule. The plan is to see my grandma, dad's mom, first, and thus showing my childhood home to gf. Then a stroll through the downtown that I know the best: the route between my home and my middle school that I had taken countless times. From then we will have a few options since we will be in the heart of the city, People's square, and the intersection of the two main subway lines.
It was nice to see grandma. Gf is impressed with how pretty she looks at age of 80. Twenty years, when I was growing up and she was 60, she did not look her age at all. She probably started having noticeable white hairs only ten years ago. I have noticed that she is slower now, and gained some weight, but that's only inevitable. As to why she still lives in the old Shikumen buildings without plumbing, I don't know. However, it seemed to impress gf a lot that I came from such Shikumen upbringing. I had wanted her to see what these neighborhood looks like, sort of as my answer to the silly Hutong craze up north. But apparently the city government had beaten me to it--they just finished painting the entire neighborhood. The walls lost their natural age-worn color and the outline of bricks was redrawn with an ugly white paint. They even painted the outer face of the window frames, in a ghastly red paint. But as I sit in the room I grew up in, looking at the peeling wallpapers, the same one that I still remember watching been applied on, I'm amazed how life remained the same for those that lived inside these rooms. I wonder what my dad felt when he first come back after 10 years in the U.S. I imagine there was not so much change to the rooms, buildings, neighborhood and the whole city in 1990 from 1980. Of course, this room not withstanding, so much else had changed in those 10 years.
We then walked to Nanjing Xi Lu, up Xizang Lu, into the back streets, and arriving at my middle school, Gezhi. Since the gf was impressed by all things old and authentic, I was eager to show her the old building, with its ivy covered face. But again, the walk toward progress had beaten me to the punch. The old building is no more, torn down to make way a third new building for the school. I supposed that I should be heartened that the school is still here, in a golden location in the heart of downtown. Any lesser school would have sold out a long time ago, and moved to Pudong. Turning back from the construction, I wonder what it is like to be going to Gezhi today. No doubt, the students here wake up everyday with the same mixed sense of pride and dread (oh the homeworks and tests). But what would it be like to see the Starbucks sitting directly across the street? Do Chinese students or for that matter anyone study in Starbucks in China? Probably not, and probably can't afford it anyway.
As we stroll back toward Xinshijie, a department store with a huge food court, I had to stop to get some Sheng jian bao. They are heavenly. My favorite breakfast, in fact my top ten dishes, in the world. This time I ate eight (100 grams). In fact, the next two breakfasts in Shanghai, I will eat another 30-some in total. The thing I can't understand is that I had never found a bad sheng jian bao in Shanghai anywhere, but I have never found a decent one anywhere else, in the world. It must be the dedicated large frying pan that they use. This bring me back to another childhood memory. First I will admit that I was pretty spoiled when I was younger. But one of the few things that I did was to buy my own breakfast, usually these delicious buns. I remember waiting for them, will watch the people inside. Making the dough, stuffing the meat filling and wrapping dough around it, etc. I always hope to be the first, but there is usually a line. When the buns in the pan (which fits hundreds) are getting low, I, holding the ticket, wish it not to have enough for me but rather it run out before my turn. That way, I will get ones that come fresh out the pan, therefore will have the most juicy soup inside them. I will watch the guy (it's inevitably a guy, to handle the cast-iron pan, with its lid, use gloves) add ladles of oil, placing the buns, add water, and close the lid. Then he will periodically and methodically rotate the pan, which is about a meter wide, to ensure the most even cooking. Opening the lid maybe once to check. And when the lid is finally opened, it was the most beautiful sight for me. The steam rushes up. The buns glissenning. The sound of the sizzling oil. When he cuts the buns into my portion (the bottom of the buns are burnt) I can almost taste the crispy bottom in my mouth. And inevitably, I will burn my mouth on the first bun that I bite into, or squirt a pocket full of juicy on to my shirt. But I digress. These sheng jian bao that I got today was okay, but good after two years.
I suppose that after that, the lunch at the top of Xinshijie was anti-climatic. I noticed a trend that moves away from little dishes and moves toward large grilling dishes, hot-pots, and stews. Sure they are still incredibly cheap and 100x better than the panda-express at your average American food court, but I just can't bring myself to waste so much. I am, however, outraged at the 12 rmb beer that I got from a waitress. $1.50 for a beer, where am I, California?
To be continued...
Friday, Nov 26.
We went to the Shanghai Science and Technology Center in Pudong today. It has a pretty impressive outer structure sitting at one end of the Millinum Park. It's more like a high-tech children's hands-on museum, so... we absolutely loved it. Tried everything like a bunch of 10 years olds, which fit in perfectly with 90% of the visitors--droves after droves of elementary school kids. However, the park outside and the museum seemed to be underused on this day. The cold weather is partly to blame, but maybe also because it's a Friday.
I know I didn't have this thing back when I was a youngster--it would have been off da hook, if you know what I mean. But I remembered that I loved everything science and nauture. In danger of sounding like a show-off, or worse, geek, I was at some point in all of the following clubs at school: astronomy, geography, weather, math and computer. Hey if they had some uranium, I would have been the first to sign up for the WM... I mean, Peaceful Alternative Fuel Fource of the Future Club. I wonder if kids these days are the same? Probably. Though I'm not a big fan of kids, I have to admit been a kid is pretty awesome. A lack of solid grasp on the reality of life combined with a superficial understanding of laws of nauture can often produce a ten-year old that ponders about which would benefit the world the most--him been a theoretical mathematician or an astronuant--while thinking he's the next Jet Li at the same time.
Spent the afternoon haggling over knockoffs. I realized how invigorating it could be. And of course, how Shanghai natives drives a much hard bargain than people from outside the city. Yes, we are number one, we rule! Maybe all the people from the North hate us because they always get ripped off when they come to Shanghai, haha.
Dinner with my mom's siblings. All three uncles, and their families. Again, it strikes someone who had only seen snap-shots, years apart, of their lives in their last 14 years of lives how time has raced past everyone. Oh how the adults have added wrinkles and lightened their hair. How the children had grown from shy, awkward teenagers to confident young adults. Oh, and how some of us can get another chance after five turns through the zodiac--Michael say hi. I always have a good time with these uncles. In many ways, I hope that my presence would remind them of my mother, who I know misses them and Shanghai very much, and they the same. Perhaps one day she could spend more time with them. That's a goal of mine.
We then went to Club California (Park 97) and GuanDi. Maybe I don't know my way around Shanghai, but it seemed to me that with the up-n-downs of club scene in Shanghai, you can always count on Park 97 (go Zemans!) By comparison GuanDi seemed less than crowded. But everything was a blur. Maybe I had too much to drink. Maybe my world just gets smaller and collapses on my gf when I'm with her. What is that they say? A million fish in the ocean can't beat one in your net, or something. And boy does she know how to shake it loose. So good times as always.
Saturday, Nov 27.
Chilling at Dad's apartment in the morning. Watching Yao Ming and the Rockets sucking it up again against the Denver Nuggets. So much for the 1-2 combo of McGrady and Yao. There's actually a lot of sun on his balcony, 24 floors up, a rarity these days on the streets of Shanghai.
Lunch at my youngest aunt's place. All my dad's siblings and their spouses were there except my uncle and his wife, and grandma didn't come either. The table was decked out with cold appetizers, probably a dozen or more. And the main dish was the famous hairy crabs. I remember back in the day, it used to be such a big event. We ate it maybe once a year. The crab was such an extravagance for it costed a few RMBs each when most people's salaries were less than 100. Now these guys cost 40 or more RMBs, but the salaries of working people (as opposed to not working, XiaGang) are usually over 1000. I wonder if it's more shocking to the person that comes back to China occasionally or the ones who lived the incredible transformation. Still, I feel guilty eating four.
My dad taught my gf how to eat the leg meat. I never used to eat them. My mom usually take them out for me, or just take them away and let me eat the body. Dad made it really simple, and I cleaned off 8*3 legs in no time. Do I wish I could have learned the trick earlier from him, maybe. I guess better late than never, even if it's indirectly.
We ended up playing Majong in the afternoon, the traditional aftermeal get-together activity. Though I always wanted to play when younger, I feel utterly outmatched now that I'm sitting with the adults. Maybe it was the pressure of competition, or the non-stop mental calculation, or my eminent/gathering cold, it was very draining. And my dad was coaching me too. Unlike previous times, I'm okay with that too.
I had felt that my stay in Shanghai was too short this time. I had spent time with both sides of the family. They come from different backgrounds and have led different styles of lives and have had different experiences, but I can feel all of them are genuinely happy to see me. It would be egotistical to think that I alone have the power to bring them together to joke and laugh and drink and eat, but I'm glad that I could at least be an excuse to get them out of their busy daily lives and sit down for a relaxing time. Call it my chinese thanksgiving.
Sunday, Nov 28
Driving back to gf's apartment tonight. The cab is going through the streets behind the Forbidden City. It struck me that I haven't seen parts of Beijing or Shanghai like this very much this time back. These streets were quiet and dimly lit. Not much people or traffic around. There are not a lot of store fronts. All you see are trees lining both sides of streets soldierly, with the occasional street lamps totting the line. Walls remain silent but dignified, concealing what's behind them, houses maybe, or just some government DanWei.
So much of what visitors sees in today's cities in China, willingly or not, is quite different. The bristling streets with cabs jostling for positions in a snail-race. Highrise building towering over you. Highways, pedestrian overpasses, and billboards doing their best to shield out the sky. Look around you, and you invariably see a sea of businesses, usually grouped together by variety. Dazzling restaurants with greeters by their doors and doormen/salesmen hailing cabs and haggling passer-bys. Cheap stores that blare out sales pitch, or better, Celine Dion's Titanic, to attract the naive visitors from the country side. High-end chic stores that display designer clothing and newest electronics that rival any American malls. And people. People window-shopping. People eating street-snacks. People selling and pushing whatever they do. People haggling. People spitting. People rushing to somewhere. Just a lot of people. And signs. No space is wasted.
This is not the China I remembered, and I grew up in Shanghai, its biggest city. What the cab ride through the dark streets of Beijing have reminded me was another lifetime ago, where bicycles outnumbered the cabs, and the ding-dings of bike rings were the only noise poluution on the streets. It's been so long that I only RE-membered it now. It would be Sunday night, and I am sitting on the back of my mom or one of my uncles' bicycle, going home after visiting some relatives. Trying to hold on to the tiny, uncomfortable grill that pretends to be a seat, and looking around the adult to see where we are going, even though I had traveled the same road every week. What I ended up watching was not what's in front of the road, but the road itself. The smooth asphalt. The occasional yellow dashed line. And the Shadows. Our shadow outlining the bike, with the spool of its wheel in lighter blur, and its occupants. It would be dark and stubby. And as we move past the lamp overhead, the shadow would get stretched and get lighter. Just when it started to become too faint, a new one would emerge, getting darker and shorter. There is a moment of suspense as if the two shadows were really tethered to the lamps and which one would win. But as always, the new one wins and replaces the old one. And we start over again. There is not much noisy nor people. It's just me and the wax and wane of the shadow. The cycle would repeat dozens, hundreds of time, forever, except home is not that far away.
Shanghai and the rest of China have come a long way, but I wonder if I look hard enough will home of my younger years be that far away?
Monday, Nov 29.
So after 16 hours of sitting and sleeping and drooling, mostly simultaneously, I have finally arrived in the good-ole U.S.A. (
Amusing link) My feeling exactly. And how nice, it decided to welcome me with snow.
As my airport shuttle drove up to my place, I suddenly realized that I have no idea where my receipt from two weeks ago which indicated that I had paid for both legs of the round trip shuttle. Damn, I gonna be out $22. What the heck, I don't care, I'm home. I half-heartedly told the driver (the same driver from two weeks ago) that I can't find the receipt. Her answer? "That's ok, I trust you." And that's it. The whole time with a smile.
Now flash back to Sunday, when my girlfriend and I haggled at Carrefour, a chain Wal-mart like store to return a DVD player, in Beijing. What a pain. They have a 7-day return policy, and the electronic guy told us we could return it at any of the six stores at the time. Now, a week later? First they won't take it back, unless I bring back the DVD it skips on. Then they will take it. Then we were told they won't take it because it was from a different Carrefour store. Two managers and nearly an hour later, it's still not resolved. Now we are making a scene. Part of me is amazed that a store in China would even consider its customer's request for return for so long--gotta love capitalism. Part of me is mad at the complete lack of initiative by the managers. And lastly, I'm most proud of myself, from what I considered as the weaker position, for been able to argue in Chinese for so long to the point that the managers got so defensive that they covered up their name tags and tried to take back their phone numbers.
There's no nice way to put it, many people in China are not very nice to strangers. Well, I realized that in China, I often felt like the Chaplain in Catch-22:
[People] invariably welcomed him with excessive cordiality when he approached and waited uncomfortably for him to go away...Everyone was always very friendly toward him, and no one was every very nice.
At the resturant, the greeters greet you with robotic smiles, but it's because they have to. Bus drivers give you directions, but treat their each word like each syllable is made of gold. The feeling is enhanced after I went to Shanghai. I finally realized how much sincere warmth that I had been unaware of from my relatives.
Well, I've heard people on Chinese TV talking about how to move China from a purely manufacturing country to a more service-oriented one, like India. Blame what you want, but until the country can finally lose the mentality that personal relationships are not invariably a zero-sum game, that day will be far away.
