Survive Beijing

You’re bound to encounter the Beijing blues if you end up living here or if you come for a short visit. Whether it’s the subway, the polluted air or the lack of space that has darkened your days, I offer some useful tips to beat the beast and ensure enjoyment in China’s capital.

1. Be A Peacemaker

One’s natural impulse is selfishness and the mentality that suggests: “the world revolves around me”. The fruit of this thinking proves nothing short of a catastrophe. A person cuts in front of you in the subway line (which they will), stands on your toes, or pushes you in the back. What do you do? If you allow your natural inclinations to dictate the situation, you won’t make it a week in Beijing. Peacemakers survive in Beijing, not those who retaliate or those that compete in the selfless rat race. Allow yourself to take one on the cheek now and again, and consider people above your own priorities. You will find this a huge help in reducing stress and tension that is created by the hum and drum of this fast paced city. If you find yourself on the subway give up your seat for someone else and be a peacemaker.

2. Carry A Book

The vast expanse of city that exists in Beijing makes for days that are filled with a lot of “downtime”. You have a business meeting at 1pm, but it takes you an hour to get there from the place you just had lunch at. You got word of a new restaurant in town, but it’s on the west side of the city, half an hour from your apartment. Reading a book during these times stimulates and refreshes your mind as opposed to the normal draining effect that transport usually has on people. What would normally serve as an occasion to suck the life from your day now exists as a time of solitude, rest and recovery. Carrying a book in Beijing, preferably one that you enjoy, is like having an oxygen mask on Everest.

3. Exercise

For the most part Chinese people are very health conscious. As a result a number of outdoor gyms exist throughout the neighborhoods of Beijing. These park/gym facilities are free and house basic machines that strengthen your back, chest, legs and arms. Even if you’re not a gym nut these parks are rather fun and the machines are enjoyable to use. Exercise is an important way to deal with stress and a way to release the tax of the day from your tired body. There are numerous indoor gyms that can be found in every neighborhood and if this is your preference, as opposed to parks, then go for it. If you prefer running, then look for some quiet side streets and begin each day with a gentle jog. Whatever your choice, make sure you exercise and stay healthy to battle the busyness of the city.

4. Develop A Routine

There is no better way to make friends and create allies than to have a good, consistent routine. Even though you want to maintain a heart of exploration and adventure, trying new things, seeing new sights etc, you must put down some roots. Whether this means eating at the same restaurant everyday, buying a pack of cigarettes from the usual street vendor or getting your groceries from that familiar shopkeeper. If you develop consistency in your day through certain activities then you will begin to make friends, blend in, and create allies that will potentially help you when you run into some trouble. Friends and allies come easier when regularity and routine exists in each day.

5. Be A Thankful Person

Chinese people respond to thankfulness. Wear a smile and carry a thankful heart. Always say “thank-you”, of course in Chinese, when receiving food, a subway pass, or paying for your groceries at the store. At the end of each week take a few minutes and record everything that you’re thankful for in the recent week that has past. Thankfulness is a catalyst for joy. If you are thankful when dealing with the Chinese people then you will find joy in things that most take for granted. If Beijing or China starts to get under your skin, take a few moments and write down everything you are thankful for and you will find it will help in easing the build up of tension and irritation. Thankfulness will carry you like a cloud. Be a thankful person.

Beijing is a beautiful city. But like all big cities it can be difficult for foreigners and locals to find their place, to find a rhythm and to find enjoyment. I offer these 5 tips as part of a map, a guide for you, to find fertile soil if you decide to visit or one day live in Beijing.

Kentucky

Settled in my arms amid brevity of moons,

The days accost prosperity

In slight cast and canorous tunes,

The nights entreat temerity

Spring flowers, too innocent for thee,

Dress her hills with peace

Autumn blades fall cold and free,

While the sun appears to cease

Her soil carries no painful disease

Like the marred man so broken

Her golden fields and brazen trees

Believe in the secret promise spoken

Her Waters retain pardon for the bedraggled soul

Empathy for the crippled mind

Her Dark skies illuminate, burning fiery coal

Wonder for mankind

Man’s home alights on humble slopes

Where kindred hearts rejoice

Song and melody of risen hopes

Are dreams, are yearnings, are voice

Dark and cold are suffered and spent

By light of birth and warmth of clan

Hands grow empty from riches lent

Hearts repaired, redemptive man

Remember on those fields, many moons ago

You repaired an injured boy

Blood and tears were mine to flow

In the company of your joy

Kentucky love you’ve fathered skin,

Adopted Indian blue

No land recalled, no land within

That knows me like you do

YANGSHUO

My decision to spend my dream vacation in the corners of South West China, Yangshuo, felt similar to choosing exotic food on a menu, based solely on the name. I was spinning the wheel, randomly trying to pick the correct door behind which a grand prize might lurk. You blindly hope you’re getting something that doesn’t leave you disappointed, and the thought of bagging a pistol, well, isn’t that the motivation behind the risk? Simple probability says it’s likely you’ll miss that one, perfect choice. What are your chances of winning the lottery? Not very high, we’re told. But then, someone is going to win. Unimaginable odds are thwarted everyday by all kinds of people across the globe. One in a million is a flicker of hope: an occasion for the miraculous. These moments house the last minute touchdown to win the game, the lucky break for the aspiring actress, but we never have the vision to see these moments unfolding in our own lives.

I couldn’t deny it this time: the limestone peaks that rose as gods made way for the golden sun, burning awareness of the impossible into my mind. I chose wisely: “door number 3 please”.

A bus from Guilin is the most popular way of getting to Yangshuo. Some take the Li River by boat, but I didn’t have the time to invest in such a venture. The burly bus left me close to West Street where tourists furnish the roads like Indians at a cricket game. I immediately boarded a motorcycle taxi to the Yangshuo Snow Lion Riverside Resort, which rests perfectly on the Li River. As the motorcycle drew me closer to my lodging I felt the breath of Yangshuo slowly inhale my heart. The green land moved across my eyes like a time machine as I stepped into the stories and the lives of ancient China. The unpredictable Karst landscape testified to earth untouched, unharmed by the ticking of the clock. Rice paddies, green and yellow, proudly displayed China’s prize crop. Workers ploughed their fields. I was in a place that trumped any previous experience, reward for my risking. The short ride of shifting scenery had transformed me into a charismatic zealot, a testifier to land hidden inside borders of timeless symmetry.

I arrived at the resort with the company of a bleeding moon in the Li River. Tired, but excited I denied my alarm clock a role in the day to come. The luxury of a late morning was like having a drink with an old friend I hadn’t seen in ages. I was on holiday after all and rest was a gift delivered by the tranquility of my environment. The drifting river peacefully introduced the daylight as I awoke, ready for marvels.

Emptiness in my stomach led me to a place with the unlikely name of Kelly’s. I tucked into a world famous veggie burger hearty and palatable. It’s remarkable how food has the ability to connect strangers, and cross barriers inflicted by cultural or personal beliefs. Kelly’s was evidence of this reality: a hub for new friendships. I met Keith that morning, a capricious Aussie, subject to only the wind itself. We shared a meal regaling and laughing at his stories from Cambodia, Vietnam and a team of other nations. Keith was my senior. He desperately wanted me to lend my ear and draw from his fount. My favorite exchange was his instruction on the ways of women. He carried the expression “stay cool dude” and used it like a Swiss Army knife. “The woman loves a cool dude. If you act cool, then you are cool, then she thinks you’re cool, so stay cool dude.” All the while fixing his eyes on Yuan, our lovely waitress, hoping the shutters wouldn’t close on this one.

A stone’s throw away from Kelly’s was a bicycle rental store. I bargained for the fun of it and picked up a sturdy giant of a bike, not more than $5.00. The shopkeeper graciously offered a guide and a map for my travels. I took the map. The outskirts of Yangshuo are buried in deep farmland, dusty trails, and local villages. I’m sure a guide would have been of some use, but I wanted to breathe in the land, not live in its past. I leaned into the map, brave and independent on a quest for new horizons. At the front of my journey I was Christopher Columbus, navigating like a steamship. But as my tires sunk deeper into the dusty paths I had become Alison in Wonderland, swept away by a world that was not my own.

The map in front of me was full of wonder, dressed with destination. Dragon Bridge caught my eye: the 10km cycle path would lead me through local villages, parallel to the meandering Yu Long River. Wild land soiled my tires as I began to follow the path. The open sky was my canopy and the locals, my companions. My receding hairline and long blond hair falling across my neck summoned the people from their homes, excited for my presence: “Hullo! Hullo!” and for a moment I was famous. Smiles and greetings wrapped around me like a winter jacket as the coffee brown soil slipped beneath my wheels. Fresh fruit offered by farmers in humble displays beckoned a visit. A slight young girl gripped my hand and led me to her fathers stall. His face was beaming as I approached his stand. And I realized he wasn’t as interested in me as much as he was the company of his daughter. "This is Penny”, he said, as she bounced onto his lap, leaning towards his affection. Money meant nothing. His portion was buried in his arms. I bought two bananas from George, but left with pockets full of gold.

A fresh banana and a couple of hills later brought me to my destination. Dragon Bridge was serene: locals washing chicken, fixing bamboo rafts and little boys scaring girls with rotten fish heads. The bridge stood 10 meters above water, as deep as your grandfather’s pockets. I untied my shoes, displayed my chest to the world and made my way to the centre of the bridge. I waited for the perfect time as rafts were passing beneath like birds in migration. “All clear!” I shouted to the men at the bottom and jumped, like a man without worry, into the blue below. Ten meters was high enough to get my heart racing and low enough to close the gate on fear. The water was perfect besides the occasional glares from the left over chickens enjoying a swim. I bathed in the bliss until sunset, chatting with the locals, working up an appetite.

“Chur fan, chur fan” I began to sputter as I planted my feet on the eastern earth, exiting the water. This was about all the Chinese I knew. It meant: “food, food”. And who needed anything else in such a spot? A short, weathered man, bent like a tree heard my cries. He led me through barns, abandoned houses and deserted side streets. I silently wondered if I was going to make the news that night, betrayed by ignorance. The man must have read my mind as his next step led me to a rustic, secluded boat on the water, what the guidebooks might call a hole-in-the-wall restaurant if there had been a wall. I placed my order as the sunlight reflected off the water beneath. The movement and light gently soothed my anxiousness. A generous portion of egg, tomatoes and fresh green vegetables were presented for my enjoyment. I felt like a king, dining with my queen, the majestic beauty of the innocent land.

If you’re as benighted as I am then China has always been a symbol of fast pace living, cold ideologies and distant intentions. Yangshuo was serving me like a revelator, an iron scepter, breaking the stereotypes made by the ignorance of my western mind. What I was discovering was an invitation to a vastness I had never experienced. There on the river I was trapped in an age where electricity had not been discovered, where tourism was not invented, and where man governed the land with respect and not exploitation. It was a waking dream. And the night was still to come.

Nightime back in Yangshuo felt like a forest of fireflies. The city wore lights and laughter like a crown, as I enjoyed the humility of her cobbled streets, friendly restaurants, and fireworks that reflected her radiance. I drank a beer in a local pub, and enjoyed the camaraderie with travelers and locals, sharing dreams, stories and lives like all men share the night sky. Here I was told about a beautiful spectacle, a light show on the Li River. And so I partook of it. This event proclaimed China’s cultural heritage, in music, art and dance. The splendor of the twelve carefully lit peaks surrounding the river made me feel like a visitor to a distant planet in another universe. Romance breathed on the river the way God first breathed into Adam and the lights were like apparitions commanding an enthralled audience. The festivities continued as I moved my body back to my lodging like a bedraggled, old car. I was spent. I was sold.

Life is girded with the tension of wise decision-making and the unpredictability of circumstance. When it came time to part with Yangshuo I felt I was stepping out of a promise, leaving a love. My gamble to roll the dice moved me into a position to receive artistry and triumph from a gentle host. My daring venture brought me an inheritance of kindness, of grace, a gift, of rest, and joy. The best travel is always swollen with the unknown. Yangshuo was proof of this, a shot in the dark, a payoff to last a lifetime.

* This is a piece of writing I have submitted for a competition hosted by www.tripbase.com - a great website for traveling-

Crossing with Tao

My cardinal encounter with a Chinese man took the form of a crossing with a chap named Tao. That Friday I bustled through the city, like a thoroughbred at the derby, gathering, buying, preparing for the week ahead. The clock was beat from the ticking of the day, so was I, as I seized the yellow taxi, offering a blue vacancy sign. "Tian Tong Yuan" I muddled as I sheepishly reclined in the frazzled back seat, hoping the driver wouldn't hear the squalor of my Chinese uttering. I pretended he understood me as the engine turned, easing my nervous heart. The artillery of Chinese words I carried was paltry and could only offer the name of the area where I lived. The sound of the moving wheels, stamping the scanty streets, continued to bring relief, in hopes of finding home. Before long this peace was replaced by suspicion as the pulsating turns down damp drives seemed to declare the drivers disorientation. Or so I thought. My surmise promptly precipitated when the familiar savors of my neighborhood streets kindly invited my stomach for a tuck. While the wheels of this weary motor carried me closer to comfort, I began surveying the back of the driver's head. His navigation skills convinced me that a frantic Chinese scientist had downloaded map quest, google, and GPS applications into his cerebrum. "This guy is the human IPhone", I thought to myself. I considered bridling his fare. "Who needs money when you have "bubble wrap" and "restaurant finder" wired into the back of your head?"

I painfully lugged my feet to the ninth floor like a tow truck carrying a bedraggled, old car. The halls routinely, reminded me of an age where dinosaurs roamed the earth and when light was not yet spoken into being. This recollection was brief as the glow of our apartment light rose over my eyes like a city over her trees. The customary “business card”, placed on our door handle, greeted me with a smile. This time it was “Susy”, offering her boisterous service, two blocks away. The deathly distribution didn’t seem to bother the government much. I speculated why circulations of life were such a dilemma for this upstanding people. Suddenly, I caught a revelation, like a baboon catching a mob of monkeys with his stolen bananas. “If I put “Susy’s” nectarous smile on a Jesus tract it might pass as tolerable to the officials in power”. I mulled over my evangelism solution for quite some time, while laboring to open my apartment door.

Earlier that week I received a painful tutorial about the mystery of opening my apartment door. “If I had just listened I would have this bledie door opened by now”, I thought to myself. I felt like Indiana Jones on a viperous mission, facing the impenetrable fortress of Vishnu. Recalling all that the key masters had shown me I entered into fierce competition, but none of their insight and revelation consorted me closer to this mighty Hindu god. At 1am I commended Vishnu, and declared him champion, his citadel was impassable.

Gathering my bags, I remembered a piece of grassland, not far away, that would suite well for a night’s rest. Sluggishly, I departed down nine floors, contemplating my peaceful sleep on Chinese soil. The biting odors of the garbage dump abused the receptors in my nose as I vacated the security of my apartment building. Streetlights and vagabonds punctured my eyes, pressing an inquiry, as I proceeded anxiously across their humble pavements. The trepidation in my treading communicated third world living to the members of my body. For the first time since my arrival to China, my entirety felt the loss of the U.S.A. I became fully aware that I was no longer in the land of the free and the home of the brave.

I was five steps away from my pasture for the night, when a small angelic white, two door car approached. The driver seemed reckless as he planted his car in a parking space the size of a peanut. I mustered up the courage to approach him. It was either a sleep in the bush or a faint chance of help. The smoke that rose out of his car reminded me of my mom’s old kettle, steaming, whistling, signaling its dispatch. His hands were suffocated with ash and stained with marks from cigarettes. I urgently asked him if knew English, knowing full well that the answer would most definitely be “No”. This was the case, so I opted for plan two. Before I could progress, he launched off into Chinese mysteries, all of which sounded like heavenly tongues to my untrained ear. I nervously muttered “Woa ting ba don” which means: “I don’t understand”, the little pistol I had in my back pocket for occasions such as these. I reached for my key while he carried on, saying who knows what, and proceeded to mime the act of being locked out. Remarkably, he understood this at once, locked his car and reached for one of my suitcases. So here I was in the middle of Beijing, in the black of the night, with a Chinese man who I didn’t know from Adam. I wondered now if the grass would have been the safer option, as he motioned for me to follow him through the dirty streets.

The elevator announced our arrival on the 18^th floor with a sharp “ding” and a rapid opening and closing of its doors. The man silently steered me through a grimy, Chinese decorated hallway. His front door was burnished in red and gold, unlike the countless number of other apartments in the building. He was careful to undo his shoes as he introduced and welcomed me to his humble home. At once I bent low, to remove my shoes, but he stopped me the way you stop someone from paying for your meal. His home was spacious and welcoming apart from the smoke that had made its permanent address the walls of his house. As I sat down to rest, he presented me with a cold glass of wine. I pretended to swirl and smell it, like the champions do, inspecting, gazing, but I soon realized that this was no wine fit for such an expedition. The wine swam down my throat, tasting like the Amazon with Hepatitis B. I thanked him with a small bow, and tried to wipe the water from eyes that the insipid taste of the wine had produced. He rose like a guardian, appointed to take care of me for the night, and pointed his finger towards a bed. I gathered my belongings and placed them neatly next to the headrest, thanking him with gestures, English and white man Chinese.

Believing it was time for bed, I began to settle my pillows and blankets, while changing into my sleeping clothes. Out of nowhere, like a blue train, my host hurried in and called me towards his room. I only wondered what sort of discovery he had made. He motioned towards his computer where I could see “google translator” on the screen in front of me. We began conversing, I typed English, "google" magically translated it into Chinese and his Chinese to English. On the computer screen I discovered his name, his wife’s name, his job and a range of other details that filled his life. I could not stop thanking him for his kindness as I typed every kind of English “thank you” I could think of. Our computer conversation carried on for about an hour, and by 3am Tao and I had become good friends. We said goodnight, and allowed the goodness of our crossing to bathe our sleep with rest and recovery.

Great Wall

The pregnant soil of the country drove over our eyes as we deserted the sonance and labor of the husky city.

Staring hills revealed their homes, offering shade, leaning close, ministering pity.

The green heights were weary as the capital’s soot and smug, seeped through the city doors, deposits of death and dire

An hour drive though the willing paths moved us to the crippled wall, the mountains, the mire.

We threw our feet to the constricted road, brushing peddlers, taxing an escape from the afflictions of third world existence

Our intent was to meet the cable car, in tact, evading t-shirt and trinket vendors with little to no resistance

The beat to the crown was instantly displaced by what seemed like a late 4th of July celebration

Clicking, cracking cameras, nobly beaming light into the air, while owner’s swiftly seizing the imperial creation

Matured limbs rose to meet us, tickling our feet, as we inspected their lively settlement through the lamp of the car

The wall rendered speechlessness, the grandeur, the perfection, the cultivation and the community of mountains far

Toils of generations passed, kissed our feet as we marveled at the mortar, the tears, the blood, the silence of the Great Wall

Our eyes were starved for the lofty slice, readying our feet, fastening our camera’s we commenced for the grievous haul

Two hours later our steam had coated primal walls, our hearts engaged antiquity and our eyes had become civilized

Time was spent, our bodies weary, our hearts abounding, and our minds by the wealth of the wall, mesmerized

Day 1

Thursday pronounced the beginning of my reign and rule in China. Jet lag was vacating, the realization that I was no longer in a Western land was settling in and I was starting to work out a way to use chopsticks without leaving Chifa on my clothing. The morning started early, a brief meeting at the “ control centre”, my working locus and a tour of the school. I felt famous and adored. Doors opened before me, photos were taken, hands were shaken and many promises were made to ensure that I received everything I needed during my stay. This included Chinese servant girls to clean my apartment, a magic subway card that would take me to any location in Bejing and a special $2 price that included lunch and supper each day I was at the school. I tried to bargain them down for a better meal price, but I thought $10 a week for food was doable, we will have to see though. After meetings and autograph signing (just jokes, but I did think that I might have to sign some faces because of how incredibly sweet and gracious the Chinese people were to us Westerners) we left for my apartment. The apartment is a 50 minute taxi ride from the school and at the halfway mark stands the glory of the Beijing Olympic Centre, which I admired like a bushman admiring empty coke bottles falling from the sky.

We turned left into a cluster of tall apartment buildings and a crew of Chinese woman cooking chicken heads on the roadside. The taxi forced his way into the parking lot through a foray of cars that had barred every entry into the parking space. My first impression of the apartment building was comparable to a hungry Arab on the brink of a humus and falafel feasting. The place looked first-rate, a continuation of the reward for “being famous”. I gathered my bags, looked a little bit like one of those Indian elephants, carrying more curry bunnies that he could handle, and made my way into my new home. As I entered in, I felt like we were mysteriously and sadly, transported into the Bronx, except there were no markings of local gangs on the walls and no reggies shouting for women and booze. The passages were somber, the paint job advocated China’s 10 000 year history, and I was dreading the arrival to my apartment. My pipe dream of having a capital caliber apartment had been splintered by the blues of the black passage ways, introducing my apartment on the ninth floor. It felt a little bit like a King’s sentence to the dungeon at the bottom of the castle, only this dungeon was nine stories up and came with chopsticks. I didn’t see a King, there was no moat, and I wondered what I had done to deserve this and who had sentenced me? To my surprise, my trembling quickly went “man overboard” and was swiftly swallowed up by the promise that lay in the avenue of my new living quarters. The apartment welcomed me with pure, virgin tiles that led me to a daring view of the Chinese markets beneath, bidding for an exploration. The first room was spacious and burly, however the paint job looked like an archaic cave painting. This didn’t bother me though, the retribution rested in the spacious layout of the kitchen, living room and the two bedrooms. The apartment's only real vice was the bathroom, a little dingy, and after a long day of work a man was prohibited to enjoy a peaceful excursion while taking a deep-six. The reason for this is that toilet paper resists the flush of this unworthy Chinese toilet. Due to this blunder, a small trashcan is located to the right of the pot, scenting the bathroom with the balm of far east waste- Made in China. Did I mention that two steps to the left of this aroma lies the shower. The pleasure and experience of washing off the dirt from a long day is hardly known in this sort of arrangement. A couple times I think I’ve come out of the shower with more crap on me than when I came in. Its okay though, it’s a time saver, besides I’ve always wanted to know what it feels like to drop a load and wash off the day simultaneously.

My living space, for the most part, pleased me and I was grateful for the kindness of my new Chinese friends, this would now be my home for months to come. After sinking in to my new home we headed for the Great Wall, the supermarkets, and the restaurants. My Chinese experience was officially underway and it had been a good day, hemmed in with sensation and emotion, usual and surprising alike.

Boarding Pass

With the accumulation of each new boarding pass, several parts of me continue to change, continue to develop, parts die, parts awake. Each new airport experience confirms the judgements made of previous airport experiences. In Louisville this morning, my check in bag weighed 95 pounds, mostly due to my collection of books to "save" me from the "dark" times ahead of me ( I don't really think that my times are going to be dark, but just in case I have a book for every trouble). Joyce informed me that my bag could not weigh more than 50 pounds. Thirty minutes until take off, I hadn't passed through security yet and I could feel the seas becoming heavy as the black storm of Airport nonsense approached. So in the middle of the airport I opened my bag, threw out some books, underpants with heavy skid mark stains on a few of them, and a collection of other clothing items. A kind black man, agreed to watch my bags as I ran to the luggage store to buy an extra bag. I tried to swindle the checkout girl by forcing my big, black beard in her face, hoping that the presence and profound stature of my true beard would cause her to flutter and give me a decent discount. To my surprise this didn't work, not even a little. As a result I paid 80 bucks for a piece of junk bag that my friend, Richard Fogler, could have crafted with the hair from a bushman's bum. I raced back to the skid marked underpants and books, gathered my things and put them into my new overpriced bag. Joyce was very kind, and let me by with my newly weighted bags- 55 and 38 pounds. I immediately sprinted to the death trap, the airport security line, and started to make my way through the gauntlet. Everything was going according to plan, no horrendous odors from feet, bags in the bin, kind smiles until the machine checking my bag started to make strange noises. Heavy seas, round 2- one of the ladies unpacked my perfectly packed back pack and removed some items that had to be confiscated, namely an energy drink I've come to enjoy- Bliksem. I moved on and boarded my flight to Detroit.
I am now in Detroit with higher hopes as I see that everyone boarding the flight to Tokyo city is Japanese, the perfect companion for a long flight with minimal space. I think that airplanes were built for the these guys, space is plentiful when you come from the land of the rising sun. I'm glad again- I think I will blow up the plane if I get seated next to a fat white guy though.
Tokyo city here I come!