A Canadian in Beijing: The Great Baozi, A Tribute

by Ember Swift on

I have put on weight in the past month, partly due to almost zero working out (too hot, too polluted, too much else to distract me) and partly due to my discovery of the amazing food known as “baozi” ????.

Yum.

Now, I’m generally not a big person and I was honestly worried about dying for hunger the first three weeks that I was here. I lost a bit too much weight, I’d say, and I really didn’t have much to lose. My body has recovered, however, and then some… which is not a bad thing in the least. I got curves now! I’m not complaining.

So this is a small tribute to the glorious “su baozi” ????? (vegetarian baozi) and how they have joined forces with my language study to help me, bit by bit, find food to eat in this city that isn’t imported from overseas or grossly overpriced in western restaurants. (See my next post for a Vegetarian Language Surivival Guide!)

What makes baozi great? Let me tell you. . .

Baozi are steamed breads with various fillings. Usually, they are filled with meats of various kinds, but “su baozi” are vegetable-filled and they are delicious. Think of a dumpling but imagine that the outside is soft bread instead of the dumpling skin which is usually boiled or fried. This steamed bread is delicious and even more delicious when the inside is all vegetarian. (Or, so I’m assuming since I have not tried the meat ones!)

In fact, I discovered these treats here at the school outdoor canteen. Many “su baozi” are filled with chopped green vegetables that are also combined with “ji dan” (eggs.) Here at the canteen they make their “su baozi” that way and so, being the vegan that I am, I developed a system of methodically picking out the bits of egg every morning before eating them. It was easy and the resulting egg-free (reasonably small) baozi were delicious. I would eat four to six of them every morning (two for 1 kuai) and sometimes pick up more for lunch. Okay, I’ll admit it: sometimes I lived on baozi all day. (I have truly been a bachelor in the food department.)

Then I discovered the baozi at the market.

The same market that I wrote about last week has the most amazing baozi vendor and the women who work there have come to recognize me. They have all different kinds of vegetarian baozi including egg-free options (mushroom and greens) and “mala dofu” (spicy tofu) options. They are incredible, not to mention the fact that they’re fresh from the steamers when you buy them (i.e. still steaming) and are twice the size of the ones at the canteen. What’s more (and there is more!), they are the same price as the ones at the school and you get twice as much for your money.

This is my kind of food.

So, of course I go there and buy them by the steaming bag full. That doesn’t sound delicious… unless you know about baozi. <wink> I even asked these women to pose for a photo with me the last time I went there, fearing it would be my last trip to this oasis. They obliged my request with a smile.

Aw, even writing this post is making me crave more, more, more! (Is that my new-found wheat addiction?)

When I came to China, I was also wheat-free. In fact, I’ve been mostly wheat-free for the past couple of years. I’m not allergic, but one of my band members is (Lyndell) and I’ve also read terrible things about how wheat is produced these days and what it does to one’s body. So, my first period of time here in China was also wheat-free.

That, however, went right about the window when I discovered baozi. Perhaps I’m now not only addicted to the taste of the baozi in general, but I’m also addicted to the gluten in the wheat? It’s possible!

Now, I know this doesn’t constitute a complete diet and so I have to admit that I have done a bit more exploring in the world of food here. Most of this exploring has come through friends’ suggestions or through my own risk-taking in restaurants. So far, just a few stomach aches later, I’m feeling great and confident about the food here.

What I’m getting at is that this post is only meant to offer a singular suggestion in a world where there are many options. My next post will offer some assistance when seeking those options. Mainly, it’s a language issue and so I’m hoping that some key phrases will keep fellow vegans from starvation in Beijing!

But, if all else fails, then there are always “su baozi” (pronounced: sue bao zeuh).

They help put meat on your bones. . .

Without eating meat!

A Canadian in Beijing: Smooth Summer Night

by Ember Swift on

As I walked back from the subway tonight in the clinging heat, I felt like I was floating. No, perhaps “coasting” is a better word. My legs were like rudders guiding my upper body smoothly and wordlessly through a thick, heavy sea of humidity. I watched the late evening Beijing sights like I was leaning over the railing on a slow moving cruise ship and being carried along.

It was dreamlike.

I’m tired tonight. I had a long day visiting friends which came on the heels of a long night of partying the night before with the university crowd. It was a celebration because our exams are over and the courses have come to a close. They’re all out again tonight, but this student (i.e. the one who is about an average of ten years older than everyone else here!) cannot keep this pace. I chose to head back to an air-conditioned dorm room to cool off and be languid.

And tonight is truly a night for the word “languid.”

Besides, I was in jeans and sneakers all day in the intense heat and I feel like a human stew. It’s not pretty and it doesn’t smell inviting. I really outta be alone tonight!

As I was walking home, though, conscious of this being my last week here, I was taking it all in like scenes from a movie. Sometimes I see my life here a bit like that, as though I’m writing my life over again and I’m the protagonist in the script who can choose what happens next – a “Choose-Your-Own-Adventure” film, perhaps. And, “shuo shi hua” (to tell you the truth), it’s almost like that for me here. I ride the tide of contacts and activity often not knowing what will come next; it’s a beautiful reality. I feel so far removed from my home in a Canada – a world of pre-scheduled tours and travels, some of which are pre-booked a whole year in advance. This spontaneity, or option for spontaneity, has been so incredibly liberating.

I’m going to miss it.

Tonight’s dreamy feeling started when I walked into the mouth of the subway at Chaoyang, downtown. I was washed with the sounds of cheesy pop music coming from the CD vendor’s small stereo at the bottom of the stairs. Often the subway entrances have vendors selling a variety of things and pirated CDs and DVDs are among the popular items. I have seen this vendor before, a young guy who is often strumming a guitar along with the songs, and his music is always playing. Or, shall I say it is always crackling out the speakers that are too small to handle his penchant for loud volume. This time, the song was a soundtrack-style song with fully orchestrated keyboard strings and wind chimes and soaring vocals. As I walked down the passageway under the street, the sounds of this twinkling music fading behind me felt like the score to a movie that was just beginning. It set my thoughtful tone for the whole forty-five minute trip back to Wudaokou.

I got out at the Wudaokou stop along with the many other young people pouring onto the platform. I took up my place in the spilling students going down the steps of line 13, an aboveground train, and eventually found myself on the sidewalk and being carried eastward towards my campus in the same crowd.

I first crossed the train tracks that are right beside the subway exit and I took in the track keeper’s residence. I’m not sure what his official title is, but each side of these tracks consists of a small residence space and the people who live and work on each side are responsible for the railway crossing, i.e. the announcements, the lowering and rising of the traffic arms, the security, etc.

(Well, I was told that they don’t actually live there, but it sure looks like a home to me…)

This south side looks more elaborately lived-in than the north side with laundry hanging outside the small square living quarters, a veggie garden planted on one side of the tracks in the empty plot of land (I love that there’s a garden right here in this busy urban railroad crossing!), and potted flowers in the mini courtyard. This worker has truly tried to make it a home in such a public place.

Then, just moments later, I am gliding past the outdoor restaurant and markets where vendors sell food on skewers (chuars) and steamed corn and beer. In fact, you can get just about anything here, including vegetarian fare, as long as you’re not picky about where it’s cooked. There are piles of seafood and meat and then lots of vegetables to choose from.

It is crowded on a non-rainy weekend night with tables and chatter everywhere. During the day, this open lot is deserted, but at night everything comes alive. The smells of cooking and smoke and clatter of glass bottles all hit me at once. The angle of the smells and sounds reminded me of a sudden laugh track in an old sitcom at a moment in the script that isn’t that funny. I’m not part of the merriment, but it is alive in another dimension, piped into my state of mind anachronistically.

My cruise continues, bound for its only destination: home.

(Or at least, the closest thing I have to home here, which is my dorm room.)

Crossing the street and rounding left down the pathway to the west-gate of my campus, the energy on the street has calmed. The heat is keeping the edges duller here. I slip in through the west gate past the childlike guard who is dutifully holding his rigid position and I swerve around the basketball courts to my dorm building. When the door finally closes behind me, my pants and sneakers find the floor and I sit around in my underwear enjoying the air conditioning and letting the day frame itself around my thoughts.

It is only nine o’clock at night and the credits are going to start rolling any moment. This short film of my evening is coming to a close, free of dialogue but full of sights, sounds, smells and feeling.

All we need now is a repeat of that cheesy pop music and it would be a full-circle Beijing night. Oh well, I’ll just have to replay it in my mind, fuzzy speakers and all.

Cue the wind chimes.

A Canadian in Beijing: The National Bird of China

by Ember Swift on

Is the crane.

Since arriving here, I have been amazed by the constant construction. I know that Beijing is preparing for the Olympics next summer and so is busily creating the Olympic village and other related sites, but it is not just about the Olympics. There is constant change here, and it hit me very quickly that this city could become unrecognizable to a return traveller if too much time sits between visits.

Some of my Beijing friends have told me that this has happened for them and they actually live here full-time. A common scenario is going to a region of town that one hasn’t seen in awhile and seeking a landmark only to find that it has been torn down and replaced with something more modern. I can’t imagine what it would be like to be a cab driver in such a swirl of constant change.

What has amazed me about this constant change is both the speed and the manner in which the construction is conducted. I have seen full buildings go up in what seems like record time. I’m not in the construction business, but these sites are crawling with workers and it reminds of one of those films that show a series of still images on fast-forward; I will walk by a site in the morning on the way downtown and see one view and then walk by in the afternoon to another and in the evening to another. If I sat there and watched it as it was happening, I think it would be like being able to actually see a flower grow.

But the manner is another thing. Unlike back home, many construction sites are quite open and visible to the public. Sometimes small construction is taking place in the middle of the sidewalk without any barricades or any alternative routes for the pedestrians. What’s more, with holes in the cement or bricks and debris lying about, it seems dangerously close to a passerby, inviting some sort of calamity.

I am quite possibly brainwashed by North American standards, in this case. I know that a lot of effort goes towards blocking off construction regions back home so that regular people won’t get hurt. In most cases, it also means that we can’t see what’s going on, either. Maybe that’s why progress doesn’t seem as strikingly fast to me. Quite possible.

When I was in Suzhuo in early May, for example, I was walking along and nearly fell into a hole. It was just there, on the sidewalk, unmarked except by some litter that had found its way into one of the crevices. I missed this hole by about two centimetres. I photographed my luck.

As I walked further that day, I also noticed a gap in the flimsy construction barricade through which people were climbing between a lower road and the upper road. There was a large pipe here to help them climb up, like a built-in ladder.

Here is perfect example of the attitude here about construction: no route is forbidden to a pedestrian if there is no one barking orders nearby and, just because it’s under construction does not mean that it is a dangerous place for one to be! I had to salute the public in this case (hence the photo). There’s a careless and defiant anarchy about it all.

Most construction sites also have temporary residences built next to them. That is because the migrant workers who are brought into the city to help transform the city also need accommodations. I’ve come to be able to recognize the look of barracks from the rest of the structures. Apparently they sleep ten to ten square meters and the beds are all attached to each other. I have also heard that there are big problems with migrant workers being mistreated and overworked or having difficulty being paid by their employers.

After three months here, I can recognize these workers when they’re just walking along the streets after shifts. These men, young and old, have populated this city in huge numbers and represent a low-wage means to quick construction.

But, despite all that, they’re often smiling and laughing, despite the long hours, time away from their families, reports of abuse and obvious backbreaking work.

I always smile back.

They seem to embody so much optimism.

I had noticed all this before taking in an art exhibit at the 798 district that really blew me away. This is an installation by an artist named “Wen Fang” called “The Golden Brick.” She is a Beijing-based artist and photographer and she printed head shots of smiling migrant workers, one portrait to each brick. These smiling bricks lay piled and expertly laid across a large room, on one side built into a wall and then growing messier and messier as the bricks lay spread out over the floor. The walls had some larger portraits on them, as well, as though these were the workers taking in the exhibit… and, of course, all of the portraits were smiling.

This is the artist’s statement:

The explanation of this work really struck me as perfectly in line with my feelings about all of this construction: it was described as being mean to witness the “frenetic urbanization” of China that has “transformed the destiny of the of the majority of Chinese people and destroyed much of both their culture and tradition. As a result, each brick seems to be infused with the blood and sweat of the migrant workers and bears the madness of the bureaucrats as well as the ignorance of the real estate developers.”

What’s more, the work was not interested in depicting this group as the “powerless masses” which is an expression “steeped in superiority.” From a more Buddhist perspective, one of the central messages is this: “It is not a matter of wondering if we are able to take care of those weaker than us, but rather a question of what attitude to adopt when faced with such people.”

Well in a city that is changing so rapidly, at least there are some smiles going around. I commend Wen Fang for this alternative perspective. What her work did was both depict the problems – loss of heritage sites, huge class divisions, workers rights issues – while also depicting the people as people.

Because they are. We all are.

As this city grows in height and width, as the cranes lines the skyline and the amount of glass reflecting the sunset increases minute-by-minute, I know that Beijing is redefining with every second.

Let’s just hope that it can keep up with itself.

Without falling into an unmarked hole called “development.”

A Canadian in Beijing: Going Postal at Exam Time

by Ember Swift on

I have been studying constantly since the weekend. Who knew that studying could take up so much time?! Well, I suppose the really good students in this program know, but I have been enjoying my life here and riding the smooth ride of a course that doesn’t quiz or test regularly. This week, however, we have our three big “kaoshi” (tests) and I am suddenly looking down the long road at about eighteen chapters and over 1500 new vocabulary words to memorize (which includes five levels of memorization: the translated meaning, the Chinese pronunciation, the tones, the character recognition, and how to draw it.)

I’m sunk.

And so, I’ve been distracted. I finally put together a care package for my friend yesterday after gathering several cool “Chinese” items together during an extended study break and quick walk to the campus store. (It’s amazing the things we can find time to do when we don’t want to be doing something else!)

Now, don’t get me wrong: I love this language and I love the learning… but I’m finding that using it in life is much more effective for my memory than staring at a page is. That’s why I haven’t been studying regularly throughout the term and that’s why this process of actually “studying” is such an insurmountable task now.

So, while I was at the store for some beverages and some study “energy,” I found lots of things to send my friend and I packaged it all up in a small box with notes on all the items for their use (and/or translation) along with a nice letter.

Later on, for another “study break,” I walked the five minutes to the campus post office to send this package and found myself in the little space alongside of perhaps six to ten people all trying to get their packages sorted out as well. This campus post office is small; we were all cramped in there together in the muggy air of mid-June Beijing.

One group was a father and son team from Iceland who were trying to send about ten large boxes overseas of what appeared to be the son’s belongings. Each box was being rigidly searched and then sealed by the postal attendant. In the end, they spent over 5,000 RMB to send these boxes, which is about $700 Canadian. It was quite a process.

My turn eventually came and I placed my box on the scale only to be barked at about its contents. I explained that it was all “chide dongxi” or “food stuffs” and she immediately broke the seal on my expertly packed box and started taking out the items, one by one. The crunched up newspapers and other stuffing that I’d placed around some of the glass items was spilling over the counter and onto the floor. My letter also fell out but I caught it before it hit the dirty ground.

It didn’t take long for her to get to a drink that is good for when you feel a cold coming on and she said “bu keyi!” in a loud voice, explaining with exasperation that I could not send anything that was liquid. At about that same moment, she also found the Chinese wine and the soup and I became a combination of a foreign idiot (in her eyes and tone of voice) and a potential terrorist preparing to send explosives overseas or something. She nearly threw me out of there, balled up newspapers trailing behind me, having been pitched at my backside.

Of course, that’s not what happened, but she did throw up her hands and forcibly thrust the box back into my chest with flat-out, official rejection. I knew, at least, that it was time for me to go.

I said “okay, okay, I heard you” in my attempt at exasperated Chinese and left the crowded space both defensive and humiliated. I came back to my study zone no closer to comprehensive learning and no closer to having sent my friend a care package. I dropped the package on the floor and decided to deal with it the next day (today) and resumed my boring studying.

So, today came. I looked at the sad box that had been completely rearranged and I removed all the items and lined up all of those that had any liquid in them, quickly realizing that this made up more than half of my care package. So, I resigned to taking another study break (!) and headed to the Lotus Center, a multi-purpose store here in Wudaokou, to buy some other care package items.

When I got back with my bag full of great stuff, I re-labelled and revised the letter (slightly) and put it all back in the box remembering not to seal it this time since I knew that she would once again want to search through everything.

I arrived to an equally crowded room and two equally grouchy attendants. When I saw space on the scale, I placed my box there and waited to be served. She looked at the box and then at me and I said “no liquids!” before she could bark at me again. She said “Oh, you came back!” in a bored and irritated voice and I nodded. She then lifted a few items from my box and seemed satisfied that I wasn’t going to harm humankind with my friendly package of care.

Then she wordlessly disappeared into a side room and emerged with a box that was she was simultaneously assembling as she walked. She pointed at my box and said “Ni bu keyi yong zheige hezi” (You can’t use this box). I said “why?” and I didn’t understand her mumbled answer. All I knew was that I had no choice but to transfer my items over to this official post box, which was just about an inch smaller and forced to me to leave some items behind (the larger one was too large). Oh well, I think my friend will get the best things, anyhow. I had to move to one side to get this re-packing job done and then I returned and jumped the queue to get it sent – finally.

They seemed satisfied with my box, at long last, and then my address form was attached, they sealed the box with their official tape and then noisily dropped it to the floor and kicked it so that it slid into the corner with all the other boxes. Earlier, I had watched one of these attendants placing these boxes in large cloth bags and dragging them to the front stoop.

My money was taken and my change was given without a word. My automatic “xie xie” (thank you) at receiving my change was not responded to.

Well, of course it wasn’t.

This is a language that doesn’t use “thank you” in this kind of situation. My Canadian-ism (i.e. hyper politeness and over-use of the word “thank you”) catches me on it every time. After all, that change is rightfully mine and I don’t need to thank them for giving it to me. At least, that’s the Chinese perspective. When I say it in these situations, the polite response is often “bu yong xie” (or, no need for thank you). Not today, of course.

I was clearly dealing with two people who had failed their “customer service” exam at post office school.

I guess they didn’t study very hard.

Ach-hem.

Back to the books.

A Canadian in Beijing: FOR SALE! Live Animals (Trapped) in Small Cages

by Ember Swift on

Walking along the sidewalk here in Wudaokou in the late afternoon and evening is not a passive exercise. The sidewalk markets take a wide space and transform it into a narrow, colourful corridor as vendors roll out their ware on square pieces of fabric on both sides and then call for your attention as you pass. That doesn’t keep people off the sidewalks, of course, but instead draws more to this small area. As a result, congestion is intense and the going is slow. If you’re not headed anywhere in particular then it’s worth the stroll. (If you’re trying to get somewhere on time, I suggest walking along the street!)

I have been taking in these kinds of street markets all over the city since I arrived and I’ve noticed one common element: there are always small, live animals for sale.

I hate to see it. Small rabbits in cages that are just slightly larger than they are with barely enough room to turn their bodies around. There are always puppies and kittens, turtles, snakes and lizards of various sizes. All of them are miserably tucked into cages or plastic cubicles and lay taking in the afternoon heat in their cells.

I can’t free them and I can’t save them . . .

I feel helpless and powerless walking by. I wonder who actually buys them and why. Do the rabbits become pets or food? And the reptiles must simply become pets, right?!

The huge box of baby chicks would make a lot more sense to me if this were a rural area. I can understand people having farms or small lots on which they would raise chickens for eggs and/or meat. Now, if this were the intention for the chicks, then I can understand wanting to sell them and wanting to buy them. But, here in the city? What would a person do with a baby chick here? Is it legal to keep chickens here? Something tells me that it’s not, especially since almost everyone lives in an apartment.

I have seen a lot of things like this here, i.e. things about China that I don’t understand and don’t want to see but simply have to accept as being part of the way it is here. I know I have my cultural background that fuels my opinions and I know there’s so much more to everything than meets the eye. Still, life here in Beijing has occasionally challenged my values and beliefs. I have chosen to sit back and take in the culture rather than passing judgements before I understand.

Two months later (and then some) and I still don’t understand the reason for selling these small animals in this way. And, I still want to set them all free in a park somewhere… which is, of course, not the answer. Nor will any amount of discussion with a vendor change the fact that they’re being sold, especially not in my third language.

About a month ago, I expressed to a vendor in Chinese that I felt sorry for the animals. I said they were “poor things” and said that their “houses were too small” (lacking the word for “cage” in my vocabulary.) The vendor just laughed at me with a look that told me he has heard it before from the foreigners and he has no time or space for it. This is his livelihood. This is his job.

Who buys them?

My friend Sarah told me that she knew two people who had bought puppies or kittens from a street or sidewalk vendor only to watch them die just a few days later. There is a compulsion to want to give one – if even just one – a safe and cage-free life and many ex-pats succumb to that urge. Apparently, these puppies and kittens are often drugged so that they appear more docile and cute while being sold (rather than active and hard to contain.) If the dosage is too high at that time that they are drugged, it eventually kills them but long after the vendor and customer have exchanged money for merchandise. I haven’t heard this since, but I was horrified to hear it at all.

Back in North America, we have done lots of work to make pet stores more humane. There is often a lot of anger towards them and over time I have noticed that most people just don’t trust these stores to care for the pets properly, preferring to find new pets at the Humane Society or the local pound.

So, buying live animals on the street is just another level altogether.

Now, when I’m strolling through the sidewalk markets, I just steer around the animal vendors. I can’t bear to see the congestion of turtles or chicks in boxes too small for their volume. I can’t bear to look at the puppies lolling in their drugged state and worry about whether or not they’ll pull through into adulthood.

After driving my gaze deep into the vendors’ eyes and telepathically communicating “how could you?” alongside of an amazed expression, I turn my head.

This technique doesn’t make it go away, however. Maybe this post will inspire more people to ask the vendors the “why?” questions – especially those fluent enough in Chinese to carry on a conversation. Until then, I can write about it.

(And always be open to other suggestions…)