A Canadian in Beijing: Hot Shots, Hot Pots & Distant Thoughts

by Ember Swift on

On Sunday night, I had the great pleasure of having dinner with my cousin. Well, actually, he’s the son of my Mother’s cousin and so I suppose that means that we’re second cousins, to be precise! He and his partner are on vacation and this was their last night in Beijing. We made plans for dinner and I solicited my friend Rui to come with me.

Remember when I fell in love with the moped? Well, motorcycles are even more fun. In fact, I’ll have to upgrade my love affair from moped to motorcycle, which further distances me from the relationship I have with my bicycle. She and I have had a talk and she knows that I can’t be tied down to one mode of transportation and so all is well in my original matrimony! Seriously, though, I always feel like a “hot shot” when I’m on the back of a motorcycle — like I’m right out of the Grease movies (especially Grease 2!) and I’m pretending to be Michelle Pfeiffer. Okay, so it’s a remnant of my childhood but it makes me smile!

Rui has a motorbike and I have to admit that I rarely refuse if he offers to drive me home or pick me up when the motorcycle is involved. (Of course there are also helmets on our heads, so don’t worry!) I wonder sometimes if he will start to feel used for his motorcycle but I’m careful to thank him and not the bike when I arrive at my destination. It’s actually conscious and so I suppose that’s the true definition of conscientious!!But, really, there’s something so incredible about the zipping through traffic like it’s a video game, the whipping wind in my hair and the heavy sound of the engine between my legs. Okay, I’ll stop there (on that note) but you get my point! Why has it taken me until China to realize that motorcycles are amazing!? Not quite sure.

We arrived at their hotel just a bit late (which is a wonder of wonders in Beijing where it’s easy to be extremely late at the best of times) and it was great to see them. Tim and Paulie looked refreshed and excited about their vacation and I felt for a moment like I was much closer to home than I am.

They decided they wanted some authentic Chinese food (despite the plethora of western restaurants surrounding their hotel) and so we agreed on a “hot pot” place. Rui called a friend and got a recommendation for a good restaurant that specializes in hot pots just about a ten-minute walk from the hotel. We set off down small alleys, around corners that only Rui knew and found ourselves on a wide street with large trees casting their evening shadows on our faces.

We walked slowly and talked while Rui pointed out local landmarks and we caught up on our lives. I would characterize our pace as a stroll and it felt good under my feet – a plush summer evening rolling out before me like a carpet.

The restaurant was quiet and brightly lit and had nothing in the way ambience except our smiles, but we settled in and they brought out the huge hot pot tower, the likes of which I have never seen before. It’s a copper structure with a coal fire glowing in its core and a small chimney extending up the centre with a cap on its top. This oven heats the water above which is divided into two sections, one with hot spices and one without. Throughout the meal, the “fuyuan” (wait staff) regularly fill up the trough with fresh boiling water so that it never boils all the way off.

They then brought our large selection of vegetables and tofu and stacks of beef and lamb for the meat eaters at the table, i.e. everyone except me. I have become quite a fan of “xiang gu” or “fragrant mushrooms” and I was happy to see a huge plate of them arrive and before we knew it there were several different kinds of vegetables sizzling happily in the hot pot and my stomach was growling. They also brought us a sauce that was delicious. Not quite a peanut sauce and not quite a hot sauce but perfect. I wish I had the recipe!

I had already prepared myself for the likelihood that I would be sharing this hot pot water with meat. Being a vegan in Beijing has had its moments, as you know, and sometimes it takes some psyching up on my part to be able to accept what I believe to be inevitable. i.e. that I will be in a food situation that I can’t control and so I may have to quietly exit or simply accept that I’ll feel ill afterwards.

I filled up my side of the hot pot with vegetables and tofu while the water was still meat-free and cooked things all together and quickly, hoping my head start would mean that I wouldn’t detect the meaty aftertaste in the water after meat had been added.

I soon noticed that everyone was just eating vegetables, tofu and noodles. In fact, ten minutes later they still had not touched the meat and it dawned on me that they were waiting for me to eat enough before they started to cook their meat portions. When I realized what was happening, I was overwhelmed by their thoughtfulness and I said: “go ahead, it’s okay! I’ve had lots and I’ll be alright!” I was pretty full, to be honest, and I had a huge plate in front of me with my quickly cooked food that still needed to be eaten. I was also so touched by the gesture that I couldn’t possibly let them stall any longer. They hesitated and resisted a little, but then I convinced them to dig in. Soon all the food was being cooked and the conversation was flowing.

We agreed that it’s not “what is cooked” but “how it’s cooked” that makes all the difference. Being able to engage with your food while enjoying lively conversation is a total treat. I loved it! I would definitely get a “hot pot” again in this city. The experience was totally memorable, not to mention delicious.

Over two hours later, we left the restaurant having filled up on fantastic food and the exchange of ideas. We talked non-stop all evening and when we arrived at their hotel I was surprised at how quickly we had strolled back in the cool night air.

We posed for some shots in front of Rui’s bike (he’s taking the picture) and then said our goodbyes. There’s nothing like seeing family when you’re far away from home. It felt like a breath of Canadian air in my lungs. I could almost smell the clover and honeysuckle in the fields of Eastern Ontario.

I hopped on the back of the bike and waved goodbye as we sped away, feeling cool and hot at the same time and excited to be back again on my favourite mode of transport. I closed my eyes as we motored through the streets towards Wudaokou, letting the wind stroke my face with familiarity. I let the Beijing air get to know me that night. Maybe I could have more than one home in my future? Hhm. . . The thought lingers and seems less and less distant every day.

A Canadian in Beijing: Manicures, Pedicures and Guitar Lessons

by Ember Swift on

I guess I would describe myself as a “feminine tomboy.” In some circles, I’m the dustiest, scruffiest tomboy in the mix with dirt under my nails, scuffed sneakers and tangled hair. In other circles, I’m the most feminine one among the crew with my long guitar nails (on one hand), my high tops poking out under my skirt and my hair considered long even though it’s just to my shoulders.

Let’s just say that I fit somewhere in the middle of it all.

So, when I decided to get a full manicure and pedicure here in Beijing, I wasn’t sure what to expect and I’m sure I wasn’t what they expected!

Now, I should add that this is not entirely new to me. I already do get my nails done – exactly five of them. I have been putting acrylic tips on my right hand for a few years now for the sake of a crisp pick-like sound as a guitarist. In North America, I am consistently explaining myself to baffled nail technicians about why I don’t want anything on my left hand (since it’s the chording hand and my nails need to be short) and why I don’t want any colour or polish on my fingers (since this rubs off on the strings and is really just more trouble than it’s worth.)

But, this time was different. I wanted to actually see what it would be like to have nice nails and not just functional ones. And the pedicure idea came to me when I bought those fancy shoes and looked down at my terrified, naked feet and took pity on them.

Here in Beijing, pedicures and manicures take place in the same chair, the same position. You sit on a comfortable chair or futon-style couch and technicians work in front of you on small stools. There are footstools for when it’s time to work on your feet. For the manicures, you extend your hands outwards on pillows that they place on your knees and they work away at your hands as though they are milking a cow.

I chuckled when this image came into my head and my technician looked up at me confused. I smiled and of course could not describe my thought in Chinese, which, on this particular day, was atrocious. I felt like I couldn’t speak a word fluidly and I stammered and stalled until a fellow customer took pity on me and began to translate. I thanked her with a sigh of great relief.

I ended up getting a French manicure since it was the only one I could describe in Chinese and I got a basic pedicure which included a full foot scrub and nail treatment for my sorry little toes (they had no idea what was happening to them! They’ve never been so loved!) It cost only $100 kuai for both, which is about $16 Canadian and I left feeling very girly indeed.

This was my second experience getting my nails done here in Beijing (although the first time I’ve had both hands worked on) and this place was larger than the first with more chairs and employees. It was also more upscale and clearly had a bustling clientele. But, it was at the first location that a very lovely experience occurred a few weeks ago and I’ve yet to tell the story:

I found this first nail place situated in the front window area of a shoe store here in Wudaokou. The shop had two technicians and was the size of a large walk-in closet. They were very kind to me, but I was surprised by the lack of equipment and the method by which they work on your nails.

For instance, with acrylic nails, there are no tips and so they build out your nail with the use of a paper sticker apparati that I have never seen before. After the acrylic dries, the paper sticker is peeled off and you have yourself a transparent fake nail. All in all, the process is more labour-intensive because all of the shaping is done manually and without an electronic “nail sander,” (which surely has a more specific name but I don’t know it!) Finally, the nail is not just the focus; there is also much love and attention given to your cuticles. My hands have never looked so good nor felt so examined!

The main technician in this little tiny shop was a young man and he immediately understood that I was a guitar player and I only wanted one hand done. We talked about music with ease while struggling to understand each other in relation to anything to do with nails! Still, lots of gesturing later, we understood each other and the right-hand, permanent picks were replaced.

What happened next still makes me smile.

After his work was done, he pulled an electric guitar from behind the door, dragged a tiny amplifier out from under the futon and plopped the guitar in my lap. I laughed out loud and plugged the guitar in to find that it hadn’t been tuned since around 1997 (or so! Just an estimation!) I tuned it up (which took a few minutes!) and he clapped his hands in delight when I could finally play a tune on it. He said: “I don’t know how to tune it!”

Right then and there, we started a guitar lesson. I stumbled in Chinese for some basic technical words but then asked for a piece of paper and proceeded to diagram exactly how to tune a guitar. He pulled out his chord charts from a previous teacher and I demonstrated how certain chords work together to form the major keys. I watched his excitement grow as I corrected his posture and helped him position his hand on the neck more comfortably. Slowly but surely, I watched him feel what it was like to pull forth “hao ting de yin yue” (nice sounding music) from a mutually loved instrument.

Forty-five minutes later, no more customers had arrived and I realized that I had an appointment with a friend and I was nearly late. I stood up to leave and to pay for my new guitar nails and he waved away my money. He told me to come back anytime to barter lessons for “fingertip picks” (his direct translation) and we both laughed.

I haven’t stopped by since that day but I will definitely visit him again before I leave this fantastic country.

(Aside: how will I ever leave here? China has captured my heart.)

A Canadian in Beijing: Theatre of Possibility

by Ember Swift on

George and I walked through the Forbidden City gardens en route to the Forbidden City Concert Hall and I was struck by the history in the trees. They twisted up and around as though the weight of the stories that they held had bent their limbs, contorting them towards the sky. The grounds were lush and colourful with flowers of all kinds and beautiful stone walkways beneath my fancy shoes.

We were en route to a concert by a famous Greek artist named Alkistis Protopsalti, a thirty-year veteran of the music business. This concert was billed as the event representing thirty-five years of diplomatic relations between Greece and The People’s Republic of China.

We manoeuvred the twists and turns of the passageways, George all the while checking our directions from the various guards or people strolling in the gardens. He speaks choppy street Chinese filled with many colloquial expressions that make people open their faces in wide grins and help us without question. I marvelled at his ability to “chat” with people and his facility with Mandarin, but I suppose that comes from seven years of consistently coming here, singing songs in Chinese, Greek, French and English and building his career as Chairman George.
George and I have become friends quickly and I’m sure that’s because we are two Canadian musicians who are both in love with China and the Chinese culture. We are mirror images, in a way, and we spoke about our feelings for China with a similar reverence. He said that his life back home is a bit like living in a fish tank whereas China is his ocean. Coming here, he slips into a freedom that feels like a homecoming. I can relate. Not so much about the fish tank back home, but about the freedom and the sense of homecoming. I love the analogy anyhow and I have thought of it several times since then.

We arrived at the theatre to a bustling crowd of diplomats, foreigners, Chinese business people and a vibrant arts community mingling outside of the theatre entrance. George was recognized by a few people (he has performed extensively in Beijing, including in this theatre!) who immediately greeted us and exchanged “ming pian” (business cards) with him. (Mental Note: I need business cards and I shall make them this week.) George introduced me to several events producers who were very intrigued by my Chinese language skills and my performance career. He has provided me with their contact information for my next trip. (This was already proving to be another “guanxi” opportunity!)

We met up with our mutual friend Zou Rui who also brought another friend of hers (Chun Jia) who is also a singer here in China. We all went inside. The place was nearly full (and the theatre holds 1400 people) and when we walked in to the concert hall itself, we were ushered to the second floor balcony where we had back row seats and a perfect view of the stage. I would imagine that there are no bad seats in this stunning venue and I snapped a few photos of the layout before being politely reminded that it was against the rules to take pictures during the show. I wondered how they would police this as there were several digital cameras in people’s hands and here in China it is almost unheard of to restrict photographs! Still, I heeded the request (for the most part!).

Alkistis Protopsalti is an amazing performer and her band was made up of extremely talented musicians. The arrangements were excellent and they put on an energetic, engaging show almost entirely in Greek. At the end of the night, she took the audience from appreciative to a place of adoration when she sang a very well known contemporary song in Chinese: “Yue Liang Dai Biao Wode Xin” or “The Moon Represents My Heart” but Teresa Teng or Deng LiJun (her Chinese name), a very famous Chinese singer. The place went wild and cheered for a good 30 seconds straight when she began the song, to the point where she was forced to stop and then start the song over again. I have found this kind of excitement unusual in Chinese audiences; they are normally so polite and reserved. They truly fell in love with her in this moment! Music may be the universal language, but having some Chinese skills makes a huge difference.

After the concert, there was a reception and much of the audience stayed and mingled some more while drinking complimentary wine and other beverages and eating various Greek snacks that were being circulated around by waitresses holding wide trays. More “guanxi” happened here and George was amazing at working the crowd and introducing me to whomever he met. I really appreciated it.

When the crowd started to dissipate and Zou Rui’s friend had to leave, the three of us decided to head for some “yexiao” or “night snacks” and we ended up at a restaurant where Zou Rui insisted I drink some hot ginger cola for my cough (actually coke and ginger heated together and served like tea). I was disgusted by the idea but agreed to try it because this lingering cough is just annoying to me and everyone else, I’m sure. It was pretty tasty, actually, and I dutifully drank it down and ate as much food as I could to fuel my full recovery from this cold. The three of us laughed a lot and had a great talk and before I realized the time. It was 12:30am and I was exhausted.

We all parted ways with lots of love and smiles. I came back to my room, finally took off those uncomfortable shoes and reflected on the night of many emotions and incredible opportunities.

Possibility is sometimes so visible that it seems to have a form and a shape just standing next to me. This evening was one of those times. It followed me around like a protective older sibling. Had I turned and snapped a photo, I’m sure I would have trapped its light in my lens.

As clear as the stories in the trees, as history in stones, love in smiles.

Possibility.

I see you.

A Canadian in Beijing: Lone, Blond, Lady-in-Waiting

by Ember Swift on

Alright, so I know that I look different than most of the people here. I know that I carry with me enormous privilege with my white skin, English language and light-coloured hair (to name a few). I know that this privilege is my responsibility to recognize and acknowledge; it is the lens through which I am seen, no matter how “Chinese” I feel while I’m here. It is always with me and always will be. I also know that I am given great advantages, globally, as a result of this privilege and that any kind of complaint may well contradict this statement of acknowledgement.

But. . .

Here in China, I have experienced my first real taste of the disadvantage of difference. It’s high time I did. This white girl needed a dose of reality, I say. Bring it on.

Well, okay maybe in small doses. It’s good for the consciousness and hard on the spirit.

I was waiting for my friend to arrive at our meeting place before attending a concert at the Forbidden City Concert Hall. This is a beautiful venue located right downtown, across from Tian’anmen Square and next to the Imperial Palace. It’s the Beijing equivalent to Massey Hall (Toronto) or Carnegie Hall (New York) and I was done up to match the environment. I wore a new dress and some fancy shoes and went all-out so as not to look like a scruffy musician (for once).

I arrived by subway five minutes early and slowly made my way up to the entrance to the Imperial Palace – a logical choice for a meeting place as the huge poster of Chairman Mao is widely known. We were meeting “just under Mao” and the political double entendre made me smile.

My bright red dress looked good last night, I have to say. I was proud of my outfit and felt like I had scrubbed up rather well and would have no trouble blending into the highbrow theatre-going community. I strolled along and took some photos and just as I arrived I received a call from my friend (who I was meeting) who was stuck in traffic. He said he’d be about ten more minutes.

There I was, alone and surrounded by tourists (mostly all Chinese) who found me to be a great source of interest and delight. One young girl approached me and asked me for a photo with her. She was beside herself when I smiled and responded in Chinese. I know that she wanted a picture because I am a a white and blond foreigner (who was in a pretty dress). She kept saying “ni hen piao liang!” (you’re pretty!) and I found myself just slipping into my performer mode. I posed with her for a photo just as I would if a fan asked me for one after a gig. I also seized the opportunity to ask her to take a picture of me in return and she did. Then, she and her mother left with a wave and a smile.

Seconds later, a large group of people from a different province (because their accent was different to my ears) got very excited by me and started to point and laugh. They started taking pictures of me without asking and then came over to me with a small child in tow and motioned that they were going to take my picture, as though I were a circus trick or a street performer stationed there. There was much talking and not a single kind word was actually said to me; they were just surrounding me like I was a fixture for their amusement. I said “bu yao” which means “no” or a more polite way of saying “get lost” (literally: don’t want) and then I walked away from them and turned my back. I could hear the cameras anyway. I turned around and said, “that’s not polite!” but I think I got the words in the wrong order because they didn’t seem to register my meaning and just snapped a picture of my angry face and acted like my turning around and their successful shot was the equivalent to winning the lottery with their cameras.

I was very flustered by this point and felt totally vulnerable there. . . alone. . . in a dress.

Then, this young man sauntered up to me with a sticky smirk on his face. He thrust a pamphlet into my hand and got much closer to me than I’ve experienced with men here in China. He asked me if I’d gone to the Great Wall (in Chinese) and I answered him that yes, I had gone and I didn’t need the pamphlet, all the while backing away from him. His buddies joined him then and suddenly there were about ten young men around me all talking to me at once. I was answering them when they asked me questions while simultaneously looking for my escape. I eventually backed right into the white stone railing of the bridge behind me before realizing that I couldn’t go any farther in that direction.

Other people were looking on like it was some sort of spectacle. Surely they’ve seen white people speaking Chinese before! But it wasn’t just that. I was a lone, white, blond woman in a fancy dress and I was creating quite a hubbub of exuberance in these young men, joking and remarking and pushing each other, that it was enough to start to draw a small crowd of onlookers.

For the first time since arriving in China, I felt really unsafe and scared. I haven’t felt that way in so long.

I think this is why I rarely wear dresses.

I pushed through and past the group to break free of the cluster and then I started to quickly make my way back to the sidewalk closer to the road. When I did that, they laughed like I was a great big joke and I heard them commenting on my tattoo when I turned my back on them.

As I walked, I dialed my friend Rui on my cell phone, fuming mad (my typical response to fear) to ask him how to say “F*** OFF!” in Chinese. This is a very forward question here and to explain my angry tone, I told him what was happening and he taught me the word immediately. Then he offered to stay on the phone with me for a while until my friend arrived. I was relieved by this very logical suggestion and people miraculously left me alone as I was talking and so we chatted for about ten minutes before I realized that I was running out of battery power. I had to hang up because I didn’t want to be without a cell signal while my theatre date was still late (now twenty minutes) and possibly couldn’t find me in the crowds.

Suddenly, the guards all lined up and started their formation for the flag lowering ceremony which apparently takes place on both the Tian’anmen Square side and the side I was on (gugong) and so it is a popular time to visit the entrance to the Imperial Palace. I had mistakenly timed my arrival with this daily ritual, which suddenly explained the ballooning crowds.

They corralled us into two groups, east and west, and I found myself pushed with the herd to the east side. I got a call from the friend I was meeting and he had arrived on the west side; we were impossibly close but I had no idea how I would cross the barricades to get to his side of the entrance. He had a good idea, though, and he rushed through the underground walkways and arrived up on my side about ten minutes later, apologizing profusely.

I was just happy to see him and excited to shift the energy of the evening to a more relaxed, less stressful vibe. I smiled and took a deep breath. Right on cue, my cell phone died.

It was time to go to the theatre.

In my dress.

Proudly.

Travelers who Take Their Talents On the Road

by Jamie Rhein on

Some folks, like Gadling’s own Ember Swift who is currently in China combining her life as a musician with her passion for travel, have talents that help get them overseas and maximize their experiences. Ember is writing about her high and low points in a series named A Canadian in Bejing.

Not only is using talents a way to see the world, but it’s the chance to connect in ways that are creatively, and perhaps, professionally pleasing. Andrew Mendelson, for example, used his Sitar playing to get him to India. This movie, “The Cricket in the Court of Akbar” shows him getting ready for the largest music competition in Rajasthan. This is more than just Andrew playing. There are also Interviews with various people who talk about Sitar music, the competition and what Andrew is up against. This video made me think that perhaps I ought to have actually practiced the flute more.