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 Hilarious Read: Brian Sack’s Squat Toilet Story

by Jamie Rhein on

I have just finished laughing harder than I have laughed in months. I kid you not. I’m still chuckling and shaking my head thinking about how hard I was laughing a few minutes ago.

While I was browsing our Gadling comments, I came across one posted by Gadling reader Marilyn Terrell who often leaves wonderful traveling tips on various posts. On Willy’s post on squat toilets, she posted a link to another how to use a squat toilet missive. This one was written by Brian Sack and posted on his blog Banterist. This is piece of writing that rivals David Sedaris in the funny factor, and I adore David Sedaris. Sack is hilarious. Because I loved Sack’s essay “China Dispatch: How to Use a Squat Toilet” so much, I wanted to give it its own post. His weblog isn’t exactly a travel blog, but he travels.

Sack’s is the male version of using a squat toilet. A female version would need to have some reference to trying not to pee on one’s shoes. I can see a series of squat toilet stories. How about a book, Squat Toilet for Dummies? It could include an entry on how to use a squat toilet on a moving train, for example. How to use a squat toilet when you have your personal belongings with you such as a camera bag, sunglasses, a purse, a day pack or whatever.

For another laugh, check out the You Tube video on the “About Banterist” page. It’s an interview with John Mayer. Thanks, Marilyn for such a funny, funny read.

A Canadian in Beijing: Big Toothy Grin at the Dental Hospital

by Ember Swift on

There’s so much to write about and so little time left. I’m here for only one more week and then I can hardly believe that I’m leaving. Canada again? It’s going to be so strange not to be here, a place where I feel so at home. I have a rhythm here that feels musical in my step. I will so miss this place. And yet, my Canadian senses are also drawing me home the way fresh baked bread on the breeze will draw someone into a warm kitchen on a summer’s day. If only I could duplicate myself to be in both places at once!

In the midst of this delicious rhythm, I’ve really stopped being a tourist in so many ways. I have found friends and a vibrant community and my adventures are centred around their lives and their worlds. Not to say they haven’t been given insight into mine, but they have invited me in to theirs and shown me so many different aspects of Beijing. In many cases, I have seen parts of this city that I would never have seen had I just been looking through a guide book for possible adventures.

Take yesterday, for example, when I toured Beijing’s preeminent dental hospital: “Peking University Stomatological Hospital.”

One of my friends is a dentist studying to be a dental surgeon. He invited me to his hospital and I must say that it was an experience that left an impression. Not only did I constantly want to brush my teeth while I was there, but I felt shy about smiling for fear that everyone was looking at my teeth!

Now, on a practical level, what struck me most was the fact that the hospital looked like a hospital from the 1970’s. Much of the equipment was up-to-date and modern, but the décor and the layout reminded me of the hospitals of my youth. Not to mention the fact that the walls were often in disrepair with peeling paint or cracked plaster and the pipes were exposed and rusting.

Not unlike the buildings at the school or my dorm, though. Perhaps I should just chalk it up to different interior design standards here in China versus Canada? And, after all, it’s not really about look and much more about function, right? In North America, we are taught that if a place looks shabby then the quality of the service must also be shabby. I think that assumption is far from true here. Standards could very well be high (if not higher than home), even if the walls need painting.

My friend took me up floor after floor of identical floor plan: the central area was a waiting room with hard-backed chairs all attached to one another like students chairs in a university lecture hall. Each floor had a reception desk and then dental rooms branching off on all sides. Each dental room held several dental chairs that weren’t separated from one another with walls or dividers. I’m not sure what dental hospitals look like in North America, but I wondered if perhaps privacy is not as important here or if this is standard for a dental hospital versus a private clinic. (Anyone know?)

In the stairwell, when we rounded the stairs to the fifth floor, he pointed to the entrance and said that we couldn’t go in there. He continued to climb the stairs to the sixth floor and I paused at the fifth and asked “why?” He stopped and turned around and in a very matter-of-fact tone explained that this was the floor where the government officials are treated. “So?” I asked, naively, and he said that no one was allowed to go onto this floor except a select group of doctors and surgeons. He further explained that there is actually a full hospital that is just for government officials elsewhere in the city. It, too, is off limits to the regular Beijing denizen or visitor.

Well then.

These are the moments when I recall that I’m in a Communist country.

Another interesting point is that the orthodontic floor was the most modern and clean. Of course, my friend explained, this is because it’s the most expensive of all the services. (So, money will buy paint and take rust off pipes, I suppose!?) I also liked the kid’s floor. The little chairs were cute and they tried to decorate it with a bit more colour for the little ones. And, most amusing to me of all was the educational rooms with the fake heads with removable jaws for learning how to work on teeth. Of course these are needed, but I’ve never seen such a thing before and the image of all these slack-jawed dummies made me laugh.

After the tour, we came back to the main floor and into the central lobby. Here were glassed-in kiosks that looked much like ticket wickets at a train station. The patients line up in front of these windows to be registered at the hospital, though it is not an emergency reception room. My friend also pointed out the pharmacy window, which was also a kiosk. The patient takes their prescription slip to this window and presents it to the attendant and the attendant fetches your prescription. Almost like a drive-thru window, I thought, and it was strange to hear my friend define it as a pharmacy. In Canada, pharmacies look a lot different!

Suddenly there was a grand commotion. They were blocking off a section of the outer sidewalk and people were being directed to move their bicycles immediately as the doors were to be locked to one of the exits and any bicycles would be trapped outside. At least, this is what I gathered. There was also something about not being able to access a neighbouring building through those entrances/exits, which seem to inspire a lot of running back and forth before the locks were engaged.

Apparently they are working on the building next door and there was a risk of falling debris. They were blocking it off so that no one would get hurt, but to block off the area they only used flimsy tarps that flapped in the wind, one at either end of the section of sidewalk – easy to walk under and/or around. In North America, I could already imagine people completely disregarding these tarps and taking the risk. Here in China, rules are rules.

The urgency of this closure was palpable. In fact, it seemed as through there was some sort of panic to gather items from one building to the next as though there would be no way to get between the buildings afterwards, which I soon discovered was untrue. The blocked walkway just forced a person to go around. Still, it seemed like the end of the world was coming for those few moments and I just watched with amusement and curiosity.

In my curiosity, I walked outside and photographed the area, much to the horror of one of the hospital workers who warned me that I could still get hurt even while on the “safe” sides of the barricade. (By the way, I didn’t see a single particle of dust fall from the adjacent building while I was out there!) I am grateful I went outside, though, because I discovered this building behind the hospital (I have no idea if it’s part of the hospital or not) that is covered in vines. It looked like a living and breathing creature and I had to photograph it.

When I went back inside, the drama had subsided and I accompanied my friend to a large auditorium where I watched groups of students gather on the stage and perform various songs and poems or sketches for each other. There were perhaps five hundred students and each group was of approximately ten students. They filed on and off the stage with embarrassed giggles and cajoling from their friends in the audience. The most popular performance was karaoke in style with backing music being provided by a laptop hooked up to an overhead projector and piped through auditorium speakers. In fact, many of the songs sung were English songs and any poems that were recited were also in English. That did not make them very clear, however, and it was funny for me to say that I “ting bu dong” (don’t understand) something when it’s supposed to be in my own language!

Two hours later, the performances were winding up and I had had enough of “people watching.” It really felt like a high school variety night (which was the only thing I could relate it to), only this group of students weren’t my fellow students and this wasn’t my school! I felt good to have supported my friend, but I was ready to go. Such an event was definitely culturally specific to China. I can’t imagine a bunch of university and masters students in Canada engaging in this kind of activity, but I have to add, to their credit, that it was great to see these students having so much fun.

I left via the back entrance (due to the blocked doorways) and I thanked my friend for such a unique experience. How often does a person get to tour a dental hospital in Beijing and then watch fifty amateur performances in two hours? I’d say it would go in the once-in-a-lifetime category!

I went home and brushed my teeth right away.

Tainted Toothpaste

by Jamie Rhein on

Perhaps you heard the brouhaha about tainted toothpaste coming from China. This was in the news a few weeks ago. Turns out, a nasty chemical called diethylene glycol was found in Chinese imported toothpaste in the Dominican Republic and Panama. What should be used is glycerin. The chemical, from what I read, is used in antifreeze. Great, I suppose, if you plan to smile a lot in below freezing weather. Then it might come in handy.

This toothpaste finding was not good news for China since they want people to feel like when they come to the Olympics in Beijing in 2008, they’ll be able to brush their teeth. Not to mention all the toothpaste from China is sold all over the world. Can you say rinse and spit. . . rinse and spit. . . and rinse and spit?

Most of the time when I’ve traveled, I haven’t worried too much about toothpaste brands when I haven’t had my own with me. China is in the process of rectifying their dental hygiene situation. Still, yesterday there was another toothpaste scare. Counterfeit Colgate was found with this chemical in Canada–or supposedly, it was found. There are investigations in the works. Bottom-line, read the label. For a caution about soap, click here.

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.