A Canadian in Beijing: Veggie Restaurant Redemption

by Ember Swift on

I thought it appropriate that I redeem the vegetarian restaurant that was the site of my “bad day” a few weeks ago.

First off, my friend Traci (an American and thirteen-year resident of Beijing) read my blog and had the following to say to me: “everyone has bad China days, Ember, so rest-assured you’re not alone.” That was good to hear. She said that even she has days when she struggles with the cultural differences and when she feels excluded or misunderstood because she’s a foreigner.

Last night, my friend Wei asked me if I was interested in going out for vegetarian food with him and since I feel like my cold is lifting and I’m feeling better, I accepted. He was the one who had originally told me about the “Lotus in Moonlight Vegetarian Restaurant” and I hadn’t realized that he meant we should go to that same one in particular. Of course that makes sense, though, since it was his recommendation in the first place. He picked me up in a taxi and I didn’t notice our destination until I got out of the taxi and saw the same line of bicycles that had been my parking spot just a couple weeks ago.
I didn’t indicate to him that I had been here before, but I did think to myself that it was a good opportunity to redeem the experience and I coached my open mind to remain that way. I’m so glad it complied.

The food was excellent and the service was impeccable. I saw no sign of the previous waitress and I would definitely return to eat there again, even though it was rather pricey.

Wei is Chinese and his English is pretty terrible. His pronunciation is painful and I find him more comprehensible in Chinese than I do in English. When he tried to use his English, I often have to hear what he’s trying to say in Mandarin before I can understand him (or correct him) in English. He and I met at a live music venue the second week I had arrived and he was really helpful in explaining some words to me and writing them down. We became friends and have since spent a bit of time together. When we hang out, it forces me to speak only in Chinese, which is something that is really important for my language development.

He taught me this very valuable expression “dabao” which means “I want it to go.” It’s apparently more colloquial than “na zou” (literally: take to go) and is a request for your food to be packaged up and sent home with you. I used it with the waitress who gave me a huge smile before nodding and returning with the container and a small bag with handles.

I have to admit that I can only spend about two hours in Wei’s company before I feel like my brain is going to stage a mutiny, carve an exit from my skull and then roll off my head and out the door. It’s not his company, of course, but the forced constancy of speaking Chinese that draws that feeling. The mental exhaustion feels physical and it’s a kind of tired that I’ve only experienced when I’ve been in immersion settings in my second or third language. Thankfully, it doesn’t happen to me anymore in French and I will eagerly await the day when it stops happening in Mandarin!

He treated me dinner (which was very sweet) and then I had to take my leave because I could no longer function in a conversation. He was understanding and waved me into a taxi. We’ll likely hang out again in the next couple of weeks. He remarked on my improvement with the language, so he’s a good gauge of my development. We’ll see if he says the same thing to me next time!

A Canadian In Beijing: How Do You Train a Head Cold?

by Ember Swift on

You put yourself on an overnight train in China to catch one and then you take another overnight train in China five days later and it learns to never leave your side!

I have been nursing a box of Kleenex and sipping ginger tea for just under a week now and still my head cold doesn’t seem to be lifting. I think I caught it on my way to Shanghai, and now it’s taken hold and is convinced that I am happy with its residence. I have been trying to evict it with potions of lemon, garlic, ginger and “hong tang” (or brown sugar – literally “red” sugar in China) and trying to increase my “warm” intake, as per Chinese medicine, but I’m still sick. I’ve been hacking up a lung in a pitch that is many decibels below my talking voice and making mountains of used tissues you’d need a sherpa to scale.

Sigh.

I am not one to get sick, normally, but I must admit that this pace has been crazy and I’ve been living a little like a delinquent teenager with lots of late night and parties with my dorm friends and my body is currently very angry with me.

I was surely an annoying fellow passenger on the return trip from Shanghai.

I took the overnight train again, but this time by myself and I have been patting myself on my own back about how seasoned a traveller I am and how amazing it was that I made it from Shanghai to Beijing without any serious mishaps. (I photographed the ticket above as official proof!)

The “soft sleeper” cars are a little nicer than the hard sleepers. They’re softer, for one (!), and they’re more private with doors that close at the end of each cubicle. There are also only four people to a cubicle as opposed to six, which makes for more headroom on each bunk and slightly less cramped conditions.

Besides the ability to close a door and the extra room, some other great features of the soft sleeper cars include the fancy restrooms that come with regularly stocked soap and toilet paper (wonder of wonders in China!), the constant hot water dispenser near the restrooms (one of my favourite drinks and lovely to just be able to fill up on “re shui” whenever I wanted to), the ability to turn on a reading light in my bunk, control of the overall cubicle lights (in the hard sleepers, when the lights are out there’s nothing else to do but sleep), the complimentary slippers and, of course, the extra pillow. I do love two pillows!

But my favourite feature was the volume control.

In China, I have noticed that piped music is very common. My friends have told me that they hear music at various times of the day coming from garden speakers, public offices, etc. I have been intrigued (in a slightly creeped out way) with the speakers on campus that pump out terrible music at 6:30 am everyday and then again in the early evening. It reminds me a bit of images of prison grounds and I suppose that’s where the creepiness comes in. That, and perhaps the insinuation that there’s some “Brave New World” style propaganda going on!?

Anyway, the train also has piped in music and it’s usually crackling through unequalized speakers. My musician’s ears have a hard time filtering out the ringing frequencies when I hear this happening and I recall that the trip to Shanghai last week included a lot of concentration on my part to ignore the music.

I mercifully located the volume knob at about 9:00pm when my cabin mates had already gone to sleep and the music suddenly started to whine through wincing speakers. That volume knob alone was worth the extra $175 kuai (about $25 Canadian).

So, I was trying to be kind to my fellow travellers by turning off the music, but I still kept them up all night coughing and blowing my nose. They were sympathetic and the next morning we struggled along in Chinese and English about my terrible cold and their concern for the lonely foreign girl seemingly without any immunity. I appreciate their concern, especially in light of their tired eyes.

I also became quite the fascination for a little girl who was about three years old. She regularly made appearances at our open door during the evening the train left and the morning before arriving in Beijing. Her grandmother was caring for her (as is often the set-up in China where the elderly provide childcare) and through her grandmother and my bunk mates, I learned the phrase “ta hen hao(4) qi(3),” which means that “she is very curious.” Also, the phrase, “wode biao(3) yu(3) ta butong,” which means that “I look different than she does.” That is exactly why she was curious too – I am the blonde “waiguoren” (foreigner) and this little three-year-old may never have seen someone who looks like me before. We had smiles and giggles and a few words and I appreciated her innocent and open curiosity as only a child can offer.

I arrived back in Beijing relieved to be home and eager to cocoon in my room to nurse this cold away. Tomorrow, I’ve given it its final notice. If it’s not out by then, I’m bringing in the exterminators.

Chinese Disneyland Clone Scares the Kids

by Justin Glow on

No, it’s not Disneyland China, it’s Shijingshan Amusement Park located in Beijing. This Disney knock-off could be very frightening for a child who is used to seeing the American version of Walt’s lovable characters — Donald’s got a spare tire, and Minnie doesn’t look quite right herself. I don’t even know what to say about the Snow White-themed ticket booth. Even the “Magic Kingdom” looks like it belongs in Legoland, rather than a Chinese Disneyland clone-park.

“None of this is authorized by Disney,” explains China’s English-language business newspaper, The Standard. “but that has not stopped the state-owned park from creating its own counterfeit version of the Magic Kingdom in a brazen example of the sort of open and widespread copyright piracy that has Washington fuming.”

Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, they say.

[via boingboing]

A Canadian in Beijing: Suzhou’s Hidden Gardens

by Ember Swift on

I’m tired of being stared at and so I’ve crouched down and I’m writing in here, tucked between two full benches in a room that holds one thousand people, easily. This is one of five waiting rooms at the Suzhou Zhan (train station) where people are waiting for their Labour Day trains to take them away from their lives for a few days. There really aren’t a lot of white faces in this town and mine has received a lot of stares, points, giggles and craning necks.

Today I came to Suzhou on a day trip from Shanghai. It was Jeni’s idea, really, and she even bought me a ticket here and everything. This is the site of some of the world’s oldest traditional gardens and I wanted to see them (or at least one of them) and take some photographs.

Today is Lao Dong Jie, or “Labour Day” as we know it, and it marks the beginning of a week’s holiday for nearly everyone in China. It’s amazing that I was able to get a return ticket back to Shanghai considering the line-ups at the train station this afternoon. The whole process took about an hour and a half. I stook in one line about one hundred feet long next to maybe thirty other identical line-ups just slammed with people. And while they moved fairly quickly, there was pushing and budding and shouting at the ticket windows, which made for some very stern clerks.

I waited patiently and when it came to my turn, I was given a wide berth – a sort of foreigner’s deference. Strange at times and common here in China, but today it was appreciated as it made it easier for me to communicate with the attendant and secure my return fare. I was the only white face that I could see in a room of more people than I could estimate and this photo (above) does not do the scale justice.

Suzhou is known for its beauty and many people retire here. It is a smaller city – only about six million people, or a bit bigger than the size of Toronto! – and it is full of greenery and lovely canals that line walkways and parks.

After the train station, I walked in the direction of the most recommended garden. There was so much construction on this road that I couldn’t find it and everyone I asked was either also visiting or was too shy to respond. I ended up joining the throngs on a small shaded patch of grass by a river to have a snack and to rest my walking legs.

When I started up again, I finally saw a historical landmarks sign that told me that I’d overshot that particular garden. “Mei wenti,” I thought (or, “no problem”), “I’ll just go to a different one!” So, I followed my nose and my eyes and zeroed in on an historic temple that cost too much to tour (but was free to photograph!)

I was sure that the temple would have some gardens to tour but I was wrong. I continued on. I even hopped a rickshaw for a large section of one of the busy streets. There was just something sweet about the rickshaw driver and he caught me with tired feet!

When I hopped out, I was supposed to be really close to the “Joy Gardens,” which were next on my map. I walked along the road and couldn’t see a single garden nor an entrance way or alley towards one. I did, however, pass a music shop.

That’s when it was all over.

A young man was sitting in the entrance way and was playing an erhu. These traditional Chinese instruments have always fascinated me and I even own (a broken) one at home. I walked past the shop and smiled but then a few paces later I remembered that I needed a guitar strap and so I doubled back.

The men in the doorway greeted me with smiles – both the proprietor and the young musician – and motioned for me to tour the store at my leisure. I asked about the guitar strap and promptly purchased it (only 10 kuai!) and then proceeded to ask some various questions about the erhu. Eventually, I imagine that my questions got a bit trying and they asked me if I wanted to try to play it. Of course I did!

They gave me an informal lesson on holding the bow and the instrument on my leg, finding the notes (doh, ray, me, fah, so, lah, tee, doh) and the correct posture. I was concentrating so much on trying to hear the pitch and land the notes correctly that I didn’t realize until I looked up about five minutes later that a small crowd had gathered on the sidewalk to watch this blonde foreigner make horrifying, out-of-tune sounds on the erhu!

The owner subtly motioned for me to move into the store and he sat me down half-way back and away from the onlookers and then plopped a children’s erhu lesson book in front of me. If was equipped with pictures and diagrams. He told me to keep working on it with an impatient “why-have-you-stopped?” gesture and so I did. It only took me about another five minutes to successfully nail the major scale. They applauded. I smiled like the little kids in the pictures and I knew that I had to buy one.

Only 175 kuai later and I had a starter erhu and case filled with extra strings, rosin and the shopkeeper’s well-wishes.

Now they wanted to hear me play the guitar and so I spent another half an hour picking and strumming away at a very cheap guitar that he pulled off of the wall for me to play. They clapped and laughed at my style of playing but kept encouraging me and I was easily baited into playing more. Finally, though, it was time to put the cheap guitar back on the wall in hopes that it would one day stay in tune.

I strung my new erhu over my shoulder and bounded out of the store with music in my step.

I was still looking for that garden, but I again couldn’t find it, even after asking the police who made a grand (and loud) show of miming how to get to the garden to me despite my ability to understand basic directions.

A half-hour later and I was no closer to any traditional garden. I had planned to meet some friends from Canada in Suzhou in the afternoon and I was already late. I caught a taxi and had to accept the fact that I wouldn’t be seeing any gardens this time around. The traditional gardens of Suzhou will have to wait until the next time.

(I’m sure they’re beautiful!)

I’d like to think of this music shop as my hidden garden in Suzhou. It was beautiful and full of tradition!

They’re calling my train now. Time for me to lift my stuff off of this dirty floor and make my way back to Shanghai. I have a “standing only” ticket (i.e. no assigned seat) for the ninety-minute, jam-packed trip back to Shanghai. . . so wish me luck!

Erhu image came from Deborah Koh’s page dedicated to the folk music of China.

A Canadian In Beijing: Steamy Bathhouse in Shanghai

by Ember Swift on

One of the essential activities during my time here, according to Jeni, was for us to go to the “bathhouse.” For me, coming from Toronto, this word is associated with more than bathing, if you know what I mean. It is laced with pleasure, kinkiness, anonymity and play. Basically, a lot of steam… of multiple origins.

Shanghai’s bathhouse was an experience I will never forget and one that will forever redefine my understanding of the word. Perhaps this was more of a “spa,” but regardless of its accurate translation, it blew my mind.

We arrived to glitzy double doors and five different attendants whose roles were (in order) to open the doors for us, greet us in both Chinese and English, beckon us to the correct counter and take our shoes. We were given rubber thongs and wrist bracelets with numbers. (From here on in, we were tracked by these numbers, so at least they did have the anonymity factor covered.)

I stepped forth in my plastic shoes and my curiosity.

Standing in the lobby, I took in the bubbling fountain, marble counters, grand piano, huge chandelier, statues and plush carpeting. I could have been standing in a five-star hotel. The lobby was also like a courtyard as the building stretched upwards five stories with various “services” on all levels but balconies overlooking the lobby from each. I learned that we would first experience the baths and then make our way upstairs. Jeni had a plan.

Really? It was already 8:30pm and I couldn’t imagine having enough time to explore this whole facility. I learned, then, that the “services” end at two o’clock in the morning, but that the spa is open twenty-four hours. I was still unsure of what these “services” would be but I was along for the ride and I nodded my consent.

What was I getting into?

We were led into the women’s entrance, which led directly into a change room where we were assigned the locker that corresponded with our number. We were instructed to remove our clothes and jewelry before moving on to the shower area.

Now, there is always a moment of self-consciousness in these settings. We live in a world that doesn’t champion nakedness often enough. At least, not after puberty, unless of course we take in special festivals or nudist colonies or have an overwhelmingly strong ability to filter out socialization and just regularly take our clothes off in public.

I hesitated in that moment and had a flash of panic. Almost simultaneous to that flash, I was aware that all the women around (besides the staff) were naked except for me. I was the odd one still dressed and my hesitation seemed grossly out of place – colonial, in a way, as though my culture was trying to bully its repressed ways into a comfortable environment in which there was no need for self-consciousness.

I removed mine too.

Spaces like this normalize nakedness.

We were led into the shower area that consisted of both stand up showers, which are the ones I’m familiar with from back home, and sit-down showers, which are in front of mirrors with hand-held shower heads and stools. I chose the unfamiliar kind because I was curious about sitting and showering and I must say that I quite like it!

All of the soap, shampoo, conditioners were provided here and there is never a time limit. Showering is required before going into the baths, but after being led to the showers, the choices were ours and we could then decide to take in a variety of options.

Women were quietly enjoying their solitude or chatting quietly in various baths as the staff constantly hovered to remove stray towels, arrange the rubber shoes more neatly, offer water or razors for those showering who wanted to also shave, etc. This made me slightly uncomfortable, but I just tried to take in the relaxation and accept that this is yet another culture difference: lots of staff and constant surveillance.

There were about eight baths in total of varying temperatures, from very hot to cold. One was a tea bath that was green in colour and smelled wonderful and another was a milk bath, slightly murky but filled with a softening ingredient that felt wonderful on my skin. Some of the baths had jets and some did not. One was outdoors along with the access to the steam room. This outside bath was lined with beautiful smooth rocks in the spring air and it was not as well lit which made for a more intimate vibe, but the rest were indoors as was the sauna and the post-bath treatment area.

After over an hour of various temperatures, sauna, steam room, more showering and a frequent return to the green tea bath (my favourite), we all signed up for some post-bath treatment. They showed us “the menu” that was written in both English and Chinese offering a “scrub down” service, facials, skin softening, etc. All were separately priced but very reasonable and we settled on the scrub, a cucumber mask and a milk treatment post-scrub. (Not very vegan of me, I know, but hey… it’s all part of the experience.)

Three women worked in this room and clients lie on narrow beds while they put on their scrub gloves and rub down your skin with this gritty, textured, spongy fabric. It exfoliates and remove dirt and dead skin cells. They “cleaned” our entire bodies (from head to toe) with the exception of our faces that were covered in cucumber (real cucumber!). When the scrub was over, they removed the mask and showed us the huge piles of dirt and skin they had removed from our bodies. We were then doused in the milk treatment and sent on our way back to the showers.

My skin has never felt so soft and smooth.

Leaving the baths took us back into the structured passageway towards the locker room. First, we were brought into a towel room where we were given paper underwear and floral mumus, or pyjamas, which was the “female” uniform for all clients. They were terrible and we all laughed as we looked at each other wearing bright pink and yellow tent dresses.

We were then led out of the baths and set loose. I noticed that the men also had floral outfits, but theirs were shirts and shorts. Both men and women mingled together in the other areas of the complex.

Jeni took us upstairs where she showed us the games rooms (you can play MaJong or poker in small separate rooms and smoke with friends here), the restaurant, the bar and the entertainment area — a huge stage fully equipped with lighting and spotlights, but we had missed the acrobats that evening! I was particularly impressed with the seating in the entertainment room that comprised of more than hundred recliners with additional footstools, each with a separate towel draped perfectly over its back. The room was nearly empty, but I could picture it full and smiled at the thought of lounging, floral, peaced-out people all taking in some crazy entertainment after having been pampered to the point of pure passivity. That would be an easy gig!

Can you imagine getting an easy chair and a footstool at a live music show? Amazing.

Upstairs, we toured the massage rooms with one-hour foot massages (that go up the knee) and half-hour back massages that were available on massage chairs. We chose to do back massages and we were assigned three male masseurs who massaged us silently over our clothes and on top of additional towels. It also included a quick chiropractic neck adjustment that I wasn’t expecting. It was a shock but felt wonderful.

You could also choose to get your nails done – full pedicures and manicures – and the technicians would either come to you, (i.e. where you’re already getting a foot/leg massage), or you could go to them (specific nail rooms).

We didn’t make it up any more levels but I was told that these upper floors had rooms that could be rented as sleep spaces. My brain extended to imagine whether or not these rooms are used for other things as well. I didn’t voice my curiosity while Jeni explained that she had stayed overnight once before and it had just cost her a bit more money. She said that it “beats a hotel” and I can see why! And furthermore, I had already heard loud snoring in the foot/leg massage room. After all this pampering, I could have fallen asleep right then too.

Such luxury is exhausting!

It was just around one in the morning by this time and we went back down to the locker area. Here, there was also a “get ready” room where all hair products, hair dryers, combs (sanitized) and lotions were provided. You could also purchase a variety of products that lined the entranceway in glass displays. Everything from underwear to deodorants.

We got dressed and headed for the lobby. Here, they removed our bracelets and tallied up our various charges. For $175 kuai (around $25 Canadian), I had just experienced a sophisticated bathhouse in Asia and I will forever consider this to be the definition of the term.

I took some pictures in the lobby with much negotiating and surveillance by the staff. Cameras were rightfully regarded as interlopers in such a private space.