A Canadian In Beijing: Spring in Beijing

by Ember Swift on

Spring has arrived in Beijing. I heard that it was recently snowing in Canada and was even minus 14 degrees Celsius this Easter weekend. I’ve got to say that this Chinese weather is suiting me just fine!

The trees have begun to blossom on campus. I learned the name of this first flower today: “yu lan hua” or “Jade Orchid.” The purple ones (pictured) are called “zi yu lan hua.” (There are other colours too.) They’re stunning. I wanted to crawl inside this one in yesterday’s early evening light.

There’s something about spring blossoms that makes people smile. I have seen countless students posing for photographs in front of these orchids and other blossoming trees around campus. I have seen people with flowers in their hands and grins on their lips.

Spring is emergence, no matter what country you’re in.

Emerging to inhale the fragrant smell of spring – that’s what we’re all doing. Even in Beijing (where the pollution masks most smells), the blossoms are sending greetings to me through my window. It’s a free ride on the crisp April breeze and it’s finding me here,

smiling.

A Canadian in Beijing: Walls and Their Greatness

by Ember Swift on

When I get really tired I hit a wall.

By that, I mean that I suddenly get a wash of my fatigue throughout my whole body and mind and spirit and I lose the capacity to speak clearly, think clearly, function. At those moments, I could lie down pretty much anywhere with my bag as a pillow and sleep immediately. All I need is about twenty minutes and then I wake up refreshed.

This doesn’t bode well for a traveller who does a lot of driving. Thankfully, I’m not the only driver in the band (thanks Lyndell!) and when those moments come over me behind the wheel, I always pull over and switch.

I experienced one of these moments today on the way back from the excursion to the Mutianyu Great Wall.

The school (our tuition?) paid for this trip today. All of the part-time students in the twenty-hours-per-week program were given a formal invitation and I took the opportunity. Am I ever glad I did! The Great Wall was indeed great — vast, in fact — and I hope that I can seek out other locations to see more of its beauty.

I spent the bus ride there sitting beside a man from Turkey who is here to learn Chinese. He is a textile engineer by trade and his company needs Mandarin speaking employees. We got that far in English, but his Chinese was better than his English and I don’t speak Turkish, so we exchanged simple conversation in Mandarin and examined the countryside through the windows while we drove the 73 kilometres northeast of Beijing towards Mutianyu.

When we arrived at Mutianyu and were milling about the bus waiting for instructions, I heard the beautiful sounds of Quebecois French being spoken and I swirled around to locate the speakers. Turns out that two guys from Montreal (Alex and Stephane) are here to take the same course as I am and I fell into a French conversation with joy.

It’s amazing to struggle with a third language for a week and then to watch yourself fly with your second language. I’ve had to keep my French language brain on a leash because it’s been trying to save me all week when I’ve been struggling to find Mandarin words. Seems it was truly itching to be released! They, too, seemed relieved to speak French with someone other than each other.

The instructions we received were simply to be back at the bus for 1:00pm. Everyone dispersed.

Tourist locations in China aren’t as organized and prescribed as tourist locations in North America, I find. They have their share of vendors and souvenirs, but there are only guides if you pay for them and signage is limited. When there were signs, they were in both English and Chinese, but there was little to no history provided on these signs and we were a guide-less group. We had the option of purchasing information books from the vendors, but they were grossly overpriced.

So the gang of us walked the eight-square kilometres of this section of the Great Wall without a guide or a guidebook. Many areas were so steep that resting as we ascended was essential. Since this lies along the a very angled mountainous section of terrain, you can imagine the grade of the walkways and the endless stairs that we climbed – all different heights and dimensions. I thought a few times of the sheer number of feet that have climbed those stairs over the years.

I was reminded by Alex that much of the mortar includes the bones of those who died while building the wall. I looked more closely at the stones then and marvelled at the 1800+ years it took to build such a vast structure, the lives spent and lost in the pursuit of its protection, and the culture of enclosure and/or resistance to outsiders it required to support such an undertaking.

Almost at the bottom, we heard the sound of screaming. A quick glance around and we found the source. There was a metal slide snaking down from the wall’s appex so that people can slide themselves down the mountain on small seats with wheels and brakes. Right next to the cable cars, it suddenly looked like an amusement park.

I had a hard time with this. It’s hard to be amused alongside an historic structure that has witnessed and/or been the source of so much death and destruction over the years. Still, I had to admit that it looked like fun! Oh the contradictions I hold…

At the bottom, we emerged into a sea of vendors whose sales pitches echoed identical across stalls: “Souvenirs! I remember you! Hello! Nice Souvenirs! I give you good price! Come look, look! Hello!” I have resorted to saying in slow and deliberately laboured Chinese that I speak French (wo shuo fawen). That’s true, although it implies that I don’t understand them in English and the ploy usually works. I have silenced many a vendor with this technique. (Thanks to Jacinthe Murphy in Montreal who passed this tip along!)

Finally back at the bus after haggling the price of a banana down to half of what they wanted in an overpriced stall –here’s when speaking some Chinese is very helpful — we all got on the bus and pulled away.

I was excited to be on the same side of the bus this time because I knew I’d see the views on the opposite side of the road as we headed back to Beijing. I was ready to take it all in, but after only ten minutes, I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I tried to fight it but I knew I had to sleep. Eight kilometres of walking will do that to a person, not to mention the lingering jet lag. I lay my head against the window and let myself hit the wall.

I woke up to the driver honking his intention to pass another car on the empty stretch of highway. I smiled and checked my watch. I was refreshed and I had visited a section of the Great Wall of China. This is something I’ve been wanting to see for years. Two walls and no complaints.

Today is a great day.

A Canadian in Beijing: Subway Cinch

by Ember Swift on

Taking the subway in Beijing is a total cinch.

I took the subway yesterday from the university district in Wudaokou to the downtown core of the city. Specifically, I got off at the Yonghugong stop. For only 3 kuai, the equivalent of about $0.45 Canadian, you can hop the train from Wudaokou down to the transfer station for the underground subway loop. You have to pay again to take this underground route, however, which is the only drawback. Still, coming from Toronto where it’s nearly $3 to take the subway, I am hardly complaining!

The aboveground train is amazing because it allows you to see into courtyards and past billboards to where people actually live in this city. A bit voyeuristic, perhaps, but informative nonetheless. I am amazed at the divide between rich and poor here, modern and traditional, dilapidated and sparkling new. All shoulder to shoulder.

All of the subway signs are in both Chinese and English and all of the stops are numbered as well as named. This makes it possible for anyone to use the transit system here, regardless of native language. Numbers are much more universal than any written script, of course.

I also was touched by some random assistance given to me. I was staring at my map then staring at the subway grid on the wall and then staring back at my map when a man with a New Zealand accent asked me if I was lost. I answered that I wasn’t lost yet, thanks, and then told him how nice it was of him to ask. In the end, I’m proud to say that I didn’t get lost at all.

Cinch!

Bruce Lee Theme Park to Open in China

by Neil Woodburn on

Man, it seems like anyone can have a theme park these days.

The word from China is that ground was just broken on a new Bruce Lee theme park. The $25.5 million venture will be located in the town of Shunde, the ancestral home of Bruce Lee (the martial arts expert was actually born in San Francisco).

Details about the park itself are sketchy, but the president of the Hong Kong based Bruce Lee Club who resided over the groundbreaking ceremony has confirmed that the theme park will have a conference center, a martial arts academy, and at least one pair of nunchuks owned by the star himself.

I can’t wait to find out what rides one can enjoy while visiting. Anyone care for the Kick in the Balls Roller Coaster? Or perhaps the Fists of Death Tea Cup Ride. Go figure.

A Canadian In Beijing: Traffic is the Opposite of Uniform

by Ember Swift on

Traffic wasn’t a word I truly understood until I came here to Beijing. Congestion isn’t just lanes full of cars on the road inching forward politely like I’ve experienced in Canada; it is a bunch of cars squeezing into the road, ignoring lane markings, edging each other out, honking their indignation, going forward despite the lack of room, etc. It’s like a giant game of chicken.

Okay, I’m a chicken. I admit it.

The fact that I’m writing this is proof that I’m alive (as is this picture I snapped in the taxi to prove that I was stupid enough to get in it!), but I would definitely attribute several new grey hairs to my journey from downtown to the university.

A few things I noticed about pecking order here on the roads of Beijing:

• The bigger you are, the more likely you are to get where you’re going
• No one really has the right-of-way (it should be re-phrased as might-of-way)
• Traffic lights are just a suggestion most of the time and green lights are extended in duration because red lights are perceived to be serious long after they’ve turned red
• Cars turning left or right weave around pedestrians and bicycles but don’t stop for them; we are like pylons in their obstacle course…

• Electronic bikes (with stinky two-stroke engines) are common and they motor forward without regard to pedestrians – it’s up to those on foot to hear them coming and step out of the way
• Bikes are allowed on the sidewalks, or I should say, they take over the sidewalks at will and so walking is perilous at best
• Honking is akin to stating that you’re serious about what you’re doing if you’re heading recklessly for an impossible lane or an opening half the size of your vehicle
• Honking is likewise akin to stating that you’re serious about not letting the other vehicle do what they’re apparently intending to do, which then becomes a battle of wills
• Honking is the sound of traffic in Beijing

After an excruciating half an hour on the road, the taxi dropped me off in a pile at the university in front of the wrong building. There I was with guitar, one big knapsack, a small duffle bag and my computer shoulder bag. I had to balance the bags around my body like a packhorse and I looked rather suspicious hobbling slowly towards the building I thought was the admissions office.

The suspicious Caucasian bag lady drew the attention of the security on campus.

Side note: there are boys in uniform here on every corner and I am beginning to grow accustomed to their presence. I haven’t yet distinguished which uniforms are which, but they are uniformly young and uniformly male. Often in stiff pairs but occasionally in group formation about four or five (nearly) men wide and twenty (nearly) men deep. These boys are the complete opposite of the roadways: organized, contained, deliberate.

It was a stiff pair that approached me on campus.

Two security guards (who appeared to be still too young to shave) approached me and asked what I was doing there. They had stern faces and officious tones. I told them I am a student here and they barked orders to see my admission notice (all in Chinese, of course.) I looked at them squarely for a long moment, put down everything on my body very slowly and methodically, dug out my admission notice and watched them acknowledge me for my rightful belonging.

As their aggressive energy waned, I smiled and asked them if they could kindly help me. They hesitated but agreed and then huffed and puffed my stuff from building to building, dutifully committed as I gathered my paperwork.

The massive lack of line-ups and chaotic crowds at all of these various university counters (admissions, finance office, accommodations, student card) is a reflection of what the roads look like in Beijing — complete mayhem. No order whatsoever. In the free for all, I needed to be pushy to get anywhere and I realized that fast. I edged my way in like everyone else and emerged with various paperwork stamped with official seals, armed with more proof that I belonged.

The boys in uniform were always waiting for me when I emerged. I think they wished that I had been less assertive so that they could take more time to rest at each post.

A Caucasian woman leading the way and two adolescent Chinese boys in uniform struggling behind must have been an odd sight. Just to paint the picture a little more clearly, I carried two of my four bags. One of the guards was scrawnier than me and the other was slightly chubby and baby-faced. Both perspired profusely in the spring sunshine and carried one bag each in the most awkward positions possible. They wrenched themselves to the left or to the right or attempted to carry the weight out in front of them to no avail.

There were several moments when they needed to stop and rest that were accompanied by much muttering to each other in Chinese I didn’t understand. I thanked them several times and smiled inwardly. The whole scenario was hilarious to me, but I knew if I had laughed that I might lose my sweaty cohorts and I couldn’t afford to lose either the help or the entertainment!

Comic relief after my near-death taxi experience.

I set the boys free at the accommodations office where my bags were in reach of my room. They disappeared before I could thank them one more time.

After that, I finally checked into my dorm room here at the Beijing Language and Culture University. This will be home for three months.