A Canadian in Beijing: Sonic Youth in Beijing

by Ember Swift on

I took in a concert this week thanks to a friend who couldn’t use his (expensive) tickets. He gave me a great deal on them (thanks Stuart!) and I went with some friends to see the Sonic Youth concert here in Beijing. I have to admit that I don’t know Sonic Youth very well, musically that is. I went for the experience more than anything and it was quite an event.

Star Live is a big mid-sized music venue in Beijing and I think it probably holds over a couple thousand people, if not more. Based on my experience gauging a crowd size at festivals coupled with the sold-out crowd at the show, I’m guessing around 1,500 to 2,000 people were in the room but I could be wrong.

The original price of the tickets was about $350 kuai, which is far out of my league, financially. It is WAY out of most people’s league here in Beijing.

As a result, more than half of the people were non-Chinese. I heard more English being spoken than I did Mandarin and we were squashed against people on all sides in a sweaty, smoke-filled, hard-to-see-over-taller-people’s-heads, central spot in the middle of the room.

The opening act was forbidden to play by the Chinese government. That’s all I know. They’re a Chinese band called Carsick Cars and many people were excited for them to have such an opportunity. I wish I knew more about the reasons, but I don’t. If anyone does, please post a comment!

When Sonic Youth finally came on at about 9:30 (having had no opening act), the place suddenly filled with the flash of digital cameras. In fact, I found it funny how many hands were in the air holding cameras or taking video. So, I of course had to join in! I also love this picture that captured the flash of a nearby camera (see below).

Do you remember in my previous post after my gig here when I said that people had told me that a technical difficulty in a show in Beijing is just par for the course? They actually said that ‘perfect shows, tech-wise, are almost unheard of.’ Well, I watched one of the vocalists from Sonic Youth exist for nearly an entire song with no vocals before the band actually stopped playing and dealt with her microphone problem. Sarah turned to me and said: “See? It even happens to Sonic Youth.” And then she smiled. Yes, no one is immune no matter how famous.

Oh well, they got it fixed and then continued the concert.

The show was just over an hour long including the encores. It’s hard to say if there even was an encore because people were super polite and didn’t scream much and certainly didn’t pound the floors demanding the band to come back. I wondered if they even would return to the stage considering the lack-lustre occasional hooting (probably by Westerners) and the random clapping. The only thing that signalled that they’d return were the lights that remained dim and pointed to the stage.

Actually, I have to admit that I left after the first encore. I wasn’t into it.

Still, I learned a lot and the experience was really worthwhile. Most interestingly to me was the fact that I felt awkwardly part of some elite group of people who could apparently afford such expensive tickets. I’m not saying it’s wrong to be able to afford concert tickets and nor would I balk at this price back home, but it definitely highlights the divide here between those with money and those without.

North American labels and bands are rarely able to lower their ticket price to match the economy of their touring destination. After all, how would they pay for the cost of travelling if they did? I understand all this, as a businessperson in this music industry.

Still, it makes it impossible for artists like me – independent artists — who build audiences from the grassroots level. We wouldn’t be able to afford to come over unless we were already famous. Album sales would barely cover the cost of making the albums in the first place (even counting manufacturing them over here, which is much cheaper), and ticket prices for even the bigger independent shows haven’t gone above 30 kuai, as far as I’ve seen. That’s under $5 a head and airfare doesn’t get any cheaper depending on the destination. The only other option is to start here and build a following while living here and then return to what has been built.

Which is, I suppose, exactly what I’m doing.

I hopped a cab and headed back to Wudaokou after the concert. I felt thoughtful and pensive the whole ride home.

I may understand it all logically and professionally – certainly from my Western perspective – but as a new Beijing resident, I felt saddened by this chasm between the east and the west that can only (seemingly) be crossed on a bridge of cash.

I’m currently looking for other means of transport.

(She was in the middle of dancing wildly with her arms when I snapped this shot. I love how it makes her like like she has ENORMOUS biceps. I had to include the picture because it makes me smile every time I look at it!)

A Canadian in Beijing: Hutongs & Mopeds

by Ember Swift on

Beijing is famous for its hutongs. A hutong is the Mandarin word for “alley” and, at one time, most of the city was made of these narrow streets that housed residences and businesses alike. These days, there are many wide streets that have replaced them, but there is a movement to preserve the hutongs (rather than knocking them down and replacing them with more modern apartment complexes.)

Yesterday, I visited a very famous hutong called “Nan Luo Gu Xiang.”

The hutongs are so famous, in fact, that there are “hutong tours” here in which foreigners get into bicycle rickshaws with colourful awnings and are then taken with the rest of their tour group through the hutongs all in a row – rickshaws rolling like a giant snake, one after another, winding through Beijing.

Yesterday, I met with my new friend Will as he offered to take me to a restaurant for some vegan fare. (Musician rule #1 = never say no to food!) He picked me up from the subway on his moped and I hopped on the back (with a helmet, don’t worry!) and held on tight. The sun was bright – a beautiful spring day — and I couldn’t stop smiling.

Riding a moped in Beijing is the way to go! It’s like a video game. We were able to drive past cars, zigzag around bicycles and pedestrians, skip the queue for the lights and turn left in front of everyone, park on the sidewalk, etc. It was amazing and I laughed out loud with delight. I really can’t think of a better word than “delight” to describe it. I loved every second.

Apparently, you can get away without having a license for a moped in Beijing, especially if you’re a foreigner. Many license plates on mopeds here in Beijing appear to be upside down and this is the sign that it is not an officially licensed vehicle. The police may stop a driver, but the foreigners are hard to deal with when they don’t speak Chinese and so the likelihood of arrest or having your moped impounded is nil. I also heard that by 2008 and the Olympic games, they will start cracking down on these and other illegal two-wheeled vehicles. Until then, I’ve seen plenty “unofficial” mopeds and motorcycles, especially in Wudaokou where there are so many foreigners.

Will introduced me to a great restaurant in “Nan Luo Gu Xiang” called “Luogu” or “Drum and Gong Fusion Restaurant” in English (pictured above.) We walked into the restaurant, through the tables and to a set of very narrow back stairs, not unlike attic steps in century-old houses back home. We had to duck at the top of the landing because the ceiling was too low. We turned and ducked again through the child-height entrance to the outdoor rooftop patio. It was full of tables and umbrellas and dripping in sunlight like caramel. I paused before sitting down so that I could drink in the gold of the sun – an elixir for the eyes. It felt as though we had been magically lifted up and out the traffic and congestion of the streets below and then gently placed into a perfect paradise of quiet and surrounding foliage.

Will’s also vegan and he has been giving me some insight into the world of eating as a vegan in Beijing. His Chinese is way better than mine, too, and so I gave him total liberty to order for us. While this wasn’t a vegan or a vegetarian restaurant, his choices were impeccable. We talked and ate and shared insights about music and writing and city life and travelling. He’s American and has been here two years already, and so his knowledge of this city was impressive. He had lots of share and I have open ears.

After our amazing meal and conversation, we got back on the moped and went across town to a well-known independent record store called “Fu Sheng Chang Pian” or “Free Sound Records” in English. It’s an independent record store and Will suggested that it would be a good place for me to pick up some music by female artists here in Beijing to help direct my research (see this post for more information about my research here). The people in the store were really helpful and I came away with three new CDs for the low price of 30 kuai each (or $4.33 Canadian — how do musicians earn a living at that price?) All three of the artists are female, independent, Beijing-based songwriters and I believe they all play instruments too (besides their voices). I’m looking forward to listening to them.

I waited around for Will to be done with his tasks because I was secretly hoping I’d get one more ride on the moped. I honestly fell in love with that moped yesterday and I think I may have to negotiate an open relationship with my bicycle! Otherwise, I’m two-timing my bike and I am not the type to keep those kinds of secrets . . . !

We were standing on the sidewalk outside of the record store when he offered to drop me off at the subway station where I was meeting my friend Sarah for yet another mission to the arts district of Beijing called “Da Shan Zi” (more on this soon). I eagerly accepted his offer – maybe too eagerly – and I noticed my childlike exuberance flash back at me from my reflection in the record store window. Just a split-second sparkle that caught my eye before putting on my helmet and hopping on the back of Will’s moped for my final ride of the day.

Swerving, twisting, between cars, around bicycles, passing congestion and capturing open spaces like prizes, we motored through the cityscape like it was maze and we had the map. Once again: delight. The sun on my back, the wind in my hair, my smile peering over his left shoulder.

I gotta get me one of these!

(Okay, well maybe not. But if I lived here permanently, I’d seriously consider it!)

A Canadian In Beijing: Two-Wheeled Matrimony

by Ember Swift on

I’ve been here for three weeks and I’m pretty sure that yesterday was my first “bad day.” Okay, perhaps “bad” is the wrong word for it. I’d have to say that what started as a good day became a low day, a sad day, a frustrating and annoying day. . . a day when I wished I were home and not here. . . for just an hour, perhaps. I could have even found solace in twenty minutes. (They need to invent that transporter device from Star Trek already!)

The air was thick with a mixture of pollution and desert dust and there was a cool wind. Beijing was crying for rain but the tears wouldn’t come from the sky. Wind cut through my clothes as I went to fetch my new bike (second-hand – thanks Sarah! – but new to me) so that I could take it out on our honeymoon ride.
I am very happy to have a bike. It gives me a chance to explore the far reaches of my neighbourhood and have more freedom time-wise than walking gives. Yesterday, I decided to seek out the “Lotus in Moonlight Vegetarian Restaurant” that I was told about by one of my Chinese friends. He even drew me a map and it seemed easy enough to understand. I got on my bike and pedalled in the direction of food. My bike and I were getting along beautifully.

I got to the area where the restaurant was supposed to be and this is when my day started to twist and turn. Sometimes I think that people here get a kick out of misdirecting the foreigner. I’ve been cynical enough to wonder this because it’s not the first time that I’ve been pointed the wrong way by a local and have had to re-trace my steps. My language skills can’t be that bad!

This happened three times. It took me a half an hour of navigating several office building parking lots and busy side streets before I was confident that I had the right building. Why was I confident? Because I had asked three different people. I was tired of trusting solitary answers. I started to approach asking directions with skepticism rather than trust. That was probably the place where my day descended: my attitude.

I locked up my bike and I headed inside. (I have since learned that all the bikes are locked here, but often only with this back lock, which is so subtle that I hadn’t noticed it before. I also use a second front lock, as per Sarah’s suggestion.)

This was both a shopping mall and an office building and it was hard to identify where the shopping began and where the offices ended. Escalators brought me up to the third floor where I was greeted by gaudy wrapped pillars and sparsely designed shopping counters selling a variety of specialty items.

The restaurant was one of the corner suites on this floor. It was beautiful and spacious with wide-open windows that overlooked more courtyards to yet more buildings. The chairs were plush and throne-like and the menu was a hardcover book that looked more like a coffee table book of photography than it did a restaurant menu.

The prices reflected the décor.

Unfortunately, the service did not.

It seems to me that I was disturbing the waitress by being there, even though I was one of only two customers. She spoke so quickly that I couldn’t understand her. When I asked her kindly if she would please repeat what she had said more slowly, she actually sped up her speech instead.

Despite this mean-spirited move, I was still able to gather that no food was available as it was between lunch and dinner (about 3:00pm). I then tried to order just a cup of tea, but then certain beverages were also not available and I couldn’t ascertain why they weren’t and why they were. All in all, everything the waitress said seemed to be unclear and slurred. She rolled her eyes with annoyance when I said I didn’t understand. Even her body language conveyed annoyance. After “dealing” with me, she went across the room and complained to her friends and fellow workers who then all turned and stared at me at the same moment.

What was bothering her so much? Was it my presence during an ‘off’ time’? My lack of proficient Chinese language skills? My affluence in being able to walk into that restaurant at all? (And c’mon, I’m a musician and I had already gathered that I’d only be able to afford some tea and some soup there). Or was it my ragged appearance?

Or maybe she was having a terrible day too and she decided that this “laowai” was an easy target for her bad mood. Really, there’s no telling what the reasons were, there’s just the response to manage; and mine was one of dejection and frustration.

I ordered an overpriced juice – 20 kuai – and I drank it, looked out the window for about five minutes, and then I left. I felt mistreated and ripped off at the same time, not to mention still hungry and therefore more irritable.

I was undoing the locks on my bike outside when a man approached me and asked me for money. He gestured to the row of bikes and I quickly remembered that sometimes you have to pay to park your bike in this city. Seeing as this was more of a business district, it made sense that someone was responsible for the bikes outside. It’s safer that way, especially considering the fact that bike theft is rampant in Beijing.

I asked him how much and he said “wu” or “five” and I was aghast. “Five kuai!” I said in Chinese, “that’s way too expensive!” This was the wrong time to overcharge me for something, considering the trouble I’d just had with bad directions coupled with that terrible restaurant experience! My tone was defensive and sharp and I narrowed my eyes at him expecting a fight in my third language.

He looked at me blankly, paused, and then slowly held up a five mao note.

My stony defenses crumbled like a sand castle. I felt so sheepish. Five mao and Five kuai are very different – it’s the difference between $0.07 and $0.73 Canadian. I apologized immediately and handed him my five mao. He thanked me and I said “bu keqi” which is the respectful way of saying you’re welcome and it means, literally, “don’t be so polite” or “no politeness [needed].” I mean, after all, I wasn’t polite to him and so why should he be polite to me? I hoped he heard both the literal and the conventional meanings.

So, I had yet another big lesson about carrying forward negative energy. I took on the waitress’s negative energy and then passed it on to the parking attendant. I can only hope that it stopped there.

Just before hopping on my bike and heading home to some groceries in my fridge, I heard some music that was being pumped out of a nearby outdoor stage. It was Air Supply: All out of Love. I have a big love-on for Air Supply. They’re cheesy and wonderful – lush harmonies and reverb on the drums that goes for days. I know all the words. Total 80’s nostalgia.

I got on my bike and rode the whole way back to my dorm room (about fifteen minutes) singing this song at full volume, not caring who heard and who didn’t.

And I felt better.

“I’m all out of love / What am I without you? / I can’t be too late to say that I was so wrong.”

I sang it to my bike.

We’re gonna stay married.

A Canadian In Beijing: A Shu-in for Language Training

by Ember Swift on

School is… school. It’s hard, but it’s helpful. It’s work, but it’s bringing pleasure. It’s a commitment, but it’s enabling a freedom that I couldn’t have predicted.

I am a part-time student at the “Beijing Yuyan Daxue,” or Beijing Language and Culture University in Wudaokou, a suburb of Beijing. Above is a picture of the southern campus gates.

Every day, I wake up at about 7:15 in the morning, shower, get dressed, make tea and then take my bag and leave my dorm. I have to walk about ten minutes from my building to the classroom and I grab my breakfast en route. There are kiosks between here and there. One sells fresh fruits and I buy two bananas everyday, which costs me 3 kuai. The other sells hot buns and various other non-vegan items. I buy “su baozi” or vegetable dumplings, which are more like thin rolls filled with vegetables and the occasional chunk of egg that I pick out and leave for the birds. They cost me 5 mao each but I usually get two, which amounts to 1 kuai. All in all, my breakfast costs me 4 kuai, or just under $0.60 Canadian.

With my bananas in my bag, my tea in my travel cup in one hand and my warm “su baozi” in the other, I enter the classroom building and mount four flights to my classroom. Everyday, we greet each other with “ni hao” and smiles and we’re all getting to know one another as we move forward with this language.

I haven’t been a student for nine years. I mean, an “officially enrolled” student. Of course, I’ve been learning constantly and that includes lots of reading and research and discussion about lots of different topics. I’d consider myself a student by nature even without an official student card. Our student cards actually look more like mini passports. They have photos and covers and are very formal-looking.

In some ways, being enrolled somewhere is an experience that has been hard to get re-accustomed to. Having to wake up early, for example, has been tough for my nocturnal self. I have taken to afternoon naps to recover from late-nights and I have been a slave to the caffeine in my morning green tea. I’d also say that the studying outside of class has been hard to be disciplined about, too. After I’ve gone to school and napped, I always want to explore this city and not sit over my books for a few more hours. I’m having to push myself to get the homework done and I haven’t always been successful.

My classes begin at 8:00 am everyday, five days a week, and they go until noon. They consist of two hours of grammar and textual understanding and then two hours of conversation classes, which rotate between a listening and pronunciation class that happens twice a week. We have breaks every hour for about ten minutes and then a longer break at ten a.m. for about twenty minutes.

Everything is in Chinese. All instructions and all descriptions of meaning and all definitions of words are in Chinese. Everyone in the class comes with their dictionaries in case a word is introduced and the definition makes no more sense than the word itself. Sometimes looking up a word and finding the translation in one’s native language is the easiest way to understand it and I am often flipping through my dictionary to catch up with the teacher.

There are about eight levels here and I am in about the fifth level — pretty much right in the middle. I have been slotted in an intermediate class as a result of my previous foundation for this language. I share a class with nineteen other students who also have prior background of varying degrees. Some have studied Mandarin before in their home countries (like I have) and others have taken lower level courses here at this university or at privately owned smaller schools here in Beijing.

One student is a Chinese woman who was raised in Switzerland and whose main language is French. She spoke Mandarin with her parents at home but never learned to read or write. As a result, she is quick to understand what’s going on verbally but slow to understand what has been written in the texts or on the blackboard. It is this student who I regularly access if I have questions about something the teacher has said. She and I speak French together in those moments. My second language has truly come in handy here.

Otherwise, I am the only student in the class whose mother tongue is English. If I need help understanding something, the best I can do is speak with that one student in French. Otherwise, I have to resort to speaking in Chinese with everyone else. Sometimes we have lunch together and it is a lunch of choppy, remedial Chinese but a chance to help one another be understood.

Here are the cultures represented by my class: Nine students are from Korea, three are from Indonesia, two are from Japan, two are from Italy, two are from Thailand, one is from Switzerland and one is from Canada – me! (Not all of the students were present when the above picture was taken.)

For the most part, I’m really enjoying it. I have already started using the new vocabulary in my non-school life. For instance, I had to look into some train tickets for the upcoming May holiday (hoping to get to Shanghai!) and I utilized most of the words we were taught in a previous chapter about “holidays.” It was fun to put those words to use and to know that they were the right expressions before I launched into guessing and gestures – a dangerous miming game that often leads to more confusion in Chinese. (This is the kind of language where guessing at words is often a dismal failure. Trust me, I’ve tried it.)

I’ve also had a good time with my fellow students and teachers. After class, I helped one of my teachers with some of her writing in English, for instance, which was rewarding because it had felt like forever since I was considered an “expert” in a language! We are also doing a big class meal this week that is being prepared by the Korean students at one of their apartments. They are excited to introduce me to Korean vegetarian food.

Finally, I think I’m learning how to be funny in Chinese.

Many of the words in this language are the same sound, just different tones. For instance, the word “brother-in-law” is “shu(1) shu(1)” (tones are marked in parentheses); the verb “to count” is “shu(3)”; a way of saying “several” or “a few” is “shu(4)”; and “book” is “shu(1)” (again, another first tone but a different character than the one for “brother-in-law.”) Side note: In English, the words “shoo” and “shoe” sound the same but are very different, so context is everything in both languages!

So a few days ago, I asked the pronunciation teacher (in Chinese, of course) if the following was a grammatically correct sentence: “the brother-in-law counted up the books.” In Chinese, the sentence sounds like: “shu shu shu shu shu” (but I did pronounce the tones!) There was a pause in the classroom and then everyone laughed. When the laughter trailed off, the teacher told me that it technically did work as a sentence but was not exactly a common one! And then she smiled.

Well, I guess not. Otherwise, things could get confusing very quickly!

A Canadian In Beijing: Vegan in China, Part 1

by Ember Swift on

I have had several requests to write about what it’s like to be vegan in China. In the first week, I felt as though my writing would be more of a whine and less informed, less patient and certainly less complete on the subject. Why? Because I was starving!

After all, stepping off the plane in Beijing without having ever had any immersion in this language, you can imagine how I’d find it hard to ascertain where the whole foods were sold, what restaurants were good to eat in, how to order without making a mistake and receiving something I couldn’t (and wouldn’t want to) eat, how to read packages in Chinese, etc. Now, after more than two weeks here, my honest first impression is this:

It sucks to be a vegan in China.

Many of you are probably thinking, “How is that possible? It’s a country of rice, vegetables and tofu?” Well, that’s true, in a way. . .

I could definitely eat rice many times a day and it only costs pennies a bowl (literally: one bowl of rice is 5 mao in the university canteen which equals about $0.05 Canadian.)

I can also order vegetable plates in most restaurants but the food here is exceptionally oily and is always prepared in the same woks as the meat dishes. It’s not unusual to receive a plate of vegetables with the occasional chunk of stray beef from a previously cooked dish. Eggs are also used in everything here. Bits of egg seem to show up in the most unlikely places.

And tofu? It is often prepared in the juices of meat. It is not designed as a meat replacement for the vegetarian diner, but more as an alternate taste and/or texture in an already diverse meal. Many people eat tofu here, but not because they don’t eat meat. It’s simply a common legume-derived product that is part of the Chinese culinary palette.

I have partially been living on snacks like fresh yam chips, all natural compacted fruit snacks, lots of soy milk and sesame snacks. Thanks to some forward thinking on my part too, I had about ten Larabars with me that kept me going during my first week.

In the land of Buddhism, where is the food?

On my fourth day here after eating lots of fresh fruits and vegetables, white rice and some terrifying though apparently vegetarian restaurant dishes that I shudder to re-visit in my mind (and stomach), I decided to make the long and uncharted journey to a vegetarian restaurant just south of the university.

With map in hand, some Chinese currency and a determined appetite, I braved the subway for the first time (hunger motivates!) and then also navigated several unmarked streets and eventually, after about an hour of combined travel and walking, came upon a pair of locked gates. Beyond the gates was my restaurant, Beihe Vegetarian, closed and inaccessible.

The guard at the gates said “bu kaimen” over and over, which only means “not open” and when I asked why, he answered me but I had no idea what he said. I looked at him blankly, blurred by hunger. My vocabulary is growing daily but it’s definitely challenged whenever I ask someone “why” about nearly anything. On day #4, my vocabulary was seriously impaired, not just by the culture shock and unfamiliarity with this language, but also by my empty stomach!

Dejected, I walked slowly back to the subway. It was now 1:30 in the afternoon.

I stopped in a corner store and bought a cold bottle of sweetened green tea. The sugar hit helped. It reignited my commitment to finding a place to eat – my one mission for that day – and so I decided to seek out another location of the same restaurant, this one downtown.

I made my way to the second subway line, got out at the right stop, walked the forty-five minutes or so into the northeast edge of the city core and happily discovered a snack vendor selling fresh peanuts. I ate them ravenously as I continued to search for the street that I needed. Another half an hour of walking and getting lost (though with more of a sense of humour thanks to the peanuts), I found the little street that housed the downtown location of the Bei He Vegetarian Restaurant.

This time, it was open.

It was now 4:30 in the afternoon and I was more than ready for a meal.

I proceeded to have a brilliant lunch that was spontaneously shared with an American woman who was also eating alone. Altogether, the meal cost each of us about $3.50 Canadian.

This was an example of an oasis in a carnivorous desert. At least, that’s how I felt at the time. But, there had to be more options! I refused to have to launch a pilgrimage to a downtown restaurant every time I needed to eat.

That’s where my Aussie friend Sarah came in. She had a Lonely Planet guidebook to Beijing and it actually listed a vegetarian restaurant in Wudaokou, the suburb I live in. She came to visit me last week and together we set out on foot in search of food. Twenty minutes later, I arrived at my new best friend: The Happiness Restaurant.

Oh, what a happy day!

Not only is this restaurant vegetarian, but it’s also egg-free, dairy-free, smoke-free and alcohol-free. Did I mention it’s also delicious? I have now eaten there three times. Last night, they greeted me like I was an extended member of their family. I may just wear path between my house and this restaurant after three months.

Finally, I’ve taken to cooking in my dorm. I bought a cute little pot that has a lid and a bowl that all fit together. I have found that this contraption works as a steamer as well. I can put rice noodles in the bottom of the pot, pour boiling water over them, put veggies in the bowl and place this over the cooking noodles. Then, I can cover it and let it sit for about five minutes and everything is cooked perfectly. I finally bought tofu that isn’t flavoured or smoked, as well, and some almonds and Bragg top off the meal nicely.


Bragg is my travelling companion. I don’t leave home without it. It’s a low-sodium, wheat-free, non-GMO, liquid soy product that is touted as “liquid amino acids.” It’s tasty and lighter than Chinese soy sauce and I’m so glad that I brought a big bottle with me. I hope it lasts me three months!

All in all, please don’t worry. I’m eating. I’m learning. I’m finding more and more options every day. I do believe I will have more to say on this topic and so stay tuned for Part 2. I hear there’s even a Vegetarian Association of Beijing. I’ll be looking into that for sure.

Until then, I’m being innovative.