A Canadian In Beijing: Malled

by Ember Swift on

My little dorm room came with a kettle and a cup and a few towels but not much else besides the furniture and some simple bedding. To get through three months, I knew that I’d need a few simple household items. For instance, I didn’t have a bowl or a scrub brush for dishes, nor did I have any dish towels or a good pair of scissors for cutting open packages. I also needed some self-loading pencils for the numerous Chinese characters I’m writing in school, the kinds with built-in erasers for the likewise numerous mistakes that I’ll make writing those very same characters.

Anyway, this is all to say that I needed to go shopping.

The other part of the truth (which may or may not be the bigger part!) is that I had been avoiding doing my laundry and I was completely out of underwear. Rather than hand wash a few pairs to get me through, I decided that I could probably afford to buy a few more pairs. Lazy, I know. I’m such a stereotypic bachelor right now!

With all this in mind, I grabbed my reusable shopping bags and headed to the heart of Wudaokou.

It is really hard to gauge the size and scope of a building’s interior in this city. For instance, the university has a huge canteen. The first time I explored it, I saw a large room and a lot of food being offered, cafeteria-style. The second time I went in, I noticed an upstairs and there I found another large room with separate kiosks of food like at a North American mall. The third time I went in there, I was with fellow students who led me upstairs again but this time we went through a rear door of that same upstairs room. This door looked like a service entrance, so I hadn’t questioned it, but it brought us into a hallway that led to restaurant after restaurant offering various international fare. I was amazed at my terrible sleuthing skills the two times previous.

I feel a little like Alice walking through the looking glass. I have no idea what I’ll find around every corner and I am constantly in awe at the density of sights, smells, sounds and activity here.

So, en route to aforementioned room supplies, I went into the Lotus Center for the second time since arriving. As I was walking around, I suddenly noticed an escalator at the far end of the small, main-floor, shopping complex that I had mistakenly understood to be the entirety of the “Lotus Center.” I went up this escalator and found myself in a giant mall with three levels that offered everything from DVDs to housewares, new shoes to fresh vegetables, cigarettes to shampoo.

Okay then. How did I miss that the first time?

I stood at the top of the first escalator looking around, dumbfounded, and became a bit like a rock in the riverbed of a flowing public. People flowed around and past me as I turned and waited for a relatively quiet moment to photograph the escalator.

Because I have never seen items for sale on an escalator before. The items don’t move but you do. How does that work?

Picture this: you’re the shopper and you think, “hey, maybe I’ll buy that item but I’d like to check out the ingredients first.” Then, after picking it up and realizing that you’d probably be better off without all those unpronounceable contents in your body, you’ve been carried up and away from where it belongs! Stranded at the top or stranded at the bottom with a box of cheap cookies in your hand, what do you do?

Maybe it’s a brilliant idea. Perhaps you’d look at the effort it would take to put it back — You’d have to do the up/down loop in order to be the conscientious shopper who returns an unwanted item to whence it came, after all — and then just throw it in your basket and consider buying it as your penance for being lazy? Go back into the flowing public just to put back a box of cookies? I think not. Besides, at that point in the consideration, you’d likely have talked yourself into wanting them after all! Maybe they’ll be the most delicious thing you’ve ever tasted, you wonder.

Oh how the mind justifies. This is how advertising gets us.

As you can imagine, with these ideas running through my head and so much to take in, I sometimes walk around a bit like I’m in a daze. China makes me move slowly and I get jostled around and bumped into by people left and right — people who are less in a state of wonder and with more of an agenda. This was how it was for me for the remainder of my time in the Lotus Center. My little basket and I wandered wide-eyed through aisle after aisle and my little basket slowly got heavier.

I admit to being tempted by the incredibly low prices of stuff here. I bought my underwear. The women’s version was terrible and came with bows! I ended up buying a four-pack of men’s cotton briefs with some cool designs on them for a whopping 4 kuai (or almost $0.59 a pack — That makes it $0.15 a pair!) Note to self: I am bigger than a men’s medium in China; they’re kinda tight!

And what else did I buy? Well, 96 kuai later and I must admit that I’m not quite sure! I got my school supplies and some letter-writing supplies, some slippers for my cold dorm floor, tea towels, some food products, some water. All in all, it’s easy to say that things are cheap here, but those cheap things eventually cost a lot of money! I know that 80 kuai is only $14 Canadian, but I am aiming to keep this journey within budget and so I found myself scratching my head.

Did I really need the beer shampoo just because it was made of beer?

Maybe I can blame it on the televisions? At the end of every second aisle, a television set with non-stop advertising easily catches a shopper’s gaze. At least, it caught mine! I watched a few ads just for entertainment’s sake, but didn’t buy the products being advertised. Still, perhaps I was subliminally affected into believing that “buying is good” and “shopping is healthy” and “I need more stuff.”

Those discounts are alluring. I couldn’t resist.

At the checkout counter, I dutifully waited my turn and have become quite good at saying “wo bu yao daizi, xie xie,” which means: “I don’t want a plastic bag, thank you.” Everything is put in plastic here unless actively requested otherwise. They look at me strangely but accept my weird “foreign” request without much dispute. Lately, I’ve also starting following up my request with: “shijie you tai duo de daizi.” This means: “The world has too many plastic bags.”

The last time I said that, I actually got a smile.

This is a picture of my checkout line among about twenty others. If only my little camera could capture the panoramic of these views to show the whole scale of such experiences. You’ll just have to take my word for it!

A Canadian In Beijing: La La Bar Land

by Ember Swift on

If I can suggest anything to a fellow traveller about entertainment and experience in other cultures, I would suggest taking in the gay scene in any major city in the world. Regardless of sexual orientation, I think it’s an amazing experience and I regularly seek out the “alternative” establishments to pepper my more mainstream music and dance club prowls.

Last night, I went to a women’s bar in Beijing.

Lesbians in Mandarin are called “La La” as a slang term (see character pictured – the larger of the two, repeated twice) and this is the main “La La Ba” (lesbian bar) in Beijing.

I went out with my new friend Sarah, an Australian who’s been here for six months and has offered to introduce me to people to help launch my research. I had learned in advance of coming to this city that a woman by the name of Qiao Qiao actually ran the “La La Ba” in Beijing. She is the same woman who recently released a single on YouTube called “Ai Bu Fen,” translated into “Love Doesn’t Discriminate” (literally: “love makes no difference or separation”). It is a song about love between two women. Qiao Qiao is considered the first out lesbian artist that the Chinese music scene has ever seen.And, it’s debatable as to whether the scene really even has seen her. This song was not commercially released in China, but was released outside of the country via the internet. At least, that’s what I’ve been told and I’m yet to know otherwise. I have so much to ask her about what it has been like for her. I was excited about the possibility of meeting her.

So, with this in mind, I trekked to the southeast part of the city to a venue called “Pipe” with Sarah and several other non-Chinese women living in Beijing who regularly frequent this venue. When we walked in, there was immediately a 30 kuai cover charge (50 kuai for men! Sorry guys!) and we filed into the crowded room filled with smoke and stares and gathered at the bar to order some drinks.

The dance floor was packed with gender-bending dance moves alongside of women in heels with hair piled high and arms in the air. I was hit suddenly by memories of 1994, the days when Ace of Bass and white denim jean jackets went hand-in-hand. I watched the crowd and the crowd watched us, a gaggle of “laowai” (slang for foreigners) whose presence was impossible to overlook.

This group of women told me that I wouldn’t meet Qiao Qiao there but gave me some good hope that a meeting would be possible while I’m here in Beijing. They promised to connect me through the Beijing women’s community to the right people with whom I can put the word out about my research.

Okay then. One of Sarah’s friends bought me a beer. Let the night begin.

We found some space beside a crowded booth in the back corner and some of the women I came with immediately spotted another non-Chinese couple a few feet away. Within moments, they were pulled into our conversation and drilled as to their nationality and their reasons for being in the city. Two more non-Chinese women came through the door moments later and proved to be more friends of this crowd and joined the crew. Now, we were an inimitable posse and I was starting to feel more and more uncomfortable by the blatant divide between “Laowai” and “Zhong Guo ren” (Chinese people).

A party of Chinese women were sandwiched next to us and I veered from the laowai group and smiled in their direction. One of the women smiled back and leaned towards me to ask me if I spoke Chinese. I responded that I did that then we had a brief chat about my reasons for being here and my interest in China. She consistently complimented my Mandarin and, despite the fact that these compliments are frequent from native Chinese speakers, I lapped it up and felt inspired by my comprehension, especially above the bad dance music.

Her friend also moved closer to take in the conversation and then asked me directly if I was a “T” or a “P”? I had been warned of this question by my friend Sarah who explained that there is still very much a gender division in the Beijing lesbian world along the lines of the western expressions “butch” and “femme.” Meaning, in Beijing, women identify as either “tomboys” or “pure girls” (which is loaded with implications that immediately trigger my feminist defenses!) and there is no room for a middle ground.

I responded that I don’t identify as either “T” or “P” and they nodded hesitantly and then re-phrased my poor Chinese into: “it’s not like that in foreign countries.” I nodded in agreement despite the inadequacy of my response and the conversation moved to other things like tattoos, dancing and alcohol. Generally, it was a bar chat like any other except this one was in Mandarin.

Shortly after this exchange, I went to the bathroom and glanced in the mirror at my long(ish) hair that has grown significantly this year. And in the squatter, I also noticed that I was wearing a pair of hot pink “Tomboy Girl” underwear and couldn’t help but laugh at the apparent contradictions in my gender get-up that evening.

But really, in my world, a combination of “T” and “P” just makes “TP” — toilet paper. And the notion of cleaving my gender identity into one half or the other seems such a waste to me – like flushing away one part of yourself to express the other. Of course, this isn’t my culture and I’ll keep my opinions about gender to my Canadian self… and my pacquet of TP safely in my pocket!

***
Please note: the absence of “people” shots in this post is a result of the nature of the bar. They even got antsy when they saw my camera in the first place. I had to delicately and obviously take a picture of that sign and then “studious” put my camera back in its case. I guess being “out” in China (and documented) is not yet high on the agenda. Then again, this is still the case in many places in North America.

A Canadian In Beijing: Live Music in China’s Capital

by Ember Swift on

Mao Live House is smoky and cavernous. It’s only ten after eight in the evening but there are already a few people lingering along the edges and the door staff were poised and ready to take my thirty kuai cover charge to see these three bands tonight. I was welcomed in English, which isn’t uncommon where ticket prices are higher than average, but I responded in Chinese and paid willingly to support the local artists. (Thirty kuai, after all, is only about $4.50 Canadian, a steal for three live acts on the same night!)

This venue is known as the best sounding live music venue in town and it definitely has the equipment to prove it. It is owned by a Japanese company and, according to Traci (a.k.a. my Beijing informant: an American woman who has been living here for thirteen years), it was outfitted by the same company with state-of-the-art sound equipment and a Japanese sound tech to go with it.

Said sound tech looks sullen behind the sound desk. There’s a Madonna-esque pop song blaring through the sound system as he puffs at his endless cigarette and seems suspended in his cloud of droopy boredom. Head leaning into his bent arm, floppy hat forming a canopy over his eyebrows, long black hair in a messy ponytail at the nape of his neck. He looks just like any sound guy in any city. In fact, maybe even livelier than some!

The floor of the venue has three levels, each separated by an iron railing save the walkway between them. The uppermost at the back of the room is equipped with chairs and a small table and I am told that this is the media section. It is reserved for media during big shows when interviews are needed or a filming section is required that is a few feet about the crowd. Tonight, however, there are no media people and this section is open.

I opt for the pit instead. I want to see every little detail.

This place would suit a punk show for sure with its grey cement floors, near complete absence of seating and the black walls and railings and stage. Save the “MAO” logo on the rear wall of the stage, there is no wall decoration at all. Very fitting! I’m sure Chairman Mao would have approved of these interior design choices.

More people trail in with cigarettes in hand to thicken the air and help out the lights. Several non-Chinese as well and I notice shopping bags and other tourist paraphernalia like maps, cameras and a Mandarin phrase book tucked in one of the girl’s coat pocket.

In this case and without being able to hear the language being spoken above the pounding pop music, I think can safely identify this small group as “foreigners.” I am careful about using this word as a result of the large ex-pat community here and the possibility that many non-Chinese people may have been born and bred here, not to mention the biracial community that is often mistaken as foreign in their own country.

I return my gaze to the stage that is outfitted with a shiny new “Canopus” drum kit (a brand I have never heard of), two Marshall stacks and a Fender twin (electric guitar amps) and an Ampeg bass amp. Traci tells me that all venues are equipped here. Bands don’t need to bring their own amps or drum kits to their shows. Transitions between bands are smooth as a result and the sound is consistent all night.

This makes me think of some venues in Manhattan that offer this level of “backline” (the industry word for equipment provided by the venue or event.) In New York, it’s in response to both limited parking on the streets and limited space in the venue to store three sets of band equipment between sets each night. I’m assuming this is part of the motivation here, as well. Traci is surprised to hear that this is not how it’s done in most parts of North America.

The music begins at about 8:45. This venue starts early to accommodate the average attendees’ dependency on public transit. To get back to Wudaokou from Guloudongdajie on the subway, I would have to leave at 10:40pm on the last northbound yellow line train. That’s impossibly early in most live music circles. Tonight, I can make it if I choose to leave just before the end of the third act and I’m grateful for the option.

The first act is Zhang Tie (pictured in the first photograph), a singer-songwriter in the pop-rock genre with an amazing voice. His band is tight and practiced and the arrangements keep my ears alert. They’re all talented and serious players who handle the diversity between the songs with “mei guanxi” (no problems). The songs range from slow ballads to driving rock riffs and I’m relieved at how much I enjoy his performance and can appreciate the talent on stage.

Zhengtie is Traci’s boyfriend and I’ve heard a lot about him. He is the first fellow artist in China that I have met here. I have been invited to jam and hang out with his friends this coming week and this will hopefully lead me closer to my research goals with this trip re: women in music in China.

It starts with one contact and leads to a community.

The second group was a hard rock and reggae infused band called Ma Ya. They were highly entertaining and got the crowd dancing and excited. Some of the riffs were daring and original with melodic bass lines and shifting time signatures.

Finally, the night ended with Bu Yi whose mixture of rock and traditional folk was moving and beautiful. The drummer, an amazing backing vocalist as well, even stopped playing during a breakdown section and played a melodica in harmony with the electric guitar. The sudden absence of drums and the introduction of a new sound for just twelve bars was a refreshing performance move. The audience held their breath for the section and then went crazy with applause when it ended and the groove resumed.

I gently joked with my new friends about the rock’n roll drama on stage. In fact, in a room that holds at least three hundred people comfortably, there weren’t more than about seventy-five people in attendance. Despite the low attendance, the rock moves were in full form. There wasn’t a droplet of energy lost in response to low numbers, which I respect and appreciate from the fan’s perspective. Still, my friend’s response was: “Well, that’s so Chinese. This is the Chinese rock scene!” I’m not sure what that means, but my cheeky response was lost in the screaming amplifiers: “I wonder if the moves make you rock harder?”

When the last band ended, it was only eleven o’clock. The crowd spilled out onto the sidewalk and gathered in small overlapping circle to smoke and chat and to eventually be carried off by the constant stream of cabs. I exchanged mobile numbers with my new friends and waved goodbye after promises to get together for jams, gear shopping and language exchange conversation. Zhengtie even loaned me his acoustic guitar for my show this Sunday.

Oh, did I forget to mention that I have a gig on Sunday? It’s at a venue called Yugong Yishan. I’m doing a solo opening set before a Chinese folk-rock act. I landed the gig during my first few days here after meeting Traci who promptly introduced me to the venue’s booking rep. In fact, I will be performing again at the same venue on May 23rd. Be on the lookout for some brief gig reports for any of you travellers who happen to also be performers!

My first experience with live music in China was fantastic. Of course, it won’t be my last!

A Canadian in Beijing: Righteous Bikes

by Ember Swift on

The thing about bicycles in Beijing is that they’re fearless, they’re everywhere, they’re irreverent and they’re their own characters. I know that it’s people who ride these bikes, but there seems to be a network of bikes themselves, like a secret society of Beijing bikes that meet at “koumen” (intersections) at all hours of the day to discuss how to better rule the roads. You can almost see them greeting each other in passing.

They’re as alive as this city.

I could write about cycling in Beijing for days. I’m sure this will be one of many posts on the subject. I’ve been observing the clambering chaos between pedestrians, bicycles and cars and after one week I have come to the following conclusion: bikes are in still in front.

They win the power struggle every time because they have the right to both abide by traffic laws and reject them. They seem to have no regulation whatsoever. All in all, the bikes of Beijing are anarchists.

Righteous.A Beijing bike can be seen in the bike lane (and there are a few, though cars and pedestrians often use these lanes too) or in the thick of the streets with the cars and trucks — even turning left in front of oncoming traffic. They hop up on sidewalks when it suits them and ride backwards against traffic when they don’t feel like crossing at the light. All in all, the bicycles are ever-present pedaling powerhouses.

And some are rickety and some are slick. Some are small and can be folded up (I love those!) and some are huge with giant trailers attached for large loads. In fact, these are the ones that I keep photographing because they’re so different from the bikes I know at home. I love how they can be loaded up with giant piles of unrecognizable stuff and still be upright and rolling confidently. Most of these big ones have three wheels, which helps with said confidence.

Now, the only ones I’ve ever seen that look like these are the ones that are quietly used by seniors at my Grandmother’s retirement village in Florida! Obviously they’re related to these bikes, but they haven’t really experienced the urban thrill of takeover. We need to free those Florida counterparts into the cityscape of the future!!

Yesterday I went downtown to search out some music equipment and to explore yet another downtown Beijing area. I was walking along East Gulouda when a bike passed me that was carrying two (yes two!) large leather easy chairs on its wide back. They were piled high and together like two L-shaped pieces of a Tetris game expertly placed. They were strapped together and to the bike itself. Nothing was teetering.

It was breathtaking.

I would even venture to say that it was beautiful; a beautiful example of invention, maneuvering and physics. Not for the faint at heart and truly for the cycling faithful. I grabbed my camera and tried to snap a shot but it was moving too fast. I missed it, but here is an image of another similarly laden bicycle. Differently stacked but equally awesome.

Bicycles are the main work vehicles here. Street cleaning happens from a bicycle and so, too, does street vending and small-scale commercial shipping.

Street cleaners have tools hanging from their bikes like brooms and shovels (pictured). They collect waste in the bike’s container as they move along. Most vendors selling food or other material do so from the back of a bike, and usually with a Aussie “Ute” style flat bed back to enable optimal viewing of merchandise.

Finally, bikes are also used as shipping vehicles. Here’s an image on one carrying several flats of “pijiu” or bottles of beer. This is one step up from the urban couriers of Toronto who mostly just carry small packages and written material.

I’m impressed.

All of these work bikes are the big ones too. These big-load bikes here seem like the ring leaders of the anarchist bike league. They’re the chiefs, the captains, the head honchos, the bigwigs, er. . . wheels. They lumber into intersections and are all the more fearless as a result of their size. The other bikes part and then fill in the wake of their passing like small fish do for whales.

Besides the hierarchy of might and manner, I have to mention the bikes at rest. They are everywhere, especially outside of the subway stops. Locks are also not very common. Those that are locked are only locked to themselves (and generally not to any permanent fixture) and they are mostly the newer bikes. The older ones are left to fend for themselves.

All in all, it’s a lonely pile of metal half standing, half lying on large sections of sidewalk in such a density that it’s difficult to distinguish one from the other. How do people locate their bikes after work? Your guess is as good as mine. In fact, I have an Australian friend here who said that she thought her bike was stolen until she found it three weeks later outside of the subway stop. I laughed out loud when I heard that because I can so imagine it.

This is an image of the bikes outside of my building. Just seeing this gathering of wheels makes me feel left out. I need a bike! I already looked into the prices and brand new ones are only about $80-$100 Canadian. Of course, there’s no reason for me to get a brand new bike, so I’ll be seeking an old one for a few kuai. Rust and squeaks are fine with me! I won’t be going quickly here – I’ll be too busy taking it all in as I join the pace of these living, breathing streets.

I can’t wait. I’m being beckoned by the bikes of Beijing. It’s a street-style revolution and I’m hopping on for the ride.

If you’re considering bringing your own bike to this city from afar, don’t bother. Bike theft, especially of foreign bikes, is apparently a huge problem here. Check out the link below for more information.

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.