My black clothing served as a magnet for the penetrating rays of sunlight that cut through the crisp fall air. Out of the autumn breeze, a park bench seduced me into putting my feet up and letting my eyelids down...
This is an autumn day fit for lore.
It wasn't long before I awoke from my shallow slumber, nor was it from the soft hum of students walking past. It was something that I saw, something that flashed lucidly, whilst my eyes were yet closed.
Dreaming in China comes differently than it did before I came here. I often find myself plotting in a mixture of English and Mandarin, often centering around a newly learned word. It tells me that my 'small' brain is more capable than my 'big' brain, and simply goes to work after the night has conquered me.
Some say you only dream in another language when you reach fluency, but my experience is proof that it can occur at even earlier stages. Learning by osmosis seems to be more efficient (and less painstaking) than what my 'big' brain can accomplish when most alert.
Today I did not dream in tongues; instead, I dreamt in script.
A Mandarin character flashed in irridescent green superimposed upon the blackness of my closed eyes. It shone brightly as as does the back of a great flower beetle.
The fact that I dreamt the above character above is interesting on a couple of levels.
The first question I had to ask is why did this character come to me in my sleep? Not only did a Mandarin character appear, but it's meaning attached is also very intriguing!
Secondly, the character appeared in its 'traditional' form. This form is not found in daily use within mainland China (who uses only 'simplified' characters); it can only be found in places such as Taiwan, Japan, and Korea.
The left and right side of the character each represent a meaning and/or a sound. For example, ‘言’ means "language" (or "words") and ‘京’ means "capitol" (or "great"). Together, they mean 'words that are great or grand'... i.e, trust or forgiveness.
Here is a great site that can provide insight into the geneology (etymology) of Chinese characters, in particular, this character above.
I looked up this character several months ago, but as it is not often I speak of 'forgiving' (thankfully the need is not great!), there is no immediate inkling as to why I thought of this character. In fact, I have never written this character, and have not studied it outside of looking it up [once] for its pronunciation.
So, how has it come to pass that this very character came to me in my sleep, in its ancient form? I may not ever find out, but I will at least simmer satisfied in its revelation for some time to come!
A few more brain blots that spilled after the slumber.
I still remember the day my training wheels came off my pink-flowered, banana-seat, one-speed bicycle.
I was a fortunate kid and grew up in the countryside where we had a long driveway that offered a haven of safety for learning to tame the two-wheeled beast.
From the toddler-terrorizing tricycle to the big-girls' bike, and eventually the mountain bike that was more fit to be called a 'hill bike', as there were no mountains to be found. I somehow skipped the joys of road-biking (yes, I used my hill-bike for the triathlon last year.) and I skipped right [back] to the single-speed that I own now, though it sports not a banana seat or raised handlebars.
a bike for beijing
I live in the city. A very big city. One might think that I might finally choose a road-bike, but in fact... having a nice bike in Beijing is not recommended, even if you have a chunk of secured real-estate to house it overnight. Each time I commute by bicycle, I also leave it locked up at the intended destination... leaving my precious wheels vulnerable to a thoughtless thief.
the loyal bike warden (left)
And so, on 2 wheels, I face Beijing with one speed. Correction: on many days, my speed is less than that one-speed, as the tires seem to be unable to hold a steady air pressure.
Having the bike chosen and tires filled, the adventure has yet to begin.
on road rage
Wudaokou is a busy section of the city. Located smack in the middle of the university sector, it is home to a favored subway stop and the accompanying passengers. Some live here, and others commute from more reasonably-priced districts.
Rush hour is difficult to define, as the lull of one rush is, in actuality, the rise of the next. Traffic lights govern the road [mostly], but the flow of foot traffic and cageless-wheeled commuters is harder to control.
A red traffic light does not mean that bicycles should halt. A green light indeed entices jay-walkers from the curbs. And nothing stops the north shoulder traffic from heading west on the south shoulder. Riding with or against the flow of traffic is perfectly acceptable. Stepping into the path of an oncoming bicycle might be dangerous, but...
...there is [almost no] visible road rage.
Road rage is... negligible. In a city of more than 17 million (as of 2007), I am impressed at how smoothly traffic flows without an eruption of emotions over petty encounters that could only be expected. Rush hour happens... sometimes hourly.
Horns, the cars do honk. It might sound like road rage, but there is more to it. Honking is a form of expression that enables these otherwise boxed-in commuters communicate. There are many types of horns. Short, happy honks. Long, pay-attention honks. Double honks that shout watch-out, and triple honks that say here-I-come.
the hum of [my particularly busy] street corner
Bells, the bikes do ring. Mostly, the ringing of bike bells says coming-up-behind-you or don't-make-any-sudden-moves-I'll-maneuver-around-you. I even was 'rang' at one day as a biker passed me in the opposing direction, nothing short of a flirtatious [foreigner] that wanted to make eye-contact. Only in China would you be 'rang' at before you were 'honked' at!
¥0.30 to park your bike as long as you dare
harmony
Buses, cars, bicycles, pedestrians... all hustle in harmony.
Foot traffic can be found at all hours of the day [and night]. Grandma out with her baby stroller/walker, grandpa out for some fresh air. Students in search of a cheap meal, families out for a grocery getting. They are free souls, going where their feet take them, uninhibited by yellow lines and curbs and traffic lights. Only the occasional traffic warden and scolding tones are able to intercept their meanderings.
[Local] pedestrians are smart, in that they continue on their path without stopping dead in the path of wheel or motor like a squirrel in-crossing might. Foreign pedestrians often stop guiltily in their path and look up as if headlights were blinding them, and this increases danger levels significantly.
Cars and pedestrians seem to have a simple agreement about who has the right of way. The agreement is harder to define, but it appears to be whoever-gets-there-first. And this does not imply that a competition is made where none existed. Simply that when two paths cross, judgment is executed equally on both sides... and often so quickly that you'd think it was agreed upon at a meeting last month.
Buses employ a ticket seller, whose job doubles to hang out of the window on right-turns so as to shout requests for clearance around those walking or on bicycles. The approaching mammoth would otherwise be considerably dangerous to those unaware of its quick approach. Bus drivers even exercise a recorded sound-byte cautioning those who would otherwise absently walk into the path of danger. But there is no swearing, no anger - simple shouts of safety expressed in a warning.
Is it that these situations simply do not trigger anger, as elsewhere? Or are the emotions not expressed at the moment (so as not to lose face?) and simply leak out upon some other undeserving candidate?
my bike behind the bridge
As for me, it is a daily reminder to enjoy the ride and the interaction with [thousands?] of fellow commuters each day. We are all in progress, all with purpose.
skills
All those years of riding tricycles, banana-seats, and mountain bikes seems to be paying off. The brake-hand must be ever-ready, and more so the bell-ringing thumb. A foot must be ever ready to catch your fall or assist the failing brakes. I ride with pinkies protectively wrapping the end of the brake handle, in case I pass too closely an elbow or parked car. I must be prepared to lurch over the handle-bars if it will avoid running over a side-stepping pedestrian.
Navigating from my apartment includes first manhandling it from the hallway to my apartment into the elevator, cautiously out the unit's door, past the elderly pausing and children playing, through the electric accordian gate and finally onto a busy taxi lane that is never without the bustle of three-wheeled worker bikes. I bike against traffic on my way to school, and fall in line with the flow on the way home each day. Construction, workers, and potholes must be navigated around and/or over smoothly. Puddles from mysterious sewer projects lie in deceptive wait. Fruit street-food vendors wait on corners and hope to catch your hungry eye. Buses pull up and passengers exit in a way that they are thrust into the unknowns of the street.
pineapple on a stick, ¥1
A day on the road provides countless opportunities for not only accidents, but also [many] a brief glimpse into another's eyes that would be too easily missed if I was safe behind the [car] wheel.
What is meant for the eyes may not be born of words. And so, I'll keep this posting short.
The last time I camped out on the Great Wall was in the late spring of 2001. I had been craving another night on the wall after all these years, and so gathered a few friends for a 14+k hike in this crisp pre-winter weather.
This section of the wall dates back 400+ or 600+ years ago, respectively in accordance to which local tourist or Wall worker you ask. Some say it is the original wall. Others say it the current wall using old bricks but new construction.
Some would say the current [hikeable] sections of the wall are new in their entirety (and I'm not referring to the cable cars, zip-line, weeeee-slide, or hillside-tram.) What would you say?
the Golden Mountain Ridge (金山岭) to the Ancient North Entrance (古北口)
From the Golden Mountain Ridge (金山岭, or 'Jin Shanling'), we hiked eastwards to a nearby section (司马台, or 'Simatai').
beacon tower at the Golden Mountain Ridge
The latter gives a [50%] student discount; the former does not. The two sections are continuous, in fact, and are merely distinguished by the rate of admission, as one must purchase a separate entrance ticket for each.
a *great* sunset from atop the wall
On the bright [and redeeming] side, *camping* fees are nil... as long as you are willing to suffer the cold.
a * great* sunsat
For just ¥50 + ¥20, you can exercise your soles and stretch your soul all the way from dawn of today's morn until the eve of tomorrow!
"A [verrry cold] overnight on the Great Wall at the Golden Mountain Ridge (金山岭长城) with 5 friends from PKU. After hiking 10+ km towards Simatai （司马台), the late October windchill did not succeed in keeping us from bailing out on our plan to camp in a historic 400-600 (?) yr old beacon tower. Camping fees are nil; the price paid is merely the suffering offered up to the winds of the nearing winter. Plenty of humor and a gorgeous landscape to share it in. Good times!"
Sitting down to dinner in a cafeteria on the PKU campus, it struck me as odd that the food had me thinking of Michigan and Florida.
The smell of food and the taste of food has the power to teleport one to another land. The feel and texture of food itself is enough to lose yourself in the moment, in the land of another time - as if it were right here and right now.
Something so simple, yet so powerful.
A bowlful of steamed•rice and a scoop of scrambled•egg•tofu•cabbage, washed down with a cup of instant coffee and a juicy tangerine.
The coffee does not remind me of the West. It reminds me of 8 years ago when I lived in Beijing... and would often [attempt to] appease my longing for that something more familiar. That year, I could find only starbuckers coffee (at American prices) and similarly priced (!) instant coffee at local cafés. And so, I turned to the instant 1+2 coffee (+ cream + sugar) that had the added convenience of *brewing* in my own studio. Not exactly coffee, but as close to a cup of the familiar brew as I could hope. Tonight's frothy cup left me with ¥1.5 less on my meal card.
In the States, perhaps this type of tofu would only be found in an Asian grocery store. The outside skin is a soft brown soy color, its surface dimpled from the pressing of the soybean milk. The inside is firm yet tender, perhaps not unlike the tofu back home. The 1/2 cm thick *meat* is julienned and tossed with the scrambled eggs and crunchy chopped cabbage. Accompanied by the trusty helping of rice and all for a price of ¥3.5.
It was the tangerine at the end of the meal that had my thinking back in the West. The Keweenaw Co-op [in Hancock, MI] sells Satsuma tangerines that are not only an easy peel, but are also incredibly juicy and tangy. Wow! Tonight's tangerine of unknown origin was full of juice and wrapped in a soft, supple peel, at a cost of ¥0.5 (now in season, a kilo sells for ¥2 on the street.)
Next came a flood of memories at Grandma & Grandpa's house in Florida. Many a winter I would (and still look forward to!) find myself in a citrified heaven, with sour grapefruits, plump oranges, tangy tangerines, and even the enjoyable, if bitter, kumquat. Hard-earned and freshly-squeezed juice for breakfast [and lunch and dinner and...] I can picture my Grandma in mid-operation - newspapers covered with piles of oranges in wait and the resulting exhausted peels and golden drink.
Time and nostalgia, nutrition and taste. The existential and the extraneous alike are kindled by dining - an act that is a repetitive necessity of daily life, but also is one from which we derive great pleasure. It is not merely an act of matching nutrition to hunger. Or surrendering pleasure to desire.
The power of food is enough to bring the there to the here. The partaking of food is both to revive the past and enliven the present.
The morning was cool, if not warm, and thick with the humidity that begs for a downpour. Hours later, that wish was fulfilled, and heavy rain fell from the sky and penetrated strong winds as if to threaten with snow or even hail.
The loyalty of the Beijing summers has disappeared at the first threat of winter, and I fear there is no turning back.
I had decided to bike to my old campus (blcu) and study for tomorrow's oral exam at a café. Where there is a place of interest, smokers are prolific. And so I thought that I'd dare to sit outdoors at a picnic table under a canopied area adjacent to the cafés and restaurants and breathe in the crisp evening air.
But I hadn't counted on the rain that would eventually cause a chill to overcome me and physically persuade me from concentrating on my studies. The coffee had long been sipped to nil, and the following cup of hot water lost its strength too soon.
On my way home, I decided to stop by the Muslims Restaurant on campus to say hello to my friends who had yet to punch out. Hailing from Xinjiang, China's most northwestern province, my friends are not the *Chinese* that most outside China would first imagine. They are Uyghur, one of the Muslim ethnic minorities in China proper. Their land borders Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, Russia, and Mongolia - yet is [politically defined as a part of] China.
coworkers and friends of the Muslims Restaurant
My travels to Xinjiang (200807) enabled me to see just a glimpse of today's Xinjiang, where street signs sport both Uyghur and Mandarin alike, as in this Urumqi bus station below:
can you name the bus station?
At any rate, I stopped by to see my friends at their restaurant. The bakers making naan (a type of really tasty bread) had pulled closed the windows where customers usually can watch them work the dough and shape the frisbee-shaped loaves. Winter was on its way.
They pulled the window open for me and we talked for a few minutes. It was close to 10p and time to eat dinner before calling it a night. I noticed they had just sat down with large bowls of broth and noodles, and my good friend pointed out that it was a dish I had eaten in Xinjiang: mampar. MMmmmampar...
mmmmmampar...
And before I knew it, they had dished out a small noodlicious bowl to share with me... leaving me wondering if there would be any troubles resulting from my not eating *on the inside*. Rest assured, they said, the boss would not mind.
Mampar (pronounced: mem•pear'r) is a pulled noodle soup. Fat noodles are literally formed by pinching the dough as it is being stretched and tossed into a boiling broth. Tonight's broth was rather salty and had cabbage, garlic, carrots, and green onions in it.
In Xinjiang, this broth consisted of tomatoes, spicy Anaheim peppers, red onion, a dash of salt, and vegetable oil. No more and no less. In the following video, my friend Raxidan shows how to prepare Mampar:
noodle soup of Xinjiang
There's nothing quite like sharing a bowl of noodle soup with friends to warm you as winter steps up its approach from a hint to a sprint！
Sometimes a tortilla needs to go crispy. Even when you had hopes of folding it sensuously around the innards of your meal.
On a late night in my kitchen like tonight, the only vegetable in my pantry is garlic. So, I reached into the far corners of my vegetarian kitchen and looked for a way to make tortillas with garlic a little more interesting.
Here is the story of the egg crisp. Tortillas from the freezer, a little garlic from the market, pine nuts from the co-op, eggs from the crate, and cheese from a cow... is all you need for a surprisingly satisfying meal.
put (head) of garlic into microwave for (2) minutes
preheat toaster oven to 200ºc
wash (2) eggs clean
add oil liberally to a wok*
turn the stove on for a big* fire.
remove the softened garlic bulb from the microwave
pull the skin off the garlic cloves*
recall the oil boiling and crack (1) egg into it
sprinkle a bit o' salt as desired onto the egg
cover the wok and save yourself some cleaning
put tortilla(s) into oven
return to peeling garlic
remove egg from wok (start a second egg...)
slice and julienne hard white cheese
remember to pull your tortillas out of the oven
frame *crispy* as the latest in sensuality
mash the garlic cloves in a bowl
spread garlic mash over crispy tortilla(s)
sprinkle pine nuts liberally over garlic mash
slide the egg on top
top with cheese (hope it melts)
pick up with both hands and *fold* in half (you will need both hands for this)
Enjoy the crunch of the egg crisp
notes:
A wok is recommended because of the small circular cooking surface next to the heat, which allows the oil to concentrate in minimal surface area and thus allows the egg to fry 1) efficiently and 2) in a perty lil' round shape.
In Mandarin, a "big" fire simply means a full flame (as opposed to a little fire or low heat).
I used all of the big outer cloves for two egg crisps. Surprisingly, the garlic did not overwhelm, but instead settled into its usual duty of adding nutritious flavor.
If I had had more ingredients, I would've built freely upon the layers, surely adding some green and red. But it was not in my destiny, and as it turns out... it was not needed. The overly crisp tortilla complimented the egg and cheese, and the slippery pine nuts added just the right amount of aroma.
And for a perfect dessert, I recommend a green-tea egg-roll (that is, the Chinese version of the eggroll... a crispy, egg-inspired rolled wafer.)
redefining the eggroll
By now, you might be wondering which liquid will best wash down such a meal. On tonight's menu, I serve up a cup of osmanthus tea, straight from the famous city called Guilin in southern China. The fragrant yellow flowers of the osmanthus tea blend sweetly with the green tea base for a flavor that is unique and intense. Even an average (low?) grade of tea, such as below, will satisfy for many a refill:
have you had your osmanthus tea today?
Happy dining! And as the Chinese would say, "Eat slowly" (慢慢吃) and "eat more" (多吃)!
Class by day and teaching by night, I have a [verbal contract] with the 2nd Ballistic [Division] Elementary (二炮幼儿园) in the Shangdi district of Beijing. It was three months before I was able to correctly translate -and understand- what kind of school that I was employed at, though in actuality, it is just another typical elementary school. These preschoolers are the enrolled children of military comrades, and as such, will attend the same schools together as they get older.
... what's the time?
So, how exactly does a foreigner walk through the gates of an elementary school on a military [base] in beijing? On two feet. Over the last 6 months, I have walked casually through the gates without so much as a second glance. On one occasion, the guard stopped me and asked if I was with foreign affairs, and I said yes - understanding his words to be foreign teaching, a homonym. He relaxed and let me pass through. But generally, the guards are huddled around a tv or dining on instant noodles, and therefore less concerned with [me].
Last week, this ease came to an end, and the guard (all of 17 years of age?) stopped me on the grounds that I must have someone [on the inside] come to the gates to receive me. After 6mo, why the sudden change in rules? No change, he said, just that now they have to tighten up enforcement. As it turns out, his leader had called the front gate and asked what the foreigner "was doing here." I had been observed walking through the gates unaccompanied (as usual), and the guard had caught the brunt of his leader's disapproval.
Tonight, however, I was once again able to walk through the gates once again without so much as a single green uniform in sight (and I looked around!) So much for the enjoyable small talk that last week had afforded me with the seemingly ominous check-point.
Time willing, I actually enjoy these sort of unexplainable [yet typical] events (or absence thereof). Delays in the daily routine provide a great opportunity to interact with the common people, learn some spoken Mandarin, as well as diffuse any seemingly potential conflict with a bit of laughter. Using a bit of logic and facetiousness wit, our dialogue had a third guard chuckling, at ease. And secretly, I was honored to have set off such alarms with my mere presence.
The children's ages range from 4-6 years old, and while it is a wide range at this young age, the students work very nicely together. Usually. The younger ones tend take a couple weeks longer to part from mom and dad and adjust to new classmates and foreign teacher.
...if only mom and dad were here...
On the first day of teaching, I showed up early and was able to share a few minutes with the kids before order settled. With perplexed faces, they peered at me, their *funny-looking* teacher that can speak Chinese and asked "Are you Chinese?" If I was foreign, how was it that I could speak Chinese? Using this logic, a few of them decided that I must be Chinese, albeit funny-looking with big nose and big eyes.
Class begins at 5:45p sharp (but not always), and we begin with a quick review of the last class' vocabulary, followed by a song. Favorites are "the farmer in the dell", and "hello, hello, hello" and "10 little fingers":
... not the words that I learned to the song...
Common topics include fruit, colors, numbers, time - vocabulary and a few question/answer pairs. The children are incredibly bright and [when I can get their attention], the class operates in unison. Though I worked at a daycare in the US 7 years ago, I am at a loss for how a typical preschool class in America is run [comments welcomed...]
It does seem that schools are adapting as technology progresses, and the below clip was the result of a homework assignment for the parents and children alike. The students were to recite a chant, and the parents were to record their efforts. Here is a top student:
a song by Zhang Yuanzhi
While I teach the class, it is simply that I follow the lesson plans prepared by the head teacher. She prepares the vocabulary, practice sentences, chants, and songs on a piece of paper (and occasionally powerpoint!)
today's lesson: animals
The hour is divided up into song time, learning time, and game time. I take these ideas and find [hopefully creative] ways to keep the children's attention focused on the lesson. Even with just 20-22 kids, it can be a challenge.
The students have a long day... starting at 7:30a and finishing up their regular classes at 5:30p, which includes a 2 hour nap at lunchtime. By the time the students wind up for my class, they would probably rather be winding down.
...winding down over homemade chocolate chip cookies!
The parents pay an extra fee for the children to attend this class, and it is not cheap (as it supports the head teacher, her assistant, and myself.) The reason for having a foreign teacher is perhaps twofold: 1) English is taught with an authentic [foreign] accent, and 2) western teaching methods can often be quite insightful. More so, it is a key draw for the parents, who are willing to pay more for a foreign teacher's instruction. And so, at least for now, the students are exposed to an American English accent [of sorts].
When I enter the classroom, I am greeted by screaming and the frequent shooting by the finger-pistol. The head teacher says it is "because they like" me. Today, she gave me a hug and suggested they try an alternate greeting, which sent them scrambling under their tables. Teaching English has its challenging days, but every class is a delight.
Every city and village on earth has its own standards for who may call themselves a "local".
In the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, for example, true locals will say that you can't call yourself a local unless you are born there - leaving not much hope for those who fall in love with the place after visiting as an adult! Other places are not so demanding, however, and the mastering of a few local habits or traits may be enough to fool the average native.
you raised here?
If you want to fake being from Beijing, you must understand etiquette. The North of China is said to have more manners than the South, at least in the way of showing politeness - i.e., the right words in the right way at the right time. Beijing is no exception to this generalization, and just may be the pinnacle of such culture.
So, when a Beijinger compliments a foreigner's accent... should the sweet words be taken with a grain of rice and ought I remind myself that *anyone* who even attempts to speak Mandarin is greeted with warm compliments fit more for royalty? Or is it justification for an ego... if not only for the next 30 seconds until I am again humbly reminded of how illiterate I actually am?
It is hard not to be somewhat prideful when a local asks if, by any chance, it isn't that I grew up here. Here, being Beijing. Ok, I admit this is not the typical response I hear from locals, but even twice is enough to lift me up when I get overwhelmed at the thought of learning 50,000(+) characters (each of which may have between 2 and 64 (!) strokes).
The sweet words came to me last week as I was walking to the subway station: I spotted a vendor selling marvelously golden little fried cakes, which turned out to be 鸡蛋汉堡包, or 'egg hamburger'. Here's a close-up of the golden [special vegetarian version of a] cocoon:
It's easy to see where "egg *muffin" was born...
Since I might have been their first vegetarian customer, they said I'd have to wait for about 10 minutes, the time for one round to cook to completion. I was glad to wait. It gave me a few minutes to talk with them, as much as they could manage as they feverishly poured and lifted and turned their golden gems.
It was while my burger was sizzling that they couldn't figure out where I was from and guessed that I had grown up in Beijing. Given my non-Han-ethnicity look and -decent- accent, people often guess that I am from Xinjiang province in China's northwest. Which is to say that I might fall somewhere between the majority (Han at 95%) and minority (Uyghur at less than 1/2%) ethnicities, but not a foreigner.
watch the vendors in action
Street vendors often work in husband-wife teams, and this couple worked in an obviously well-oiled rhythm, very much in sync with the other's every move. He handled the first stages of the burger, which meant handling the eggs, and making sure there was a ready supply of batter, as well as pickles and meat. She worked street-side, handling money and bagging the burgers while she simultaneously manned the griddle.
...husband and wife teamwork...
An egg is first fried in a cast iron mold (美式鸡蛋汉堡包机, ¥350), then smeared with spiced ground chuck, and topped with preserved vegetables (榨菜, aka, Chinese pickles):
...impressively clean for street food!
After setting, each egglet is tenderly lifted while batter is poured into the mold. The egg is returned and the pair is lifted once again upon cooking to unity. More batter is poured in, and the second time around, the egg ensemble is flipped into the same same cup, such that it is now sandwiched between the two muffin-like halves:
A drizzle of oil is then added to the perfectly heated cast iron form, and the white cakes sizzle to a golden brown:
...no chopsticks in sight!
At a rate of 14 egg•burgers turned out every 10 minutes, coupled with the price of ¥2.5 each, it's quite possible that this couple could bring in roughly ¥175/hour... minus the minimal overhead and raw materials, etc. Their location is prime real estate, just South of the 2nd Ring NW Road, in close proximity to the Xizhimen Subway stop (西直门地铁站) and situated smack in the middle of several upscale shopping centers and underground wholesale markets.
...another soon to-be-satisfied customer
Summer, winter, spring, & fall, these tasty treats await the ready appetite!
On the rare subject of Chinese hamburgers, take a look at this 鸡蛋火腿汉堡包, interpreted as the Egg•Ham•Hamburger (but literally translates as "chicken•egg fire•leg Han•fort•wrap"). It's worth noting that Chinese cuisine overseas is just as authentic as is this 'American hamburger'.
warning: noodles could lead to loudness
You might be of the mind that eating a hamburger in Beijing would disqualify one from being a local. In that case, you might have also heard rumors that the Northerners are louder than the Southerners. Rest assured, the rumors are true! As was recently explained to me, verbal volume is easily attributed to the fact that rice is eaten in the South, while [steamed bread and] noodles are eaten in the North. Right, so... noodles = loudness?
What do [only certain] staple starches have to do with loudness? Well, If you ever have the chance to sit down to a bowl of freshly pulled noodles, you will immediately understand why friends conversing tend to up their volume. The slurping that accompanies the ingesting of noodles is not only a challenge to hear over, but it is an indispensable part of the art of noodle eating!
Never seen noodles being pulled from a batch of fresh dough? Check out this clip of a restaurant in Lanzhou, Gansu province (甘肃兰州）for a peek at the art of noodle-pulling. Price (¥3.5) aside, it was the best bowl of noodles I have ever eaten!
... the best noodles in the world!
deflated?
If accent is enough to make you a local, then being one of the millions of bikers to ride daily on the streets of Beijing must be a close second. Check here for a video (in Portuguese) of Beijingers' Prefered Mode of Transportation that I helped to film and produce on a consulting job.
And if for a moment you feel the proud ownership of a fuel-free vehicle, it is soon followed by the reality [and implications of] owning such a poor quality bike. It is to be expected that any shop selling 2nd hand bikes are likely running a nightly business that spends an equal effort abducting unsuspecting and briefly neglected cycles.
And so, it is with mixed feelings that I ride each day... thankful to have a bike, but also wishing I had invested in a higher quality [brand of] bike (GBSDLY, perhaps a Czech import?), and meanwhile wondering how to own such a nice bike without it being stolen the 2nd day.
...GBSDLY spells Q•U•A•L•I•T•Y... or not.
The last time I was in Beijing, I owned 5 bikes in less than 10 months... so much for the security guards that stood guard day and night at my then campus gates. So, no matter the quality of my bike now... I must say that I am happy that I've had the same bike (to complain about) for the last 6 months, going on 7. :)
But all good things lead elsewhere, and taxying a friend home from campus rendered my tire not only flat, but exhausted. A patch ought to fix it, right? For ¥2, I decided to take a risk. But one day later, I was working up a sweat on a downhill... deflated again, both the bike and I!
...fond memories of the GBSDLY at just one week old...
So today, I stopped one last time at one of the campus bike stands and asked the bike master for advice: Fix the tire or sell the bike? He suggested fixing the bike, saying any bike I buy here will be roughly the same quality. I found it hard to believe, but could see that he posed a valid point. It seems that maintaining an old bike would be to make ado, but a new bike would save on my time, if only in the short term.
... watch my daily commute by bike
Even bad luck brings goodness. The flat tire of today provided a wonderful opportunity to chat with the 60-ish bike master, who has been fixing bikes for "oh, quite a few..." years. It was small talk, but as it was my second time getting air that afternoon, we talked like old friends. And given that he fixed my tire for another reasonable ¥2, it looks like I'll have another opportunity to visit him in the near future.
So remember... the next time you find yourself feeling foreign in Beijing, think on two local words: burgers & bicycles!
Student life in Beijing is certainly nothing to complain about, though it can be a challenge to weave a meal-plan into a schedule with the equivalent of 6 bosses and 6 offices. Tuesdays and Thursday afford no break for me; just thinking of lollygagging between classes means I could miss a quiz delivered at the ring of the bell.
It is the fourth week of my first semester at Peking University (PKU). In China, college classes are sectioned into 2-hour blocks, each with a blink of an intermission. When class lets out, you have 20 minutes to take care of necessary business and navigate across campus, over the hills, and through the crowds (!) to your next class. The journey requires another, more demanding, level of [physical and mental!] skill than is typically required at such intellectual hubs.
Hunger lies in wait, with nothing passive about its expectations. It isn't that food is not readily available here on campus ... the 'intermission' snacks cater to carnivores and starchites, with processed cookies, so-called pastries, and -if you eat of meat- the 'convenient' burrito (yes... the Mexican specialty has landed in Beijing, if not only where foreign shadows fall.)
And sure, canteens and the questionable dives are readily available. The food is even likely to be cooked that day, if not in right front of you [read: no foodservice giant pushing frozen variations of the same flavor!] The problem lies in that the queuing itself, which not only is a hazard (imagine elbows, chopsticks, slick floors from spilled soup, etc.), takes more time than it does to ingest the hard-earned meal.
What to do and what to eat on such a day with no time for cooking or ordering out? The good ol' sandwich has come to the rescue once again - even here in Beijing. In fact, my Chinese apartmate (apartment +mate) even prepares a locally-flavored version when she is pressed for time!
Below is the sandwich that I whipped up in defense of a long 9-hour stretch of classes:
... the music of Anaheim zingers between sweet miso and ripened tomato ...
The Recipe: Miso Tickles the Tomato [Sandwich] note: such a name could easily be found on a menu here in Beijing!
*Admission: there was no egg in my sandwich today, an addition forgotten that was sorely regretted.
I will, however, take a moment to expound upon the good qualities of this sandwich's composition. Thickly sliced egg-bread is a great variant of the more traditional (but hard to find in Beijing) whole-wheat bread and was actually quite pleasing to a hungry appetite. The tomatoes couldn't hold onto their juice and had mixed quite nicely with the salty miso. That said, the sweetness of the miso in turn was complimented by the layer of cream cheese for a satisfying balance of sweet and salty. The crunch of the cabbage added just enough masticatory texture for spiking the serotonin levels. And the thinly sliced Anaheim pepper threw a heat tough enough to take on the chill of Fall... or another lecture!
Looking for another Eastern influenced version of the ol' standby? Below you will find another take, all too influence by the local Chinese bakeries: the open-faced broiled sandwich.
My friend Debbie and I concocted this original on a desparate afternoon a few weeks back, though unfortunately there is no "final" picture to show; just this mid-preparation before-the-broiling snap:
If the above image isn't tempting enough, then I'll try to persuade you here. Vegetarian and full of flavor - the roastedness of the melted cheese laced with onions and spinach, topped off with the crunch of fresh turnip and cabbage. When you use what you've got on hand, the combination can bring a surprise that is worth repeating!
If you dare, I'd be honored if you tried either of these... and furthermore, I'll challenge you to substitute ingredients from your pantry - and let me know how it turns out!
This just in! the P.R. of C. has approved The Jade Teaspoon with the official chop (wordpress is still roaming freely just out of reach, so to speak.) Let it be, in more ways than one!
And so, this blog is a go, but it will begin with a note-to-self from days of past: Voice not that which you think, nor that which ought be said; voice that which ought be heard.
Another, closing, thought for the day: We do not lose our way by walking another path. We lose our way by stepping off the path of our choice.
