Guatemala

In a year-old comment on this blog, my Uncle Rob referred to Guatemala as a “desperate and beautiful” place. I extolled Guatemala’s beauty both early and often, but that post, “Hungry” (along with several later posts) was written in part to characterize the desperate circumstances of so many of Guatemala’s people. Still, it is Rob’s combination of these two words that has remained with me. Only when used together can the words “desperate and beautiful” approach an understanding — especially a wrapped-up one — of the country of Guatemala.

Maybe it’s the way those words apply to each other. Guatemala’s beauty is desperate: its most dramatic and gorgeous mountains are unpredictable, havoc-wreaking volcanoes; its stunning historical monuments mark one society that self-destructed in famine and violence, and another that arrived bent on destruction.  Its mountains are routinely stripped for concrete, its jungles burned and its monuments looted for treasure. Its people, wrapped in colors that outdo nature, have witnessed horror after horror.

So how could Guatemala’s desperation possibly be beautiful? Not because it’s sentimental; there is nothing at all sentimental about poverty witnessed up close. But being close to people who are in such desperate circumstances does make it impossible not to feel involved. Traveling from the United States, an unthinkably privileged country deeply implicated in the problems of today’s Guatemala, to the crumbling concrete “classrooms” of La Cuchilla and Candalaria, to the sheet metal houses of their families, was a journey of such immense and wrenching distance that I could not help but feel personally implicated in it. There was no beauty in the poverty we witnessed, but there was something stark and powerful in the opportunity to be a witness to it. Because once you are a witness, you take on a responsibility that has something of beauty in it, a responsibility that forces you to acknowledge the qualities you share just as much with people who regularly get sick and die from drinking polluted water as you do with those who you work with or see on television.  The beauty is in the acknowledgement of your part in the world. And only in that acknowledgment is the possibility of change.

Lacey and I will be returning to Guatemala for a week in March 2009, visiting old friends, students, families, classrooms and volcanoes. We’re planning to take as many school supplies as we can fit in our bags, and we’re also hoping to raise money once more for Manos de Colores and its programs to educate young students who would otherwise be working to try to support their families. If you would consider giving again (or for the first time) to Manos de Colores, please send me an e-mail or leave a comment on this post and I’ll get in touch with more details. For more information you may also want to refer to the El Nahual / Manos de Colores web site.

China

China is huge. This is true in so many concrete, measurable ways, but it is true conceptually as well. China’s physical dimensions and variety, its population, its changing urban and rural landscapes, its history ancient and modern, its culinary traditions and its recent rate of economic growth are not only staggering, but also all deeply, deeply layered. In some ways the subject of China is the most giant thing about it. So to “wrap” today’s China might take more paper (or silicon chips?) than could even be manufactured there.

Still, it is precisely China’s complexity that provides some clues as to the nature of this place in transition. For me, the quintessential example was the enormous controversy over the riots in Tibet, and the ensuing response in China and around the world. Lacey and I followed this story from within China in both the New York Times, still available to us online, and the China Daily, China’s English-language newspaper. We also listened to Chinese students and friends who watched the events unfold with unprecedented intensity. The initial picture we got, from just these three sources, was already quite complex:

1) According to The New York Times and other Western news sources, monks’ protests over decades of religious and cultural repression became a more widespread outcry in Tibet and neighboring provinces, ultimately leading to rioting in the streets of Lhasa and a crackdown by the Chinese government.

2) According to the China Daily, the “Dalai clique” had finally begun what it had been planning all along: a violent separatist movement designed to break apart the Chinese motherland. Tibetan seperatists had killed dozens of Chinese people in the streets in a coordinated attempt to advance this movement.

3) Finally, our friends and students, rapt in front of newspapers and grainy online video of the rioting, were more concerned with how Tibetans, who had been lifted out of poverty by China, could possibly act in this way toward the Chinese government and people. The deaths of innocent Han Chinese in Lhasa was a tragedy that sparked deep and unassailable nationalism: riots in Tibet were a direct challenge not only to China’s unity, but to the identity of Chinese people everywhere.

This intensity of attention focused on the situation was one of the first major revelations for us as we witnessed events unfold from within China. No one ever followed the news this closely. Traditionally, news in China has meant good news; the actual reporting of (some) bad news is only a recent phenomenon. But after the riots, in a year of bad news that seemed to have reached its nadir (sadly it hadn’t), our students who normally could not be kept awake suddenly held newspapers over their desks to read during class, while students who usually paid attention tucked the newspapers inside their desks instead. Everyone was hungry for information, all the more because news like this — of people on the Chinese mainland fomenting direct rebellion against their government — was almost unheard of.

But if our students were rapt, we were no less fascinated by what was happening on the other side of the country. Being a Westerner in China as Tibetans took to the streets brought much more nuance to my limited understanding of Tibet’s history. For instance, according to some indicators, the Chinese claim that Tibetan people are far better off under Chinese rule holds some weight: certainly many Tibetans have benefited economically from Chinese rule, and Tibetans no longer live in the well-defined social castes that have been compared to feudalism, or in some cases slavery. Further, at the time of China’s invasion in 1959, Tibet’s independence had been semi-officially declared for just a little over fifty years, and even then was never fully recognized by a China that had so often acted as Tibet’s big brother. For centuries, the relationship between Tibet and China had been in flux, a flux in which it is unclear how often Tibet was simply a “benefactor” of the relationship and how often it was a fully subordinate entity.

On the other side of history, however, Chinese claims that the Dalai Lama instigated the separatist riots in Tibet appear especially ludicrous in light of the Dalai Lama’s consistent, publicly repeated calls for Tibet to remain under Chinese rule, a position he has taken for almost 30 years. In fact, from his position in exile, the Dalai Lama, unbeknownst to many Westerners, is pushing only for more autonomy for Tibet within China (including increased religious freedoms), but not for independence.

The outcry from the Western world about events in Tibet last spring prompted a second wave of Chinese reaction, including innumerable, indignant public declarations that Tibet “was, is, and will always be part of China,” (this phrase taken from ubiquitous t-shirts and at least one giant sticker I saw affixed to the side of a car parked on campus). Following comments by the French government and the disruption of the Olympic torch relay in Paris, Lacey and I witnessed firsthand a series of nationalist anti-French demonstrations and megaphone-powered citizen boycotts of the chain Carrefour, protests which were ultimately damped down by the Chinese government itself (which clearly likes protests even less than French criticism). A student friend of mine even dropped his French major and switched to English. Westerners, and the western press in particular, were vilified across China, sometimes rightly, for a total lack of understanding of the situation between China and Tibet — a reaction we probably escaped simply because we were there.

Throughout this episode, I kept trying to think of ways to prod my Chinese friends or students to find fresh perspectives on what had happened, to stop regurgitating the line spit forth by party officials, the China Daily and so many other government-controlled news sources (see Lacey’s great post). I tried using the example of the Los Angeles riots, figuring that acknowledging some problems in my own country first might help. The Los Angeles riots were a tragedy, my careful opening line went, but they were also a warning that race and class relations in Los Angeles and across the United States were in a fragile, untenable state. But the usual reaction to this was just a nod; everyone knew that race relations in the US were terrible. This was not news. I was out of ideas, but still it got so I wanted to shake people: but what about in Tibet? Why do you think the riots happened there?

So why didn’t I shake anyone? In the end, the answer to this question was one of the simplest things I learned about China. In a country whose history is undeniably long and glorious, whose economic growth is unprecedented, and whose population is enormous, the lack of rights experienced by all Chinese people is still a gigantic problem. And this lack of rights, while it is experienced differently (and often more harshly) by Tibetans, is nevertheless shared by everyone. My friends and students had no access to Chinese-language news sources that were outside the control of the government, a government they had no part in choosing, since they could not vote. They could not demonstrate freely; they had no access to a judicial system that would redress wrongs. We had a Chinese friend whose family’s house was robbed, but even with one glaringly obvious suspect, moving beyond a brief initial police report was impossible. She had no avenues for redress or appeal. Given this deeply ingrained and widely accepted lack of personal rights and freedoms, how could my friends and students be expected to think beyond the party line about why Tibetans were rioting? Many of their families had suffered, along with Tibetans, through the Great Leap Forward and the Cultural Revolution; now they were more interested in putting history behind them. The focus in today’s China is on gaining personal economic stature and independence, an opportunity that has only recently been granted. And so the rioting may have felt more like an insult, a disruptive reminder, a claim to something that no one else had, either, but that everyone was trying to forget. If China was a family, Tibet was the abused younger sibling, and everyone else still had to deal with the same set of parents.

Guatemala forced me to think about my own country’s wealth and comfort, but China made me deeply grateful for its core values. The United States is deeply imperfect, but the right to publicly discuss these imperfections is not one to be taken lightly. We are so privileged to be able to draw our own conclusions about the events of the world, about our leaders and our policies, and to have the opportunity to change them. Watching events unfold in Tibet reminded me of that. So when Lacey and I finally reached the Olympics to watch soccer, gymnastics, volleyball, track and field, and diving, we had no hesitation about buying a giant American flag and wrapping ourselves in it. And thanks to my Chinese friends and students, glowingly good people who are moving with the best of intentions through an unfathomably complex new world, I had no qualms about waving the Chinese flag, either.

Going Away and Coming Back Again

As we expected, living abroad could be difficult, but it was also frequently goofy and sometimes downright hilarious. Usually the language differences and cultural oddities were just fun, and we often saw astonishing, jaw-dropping things. And most of the time we remembered to be profoundly grateful to be where we were.

When you spend time somewhere far away and then come back, people ask you a lot of the same questions over and over again, with “How was it?” and “Does it feel weird to be back?” being the hands-down winners. These questions are impossible to answer. But everyone knows that; you just need to find a way through them so you can both move forward again with whatever you’re doing right now, in the present. Sometimes the easiest way ahead is to tell a quick story, or even just drop a snappy one-liner like “I had two separate cab drivers fall asleep at the wheel while I was in China.” After you get your easy laugh, someone else will remember a time when they nodded off at the wheel, and soon you’ll be right back in the present where everyone is most comfortable.

Still, I always experience a lingering regret that I can’t answer those questions better. Especially because, if you do it right, there really is something invaluable you can learn from going away and coming back again, something that will get under your skin so that you can hardly remember a time when you didn’t understand it this way. For me this was the understanding — the personal, fully assimilated knowledge — that those are real people out there in the world. And because they are real people, and because you are a real person, you are connected to them in a way that might be easy to lose sight of but should never be forgotten, because we are so clearly one species, one humanity, with the same proclivity for laughter and tears, the same sets of needs and desires, the same tendency toward goodness and mercy and the same urge to look out for one another. We are connected in ways that might at first appear difficult to grasp, but become incredibly simple when experienced directly, when being adopted into a family in Guatemala or watching friends get married in China or coming back home and hugging strange men on the street after the Phillies win the World Series.

This is what I’d like to say when people ask me those questions. For brevity’s sake, I’ll probably keep answering “good, it was great,” and “no, it doesn’t feel that weird” — but for anyone who wants something a little more substantial, now I have somewhere to send them.

This was the sight that greeted us as we tromped down from our hillside cabana to Ao Phranang (a beach in the Railay area of Krabi Province), on our first morning there. We were pretty happy with it.

Railay is a popular rock-climbing destination, but we also found a couple sweet rope swings like this one.

The Railay area is surrounded by such high cliffs that, although it’s not an island, long-tail boats (like the ones pictured here) are needed just to get to the region.

The limestone (karst) formations along the beach create countless overhangs and caves.

The limestone seemed almost to be dripping before our eyes.

As the sun went down, the already-quiet beach emptied out and the scenery became more and more gorgeous.

The other large beach we hung out at in the area, Ao Railay West, wasn’t too bad either:

But exploring those stunning outlying islands by kayak (and snorkel!) on our last day yielded even more discoveries:

These rocks were just off the island where we snorkeled.  The island was a pillar of rock with just enough beach at low tide to pull the kayak up.  But with pristine coral all around, the scene underwater (not pictured) was spectacular!

This beach, located in a national park and winding toward that far crescent of sand at low tide, was our favorite spot of the day. Especially because the only building on this island was a shack with some sandy picnic tables out front that served delicious Thai food!

We didn’t want the day to end!

But paddling back, we knew it was an unforgettable way to end the vacation.

We spend the better part of three days staying in Siem Reap, from where we visited the temples at Angkor Wat, the spiritual and physical seat of power of the Khmer Empire for hundreds of years (from approximately 800 - 1400 AD). Angkor, with its sprawling complex of ancient temples and cities, is recognized as the largest pre-industrial city in the world, many times the size of the next-largest, Tikal. Angkor Wat is located in modern-day Cambodia, a country still recovering from the terrible rein of the Khmer Rouge — but one that we would already really love to go back to.

Bayon, famous for the dozens of mysterious faces carved into its towers (look closely!), is the central temple in Angkor’s central walled city, Angkor Thom.

No one has come up with a satisfactory explanation for the meaning behind so many giant faces, which on each tower face in the four cardinal directions.

Bayon is also famous for its well-preserved bas reliefs.

The reliefs around Bayon tell several stories about the Khmer Empire; this one seems to celebrate an extremely prosperous period (see all the fish!).

We finally moved on from the enchanting, sometimes foreboding . . .

. . . and sometimes happy towers of Bayon.

Baphuon, whose main temple is currently under restoration, is another one of the gems of Angkor Thom.

The steps to all temples were steep, symbolizing that the way to heaven is never easy, and functioning as a way to ensure that people’s heads were bowed as they arrived at the temple.

To one side of a large public square in Angkor Thom, the “Terrace of the Leper King” is famous for well-preserved carvings.

The aptly named “Terrace of the Elephants,” along with its signature sculptures, was built at the right height for mounting and dismounting its namesake animals.

The function of these mysterious towers, across from the terraces, is still unknown, but one story is that acrobats walked on tightropes from tower to tower for the king’s amusement.

Giant railings like this one had gorgeous ends.

Elephant rides are popular at Angkor Thom’s south gate.

Many minor temples are mossy and crumbling.

While others are being taken over by jungle (more dramatic examples to come!).

Lacey and I rented bicycles one day and found this gem, Angkor Thom’s east gate, which wasn’t labelled on the map and had no (paved) road or tourists. We passed a herd of monkeys and a lot of jungle on the way!

Lacey gazes up at the east gate.

I climbed up for pictures of the north “face” of the east gate.

Including a close-up.

A gorgeous find!

Our bicycles helped us visit some of Angkor Wat’s lesser-known temples, which are also gorgeous. Banteay Kdei was especially photogenic.

Across from Banteay Kdei is a gorgeous man-made lake, although it is dwarfed by Angkor’s original lakes, now partly dried up.

Another temple, Ta Keo, was especially memorable for the climb to the top!

View out the top of a tower at Ta Keo.

Ta Keo’s towers had an especially surreal quality.

The entrance gate to Ta Phrom, a grand ruin being taken back by the jungle, and made famous by “Tomb Raider,” an action movie filmed here and featuring Angelina Jolie.

At the enormous and beautiful Angkor Wat, the jewel of the Angkor area and the largest religious structure in the world, even a minor gate in the outer wall is imposing.

Within the outer wall (but still outside the main temple) are several well-preserved outlying structures.

We knew our most gorgeous views of the temple facade would come near sunset, so first we circled the impressive colonnade . . .

. . . and looked at dramatic bas reliefs.

As the sun lowered we perched on an inner tower in the southwest corner of the temple and watched the light soften.

We weren’t alone.

Finally, we made our way back out to the inner western gate.

Moving back from the inner gate, all five of the main towers were visible.

But these were the kind of views we’d been waiting for!

Below, the last temple of our last day (spent entirely on bicycles) was Ta Som; not as grand as Angkor Wat, but a good way to end our visit.

Although we scheduled them more like punctuation marks to our other destinations, Hong Kong and Bangkok are fabulous international cities that we really enjoyed — especially Hong Kong. These were just a few of the lanterns hanging at a streetside market.

Having been held by the British well into the 1990s, Hong Kong felt in many ways vastly different than other Chinese cities. Differences pictured here include other Westerners and street names in English.

Aspects of traditional life here seemed to clash less with the modern culture of the rest of the city. It’s difficult to tell from this angle, but many of the incense coils in this temple were several feet in diameter!

Glitzy skyscrapers and colonial buildings are a reminder of China’s dilemma: Hong Kong is a “special administrative region” with greater freedom of the press (and perhaps political freedom) than any other part of the country. Of course, Tibet is also a “special administrative region,” so this is less a sign of progress than evidence that China doesn’t quite know how to handle wealthy, recently repossessed Hong Kong, which still has separate visa requirements and uses separate currency.

And although Hong Kong still had a profusion of signs that made us go “hmm?,” we enjoyed some much-needed western treats, like cooling off with a Grape Slurpee on a hot day.

Bangkok was another modern, up-and-coming city with an interesting history.

Wat Phra Keo (Temple of the Emerald Buddha) and the Grand Palace were two of Bangkok’s must-see sights.

But during our brief stay, we enjoyed Bangkok’s river transit options, aging neighborhoods, and night markets even more than its temples.

1. At the end of each Olympics (perhaps during the closing ceremonies?) three randomly selected events for the following Olympics’ Alternative Triathlon are announced.  For instance, it might be announced that in four years, the Alternative Triathlon will feature ping-pong, weightlifting, and synchronized swimming.
2. Countries choose their athletes as quickly as possible, based on an unprecedented level of athletic versatility (this will event make decathletes look like Oompah-Loompahs in Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory). We suggest a training schedule of one year for each sport or event, with the final year to be used for trials and further versatility training (i.e. “bringing it all together”).  In the example above, the weightlifting training should clearly come first, followed by synchronized swimming in the second year and ping-pong in the third.  Of course, maintenance training would make each subsequent year in the lead-up to the Olympics more intense for the Alternative Triathletes.
3. The Alternative Triathletes will occupy a special place in the opening ceremonies, perhaps with an interpretive dance around the newly lit flame or some other unique function.
4. As with the other “thons,” the events in the Alternative Triathlon (hereafter referred to as “AT”) will take place on consecutive days.  There will also be two further schedule-related requirements.  First, each event will be scheduled at least three days apart from the regular event in the same sport.  In our example, this would mean that AT weightlifting must be scheduled at least three days after the end of regular Olympic weightlifting, AT synchro at least three days after regular synchro, and so on.  This will ensure that Alternative Triathletes still look cool even though they may be just a shade worse at their events than the regular athletes in those events.  The second specification is that the Alternative Triathlon must always be scheduled for the last three days of the games.  Since it will clearly be the most popular event, this will provide a fitting and modern climax to an aging tradition.

And that’s about it.  Comments?  Suggestions?  Please feel free to give us your honest feedback using the poll below (concept courtesy Chinese government):

Poll Answers

What we knew: We knew that Chinese divers had already taken the gold medal in every other diving event, and that they were probably favored to win this final one, too, although there was one German challenger thought to be dangerous.  But we also knew that we were only watching the first, qualifying round of the three-part event.  So our own final Olympic event was to be more of a laid-back epilogue than a grand climax.

How we prepared: This being our last event, I continued the theme of making some kind of fashion statement, however random, by wearing my red, white and blue Phillies cap with a Chinese flag and an Olympic flag crossed and stuck into the band at the back, plus the (by now routine) American flag draped around my shoulders.  Lacey’s been going the other direction fashion-wise, so she just sported a blue patterned dress (and the flag around her shoulders when she got cold).  The best thing about my own getup was the laughs I got far from the Olympic Green, getting take out dinner in a distant restaurant and walking to the neighborhood subway with double takes the whole way.

Also worth mentioning here is our “Jia you” technique, which by this time we had perfected (although we didn’t use it as much here as at the other events).  Apparently, Chinese sports fans can sometimes get nasty, so before the Olympics the government “suggested” that the official chant for the Olympics would be “Jia you,” which literally means “add oil,” but which translates more like “Come on!” or “Let’s go!”  “You” here is pronounced like “yo.” Sure enough, just as the government suggested, at any event that the Chinese feel passionate about, every minute or two some guy will start yelling “Zhong guo!” (China!) and someone else will immediately pick up the cue and yell “Jia you!”  Soon everyone is chanting back and forth.  In a giant stadium it sounds really awesome.  So anyway, our technique was simple: when the Americans were up, I just yelled “Mei guo!” (USA!) and then added my own “Jia you!” a moment later.  At every event this automatically resulted in the turning of dozens, if not hundreds, of Chinese heads, all flashing huge grins when they saw the Meiguoren (American) who was doing the chant for his own country.  At our women’s volleyball event (when I had the Chinese and American flags on each cheek), I even got some neighbors offering to pick up the “Jia you” for me, and we got a decent “Mei guo . . . jia you” chant going with neighboring sections chiming in.  In the end I think this is more or less what the Olympics are supposed to be all about — breaking down cultural barriers and not getting too crazy with the nationalism — so it was a highly satisfying to connect with people and root for our teams at the same time.

What happened: This is about diving, after all, and there was a lot of it.  Really a lot.  I guess 6 rounds with 30 divers makes 180 dives in all.  So there were countless, breathless pre-dive moments on the platform when no one in the entire place spoke, slow careful headstands 10 meters above the water, dizzying flips and spins, some little splashes, a lot of medium splashes, and a few really big splashes, expressions of stony disappointment or subdued triumph by the divers climbing out of the pool, showers inexplicably broadcast on the big screen, and long stares at the scoreboard while the next diver was already readying himself at the end of the platform.  There was one score of ninety-nine for the top Chinese diver; the two Americans qualified by finishing in sixth and seventh place (the top eighteen divers qualified).  The famous German diver seemed to have underachieved a little, but maybe he was just getting warmed up for the semifinals and finals.  In general, the whole night had a strange lack of rhythm, with one diver after the other spinning off the platform and into the water and not much else, other than the constantly changing scores, to mark the time.  That’s not to say it wasn’t amazing to see what these guys were doing – it was, and I think diving is one of the coolest sports in the Olympics – but taken strictly as an event, it was more like a relaxing two and a half hours of watching waves on the beach than getting all caught up in an actual sporting competition.

Also of note: One of the British divers (who happened to qualify) looked like he was about 14 years old, and we found out later that he was, actually, 14 years old.  Apparently, diving has different minimum age requirements than, say, gymnastics, where the Chinese are currently being (re-)investigated for entering female gymnasts allegedly below the minimum age of 16.

On a different note, if you could say I grew up in any particular generation where diving is concerned, it would have to be the Greg Louganis generation.  This has as much to do with his famous attempt to break the platform with his head as his diving, although from what I remember he was really good at that, too.  Anyway, at our diving event I could feel the master’s legacy haunting me for most of the night.  Using our binoculars and the giant replay screens, I determined that several divers actually grazed the platform with their hair on the way down.  Have we not learned anything from Greg?  Does no one remember the horrified gasps, the blood in the pool, the hair matted across the wet, dripping gash?  Seriously, I think diving is awesome, but if you ask me these guys need to push a little further away from the platform.

What we knew: We knew we’d be seeing several finals, most notably the Men’s 400 meter final, which would feature favored Americans Jeremy Wariner and LaShawn Merrit. We also knew that we had missed a chance to see the Chinese fans at their best (and surely their wildest), since the Men’s 100 meter hurdles final would not feature the injured Liu Xiang, the national hero and defending Olympic champion who limped out for the trials on Tuesday and then limped back off after a few steps.

How we prepared:  We were starting to run out of new outfits and ideas at this point.  Despite a couple inquiries, I hadn’t been able to find an “Obama 08″ shirt to go with my American flag, so I went with my “I [Heart] China shirt” to complement the Stars and Stripes. Also of note: I keep neglecting to mention that we purchased an excellent pair of small binoculars while still in Qingdao (where they were much cheaper than in Beijing), and they served us well at all events, especially this one.

What happened: To be honest, Track and Field is kind of difficult to follow.  There are usually lots of things going on at once; for instance, the Men’s Decathlon High Jump Event, off at one end of the field, literally took the entire night.  And although our seats weren’t terrible, a lot of it was very far away.  That being said, we witnessed a lot of cool (and a couple not-so-cool) things, which I will put in a list since that’s kind of how an evening watching track and field feels.

• The qualifying rounds of the Men’s and Women’s 1500 meters were cool, mostly because four laps around the track is long enough that you can see how utterly exhausting it is, but the Olympic runners are sprinting the entire time.  Props to them.
• The Women’s Javelin final was unexpectedly exciting, with a surprising amount of noise from the crowd as we followed the dominant throws of the Russian who led through all five rounds, only to watch a Czech woman beat her on the incredible second-to-last throw of the night, which fell just centimeters away from the world record.
• The Men’s Triple Jump was cool, but it took too long.  And why, exactly, do they need to jump three times?  Whose idea was this event?
• The Men’s and Women’s 400 meter relay (qualifying round) were horribly disappointing for the Americans.  Both the men’s and women’s team dropped the baton on the final transfer, with the men’s team easily set to qualify and the women’s team leading the field.  Even though I don’t follow track and field at all, watching this happen the second time made me feel sick in that special way that only a lifelong Philadelphia sports fan can.
• Fortunately, the relay disappointments were redeemed quite a bit by a United States SWEEP in the Men’s 400 meters.  This was incredibly exciting, especially because we only took bronze by having our third-best runner (who wasn’t expected to medal) literally dive across the finish line. The gold medal winner, LaShawn Merritt, has apparently been emerging from the shadow of Jeremy Wariner (the defending world champion) this year, so although Jeremy looked a little bitter afterward, it was fun to see Merritt blow away the field on the final straightaway.
• The Men’s 100 meter hurdles were meant to be the climax of the evening, but without Liu Xiang there was a lot less frenzy.  Still, it’s a big event and it was fun to watch Cuban Dayron Robles (who broke Liu Xiang’s record this summer) bound to the gold.  It’s crazy that they can run so fast and jump over all those sawhorses.
• There were a couple other qualifiers, I think, but these are the events I remember best. I think my favorite moment, though, was when the medal ceremony for the Men’s 400 meters was announced (some ceremonies are postponed until the next day).  This meant that we not only got to watch the three US men parade around the stadium with their flags after the race, but we then got to watch them take the stand and receive their medals.  Most importantly, though, for the first and only time in our Olympics, we heard the old “Star-Spangled Banner!”  It was a good moment (and they really play a lovely version at the Olympics).

Also of note: The night’s events were actually interspersed with medal ceremonies, including two or three from the night before.  So aside from hearing our own anthem for the first time, this had a couple other significant repercussions: we got to admire Usain Bolt and his many poses as he accepted his gold medal for the 200 meters from the night before, and I now know the Jamaican national anthem by heart.

•  Flavor Saliva Chicken
• Moo Cow Entrails
• The Real Taste Drunk Fried Fish
• The Pig Tail is SuccessivelyHigh
• Palace Chicken, Bull’s Penis, Soft-Shell Turtle
• Black Bean Steams Intestines
• The Gluttonous Rice Flutters the Fragrant Bone
• Western Hunan Bandit Pig Liver
• Unwearied Effort However Inch Bone
• The Green Pepper Fries the Diesel Oil
• A Chicken (this last complete with a blurry photograph of a plucked, cooked chicken, and nothing else)

On our first full day around Yangshuo, we took the obligatory bamboo raft ride up the Li River from a small town called Xingping. The area is famous for its karst (limestone) peaks, which provide imagery that is almost inseparable from the identity of Southern China.

The scenery is even more stunning and unreal-looking in person . . .

. . . and even famous enough to make the 20-Yuan bill!

Cormorant fishing is a common method in the area; string is tied around the cormorants’ throats, who then “fish” but cannot swallow their larger catch, which goes to the fisherman.

After our “cruise,” we strolled around the lovely older sections of Xingping . . .

. . . and bought a couple paintings.

The next day we spent in the Yulong River Valley, this time using a different kind of transportation.

The valley is still made up of farms and rice paddies, and, of course, gorgeous and seemingly endless karst peaks.

Rafting on the Yulong River is also popular.

Tilling, harvesting and planting is all done using the same methods that have been used for thousands of years.

The staple crop, ready for harvesting.

The ancient “Dragon Bridge,” which spans the Yulong.

In the afternoon we found an old raft chained to a lovely, spreading tree and cooled off with a swim.

On our way back home a thunderstorm approached, but only ended up grazing us with light showers.

So we had a cocktail and played some cribbage on the patio of our quiet countryside hostel.

And then strolled back out for some late-day pictures.

What we knew: We had cheered on as the US Women’s team came from behind to beat China in the preliminaries, so we already knew the names of some players on both teams, and had nicknames for several others.

How we prepared:  We were really looking forward to rooting for both the US and China, so when we got off the bus we immediately purchased a small Chinese flag to go with our American one.  Then we saw people painting faces outside the venue, so we each got a Chinese flag on one cheek, and I got a US flag on the other.  Supporting both countries got us lots of good attention, and we made some new friends for the US in the process.

What happened: It’s almost 2 a.m. here, and at 6:30 a.m. we leave for a day at the Great Wall, so not much time for all the details.  Both games were amazing in their own way.  Even though China won the first game three sets to none, each set was incredibly close, and the tension and quality of play were constantly high: monster spikes and blocks were parried over and over again with unlikely digs and saves.  Although we sat near a crew of screaming Russians, the Chinese fans gave us the biggest thrill, as their team kept finding ways to win each set and the packed auditorium went more and more nuts.  The last point was deafening.  It was exactly what a world-class sporting event should be!

In the second game, the US started slow and didn’t seem to have it together, dropping two of the first three sets and never really finding a rhythm.  But in the fourth set, led by Logan Tom, Kim Willoughby, Kim Glass (who we nicknamed “Naomi Campbell”), and vicious server Lindsey Berg,  our team built a big lead and held onto it, to the screaming delight of the US fans who now seemed to make up over half the people remaining in the two-thirds empty auditorium.  Our own flag was waving for most of the fourth set, and in the fifth we almost never dropped it into our laps, jubilant as the US came out even stronger and roared to victory.  It was an incredible night for both our teams!

Also of note: Some women’s volleyball players are HUGE.  I mean really, really gigantic.  Especially the Russians.  Also, volleyball is way more fun to watch than I ever could have imagined.  And I can’t wait to get home and find some people to play with.

1. Opening Ceremonies: Although we weren’t even in China for the opening ceremonies, we got to watch a nice, long chunk of boring country parades, plus the entire finale, from the courtyard bar of our hostel in Siem Reap, Cambodia (the town near Angkor Wat).  We watched with two Brits who were also staying at our hostel, plus a delightful older Cambodian man who giggled almost every time a new country emerged to parade around the track.
2. Michael Phelps, Gold Medal Number ?:  After taking the (extremely comfortable) overnight train from Bangkok to Krabi, we just missed the hourly boat to our beach destination and were stuck in the small oceanside pavilion that served as an open-air terminal.  Not to worry; the TV mounted to the ceiling of the pavilion was showing the Olympics, and smack in the middle of our forty-five minute wait, Michael Phelps appeared, swam, set a world record and won a gold medal, looking no more excited than we were to be waiting for the next boat.
3. Women’s Volleyball, U.S. vs. China: We caught the first set of this match on the shuttle into town from Beijing Capital Airport the evening we returned, then finished watching the satisfying victory in a bar where we met our friend Sarah, still sporting our backpacks (shoved under the table) and our sandy socks.
4. Too Many Events to be Named: We’ve spent quite a bit of our time in Beijing so far shuttling from place to place, but does this mean we’ve missed out on a lot of Olympic action?  Of course not.  Every bus and subway car in town is showing live, almost commercial-free feeds of Olympic events.  We’ve caught everything from badminton to softball to wrestling while sitting in the molded plastic seats of comfortably air-conditioned train cars or breezy buses.  And when nothing’s happening, there are always endless highlight reels to entertain.  One caveat: if China is competing, in anything (and they usually are), you can bet that’s what you’ll see.  The only notable exception to this rule has been, happily, Michael Phelps!
5. Basketball, China vs. Greece: Yesterday we watched an Olympic event in perhaps the most unlikely place yet: the Summer Palace!  This UNESCO World Heritage site was not somewhere we expected to see any Olympics — let alone a television — but as we approached the famous 17-arch bridge, its flagstones worn down by emperors and its balustrades lined with ancient dragon sculptures, what did we see but a giant television?  Dozens of Chinese tourists lined the steps of the pavilion opposite the television, glued to the screen.  We sat down with them as the Chinese team mounted a hopeful comeback, then fell back again and finally lost.  But even though China’s loss was inevitable well before it became official, the team’s Summer Palace fans stayed with them to the bitter end.

Event Notes

First, the good news: tonight we head out to watch what promise to be two great quarterfinal matches in Women’s Volleyball.  Best of all, we get to see the U.S. again!  If you’re able to tune in, look for us with our flag draped over our shoulders as China takes on Russia and the U.S. plays Italy.  We have new respect for volleyball after witnessing the U.S. play China last weekend; we knew it was fun to play, but it’s also a really fun sport to watch!

The bad news is that China’s biggest loss this week is also ours; we had tickets to watch the Men’s 110-meter hurdles finals, featuring national hero and Athens 2004 gold medalist Liu Xiang.  In case you hadn’t heard, an injury that has been bothering him all spring became too much in warmups yesterday, and he is now a scratch from the competition.  We may not be as disappointed as the Chinese (one fan is quoted by the New York Times as saying: “This is such a disgrace for China . . . both the media and Liu Xiang himself should take the responsibility”), but we’re still kind of bummed.  And in case we get sick or decide at the last minute not to go, we can now forget about the 1,000-2,000% markup we could have received by selling our tickets at the gate.

In all seriousness, though, Liu Xiang’s withdrawal is a truly major disappointment for the Chinese people, who had to watch their only track and field medalist ever hobble away without ever running a race in his own country’s Olympics. Most of all it must be devastating for Liu Xiang, who has very literally given most of his life (it’s what Olympic athletes here do) for this moment. Our hearts are with him.

And for us, the news is not all bad: the Men’s 400-meter finals (at the same track event on Thursday) looks to be a battle between two Americans, Jeremy Wariner and  LaShawnMerritt. ESPN says: “Entering the Games, they owned all 10 of the world’s best 2008 times in this event and both won their first-round heats Monday. They should be there together at the wire in the final Thursday.”  So look for us waving our flag in the nosebleed section once again!!

What we knew: Very little.  I guess we had read that the US women disappointed in the Team All-Around competition, but we were still ready to go all out from the stands.

How we prepared:  We tracked down Beijing’s only flag store to pick up the largest version of the Stars and Stripes permissible at Olympic venues, plus a smaller pennant to wave around.  Also, when we realized we were sitting near several other young Americans, we conspired to form a cheering section loud enough to get noticed by the cameras and/or athletes far below.

What happened: This was an awesome event!  There was something really personal about the individual performances, especially with the women, who showed a lot of emotion.  After Zou Kai of China easily won gold in the men’s floor exercise, things got more interesting in the women’s vault.  Alicia Sacramone of the US started out in the lead (thanks to our raucous cheering), only to be passed by the powerful Chinese gymnast Cheng Fei, who nevertheless was clearly vulnerable after a bad landing on her second vault.  A Russian gymnast looked to pass her with two great vaults, but after mysterious deliberations by the judges she was disqualified on an apparent technicality, which we all booed.  The severe-looking German with the unpronounceable name who came next kept things interesting, though, landing two great vaults and splitting a huge grin after the second one.  It turns out this is her fifth Olympics; she stopped seeming so severe when we realized that she must be almost forty.  She also couldn’t stop grinning from that point on through the medal ceremony, except when she was comforting younger gymnasts after bad landings.  She became one of our favorites on the night, and looked to win gold until the last gymnast, from North Korea, landed two flawed-looking vaults that were still enough for first place (was this questionable judging, we wondered, or just admittedly ill-informed spectating?).

The men’s pommel horse was also fun; the Chinese all-around winner Wei Yang got an enormous ovation, and although he didn’t place, the other Chinese gymnast in the event, Xiao Qin, ended up winning gold with a performance that must have been technically perfect, since it wasn’t otherwise very exciting.  The American in the event got our hearts racing with a spectacular routine, twisting his legs upside-down as much as rightside-up, but he fell just before his dismount and this destroyed his score — otherwise he must have been on track for an easy gold.  We made sure he heard our support from the nosebleed section anyway.  But the best part of this event was the young, eager-looking Briton who performed well enough for bronze, and showed no restraint in looking like it was the best thing that had ever happened in his life.  The Croatian who placed second was also thrilled; seeing these young athletes so overjoyed was a definite highlight of the competition.

The last event was the women’s floor, also the first with two Americans.  Our cheering section responded well, flag-waving and chanting “USA” loud enough to get a wave from Shawn Johnson as she walked out with the other gymnasts, even though we were way up in the top deck.  She performed first and almost perfectly, finishing with one of those tiny girl giant smiles that can make women’s gymnasts so endearing.  Her lead held up through solid performances by Chinese, Brazilian and Russian gymnasts, marred only by small missteps that nevertheless kept them back.  One of the final performances came from Nastia Liukin, the other American, who, according to the Russian guy behind me, was favored to win.  Her performance was incredible to watch — much more fluid and beautiful than any of the others — but one bad landing put her just behind Shawn in the standings.  One other gymnast failed to catch up, and then the final gymnast, from Romania, stepped onto the floor and delivered another near-flawless routine that just edged out Shawn’s score.  Although she dropped the Americans into silver and bronze, watching the Romanian’s unabashed tears on the podium as the flags were raised was enough for us to feel good about the whole thing.

Also of note: After the floor exercise and medal ceremony we were feeling so much love for our US gymnasts that we made our way down to where Shawn and Nastia were giving interviews to international press.  We managed to catch their attention from the stands between interviews for just long enough to grin stupidly and wave our flag at them.  I think they really appreciated the sentiment.

What we knew: Although Italy is a football powerhouse, European teams tend not to send their best players to the Olympics, since most are in-season with their club teams.

How we prepared:  We missed our chance to buy Italian or Belgian flags, so we settled for Chinese headbands, which at least made us feel like crazy football fans.  We also took advantage of the $0.75 beers available at all Olympic venues and purchased several before and during the game.

What happened: We went in thinking we’d root for Italy, but after Belgium went a man down with a questionable red card in the 19th minute and Italy scored on the subsequent penalty kick, we started pulling for the underdogs.  Our sympathies were rewarded when Belgium tied the score on a header off a corner kick and then went ahead on a beautiful breakaway goal.  Italy tied it up again in the second half with another goal off a penalty kick, but as time ran down Belgium set up the perfect winner and sealed the shorthanded win, 3-2.  We screamed and went crazy, like only gametime bandwagon fans can.  Afterward, half the Belgium team threw their jerseys into the Belgian section of the crowd and ran a jubilant Olympic victory lap.

Also of note: A group of about 30 Chinese cheerleaders entertained the crowd both before the game and during halftime.  It wasn’t at all strange to see a handful of male cheerleaders in the bunch, but seeing them wear the exact same halter-tops as the women definitely got our  attention.

*****

Friday, August 1 - Saturday, August 2
Departures
After a morning of teaching, we’ll pack up our toothbrushes and drag our mountain of bags (the same one from January) back to Beijing late Friday night.  There we’ll crash with friends and spend Saturday retrieving our Olympic tickets (more on that later) from will-call.  Saturday evening we head to the airport to fly to Guilin, in Southern China’s Guangxi Province.

*****

Sunday August 3 - Wednesday August 6
South China (Guilin and Yangshuo)
We plan to spend 3 ½ or 4 days in in Guilin and Yangshuo, two cities nestled along winding rivers in the iconic karst scenery of Guangxi province (think steep, conical mountains, twisting rivers and rice paddies, and hot, humid weather).  We hope to spend most of the time outside Yangshuo, biking to small villages, swimming and rafting in multiple rivers, and taking lots of pictures!  In the afternoon of August 6 we’ll take a bus to Shenzhen (a boomtown just across from Hong Kong) and from there catch a late-night flight to Bangkok.

*****

Thursday August 7 - Saturday August 9
Cambodia (Siem Reap and Angkor Wat)
This (we hope) will be the most intense segment of our travels.  After getting into Bangkok well after midnight, we’ll get ourselves to the bus station and catch the first (4 a.m) bus to the border with Cambodia.  There we’ll get a tuk-tuk to immigration, deal with stamps and fees, and try to push our way past the touts to get a reasonably priced car on to Siem Reap.  In Siem Reap, we’ll plan to spend at least a day and a half exploring ancient temples, including the famous Angkor Wat.  At some point on Saturday, we’ll have to reverse the whole Thailand-Cambodia trip to get ourselves back to Bangkok Saturday evening.

*****

Saturday August 9 - Sunday August 10
Thailand (Bangkok)
We should have just a bit over twenty-four hours to explore Bangkok, from a night of Pad Thai and a modest sample of the infamous nightlife to a day of rides on the river between palace-, temple- and market-hopping.  On Sunday night we’ll make our way to the train station for a first-class overnight ride to Krabi, an island in Southern Thailand.  Our private train compartment will have air-conditioning and its own bathroom, hopefully doubling as a comfortable, quietly rocking hotel!

*****

Monday August 11 - Friday August 15
Thailand (Krabi)
Of course, our travels in the first half of the month had to end with – the beach!  We’re hoping for a couple sunny days (it will be rainy season) to enjoy the white beaches fringed by karst peaks, as well as some world-class sea kayaking, snorkelling and scuba diving among innumerable and mysterious outlying islands.  Personally, I’m hoping to get some old-fashioned shady hammock time in as well, to take a breath after our travels.

*****

Friday August 15 - Friday August 22
Beijing 2008 (The Olympics!)
After leaving the beach in the morning we should arrive in Beijing around dinnertime on August 15, thanks to a time change and the direct flights we treated ourselves to.  Thus will begin the Olympic leg of our travels.  We were incredible lucky to have applied so early for tickets (well over a year ago), so we’ll be seeing some great events.  In place a long-winded description, I’ll just post the schedule of what we’re going to see:

August 16, 6 p.m.
Football (Soccer), Worker’s Stadium
Men’s Quarterfinal Match: 1D vs. 2C (Group C includes Brazil and Group D includes Italy!)

August 17, 6 p.m.
Gymnastics, Olympic Green / National Indoor Stadium
Finals: M Floor Exercise; W Floor Exercise; M Pommel Horse; W Vault (all finals include medal ceremonies!)

August 19, 8 p.m.
Volleyball, Capital Indoor Stadium
Women’s Quarterfinals: 2 Matches TBD

August 21, 7 p.m.
Track and Field, Olympic Green / National Stadium (“The Bird’s Nest”)
W 1500m Semis; M Decathlon High Jump; W Javelin Throw Final; M 800m Semis; W 4×100m Relay 1st Rnd; M Triple Jump Final; M 4×100m Relay 1st Rnd; M 400m Final; W 200m Final; M 110m Hurdles Final; M Decathlon 400m

August 22, 7 p.m.
Diving, Olympic Green / National Aquatics Center (“The Water Cube”)
Prelims: M 10m Platform (the highest one!)

We feel so thrilled and lucky to be able to see these great events!  I will be doing my best to blog something every day, so hopefully updates will follow each event.  Look for us on TV!

*****

Saturday August 23 - Monday September 1
Weddings, and Return
What better way to celebrate our return to the US than . . . going to more weddings!  We love going to friends’ weddings and are excited to be able to get to two of them on our way home.  The first is in San Francisco, where, thanks to the time change, we will arrive the same morning that we leave Beijing, just a few hours before the ceremony (also note that by pure accident, we’ll return to the US on August 23, the same day we left for Guatemala last year!).  We’ll also be spending time with several good friends and some of Lacey’s family in the Bay Area, before heading back east and winding up our journeys, fittingly, in Putney, Vermont, for another wedding celebration.  Also of note: by September 1 — exactly a month from when we left Qingdao — we should be back in Philadelphia, concluding what could be the most memorable August of our blessed and fortunate lives.

“Green” Olympics? | Beyond Chinese Checkers: Mah-Jongg vs. Paintball | The Five Weirdest Things I’ve Eaten in China (So Far) | Brides and Bugs

“Green” Olympics?

Some of you may have heard a report on NPR or read the New York Times article about blooms of algae threatening the Olympic Sailing Regatta in Qingdao.  Well, we have front-row seats to this Olympic Sailing pre-game show.  It began for us when we looked out the window a couple weeks ago and noticed that the ocean had some funny green streaks running through it.  A few hot days later, I found myself jogging down one of Qingdao’s nicest beaches between a reeking high-tide line of algae and a huge mat of it just offshore.  I was planning to end my run with a jump in the ocean, a plan which I doggedly carried out after dodging the usual staring Chinese tourists and the bulldozer that was dealing with the algae on the beach behind them.  But despite locating a small algae-free section of ocean to dunk myself in, with fields of the stuff stretching on all sides something didn’t feel right.

Sure enough, a few days later an itch in my ear became an infection, which took over a week to recover from.  Adding insult to injury, by the end of that week the reek of the seaweed was finding its way up from the shoreline and into our apartment and our classrooms.  Trucks full of camouflaged soldiers can still be seen driving towards the seaside in long lines, passed in the opposite direction by still more trucks overflowing and dripping with the neon-green algae.  The scale of the cleanup is amazing; just the other day I strolled down to the ocean just to witness the seaweed-hucking, revolutionary anthem-singing bands of soldiers crawling like ants across the (now almost algae-free) shore.  Although I wholeheartedly support their efforts, I’m still wondering whether I’ll be able to feel good about jumping in the water again.

Incidentally, there seems to be some debate locally about the cause of the algae bloom, with many residents quietly speculating that it’s a direct result of the parallel “bloom” of factories on the industrial side of Qingdao’s peninsula – particularly a new chemical factory supported by the mayor.  Among almost everyone, a general mistrust of the algae and its causes is unmistakable, with many residents shaking their heads or just looking away when it comes up.  But of course, ear infections aside, the China Daily fearlessly reports that: “The algae have no effect on the water quality or a negative influence on marine ecology of the sea off the Qingdao coast.”

Beyond Chinese Checkers: Mah-Jongg vs. Paintball

Spending a year abroad with a constant companion requires a lot of things: trust, patience, and a willingness to compromise, to name a few.  It also requires something a little less cliched, but no less important, something absolutely essential to the happiness of said constant companions: distraction.  This distraction can (and does) take many forms, but for Lacey and I a game is often involved.  Dinner for two at a local restaurant?  We almost invariably take a pill-bottle full of dice for Yahtzee, or our tiny travel Cribbage board and a deck of cards.  A quiet night at home?  Scrabble has had its moments of glory.  When things are really bad, Lacey sometimes tries to push a game of mental guess who.  In recent weeks, China’s endless supply of pirated movies has pushed the tube to the fore.  Still, games have played a huge role in our life abroad as a couple.  So imagine our delight when a recent sampling of Chinese games gave us the opportunity to compare an old classic with a growing fad: Mah-Johngg vs. Paintball.

Mah-Johngg

When a few of our favorite students heard that we wanted to learn how to play Mah-Jongg, it was only a matter of time before they showed up at our apartment with the gift of an enormous, heavy Mah-Johngg set and an afternoon at our disposal to teach us the ancient game.  A few hours (and several wins, carefully engineered by our students) later, we were hooked.  Without reinforcement, however, we might have quickly forgotten the basic rules.  Fortunately, a dinner date the following night with a friend’s family gave us the chance to play again, this time with the requisite group of older folks.  These senior citizens not only made perfect role models for our newfound addiction; they also kept us awake far longer than any septuagenarians ever should.

Paintball

When an Australian friend who runs a language school invited us out for a Saturday afternoon of paintballing, we had no idea what to expect.  We might have predicted the camouflage uniforms, the extravagantly vicious-looking guns, and the ducking and weaving through the trees.  What we couldn’t have known was that our afternoon paintball war would take place in a public park, complete with gray-haired men playing chess and small children darting between the trees.  Regulation is not generally China’s strong suit, but there is something truly amazing about being told not to shoot anyone within ten meters, handed a gun, and then released into a park full of ordinary citizens out to enjoy their Saturday afternoon.

The Winner

Our Chinese paintball experience was unforgettable, but despite the belly-crawling, rat-a-tatting, civilian-dodging fun we had in Zhongshan Park, Lacey and I both agree that Mah-Johngg is the clear winner here.  When you don’t want to stop even though your body is telling you it’s way past time for bed, you know a game is addictive.  But when the gleam in the eyes of the senior citizens across the table tell you that midnight is just when things get started, you know you’ve found a winner.  Add to that the constant peeks our “Uncles” and “Aunties” took at our tiles to make sure we kept winning, and playing Mah-Johngg with the old folks becomes an unforgettable China experience that we hope to repeat as soon as possible.  My “helper” even walked us to our cab when the game finally ended, grinning spryly and shaking hands all around before we drove off into the wee hours of the night.

The Five Weirdest Things I’ve Eaten in China (So Far)

Chinese food is famous all over the world, and for very good reason.  The Chinese possess an unrivaled talent for being able to make almost anything delicious.  So for me, the most important directive when sitting down to eat here is always to taste whatever’s put in front of me, no matter what someone tells me is actually in it.  As a result, without even having been to infamous Southeast China yet, and without having sampled the ubiquitous skewered scorpions and seahorses, we’ve still digested an impressive collection of weird dishes.  Here are my top five:

5. Stinky Tofu: Sounds ok, right?  After all, the French eat stinky cheese.  But in the case of stinky tofu, “stinky” is a viciously deceptive understatement.  Stinky tofu, and I mean no insult to those who have developed a taste for it, smells like bathroom.  Lacey and I gulped down two bites of it each and had to stop.  This is why I said the Chinese can make “almost” anything delicious.  Near our school is a narrow, dirty street where hundreds (if not thousands) of students browse a wide choice of small stalls and barbecue stands for their dinner.  Lacey and I walk by it on the way to one of our favorite local restaurants, but we’ve never eaten anything there, mostly because of the smell of sewer that pervades the scene every time we walk by.  But it was only a couple weeks ago that we realized that there was no connection between the unclean condition of the street and the smell that hangs over the area.  The nearby ‘sewer’ is just a single stinky tofu stand, buried among the dozens of others that ply their flavors.

4. Jellyfish: Seriously, did anyone know jellyfish were edible?  I had no idea.  But whether cooked up with veggies or boiled in soup, they’re both crunchy and mild, nicely complementing the flavor of whatever (usually delicious) sauce or broth they’re cooked with.  And once they’re on your plate, they don’t sting.

3. Pig stomach, cow tongue, and sheep throat: Somehow these seemed to belong together, although we’ve eaten them all separately.  We had the sheep’s throat at a now-forgotten banquet, the pig stomach at a recent wedding dinner, and the cow’s tongue at a Korean barbeque restaurant just the other night.  The cow’s tongue was surprisingly sweet, and quite good.  The pig stomach and sheep throat appeared similar, a little bit chewy, with the definite look of some kind of animal lining, but cooked up with lots of peppers and the usual mysterious sauces, each was unique, spicy and delicious.

2. Sea slugs and sea cucumbers: We’ve had sea slugs dangling in soup, chopped up in dumplings, and fried up as a main dish.  Looking at them in the tank, it’s hard to imagine something you’d want to eat less than sea slugs.  Long and pink, with a hole at each end, a wrinkled exterior, and no other discernable features, they stretch and retract like giant squishy leeches.  But once you get them doused in sauce or soup, you actually can forget what they looked like (still alive, when you walked into the restaurant), and pretty much just enjoy them.  As for sea cucumbers, my extensive online research tells me that they are also a kind of sea slug.  They also don’t look like anything you’d ever want to eat, but they turn out to taste pretty good.  In place of further description, I give you a picture of Lacey popping one into her mouth.

1. Bugs: Yes, bugs.  I’m really proud of this one.  Just this weekend, on a trip to a small, 500-year-old, hard-to-reach country town, in a family’s home that doubles as a tiny hotel, Lacey and I downed almost an entire plate of bugs.  Not some small, palatable-looking bugs hiding in a delicious secret sauce, and not bug meat stripped of its bug-like appendages.  I mean just bugs.  In fact, when we balked at the initial offer of a basket of cicadas, our hostess misunderstood our hesitation and offered to mix them with another variety of bug, this one a large, mantis-like species.  For some reason we consented.  The result is well-documented in the accompanying “Photos” post, Brides and Bugs.  But before you start squirming over the pictures, know this: there’s a reason why we finished almost our entire plate.  Those were some damn tasty bugs.

First, the brides:

The four or five chilly brides visible in this shot represent just a tiny fraction of all the brides on the beach.

The photography was clearly a labor-intensive process for all involved.

But there were still touching moments.

And now, the bugs:

This was our plate of bugs, before we dug in. Take a good look. This really happened.

Thinking about it.

Taking the plunge!

Our taste for bugs developed almost instantly.

So good.

This is what a plate of bugs looks like when you’re done eating it.

A couple days earlier, when I’d contributed thirty kuai to the relief fund my own students had started in class, I’d met with the same reaction. Now, after this repeat performance, I began to understand that the reaction had nothing to do with money: it was a genuine show of gratitude. None of our students were from Sichuan, but their concern over the earthquake had quickly outgrown mere sympathy. As the news broke and then worsened, a dark mood descended over most of our classes, with students looking increasingly shell-shocked or even breaking down and crying. The earthquake and its victims were tangible, present: in the newspapers that hung rigid before every face until class began, in the gloomy head-shakes I got when I started class with the routine “how’s it going?” For Chinese everywhere, many of whom were not from Sichuan and had no connections there, it was not going well. The tragedy of the earthquake was personal.

Given the widespread and courageous reporting from the quake, the stories and pictures that flowed out of Sichuan, it’s not surprising that the disaster generated so much compassion. How could anyone witness the outward scale and humanity of this tragedy without also feeling it within? Reports of Chinese from every corner of the country leaving work and school to travel to Sichuan were so widespread that the government had to actively discourage people from going there. In a culture where information is carefully controlled and action and reaction usually require an enormous amount of care and forethought, being able to see footage of the earthquake victims and weep for them provided rare catharsis.

Still, such a profound and personal reaction begs more of an explanation, and looking for one took my thoughts to some unexpected places. For instance, upon entering the wide glass doors of the university building that houses our school, you are confronted with two notable sights: an enormous mirror, dominating the opposite wall and making your own reflection almost unavoidable, and just beside it, a large placard (written in both Chinese and English) detailing the “Socialist Concept of Honor and Disgrace.” The first item on this placard urges: “Love, do not harm, the motherland.” But in some ways the mirror beside it is more interesting. Every morning, and often in the afternoon, young women stand at the mirror, dabbing at hair or makeup, applying eyeliner or lipstick, adjusting a collar or a skirt. Remember, this mirror is enormous; everyone who enters the building witnesses any acts of personal hygiene that take place in front of it. In the United States a certain amount of shame might be associated with primping in such an exposed place – after all, what if your teacher, or the guy you have a crush on, suddenly appears? – but here young women (and sometimes men) regularly use the billboard-sized looking-glass to adjust their appearances.

So how could this mirror possibly have anything to do with sympathy for the earthquake victims? Because the nonexistence of shame in performing one’s morning toilet is one that we associate primarily with family. Only in your own house would you preen with such impunity, heedless even of your elders or members of the opposite sex. Your family can witness you like this, but others should believe that this is your natural, organic state: that you always look this way. In China, though, while enormous value is placed on appearances, everyone seems to accept the effort that it takes to achieve them – an acceptance so genuine it is almost familial.

Take, for another example, the overnight travels Lacey and I have taken by bus and train. The standard “hard sleeper” train class, easily the most popular method of travel within China, means squeezing onto one of six bunks in a narrow compartment with no door. The bunks are perfectly comfortable, but curled on my bottom bunk I found the total lack of privacy disconcerting. People eating bowls of noodles in the hall or wandering past in the middle of the night have nothing to stop them from looking in at you as you lie in bed, and they often do. Partial undressing, eating on the bed, chatting with friends and smoking in the halls are also common behavior. On one train, when a fifty-something fellow compartment-member started smoking in bed (smoking in train compartments was just banned in China last year), we pointed him out to the attendant and watched her give him a good scolding, as if he was an older brother we had just told on.

Certainly immense value is placed on the family in China – we hear about it all the time, and it’s unmistakable here – but I’m not talking about relationships within actual families. And I’m not talking about the other propaganda items on the “Socialist Concept” sign, either, such as: “Be united and help each other; don’t gain benefits at the expense of others.” In China’s current economic environment, such tenets have clearly been left behind. No, what I’m talking about is the possibility that this entire country, from Sichuan to Qingdao, from Beijing to Yunnan, tends to behave like one enormous, loving, confused, happy, angry, harmonious, and utterly messy family.

But what about the abovementioned economic environment? The bargaining, the cheating, the endless push to get ahead? In many parts of China, lines to buy tickets or enter trains are still just formless blobs; the sharpest elbows get to the front first. In the rush of New Year’s travel, it only took being shoved by old women a few times until Lacey and I started shoving, too. If a merchant can get someone to pay a higher price than his goods are actually worth, he will: in some places bargaining can get you as low as ten percent of the asking price. So is this really how a family behaves? Anyone who has had an older brother or sister should now be nodding vehemently: yes, yes, yes. In fact, anyone who remembers their childhood should be able to attest to the utter unfairness that can, and often does, prevail in family relationships.

In this view, the “motherland” is just that, and the Chinese are her giant packed family, jostling for space, attention, nourishment and guidance. The students primping in front of the mirror wake up in dormitory rooms little bigger than hard sleeper train compartments, rooms that also house six people; little wonder, then, that the giant mirror in the entryway might seem as good a place to primp as any. Wedding pictures are another shared activity here; walking by the ocean in Qingdao one day, we saw at least a hundred brides being photographed along a stretch of coastline less than a kilometer long. Qingdao’s seaside is a hugely popular destination for wedding pictures; after paying steep premiums photography companies, brides pull on various dresses over their jeans and wade to the edge of the water or recline on stretches of rock in full view of strolling tourists and recreational beachgoers. The grooms seem only slightly less comfortable about posing on one knee or maintaining a frozen look of reverence for the camera; this is, after all, a family affair.

Even as I sit writing this, I’m looking out my window at row upon row of apartment buildings with laundry hanging out the windows, casually shirtless men or nightgowned women reaching out to pin up or take down fresh items. In the entryway of our school, opposite the mirror and the “Socialist Concept” sign, is a tiny, glass-fronted office. In it, the woman who cleans the entire school building lives with her own family, at night pulling a curtain shut across their single, shared bed. On our one train ride in the cheapest “hard seat” class, which lasted from about four in the afternoon until eleven at night, Lacey and I sat across from an older couple who, like many on that car, would spend over two days in the same seats. People ate, drank, played cards, gossiped, and dozed in their non-reclinable chairs, the unlucky latecomers forced to stand in the aisles. But the atmosphere was all family: people joking with or posing abrupt questions to apparent strangers, waving their chopsticks and slurping their soup, helping each other shove bags overhead or changing seats to accomodate small children, and gossiping happily about the blue-eyed foreigners in their midst.

Remembering that late-night hard seat train ride, the reasons for the overwhelming response to the earthquake become overwhelmingly obvious: in this family, however potentially dysfunctional it may be, seeing so many family members in such serious physical trouble stirs a deeply conditioned response. The Chinese people are just as complex and different as people anywhere, just as difficult for us to fathom as members of anyone else’s family. But like families everywhere, seeing their brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers, sons and daughters in physical and emotional pain brought deep personal anguish. So in China, the rest of the family rallied round. The immensity of the financial response to the quake in particular is a testament to that. And the applause I heard when I donated to earthquake victims was more than simple appreciation for the money; it was the appreciation of a family ready to welcome another member into its midst.

We are big fans of round doorways.

A side gate of the ancient Confucius temple.

The temple complex is simple and serene.

Tourists sillhouetted on the platform Confucius once taught from, hundreds of years before Jesus was born.

It’s said that the temple pillars had to be draped in fabric when the Emperor visited, so he would not be jealous because they were more beautifully carved than those in the Forbidden City.

These fellas are guarding Confucius’ tomb.

With a little help.

In fact, an entire 500-acre cemetery is devoted to the descendants of Confucius, their tombs scattered through the woods and protected by all kinds of creatures.

Hamming it up in the cemetery . . .

. . . with my dad (feeding the horse).

We just didn’t want to get this guy any madder than he was.

In fact, the overgrown, enchanted quiet of the cemetery, one of the oldest in China, made it feel like a place where the dangers and worries of the outside world might not apply.