Flashback

I don't know why this morning has me thinking of Athens in those early days.

July. 2004. Good grief. A chunk of time like six years goes by so slowly, but I can still reach back for the gasoline scents, the small motor sounds, and the coolness of those mornings when we popped out of the subway into the shadowed daylight and sooty walls of Omonia Square, with its plastered ads from the 50's and the stares from the just-waking junkies. The whole place had the diesel smell of a busy seaport. There were oranges everywhere.

Yeah, I reach back but It's just not that far. It could have happened ten minutes ago.

That was the difference between Athens and Beijing. The mornings were sunny, and it was fun going to work.

Sometimes memories aren't fair.

Murder in Zhong Guan Cun

Did he die?

I don't know for sure. I'll never know. But when they carried him off, he wasn't moving. I only assumed that if he wasn't dead, he would be soon. There was something about the way they beat him that showed they weren't really interested in him being alive.

For whatever reason.

---

I went outside around two or three. It was dark outside, and clear. Since the roomie went back to the States, I had the whole place to myself, and I enjoyed the balcony that had been his for four months.

It had a great view. Eleven floors below was the 7-11. All night long I could watch co-workers coming back with their sacks of beer. I could see other people on the streets sometimes, but they were small.

At two, three in the morning, there was nobody. Which was why my ears perked when I heard a large animated group coming down the street. When they came into view, I grinned. They were carrying somebody. Must have been a party. There were about 15 of them. Two or three ran around the pack in circles. They were shouting words I couldn't understand. I thought maybe they were drunk. They went out of view, and I looked back to the stars.

Since the smog had cleared out, you could see so many of them. Thirty or so.

They came back into view in the courtyard behind the shops across the way, outside the Church's windows. They threw the guy they'd been carrying to the ground. A circle formed and they began kicking him viciously.

I jerked back, shook my head, looked around. Was I still asleep? Should I shout? They wouldn't hear me from up there. Should I call the police? Fuck, what if they WERE the police?

The beating continued. After a while the crowd stepped back. The man was on his stomach. The only light on the courtyard came from above one of the Church's back doors. It was dim. I saw a shaking hand lift from the ground and raise into a blocking position in front of his face. It didn't help. One last kick and he was out. They carried him inside.

I stayed out on the balcony and lit another cigarette.

Did that really happen?

It did.

And what business was it of mine.

After a while, I went back inside. But it took a while to go back to sleep.

One Year Ago Yesterday...

In the weeks that followed August 8th, 2008, there was one day where, for a few hours, I forgot about it all. It was August 18th, and on that date in the blog I wrote that I would talk about that more later. Well, here ya go…


I’ve mentioned it before, but Corinna Zhang was hands-down the sweetest, most innocent woman I’ve ever met. She was in a constant state of near laughter, bubbling with eagerness for simple pleasures. I couldn’t have been more surprised when I found out that she was in her late-20’s, thinking she was at most 20. I only asked her age when she started lamenting on our walk that day that she was getting old and her family worried that she wouldn’t marry.

In China, it is not rude to ask someone their age. Instead, it is a good starting point for conversation, a commonality, and even if you’re getting on in years, it’s nothing to be ashamed about like it is here. It is an honor to be old. Unless you’re unmarried, apparently.

So that day, Janet told me to take a walk over to MPC to do some photo chronicling of the lunch crowds. “Take Corinna with you,” she said. “She hasn’t gotten to see any of it yet.” This was shortly after I’d met Venus and Serena, which had me in a pretty decent mood, and I accepted the assignment eagerly.

Here’s a little background on the average Chinese workday:

You wake up early to catch the train for a one to two-hour subway/bus/bike ride through the oppressive smog. You get to the office and sit there for about ten hours. In that time, you do very little work, because productivity is risky. During the day, you get an hour for lunch. That time is eaten up by a long line, followed by a noisy fifteen minutes of eating, and capped with a ten-minute walk around the office building. Then it’s back to your cubicle, where you sit silently with the hope of not being noticed. After work is the long commute home to exhaustion. If you’re lucky, you’ll get another brief walk before bed. For the honor of adding to the collective’s prosperity, you get possibly five hundred dollars a month pay. When rent on a tiny, cramped flat costs four hundred and fifty, this leaves little chance for going out and seeing anything more than your neighborhood.

It’s not that different here for many, except that it’s handled with much less tolerance. Corinna never once complained about anything. None of them did. Cheery, earnest smiles, and an overboard appreciation for kittens all around.

The walk to MPC takes ten minutes for an American, and twice that at Chinese pace. I listened to Corinna and gently prodded with questions to keep the silence and its implications in the background. What is it like in your hometown? What does your family do? Small talk. I remember that she was very close to her grandmother.

At MPC, she was quiet and observational while I took photos. She would leave for a bit when she saw people she knew, and I’d wander off to get a different angle, but when it was time to move on, somehow she always showed up without me having to look for her. Things were slow at MPC, so after a while we skipped over to IBC to see what was cooking over there. Same thing. Not the crowds we were looking for.

As we were leaving IBC, we ran into Neal, Wayne, Julianne, and Allen, who were also on their way out. They were excited about something. I asked what was up. “Leonard’s taking us up to the top of the needle,” Wayne told me. “Wanna come?”

Seriously? I asked Corinna if she wanted to go, and assured her that she wouldn’t get in any trouble.

On the way over, I think she was scared. This was out of the norm in a big, big way. For whatever reason, she was quiet, talking in no more than a whisper, so I let her be and chatted with Julianne. We were both in agreement that this experience was far from that in Athens. “It doesn’t feel too safe talking about it here,” she said. “We’ll talk about it more when we get home.”

The needle – I forget its real name – was a spire in the middle of the Olympic Green. It stood next to the Bird’s Nest and the Water Cube, a series of levels shaped like diamonds running several hundred feet into the sky, with the Olympic Rings glowing at the top. You had to have special permissions to get in. Luckily, our leader knew people who had the right stamps. One of the needle’s floors was a ball room. Most of its lower floors were dedicated to media broadcasts. Good Morning America filmed at its base every day. We were going to the observation lounge at the top. When we packed into the glass elevator going up the side, we all grinned at each other. Opportunities like this are rare.


But when I looked at Corinna, I realized that it was a once-in-a-lifetime thing for her. She would tell her family and friends about this for the rest of her life. This was something that the Chinese common person had absolutely zero access to. All those rules about where you can and can’t go exist for everyone but the elite. For all its pomp, Chinese Communism does not benefit the workers on a life scale. Sure, day-to-day there is a benefit that capitalists don’t share – everyone has a job if they want it, healthcare is abundant, and nobody really starves – but the classes in China are just as stratified, if not more so, and the percentage of people who can share in the cream is much smaller. I thought about that, and as I saw Corinna beaming as we looked down on the world, I was happier for her than I was for myself. Being lucky enough to see somebody in their happiest state is a privilege that doesn’t come along enough when you don’t have children. I wanted to tell her that the world is so much bigger once you let go of the mind’s confines, but I think her realizations, whatever they were, were better.

After 20 minutes of photos our time was up, and Corinna and I walked slowly and deliberately back to the Village. It was hot, after all. No need to hurry. We explored the entire Olympic Green. The sponsors buildings. The art and the architecture. All of it. She couldn’t stop talking, laughing, grinning, and I found that I couldn’t either. When we got back to the Village, I grabbed a couple of forbidden ice creams from the athletes only bins, and that pretty much sent her into a coma. I’m lucky she didn’t hemorrhage right there. It was a wonderful afternoon!

Five years ago today...

I landed in Greece. A year ago today I was playing with Nerissa on her 2nd day in Beijing.

Hot Pot

Last night I made home hot pot. Fish broth. Onions, garlic, little five-spice, salt, pepper, cilantro, spicy sesame oil, Szechuan peppercorns. Since I don't have a hot pot set-up (or have room for it), I had to use the wok. Fish balls, shrimp balls, enokis, and some kind of bok choy-looking cabbage.

Perfetto!

Brought in leftovers today.

"THAT STINKS," said Ingrid.

And I smiled happily.

One year ago today...

After Athens I remember going through the "One year ago today" phase with the kind of deep nostalgia that only results from living life in concentrate for so long. Now on facebook and on the telephone I see and hear others doing the same thing about Beijing. Which makes me wonder what I was doing a year ago today...

It didn't even hit me on Wednesday that it had been a year since I arrived there. And I realize that the entire summer might have been different if not for the impression of China that I got from those first few days. Had a good group already been in place to show me some authentic joints for my first breath, rather than the mall and some dusty streets that all looked the same.

My second night there was a good one, getting lost in dark hutongs with D-Lo while searching for the "famous" Quanjude (Chenjudah) duck restaurant. He was terrified, but I drank in the dark-street, barbaric authenticity with eager gulps. Construction sounds coming from unlit houses, beady eyes looking out from the shadows, the stench of unknown meats grilling on that charcoal nastiness that would one day become tasty.

But the third night was when I started to get the despair. I didn't know what my job was during the days. All the people I worked directly with lived on the other side of town, and the people I lived with worked different hours in other places. So I was lonely and bored, and stuck in a place I didn't understand. The only way I've ever known how to attack that disorientation is to get lost in it, so on my third night, one year ago today, I left the office at 7 p.m. and didn't take a taxi back to the hotel. I wanted to know the city, and so I started walking, just to see how long it would take to get back home.

From the office window I'd seen only north Beijing. Out there was the Bird's Nest and the Dragon Building, which intrigued me deeply. It still does, I guess. I headed that way. Turns out the distance was deceptive.

The heat, smog and humidity were intense, but I took a few bottles of water and grinned widely at the looming adventure. The first mile or so was wonderful. The sun was still out. I passed a park where people played with children, kites, and badminton rackets. The streets were loud with high-pitched Asian motors and horns. The dust kicked up. Eventually the shop fronts with their romantic writing faded into houses. I didn't know it at the time, but this was one of Beijing's good middle class neighborhoods along the main North-South "chi" road that runs from the stadiums down to Tienanmen Square -- the road where the firework "footprints" would walk above three months later. I was about two blocks from that street, walking parallel.

Eventually I came to a bridge over a very Chinese-looking canal, which would have been beautiful if not for all the construction piles. Dust and bricks. I didn't stay long in the spot. Being still in Beijing, I was finding out, is when the sticky air starts collecting on your skin. If you move about, there's enough wind to evaporate the sweat. Just to the north of the canal was a busy-looking east-west tree-lined avenue. I went left, trying to go in the direction where I remembered the Dragon Building to be. I didn't know it then, but the street was the same one that ran right by the hotel. If only I'd known that then!

After a few blocks, I came to a major intersection (the North-South main road). I could see the Dragon Building's top to the north, still in the distance. The sun was gone so it was lit up in the dusk. I stopped by an under-construction subway station to find a place to prop the camera. Looking around, all I could see was a pile of dusty bricks. After a few photos, about twenty men came from the shadows and gathered around me. Some of them had shovels. My first thought was that I'd stepped into a photo from the Great Depression. Dust came from them. They were dirt-covered and gaunt to the point of looking sickly. They said nothing, and from their expressions I gathered that they either wanted to beat me to death or maybe just bum a cigarette. I thought about giving them smokes, since it had worked to calm the masses in Athens. Instead, I pointed at my camera and grinned. And they all grinned back in that way that would someday become so familiar. There was no animosity at all from them, just eager happiness. I went on my way.

By the time I got up to the stadiums it was completely dark except for all the lights coming from the Dragon Building, the stadiums and the highways. The security fences were still pretty far out at that point, and getting across the Fourth Ring Road was a pain. I wandered about. Next to the countdown monolith were some trees where I could finally take a piss, having seen no stores or restaurants for about an hour. There were people living behind the trees, and we spooked each other pretty good. Back at the monolith, Chinese gypsies tried to sell me knock-off hats, shirts, souvenirs. Instead I clicked more photos of the monolith and buildings, awed by the complexity of the structures. When I was finished, I looked around and realized that I had no idea how to get home.

No problem. I did have the little map and translation card with directions to the hotel on it. But it was only 9 o'clock and I still felt like walking. D-Lo called to see if I was all right and wanted to go have dinner at the mall, but I declined, wanting something more authentic. I kept walking. West along the Fourth Ring Road. Past what looked like a casino, a huge gas station. I took a left after what looked like a gentlemen's club, and that's when I started getting really, really lost.

Dark, winding roads. One lane, two lanes. Tall apartment buildings with dark windows, and people all over the streets. Fruit shops, vegetable stands, grilled corn, kids running around naked, mah-jjong parlors, that charcoal stench and grilled animal, glares and grins in my direction, flashing lights... I'd been warned repeatedly NOT TO EAT ANYTHING FROM A STREET CORNER, but I was getting hungry, walking, walking... a car came screaching down the street, barely missing the crowds of people, and crashed into a dumpster. It was a trash explosion. People lit up with excitement. An ambulance was on the scene almost immediately. Gambling on the sidewalks. Moon cakes and buns. Barber shops with prostitutes waving at men until I walked by. Nobody there had ever seen anyone like me. I felt like an alien, truly. At about that point it hit me that I didn't want to be there anymore.

But I had to keep walking. West, I thought. Go west. I crossed a bridge over a highway. Didn't know it then, but that was the road to Badaling. If I'd taken a left there and gone another mile, I'd be at the Third Ring Road, where I might have recognized things more. I kept at the smaller neighborhoods. Ten p.m. came and I still hadn't eaten. All of the restaurants scared me. No English anywhere. How I didn't hit a KFC or McDonald's in all that time is a mystery. Eventually, I gave up and hit a sandwich cart, where they whipped me up some creation of fried bread, fried egg, lettuce, and spices. It was quite possibly the most delicious thing I'd ever eaten, and I ordered another almost immediately. The cook was excited, apparently never having had to make a second before. Fat Americans. He spouted Chinese. I grinned stupidly. I had no idea what kind of money to give him. He got a calculator out and punched the numbers in. I gave him money and he gave it back. Not enough? There were two kinds of one, and I didn't know which was which. The coins had three sizes each. Yuan, Quai, RMB, and it all looked so different...

South, west, south, west... I finally chose a west road and stuck to it. In retrospect, that was the luckiest thing I've ever done. There was a bus stop with a big map of the city. I stood there staring at it, trying to figure out where the hotel was in relation to the "you are here" arrow. No dice. I had no idea where it was, because the map was all in Chinese. None of the people I asked had ever heard of Zhong Guan Cun.

I started to get scared around ten. I tried to get a taxi, but the driver looked at my mini map and shrugged. He didn't know. What? WHAT? I kept walking. Buildings, lights, packs of people who looked at me funny. Everything was the same. Everything was the same. Haven't I passed this already? I went into a McDonald's for the bathroom, thinking, surely I must be close now. There were people sleeping inside. I must have walked ten miles by then. Did I pass the hotel? Did I pick the wrong road? Nerissa called. I don't think we'll make it, she said. I can't go all summer wanting a guy who's not here. I said she might have told me that before I signed up for this. I convinced her not to break up. We can make it baby. We hung up, and I was suddenly massively depressed.

For a short time I gave up. It was 11 p.m. and I had no idea where to go. I was pouring sweat. I stopped another taxi with the same result. After that there were no more taxis.

And then I found my determination again. I will make it back without calling Thomas. I will do this. I walked on. The lights all went out about then, and it was mostly dark neighborhoods. Trees. Cicadas. Cars. I came to a big intersection and made a decision. I'll go right here, because this HAS to be that one road, which means the hotel should be down that way. But if it's not, I'll come back to this road and keep going west. The city has to end somewhere, and when it does I'll just turn back. I walked about a half mile before coming to a bridge over the Fourth Ring Road. Of course, I had no idea it was the Fourth Ring Road. At midnight, I stopped a local and asked for directions. She didn't speak English. Zhongguancun? I don't know what you're saying. I don't know what you're saying either. Zhongguancun? I still don't know what you're saying. Ditto. Would you like some lemonade? No, I've never read that book. [here, I'll ask these construction workers]. Zhonguancun? Suddenly, once again, I was surrounded by twenty Depression-era construction workers. They took my map and argued furiously, passing it around. You'd have thought it was a debate over whose kid to sacrifice to the Sun God. For ten minutes they debated, pointing in all directions. GIVE ME BACK MY MAP! I walked on, back down the road I'd come up.

Midnight. Twelve-thirty. Oh God, my feet hurt. My back hurt from the laptop bag. My lungs hurt. Dark streets. Smog.

And then, out of the darkness, I saw the hospital sign and I knew where I was going. I walked into the room at 1 a.m. and poured myself a beer, feeling like I hadn't accomplished anything at all.

I hated Beijing and her people after that night, and it took me many months to see beyond my first impression. Looking back on it now, finding my way home was the greatest miracle in my life. And I've seen a lot of miracles. But that night changed me. I haven't taken a single risk since, and I am still scared to. I should remind myself that home is always there, and I'll find it if I really need to.

Heyo Larry!

Get well Chef.

Negative Capability

Dear Noah, Bill, Yudith, Peter, Larry, Peaches, David, Mango, Tia, Patterson, Mike, Roxane, Garry, Rachel, Pano, Panorea, Katerini, Gretchen, Mike, David, Craig, Mario, Demitri, Stefano, Maria, Giorgos, Corinna, Dido, Amy, Janet, O, Natalia, Asia, Shannon, Eric, Linda, Cathy, Mark, Eleni, Mark, Ozzie, Todd, Joe, Todd, Meg, Ying, Kirsten, Susann, Jillian, Julianne, Gerald, Konnie, Elena, Matt, Sebastian, Joe, and all you other malakes and germers...

Hmmm.

It took about a year for me to realize that Athens was over and to accept and that my life probably would never again be that good. And some of you confessed to me that it was the same for you. We had e-mails that started, "A year ago today we were..."

Actually, I suppose it took three years. When I finally went back and saw the city without its Olympic dressings, with molotovs burning and broken glass on pavement we once so comfotably sat upon, drinking and laughing until dawn. It was a time more than a place, and more of a moment than a time.

Moments pass. Letting go of them is tough but necessary.

I thought I was well-armed with this wisdom when Beijing came around, and that I would be insulated against the withdrawal. But work is drab without immediate deadlines. People are muted. They have stories about babies, shopping, and t.v. shows that just aren't as interesting as stories about new alleys, new sections of the city, famous people met. There are bills, traffic tickets, and comments to be made about hairstyles, but no humorous or profound observations about cultural differences and self-awakening.

It's drab, and it has me thinking of running again. To somehow keep the thrill alive. It's immature. It's negative. It has me daydreaming. Forgetting calls, e-mails, birthdays, meetings, work. I've lost my camera, my sunglasses, my pen.

I don't mean that people are drab. Not at all. I've just got to make this moment more interesting, to find a way to re-engage. It's just tough without you folks from Athens and Beijing. I miss you guys!

Feeling a Little Rip van Winkled

Five months.

142 days.

But who counted?

"You were gone, what?, two and a half months?"

Um...

"It was a long time. You were gone a long time."

I'll say.

"Did you like it?"

There were some good days. Actually, discounting the week that Nerissa was there, one day stood out as being remotely close to the steady elation that was Athens 2004.

I ran into Linda Zou at the main office today. We tried to explain to co-workers what Beijing was.

"Good days?" she said. "More like some good hours."

She wasn't there as long as I was, though.

I'm not going to begin trying to essay on the meaning of 2008 Beijing yet. That's gonna take time, though I'm pretty sure it will sprout from Jen Uhle's profound comment in 2004 that Greece was a land of contrasts. "China is a land of contrasts," I'll start.

Some day.

Thanks Judy!

I couldn't agree more with the article you forwarded. It was so good I actually wrote the author and thanked him.

I can't say that stuff here. I would actually worry about the health of those I met back there. But if anyone ever wants to talk about it, I'll be happy to have a beer/coffee/tea with you and reminisce about all the happy things over there!