It's about damn time...

Ni Hao!

Wow!  It’s been a long time since my last blog post.  Sorry! I didn't realize just how long it had been until I spoke with Lizzie on Skype this week.

While filling Liz in on a thousands details, I realized two things:

1. It has been way too long since I have written a blog.

2. I have lost perspective about my insane life here in China.  While we were chatting about my daily activities,  Liz laughed and laughed. I thought: “Holy crap!  My life here is still weird!”

Was there any doubt?

Life in China has not changed; I have.  What was once jaw-dropping is now old-hat. Old weird hat!

 Weird Chinese hat!

As a result, I feel like I have a zillion stories to tell.  Honestly, it’s overwhelming. That’s not a good feeling. My American therapist, however, would be proud. Instead of freaking out about all that I have NOT told you, I’m just going to tell you about my bike ride on Tuesday.  It made Liz laugh, and I hope it makes you laugh, too.

A bit of background:

In December, Beijing Best Friend and biking buddy, Julie, left for Denmark.  So sad!  I was lucky enough that at the exact same moment in time, longtime Cincinnati friend Ingrid was relocating to China! One in, one out.

Ingrid has quickly become my partner in China crime. Plus, she bikes!  I am so lucky!

Next week, we are headed to Cambodia for 5 days of cycling and exploring. Because of the air pollution here in Beijing, we are unprepared.

Protecting my lungs

Typical Air Quality

      

On Tuesday, though, the air was finally clear and we decided to get some miles in.

At 10 am, I gear up in lycra and ride my mountain bike to Ingrid’s.  She is all kitted out in lycra, too.  We look good. (Ok, weird!) And we match; she and I ride the same model mountain bike.  Here in China, Giant Bikes only sells one women’s bicycle big enough for us Monster LaoWai  (foreign) Women to ride. 

It’s cool.  We're cool!

Being “hip and urban,” we decide to ride our bikes downtown spur-of-the-moment. I have my iPhone, a water bottle, and a granola bar that has seen better days. (This means it is more like cereal than a bar in its foil wrapper.)  Lucas has a 4 PM orthodontist appointment.  We have nearly six hours. We are golden.

We live North of the city center; we’ll ride South.  Yes, into the heart of the city. Perhaps we both have a secret death wish.  I cannot actually explain why we were compelled to ride two high-end mountain bikes into one of the busiest cities on Earth while wearing lycra.  It’s actually inexplicable. You can’t ride fast. It’s not off road.  It’s just swarming with people and cars and more cars and more people.

It goes Ok.  I mean: maybe it wouldn’t be ok to you. But we don’t get hit by any cars.  No one spits on us.  We navigate the highway exits fairly safely.  (Yes, I said highway. When need be, we can pedal like mad! And we do pedal like mad as multiple highways merge into the bike lane with cars at high speeds!)   

Ingrid in her reading glasses, helping me navigate!

It’s not perfect.

My phone quickly runs low on battery. 

Ingrid cannot read the map without taking off her bug-eye cycling glasses and switching them out for readers.  

At one intersection, a car refuses to stop for me, but a kind Chinese pedestrian actually beats on the car hood, effectively halting traffic and saving my life. 

We stop a lot and consult Google maps at intersections.  (On Ingrid's phone, which has more battery than mine.)

We are nuts. It’s fun!  I can cycle with ease, knowing that I have my SOS international emergency health insurance card with me, the equivalent of $15, that granola bar, and plenty of time.

We decide to check out a bike store downtown.  It’s less than 20 miles.  In Cincinnati, we would be there in 90 minutes. Ya, 90 minutes.  But that’s there and this is here.

Some things to keep in mind when bicycling in Beijing:

1. In China, no one cycles faster than 5 miles an hour.  And no one expects YOU to cycle faster than 5 miles an hour.  If you break this unspoken speed limit, you are putting yourself at death’s door.  No single person in Beijing can accurately assess where you will be on the road when you cycle at a pace different than the masses, and they will hit you with their car, their body, or their car door as it opens. Thus, we cycle at 5 mph.

2. All the road signs are in Chinese. I can currently read 800 words (give or take). That is approximately 22% of the minimum characters needed to read the written language.  This means I can understand 22% of the road signs.  This slows me done by at least 78%. Thus, we often cycle at 2 mph.

3. China has great bicycling lanes! These lanes are also used as bus stops, taxi stands, parking lots, and my all-time favorite: the “Reverse Lane.” A driver comandeers the Reverse Lane when he has missed an exit or a turn and does not want to pull a U-ee.  He just drives backward. Into the bicyclists. And taxis.  And busses. And cars parked there for the hell of it. Thus, Ingrid and I are often at a dead stop—but not dead!

4. Google maps and Mao’s China do not necessarily mingle. Very often, your blue dot is half a mile west of where you actually are. It’s not so bad.  You just “calibrate.”  This works perfectly well until you are downtown and there are 500 alleyways in a half-mile range.  Thus, we rarely know where exactly we are.

This leads to the conclusion of our Tuesday biking adventure:

It is 2 pm.  We have been on the road for 4 hours. We have eaten the granola bar. We have no idea where the bike shop is. We suspect we are cycling in circles.  The Blue Dot is barely moving and we are still pedaling. Plus, I need to have Lucas at the orthodontist in two hours.  Worst of all, I am in desperate need of a coffee.

We spot a Xing Bah Ke.  That’s a Starbucks to you! And I, in all my Chinese glory, solve our problem.

I order my latte, and then with a hopeful yet desperate smile, I ask if the barista will please tell my driver where I am. She laughs but agrees. I am proud she understood my Chinese. I phone my driver so she can speak to him.

Approximate Translation of phone call with driver:

K10i:  Hi, Mr, Duan!  I in Beijing. You can please come Beijing?

Mr. D: Ok.  You located where?

K10i:  Xing Bah Ke in Chaoyang.

Mr. D: CHAOYANG? [this district is pretty far from home and fairly large]  You are where in Chaoyang?

K10i:  I no know.  Please wait moment.  Coffee worker tell you.

Mr. D: Ok.

A few seconds of rapid fire Chinese follows between barista and Saint Duan. The barista then hands me my phone, “He come. He know.”

The story is not yet over.  Ingrid and I wait for quite a while in the parking lot, eating our tomato mozzarella ciabatas, sitting on the curb in sweaty lycra.  No Mr. Duan but quite a few spectators.

It is nearly 3 pm, and I am nervous.  I have to have Lucas at the dentist SOON!  I debate whether to call Mr. Duan with my mangled Chinese. I know most of the words that I want to say, but he is most likely on the highway.  I conclude it is too dangerous for him to try to decipher what I am saying while driving a Buick mini -van in high speed traffic.

From Ingrid’s phone (my battery is beeping), I text Brad, who is in a meeting and cannot answer the phone. He texts me his admin’s phone number.  I call Amanda, the admin, whom we suspect is somehow related to Mr. Duan.

I explain the situation in very slow, very careful English.  Amanda’s P&G English is proficient, but her knowledge does not extend to the CrazyHousewifeOnABike Dialect. She agrees to touch base with my driver and phone me back. She does and she has good news: Mr. D will arrive in 20 minutes in the parking lot behind Starbucks. There is still hope for Lucas’s teeth!

Can you believe this story is not yet over?

The clock is ticking.  No Duan–Shifu. (That means Master Duan.)  Finally, my phone with 2%  battery rings.

Mr. D: I located here. You located where?

K10i: I located here. You no located here.

Mr. D: I behind Xing Bah Ke.

K10i:  I also behind Xing Bah Ke. I no see you.

Mr. D: I no see you.  I near Beijing Bank.

K10: I no see Bank Beijing.

(CRAP! Is he at the wrong Starbucks? I am turning circles in the parking lot, straining my neck, looking to the sky, wearing sweaty lycra and a biking helmet and reading the high rise signs with my 22% of Chinese words. )

Silence. Defeat.

K10i:  No have bank.  I see see guard. I ask guard.

Mr. D: OK.

At this point, I can hear doubt in Mr. Duan’s “ok.”  The Chinese can convey a lot in the 1 ½ syllables which mean OK. And I understand the doubt. The parking lot security guards are Beijingers. This means that their Mandarin sounds as if a pirate is barking out orders: AARG!  My Mandarin does not sound like this.  As a result, it is highly probable that they will not understand me. DAMMIT!  Lucas’s teeth will never be straight.

K10i:  Ok. I see Guard!

Mr. Duan answers by very slowly and very clearly enunciating each garbled word I must say.  (I know that is an oxymoron, but it’s true!)

I then repeat loudly and in the most clearly garbled manner Mr. Duan’s exact words to the guard. A close translation in English would be:  “BEIJING BARNK ISH WHARR?”

The guards point south and yell “OVERTHARR!”

Ingrid and I haul ass.  And miracle of miracles, Ahoy, Matey!  Land Ho! Captain Duan is flying the victory flag!

With love and laughter and a good dose of crazy,

Kimberijingerly

FYI: We do make it to the orthodontist on time.  And I am right: Lucas’s teeth will never be straight!

 

Personal Cleanliness: down and dirty

WARNING: NOT FOR WEAK STOMACHS

This month’s top lessons learned in China regarding personal hygiene:

1. If you are a saleswoman in your fifties, it is perfectly acceptable to belch loudly while you bargain with foreigners. Multiple times. There will be no discreet burping, no tactful hand-over-mouth diversion, no shameful blush nor bashful glances. Just unabashed belching. The tai-tais, speechless and horrified, will be unable to look at each other or you. My advice thus:

· Belch.

· Belch out loud.

· Belch out strong.

· Don’t worry if it’s not good enough for anyone else to hear.

· Just belch.

· Belch a song.

2. If you are walking by the river, please feel free to squat and defecate at your own convenience. No need to discard your toilet paper in the proper trash receptacle. Just throw it right next to your steaming pile. Foreign mountain bikers will soon conveniently roll over both and remove the offending heap, trailing the paper behind like streamers.

Now imagine my mountain bike...


2. If you are brushing your teeth with a Chinese toothbrush, be prepared for the bristles to simultaneously degrade, release from the brush, and choke you. This can happen at any given moment. Have floss at the ready. There is no doubt: those bristles will lodge between your pearly whites and in your throat.
3. If said bristles are not removed immediately, do not worry. It is 100% ok to spit bristles (or anything else that might ever be in your mouth), on the ground. In front of everyone, I might add. A busy pedestrian street would be the ideal location for your hack, but any public thoroughfare will suffice. Side note: never leave house barefoot. Second side note: take cover (like an umbrella) when you hear throat clearing.
4. If you are walking down said Phleming Road (or driving a car or shopping or eating or well, doing just about anything) and your nose itches, your only natural recourse of action will be to instantly pick-n-flick. That’s right. Pick your nose. And then flick. Pick-n-flick. Highly effective.
5. Speaking of immediate action…if you are a shopkeeper and your ear (and not your nose) itches, no worries. Please purchase a very long Q-tip. (At least a foot long is best). Sit outside your booth on short stool. Clean ear. Carefully examine ear wax while customers browse. The ear wax should best be brown. And thick. And thoroughly repulsive.
6. If perhaps you have not yet attained the correct level of maximum repulsiveness, you have another opportunity! Please continue to sit on your stool. Remove shoes and socks. Clean toe jam. Examine toe jam. Expect no foreign customers to purchase anything without exact change. Realize that no one wants to touch anything you have touched!
7. In fact, if you are in China, wear gloves. Touch nothing. See nothing. Smell nothing. This is the #1 thing I have learned about personal hygiene in China. This month. Who knows what next month will bring?

Smell no evil. See no evil. Touch no evil.

With love, laughter and honest nausea,

Kimbeijingerly

Why-le?

Chinese vocabulary word of the month:

Huaile:

• Pronunciation: rhymes with Why-le
• Definition: bad / evil / rotten / spoiled
• Personal Interpretation: Piece of crap
• Linguistic Note: Often but not always followed by xinde, particularly when used by handyman

Xinde:

• Pronunciation: Shin-duh!
• Definition: [buy a] new [one]

EXAMPLES from September 2011:

1. The kitchen bar has lost its “leg.”

Handyman’s response: Huaile.

Clearly, this is huaile.

2. The switch that turns the lights on in the back garden no longer works despite massive jiggling (which worked last year).

Handyman’s response: Huaile.

3. The handle has broken off the front gate.

Handyman's response: Huaile. Xinde.

[Piece of Crap! Buy a new one!]

4. (Unrelated to the above problem…) The same gate no longer closes.

Handyman’s response: Huaile.

5. The light fixture has fallen off the patio wall.

Huaile. Xinde.

6. The doorbell has stopping dinging.

Huaile. Xinde.

7. The 2 light bulbs that are burned-out cannot be replaced. They will not “unscrew” from the sockets.

Handyman’s response: Huaile. Xinde.

(Xinde light fixtures, not xinde light bulbs!)

8. The door handle has broken off the door to our patio; as a result, said door no longer opens or closes.

Handyman’s response: Huaile. Xinde.

(Xinde door, not xinde handle!)

9. Chinese panty-shield glue is so mighty, it rips out crotch of underwear.

Handyman’s response: Huaile. Xinde.

Oh, no! That was not the handyman! That was me!

My response: WHY-le? WHY-le? WHY-le?

Yes, the entire Chinese house is huaile, but the Chinese panty liner is mightier than the American panty!*

With love, laughter, frustration, and bewilderment,

Kimbeijingerly

* For those of you who think this is perhaps a one-time deal, I assure you that it happened TWICE last month!

Back in Beijing

Making the Best of It

After a fabulous summer on Oak Island, Lucas and I have returned to Beijing.

To sum up our first week: if it could go wrong, it did. (Another blog coming soon.)

Yet as a happy, cheerful person [dammit], I will not focus on the negatives. Being a tai-tai (a lady who lunches) has its positives.

I can (I will) lead a rewarding, enriching, valuable life in China!

My existence here shall encompass more than shopping and fine dining. For example, I could have a massage!

Julie, my partner in tai-tai-crime, picked up a massage menu to welcome me “home.” Now if only I could choose which massage would best ease my return to ex-pat life.

A bit of self-assessment is in order. It's always ugly to look inward.

Perhaps my feet stink?

Or my kidneys are failing.

How about The Ovary?

I did drink quite a few mojitos this summer. A little rehab may be called for.

And my abs clearly need some work. I was thinking about sit-ups, but I’ve always been a fan of therapy. "So tell me about your last supper…"

This is just crazy. What kind of spa is this? What kind of friend is Julie? What kind of country is China!?

I tell myself: get a grip! Step-back! Step-back! Step back to where you once belonged. Oh crap, that’s get back.

Maybe I do need to take a Step Back. It only costs $15 or so.

I am clearly losing my mind.

Electric shock therapy may be required. No worries: that is also available for a mere $3. No prescription needed. I wonder what the FDA thinks about that?

I need to think about this… How about a think-tank? Nope. But there is a walk tank. Walk if off, baby! Walk it off!

Or have a cool, refreshing glass of…guasha?

And how about them moxibustion regimens?

(Lymph drainage is just so gross I cannot bear to contemplate it-- or wite about it.)

It all leaves you sort of speechless. As does tush the back with the oil.

FYI: 6 = $1

HK = Hong Kong?

With love and confusion (and a lot of tongue-in-cheek humor) from Beijing,

Kimbeijingerly

PS: After a bit of research, this is what I learned about Guasha (not related to guava by the way!)

Gua sha (Chinese: 刮痧; pinyin: guā shā), literally "to scrape away fever" in Chinese (more loosely, "to scrape away disease by allowing the disease to escape as sandy-looking objects through the skin"), is an ancient medical treatment.

Scrape me up!

Let's do some crimes...

Sometimes my blog is crafted; sometimes it is just an email I have sent.

Today’s entry is a version of a letter that I wrote to some of my cycling friends yesterday. I have added a few background details for clarification.

FYI: I am currently training for an almost-400-mile, 4-day bike ride. At the end of May, my Ohio friends will be riding from Cincinnati to Cleveland. They have been training together for months while I have been trying to train in Beijing. That’s not easy without my pack and in polluted air.

I got super lucky when my good friend, Julie, agreed to ride with me when the air is clear. I also got lucky and found a fellow road cyclist, Rachael, to ride with. Still the training has not gone as well as I had hoped.

Here’s an example:

Hi!

Today Julie and I went cycling and almost got arrested for trespassing.

Who knew climbing fences was illegal?

(I admit: the property did sort of look like an official government water control thingy…)

I wish I had caught a photo of Julie doing her acrobatic flip over the first fence.

It was on a “cliff” overlooking some polluted water with a dead animal decaying on the ground next to us.

Gross.

She miscalculated the flip and landed on her back in the dirt with her cycling skirt all around her waist and the dust flying up.

It was a riot!

Well, we didn’t just climb fences...we also scooted under one.

(Sending photo.)

And man!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Her mountain bike was heavy to lift! And some of those fences were high!

High like I had to stand on some cement blocks that were lying around to get the bikes over.

(You may wonder why there are construction materials randomly scattered on gov’t property. Us, too! China.)

My pink bike is a total light weight!!

I got it over in no time.

But as I am handing her the 7000 pound mountain bike, she begins yelling, "Wee chinky is coming, wee chinky!"

(That's Scottish for Holy shit, here comes the guard!)

I quickly scooted under the fence (it was a tight fit) while throwing her the mt. bike and my iPhone.

She needed her bike for the getaway.

I needed a photo for the blog .

Anything for my writing career...

And my training!

We jumped on those bikes and hauled ass.

Our justification? It’s not like we could have understood the guy if we stayed around to chat.

And then, as we are zipping away, a Chinese mutt chases us, barking frantically. These decrepit little fisher women (yes, there were witnesses to the crime) start howling with laughter.

My life is weird.

Miss you!

See you in 3.5 weeks. Ready or not.

Not as the case may be. The air is HORRENDOUS.

love,

kimbeijingerly

How many Chinese does it take?

Beijing’s Very Own Light Bulb Joke

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia:

A lightbulb joke is a joke that asks how many people of a certain group are needed to change, replace, or screw in a light bulb. Generally, the punch line answer highlights a stereotype of the target group. There are numerous versions of the lightbulb joke satirizing a wide range of cultures, beliefs and occupations.^[1]

The original formulations of the joke, popular in the late 1960s and the 1970s, were used to insult the intelligence of Poles.^[4][5] For instance:

Q. How many Polacks does it take to change a light bulb?

A. Three—one to hold the light bulb and two to turn the ladder.

Although lightbulb jokes tend to be derogatory in tone, the people targeted by them may take pride in the stereotypes expressed and are often themselves the jokes' originators.^[6] Lightbulb jokes applied to subgroups can be used to ease tensions between them.^[7]

Kimbeijingerly's Version:

Q: How many Chinese does it take to install a car bike rack?

A: Obviously 4, with one tall American to supervise the chore.

Spring has Sprung...

Finally Spring is here in Beijing... And Yoda has some great advice for us.