Earthquake and Farewells

     I still remember the day we headed to China. Everyone was so excited. I mean, it’s China. We were practically skipping around the airports, so we really weren’t paying attention to the TV screens. It wasn’t until we had down time in Atlanta that we started to notice how everyone on our flight was glued to CNN. And then we read the headline. A massive earthquake had hit central China. At first, I kind of shrugged it off. After the “great Midwest quake of ’08” striking not a half a mile away from my house, I really didn’t take it as being that serious. It was probably only getting attention because it was so close to the Olympics. That was when I really started reading the ticker tapes, and saw the concern of all of the Chinese natives on our flight. This wasn’t just some earthquake. This was bad, really bad.

     As we flew to China, our excitement returned with renewed fury, but I don’t think there was not one of us who wasn’t worried about what this earthquake meant for us. Was our area affected? Would there be a university waiting for us? Would our trip be cut short? I know I was relieved when I discovered we were simply too far away from the quake to have been directly affected. This meant classes went as scheduled, and I carried out my experiences in China. It didn’t mean the quake was far from my mind, though. China wouldn’t allow that.

     Every news channel would only talk about the quake. Day in and out, it was the latest report of how many survived, how badly damaged was the area, how well was the government handling it. Even the commercials dealt with the earthquake. It was a bit surprising for me. I had thought that such a disaster wouldn’t be handled well with the Chinese government. I was still wet behind my ears, and thought that China simply wasn’t organized enough to deal with it. Boy, was I wrong.

     Within 11 hours, troops were on the ground and assessing the damage. Following them were head government officials, ordering the troops that no matter what no person was to be left behind. They were to rescue the people and save lives, even when it looked hopeless. And then the aid came, and came, and came. Blood banks were full, and if you wanted to donate you would have to wait for possibly weeks before you were called. And as for money donations, it wasn’t whether you gave money, it was how much did you give. It almost became a game, as people would ask one another how much they donated, and if they were out-donated, they would turn around and donate more. And perish the thought that you gave nothing.

     I was shocked. Whenever we have a disaster, I want the Chinese to head the teams. But then, I found out the reasoning behind this response. For one, China had suffered another earthquake in ‘76 that was just as bad as this one. The exception was the government was still closed to getting help and because of this and other coordinating issues, more than 100,000 died. This memory was still burned in the minds of the Chinese, and there was no way they would repeat the same mistakes. If anything, they were going to avenge those who were lost. My language professor who came from the effected province explained the other reason to me. She said that though China is a nation of many peoples, of different backgrounds, viewpoints, and lifestyles, if ever anything terrible happens the Chinese will always remember that in the end they are still one country and thus unite to protect one another. United we stand, divided we fall. This is what I ultimately saw and ultimately learned from China.

     But, in the end, the news switched more to the Olympics, and the more they talked about it the closer my journey in China came to a close. Before I knew it I was bidding farewell to the professors at Hangzhou, zipping through the cities of China, and then at the airport in Shanghai. This was it. My stay here had come to a close. But, then, I remembered something, something I wanted to do before we left this land of dragons. I asked which way was northeast. And then, my direction in hand, I faced that distant ocean, and waved. You can imagine how confused people were. “Who are you waving to? The states?” “No,” I answered. “My next destination.” For though dear readers, this tale has come to an end, another will start in a year from now. There I will visit a country I have so longed to go to, the country who introduced me to China, and the Pacific Rim as a whole. It is the land who first sees the sun. Look out Japan. Soon, I will come.

Environment

     When I was on that final plane ride to the states, I made a list in my head of what things I had really missed. Naturally, my family was at the top of list, but I wondered what little subtleties of home China simply couldn’t replace. Would it be the ability to read anything, the variety of hair color bobbing down main street, or a simple chocolate milkshake. All these things I had missed while away, but it seems I forgot one whilst in China, probably because I simply got used to it not being there. I felt it the second I got off that plane, and couldn’t help but smile as I gazed heavenwards. The smell of cold, rain-teasing air, and the rich blue sky that followed it. These things were myths in China.

     The first few days in China, our group couldn’t help but complain. We were used to taking gulps of sweet, crisp, fresh air not thick, sour, oil-laden smog. And the sky. Where did it go? We had looked forward to seeing the night lights of Hangzhou reflect off West Lake while a thousand stars formed the sky lights above. We saw only three stars once, and I’m convinced they were all planets minus the North Star. Otherwise, only the moon keeps vigil with a yellowish tinge obscuring its ivory color. As for the morning, we forgot what “sky blue” looked like. It was always a dense, foggy, white-yellow sky that greeted us. And don’t forget the smog-rise and the smog-set. I remember when we went to the Yellow Mountains and the first thing we noticed wasn’t the beauty of those waterfall peaks, but the fact that the sky was actually blue. We had out climbed the factory smoke pipes.

     In short, China has a problem with pollution. I knew this before I went there, but I didn’t realize just how bad it was. Then again, when 70% of your power comes from dirty coal, you’re growing at the rapid rate of 10% GDP per year, and there’s next to nothing when it comes to regulations on it, I guess one can only expect this outcome. There is hope, though. China has realized that this focus on pure growth with no consequences is obscuring their landscapes and choking their people. We weren’t the only ones who missed the sky. Enter Green GDP. Basically it dictates that China’s economy can no longer focus on pure growth, but also on society and the environment. And so, there are trees planted in every crack and crevice, and a worker’s promotion is based on how much oil they don’t use. Green is in and smog is out. And yet, when we reached Beijing and viewed the grandness that is the Olympic Bird’s Nest Stadium her sky remained hidden, though the Olympics is less than two months away.

One Child Policy

     China’s One Child Policy. I’m sure you’ve heard of it. Why, you almost can’t have heard of China without also hearing about it. It’s basically the Chinese government’s way to deal with China’s overcrowded country that states that every Chinese family is only allowed one child. At least, that’s what we thought before we got there. You see, China’s all too fond of making things far more complex then they seem to be, and this policy is no exception. And so, here is my attempt to give a clearer understanding to China’s One Child Policy, and all of it’s exceptions, loop holes, and what if’s.

     In the beginning, China was mainly (and still is) an agricultural nation. This means that big families were heavily encouraged for if one wanted a successful harvest one better have plenty of hands (i.e., children) to help raise said harvest. Add in the fact that the children are also destined to take care of the parents, and there was no guarantee as to how many said children would survive, the bigger the better. Then came the time when China wasn’t all too friendly with the rest of the world. This policy of having large families was continued for if the enemy ever decided to bomb them, for every Chinese killed there would be five to take his place. Cheery thought.

     Now you’ve got modern China, seeking to befriend the world and not fully depend on agriculture. Big families are no longer required, and are in fact looked down upon for, if anything, they are too costly to take care of. China only has so much to offer her people, and there comes a point when there are just too many people going for that piece of pie. Enter the One Child Policy. In it came the hopes that China’s population would be better controlled, and slowed to a much more manageable pace.

     Alas, with every great plan came a couple of snags. For one, there came the nightmare of infanticide, as families would kill their child if it was a girl and try again for that one boy. The other problem deals with psychology. You see, in China family is everything, especially when a child is in said family. They are cherished like blessings, and the whole family sacrifices for their future. However, when one has four grandparents, two parents, and only one child this attention turns it into a “little emperor”. Basically, spoiled little brats who want everything without doing anything. And so, through this policy China created a generation where there are 60% men, 40% women, who don’t want to work, and love credit cards. And these are China’s future workers. Beijing, we’ve got a problem.

     Enter the exceptions. First off, minorities in China (all 55 branches of them) do not have to follow this policy. Second, families whose first child is a girl can have another child so they may attempt at getting that prized boy (though if it’s another girl, sorry, can’t try again). Third, if the first child is a boy, you cannot have anymore children. Fourth, if you do have more children then you are supposed to, you are only hit up with a fine (which, by the way, varies in price depending on where you live, whether you are urban or rural, and what your income is). Fifth, if the two parents are One Child Policy children, they automatically are allowed two children. And these are the ones that are currently in place and enforced. There’s talk of adding more. Joy.

     And so, what does this tell us. That China loves to make things complex, and is quite good at changing the rules to fit their needs. But at least this reveals their flexibility. So, will this solve their population issue? I can’t say for sure, but I do know that if this doesn’t they will find another escape clause that will. They’re good at that.

           

Snack Street

     Ah, Beijing. The capital of China. Here one can stroll through the infamous Tienanmen Square, marvel at the grandeur of the Olympic sites, and “become a man” by hiking the Great Wall. Yes, these are truly places to behold. If only every other person there didn’t agree with you. There’s just something about being totally immersed in a Chinese environment for a month, devoid of tourist seeking the touristy t-shirts, the touristy postcards, and whatever else touristy they can find, only to be surrounded by the creatures known as tourist. I think you see my point. So if one cannot stand these babbling masses, yet one still wants to encounter a piece of Beijing what does one do? Why my friend, go eat live scorpions of course.

     Before we left for China, one of our professors told us about a place in Beijing where fifty innocent stands sit, waiting to feed you your every food desire. This place is called Snack Street. Here the hungry traveler can indulge on anything and everything so long as it can be stuck on a stick and immersed in a deep fat fryer. Think Fall Festival minus the kangaroo jerky. You can imagine the excitement the group had when said professor agreed to pay for one of the signature fried foods. Live fried scorpions! Taste just like french fries minus the spuds. Oh, and don’t forget the sea urchin, snake, sea horse, and silk worms! We couldn’t wait.

     And so, we navigated around Beijing, dodging the tourist traps and Chinese Wal-Marts as we sought this artery clogging paradise on a stick. All the while I relived episodes of Bizarre Foods with Andrew Zimmer, preparing myself for the moment. And then, there they were, the fifty red booths. Soon I would be watching the group as they jumped, squirmed, and ultimately consumed what most souls feared. But before that, we encountered a different foe. The Beijing merchant.

     The usual ceremony carried out where the merchants, upon seeing us Americans, instantly chanted their siren’s song of, “Come see. Come see. We give you best price.” We were a bit apprehensive at this. Our four weeks of intensive haggle training had taught us to be hardened to these fast talkers, and we weren’t about to be roped in. Just don’t break ranks, avoid communication, and don’t by any means, show interest in anything unless you’re ready to commit to it. Otherwise, you may just get sucked into a bout of buyer’s regret. Oh, but those Beijingnese, they were good.

     One booth, seeing our reluctance, sent out a scout that handed us their lemon-sugar coated fruit sticks, implying they were gifts. Overjoyed at being given such treats, we forgot our training, and some began munching on the sugary goodies. “Buy two get one free,” the scout said. Oh, the collective hush that followed. We remembered the craftiness of the Chinese merchants, and we instantly began our own fast-talking. “10 yuan for a fruit stick. We’ll give you 10 for the whole round.” Now it was their turn to be shocked. We weren’t the casual tourist that normally flocked their streets. We had been trained in the deadly arts of haggling. Neither side relented. They weren’t going to lose to some American students, and we weren’t about to be shown up by these Beijing merchants. We played our final gambit, putting the uneaten sticks back and walking away. In Hangzhou this usually meant we got our price. “Ok! Ok! Free!” the merchants cried. A collective surprise went through our ranks. What was the catch? “Free, if you let us kiss you.” Insert shrieks of horror and a full retreat here.

     We did found our bounty about midway down the street, and we enjoyed the overcooked “french fries” more so then we probably should have. But hey, it was fun, and we were still recovering from our bout with the Beijing merchants. Even as we left the vendors, that one booth spotted us and tried their tactics again, only to send us running through the streets of Beijing once more. We, the hardened veterans of the Night Market had met our match. Those Beijingnese, they were good.

           

The Night Market

     I know I’ve already told you about China’s markets, but there is one in particular that struck my fancy, one that every Chinese city has stowed away somewhere waiting for the light of day to die behind the dilapidated streets. Here, the street vendors are out in full force, harping at you the second the see the white of your skin. Here, the real artists emerge, the craftsman, and the cons. But here also lies an experience that brought me the closest to the Chinese heart. This phenomena is called “The Night Market.”

      So what can you get at the Night Market. Everything, my friend. Really, everything. Want a Coach bag, they got it. Want Chairman Mao propaganda, they got it. Want Indiana Jones 4, they got it. Naturally, this is a place where buyers must beware, for most of the goods here are bootlegs. Very good looking bootlegs, but bootlegs none the less. This is also the place where it’s the most fun to haggle. You instantly offer a fourth of the asking price, flash the cash in front of their eyes, and walk off. Most will chase after you, submitting defeat. If anything you have to stop yourself from buying too much. After several bouts of buyers regret, my fellow classmates have declared the Night Market as the place where one loses a bit of their soul. Hasn’t stopped them from visiting again almost nightly.

     I never really got into the whole bootleg buying frenzy, but looked out for the little treasures hidden behind the trash. One night, though, there was no treasure hunting for me. Maybe it was because of walking the whole hour and forty-five minutes to get there, maybe it was because I decided to deck myself out in black, or maybe the crowds were simply too choked for me. All I know was as I was listening to a classmate fight for an impressive wall scroll, I felt dizzy, my legs nearly gave way, and I found myself sweating pints. I hobbled over to the nearest corner, hoping by resting it would pass. I forgot every corner was a vendor’s territory. At first, the older woman seemed to think I was a buyer of some sort, and so began yapping at me in Chinese about what I would like to buy. That was before she saw my face.

     Insert chaos here. She instantly grabbed for a chair and began screeching to the vendors across from us. At first, they too eyed me curiously, but once they saw my face they began swarming me, yapping at me in Chinese, and feeling for my pulse. It was then my classmates came over, wondering what the ruckus was all about and watched as the elder vendor pulled my hair back, took her chiseled knuckles, grabbed the skin behind my neck, and pulled back as hard as she could. The sound was one thing, the instant pain was another.

     Never have I felt such sharpness before in my life. I instantly wanted to cry out, used my water bottle as a makeshift scream deter by chewing on it, and tried to get away from these crazed Chinese. What the heck were they doing to me. Enter the few vendors who could speak a little English. They told me everything was okay, and that it was a form of ancient Chinese medicine. I had gotten overheated. This would stimulate my blood, my chi, to balance my system out and cool me down. I asked them whatever happened to a cold drink of water. We weak Americans approved of that. A chorus of laughter rang out amongst them. And so began our friendship.

     After performing this painful technique on my neck back and shoulders, they took me behind their booths where they set up a fan and insisted I stay with them until the market closed. As the pain ringed through my body, I felt like I was cooling down. That could just be because I was now focusing on the pain in my back, but if it works it works. The vendors also did their best to preoccupy me, from complemented my Buddha-like state when they had pinched me, to dueling with clothes hangers as they poked fun at one another for their fear of getting pinched. They were so fun-loving, so carefree. And it seemed they all knew each other, like the whole Night Market was one big family that took over the streets at night. That slur of broken English and Mandarin was one of my most memorable conversations and when the lights flashed signaling the nightly death of the market, I was sad to go. Several hugs, thanks yous, and pictures later, I walked back to campus, my body completely ignorant of it’s over heated bout. The only reminder of that night’s events was a few bruises on my back and shoulders where an old Chinese vendor had pinched me.

Olympics

     Before our group set out to the land of dragons, we held several meetings to prepare us for the impending culture shock. Part of our meetings included mini Mandarin lessons from Tu, a Chinese student from Xian. He sought to dispel some of our initial fears about China, and one request he had for us was to attend the Olympic Torch Relay. There we would see the heart of China, and hopefully make a few friends along the way. “The Chinese love Americans,” he often said, “and it would mean a great deal if any of you came.” And so, I eagerly agreed to attend it with him and his friends. That was before the earthquake struck, and Tu decided to head to the epicenter where several of his friends attended school. Regardless of his presence, though, I was still determined to go to the relay to see this heart of China.

     Now, where would it go, again?  I’m sure if I watched the news and knew Mandarin, I would be able to find a prime spot. However, my TV wasn’t working and my Mandarin wasn’t that good, so I had to do it the old fashion way. Follow students wearing Chinese flags as capes, covered in red Chinese stickers, and chanting a battle cry of what sounded to English ears as “I love China!” Quite frankly, they reminded me of Aces football fans. Yep, I bet they know where the torch is.

     Before long, I found myself on the outskirts of West Lake, a famous and beautiful waterscape filled with mythical tales and tourist boats. Here, the crowd had gotten larger, and was swarming the outer railings blocking the road. Both military and police officials kept a silent but constant presence as people continued singing songs and chanting the “I love China” mantra again and again. Their shirts were blazoned in the red of the torch and the national flag, and all age groups from elderly to infant were there, eagerly waiting for the torch’s arrival. There were many false alarms. If anyone so much as sneezed quickly, the whole mass became a wave of bodies scrambling to the very edge of the railing, craning their necks and cellphones towards the elusive torch. I still remember the growl of disappointment when it was simply a rogue bus.
     As we waited, some people began to notice our presence (I being with another UE student), though they would quickly avert their eyes (and cameras) the second we faced them. It’s considered very rude to stare, or even hold eye contact, for long periods of time in China. Tell that to the little girl right next to us. Whether she had an eye on the pale foreigners, or my heart-shaped China sticker, I have no idea. I do know she was quite happy when she became the proud owner of said sticker. She was even happier when I plucked out a Jeff Gordon trading card (got to start them young) and gave it to her. She pensively gazed at it, appearing to deliberate judgment before she took every Chinese sticker on her, and covered Jeff Gordon’s face with them. How’s that for East meets West.

     The crowd roared again and this time was appeased by the police motorcycles, TV crew buses, torch runner buses, and finally the torch itself. As everyone cheered frantically and desperately sought to get that one shot, the two runners met, crossed torches, and the flame went on, it’s fans rushing behind, guiding it along it’s journey around West Lake. I have never felt such excitement in a crowd before. Truly, the Olympics is something the Chinese are both eager and proud to hold. From the merchandise, to the commercials, to the banners lining every major street, there is the constant reminder that it is coming and it will be brought to you by China. I never did see that girl again. She had taken off with her father to follow the torch, Jeff Gordon card in hand. Who knows, perhaps China will become NASCAR’s next greatest fan. Oh, what a world that would be! Now, to start handing out those Aces football beads…

Service

     As I began to further embrace China and its exciting culture, I thought surely nothing could go wrong. The food was my manna, the traffic was my rollercoaster, and the market was my playing field. Culture shock? I would never feel it. China and I were copasetic. That is, until I had to set up an internet account. You see, China has a problem with service. It has none. Seriously, this game of ring-around-the-rosy makes me miss America’s customer service telephone lines.

     So what’s so bad about it? It’s mainly the frustration of it all. When I first came to Zhejiang University, I was assured that all I would have to do was go to the service desk, present my student I.D. and passport, pay a small service charge, and I’m on my way. Let’s just say that if I would so much as look at that service desk, I was greeted by cheers of “Tomorrow, tomorrow!” Did I mention their control of the English language is lacking. Now, it’s not that I’m upset that the Chinese can’t speak English. In fact, I’m strongly for speaking the native tongue. However, this is Zhejiang’s Foreign Institute, yet everything’s in Mandarin. Everything. It finally took a week’s worth of a few well-placed complaints to our professor before I was finally set up. You can imagine my glee.

     Feeling daring, I followed up with a telephone call from the front desk back to the states. I came prepared; phone card in one hand, Mandarin phrasebook in the other. My greeting…smiling faces. It took several tries, but there they were ready to help, ready to serve. How different they were from their “Tomorrow, tomorrow!” mantra I face not 12 hours before. If only they didn’t have the Dr. Jekyll, Mr. Hyde complex. It hadn’t been 48 hours before my internet copped out, and those smiling faces melted away. Even now, I’m playing ring-around-the-rosy again, and I’m thinking I’ll have to play the professor card once more.

     China is as fond of paradoxes as it is of sayings. If they would just get rid of this one, I could easily say my trip here so far has been perfect. In fact, perhaps this would be a good business venture for America, playing as the service desk to China. All I know is the non-service service desk and I have another round up. Here’s hoping I’ll meet Dr. Jekyll, not Mr. Hyde.

Parks

     I believe I have discovered the secret of how the Chinese eat vast quantities of food yet maintain their dancer figures. It’s called steps. I mean, lots of steps, as in, every semi ancient looking locale has at least a thousand. Don’t believe me. Just read them. The Chinese are quite fond of marking them, as if to further emphasize their love of them. After my excursions to distant pagodas and behemoth mountains, this will certainly be a love affair I (or rather my legs) shan’t miss. Steps aside, though, China certainly has a way of making parks.

     Within these national treasures are jade pools filled with glinting fish, stone walkways of several textural designs, and a vast plethora of statues older than the U.S.A. In fact, I’d say their parks are more like outdoor museums, as they showcase their many ancient artifacts amongst the landscape, keeping their more delicate statues and writings inside traditional wooden houses. And don’t forget the gift shops! There you can purchase a bonafide good luck charm to hang from one of several trees, writing down your dearest wishes in the hopes they will come true. I being a humble college student, and thus not wealthy enough to purchase one of these, have settled for a more suitable charm for my cell phone. Yes, for my cell phone. Have I mentioned how fond the Chinese are of luck charms?

     With all of these historic landmarks blanketed by booths of luck, one could imagine the throbbing mass that accompanies them. One would be incorrect in their thinking. True, there are crowds and they’re even herded by the ever-present tour guide. And yet, there is no throbbing mass, no earsplitting chattering. What is this sensation I’m experiencing? It’s…quiet. Scratch that, it’s plum near peaceful.

     This overall calm is another characteristic I’ve both noticed and admired about the Chinese. Rarely have I heard any obnoxious chatter I would normally expect at similar areas back home. In fact, the only overbearing loudness my ears have experienced are whenever we are too close to overexcited tour guides, equipped with mics, battling each others voices inside a tiny building. Otherwise, the Chinese bustle to and fro with an air of serenity following their steps.

     When we came to stop within one of these parks, I couldn’t help but lay upon the ancient stones and relax in the shade of the charm laden trees. The sweet breeze rolled through, causing some of the charms to ring their tiny bells, and for an instant, I felt as if I were back home, in my humble abode in the middle of nowhere. Tai chi, feng shui, acupuncture, all of these things seek to find a balance within your soul. And yet, I wonder, can they match the wonders of that spiritual tranquility I felt beneath those lucky trees.

Food

     Chinese food. We all know it. Chinese buffets are common place, practically becoming a staple for any semi-big town, and who can forget the fortune cookies? I’m quite fond of it myself, so I wondered just how would it’s native homeland hold up to its American counterpart. Well, let’s just say “Made in China” means forgetting the fortune cookies (which do not exist) and gorging oneself on a healthy cuisine made up off all sorts of fruits(fried bananas), vegetables (marinated bamboo shoots), and fish (eyeballs included) that was probably existing 24 hours ago, or less. Add in how most of these dishes cost maybe a dollar or two. Oh yeah, I could get used to this.

     One of my favorite pastimes is getting up right when some of the open food markets just start setting out their produce, and snatching up a few fruits and freshly baked bread. You heard me, fruit and bread. You’d be amazed how many fruit markets there are alone. I’d easily wager there’s one on every block, selling their plums and apricots. Bakeries aren’t as common, but their simple, soft loaves of subtitle sweetness will definitely be something both my stomach and I will miss. Add in the dumplings, meat buns, fried rice, and gallons of tea, clearly this is a land that loves it’s food. I wouldn’t blame them. I love it too.
     Another thing about their food is the sheer amount there is. Food markets are everywhere, with their fresh (and I mean still alive) produce waiting to be plucked up, fried, and consumed in droves. How the Chinese consume all these dishes and maintain their dancer figures, I have no idea. Maybe it has to do with all of those steps they are so fond of building…Apparently, though, this obsession with food quantities that could feed a small army deal with saving face, something the Chinese are deadly addicted to. By serving a ton of food, they appear to be fortunate and not the least bit stingy. In fact, an unwritten rule here is that whenever you hold a feast you make sure there is one more dish then there are people.  Here all play the role of rich, whether rich or poor. Face is everything.

     As I look at these dishes, most going far from being consumed, I remember an age old phrase, “Keep eating. Think of all the starving children in China.” Where are those children, now, I wonder? Should we change that to the “starving rural children”, am I simply seeing this from the eyes of a foreigner, or is this yet another paradox? Perhaps another Chinese saying will give me the answer.

Markets

     During my wanderings, I naturally came across the old Chinese open markets, where all matters of goods are set out in the open air, seeking to entice potential buyers. Colorful, lively, and yet soothing, these are the words I would describe them with. Every shop seeks to outdo the other as they proudly display their bright, shiny items, while classical Chinese music wafts the air. And everyone is so quiet, especially in comparison to America’s bustling malls. It feels like an afternoon stroll. But this isn’t the joy I discovered within these markets. No, it was a game.

     Everyday, usually as the sun begins to ease its summer heat, the masses flock to the open street markets where they perform the ancient pastime of haggling. Oh, how they relish in it! The rules are simple; there are none. All that’s required is a poker face, an iron will, and a calculator. Turns play out in succession, as the potential buyer asks the price. After regarding the buyer carefully, the seller sets a price, at least four times higher than it should be. The buyer then responds in a cry of disgust, pushing away from the outlandish price. Then promptly, they punch their price in the calculator and the games begin. What follows is a tennis match as one price is stated, only to be attacked by another price, only to be followed up by another price. Sometimes, one comes across a passive seller and receives their loot quickly, but normally one has to walk away and be instantly dragged back. The price war begins again. The seller goes high, the buyer goes low. This could last several rounds, and one might be hulled back ten minutes after they left. However, it’s all a battle of wills, and who will outlast who.

     At first, this sounds like it would be a headache. Prices aren’t set, owners seek to con you, and time ticks by. If only you could experience it, though. Then you would see just how fun it is. No wonder it’s lasted so long. It’s like a one on one game of the stock market, as you throw out your bids, seeking to win the other over. And nothing compares to that glow of pride accompanying haggling a $10 item down to $5. However, I do have one sadness. That is, once I return home, I will not be able to go to my local Wal-Mart and haggle down the price of a DVD. Oh, the joys Americans (and most of the rest of the world, for that matter) are missing!

Advertising

     If I were to name some things I could probably do without in America, one would be the overdone advertising. It seems that as the years roll by my shows get shorter and the commercials get longer. Not saying all advertising is bad, but too much is never a good thing. And so, though it didn’t initially cross my mind, I considered that perhaps by going to China I could outrun the overdone fast food, fancy car, pharmaceutical cure-alls. Boy, was I in for a shock.

     It started gradually, with the occasional billboard showcasing some exotic looking clothing on some even more exotic looking Westerners. But then, as the humble village of Hangzhou came into view, my eyes were bombarded by an explosion of color, as the commercials leapt from the billboards and onto the benches, bus stops, and buses. I didn’t know where to look first. It was all a swirl. Multicolored madness. Once I got over the pigmentation, I started paying attention to what was on them. And I thought the colors were flamboyant. The actors were downright ostentatious. Dramatic poses, striking clothing, inspirational backdrops, and all for…an iced tea? Wonders never cease.

     I mentioned before that there are advertisements with Westerners. I’d say at least a quarter, if not half of all advertisements are like this. Usually it’s for clothing or perfume, but in the case of one of my fellow classmates, it was for a new mall. Yes, one of us became a makeshift model. These men came out of nowhere, explaining they were doing a documentary on Zhejiang University and they would appreciate our assistance. After looking each of us over, they selected our professor and one of us to go with them to do some filming and photography. What they didn’t know was a few hours became a full day and a documentary became advertising.

     I guess we shouldn’t be surprised. We’ve been treated like mini superstars as people try to sneak a picture, even carefully positioning themselves near us to say they got a picture with an America. You can only imagine their faces when we find them out and welcome the pictures. We practically start a photo shoot.

     And so, with all of these advertisements showcasing a mixture of pretty Chinese, exotic Westerners, and Jackie Chan, it appears they are even more commercialized then we are. Perhaps it’s simply the Chinese’s desire to become number one in a culture that only a few decades back appeared color blind with their limited products and variety. When we asked our political economy professor, she explained a typical scenario for a Chinese business. Picture two restaurants that appear exactly the same in every feature and function except that one has a long line while the other is near vacant. Rather than get out of line and go to the empty one, the crowd will prefer to stay in line. Why? Follow the crowd. Surely, there must be a reason so many people are lined up at one and no one’s in the other. And so, businessmen do everything in their power to get that initial group, whether if be from organizing a half off sale, to free samples, to flashy advertisements. And all for…an iced tea.

Traffic

     As our plane touched down, and the pungent smell of petroleum smog greeted my senses, I thought this would be the most shocking thing. It was so unlike the fresh, sweet breezes of my home. When I boarded the bus to take me to Hangzhou, I discovered how wrong I was. I’m not that fond of driving, myself. Driving in China would be an absolute nightmare.

     A flux of petite cars, ramshackle trucks, speedy taxis, pushy buses, nimble bikes, and daredevil pedestrians bob, weave, and cut in front of one another. Signs? Oh, those are just guidelines. It is ultimately up to the mass what happens, hence why traffic cops are positioned at major four ways. Turn signals also appear to be a novelty, especially since they are directly melded into the side door of a car where only someone right next to them could see it (if they even bother to look, that is). So, why not walk? Surely, that’s the safest way. You assume that the pedestrians have the right of way. Not here. If anything, that mass will speed up. Your only warning is the loud honking of another vehicle; the Chinese version of shouting at drivers to move. Near misses are a hair’s breathe away. I keep expecting an accident to happen. And yet, I haven’t seen one. Perhaps it’s because everyone drives this way, so they are all aware of it’s potential hazards. No cell phone yapping, food munching, or makeup fixing here.

     Another student with me summed up China’s driving quite nicely, “It’s like Grand Theft Auto where everybody’s the main character.” Not being in the driver’s seat, I enjoyed the ride and all others after it. It has a certain grace to it, like a hectic samba. Besides, China’s only been at this for a few decades. What was once a humble ride in the wagon has now become a frantic race on the dragon highways. In addition, not many people are allowed to drive. Only government officials, taxis, buses, and work trucks are allowed to challenge these roads, and so there isn’t that crazed need to get a car and learn to drive it. I wouldn’t really blame them. I wouldn’t want the keys anytime soon, either.

Welcome to China

     I’m here. I’m actually here. China, a country I’ve known for a long time. I’ll admit, I had many stereotypes about this place before leaving. Who wouldn’t? Upon thinking of China, I usually go back to the ancient times, when the great Dynasties still ruled and detailed dragon artwork decorated every device they invented. Rarely do I think of modern China, with its rising cities, tremendous traffic, and Communistic rule. Only when I see the major news does this China present itself to me. And so, when I knew I was finally going to go to China what the news told me was all I really based my thoughts off. It was really all I had. Human rights violations, evil communistic government, lead toys, Tibet; these were the things I heard. Would these be the things I’d see?

      Before I set out, I was given a list of things to look out for, and one that kept popping up dealt with China’s search for identity. Ask me what an American is, and as difficult as that might be, I can still provide an answer that I am content with. Ask a Chinese what a Chinese is, and they will start, stutter, stumble, and fall silent. This search for their soul is one of the major motivations they hold as they seek to become a major power, as well as one of their major faults. With a country of over 50 ethic backgrounds, a geography ranging from coastal beaches to sheer mountains, and a conflicting cocktail of religion, philosophy, and government, it’s no wonder the Chinese are lost. I too am lost. When asked, what China is like I replied it's peaceful  though bustling, soothing yet irritating, housewarming and homesick.

     This paradox identity became apparent during the first bus ride over to Hangzhou. I gazed at the scenery, watching it change as we left the mammoth cranes of Shanghai behind and began to see wide-open plains, twisting dragon highways, towering apartment complexes, rural run-down houses, and small humble farms. All these things flashed by, showing me the clash of the rural and the city. Tall modern billboards would appear, advertising shows and high-end clothes only to be replaced by large painted signs on the sides of dilapidated houses. The plants couldn’t seem to make up their minds either. Near the constructing Shanghai, all sorts of trees and shrubs alternated in complex patterns, with maples standing next to palms, and palms standing next to evergreens. Traditional blades of grass were also much too traditional for the city and in their stead was a form of clover. Further inspection revealed leaves of spades…no not spades. Shovels.

     This first look at China was only a taste at what would come, and is still coming. I already feel changed by this place as some of my stereotypes break away. True, this could all just be a show for the ignorant foreigner, and as I stay here my eyes will open to the truth. Yet, this land I once held in fear is kindling a kind of fondness. Only my time here will tell as I hear, smell, and taste this land of dragons. I’m willing to learn. Are you?