One week to the day and the street vendors are back -- as if it never happened.
As I suspected, it turns out United States National Security Advisor Tom Donilon was here chatting up near-future Chinese President Xi Jinping. Sounds like they agreed to keep agreeing on a bunch of agreed upon things for as long as agreement continues to be agreeable, or until -- god forbid -- poor Chinese people start trying to make a living by selling cheap food from carts on the sidewalk. With respect to the meetings, the article says "further details were not released," but those carts better have been the freaking centerpiece of discussion because we the people of Xing Fu San Cun bus stop were about ready to -- ahem -- form a more perfect union by the end of last week, if you know what I mean.
Yes, that's a US Constitution joke, and yes, it's also a complete exaggeration. I still think I'm the only person who noticed or cared that any of this was going on. As if to underscore the point, when I asked my friend at the mi zhou cart about his absence last week, he replied, "Jingcha... bu yong shuo," which literally means, "Police... no use to say/to speak." The phrase bu yong is commonly used to mean "no need," as in bu yong xie, "no need to thank," or more plainly "you're welcome/no problem." So as far as I can tell, this man's attitude toward the police cutting into his livelihood for a week was not indignant in the slightest, but rather apathetic. It seemed he was more pestered by the prospect of having to explain his situation to me than he was fearful of the repercussions of speaking. Anyway there's probably a really compelling political conversation to be had there, but personally I'm just glad he's back, and I told him as much today.
再见
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Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Disappearing Street Vendors
Yesterday, the cart that normally sells mi zhou (breakfast rice porridge) to commuters waiting for the morning bus didn't show up. At first I thought it must have been a fluke, like a holiday I didn't know about or custom I didn't understand or something. But then today it didn't show up either. And that's when I realized it wasn't the only one missing. All along my walk to work the street vendors were missing -- the jian bing guy outside my apartment, the couple near my office that sells eggs and some kind of ham thing I would never buy, the woman who usually doesn't have dou jiang but accosts me whenever she does because I bothered her about it every day for a week when I first got here -- all gone for two days in a row and I felt like I was the only person who noticed. I debated asking someone about it for awhile before deciding I probably wouldn't understand the answer in Chinese, but it didn't make much sense in English either.
Apparently none of the carts are legal, so the government can decide to get rid of them at any time. They usually don't do this since people love breakfast and cart owners love money, but when gearing up for an important diplomatic visit or similar event, any potential eyesore could find itself on the chopping block. The city sees street vendors as relics of an undeveloped economy, and ultimately seeks to push all consumption into modern department stores and supermarkets, which explains why the once open-air Silk Market was leveled and consolidated into a single, multi-floor, air-conditioned quasi-mall in 2005.
The disconnect is that no one wins here. In taking informal vendors off the streets, Beijing loses a host of morning food options, a profitable job market for entrepreneurs who can't afford permanent storefronts, and -- above all else -- a little piece of its character. Having been shocked by a number of things one finds on the city sidewalk, it strikes me as odd that food carts would be the focus of any municipal clean-up effort. Where are the campaigns against public spitting? Or littering? Or letting your dog (and sometimes even young child) defecate on the pavement between passing pedestrians? I just don't understand.
All is not lost, however. My Chinese colleague assures me the vendors will be back tomorrow. At this point I'm not sure if that makes me happy or just more frustrated.
再见
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Apparently none of the carts are legal, so the government can decide to get rid of them at any time. They usually don't do this since people love breakfast and cart owners love money, but when gearing up for an important diplomatic visit or similar event, any potential eyesore could find itself on the chopping block. The city sees street vendors as relics of an undeveloped economy, and ultimately seeks to push all consumption into modern department stores and supermarkets, which explains why the once open-air Silk Market was leveled and consolidated into a single, multi-floor, air-conditioned quasi-mall in 2005.
The disconnect is that no one wins here. In taking informal vendors off the streets, Beijing loses a host of morning food options, a profitable job market for entrepreneurs who can't afford permanent storefronts, and -- above all else -- a little piece of its character. Having been shocked by a number of things one finds on the city sidewalk, it strikes me as odd that food carts would be the focus of any municipal clean-up effort. Where are the campaigns against public spitting? Or littering? Or letting your dog (and sometimes even young child) defecate on the pavement between passing pedestrians? I just don't understand.
All is not lost, however. My Chinese colleague assures me the vendors will be back tomorrow. At this point I'm not sure if that makes me happy or just more frustrated.
再见
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Monday, July 23, 2012
Adult Playgounds
You've got to be kidding me...
In keeping with a recent trend of outlandish attempts to curb obesity, the New York City government has announced the installation of several "adult playgrounds" (sounds dirty) in select public spaces across the five boroughs -- sets of no-frills municipal gym equipment intended to promote exercise. The article shamelessly admits the idea for these parks was inspired in part by a 2002 trip to Beijing, where parks like these are commonplace. I find this hilarious, because these playgrounds are a regular subject of foreigner derision -- the kind of what-the-heck-China? talking point you can always bring up at a party when conversation runs dry.
Why, you ask? First of all, the machinery at these playgrounds is an embarrassment to scientific knowledge of the human body, seemingly conceived with total disregard for the concept of ergonomic design. Using them probably does more harm than good -- or at least it certainly feels that way. One machine, which looks like a low-budget version of Tony Little's Gazelle Edge (of infomercial infamy), pushes up uncomfortably on the knees as the legs swing past the lowest point in their arc. Similar problems are encountered on the no-resistance cycling machine. It's hard to believe the exercise one gets from these is healthy or effective. My faith in American ingenuity tells me to believe that whatever they build in New York will be superior, but I still find humor in the fact that these machines were the primary inspiration for the idea.
The second baffling aspect of the NYC initiative is that anyone believes the motions one performs on these machines can even remotely be defined as exercise. Most of the people who hang out at Beijing's adult playgrounds are retirees -- a group of people who think slapping their thighs or swinging their arms while walking constitute a workout. The machines that don't hurt to use are entirely worthless. One consists of a giant vertical steering wheel with a rotating knob that you're supposed to hold with both hands as you spin in circles. I guess it stretches out the arms... My favorite one to watch asks you to hold on to a stationary handrail as you wiggle from side-to-side on a small pivoting disk.
Again, I don't expect the New York parks to imitate these machines exactly. I'm sure for some the idea of just having a simple pull-up bar to use is enough motivation to break an otherwise sedentary cycle. And for what it's worth, the Beijing parks do succeed in making exercise (however broadly defined) into a social experience. So I'm not entirely bashing the idea. I just can't believe Beijing's laughable excuses for outdoor gyms were the inspiration.
再见
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In keeping with a recent trend of outlandish attempts to curb obesity, the New York City government has announced the installation of several "adult playgrounds" (sounds dirty) in select public spaces across the five boroughs -- sets of no-frills municipal gym equipment intended to promote exercise. The article shamelessly admits the idea for these parks was inspired in part by a 2002 trip to Beijing, where parks like these are commonplace. I find this hilarious, because these playgrounds are a regular subject of foreigner derision -- the kind of what-the-heck-China? talking point you can always bring up at a party when conversation runs dry.
Why, you ask? First of all, the machinery at these playgrounds is an embarrassment to scientific knowledge of the human body, seemingly conceived with total disregard for the concept of ergonomic design. Using them probably does more harm than good -- or at least it certainly feels that way. One machine, which looks like a low-budget version of Tony Little's Gazelle Edge (of infomercial infamy), pushes up uncomfortably on the knees as the legs swing past the lowest point in their arc. Similar problems are encountered on the no-resistance cycling machine. It's hard to believe the exercise one gets from these is healthy or effective. My faith in American ingenuity tells me to believe that whatever they build in New York will be superior, but I still find humor in the fact that these machines were the primary inspiration for the idea.
The second baffling aspect of the NYC initiative is that anyone believes the motions one performs on these machines can even remotely be defined as exercise. Most of the people who hang out at Beijing's adult playgrounds are retirees -- a group of people who think slapping their thighs or swinging their arms while walking constitute a workout. The machines that don't hurt to use are entirely worthless. One consists of a giant vertical steering wheel with a rotating knob that you're supposed to hold with both hands as you spin in circles. I guess it stretches out the arms... My favorite one to watch asks you to hold on to a stationary handrail as you wiggle from side-to-side on a small pivoting disk.
Again, I don't expect the New York parks to imitate these machines exactly. I'm sure for some the idea of just having a simple pull-up bar to use is enough motivation to break an otherwise sedentary cycle. And for what it's worth, the Beijing parks do succeed in making exercise (however broadly defined) into a social experience. So I'm not entirely bashing the idea. I just can't believe Beijing's laughable excuses for outdoor gyms were the inspiration.
再见
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Jiankou
This weekend, a friend and I decided to make the trek out to Jiankou, one of the "wild" sections of the Great Wall famous for its scenic beauty and perilous inclines. To get there from Beijing, we got on express bus no. 916 from the Dongzhimen terminal to Huairou Nandajie, where we hired a driver to take us up through the mountains to Xizhazi Village. Xizhazi lies at the base of the Great Wall approach trail, in a narrow valley hidden in the shadow of some of the steepest mountains I've ever seen. The trip up should have been breathtaking scene after breathtaking scene. Unfortunately, it was pouring.
By the time we arrived at Xizhazi, which took about three hours in total, we were dead-set on hiking no matter what. Jiankou is far enough away that we weren't going to let anything stand between us and the wall once we got there. We took advantage of the long car ride to convince each other that neither of us would mind winding up completely wet by the end of the day. In retrospect, this was probably a great idea, because when we returned to our hostel later in the evening we were soaked to the bone.
Luckily, the staff at Zhao Shi Shan Zhuang were incredibly hospitable. Actually, "staff" is probably the wrong word. The hostel is essentially a farmer's house, which he runs with his wife (and possibly help from one other couple, although it was really difficult to figure out who was a guest there and who was just a local neighbor helping out). Lao Zhao's, as it is also called, is particularly popular among Jiankou photographers -- so popular, in fact, that all the rooms are decorated with Great Wall photos taken by guests. On a clear day, its front porch offers a panoramic view of the wall as it winds its way along the mountainous peaks. Mrs. Zhao -- an extremely kind and patient woman who keeps the hostel running on a day-to-day basis -- fed us, answered all of our questions, made us ponchos out of trash bags, and even drove us back down to the bus stop in the morning when the usual shuttle never came. I would highly recommend this place to anyone. Here are a couple good pictures I took in the morning when the skies cleared:
The approach trail was a steep, overgrown dirt path that took an hour to summit at a moderate pace. The tree cover was dense, which offered a reprieve in the pouring rain but also made it impossible to see how far we'd come or how far we'd yet to go before actually reaching the wall. Toward the end, we were so concentrated on the monotonous thump of our increasingly heavy shoes in the mud that we might have walked right into it if it weren't for a well-timed and much needed water break. And there it was, towering some 25 feet above us as we stood at the top of the ridge. It took a few more minutes to find a way up. At last, the hard part was over.
Well, sort of. When they say a section of the wall is "wild," they really mean in hasn't been touched in hundreds of years. So instead of a paved path along the top like you'd find at Mutianyu or Badaling, there's just dirt and trees. And instead of stairs at the inclines, there are just crumbling stones that you have to climb up on all fours. Parts of the wall have collapsed or are otherwise un-walkable. These require you to climb down and walk around via trails at the base. The fog made it difficult to see the surrounding mountains and pieces of the wall, but we did randomly happen upon one really cool tower before turning around and trying the other way. Again, the rain complicated everything. It took another hour-and-a-half to climb down, and we were so tired by the time we got back to Lao Zhao's that we went right to bed. Of course the next day, it was as clear and beautiful as ever. This was frustrating, but we did manage to get some good pictures before heading home.
All in all, Jiankou was a great adventure. I would totally do it again, if only to stay at Lao Zhao's for one more night and to see the parts of the wall the rain stole from me. As an aside, I just want to say that reading blog posts about similar trips was crucial in planning to make this happen. But even with the wealth of personal accounts available on the web, getting there and back was tough, even with half-way decent Mandarin. That said, if you are reading this because you've stumbled upon it in a Google search for Jiankou, please leave a comment and I'll do what I can to help you figure out the best way to get there. Hiking the Great Wall is a great experience, and perhaps the most memorable tourist trap Beijing has to offer.
再见
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By the time we arrived at Xizhazi, which took about three hours in total, we were dead-set on hiking no matter what. Jiankou is far enough away that we weren't going to let anything stand between us and the wall once we got there. We took advantage of the long car ride to convince each other that neither of us would mind winding up completely wet by the end of the day. In retrospect, this was probably a great idea, because when we returned to our hostel later in the evening we were soaked to the bone.
Luckily, the staff at Zhao Shi Shan Zhuang were incredibly hospitable. Actually, "staff" is probably the wrong word. The hostel is essentially a farmer's house, which he runs with his wife (and possibly help from one other couple, although it was really difficult to figure out who was a guest there and who was just a local neighbor helping out). Lao Zhao's, as it is also called, is particularly popular among Jiankou photographers -- so popular, in fact, that all the rooms are decorated with Great Wall photos taken by guests. On a clear day, its front porch offers a panoramic view of the wall as it winds its way along the mountainous peaks. Mrs. Zhao -- an extremely kind and patient woman who keeps the hostel running on a day-to-day basis -- fed us, answered all of our questions, made us ponchos out of trash bags, and even drove us back down to the bus stop in the morning when the usual shuttle never came. I would highly recommend this place to anyone. Here are a couple good pictures I took in the morning when the skies cleared:
View from Zhao Shi Shan Zhuang. You can just make out the wall in the distance along the ridge.
Another view of the wall from Lao Zhao's.
The approach trail was a steep, overgrown dirt path that took an hour to summit at a moderate pace. The tree cover was dense, which offered a reprieve in the pouring rain but also made it impossible to see how far we'd come or how far we'd yet to go before actually reaching the wall. Toward the end, we were so concentrated on the monotonous thump of our increasingly heavy shoes in the mud that we might have walked right into it if it weren't for a well-timed and much needed water break. And there it was, towering some 25 feet above us as we stood at the top of the ridge. It took a few more minutes to find a way up. At last, the hard part was over.
Walk long enough and you literally bump into it.
Well, sort of. When they say a section of the wall is "wild," they really mean in hasn't been touched in hundreds of years. So instead of a paved path along the top like you'd find at Mutianyu or Badaling, there's just dirt and trees. And instead of stairs at the inclines, there are just crumbling stones that you have to climb up on all fours. Parts of the wall have collapsed or are otherwise un-walkable. These require you to climb down and walk around via trails at the base. The fog made it difficult to see the surrounding mountains and pieces of the wall, but we did randomly happen upon one really cool tower before turning around and trying the other way. Again, the rain complicated everything. It took another hour-and-a-half to climb down, and we were so tired by the time we got back to Lao Zhao's that we went right to bed. Of course the next day, it was as clear and beautiful as ever. This was frustrating, but we did manage to get some good pictures before heading home.
"Stairs."
Tower interior.
Sunrise over Xizhazi Village.
All in all, Jiankou was a great adventure. I would totally do it again, if only to stay at Lao Zhao's for one more night and to see the parts of the wall the rain stole from me. As an aside, I just want to say that reading blog posts about similar trips was crucial in planning to make this happen. But even with the wealth of personal accounts available on the web, getting there and back was tough, even with half-way decent Mandarin. That said, if you are reading this because you've stumbled upon it in a Google search for Jiankou, please leave a comment and I'll do what I can to help you figure out the best way to get there. Hiking the Great Wall is a great experience, and perhaps the most memorable tourist trap Beijing has to offer.
再见
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