Last weekend we were talking about the idea of cheating on being in China. Like how drinking Pepsi makes you think “Dude, am I ever not having the real Chinese experience: -10 points.”
This week it decided to get cold here. Now it ain’t no 30cm or whatever the Peg just got dumped with, but it’s still the kind of weather that makes me lose feeling in my digits.
Now I feel like I’m cheating every time I come into my apartment because I’ve got a heater in my living room. If I leave my living room door closed it’s actually something approaching cozy in there. Which is awesome when I walk into the house with my nose all runnin’ and my fingertips all bluening (not actually that cold out), but seems pretty high on the list of North American comforts that I should be doing without.
My general problem with being here is that I feel like I’m losing the China experience game since I’m not learning the language like a muthafucka (or someone who is not a muthafucka at all but is actually very nice and likes learning Chinese) and that having a new stack of books has made me happier than any interaction I’ve had with my students in the last few months.
All that said, I finished a Pico Iyer book last night which reaffirmed my belief in the authenticity of even the non-hardship inducing form of travel (and life in foreign lands). Holly and I talked about this in the summer a bit, how for me the whole purpose of travelling is the excuse to read in new places. And I stand slightly sheepishly by the assertion that that’s as good a reason as any.
