Tag Archives: tibet

hanging up a coat in an empty town on literacy day

The other day I wore my Tibetan coat inside the library and was told I looked very urban. Which was funny because I was only wearing the coat inside because I was waiting to go up to Sayward with my boss to see the branch there, which is very rural.

Sayward is about an hour north of Campbell River, and it is a tiny place. It was a foggy drive so I wasn’t able to see as much of the countryside as I would have liked, but there were mountains that appeared when the fog had gaps. And mossy forests that I saw one deer/elk trying to escape the highway into.

But the town itself doesn’t even have a grocery store. If people want more than general store milk and eggs they’ve got to drive an hour down to Campbell River. That seems crazy to me. It seemed crazy to a non-librarian friend of mine that the library branch was in a strip mall, but I had no strong feeling about that.

I’ve had a bit of a tense week because today was Family Literacy Day and it was the first event I’d done to sort of integrate with other community development projects in town. That one of the literacy coordinators was there to help made me that much more aware that I didn’t really take classes in early literacy type things at school. I feel fine doing storytimes and stuff, but really focusing on what kinds of words they’re learning gets a bit wonky for me. My sleep this week was interrupted with lots of inadequacy thoughts I remember from teaching in China. I definitely see myself as a librarian not an “educator” or “literacy expert” though I guess if I keep doing this kind of thing I’ll learn.

But it all worked out. We read some stories, I talked about community and we made “comics.” Nobody decried my event as being terrible and built a rail line to run me out of town on. Now I can relax secure in what I’m doing until my gaming for kids events start up.

On Saturday I’m heading into Vancouver, where one of my awesome librarian colleagues is visiting from Calgary. It means I miss our library’s post-holiday potluck party here, but it’s been almost 3 months since I was in the Lower Mainland. ‘Tis time.

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there are only three topics

The whole internet-sabbatical aspect to this trip has been derailed mightily. It’s because there’s wifi at the bakery and this is where I’m spending so much of my time. And I don’t need to borrow Holly’s laptop, since I brought my netbook whose VPN works so I can access the world the way I would at home. Sort of.

Last night I was talking with one of Holly’s friends about Chinese media and free expression and such. He’d been to the States on a scholarship given out by the government after the 2008 Sichuan earthquake (that was a Red Cross/Crescent link – here’s the Wikipedia version) which did a lot of damage to his hometown. He had some personal experience with the media since he was interviewed by China Daily as well as a Sichuan newspaper about his experiences.

He complained about China Daily’s “famous reporter” changing everything he’d said to “make the government sound so wonderful.” What I found really interesting was how after the interview he’d been contacted by China Daily to say they’d have to make some small changes to make it sound better. “They were not small changes!”

The Sichuan paper reporter got him mad for being too prying, and forcing him to think about all the ways he felt when the terrible things were happening to his hometown (he wasn’t there at the time). “What was your feeling then?” the reporter kept asking. I had more sympathy for this reporter, since if you don’t pry you just get crappy bland stories.

We also talked about Tibet and whether it was always a part of China. We talked about the importance of a diversity of perspectives in history and current events. I talked about how the corporatization of Western media makes it suck (not as much as state-controlled media but that it isn’t as great as its ideals might suggest).

We didn’t get into Wikileaks.

Holly’d been working and only passing by our table occasionally, and I was talking most of the time. The only question she needed to ask about that odd state of affairs was “So was it comics, baseball or journalism?”

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book review: sun after dark

Sun After Dark, the Pico Iyer book I’d read before thanks to James and Michelle Stabler-Havener, didn’t cause quite the same angst in me that Global Soul did. Primarily because this book was less about some idealized form of human and more about the places he’d been. There are also book reviews in this one wherein he talks about a writer’s disorientating effects and the relentless proof he tries to hold onto. And there are stories of Rapa Nui and Angkor Wat and Pol Pot, and these address some of the worries of the traveller being a colonial force (even if brown-skinned). The essay about Tibet makes sense, especially when coupled with the essay about hanging with the Dalai Lama in Dharamsala.

All in all I liked Sun After Dark much more than Global Soul. It felt less polemic and more story oriented. And it made me want to go to Bolivia without making me want to kill myself for not being there right the fuck now. So that’s a good thing. I guess.

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paucity of posting

My internet here today has been really intermittent. Not time-wise, but site-wise. Some sites I can get to; some remind me of China. I blame the cold. The cold is also hampering the rest of my productivity, hence the lack of interesting posting going on. I do encourage you to read my vagabondscrawl site (or its feed), which has links to things I’m reading at least. My numb little fingers don’t need to work as hard to share stuff as they do to type intelligibly.

But I learned that two of my friends are going back to Nanchong this month. Holly I knew about, but Phil too! This extra incentive means sometime this year I’ll probably end up out there for a visit. Especially since Sean and I didn’t manage to see Phil on our trip to Amerrica this fall. Maybe I’d be able to take the train up to Tibet this time around…

Had a good chat with Holly today. She’s off visiting people in various non-Virginian states, and she said something I understood so much I’m reproducing it here without her consent: “I could feel myself snap into pay-attention mode as soon as we got on the road out of Harrisonburg.” I do so love that feeling, how it happens and you stop foggy living and go into the real stuff.

On a good day I can hit that without going somewhere new. I wrote a story at 3am the other day moments after snapping out of a dream, and I had that feeling. There’s a wall I used to bike past in September and October that at a certain time of day reflected so much warmth at me it always felt like a new thing. Last night walking home from work in the cold a dog got mad at me walking and barked and barked all mad from its confined backyard and I got all those primal goosebumps of fear. There are those moments, but man pay-attention mode is a lot easier to do when you’re somewhere else. And all your calories aren’t going directly into staying warm.

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22 politics

At the Nanjing Massacre memorial… Well, I think I should head back there and read everything in the exhibition hall, so maybe I’ll refrain from too much commenting on that just yet [I never did get back -JJU]. But outside the hall we wandered the grounds where stones are placed for specific massacre sites and the ground is scattered with stones to represent the 300,000 dead. Cheryl says that was a number specifically and politically chosen. Because they can’t tell exactly how many people died. There’s the Grave of 10,000 Corpses but it doesn’t have that many bodies identified (all through that hall they’ve got scattered femurs and humeri broken beside the walkways). The 300,000 was chosen to be a larger number than the atomic blasts killed in Hiroshima (and Nagasaki?). To ensure that Chinese suffering could be quantitatively higher than that of their enemies. So people wouldn’t have to say “Sure fewer died but it was more horrible.” More died and it was more horrible. No wiggle room for the devils. I should be fair. I only saw the Japanese called devils outside the museum by the statues with their quotes and poems.

Cheryl talked a lot about Japan and her time at the Hiroshima memorial. She’s heard people speak on the topic of this whole ugly history. Japanese pastors saying “Our salvation lies in your (Chinese) forgiveness.” Japanese civilians saying “Yes it’s true we didn’t know what was happening but we can’t get away from our guilt that way. It’s our responsibility to know what our government is doing in our name.” (I know that one chilled me with responsibility. We live in a democracy. My government represents me far moreso than the CCP represents an ordinary Chinese person. And what are they doing in my name? Well, at least I’m not an American.) Chinese Christians saying that one of the great obstacles to faith was the idea that god even loved the Japanese. How could that be?

Later in the evening we were at Wang Xuefu’s house and were talking politics. He speaks of the Nanjing Massacre and the Cultural Revolution as psychologically traumatizing events for the nation. As a country “Chinese are very good at forgetting” he said (something I think needs a bit more explanation or at least some speculation) but that means the wounds get buried deeper. The government isn’t interested in healing. All they care for is other things: Economics. Power. And if they can harness the wounds and use them for their own purposes then that’s exactly perfect. Healing would only hurt that agenda.

We got into the story of a prof at Nan Da who is a member of a minority political party. He submitted an open letter to the CCP asking for open elections. On Xuefu’s couch we all sat back with mouths agape, laughing at the audacity. What happened? He was forced to resign from his party and is no longer allowed to teach classes.

In the last couple of weeks there’ve been protests in Lhasa. Monks and civilians in Jokhang Square marching angrily. And this has been shown on CCTV which probably means a forceful clampdown is forthcoming. But not too forceful since the eyes of the world are starting to focus on the country. There was a 19-year-old woman from Xinjiang who supposedly smuggled gasoline onto a plane to try and hijack it in an attack on Beijing. In the media reports the focus is on outside separatist forces using these Chinese people to make revolting statements. “And they’re such monsters they’d even use an innocent teenaged girl to try hurting China.” All these outsiders giving the government excuses for support from the people.

One of Xuefu’s friends is a professor and former journalist and he says that his greatest regret is being part of the propaganda machine for so many years. He’s the one who taught Xuefu about proxies and tunnelling through the Great Firewall. We talked about how there are no rules in China anymore, how classrooms are set up as dictatorships just to satisfy the teacher’s desire to feel important.

Korean respect for age and authority was held up as a kind of model for integrating Confucian values with Western freedoms. Cheryl talked about her Korean friend who won’t talk politics with his family because then his father would demand to be listened to, and “I don’t want to vote for who my father wants people to vote for.” By not discussing it the son isn’t forced to disobey when it comes to the ballot box.

We talked about how in China the people in power have no ideology any more, no ideals beyond staying in power and keeping the good life all that money affords. Supposedly people had thought maybe Hu Jintao would be someone who’d start the process toward democracy but once he got in it was all the same old thing. If a transition to a democratic society were to happen many people say it would be chaos. On these couches in the nicest Chinese living room I’ve ever been in, that chaos was limited if the transition was led from above. Sure a revolution would be chaotic but so much of that is because it would be a fight between the people and the government. If the government were to gradually institute more local-level elections and work its way up, there wouldn’t have to be blood. But how could that happen? It won’t as long as people have the feeling that things could be worse.

The top and middle these days have more and more to protect and the bottom can only steam and maybe have an occasional anti-Japanese riot/three minutes of hate. People are gradually getting better off (“Materially,” I interject. “In every way,” Holly corrects me, “There’s more free speech and better health care available and yeah.” I sit back chastened like the dumb westerner I happen to be.) and a lot of them see that as enough.

All this talking was happening out at Wang Xuefu’s house in the suburbs. Now my idea of suburbs is shaped by the small city I grew up in. Basically anything that’s not downtown is a suburb to me. Places with trees and lawns and such. This suburb is an hour and a half outside the city (by bus. Car or taxi mabe half an hour to 45 minutes) off shitty dirt roads and freeways. It’s more like living in Connecticut when you work in New York, or at least it seemed like that to me. One of the roads we got into a traffic jam on is the state road to Hangzhou. They’re building the subway out there so it’ll be more connected in a year or two.

Inside their subdivision though I thought I’d gone to hell. There are some little hills and a manmade lake his house backs (fronts?) onto. And it’s surrounded by these birthday cake tiered townhousey things just piled on each other. The definition of prefabbed nicety. White Ridge on the Pack ‘em In scale. The other side of their house faces a row of identical buildings across a cement tiled lawnspace. Xuefu stressed very insistently that he wasn’t a rich man, though his house was beautifully upper middle class. Three storeys, heated floors on the main and top levels. Dark stained wood staircase and dining room table. High ceilings with recessed lighting, space for a huge entertainment unit but holding a 24″ old TV. A beautiful office with skylight attached to the master bedroom. Everything very clean and relatively elegant. Lacking in art for the space but whatever. A whiteboard hung in the dining room which was a bit tacky or something but in general it made you forget you were in a townhouse. He bought out there a few years ago when there was nothing, so it was cheap. He’d “had a feeling it would soon be developed” from what he’d seen in the US. So he got in at the base and it’s already quadrupled in value. Good for them and all that.

He also has a silver Buick parked in the driveway. And really, to live out there now you need to have a car. He learned to drive in the States I think, but this winter in a snowstorm (not the big one, a couple of weeks before it) they’d been driving home from some town where they were doing some training and it was icy and shitty and he spun out in a 360. They decided to take safety as a priority over the law and Holly took the wheel. She had greater experience and got them home safely in the end.

Earlier this year the car got keyed when they were out somewhere and Holly was impressed that he didn’t flip out (he really loves this car). He did complain about the ignorance of whoever did it though. “Why does he have to take out his aggression on his fellow man?” Maybe the term he used was “common man.” In any case, Holly thought “You aren’t the guy’s fellow man; you have a car.” And a nice house in suburban hell.

The day after all this discussion Zhang Guo Xian was asking Holly about different countries. “What is your view on…Mexico?” kind of stuff. She said she likes all countries. “Even Japan?” asked Xiao Meng. “Yup.” And then with obvious practice Xiao Meng launched into “Well if you really loved China…” and Holly stormed away. I don’t blame her one bit. I absolutely detest that kind of narrow party-line view of Xiao Meng’s. Holly says she’s a very good and loving friend but she just can’t talk to her about what China is like. I know that since I don’t see (or at least understand) her being a loving good friend I really don’t like Xiao Meng. All I get is the cartoon villain snickering and this narrow narrow view of the world and the TV watching and stuff. If my Chinese were better… but it’s not. So I’m stuck here seeing and hearing what I can and what is explained to me. This is really a very useless document when I think clearly about it. All that humble bullshit up front is really true. Don’t think there’s any insight here.

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14 jokes

Here’s a joke obviously not created by a strictly Chinese sense of humour:

Four national stereotypes are on a train or a bus or something. There’s a Japanese guy, an American, a Han Chinese, and a Tibetan. The Japanese guy listens to his mp3 player for a while until the song he likes is over, then he throws the mp3 player out the window. “What’d you do that for?” the multilingual community asks. He says “In Japan we have so many of these things it’s easier to throw them out and get a new one than to put new songs on the old one.”

The American is one of that noble dying breed, the smoker. He pulls out a pack of fancy American coffin nails, lights one cigarette and throws the rest of the pack out the window. “Why’d you do that?” they ask and he says “In America we’ve got so many cigarettes it’s easier to throw them out and get fresh ones than to try to preserve any one pack.”

If you’ve ever heard a joke before you know what the Tibetan guy then did.

Holly told that joke to Jo and Wang Wei. Predictably, they didn’t laugh. She says she was just testing it out on the coolest Chinese people she knew and won’t do it again. She totally will.

Phil told us a joke he’d heard in China:

How many steps does it take for an elephant to open the refrigerator?

One to open the door. One to grab the milk. And one to close the door.

Yes, that’s the joke. Holly made a slanderous remark about it being in league with the muffin joke.

Supposedly there are a bunch of Ant & Elephant jokes and Holly told me one but I don’t remember it. One thing I liked about the Long March book I read was how happily crude so many of the old interviewees were. All talking about farting and pissing and having a good laugh about wetting your pants in terror. Not so funny the woman whose period froze her pantleg in Tibet so sharp it cut her leg open in her sleep.

The rapes weren’t so funny either. Nor the murderous Tibetans. The Long Marchers were attacked ruthlessly by the people whose food they were supplying themselves with. The Tibetans had one growing season and had to live on what they stored. Then in marches this communist army. They left money and IOUs in the fields but that wouldn’t be much good to eat in the short term. So the Tibetans picked off stragglers and hung up their skinned bodies. They were barbarians protecting their yaks and their land. The temples were supply houses and the monks shot the hell out of the armies from inside.

I always think of the poor peaceful Tibetans, not the violently resisting Tibetans. It’s no wonder the Chinese wanted to subjugate the place. And out west, all the inhospitable places made for hard inhospitable people especially towards people coming in to change everything. In the poorest lands how do you agitate against the rich landowner? All so relative.

Here’s another joke. This one’s Chinese but I like it.

Son, father and grandfather are out chopping wood. Grandpa’s doing it all wrong (too many splinters maybe? too slow?) and Dad gets mad at him and starts yelling about what a lousy woodchopper the old man is. “You couldn’t chop a plank in two in the middle of a bandsaw thunderstorm” or something. What? I’m a master of wood-chopping metaphors all of a sudden?

So the son decides to stick up for granddad and yells at Dad. “How dare you disrespect your father like that you horrible thoughtless man!?”

Now if the listener didn’t quite get it you summarize the punchline as “So he was disrespecting his father!” And everyone laughs. Or at least Scott and I laugh. While Em rolls her eyes and starts up another dinosaur song. Oh the life we used to lead. The Tibetan joke Holly told is at least making fun of the people with all the power, not picking on the little guy.

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35b last days

While my last Saturday was cold and rainy, my last Sunday was cold and windy, and more importantly, sunny enough to go on a picnic. We got PiJiu roasted duck which we ate with our fingers along with baozi and bings. Mmm bings.

We took all those goodies and a blanket out to the free lake at the mountain. It took a lot of looking to find the precise lake Holly wanted. We passed one perfectly acceptable lake/pond with ample picnic space only to wander by jackhammering beautification projects. In the end we found a good spot on top of a hill with a good view of the mountain and the (remarkably square) lake.

The bus out to the mountain had been packed with middle school students who’d gotten off a stop before the park, but we could hear them (or at least students in similar uniforms) marching and shouting their way through their outing. I wonder what percentage of them were having fun.

I’d been worried the pig brain might have instituted some sort of psychological block against and and all animal parts but I was fine with the duck (which Holly pointed out, does very little to disguise its duckishness). The wind was coldest when you sat up so we ended up lying down and talking with eyes closed against the sun. Zhao Xing called and if he were a jealous man, the way Holly said we were lying on a blanket outside could easily have been misinterpreted. But he was more concerned with discussing an article and video in regards to the whole current Tibet situation. The video (which we went to a WangBa to watch because Holly didn’t have the keys to the office) was very historical, no wait, hysterical and made many statements of fact regarding Tibet, China, the CIA and the Dalai Lama. I don’t even know where to start responding to something like that.

It was kind of a last kick at Holly’s talking out of her life these days. She was getting a bit self-conscious about all her complaining by the end, but really, what do I care? It was conversation. I’m good at listening to people talk. I should be a bartender in some local pub somewhere. Anyway. I guess that’s the kind of thing people do. Listen without offering much by way of practical advice. One of the ideas floating through my head for if Holly ever gets her organic farm/guesthouse set up is to use it as a writing retreat place sort of deal. I enjoy China as a writing place. It works for me; sort of inspiring. I mean, there are just people whose appearances stimulate questions. On the subway the guy with the Mao haircut and the horrible bit of a thumbnail and the dustiest shabbiest dress shoes I’ve seen on a (non bangbang) man. Not like Canada where it’s so much easier to attribute people to their categories without thinking, just cause I know the categories so much better.

We listened to my Circles Within Circles CD on my final evening. I tried to explain the story and its circling nature but I don’t think I was quite effective. That CD is a story I should write. It’s not an original story but it has that wood and rust coloration that I feel I should make some effort to capture. The story, the CD as a whole I should say, seemed a bit sad for Holly. Maybe just because it was my last night and she’s about as good as I am at saying goodbye. We’re both ignorers of the facts staring us down. Awkward glances at the clock. There were a couple of “Well. Back to Canada” comments that fell down a well while we listened to songs people sent her from across the sea. And brought her too, since mine made it into the mix. “I like this song because I like singing along to it. You probably like songs for other reasons.”

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29 chengdu

I’ve made a list of cities in China that I have a relatively informed opinion about. More than 2 days in a visit or multiple visits are my requirements for being relatively informed. In order of preference (and ignoring small cities) they are:

  • Hong Kong
  • Nanjing
  • Lhasa
  • Beijing
  • Shanghai
  • Chongqing
  • Chengdu

The list was created primarily to put Chengdu at the bottom of it.

This was my best experience of the city though. It wasn’t too cold or raining. We could get a cab when we needed one. In fact there were only 10 minutes when I hated it. We were on a bus going somewhere Holly wasn’t sure how to get to and didn’t know if she’d recognize when we passed it. We were jammed in and I had too much stuff because we were heading back to Nanjing. I haven’t thanked Holly for not getting mad at my black mood there. [Thanks Holly!]

We stayed at a really good hostel called The Mix out by the Wen Shu Monastery. When I say it was really good I mean it felt very much like we were travelling not in China. The rough appearing couches and everything else. We didn’t ask if the dog was allowed in.

Catherine stayed in the common area while Holly and I did the checking in stuff. Then Catherine went to bed and Holly and I hung out with Fish, who used to be her Chinese tutor back in Nanchong. He’s trained in dentistry and just got a job at an insurance company. He’s also planning on taking the tests to become a pilot. They’ve expanded the program so people older than high school grads can get into the career. There’s a fitness and a handsomeness test. He was talking about it being a dangerous profession, which I’d never thought of before.

He’s watching Friends now and I got a bit of a rant off my chest (about the lack of reality in these underemployed people in that gigantic apartment in New York) and Holly described me to Fish thusly: “Justin may seem very quiet but when you ask him the right question he gets very excited and loud.” Which is probably pretty accurate. The other day Will asked if I was an environmental activist and I said I wasn’t very active, but I didn’t really know how to answer that kind of question. Holly did it for me: “Justin is a minimalist in all things.” I think there are plenty of things I’m not minimalistic about but that’s much more accurate than calling me an environmentalist.

Anyway, Fish’s ex-girlfriend was there too. It was a little awkward because her English wasn’t as good as Fish’s but whatever. She’s an anaesthesiologist. We were talking about the perks of those kinds of jobs and the troubles in medical systems in different countries. He hadn’t seen Sicko (and neither had Holly) so lots of the stuff I said about the US system was incredible to them (but true!). There was a blonde possibly European girl sitting nearby and I’m sure to her I sounded incredibly stupid bragging about Canadian healthcare.

When Fish and [I forget her name completely] left Holly and I went to pick up sausages for Jiaozi’s [Catherine's dog] breakfast. Oh they sent chills up my spine. So processed and squishy. Holly got one too. Even though she’s thinking of cutting back on the pork in her diet. Which is much easier when you aren’t in delicious Sichuan.

On Monday we walked a huge distance down from the hostel to Hua Xi the medical school campus of Chuan Da where Johnny lives. Johnny is a really great guy. He’d been working on an experiment which finally worked on Saturday so he had time to hang out. Over lunch he explained what it was about but I didn’t quite catch the whole thing. Something about Science! Getting to lunch was a bit of a production as we wanted to leave our bags at Johnny’s but a guard at the gate wouldn’t let the dog on campus so there was to-ing, fro-ing, carrying, leaving and hiking around to the restaurants the long way. But we got to chow down Sichuan style one last time. Yu Xiang Qie Zi and those rice cakes (Guo Ba) that sizzle and crackle when the sauce goes over them. I’d forgotten about that stuff because I’ve only ever eaten it in biggish CEE groups.

But hanging out with Johnny is very easy. He’s relaxed and helpful and just an especially cool guy. His girlfriend is evidently very ordinary though. I guess that’s the danger of being slightly extraordinary; the people around you might suffer by comparison. We eventually settled on the word “interchangeable” to describe her, which is something Johnny is definitely not.

The story Holly tells is how once when she came to visit him her phone had died so she didn’t know where he was going to meet her. But she thought “Johnny’s such a good student; he’s always in the library” so that’s where she went, checking each room till he appeared, to everyone’s delight. Near the statue of Marie Curie is where they always meet and talk and snack. He has a dorm room where he keeps some stuff but lives off-campus, being taken care of by his girlfriend’s(?)/landlord’s(?) family, something Holly thinks should irk her but it doesn’t. His dormmates just play video games till early in the morning and Johnny’s very glad not to have to really live with them.

He had to go to work though, and Catherine had to buy two kinds of Italian meat for Eric (who has Hepatitis C but doesn’t explain to people that’s why he doesn’t drink) so we put her in a cab and got on the 503 bus out to Du Fu’s Thatched Cottage. To get there our bus passed through the Tibetan part of town. We saw monks walking past religious supply shops but more indicative these days were the police cars on every corner. Every corner meaning four cars at the intersections and one at every alley. The cops themselves seemed pretty relaxed. Most were sleeping. But on our return trip all their lights were flashing and instead of one sleeper to a car there were four nervous looking officers. Down one road there was a huge crowd and loads of police but we couldn’t tell what was going on. Earlier down at the big square by the mao statue we saw about a dozen police and military cops holding their guns, patrolling. Some police in regular uniform but more in helmets. It wasn’t the massive formations we had after our Wanzhou riot, at least not right after. Though those had been around last week. Todd wasn’t allowed to take pictures of them with the Big Brother eye ad, not at night.

Holly’s been asking everyone about their points of view on this Tibetan situation. The cabbie taking us to the airport was very erm prejudiced, complaining about the Zangren wanting to put five people in the car or wanting to pay 10 when the fare’s 15, or speaking their Zanghua gobbledygook all the time. At that last point he realized he sounded a bit silly (especially since his Sichuanhua was pretty thick) and the two of them laughed. There’s a fairly wide perception that the Tibetans are lazy and thieving and they’re lucky that China supports them so well. When this cabdriver began he called them all a big Ma Fan [trouble/nuisance]. The stories of bombs and buses and a car that had a bomb in it that was gone and a Tibetan stabbing a guy through a bus window as it drove away are word of mouth stories, not news reports thankfully, though I wonder if those rumours would spread as fast with a freer press. Selah.

Catherine was very impressed with the gravity of the situation and how concerned Chinese people are about how this will affect them, and their fear and all that. Holly finds the Chinese people to be over it, unconcerned “The army’s in there now and things are back to normal.” You just downplay it and talk about 1.3 billion smiles welcoming Olympic athletes and show some pictures of pandas and such. It’s more of a concern for Holly than for Chinese people, she feels, which means imprisonments and disappearances of anyone up there having anything to do with the protests is pretty much assured. No one would think anyhing’s wrong with that.

Oh and we went to Du Fu’s Thatched Cottage. That was where we were taking the bus. On the way Holly asked if I felt Chengdu had changed in the last four years. I didn’t but reminded her of my lack of deep connection with the city. She was saying there seemed to be more touristy little streets and places catering to the backpackers coming through. But maybe she just felt that because int he first couple of years she didn’t go into those areas of town. It’s funny how being part of an organization gets you stuck in its ruts. Like the Jiaotong/Traffic Hotel. There’s nothing really wrong with it but we stayed there as the default CEE option. We’d scatter to our various rooms and well, whatever. It doesn’t have any character. High ceilings I seem to remember. But it doesn’t really compare with the Mix. Which might be becoming the new MPC default, even though it’s further from the airport and the airport bus.

That list of favourite cities from before is based almost entirely on my physical experience of the places. I don’t know the language or the people well enough to have a clue about what they’re like socially or culturally. Everything is based on what I could see or feel or hear. Very sensual but not in a sexy way. Transit systems are important to me. Barring transit it needs to be walkable, but I just love Metros. There’s that automated system happening so you don’t have to speak. It seems to go all the time. They’re generally cleanish (though Beijing’s is feeling like it’s the exception to all of these). Stops are announced and route maps are laid out. Nothing like a good metro system. Chengdu’s is being built under their streets and it’s clogging up the aboveground traffic fiercely. I’m glad this wasn’t happening back when I was dragging my mom around town. Sidewalks all blocked off. Buses following weird routes. Confusing.

Holly was almost involved in two accidents walking around in CHengdu. One was a madan driving an SUV who was speeding and passing a car by gunning the engine into the bikelane/sidewalk where we were walking. She jumped out of the way and was fine. In fact, we went right on with our conversation as if she hadn’t just been almost killed. Then walking on Johnny’s campus an electric bike loaded down with cases of bottles swerved and toppled, spilling bottles (not their contents) all over. Students leapt to assistance as did Holly and I. I replaced Gatorade bottles in a box feeling useless. Holly’s instinct in that instance was to hold up the falling bottles instead of getting out of the way. The woman on the red bike thanked everyone and we were delayed a little more from meeting Johnny.

The Cottage itself has a whole park complex surrounding it. We came in the north gate where a girl was playing the Qin. Really well, though she didn’t seem to be too into it. There were trees and pavillions and there didn’t seem a better place to be an old Chinese person. We saw replicas of the cottage, some Tang Dynasty pottery that proves they’ve been building and rebuilding it in the right place all these years, an uninspiring collection of his poems from 1982. The collection was uninspiring as the old copies looked little different from the new ones. The cottage replica was pretty much like a modern peasant house in the country. Same sorts of stuff in the kitchen and the study and all that. It’s pleasant to think of writing in a place like that. Easy to think it’d be easier, though somehow I’ve learned enough about this craft to doubt it. Anyway. Expensive but beautiful park that I enjoyed and would return to.

The War on Liquids made it to China this month. At least to Chengdu. As of 3/18/2008 the sign said. Holly had to check her bag because of it. She’s a girl and needs face washing things. The table with all the stuff covered by the ban included sealed packages of Dou Gan [thin sliced dried tofu in sort of a spicy sauce]. How does that make any sort of a difference? Although thinking about it now, 3/18 that’s post Xinjiang girl on the plane with the gasoline isn’t it? That story sounded so dumb at the time and now it’s obvious it was made up to give an excuse for the new CAAC regulations. All this stuff is bullshit and doesn’t make anyone safer anyway. So angry. I can’t take any tools if I want to travel light. But that’s why I don’t use toothpaste when I travel no more. Or shampoo. When they ban toothbrushes I guess I’ll give up oral hygiene altogether. But they haven’t yet.

That flight was delayed by the rain. “Water falling from the sky? We’ll solve that problem somehow!” And for the first part of the flight I thought we’d crash for sure.

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lucid and unfrothy

Want to read the best thing I’ve seen so far about the Tibet stuff? Here you go. I tend towards Tibetan sympathy because I’m a freedom of religion kind of guy, but this article points out some of the problems in doing that without actually knowing some of the history.

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25 pingabetty pongatin

I enjoy wearing five pointed stars in China. Something about the connection to the flag. A red star would connote too much, condone too much I think. I don’t want anything to do with all those masses of troops heading into Tibet these days. Twenty thousand was the number The Guardian podcast mentioned. And the foreign journalists are being kicked out “but nothing bad is going to happen.” No one knows what will though.

The reports coming out from tourists are untrained, blind. “I think they’re beating up a Han Chinese. I don’t know. Maybe there were knives.” Are people dying? Survey says yes but when it’s coming from the Free Tibet agendamakers who knows?

You can’t trust anyone who sounds like the TV though. The TV is obviously lying with every breath it doesn’t take. The Dalai Lama is being blamed, though he hasn’t been demanding independence for years. The papers say the government would gladly speak with him but he keeps on using the people to disrupt the peace and what could possibly be done?

So we play ping pong.

Zheng Lei (James), the frustrated demagogue, showed up after some noodling around by the three of us roommates. Noodling in which Holly won almost every game. James was very considerate when he realized how much better he was than us. He slowed right down and corrected my horribly nonstandard chiselling grip which I’d picked up playing against Jeremy back in Wanzhou, back with his All Power game while I chipped in around the edges with wonky spins that kept things close to the net, using all his power and absorbing muffling it into uselessness.

Against a real competitor that wasn’t working. I couldn’t get away with letting the competition simply overextend make a mistake and win through nonaction. Zheng Lei showed me how to hold my paddle so I could get on top of the ball, get some front spin on it. It hurt at first shot pain right up my shoulder so off I passed to Holly while I watched him and learned what was wrong with my hands which are large and should easily be able to handle a paddle like this.

The ring finger was my downfall so I stopped using it cut it off threw it away. Since I stopped playing violin it never really had a use anyway. And then it started to work. My thumb was the important part for getting on top, keeping the paddle level to stop the slice. The power comes from the arm, you have to feel it there, not the wrist. The wrist can be for spins but not for the simple act of contact.

And I needed more space. I was right up on the table. I have long arms and I can use them to my advantage if I give myself the space. A body width. A body. And then we get the rhythm, the back and forth pushing of a rally, using my arm and my legs not my wrist and I’m getting close to feeling it so we move on to the forehand.

As always my elbows prefer the akimbo position to the properly in and tucked. Then I’m getting too low in my body and he tells me to relax and the elbows fly up and I make three good shots (far from consecutively) and my fingers are hurting but my shoulder is fine.

My footwork hasn’t worn out my runners yet, with their five-pointed stars. There’s a rumour about explosives in Chengdu that the MPCers were told not to worry about. “We can’t let fear control us but we also shouldn’t be foolish.” Who’s afraid? Maybe people who believe the TV. Not me. I’ve got my protective stars on. On my feet in brown, on my head in blue. We aren’t in Lhasa and we don’t look like monks. There’s nothing to worry about. Except for those who are.

Holly sometimes finds it hard to study the language of a country whose politics she hates. I should tell her the secret of my stars: All you have to do is steal their symbols. Wear them on your body, denuded of meaning. You play the game and say the words and when they want you to agree with them and join up and fight for the cause or ignore the whole thing while the rebellion is put down. You tell them you’re doing things your way. You aren’t one with them. You’re a user, just like they were scared you’d be when you came for the tea. And sure you’ll get kicked out or locked out but how many places were they letting you into anyway?

Probably a lot. More than me. I’m sorry. I forget. I forget this is important; this isn’t just games of symbols we’re batting back and forth. There’s blood and faith and power involved and I’m not part of any of it. Not even with my yellowing scrape from a meaningless tumble I took trying to save a point in a game we didn’t keep score in. That’s why I’m out here, not in there. Again. So far and so frivolous.

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