Dear Family,
I sent off the promised stories, now it’s time for Beijing!
Our journey began on Thursday, when our professors from SVU arrived. They came amid a flurry of worry, because many of us were behind in our schoolwork and feared reprisals of the glowering kind, followed by withdrawals of the American treat we requested. I had begged for a Heath bar, and was especially nervous of the anticipated loss. The day came, nevertheless, and we greeted the Professors Himes and Buschel with alacrity and some pleasure- they delivered the treats before requesting homework, which instantly endeared them to us. They also gave us our Travel Study T-shirts, and we were able to gift some of them to the head teachers at the school, which endeared them to the faculty as well. We proceeded to show them around the campus, feed them our Chinese cafeteria food, and show off our Mad Teaching Skillz™. The last may have been slightly exaggerated, but the best thing about teaching is the warm knowledge that if you don’t look like you are making things up, no one can tell for sure if it’s not part of the lesson. Yay! After wowing them with our teaching expertise, they dragged chairs out and conducted five minute interviews
The train ride from Changzhou to Beijing was pretty cool- our professors got here too late to purchase soft seating, or even hard seating, so they had to buy soft sleepers for us on the fastest train- it only took ten hours to get there! We went to the station at eight, got on the train at 9:30, and were in Beijing by 7:30 am. The train was a hassle to get on, as the doors are open for exactly three minutes while people rush on and off, meaning if you see your car (16) and you have only run to car 9 by the time the whistle blows, you have to leap in before the doors shut and make your war car-by-car until you’ve found your berth for the night. I was fortunate enough to be only a car away when time ran out, so it was a simple matter for me to squeeze my way into the little compartment wherein I shared a set of bunk beds with three others, Kara, Laura, and Amber. I was on the bottom left bunk, and set up camp with w sigh of relief-my bags were so heavy! The soft sleeper cars were clean, there was a Western toilet down the corridor, and my seat was a long, pillowed, blanketed one. My friends were equally delighted to settle down for the ride, and we dispensed with the usual train ride/sleepover amusements such as giggly stories and speculations in favor of sleep. And my goodness…when you are horizontal, a train ride is such a comfortable one…I woke up at the crack of dawn, of course, at least an hour before it was time to go, and spent it luxuriating in the squishy bunk and the sway of the train while reading The Joy Luck Club.
Our hostel was so cool! The desk staff members spoke some English, and were very kind to us as we staggered in at nine to settle into our rooms. There were stairs and we were on the third floor, but the presence of air conditioning and the absence of mold instantly endeared the place to us; we were once again astonished with the Western toilets in every bathroom, the beds with MATRESSES, the TVs and the wireless internet. You never take these things for granted after you’ve been months without, guys. I miss those toilets. Each room had two people, and I shared with Amber- an amicable arrangement, as she declared it, and indeed it was so. We had a fine time sharing a room and were neither of us averse to sticking together for the rest of the trip, as she liked to shop but not stay out late, and I wanted to shop but go to bed early. The room had green carpet, curtains, a non-functional fridge, a tea pot (we were asked to boil our own drinking water), a small bathroom, and a closet. I found out to my dismay that hot water does not hold well in plastic bottles, and does in fact melt them beyond functionality if you do not wait long enough for it to cool. *sigh* I laid claim to the furthest bed, and deposited my things hurriedly- we were off to Tieneman Square and the Forbidden City at 10!
Tieneman Square is a huge, empty plaza with small memorials dotted around the edges. It takes about fifteen minutes to briskly walk from one side to the other, and is directly across the street from the Forbidden City. If you don’t know, Tieneman Square is the place where many, many college students gathered together to protest the government’s restrictions and lobby for more freedom- they were packed into the square when the government gave the order to put down the ‘rebellion’ with tanks, and so they drove them over the students, slaughtering them. It was a sobering experience, to go there and see where it happened, to watch the guards marching through the square and look at the statue commemorating the event. We also saw the ‘Mao’-soleum, a little building where the first dictator’s body is preserved for the enlightenment and enjoyment of Chinese posterity. From Tuesday to Saturday from ten to three, the body is raised from an underground vault and displayed in a case for the public’s viewing pleasure. I was very interested to see it, but we came on a day they were doing maintenance- darn it! No Mao-scicle pictures…
The Forbidden City was right there, so we trotted through the masses of tourists (mostly Chinese) who were gumming the area, and met an old Chinese guy in a Mao suit (look it up, it’s an extremely popular outfit in China for old people),who spoke extremely articulate English. We thought he wanted money from us, but to our surprise he said he was part of the art exhibition in the Forbidden City, and would we like a guide to see the art? We agreed- it was in the Forbidden City, we were going there anyway, and it was art- so he led us into an underpass, up into the gates, and through a smaller gate wherein many scrolls of brush painting hung. He led us through the gallery, explaining the significance of the different symbols used, and pointed out his own work. After this he smoothly explained that the students who display their work also sell it, and offered prices. Well! I know it was kind of a…I don’t know, ploy, but I did end up getting someone a present there. ^_^; Hahahah…anyway, he was nice. So! We gathered our belongings, and trouped determinedly into the second main gates into the city. Guys. The Forbidden City is a city. It is not a few blocks, it is not a few Walmarts, it is bigger than Buna Vista. That kind of square footage cannot be adequately described in a letter, so I’ll just list some of the places I went and chatter your ears off when I get to see you! I saw three throne halls, four treasure halls, the courtyard where the army would salute the emperor, more minor halls, the Imperial Garden where the concubines and court would walk around, and many smaller bridges and artifacts. Every roof had intricate gilding; every stone was carved with dragons and clouds. It took us five hours to see so little, and we covered only a portion of the Garden and inner city. When it was over, we were relieved to sit and rest, but sad that we had so little time to explore. Not to mention hungry…
We headed back to the hostel with alacrity, eager to fill our rumbling tummies and begin our true shopping splurges- purchases at the Forbidden City did not count! We scoured the area for noodle shops, bought dumplings and shish-kabob beef, and scarfed while we cruised the streets. Soon we came to stalls filled with silks, jade, and all kinds of Chinese items. We, of course, had to stop at the best tailor shop we had seen so that some people could get their suits and dresses made. I stood aside while the shop owners, a man and woman, flurried about in apparent spasms of joy while their customers perused silk rolls and flipped through magazines of suits and dresses. I had no intention to buy a dress or shirt, and so I had a great deal of amusement watching the commotion…until my roomie sidled up to me on my right, the female shop owner on my left, and Amber began to explain that if we both got dresses, she could have the price reduced from 640 BMB to 480, the price for each dress. I looked in dismay at her pleading face, and the hopeful expression on the other’s- I didn’t need a Chinese silk dress! When would I wear it? Where would I wear it? I didn’t really even want one, with my figure…and it was so expensive! Sure, comparatively it was a good deal, but I wouldn’t even spend that money that way at home! I tried to explain this, but as the discussion wended on in the confusion of the shop, and Amber’s face grew longer and longer, and the argument went this way and that…I grit my teeth and selected a design and a roll of silk. As both Amber and the shop lady squealed with delight and clapped their hands, I stared morosely at my future dress, asking bleakly when I had every rationalized a frivolous purchase the equivalent of ninety dollars for myself. Ever. What a bust…well, I thought, this is going to be my China souvenir- now I can focus on getting stuff for the fam-fam (Chynna’s term for ‘family’)since I’ve picked my personal present. And with that settled, I forgot my dress and began selecting other wares. And no, my curious siblings, I am NOT telling what I got you there! ;P
The next day, we awoke bright and early- we were going to climb the Great Wall! I could hardly contain my wiggles of glee- we weren’t going to the ‘refurbished’- read, the commercialized/touristy/rebuilt-area, we were going to Simatai! The Great Wall isn’t one wall, you know- it’s actually a series of shorter sections placed strategically around and over the mountains around China. Simatai was an outpost area, distant from just about everything important but still vulnerable to invasion. The towers adorning each rise contain a bell tower, and every fourth tower had a broad, flat roof for signal fires. The wall itself was so high on a mountain that the only way to get there in under a few hours was to take a tramline up for about thirty minutes, then climb for another half-hour up a winding concrete stairway made of large stones heaped steeply up the mountain, a trail of switchbacks. It was murderous. I tell you now, it’s no small thing to go up a set of steep, lumpy stairs of variable height and depth with a hot, boiling sun above and waves of dry heat rising from the valley below for longer than twenty minutes. All along the path were Chinese gardeners (that mental image you just had? It’s 100% correct) that gathered handfuls of leaves for making into teas and salads, picking up sticks and sweeping twigs away from the soil by the base of the short trees with little brooms made of brush and twine. In direct contrast to these were others who sat under large umbrellas at little booths on each switchback and offered various souvenirs to the panting, sweaty tourists who stumbled up the steps. Some were craftsmen who carved the Great Wall on little slabs of marble before your eyes, other sold ice cream and drinks, others offered books about the Great Wall and bundles of painted chopsticks. Some of them would simply stand and wait, and then start to climb with you, forming short sentences in choppy English and taking your picture if you asked. I met a woman named Yung Fo Tsu this way, and she climbed with me all the way to the highest safe segment of the wall. She was about thirty, slightly shorter than me, and married to a man who lived on the other side of the Wall, in the town down the mountain. She was a farmer most of the time, but when there were tourists, she became a guide. Her conversational English was limited to a few sentences, so mostly I walked with her in silence, or she dropped back to talk to a friend while I walked forward to talk with one of mine. The wall was not as wide as I thought it would be. It was only about ten feet at its widest, and seven at its most narrow. It had a haphazard, crumbling set of stairs and ramps, and very little space or depth continuity when you set foot on either. There were no rails, no short walls, just the wall and a steep drop off either side. The stones had been replaced sometime in the last two or three centuries in a few places during the Whatchimacallit Dynasty, and you could tell by the color of the rock- the older stones were more tan than gray, with crumblier cement between them. The cement holding the Great Wall together is made of rice and water, FYI. The guardhouses had been hollowed out by time, weather, and cultural preservation committees, but the general features were all still there- the architecture was lovely. I could spend a week on that wall without getting bored, exploring all the nooks and crannies built into the towers with a flashlight and sketchpad…ah. The trip was well worth the view from the highest structurally sound point, with the entire valley laid out below and lakes glittering under the sun! There were tourists from everywhere there, taking pictures of the scenery, the sky, the Wall, us, each other; the guides immediately began pulling merchandise from their bags, hawking their wares to their ‘climbing friends’. Luckily, I had no money with me, and so Tsu wandered away to sell Amber a set of calligraphy brushes.
On the bright side, you know those pants you altered for me before I left, and they fit without a belt? Well, I wear the belt with all of them now, even the jeans I brought. Yeah! It’s not a dramatic difference, since I also have ‘rice cheeks’ (meaning my face is fuller), but my increase in waist room makes me smile. We have so much exercise happening in our day, that weight gain is a definite impossibility. I’m also eating less, because even though we are served meals, sometimes the food is a little too much for us…like the chicken feet and stewed greens that smell like perfume. For breakfasts, I eat everything unless it’s these pork floss filled buns with deceptively innocent crisscrosses of strawberry. These hint at containing sweet bean paste, but beware! Only a select few have anything but the bane of foreign teachers within, namely the much cursed, loathsome, orange pork floss. Pork floss tastes like evil. Evil has a taste, and if you thought it was something like venom or earwax, think again! It’s the Chinese treat we love to hate, pork floss! Blarg!
It’s bug season! My roommate and I have unanimously closed the windows, for she is being devoured by the mosquitoes. I have only a few bites to my name, but she has moved from a few scattered bumps to doing a realistic impression of a smallpox victim. I can hardly imagine why the insects have decide that only a few spots on my left arm are tasty, but for heaven’s sake- poor Johanna is apparently a living, breathing, blood buffet. She laments that it’s because she is a carnivore who eats too much beef, and since I am not getting the same TLC from the local wildlife, I can only assume that she is correct. Must avoid that meat…
I can’t wait to see you again!
Until the next letter, I love you all!
Love, Calissa.
PS- I have a nickname in my group! It’s ‘C-dawg’. LOL!
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