SHANGHAI March 29 April 20, 2009

Laowais (= foreignerers) in Shanghai are both insiders and outsiders. Visually, we stick out like a sore thumb…like a blond in a sea of Asians. But actually foreigners make up a huge ex-pat community that is Shanghai. On the surface, Shanghai is booming with diversity and capitalism. Malls tower over every corner, Subways are packed with the rich, the poor, the young and the old. Parallel to the government’s modernization frenzy, is traditional China. Lane houses with communal bathrooms are tucked between teetering apartment complexes. Tradition stands by conservative sexual beliefs yet vendors openly sell vibrators on the street.

Sadly, government censorship has hung on from the communist days. Any website with the words “Tibet” or “Freedom” are blocked, including my blog (hence the erratic updating). Proxies are used to cheat the firewalls but internet is still not a reliable medium. The government employs over 30,000 people to censor internet, TV and radio. There are strict rules about visitors registering with the police to be sure everyone’s location is accounted for.
The biggest challenge to living in Shanghai is the language. Spoken words and directions are rarely understood. Pinyin is a script for translating Mandarin into roman letters however written words don’t capture tones which make up the language. Simple sentences take months to master; most people take three years to learn the language and characters when fully immersed. I have yet to successfully communicate my address to a cab driver. Regardless, the city thrives with East living along side the West; old along side new.
Despite the language barrier and misunderstandings, China’s “born-again” development lures people from all over the world and has entirely sucked me in. In the States, our generation did not participate in our development; we were born into a stable, prosperous nation where professional endeavors progress from an established foundation. In China, recent graduates are the first minds to truly develop China – to express their creativity and aspirations on a freshly cleared slate.
The creativity that was condemned during the Cultural Revolution did not disappear, it simply laid dormant until it was given permission to explode. This new expression is seen in Shanghai’s many posh clubs and blossoming art scenes; in the historic neighborhoods transitioning from dingy slums to charming communities.
Shanghai’s Urban Planning Museum shows how China’s architecture has progressed over the last twenty years. When I was in elementary school, Shanghai still had thatched roofs and mud streets. Today, it is an efficient metropolis of creative architecture, well-manicured city parks and upgraded residences; brightly lit cruise ships have replaced row boats in the harbor.
China has transitioned from a closed, recovering communist nation to a highly revered economic competitor in a little over a decade. To be able to contribute to the creative and economic development of the world’s largest nation seems to be reason enough to reside in Shanghai.

Ali and I share a great 20th floor apartment (and double bed!) right on Suzhou Creek. Every day I ride my bike to the metro and head north to teach English to Korean college students at Hudan University. Their enthusiasm and commitment has made my job into a few chat sessions a day with intriguing, energetic people. The weekends are filled with mini out-of town excursions and all-night tours of the Shanghai club scene. Oh what a city…

BEIJING April 20, 2009

Chinese students attend a minimum of eight hours of schooling a day followed by hours of homework starting at six years olds. In the last ten years, this work ethic along with a more open economy has paid off; the population of a billion well-educated, hardworking people is flourishing. A result of both the successful Chinese economy (In 2008, China’s GDP growth rate was at 9.8% while the States’ lingered at 1.3%) and China’s face lift for the 2008 Olympics, Beijing is spic and span with massive, brightly lit skyscrapers and intricate super highways. The Huotongs (traditional Chinese Lane houses) linked by internal passageways are overshadowed by 100+ story hotels including one of two 7 star hotels in the world.
Protecting this booming metropolis is the Great Wall. The terracotta-crazed Emperor also demanded the connection of many separate defensive walls to make a defensive barrier between China and “Mongolia” 2,000 years ago. The construction took hundreds of thousands of workers, many of whom were political prisoners or forced to build against their will. The final result is the 8,000 mile long Great Wall (equivalent to driving from New York to LA two and a half times). We chose to climb the wall at Juyongsuan Pass where hundreds of steps took us to a grand view of steep mountains and the rest of the zig-zaggy wall in the distance.

XI’AN April 20, 2009

Whoever gave Americans the reputation of being loud and lovers of the gigantic had never experienced the Chinese. Government buildings, hotels and parks all require serious motivation to walk ALL the way around. Friends are constantly yelling at each other’s faces with big grins; you can guess what decibel level is standard for cell phone communication.
One thing the Chinese do have well under control is their health. In mornings, parks are packed with elderly Chinese speed walking or gathered in groups doing Tai Chi to awful music. My favorite is the manual treadmill and elliptical contraptions placed throughout every city wherever there’s a view. Apparently a life long commitment to exercise and eating snails and turtles shells pays off – the life expectancy in China is 73 for females and 70 for males.
Xian is very proud to be the oldest Chinese capitol. Like all ancient Chinese cities, the center is encased in a square wall and mote. In ancient times, the city walls remained closed during the night. With the sounding drum tower, the doors opened at dawn and close at dusk daily. The bell tower was the public’s main teller of time.
Beyond the city walls sits Xian’s main attraction: the Terracotta Warriors. During the Qin Dynasty, Emperor Qin Shi Huang was far from a minimalist. He spear headed the construction of the 12,800 km Great Wall and 6,000+ terracotta warriors to protect him in his afterlife. The first warrior was found in 1974 by a rural farmer who was attempting to dig a well. Enjoying his fame, the farmer still sits at a museum booth answering questions to this day. Presently, the museum has uncovered three pits and ~6,000 soldiers each sporting a different face however archaeologists are still searching for and refurbishing life-size soldiers, generals and chariots .
Just down the road sits the Tang Dynasty Hot Springs where the emperor and his 3,000 concubines vacationed in the winter. The peaceful gardens and ancient buildings held a great love story about Lady Yang, the Tang Dynasty Emperor’s favorite concubine. Lady Yang was not only beautiful but charming and well versed in music, art and apparently a huge wine-o. Lady Yang was given her own private pool at the springs and and the Emperor created the Chinese Valentine’s Day (July 7 by the lunar calendar) in her honor so the couple would have a day to meet and reaffirm their love. Sadly, the Emperor’s performance began to worsen in the face of love and the general public became jealous of the Emperor’s directed affections. For the sake of the country and per the Emperor’s request, Lady Yang killed herself freeing the Emperor to love his other 2,999 concubines.

YANGSHUO April 20, 2009

***DISCLAIMER*** Sadly, the Chinese government censors the internet and won’t let me upload pics to my blog

In conjunction with India, a population of 1,000,000,000+ makes for serious crowds. In contrast, the crowds form straight lines that appear to always follow directions and respect personal space. The biggest difference is to see women out playing poker in the park, digging ditches, driving taxis. Basically enjoying all the same privileges and chores as men; even more so than American women.
Regardless of the massive population, we still had a very gentle introduction to mainland China via a three hour boat ride through the curved peaks surrounding the Li River. Our first step into Yangshuo was quite a bit more overwhelming. We were herded like cattle down the narrow, souvenir clad alleys along with thousands of enthusiastic Chinese tourists. Breaking free into the town proper, we found a traditional Chinese market with tubs full of live, slimey eels and snails; 2’ x 2’ slabs of tofu and bricks of rice noodles awaiting to be cut with a string.

The next morning we awoke to a spectacular view of bushy limestone peaks embraced in morning mist as steam rose from the Li River. As if that wasn’t enough, we rented bicycles and rode for hours through the many farms hidden in the country side. The final hoorah was a hike up to Moon Hill – a perfect circular cut-out at the top of a large mountain.

The entire Yangshuo valley was a sea of underwater caves and tunnels millions of years ago. Over time, the water receded and the ceiling’s and bridges collapsed leaving curved cliff walls with nothing connecting them. As a finale, we visited the infamous Yangshuo light show (an hour long story played out in lights over the river) along with every other Chinese tourist. The 300 actors, beautiful singing and dramatic background put Steamboat’s Lighted Man to shame.

Hong Kong April 20, 2009

The plane trip from Hong Kong to Calcutta felt like a time warp. In Calcutta, I elbowed through the sea of Saris and gabbing Indian families to load the plane. The airport walls and floors were dilapidated and molding. Arriving in Hong Kong, the airport was immaculate; beautiful Asian women in high heels and skinny jeans held on to the arms of their well-manicured boyfriends. Best of all, I was back to organization and efficiency. In the span of an hour, I located my bags, zipped 150 km/hr along the high-speed train to the city, paid for my leather-interior cab with a credit card and landed on the doorstep of a beautiful hotel where I met back up with my parents.

For such a small place, Hong Kong has a complicated history of drug wars and external management. Throughout the 19th century, entire European nations used China as a cross-continental Opium trade route. After the Chinese official Lin Zexiu confiscated some 20,000 chests of British Opium in 1839 without compensation, the British resorted to military action. Through years of fighting and rewritten treaties, the Treaty of Nanjing was established which “leased” Hong Kong to Great Britain for 99 years starting in 1898. While China was struggling with desolate poverty, widespread hunger and communism, Hong Kong was independent, successful and capitalist. In 1997, Hong Kong returned to Chinese control but was quickly renamed the “Special Administrative Region” (SAR) of China for the next 50 years the curb the mass exodus of free-market supporters.

The effect of capitalism on HK is very apparent in its erupting skyline and raging capitalism. The streets of Kowloon overflow with Chanel, Gucci and Louis Voutton store fronts; every block has a mall full of loyal shoppers adorned in shopping bags. Hong Kong island’s financial district uses intricate public transportation and high-flying pedestrian bridges to move people between the A.I.G and J.P. Morgan skyscrapers.
Breaking through into “old” HK, we found alleys filled with strange delicacies for sale: two-foot long ginger roots with tentacle-like ends and dried seafood ranging from salted fish to dried octopus and scallops. In the herbal medicine sector of the city, I tried to decipher which ailments could be cured by turtle shells, dried snakes and mushrooms the size of Frisbees. To finish the day, we took the infamous HK tram up to a view of the city’s affluent apartments stacked on top of themselves. Strangely, the zillions of skyscrapers didn’t clutter the scene but looked more like artistic additions to the mountainous hills growing out of the sea.

(photo compliments of Mr. Wei)
For dinner, we perused the SoHo Friday night bar scene where a plethora of American, Australian and European ex-pats clogged the streets. Mom and Dad don’t make the best bar hopping companions (no offense) so we got ice creams and headed home instead.

Farewell to India April 7, 2009

India has come to an end for me. Transiting via ferry to mainland India before flying to Hong Kong, a summary of India to me unfolds:

- Waiting in India’s endless lines, I firmly elbow anyone who tries to cut. Failing miserably, a kind Indian woman gently pulls me into the “Ladies queue.” The other waiting ladies smile with kind eyes and shelter me from the ravenous cutters.

- When in transit, everyone around me is placing bags or clothing on the chairs to reserve space for their family and friends. In other countries, this would be a reservation of four or five. In India it’s three rows of ten.

- Mothers in ornate Saris sit beside their daughters in jeans and silver-sparkle tank tops; a father in a purple turban snaps a photo of his western-clad kids. Not a single sari is the same in design or bright colors but the style is still monotonous.

- A group of five moustached men head my direction, all whispering and smiling. Feeling somewhat anxious about their intentions, one confidently bobbles his head and gestures to his cell phone for a picture. The photo is shown off to a large group of men that grows in number with time.

- To do my part in alleviating India’s trash problem, I hand my empty bottles and trash to the closest shop keeper for disposal who inevitably proceeds to throw it on the ground.

-Men and kids alike squat in the large public toilet that doubles as a road-side gutter.

- My neighbor on the ferry eagerly reads my journal word for word, commenting on which phrases he enjoys; which ones should be rethought.

- Bottomless rice, chutney, dahl and more all eaten with my right hand.

- Frantically, I stash toilet paper in every pocket and backpack to avoid the Indian tradition of rinsing and “wiping” with the left hand.

- Feeling that dirt stained skin after a cold shower is ”clean enough”

_ A rickshaw driver zips up out of nowhere to take me to the airport. After asking me my country, he jumps right into the next most common question: “Are you marriage?” I say no. He looks concerned and asks my age. Will I be married by 30? 35? 40?!

These memories are India for me:
Complex yet simple,
Aggressive yet compassionate,
Threatening yet friendly,
Vibrant yet predicatable,
Traditional yet modern,
Exciting and inexplicable…

Kolkata (aka Calcutta), West Bengal March 17, 2009

Either India has numbed me to loud noises and chaotic crowds or Calcutta is really not that bad. Visually, it’s as dirty as anywhere add excessive mold and crumbling structures. Deeper than the eye can see is a city full of relievingly kind and honest Bengalis. On my first day, a chatty woman was proud to say that all of India is out to trick you…Bengalis are not .

Aside from soot covered mansions and a few remaining monuments, Calcutta scarcely resembles the old British-India capitol. It seems as though India has completely taken over with vibrantly colored shops cluttering narrow alleyways and people filling every possible free space.

The current state of Calcutta is a lasting result of its tumultuous yet generous history. The dense population grew after Calcutta saved nearly 4 million Hindi refugees from Partition and the bloody civil wars between Hindus and “East Pakistan” (present day Bangladesh) Muslims.

It’s crumbling appearance resulted from tackling the feudal system of landownership many years before. Strict rent controls of the past made renters happy but left very little income for much needed upgrades.

The majority of my time in Calcutta was spent chasing down my Chinese Visa on the opposite side of town from my hotel. Day one consisted of bus searching via confusing public inquiry and MANY false routes. In the Calcutta humidity, buses “fight” the traffic by driving ten feet to close the car gap then turning off their engine. In two or three minutes, they restart their engines, drive ten feet and turn off again.

Deciding I had mastered the cross-city buses, I tried the metro for day two. The distance between the metro stations and my final destinations were the most fascinating. In the morning, I wandered into the narrow streets of the Muslim district. Veiled women and “capped” men squatted outside their crammed houses with four foot tall doors. Chickens, goats, small coal fires and strangely enough many people of all ages brushing their teeth were around every corner.

In the afternoon, I stumbled across what appeared to be the fruit distribution center where blocks and blocks of the city were marked off. Inside, hundreds of men carried baskets of bananas on their head from one truck to another; others sorted mountains and mountains of oranges, apples, pomegranates, figs and more.

To end my days in India, I happily absorbed the wonderful smells and colors of the flower market

and snapped a quick pic of the infamous Victoria Memorial, a tribute to Queen Victoria of England (aka Empress to India).

!Holy Holi! March 17, 2009

Few seem to agree on the reason for the Holi Festival.  My favorite legend is as follows: Lord Krishna felt inferior to his fair and beautiful companion, Radha.  To placate his jealousy, Krishna followed his mother’s advice and mischievously covered Radha’s face with color marking the beginning of my favorite Indian festival, Holi.

The festival happens on the first full moon in March marking the end of winter and the arrival of spring.  On Neil Island, most agree that the festival is to rekindle or maintain close friendships.  Apparently maliciously throwing multicolored paints at passer-byers will establish truce between enemies and love between friends.  No one is spared Krishna’s mischief; if you’re outside on Holi, you’ll go home blue (literally…not figuratively).

Despite horror stories of rough paint throwers and men with brightly colored, frisky hands, our Neil Island Holi experience was a cheerful expression of friendship.  By 9am, Marci and I were suited up in our matching Mumus and fully loaded with squirt guns, colored powder and water bottles full of green and pink paint.

While riding into town, we encountered our first offenders:  a group of ten thirteen year old boys well versed in dousing the tourists.

 

From then on, every rider and walker we passed was proudly caked in green, red, blue and pink.  Most showed no natural skin color aside from the two circles cleared around their eyes for navigation.  In town, I teamed up with the professionals: two eight year old boys stationed outside their Dad’s fully stocked shop. 

We maintained control over the paint bucket by constantly spraying anyone who attempted to steal our goods.  In return, we endured MANY runby powderings.

Once we could no longer stand mouths and eyes full of powder, we ran to the jetty passing kind Holiers who simply dotted our foreheads. 

At the Jetty, I shed my remaining ammo and jumped in…stained Mumu and all.  The oh-so-clean Andaman Sea glowed with green, blue and yellow Holi run-off.  Laughing in the water and all the way home I came to understand why this is a holiday of friendship.

Neil Island, Andaman & Nicobar Islands March 17, 2009

We left our fancy life and jumped full force back in to India…but only for 24 hours.  A three hour bus ride to Chennai, a night on the tile floor in the airport, a two hour flight to Port Blair and a 2 1/2 hour ferry connected us to paradise: Neil Island in the Andamans.  The Andaman and Nicobar Islands are a chain of 572 islands, less than ten are populated.

The capitol, Port Blair is large and densely populated, Neil Island on the other hand is desolate and welcoming.  The island holds 5,000 people but keeps them well hidden.  There are four schools on the tiny island where all islanders are expected to attend up to 12th grade; comfortable English is widely spoken as a result of the many travelers that pass through.

Marci and I found a hut on the beach to make our home for the next two weeks.

Rising with the sun every morning, I would sneak out from under my mosquito net right onto the beach.  The view never ceased to bore me: deep blue sky falling into crystal blue water with white beach islands supporting jungle flora speckling the horizon.  A gentle breeze keeps the island just above room temperature.

Once we got our bearings, Marci and I began our daily cruising of the Neil Island strip and surrounding beaches on slightly aged bikes.
Beach No. 5 is officially my favorite swimming beach with a pristine white bay and gentle waves, Beach No. 1 definitely best for sunset; Beach No. 2 holds my favorite sea watching spot in the shade of a 200 year old fallen tree.

Along with two weeks of beach cruising, we enjoyed:

-  Grilling Barracuda over a beach side fire with the many Scandinavians escaping the dark winter.

- Sleeping rolled up in a hammock over the beach in the  perfect position to see the progressive stages of sunrise.

- Watching the pink sun fall into the cushion of clouds that protect the Bay of Bengal.  Shortly after, walking home with the full moon on the rise over high tide ahead of us.

I decided to follow everyone else’s lead and Scuba dive while in Neil.  Our trip started off a bit noisy with Johan’s boat chugging along like a train, emitting a similar quantity of smoke.  Once we broke free into the underworld, I was completely at peace along with the millions of fish we swam around with: an Eagle Ray flapped past us as if he was gracefully flying through the sky; I found more Nemos (aka Clown fish) than I thought possible and Lion fish and eels galore.

By the end of two weeks, I was very sad to board the long boat back to chaos even if it did have a lovely sunset.

Pondicherry, Tamil Nadu February 27, 2009

Marci and I have landed in Puducherry (aka Pondicherry), the charming french colonial town known as “The French Riviera of the East.” The town’s feel is very european; not only due to the multiple sidewalk cafes (Marci and I plan to sample each and every one) but also the many middle-aged European vacationers abound.

Our first two nights in town, we settled for an affordable and lax ashram fully stocked with cell-like rooms and a plethora of old Indian men.  The beauty of the French quarter sucked us in and for our third night we splurged on a fancy hotel to celebrate our final night together on the Indian mainland.

We meticulously chose a guest house with a great garden, high ceilings, very cold air conditioning and a bathroom larger than any guest house room we stayed in before.

Upon arrival, we excitedly jumped on the comfy bed, ran laps through our spacious quarters and showered every chance we got.  To continue the celebration, we made a reservation for a seafood brunch at the fanciest hotel on the beach (use of the pool included) and brought along two other travelers longing to be pampered.  We spent two hours devouring the fresh seafood, diverse salads and global main dishes in the buffet…the deserts were a half hour in themselves.  Afterwards, we happily sank into the pool from the weight of our own bellies.