Today’s adventure: As I was getting ready to leave in the afternoon, I picked up a bag off the table and knocked the hanging lamp above it. The glass plate in the bottom of the lamp came out, hit the table, and shattered into a million little pieces, with great sound effects. Glass scattered across the room.

I stood and stared for a bit, as it was probably one of the largest items I have been party to the shattering of, then found a dictionary and looked up the word for broken, got up my courage, and went out into the hall. A few doors down, I could see a cart for the housekeepers, so I approached and said, ‘Duibuqi, wo de dian deng sui de. Sorry, my light broke.‘ (Awfully proud of myself for being able to complete the sentence.) They asked me a question which I didn’t understand, but which I presumed to be ‘What room are you?’ and so ushered one of them with me and showed him to what I was referring. Glass piled on the table, shards on the floor, a few outliers on the couch, in the sink. He surveyed, then picked up the phone and made a call, and went away. After a bit, he returned with a woman who brought a vacuum and began to pick up the large pieces.

‘Duibuqi,’ I said. Sorry. Her reply, of course, I did not understand. The man came back and asked another incomprehensible question, and I understood through sign language that they wanted to make sure I hadn’t cut myself. I had not.

There didn’t seem to be much I could do, other than apologize and not understand anything they said, so I finished gathering up my things and left, to meet Alex, and visit a gym with him after work. It was a nice walk today, since it was raining all day yesterday and most of this morning. The air has cleared up considerably, and I was even able to see the mountains in the west, as well as the building by which Alex judges air quality — the tallest of the buildings in the Olympic complex, shaped somewhat like a can-opener.

The gym was your typical, internationally recognizable setup: weight machines (and most of the men) on one side, cardio machines (and most of the women) on the other. Alex pointed out the rowing machine, and I spent some time on it reflecting how long it has been since I did any erging.

I also learned that Chinese women don’t wear shorts at the gym. I pointed that out the Alex, and he said, ‘Yeah, and they don’t do what you’re doing, either.’

‘What, sweat?’ I asked.

‘No, wipe their face with their shirt.’

I’m kind of coming to the conclusion that if people will stare at me no matter what I do (on account of being white and blond), then I might as well do whatever I want…

Yesterday was a good long day, with an early start to meet a friend and co-worker of Alex’s, who took us out for an excursion on the Great Wall. We went to a section 120 km from Beijing, less popular with tourists than other spots, but still subject to a sizable number of people, and not far enough out to escape the persistent haze.
It took two or three hours for us to get out of the city and then wind our way up through a place called ‘Rainbow Trout Valley’ to our destination, called Jian Kou. It is a particular tower on the wall which is lower than the towers on either side, so making a shape like the string of bow when drawn back with an arrow — ‘Jian’ 箭 means arrow, while ‘kou’ 扣 means held back. (Etymology of the 扣 character: a hand over a mouth.) We parked along with many other cars on the side of the road in the village and paid a couple kwai to a picturesque old man in a Mao jacket — a standard practice, in return for which the farmers keep an eye on the cars. The trail went up through fields still bare, past dry corn stalks piled up on the side, then up through then trees beginning to bud out. The view, which would surely have been striking, was obscured by the omnipresent white haze, but everyone on the trail was in high spirits. Occasionally someone would start whooping, and answering yells would greet them from further up the hillside. There were even a few rounds of song, with one group starting a verse, and another group finishing it.

I got ahead of the guys for a while and got a lot of pretty surprised looks — a white girl, climbing up to the wall by herself? One young woman, also looking surprised, said ‘Hello’ to me as we passed; I said ‘Hello’ back and kept going, wondering what exactly went through her head.

As they say, we aren’t in Kansas anymore, and what’s more, it’s a long way from REI. Many of those climbing were young, but most were outfitted more for street-walking than for hiking. I saw a lot of men in slacks and leather shoes, and, though I didn’t see any women in heels, I wouldn’t have been terribly surprised. It seemed that about half of those making the climb up to the wall stopped at that point, had some food, and went back down.

We continued to the north, through various towers, and up a stretch that was, according to Alex’s friend, rated as ‘two stars’ for steepness, which brought to mind the Angel’s Landing trail in Zion National Park, though with a shorter fall awaiting. That and there were brick stairs, but no chains to hold on to.

A bit later there was a ‘three stars’ section, where the stairs had entirely disintegrated, leaving an irregularly surfaced rock wall, which we clambered up one at a time. We had to wait for quite a while as the people before us went up, and then a group coming back made their way down. First a man came down, then a young woman started coming down, then stopped and tossed down her backpack and then her gloves to the man, who then climbed partway back up to help direct her where to put her feet. Those waiting at the bottom where all talking amongst each other, and began laughing — Alex’s friend translated for us: ‘First the backpack, then the gloves fell from heaven — next will be the girl!’

I made sure not to look down on my way up; on the way back we took a side trail that circumvented the wall and both steep sections. We ended up turning around before we reached a section that would have been ‘five stars’ steep — I can’t think what it would have been like!

Today has been a quiet one, particularly because it is raining, an unusual occurrence for Beijing, which has caused umbrellas to sprout like multi-colored mushrooms, and all the taxis to be taken. We went out this afternoon anyway, to a cafe near several of the universities, which turned out to be almost exclusively filled with white people studying Chinese, which, of course, was what we spent the afternoon there doing. We had dinner with another friend of Alex’s, who showed a Yunnan (southern province) restaurant, an unassuming hole in the wall with cheap plastic tablecloths and delicious food. We had some sautéed greens, fried banana, potato balls, fried chicken, pineapple rice, and a mixed dish of bell peppers and ground meat and something that may have been a mushroom or root vegetable, I’m really not sure. The pineapple rice actually came in a pineapple, which was super tasty, and I want to try making it sometime. I’m still kicking myself for not taking a photo, but we took a business card for the place, and I’m sure we’ll be back.

So here I am in Beijing. Day one in China. It is sunny, although due to the general haze of pollution, the sky is a flat white. If I look straight up, I can see the barest hint of blue, and the suggestion that there a few shreds of actual cloud above.

Alex and I got up early, around 7:30, had a shower and breakfast composed of a medley of fruits and yogurt from China, with the addition of bagels from Grateful Bread in Seattle. From the Western perspective, China is severely lacking in decent bread products and chocolate. I also brought a pile of chocolate bars with me.

I spent some time on Alex’s computer to do some work email, and then walked with him to work, about half an hour from our “serviced residence,” aka hotel room. Microsoft has four floors in the top of one tower in a four building set of highrise technology office buldings. Sun is in one of the other towers, the Google building is also just next door.

The bottom has a plaza, with some cafes and such. I stopped in one to get a drink — a Starbucks-like place called ‘SPR coffee’ where I pointed on a bilingual menu to indicate that I wanted an iced pineapple drink. It came with an oreo on top, because, why the hell not?

“Why the hell not?” is the only explanation for a lot of things here. I’m sure examples will accumulate.

On the backside of the four towers is a spot which is labeled TSINGHUA SCIENCE PARK. Tsinghua is one of the universities, and is located next door. The science park is made up of a tile plaza surrounded by a fountain-filled moat, and further ringed by terraces of paving stones and bushes, the uppermost level of which is blooming with yellow flowers.

I spent some time sitting in the park, took a walk around part of the Tsinghua campus, and had lunch with Alex and two of his co-workers in a Buddhist vegetarian restaurant (even saw a monk) before walking back home, feeling very white and freckled and blond on account of the people who stare unabashedly at me.

I detoured a couple times to walk through alleys full of street vendors — fruits and vegetables spread out on cloths on the side of the alleyway. Most of the vendors stared at me, and I wished I knew how to say ‘how much?’, or that I had a better handle on numbers, so I could try and buy some strawberries, or an egg. But I’m still pretty mute, and too shy to just pull out my camera and start taking pictures of people and their stuff, so I’ll just have to provide word pictures instead.

I saw an intense looking poker game amongst several sellers, all sitting under a big umbrella, hunched over their cards and smoking furiously. I saw a cucumber with a six-inch circumference. It looked like you could by slices of it. I also saw a few vendors with live seafood — plastic tubs with fish or shrimp, with bubbling air hoses frothing the water. There were women selling brown eggs, which were piled up in great towers, with cardboard molding between each layer.

I’ll get cracking on my Chinese, and hopefully go back soon with a little more gumption.

Just when I was starting to feel completely sick of being on an airplane — and coming to terms with the fact that I am not yet half done — the flight attendants appeared with the one redeeming factor for an eleven hour trans-Pacific flight: ice cream sandwiches. I saw them coming down the aisle and tried to communicate the fact to my neighbour, a middle-aged Chinese guy who I tried a little of my pitiful (so far!) Chinese on.

“Bing <ice>! Bing<ice>… bing<ice>… niunai<milk>… bing<ice>… tang<sweet>, bing<ice>.”

The crucial word I was missing (and have since looked up) was jiling – cream. Ice milk, sweet, probably all with the wrong tones, didn’t seem to get the point across, and I’m not sure he knew what I was trying to say even after they gave us the ice cream. I still, obviously, have a lot of learning to do, and pronunciation of tones to practice, too.

Things I did manage to communicate, though: I have studied Chinese for two months. I will be in Beijing for two months. I can answer affirmatively when asked if I will travel. Things I learned from him: He lives in Seattle, and has for three years — showed me his driver’s license and green card. He is a dim sum cook in Chinatown. He might even have told me what restaurant, but that I didn’t understand. With the addition of my visual dictionary (which is so awesome and I love it even though I’ve only owned it for three days) he indicated that he is going to Gongzhou for — lots of interpretation of sign language — something like the funeral for his parents, which will involve going to a temple and praying a bunch.

But in general, the flight is simply long, and uneventful and monotonous, the way eleven hours of wait for anything has to be. And next week, Alex, lucky soul plagued by government regulations regarding foreign workers that he is, will get the glorious opportunity to fly to San Francisco, get his work permit stamped in his passport, turn around, and fly right back to Beijing. So he will be doubly run through the wringer of international travel, and I will be quickly thrust, at least for a few days, into experiencing Beijing on my lonesome. Well, perhaps not entirely lonesome, as I have high hopes for language partners. We’ll see!

I’m big on using the power of the internet to learn Chinese. Actually, the power of the internet is the main reason I’m able to go in the first place — thanks, Al Gore!

The magic of the internet got me signed up for the Chinese class I was taking, provided me with podcast Chinese lessons, and with a great online dictionary, and looks to have helped me find a language partner (the catalytic power of Facebook!).

And then, there’s the power of Youtube. Not only does it provide Chinese lessons with Benny, but there is a crazy video-song of pinyin pronunciation. I’ll need that to counteract what I suspect may be a mish-mash of pronunciation in pop-song music videos. I found a bunch which are subtitled in both pinyin (not all with tone marks, unfortunately) and English, so I can listen and tell what vocab I know enough to hear and understand, and I can pick up some new words, like the fact that one of the words for ‘happy’ is the same as the word for ‘quick.’ Same character, even. And, of course, all those super important pop-song phrases, like ‘You and I’, ‘I love you’ and ‘open your heart’!

I’ve been working on packing today — I’m on round two. First I made a pile of all the clothes I wanted to take, and stuffed them in a suitcase to see how much it was. Then I went through it all again and considered what I really wanted to take with me, and added some books and toiletries and shoes and a coat.

The suitcase(s) I’ll be using are lent from a friend at work, and her cat is apparently fond of napping in them, which would explain Pippa-cat’s fascination with them. Either that, or she’s hoping to come with me. I could probably bring her along, I just wouldn’t be able to bring her back…

All told, I have slightly less than one full suitcase worth of things. And that’s excluding things like the cat, or my laptop, and camping gear. I will be bringing some hiking boots, and a rain jacket. With all my clothing in neat little piles around the living room, I took a moment to ask myself what outfit would I be able to pull together if we did manage to get somewhere mountainous and more chilly? And how many skirts do I think I’m going to wear in Beijing, given that I very, very rarely wear skirts in the States? More importantly, what sort of American am I, if so far I’m not planning on taking a pair of jeans with me?