This past week China observed National Day, which marks the day the People’s Republic of China was founded in 1949. It’s kind of like the 4th of July, in that both essentially celebrate the founding of a new government--a new beginning, but that’s pretty much were the similarities end: July 4th celebrates democracy, National Day celebrates Communism; July 4th has fireworks, National Day has, well, nothing (at least where I was); July 4th usually leaves one feeling patriotic, National Day leaves one feeling exactly the same as they did the day before; July 4th is actually celebrated, National Day is not. Granted, this comes from my relatively limited experiences--but still. No fireworks? That's your thing, China! The biggest bonus from all this, to my liking as well as the students', was the eight-day vacation my school allotted for this most momentous day. Most students traveled back home (even though the Freshman students only arrived here three weeks ago), and I was fortunate enough to tag along to the hometown (or city, rather) of two of the students at my school.
The city was Baoding, home to my student (and friend) Jesse, as well as Sean, another student (and friend) at the school whom I’ve spent quite a bit of time with. I stayed at Sean’s home, along with another American teacher at my school (also named Justin, also from Colorado, and from a town about 30 minutes from Greeley). The fifth member, Jared (another American teacher who actually graduated from Calvin in '09, like me) stayed with Jesse. The five of us spent a whole week together, experiencing the joys, and oddities, that Baoding had to offer.
Before I regale you with the chronicles of my adventure, I’ve gone ahead and taken the liberty of including a precise map, so you can really visualize where Baoding is located:
The Chinese home is really an apartment, if you live in the city. I found the apartments of my Chinese friends to be a good size (a little bigger than my NYC apartment), containing the typical Chinese housing elements: cement everything, a shower that is really just a spray-nozzle attached to the wall of the bathroom, a water cooler, and people without clothing--or pants, more specifically. When we arrived at one of the homes to meet the family, the father had been watching TV in his underwear. As we entered, he made no effort to hide the fact that he was sans pants, nor did he have any qualms with walking up to shake our hands as he also put his pants back on. The casual demeanor with which this occurred was amusing, if not inspiring. His pants-less confidence...the envy of so many. Well, maybe a few. Or just me. Although I will also agree that pants on is usually best in most situations.
The morning after my first night in Baoding I awoke at 7am, just like every other day in my life up to this point, to the sound of a wedding. Unlike the relatively calm tradition in the U.S. however, the Chinese prefer to exploit the power and majesty of explosives. Traditionally, the groom will arrive, early, at the bride’s home and pick her up to take her to the location of the actual ceremony--usually a restaurant. Upon leaving the home, the families are waiting outside to light black-cat-like fireworks to announce their departure. This is very loud. This particular wedding (or pre-wedding?) event happened to be right outside our apartment window, just a few stories down. It also happened pretty much every day around 7am, since the other apartment buildings in the complex were apparently full of nothing but engaged women. I think I heard about ten weddings this past week.
Our first day was mostly an exploration of Baoding via bike. To appreciate what a thrill this was, first know this: traffic in China is nuts. Imagine that there are people everywhere--but you already knew that. Next, multiply the number of people on the street by two. Now imagine these multitudes driving every conceivable vehicle, no matter how slow or fast. Finally, multiply all of this by the fact that there really aren’t any traffic laws, or at least ones that are followed. Survival may seem impossible.
But to envision the success of our multiple bike escapades throughout the week, picture this metaphor: the hordes of bicyclists are a school of fish, flowing, moving, swaying in a seamless unison. The bigger predators (busses mostly, but pesky taxis as well) may attempt to pick off a biker of two, but the sheer number of prey provides a level of safety that allows you to get from point A to point B. The most amusing part of all of this was watching the nonchalant demeanor with which the Chinese (especially those on a bicycle or the ubiquitous electric scooter) dealt with it all--and while driving a poorly-made vehicle carrying far more people than it was designed to. It is normal to see a biker with a person sitting on the back. In fact, Chinese bikes all come with a little rack that sits over the rear tire, specifically for this purpose. Scooters are best, since you can pack three people on one quite easily. I never thought of scooters as a mode of transportation for the whole family, but I was wrong. Mom, dad, and child, all packed neatly into every inch of the scooter.
We visited a large market, where we stopped to check out a Buddhist temple:
The temple was a pretty serene place, given it's location amidst a marketplace. Apart from offering us a gander at some of the typical Chinese antiquated architecture, I found this little gem:
Fail.
We also stopped by the adult playground nearby. Yes, adult playground. It’s essentially a place with pseudo-exercise equipment where the elderly folks like to spend time “working out” and socializing. They’re quite popular too, because these playgrounds are everywhere.
Working out, having a laugh: the life and times of a Chinese Septuagenarian.
The youth give it a shot. From left to right: Sean, Jesse, Jared, and Other Justin.
True to Chinese form, we were discovered and staring ensued. Not really sure what's happening with that guy in the middle though.
We also went to an amusement park, although it’s a stretch to call it that. Think traveling carnival meets lack of safety standards. This was a permanent site though, but it had all the feeling of the traveling carnival rides we all know from childhood. Never being one to pass up a chance for a thrill, or to consider the likelihood that a ride could end my life or severely alter it in some physio- or psychological manner, I joined three of the other guys on a ride that might be called “The Spinner” but what I would more accurately call “The Brain Hemorrhage.” While I never felt my life was in danger, I certainly felt as though my ability to reproduce might have been hampered (due to an ill-conceived body-restraint system). I do believe the physical forces exerted on my body during this ride's duration would exceed U.S. safety standards, not to mention the stresses the Apollo astronauts felt upon liftoff. Upon the end of the ride, and after learning to walk again, I took a moment to consider what had just happened, deciding that while I wouldn’t do it again, I certainly didn’t regret doing something that most certainly decreased my life-span a few years.
Screams of joy or shrieks of panic? You'll never know.
Another day in Baoding saw us traveling by three hours on a bus to the mountainous region Northwest of the city. The place, called 百里峡 (Bai Li Xia), is the equivalent of a National Park but with less preservation and more people...and randomly placed animals in pens (e.g., Siberian tigers, wild turkeys, and geese). It was a pretty scenic place, and it was certainly a welcomed reprieve from the noise and intense air pollution of Baoding.
The trip to Bai Li Xia was my first on a Chinese charter bus, and I learned a series of important things: Each bus in China has a TV screen. That TV screen will play Chinese movies for the viewing pleasure of the passengers, even if it is 6 am. The volume will be turned up as loud as possible (the number one rule of any speakers used in China, regardless of size, quality, or content of the sound they emit). The movie will be Kung Fu-themed, or some variation thereof (e.g., Kung Fu Dunk, which is about exactly what you think it’s about: a brilliantly talented young kung fu artist who uses an unjust event from his past to fuel a successful foray into college basketball).
At the main entrance to Bai Li Xia, which means "50 Meter Gorge. "
Yes, this place is gorges.
Our day at the Botanical Gardens (just a regular park with some flower beds, really) as we rest and watch the local scene (which was, invariably, Chinese people watching us). Jesse demonstrates the squat, the preferred method of sitting in China when no chair is available...and often even when a chair is available.
Again, the squat--one of my favorite things about China. It's just so amusing to me. You see it everywhere in China too, practiced by the young and old, the male and female, the thin and thinner (there are no overweight people in China).
The best part of the week was a two-day excursion we took by bus to a mini village hotel, of sorts, west of Baoding. In five years, the place will probably be an expensive resort with hiking and "Pristine rural scenes," but for us, it was a quiet, ridiculously inexpensive mountain getaway. The five of us had our own room at this hotel (which was really just five rooms and a kitchen) where we ate amazing home-cooked food in between chats with curious and surprised locals. The owner, a friendly and soft-spoken man, popped in our room frequently just to "hang out with the foreigners" (as I imagine he said to his wife and daughters,who also helped run the place). He was quite excited we were there, and with good reason: the three of us were the first Americans he'd ever seen at his hotel. I remember with great amusement when he was driving us from the bus stop to the hotel and he stopped when he saw some acquaintances sitting by the side of the road to show them what he "found." I believe he said something to the effect of, "Hey look! I've got three Americans in here!" I took the opportunity to open my tinted window and wave. He was right! There are foreigners in that van!
Aside from mingling with the chickens and pigs that happily resided at the site of the hotel, "exploring" the nearby toilet (i.e. a hole in the cement), and chatting with the other guests, the daughters, and the wife of the owner (to whom my antics and dabbles at Chinese were endlessly amusing/hilarious), we spent the majority of our time climbing the mountains. I felt like I was back hiking in Colorado, but with much more trash everywhere (the Chinese have no sense of "leave no trace"). The hiking was tough, rugged, scenic, and relatively devoid of the 1.3 billion Chinese who live just around the corner.
While they were no Rocky Mountains, they certainly were a welcomed sight. The trees were starting to turn color a little too, so we tried to soak that up, as the leaves in Qinhuangdao apparently don't change at all.
I wish I could tell you these mountains are fading into the mist, or even the haze of mid-day summer heat. But no, my friends. That's some good ol' air pollution. Not as picturesque, I know, but the air pollution does have a nice brown quality that I think remains largely under-appreciated.
The small rooms, each with a different Buddhist deity, located within a large temple about one-third of the way up the mountain we climbed.
The view from the top, catching sight of one of the three Buddhist temples there. There were about ten different temples, all of varying sizes, sprinkled along the trail. Many had been recently visited by patrons who left their various offerings: animal crackers in one, Ritz crackers and a sugar cookie in two others.
Stopping to rest a bit before the final push down the mountain, we passed the time with a bat and ball (or stick and small chunks of broken clay brick, for you unimaginative folks). Nothin' like hitting some home runs from on top of a mountain. Well, foul balls and singles, mostly. And it wasn't really the top at this point. More like a third from the bottom.
There were cows grazing on the mountain, so I stopped to chat. I tried to tell her that I probably wouldn't be the one to eat her, although I doubt my words were met with open ears. Maybe she's only one of the Chinese-speaking cows, which would make the most sense, I guess.
You can clearly see the look of curiosity in the eyes and the cock of the head. They certainly are an inquisitive bunch, these cows.
Our trip ended with a final bus trip, which was arguably the least enjoyable part--but it still wasn't so bad. The most difficult part was the s l o w pace. Our ride up took us about 6 hours to travel what should have taken 45 minutes. The ride home was about 4 hours. Mostly, this is due to the "one size fits all" style that this bus, like many in China, operates under. A bus moves along its route from A to B, but if anyone, at anytime, wants to hop on and hitch a ride for a part of that journey, they just flag down the bus as it approaches and hop on. Being my second journey on a "charter" bus in China (the city busses in Qinhuangdao that I use frequently wouldn't fall under this category), I gleaned several more insights about Chinese travel via bus:
1. Seats on busses are not, in any way, designed for the six feet or taller crowd. Not even close.
2. Smoking, on the bus, is absolutely acceptable. You don’t even have to open the window.
3. When you think the bus is full, you’re wrong: 20 more people will still be crammed on.
I found my thoughts throughout our return journey typically revolving around a central question. That is, what means of escape do I have in the event of: a) a fire; b) a roll-over; c) an accident with another vehicle? While most patrons on the bus were probably not concerned that, should an accident of any kind occur, most people would probably die because they couldn't get out from the tangled mess of humanity, I could not help but wonder. I suppose my time in China might be easier if I just forgot about safety standards for a while.
But where's the excitement in that?
