tirelesstraveler's Xanga

Tuesday, March 28, 2006

Tue, 28 Mar 2006 04:46:51 GMT

Why George Bush Can't Communicate

Dr. David Dungan, teaching in my New Testament Studies class at UT Knoxville, years ago said something that has come back to me many times since; "Clear writing is a product of clear thinking."

We were trying to wade through a laborius book written in the Middle Ages by some very boring fellow named Eusebius of Caesaria, and somehow reduce his 500 pages of dry ramblings into an essay of a couple thousand words. (Man, I really miss college!) This particular history, I can't remember now whether it was the Ecclesastical or some other work of his (I should get credit for just staying awake in class, let alone remembering the guy's name), was the story of how the New Testament was put together, how and why some books were placed in the collection we have today, and others, though equally popular or inspired, were left out.

It's difficult enough just to follow such a story through all the plot twists and competing logical arguments. It's almost impossible to explain such a story to someone else, especially if you really didn't understand it yourself. Almost everyone in our class had to do some serious re-writing just to get a C.

When pundits criticize the president, this is one of their favourite themes - Mr. Bush doesn't understand the complexities of the situation. He can't really explain what's happening or why he's leading our country down a primrose path to tragedy, because he can't see the obvious. Irony, forshadowing, equivocation, doublespeak - so abundant in the Iraq War and the events leading up to it - these are concepts you study in a typical English Lit class at a good liberal arts university. Mr. Bush has never claimed to be a straight-A student - and he is adamantly not a liberal. He can't tell us what's happening for fear we'd find out he really doesn't know ('classified information' has become a euphemism for 'that would probably make me look bad').

This has become the common wisdom of the left ( does it bother you that most editorialists shorten this to 'CW'?). The president isn't smart enought to figure things out for himself, and Cheney, Rumsfeld, and the like, Cold War fantasies lurking in the deep recesses of their minds, manipulate him into taking us in the wrong direction. However, as more and more inside information becomes available lately - books by former members of staff, the publication of minutes and memos from meetings with British ministers, etc. - I'm beginning to wonder if the president isn't more sinister in his miguidance than we have previously given him credit for.

Perhaps there's another reason for the communication credibility gap;

"In our time, political speech and writing are largely the defense of the indefensible. Things like the continuance of British rule in India, the Russian purges and deportations, the dropping of the atom bombs on Japan, can indeed be defended, but only by arguments which are too brutal for most people to face, and which do not square with the professed aims of the political parties. Thus political language has to consist largely of euphemism., question-begging and sheer cloudy vagueness. Defenseless villages are bombarded from the air, the inhabitants driven out into the countryside, the cattle machine-gunned, the huts set on fire with incendiary bullets: this is called pacification. Millions of peasants are robbed of their farms and sent trudging along the roads with no more than they can carry: this is called transfer of population or rectification of frontiers. People are imprisoned for years without trial, or shot in the back of the neck or sent to die of scurvy in Arctic lumber camps: this is called elimination of unreliable elements. Such phraseology is needed if one wants to name things without calling up mental pictures of them. Consider for instance some comfortable English professor defending Russian totalitarianism. He cannot say outright, "I believe in killing off your opponents when you can get good results by doing so." Probably, therefore, he will say something like this:
While freely conceding that the Soviet regime exhibits certain features which the humanitarian may be inclined to deplore, we must, I think, agree that a certain curtailment of the right to political opposition is an unavoidable concomitant of transitional periods, and that the rigors which the Russian people have been called upon to undergo have been amply justified in the sphere of concrete achievement.

The inflated style itself is a kind of euphemism. A mass of Latin words falls upon the facts like soft snow, blurring the outline and covering up all the details. The great enemy of clear language is insincerity. When there is a gap between one's real and one's declared aims, one turns as it were instinctively to long words and exhausted idioms, like a cuttlefish spurting out ink. In our age there is no such thing as "keeping out of politics." All issues are political issues, and politics itself is a mass of lies, evasions, folly, hatred, and schizophrenia. When the general atmosphere is bad, language must suffer."

I'm beginning to see why Mr. Bush can't come out and tell us the truth about why he led us into the Iraq War, how we are fighting it, what's really happening behind the scenes; either a) it's impossible to defend the indefensible or b) his real arguements are simply too brutal, too Machiavellian for most of us.

Like the famous Saturday Night Live skit during the Reagan administration where Mr. Reagan plays the senile old fool to his friends and his public, morphing into a Iran-Contra mastermind when they leave the room - it's beginning to look like this president has a lot to hide.

Is he really the fool - or are we?

Whom did I quote? Some radical from the New York Times? You might be surprised by who said this - and when. Have a look at the entire essay here. I for one am surprised we aren't seeing more references to this writer.

Friday, March 17, 2006

Fri, 17 Mar 2006 04:24:33 GMT

Chinese New Year

When I was going to school at UT Knoxville, the biggest event of the year was a huge fireworks show called 'Boomsday' - the city spent millions of dollars on the display in order to draw tourists from all over the state and beyond; usually about a quarter of a million people would converge on the riverfront, beginning early in the afternoon. I worked as a waiter / bartender at a restaurant called Calhoun's, which boasted two large decks hanging out over the river, and was therefore a premier spot for viewing all the festivities.

While there were numerous other events during the day, the big event started about 9pm - a 20-minute long, choreographed to music fireworks show. Everything and everyone along the riverbanks came to a standstill when the show started, everyone mesmerized by the incredible pyromania launched from the bridges that span the Little Tennessee River.

At the time, I thought it was breathtaking - I grew up in small Ohio and Indiana towns, and none of the lame 4th of July shows from Greensburg to Akron came even close in comparision. Even the national fireworks display in DC didn't really top it, except for the fact of the impressive national monuments in the backdrop, instead of just Baptist Hospital and JFG coffee, across the river.

I really thought it was something else - until my first Chinese New Year in China.

I've lived in China for 3 years now, but had never been in-country for the new year; obviously that's holiday time for teachers, so trips to the States or down to Thailand to see my brother kept me abroad. This year, however, I'd visited the folks at Christmas and my brother is back in Virginia as well, so I found myself in Dalian for the festivities.

Even if you've been to Boomsday or something comparable, it's going to be hard for me to paint an accurate picture for you -- short of having combat experience, you've probably never experienced so much firepower.

First of all, forget about sprinklers and firecrackers -- weeks before the new year, every street corner is crowded with fireworks vendors, jam-packed with those 'dangerous' Class A varieties you'd have to have a license to buy at home. And they're so cheap it's almost ludicrous - I used to spend $50 to $100 back at home to put on a little 4th of July show of my own; but even then only impressed my little sisters. Here, even the poorest factory worker or farmer can get in on the show - and they do. ($100 dollars in China would probably buy enough C4 to make enough space for that new olympic-sized pool you wanted).

Next, even a grand display at home probably has 30 or 40 people handling the fireworks; imagine increasing that to - oh, say a couple of million. That's right - Dalian has a population of over 6 million people - even if only 10% got involved, over half a million people would be lighting up the night sky. A Chinese person firing up a bit for the new year is as common as an American watching Dick Clark.

Finally, unlike say Henley St. Bridge in Knoxville or the Washington Monument in DC, there is no 'center' to the show in a Chinese city - every street corner, park, parking lot, construction site, building top, etc. is a launch site.

It starts just before the sun goes down, around 5pm, but not with an odd one or two -- multiply the biggest show you've ever seen by at least 1000 in intensity. Although the sun is down, the streets are as bright as noonday. You can't talk to the person standing right next to you if you're outside. Rockets, explosions, what sounds like artillery shelling the hillsides, roman candles -- it's absolutely mind-boggling.

And it doesn't last for 20 minutes - it lasts for 8 hours! Standing on the rooftop, there's nothing but 360 degrees of explosions, far as the eye can see. Thousand of rooftops in every direction lit up by what must be millions of explosions. So much smoke is in the air that it seems the building below us must be on fire. An hour before midnight, it somehow becomes even more intense, so that we're yelling at the top of our lungs at each other. Charles, a Vietnam War vet, admits it's all a bit unnerving for him - flashbacks from a frightening time. This is how the TET offensive started, he yells.

We take to the street. Every car equipped with an alarm is sqwaking excitedly, red and amber lights flashing rhythmically. Smoke is as thick as fog on the ground, yet crowds of people are still laughing and firing away. The burnt red paper detritus of so many shells fills the street - every street - ankle deep, like autumn leaves lying in a country lane. Armies of street sweepers and dump trucks will spend the following week cleaning up.

You really just have to see it to believe it. 4th of July barbeques will never feel quite the same.

Thursday, March 09, 2006

Thu, 09 Mar 2006 14:02:30 GMT

Another reason to feel guilty!

Ah! Another 90 days with no posts! No time to fill you in on the details now, but just a quick post to let you know I'm still alive and in China. Started Chinese lessons this week at Dalian University of Foreign Languages (DUFL or DaWai locally). 4 hours a day, 5 days a week, 18 weeks. Might be able to do a bit more than order noodles when the course is finished!

Thursday, December 08, 2005

Thu, 08 Dec 2005 15:32:25 GMT

(Some of you wanted to see more photos of Cloud Ridge Caves, so I uploaded about 60 pics at http://asia.pg.photos.yahoo.com/ph/dahenson2/my_photos. They're taken directly off of my digital camera, unedited, so some of the files might be fairly large. Feel free to print any you like, but if you post them elsewhere on the 'net, please credit this blog. If you make any money from them (unlikely), I'll expect you to give half of the proceeds to one of my favourite charities.)

Datong to Pingyao

Exhausted after the day at the caves, so I sleep late, check out around noon. Train doesn't leave until 2:30, and the station is right across the street, so no rush. Find some of those wonderful steamed buns called baozi -- you can usually find them from breakfast thru lunchtime, sort of a poor man's dim sum. Much tastier - and cheaper - than the ones I had near the station. An hour at a 'net cafe, and it's time to catch the train.

I'm headed to Taiyuan, the capital of Shanxi province, where I'll have to spend the night before heading to Pingyao the next morning. Trip is about 6 hours long and costs only 4 bucks -- so I'm worried what it will look like. It arrives 20 minutes late and looks pretty worn, but it's not filled to capacity so I get a bench to myself - comfortable enough.

We head directly south, through the valley the Mongols would have passed through centuries before, and mountain ranges are visible to both the east and west of us (Shanxi means 'western mountains' - only about 30% of the province is flat). Most of the hills near the tracks seemed to be composed of loess, that chalky yellow soil so susceptible to wind erosion that great clouds of the stuff often diminish visibility in cities as far away as Tokyo and Seoul. It doesn't help that virtually every square inch of every hill is farmed - terraced fields have been carved out of the landscape, hundreds if not thousands of years old. A few trees here and there cling to patches of ground too vertical for cultivation.

Decidedly ugly are the industrial villages we pass through every half hour or so. These consist of gigantic smoke-belching factories, so huge they take up every square foot of available flatland. Miserable-looking 6-story tenements creep up the hills around the factories, their broad backs covered in soot. Mountains of coal, ten times a man's height, fill the common areas - everything in sight is some shade of black or grey, including the black clouds hanging overhead, connected by hundreds of sooty chimneys to the houses below. Depressing.

Night begins to fall, and a huge, rusty-coloured full moon rises in the east, making the villages we pass look like something out of a Tim Burton film. Finally, city lights appear - Taiyuan. I find a hotel near the station since I want to get to Pingyao early tomorrow, so I don't get to see much of the city. But it looks much more cosmopolitan than Datong - several new-looking hotels to choose from, and McDonald's golden arches glowing in the distance - a welcome sight after days and days of Chinese food.

This McDonald's shares a phenomenon I've experienced a number of times in China -- and for the life of me I can't figure out what's going on. On more than one occasion - different restaurants/shops, different cities - Kenny G's 'Forever in Love' plays on an endless loop! Not a Kenny G album, or a series of Muzak-like songs -- but one bloody song, looped over and over and over.

I've often heard that fast-food restaurants in the States choose music that subliminally encourage people to eat and move on, not linger. Perhaps they're on to something with this Kenny G tune.

Wednesday, November 23, 2005

Wed, 23 Nov 2005 09:23:14 GMT

On the Road - Cloud Ridge Caves

Hotel is comfy, but noisy, and as is the case for most 'hospitality' businesses in China, it seems to be run for the convenience of the staff. Yesterday, I looked around for the samovar - usually piping hot water for tea somewhere in every Chinese hotel. When I couldn't find it, I asked the matron - there's one posted on every floor of the hotel; her job is to lock and unlock your room and make sure you don't bring any 'extra guests' into your room - unless, of course, it's one of the hotel sponsored prostitutes. These girls just happen to know which rooms are occupied by single men, and call or drop by to offer 'massage' around 8 or 9 o'clock.

But I digress. The matron responded with 'jintian mei you' - no hot water today. When might I expect some hot water? She just shrugged her shoulders. This morning, 6am, someone banging and banging on the door until I got up to answer it. Matron motioned for the hot water thermos, and though I was irritated by the early morning disruption of my sleep, I looked forward to having hot water for coffee. Of course, the thermos was never returned.

After checking out of the hotel, brunching on steamed buns filled with pork, and buying a late ticket to my next destination, I wondered whether it would be worth my while to head out to the caves; too often, something billed as a major tourist attraction turns out to be a major tourist disappointment. I waffled back and forth so long that the minibus 'tours' that head out from the train station had already departed - meaning I'd have to sort of the public transport to get there. City bus to the western edge of the city was no problem, but the bus station that was supposed to be there turned out to be a major demolition zone - broken-down old buses competing for right-of-way with dozers and dumptrucks, passengers and filthy old guys with pickaxe in hand weaving in and out between all this - sheer pandemonium.

Half an hour of trying to sort things out, then finally found a bus heading the right direction. It's a bus only in the dictionary sense of the word - it has wheels, a driver, seats inside - but might be 40 years old. The seats were so grimy even the dirtiest locals wipe them off best they can before sitting down. A quarter of the windows were missing, and those remaining rattled noisily, held in only by duct tape. But what do you expect for 20 cents?

As the bus roars into motion, an ancient woman behind me munches an apple in such disgusting fashion that the noise of her mastication exceeds that of the muffler-less diesel engine and the rattling windows. I have a moment or two of relief when she's finally finished, until she starts belching. She manages to rip one off about every 20-30 seconds for the next five minutes. I'm not sure if I could kill someone with my bare hands, but a broad smile spreads across my face when I imagine throwing her off the bus. Thankfully, it's her stop, but I continue thinking about it and smiling for some time.

We pass some of the most polluted villages I've ever laid eyes on, huge belching smokestacks in their centers, mountains of coal piled up higher than the housetops. Bare granite-like mountains start to appear on the horizon, but they do little to improve the depressing aura. Occassionally the earthen remains of an ancient watchtower is visible just off the highway, jutting high above the mostly one-story hamlets.

I had asked the driver to let me know which stop was mine, but I needn't have bothered. Maybe a mile before we're there, we ascend to the top of a plateau, and Cloud Ridge becomes visible from the highway - and even at first sight, it's stunning. These caves were chosen over 1500 years ago as a holy place of worship for Buddhist monks and artisans. The interiors have been hollowed out and thousand of images carved into the rock - columns, arches, Buddhas, Matreiyas, and hosts of other images, both religious and historical.

The place has a real 'Indiana Jones' feel to it; I'm here off-season so there are only a handful of other tourist around, giving the grounds a lonely, exotic feel. Some of the caves look like temples at the entrance, with myriad carvings inside. Some of the older ones are non-descript on the outside, and you have to climb around a bit inside before you find the inner-sanctum, which dramatically and cleverly lit by hidden light shafts.

I wonder just how 'Chinese' this marvel is - the artisans that created this masterpiece came from west of here, from oases on the Silk Road or perhaps even from India. They are later than the Mogao caves in Dunhuang, and are probably inspired by them. And the political rulers who sponsored their creation were from the Norther Wei kingdom - a distinctively non-Chinese people who adopted Chinese customs only later after expansion eastward. And, unlike in Thailand or Sri Lanka, Buddhism plays no role whatsoever in the everyday life of modern Chinese people - there seems to be no connection at all between the serenity and devotion of these caves with today's China.

Nevertheless, they are stunning, and I'd have kicked myself repeatedly had I missed them. They say a picture's worth a thousand words, so I'll stop writing and share a few.

I had to go inside Cave 3 about 40 meters, duck through a narrow opening, and wander around a bit to come upon this sight -- really took my breath away.

Caves 5 and 6 are by far the most impressive inside -- photos don't really demonstrate how awe-inspiring these interiors are, in both size and artistry.

This one really looks like something out of an Indiana Jones movie -- can't go inside but some of the carvings just behind these stone pillars are the most colourful and elaborate examples.

This is either the best preserved stone carving on site - or the most completely renovated. The larger figure on the left is around 15 meters high!

I took probably 60 photos while I was here -- really blown away. If you want to see more, let me know.

On the way to Pingyao next, which is supposed to be a completely extant medieval Han Chinese city - 8 hours away by train. Overnight in Taiyuan on the way. Hope to have some good pics - and even better stories in a couple days.

Thursday, November 17, 2005

Thu, 17 Nov 2005 04:14:18 GMT

On the Road - Datong

One week in Dalian - nothing in this world compares to that 'just falling in love' feeling - but determined to forge ahead with the solo travel, just the same. Missing her as soon as I get on the train.

Overnight to Beijing to see an American pal, Gabe. Two nights staying at his place a bit awkward, as he and his Chinese girlfriend of five years seemed to be at odds with one another - don't want to get in the middle of the fray, but Gabe has the looks and personality to hook up with just about anyone he wants to, about 6'4", 28 years old, California surfer-dude sort of guy -- should probably drop the girlfriend, who seems to think she's taken a big step down to date a 'laowai'.

Did get a quick visit in to one of my favourite places in Beijing, Yonghegong - a 450-year-old Buddhist temple. There aren't many monks roaming around these days, but the temple is an active place of worship and a quiet place to relax in an otherwise bustling city. As you can see in the picture, most of the 'tourists' are there to pray, not just to snap pictures.

Quick 3-hour train ride east to Qinhuangdao to see another pal, Joe - used to work together in Thailand. He'd worked in Bangkok for over 7 years when I met him, and I convinced him to make the move to China, as salaries for English teachers are so much better. He's been here with his Thai wife, Rudi, ever since, and the earth has circumnavigated the sun nearly 3 times since I last saw them. Although he's younger than I am, the cold weather has put a bit of arthritis in his hips, and he's using canes to walk about. Hope the acupuncture he's going to start brings some relief.

A day and a night of train travel takes me 300 miles or so west of Beijing to a city called Datong. Guidebook says it was the capital of the ancient Wei kingdom, one of several competing Chinese kingdoms around 1600 years ago. Datong had the misfortune of being located just south of the Great Wall in ancient times, near a major mountain pass between northern China and Mongolia. As such, it has seen more battles than historians care to count - at one time there were 27 temples within the city walls devoted to the god of war. Later emperors re-routed the Great Wall to the south of the city - pretty much giving it up to invaders from the north. Needless to say, not much is left to testify to the city's former glory.

5am. Arrive at Datong's train station, after a short night on a cold, aging sleeper car. A huge square, big as a football field, is empty except for two dozen taxis competing for customers. I see the soft glow of neon across the square, an up-scale hotel. The morning air is a lot colder than I thought it would be, so I decide against looking around and head straight for maximum comfort.

Hotel lobby is plush, and a sign behind the counter prices a single room at 350 yuan - about 45 bucks. But there's no one behind the walnut and marble counter. Perhaps I'll wait for someone to show up - but every finely upholstered chair and leather divan is occupied by a soundly sleeping guard. I could have robbed the lot of them and they'd never have known the difference.

Back outside, another much cheaper looking place the other side of the station. The building is decorated in what I like to call 'faux beaux arts, communist style'. This sad attempt at neo-classical is popular in China and other communist countries - consists of some god-awful pastel colour, pale blue in this case, with concrete 'marble' columns and crumbling facades about the windows. There's not a single English word on the sign, nor a single Chinese character I understand -- but it looks like a hotel. The receptionists and guards have the decency to wake up when I walk in, and after a poor stab at negotiating the price in Chinese, I get a room for a third of the price of the previous place. I can see - and hear - the train station from my window, but I'm tired, the bed is warm, the water's hot - and it's easy to fall asleep.

A couple of hours later, time to check out the city's charms. It's near freezing outside, and I wish I'd brought my gloves. There's a coal smoke haze hanging in the air, and the smell takes me back to my childhood, visits to my grandparents in the furthest reaches of Appalachia. Chestnuts roasted in hot, black coals by sidewalk vendors add to the pleasant aroma, and if I close my eyes, I'd swear I was 5 years old again, Christmas in grandma's 4-room house on Jones' Creek. The more I travel, the more I realize that my parents grew up in a third-world country -- extreme southeast Kentucky.

Datong isn't quite up to par with the glimmering glass and steel cities of China's east coast; in fact the ancient seems to be competing with the just plain old to see which can look the most neglected and derelict. There are a few fancy shopping malls near the city center, but in front of these are mule-drawn carts, carrying everything from vegetables to basketball sized lumps of coal. Old men with leather faces and leather caps sit in small groups on stoops and stairs, smoking unfiltered cigarettes, gaping open-mouthed and snaggle-toothed at the foreigner in their midst.

I'm only 5'8", with black hair and olive skin, so it takes a few moments for the average, very-near-sighted Chinese to realize I'm a foreigner - sometimes I'm standing right next to someone before they realize it; they turn to say something - 'pretty darned cold today, isn't it' - nose less than a foot away from mine -- then they see my greenish eyes and western nose -- some of them nearly wet themselves with surprise. In a city like Datong, most people go their entire lives without seeing a non-Chinese person. It's a somewhat disconcerting experience.

From the bus, I see the drum tower that's meant to be at the city center, and jump off the next stop. Almost every city has an ancient or rebuilt drum tower, and after you've seen one, you've seen them all. According to ancient design, these had to be placed either near the city center of just north of it; to the modern traveler, the advantage is that you can get in a taxi and say 'gu lou' (drum tower) and know for a fact that you are somewhere near the very center of the city. Standard ancient Chinese cities measured nine square 'li' - no more than 2 by 2 kilometres, which means everything is within walking distance from this point.

Just east of the drum tower is the Nine Dragon Screen (Jiulong Bi), which was part of the palace gate during the Ming Dynasty (roughly 500 years ago). It's a glazed tile fresco of black, gold, and green fire-breathing dragons against a background of teal blue - impressive even in the grey haze. My camera batteries failed me here, and a gift shop sold me a couple more at a hugely inflated price - they were good for half a dozen shots before they failed as well.

The Southern Temple (Nan Si or Shanhua Si) is about 20 minutes away from here on foot. I can't say that the temple grounds were particularly impressive, but the fact that I was the only person there added to the charm of the place immensely. The girl that sold me my ticket put her coat on, picked up a heavy ring of keys, and proceeded to unlock the temples for me. The gilded Buddhas are all tarnished and in much need of restoration, as are the painted terracotta statues of heavenly kings which surround them -- but they are still amazing to behold, and considering their age - 700 to 1300 year old - they are in excellent condition. Unfortunately, I'm not allowed to take photos inside, even without a flash.

There's an outcrop or two of what used to be the city walls, just south of this temple. But all that's left are a few earthen mounds, studded with whatever brick hasn't been carried off by the locals. I still think it's fascinating to see the juxtaposition of 50-year-old apartments against the remains of 1500-year-old walls.

I get lost on my way to the other temple, Huayan Si, and end up wandering endlessly through the maze of 'hutong' that make up the oldest parts of the city. It's exciting to me that, just a block or two off the main roads and their 'modern' shops and apartments, you can wander along streets that were built during the reigns of the Mongolian Khans. Life hasn't changed much here in 700 years. I stumble into a very small Buddhist shrine, and unlike the major temples, the monks seem quite happy to see me, talk endlessly to me (although I can understand maybe 5-10% of what they say) and smilingly encourage me to take pictures. There are only 4 monks here, and they are obviously happy to be taking care of this shrine. It's not ancient, but there is a serenity here that's hard to describe.

Finally find Huayan Si - a nice place to relax, but I'm tired and cold now, my fingers aching and red, the cuticles cracking. I snap a few pictures, but it's time to get back to the hotel, with its warm bed and hot showers.

Tomorrow, I go to the 1500 year old Cloud Ridge Caves -- pictures should be fantastic.

Tuesday, November 15, 2005

Tue, 15 Nov 2005 10:52:37 GMT

On the Road -- Finally!

Heavy fog settling into Nanjing -- my last day here and I'm terrified that my flight will be delayed. Already extended my stay nearly 3 months longer than I had originally intended, and the feet are very itchy.

Last day on the job was 4 days ago. Bought a new camera and thought I might snap a few photos of things I wanted to remember in Nanjing -- but was disappointed to find I couldn't finish a single roll of film. It's been all about the work this past 15 months -- and the work has been rewarding -- but I wouldn't have stayed here a fortnight other than for the job. And when the job began to wear me down, I knew it was time to leave.

City walls make a good photo, expecially at night, the parapets outlined in amber lights. Xinjiekou, the bustling shopping district downtown makes for good photography as well. Of course, pictures of the people I've been working with, students, the campus -- no one but me will be interested in looking at these.

Packing things up - amazing how much you can accumulate in a year. Giving the hard-to-pack stuff away -- books (sob! goodbye babies), dishes, DVDs, that sort of thing. Mostly just keeping the clothes, keepsakes. One of the teachers has offered to let me stow them away in her apartment while I'm on the road the next couple of months - so I take her up on it.

Now the long taxi ride to the airport, the city shrouded in mist. Neon signs at the tops of building are invisible, but turn the clouds pink and purple and gold. Ticket in my pocket to Dalian -- and no secret anymore -- got someone there waiting to see me. I've known her for nearly 3 years, but the pace of our relationship picked up when my job sent me back up that way this past spring. Lots of emails, phone calls, sweet words, and -- well, I figure I've been running away from anything permanent for about 6 years, maybe it's time to give someone a chance.

Lots of flights delayed when I get to the airport, but for some reason, mine isn't. Happy, but disconcerted as well. When the plane taxis out to the runway, the fog is so thick we can no longer see the terminal. But all is safe -- hour and a half later, I'm in Dalian -- and the girl is waiting.

One week with her, three on the road, then three more in the States - Christmas with the family. First time I've put a picture in the 'blog except for the one in the upper left corner -- but thought you might want to see why I'll be in a hurry to get back to Dalian - and why my travels may be cut shorter than I thought

I'm not sure of my itinerary, but I'll try to get something on here every few days -- and some travel photos as well.

Wednesday, August 31, 2005

Wed, 31 Aug 2005 09:12:25 GMT

Rites of passage

I've been reading an anthology of some of Wilfred Thesiger's writing - a book I found while I was in Bangkok. He's considered the last of the great English 'gentleman explorers', sort of a 20th century T.E. Lawrence. A couple of my favourite writers, Bruce Chatwin and Paul Theroux often refer to him, so I've always had an interest in reading something of his -- Arabian Sands is reputedly his masterpiece. But it's one of those names you really don't think about when you're in the bookstore; if this book hadn't been in the window, probably would've gone another decade without reading anything of his.

Thesiger's collection of early essays - excerpts from his diary as a 20-year old adventurer, letters to his mother - have got me thinking about rites of passage, specifically how they are so indistinct in the modern world as to be almost non-existent, and how what effect this has on us in the 21st century. (Yes, I know, I need to get out more!)

He perceives his adventure in Abyssnia at age 20 as his passage from boyhood to maturity. He's there on a geographical and anthropological expedition - finding the unknown source of a river, documenting the customs of the peoples he encounters -- but it's clear that he'd be doing this without such justifications; running around Africa with 40 armed men, negotiating with various tribes, accepting hostages as guarantees of safe passage - all good fun in and of themselves.

(After my first round-the-world trip, I decided - from observation - that the reason there are so many areas in conflict in the world, is that young men enjoy running around jungles with guns much more than they do selling bananas on the sidewalk or washing windows at the gas station. In the States, we pretend these low-level jobs might lead somewhere; abroad, no one suffers from this kind of delusion.)

One of the tribes Thesiger encounters is the Danakil, who believed that a boy becomes a man only after killing a man. Others mark this rite of passage when a boy kills a lion, gazelle, or other animal. Thesiger himself is a fan of hunting big game, although he doesn't seem to need the constant reaffirmation through violence that Hemmingway required.

Our fathers and grandfathers had their wars - noble causes, protecting the world from the Nazis, the Communists, etc. Before that there were forests to clear, farms to manage, barns to raise. Men from those times didn't have to prove themselves any further -- when you saved the free world in your 20's - or had already built your own home from nothing with your bare hands - you could rest assured that your coming of age was not in question.

But what marks this passage from youth to adulthood today? Getting a driver's licence at 16? First date? Graduating high school? First job/house/wife - etc.? I guess you can see where I'm going with this - I certainly don't condone blood sport as means of finding one's place in the universe, but these modern passages certainly seem warm and fuzzy substitutes.

And if that's the mark, what about those too poor to afford a car, or go to college, too unattractive or shy to get a date, too undereducated or otherwise disadvantaged to get a decent job? There must be a subconscious humiliation growing within these individuals, something shouting 'I'm not a man because I don't have ______ .'

When did rites of passage move from 'doing' to 'owning' something? In a system where wealth determines access - not just to material goods, but to our sense of self - it's not too hard to see where some of our biggest problems come from - crime in poor inner-city areas, religious extremism in suburbs where young men don't fit in, terrorism against the 'haves' by the 'have-nots'.

Killing of course, is never the answer - but it is a primeival urge. You can't compete in the modern world, therefore you regress to an earlier time. Only you're not really a man, but a coward, because you use modern mechanics to kill wholesale. Setting a bomb is even more cowardly than shooting someone; it goes off when you're not even around, maybe killing women and kids - but where's the glory even if it kills a soldier? No, these guys with bombs, the worst kind of cowards.

I could never understand the sense of accomplishment some feel when killing an animal with a gun - how exactly is this a contest? A political parallel is empire building -- note that it only worked when Europeans had guns and everyone else had rocks and sticks. Opponents with guns, like the American colonies, had the capability to fight back - and win. This is why empires fell apart at the beginning of the last century, and why American attempts at colonization won't work today - everyone is armed to the teeth.

As a boy, I read with interest stories of how Native Americans and other primitive peoples learned to face buffalo with a spear or bow, or chase down deer with nothing more than a knife. It always seemed to me that this is much more noble conflict than hunting with a gun.

But times have changed, and as much as I romanticize about wanting to return to simpler, nomadic times, I wouldn't want everyone to do that - who would make my cappuccino at Starbucks?

However we definitely need to find new rites of passage - rites that aren't based on blood or force, but that can't be based on privilege and wealth either.

Thursday, August 25, 2005

Thu, 25 Aug 2005 07:41:11 GMT

Staying on in Nanjing (sigh)

Well, plans have changed just a bit -- I've agreed to stay on here in Nanjing for an extra 3 months, as they haven't found my replacement yet. In addition to that, we're rolling out a new curriculum (my idea) and starting with a whole new group of teachers. So, with all that's going on, it was difficult for me to say 'no' when they asked me to hang on a bit longer.

So, three more months of Nanjing and 60 hour weeks! Actually, 3 weeks have already gone by, so about 10 weeks and counting. Basically just means I've got to postpone my backpacking trip until November - and modify the itinerary a bit as well. I've got to get home for Christmas this year - haven't had the whole family together since Christmas 2000, so that's a big priority.

I did get a chance to sneek down to Bangkok for a week to see my brother and catch up with old pals. Absolutely love that city, the energy and confusion of it, the smiling Thais, all the great friends I've made there over the years. I may go back there after Christmas - although the pay is terrible compared to China, and China is terrible compared to most everywhere else in Asia! But Thailand does get in your blood. No firm decisions - plenty of time for that.

I've bought the Lonely Planet travel guides for Tibet, Nepal, and Southeast China. Don't know how much I'll be able to fit into the 6 weeks or so that I'll have, but I've been absolutely devouring the books. As I'm already in China, it makes since to do the southeast first, get into Tibet somehow, then see how much time I've got left. It's likely to be pretty cold there at that time, which makes me want to get into Nepal as well, as I'd like to do a long trek.

Anyway, suggestions from anyone who's been there are appreciated!

Wednesday, August 03, 2005

Wed, 03 Aug 2005 04:04:14 GMT

Sex, politics, and other bad lies

One of the most surprising things you learn about supposedly conservative Asia is the cavalier - perhaps hypocritical - attitude towards sex. Everyone pays lip service to the idea of chastity before marriage, and the Hollywood portrayal of western relationships often leaves your average Asian feeling he owns the moral high road in this area.

However, if you make even a few Asian friends, you soon find behaviour that is absolutely astonishing. Every married Chinese man I know personally has at least one regular girlfriend on the side and visits the brothels a couple of times a month. These girlfriends often know the man is married, but is doesn't seem to matter - I know of one who bought gifts more her boyfriend's new baby while his wife was in the delivery room.

While perhaps more discreet, women don't appear to be holding back either. A Chinese teacher I know, a devout Christian, complained that a new abortion clinic had opened just down the street from his college campus; apparently, the downtown clinic was getting so much business from his rural school that a campus branch was in order. And perhaps at the top of the dishonesty list, the Shanghai Daily reports that plastic surgeons are doing a booming business in hymen replacement - I don't even know how to comment on this level of dishonesty.

It all boils down to the fact that really only two things matter in most Asian cultures - face and connections. Appearances speak hundreds of times louder than deeds in this society. In fact, they are often all that's important; if you look the part, people will believe you can do the job - which is one reason why hundreds of unqualified English teachers arrive here every year. (By the way, don't ever tell your barber you're a teacher - in his mind, teachers have a certain look, and you definitely won't like the resulting pompadour).

One student at a neighboring college put together a resume that was a total work of fiction - qualifications she didn't have, jobs she'd never held, etc. She sent it out around Nanjing, and, in a fairly slow job market for new graduates, received half a dozen job offers. Her university caught wind of it - and arranged for her to give a talk to her fellow students, advising them how to do the same.

The most heinous social faux pas is to directly question the truth of what someone is telling you - an Asian would never do this to another Asian (although many don't mind doing it to a westerner). This tends to make them very bad liars - no one will ever challenge your story, especially if you outrank them, so you never develop any real skill at making them up. A student will miss class, show up the next day with new clothes and a new hairstyle - obviously blew off class for a day of shopping - and she'll tell you that she was sick in bed all day.

In China, there seems to be a number of critical decisions that have to be made before age 30 - get in the best university possible (bribe someone if you have to), get a decent job (through connections, not ability), buy a car and a house, get married, have the obligatory one child - in short, acquire all the trapping of respectability as soon as possible. It doesn't matter if you paid off your university administrators with dinners and gifts, if you have absolutely no clue as to what you should be doing at work - it's the appearance that counts. Shortcuts, bribes, connections, lies - these are all perfectly acceptable means of moving ahead, and if permeates every facet of society, from education/work, to sex, to ignoring traffic signals.

In short, many of the values that we'd consider self-evident or natural simply don't exist here. Although we don't actively teach 'western values' in US schools any longer, many of those values still pervade our way of thinking and interacting with others. Do unto others as you'd have them do unto you (the Bible). You can't do that unless you'd be willing to let everyone else do that (Kant). Crime comes from a lack of education (Hobbes). Hundreds, perhaps thousands of 'self-evident truths' have been handed down to us through the centuries, from Moses to Maupassant, and it's quite impossible to escape their influence on our thoughts and actions.

While I'm no relativist, I do find the best way to get by in China is to not waste too much time railing against the darkness; you have to accept the reality that things are completely different here. If you don't, you quickly become one of those embittered expats, spending most of your time at the local laowai bar whinging to your pals. I don't think, however, that this means you begin to act in the same manner - there are limits to the 'when in Rome' philosophy.

But I'm particularly downhearted when I see these kinds of trends taking place in my own country, where winning has become everything - in politics, sports, life - and how you get there or what shortcuts you take aren't important. Connections, money, one hand washes the other - I don't think this is what our country was built upon, and it saddens me to see that it's becoming the norm. While I see the Bush administration as a prime example of most of these ills, one of Machiavelli's crowning achievements, the trend has been there for at least a couple of decades and runs on both sides of the aisle.

As a result, our leaders are becoming increasingly poor liars - they insult our intelligence by not even trying to be credible any longer. I smoked but I didn't inhale. I didn't have sexual relations with that girl. The Iraq invasion is all about WMDs. And my favourite from this past week or two, a Supreme Court nominee who 'doesn't remember ever being a member' of the Federalist Society. As if his ideology depended upon whether he paid his $25 dues or not. But we Americans, as a people, increasingly accept answers like these - legalspeak, doubletalk - when we should be chiding, if not tarring and feathering leaders who insult us in this fashion.

Morality rolls downhill. (And it consists of so much more than what you think about abortion or homosexuality.) If the US can act outside of international law, other nations will follow suit. If our leaders can get away with this kind of nonsense, our children will soon do the same.

How is it I start talking about sex and end up talking about politics?