22: My Internship, Knock-offs, and Some Touristy Stuff

Readers, I sincerely apologize for not updating all week. I have been unimaginably busy playing the tourist and exploring the city.

Being here is a lot like summer camp. Though the Chinese Beida students have to take an English proficiency test to be admitted to the school, they are shy to test it with the international students. Likewise, most of the international students’ Chinese isn’t good enough to communicate well. This creates a group of 50 students who stick together a lot.

Hormones running high, people are already pairing off at a high rate. I haven’t seen my roommate in five days because she’s been sleeping “elsewhere,” and the gossip is worse than at my 900 women’s liberal arts college. You do something, everyone knows.

Though a few Beijingers have integrated into our group, most of our excursions lack a local’s know-how. Yesterday we ate at KFC (not recommended anywhere but especially not in China) because we didn’t realize that many restaurants are closed after 8:00PM on Saturdays. We also have found that there are chopsticks that you have to pay for, and others that you don’t; if the chopsticks come in a wrapped container that includes a disposable wet towel and toothpick, you have to pay ¥1-2 for it. Though $0.14 – 0.30 cents doesn’t seem like much, there is no reason to fork cash over for utensils. We ask to use the freebies.

There are so many pictures that I am itching to share! Saturday, we explored the Forbidden City. If you ever find yourself in Beijing, go, if not for the architecture or thousands of years-old history, for the gorgeous gardens. Beijing has so many buildings and so many thick layers of smog, it’s sometimes excruciatingly gray and devoid of wildlife. The gorgeous landscaping makes me wish that I could break in while it’s warmer so that I can study in the refreshing greenery.

I also went out to see everyone’s favorite live performer, Andrew Bird last night, who was accompanied by Mongolian indie folk band, Hanggai. The club, Yugong Yishan (Foolish Old Man) was dominated by expats and westerners. For the first time in three weeks, people could understand what I said and I they; it was both invigorating and unnerving at the same time. The concert was fantastic, though when Bird’s sound system blew out he lost all of his recordings and there was an awkward lull in the music. An American yelled out, “Made in China!” and the crowd laughed. The show went on.

“Made in China” does speak to what can be purchased here. Playboy is China’s favorite brand to spoof, and everyone from crotchety 90-year old men to infants wear the famous bunny. Despite the vast availability of Coach and other high-end knockoffs, the quality of these products is fundamentally lacking. Clothing bought last week at the world-famous Zoo Market is already unraveling, and Hepatitis A is a constant concern when buying from street vendors. Western quality is not something that the Chinese take into consideration, however they also manage to maintain a population of 1.4 billion (four times that of the States).

Tonight, I am going to an open mic performance at a local bar. It’s so wonderful to be able to enter these places without being haggled for an ID. Though alcohol is widely available in China, I’ve become somewhat disenchanted with the concept; I go to the bar for music, not to get wasted. It’s dangerous to be wasted in Beijing anyway. Speaking of getting wasted, we also have to watch out for alcohol counterfeits (or alcohol cut with methanol). So healthy!

Oh, I almost forgot! I have the MOST AMAZING INTERNSHIP EVER. Here’s the scoop on TimeOut:

• I pick a section that I am most interested in. The options included Sports, Current Technology, Nightlife, Bars, etc. I chose music.
• Though they don’t pay me, they reimburse me for going to shows and taking notes.
• The office is run by a bunch of hunky well-dressed 20-something British guys (however, my boss might be a 30-something).
• I get to write my own articles. They will get published.
• Which means I get journalism experience, which isn’t that easy these days, especially for music journalism.
• The best part: the marketing department wants my (okay, maybe not specifically “my” but “an intern’s”) help. Not only do I get journalism experience, but I also get to taste test what I might be doing for the next forty years of my life: I will get to help advertise for an international business in China.

Another post is on the way; stay tuned.

21: A Comment on Culture

Sitting in a local café, my Chinese teacher smiles at me coyly. “You put your napkin in your lap,” she politely points out. Confused, I replied, “Of course.” She shook her head, “Not many people do that here.”

There are a lot of things that Westerners do that the Chinese don’t. For instance, it’s strange to order drinks with any meal. There is a serious shortage of clean water in Beijing, so if you want any, you have to pay for the bottle. Also, the water is always warm to hot for sanitary purposes; I have yet to see anyone drink ice water. There are no napkins to be found except under glasses. People are expected to shlep around their own toilet paper. Squat toilets are everywhere.

Snot rockets and spitting are also commonplace, especially originating from taxi and bus drivers. After living here for eleven days, I can hardly blame them; the polluted air really does build up in the sinuses.

What surprises me is that Asians have a stereotype of being really quiet and reserved. This, at least in Beijing, is not the case. Maybe it’s because of the density of people, or the fast pace of city life, but any enclosed area is a few decibels above what I would expect in America.

The Chinese aren’t rude though; as stated in previous posts, they are very caring, helpful, and warm people; most of them are equally as friendly as my friends in the loving American south.

More to come.

20: Pí jiǔ, the Official Welcome to Beijing

Not thirty minutes from campus, there are several pizza and beer bars that greet the large international student population. Though I’ve learned to enjoy Chinese food more than American at this point, it was hard to turn down the offer for free pí jiǔ (beer) and pizza on Friday night. A local bar, Pyro, threw a welcome party for those of us in the China Studies Institute.

After several rounds of beer pong and shots courtesy of Josh, the owner of Pyro, most people wandered into Propaganda, the dance club that I mentioned previously. Because I was pretty much sober (I can only do so much drinking), I went with a group different than the norm to Lush. There, the chill setting and open mic inspired a friend to go back to his place, play some guitar, sing some indie, and chill together.

Unfortunately, things got messy on the way back. Though the taxi driver spoke English, he did not drop me off at Beida. Thinking I didn’t recognize the area because it was dark (there was a profound absence of streetlights), I, as someone who doesn’t speak or read Chinese and as a woman alone in the city, accidentally stranded myself somewhere in Beijing at 3:30AM.

Cursing, I attempted to chase down the taxi. After my pathetic sprint, I attempted to call and text my friends. The phone wouldn’t connect. I was utterly alone.

Obviously I’m still alive, so I’ll cut to the chase: I found a McDonalds, I found English-speaking university students, they walked me home (isn’t that incredible??). After trudging through the dirtiest city in the world in -7º weather, I safely lumbered into Shaoyen 5 at around 4:30.

This experience got me thinking about a number of things. Here are my following conclusions:

• Beijing taxi drivers, beggars, and street vendors are more than happy to scam a westerner out of a buck.
• Most university students speak some English. In fact, for Beida, it’s an admissions requirement.
• The average Beijinger who can understand you will drop everything to help you. It’s amazing.

The student who walked me back’s name is Robin. He is studying computer science at Tsinghua University. He was also curtious enough to text me this morning wishing me well. I am definitely going to take him out to lunch at some point to repay his utter kindness!

19: Home Sick Cookies

Sugary, sweet, and covered in almonds and sesame seeds, the Laopobing pastries beckon towards me from four feet away. I tongue the roof of my mouth, their presence in the opened red box torturing my American palate. I am twenty, I am in Beijing, I am hungry, and I am deathly allergic to nuts and seeds.

The Qing Dynasty is credited with the creation of Laopobing cookies, and, according to Li Zhou, they have been popular ever since. She handed the red flowered box to me, beaming, unaware of my allergies, as a gift to greet me to her city. Carefully, I unwrapped the poisonous delicacies, dramatically widening my eyes and celebrating to ensure that my happiness broke through the language barrier. The soft skin around Zhou’s eyes crinkled as she smiled through her facemask. “Please, try one!” She motioned towards the box.

Nervously, I patted my stomach. Insulting the woman who dropped by to surprise me and had previously showed me around the city topped the list of “things I wouldn’t do even if threatened with a cheese-grater to the eyes.” As my hand glided over my abdomen, I tried “Full? Just ate? Had dinner?” Okay, so maybe it was four in the afternoon, but hopefully she would get the idea.

“You want try one? Delicious!” She pointed, obviously put off that I didn’t jump to taste her gift. In a pointless attempt, I offered “allergy?” forgetting the Chinese-English dictionary sitting under my desk. After staring at me blankly, Zhou pulled off her facemask and picked up a cookie. “See?” She said, holding a thick cookie cake covered in tiny white seeds to my face, “Special. You try.”

In the box, there are eight different stacks of cookies, separated in rows of four, each with five cookies (yeah, it’s a decently sized box). In the middle, there are four kinds of cookies with sesame seeds and almonds, and in the corners there are plain butter cookies. Or so they seam.

I motioned for Zhou to eat the one in her hand and went for a cookie in the corner. In all attempts at subtlety, I tried to brush the sesame seeds off the golden brown cookie, its shortbread consistency tempting at my taste buds. As Zhou looked me in the eyes and took a significant bite out of her pastry, she smiled to hint at the juicy inner syrup exploding in her mouth. I put the little cake up to my lips. I took a bite.

Instead of my esophagus messily splattering itself against the wall, I was taken home. Home, of course, being Atlanta, Washington DC, and New Hampshire, where my family and friends and familiarity all reside. The Chinese do not eat many sweets or pastries, but at home, dear God, I do. In its buttery sweetness, the cookie drove me to miss home for the first time since I’ve been here.

“Fantastic,” I finally sputtered, taken aback by my sudden vacation to the States. Zhou brushed her hands against her pants as she smiled, careful not to bare her teeth. She had done well.

I sit, staring, typing, hoping the box, the cookies, the urge for home will stop calling to me.

18: Club Propaganda

In China, there is no minimum age for drinking or smoking (or anything else as porn and voting are extremely limited), so last night was the night I took advantage. I went with a group of people to a local club called “Propaganda” (ironic, I know) as most of us don’t have class until late on Thursdays.

The Setting: Ladies’ night. The girls paid ¥30 ($4.41) and the guys ¥60 ($8.82).  Propaganda is divided into three levels. The uppermost was a lounge area with a pool table, the middle a bar, and the basement a dance floor, which is where the nine of us spent most of our time. They tended to play mixed American and European dance music (the DJ was pretty good), and they love Lady Gaga; we probably listened to all of The Fame during our four-hour stay. Like most dance clubs, the lights were out, strobes were on, and the heat was up. Oh, and it was open bar.

The People: If you’ve heard the expression “white guys can’t dance,” you ain’t seen nothin’ yet. Chinese guys sporting jeans and blazers awkwardly sway side to side with their hands above their heads, hoping to attract the ladies (Chinese women, on the other hand, tended to dance pretty well). The barkeeps buzzed all night long. People pulled at their shirts to get their drinks in, ignoring all formalities of a queue. There was no organization to this chaos.

The Experience: Most people in my program are 20, ie still unable to drink in the States. Though I too am 20, I didn’t have the strong desire to get shit-faced within the first half-hour of drinking. Nevertheless, three shots of tequila, two martinis, and three beers later, I was pretty drunk. I danced with everyone—Chinese and American—and had a fantastic time. There were a few times when I had to ask my American friends to assist pulling me away from Chinese men, but I’ve had to do that regardless of what country I’m in. The nice thing about Chinese guys is that they are more respectful than American men. They won’t grope you or try to make a move without fairly blatant permission, which makes them excellent people to dance with (minus their inability to, you know, dance).

No Mom, I don’t have a hangover. Yes Mom, I’m safe. No Mom, I didn’t go home with anyone but the group I left with. Yes Mom, I’ll probably do it again.

17: School Has Begun

“This would NEVER happen in America!” Anna stormed through three more aisles, dragging her new comforter, pillow, and laundry basket behind her. Zack and I followed, hoping to navigate the Caraway (a four-story tall Walmart equivalent where everyday is Black Friday) to find a check out line. After wandering around the store for a half hour trying to pay, we had been rejected from two registers and sent upstairs. There, four lines had formed, each at least 40 minutes long. Anna dropped her things. “Fuck,” she said, “I need a beer.”

School has finally started, and in the past three days, I’ve had six hours of Chinese class. Surprisingly, I am picking up on it really easily, especially vocabulary. The teacher, Liao Li Xiaona, even asked if I had taken Chinese previously. I guess I just have fantastic Chinese friends at home who rub off on me!

More than anything, I am struggling with pronunciation. Most of the time, it feels like there is a big sock in my mouth impairing my ability to speak Chinese. I intentionally speak slower than other students in my class, but that has proven to be an effective technique to learn the words faster. Tones are another issue. They are easy enough to remember with pinyin (Chinese sounded out into western characters; ie gǒu (dog) instead of 狗), but when I start constructing sentences it’s easy to forget them. Locals can’t understand me yet, but I’m well on my way to making sense .

The adjustment gets better and better every day as I meet new people. Having a small Chinese class seriously helps, because forcing nine people into a room for three hours at a time forces you to befriend everyone. I also have started meeting locals, which has resulted in the opportunity to expand my knowledge of the cool spots to hang outside of Beida.

A week from today, I start my internship. I have to apologize, because I told my readers the wrong name. It’s called Time Out. Apparently, and this is just hearsay, they send interns out to “fact check” their articles. In other words, they give interns tickets to events, pay for visits to bars, and take them out to coffee shops to review the local areas. I am not going to want to come home if this is the case!

Speaking of wanting to come home, I am wishing that I was raised in China right about now. Everyone is so nice and the food is so good; the only things that I would change are safety and environmental conditions. Pretty much, all my friends and family need to move here to experience what I’m going through right now.

16: The Silk Market

I slept eight hours last night, 21:30-5:30!! It is the first time I’ve gotten a full night’s sleep since the beginning of the trip; this makes for a very happy Burger.

Yesterday, my tour group of about ten geared up with a PKU student, Ben, and two exchange students who had been here over the fall, Zac and Mac, to explore the subway system and go out to the world famous Silk Market.

While getting on the subway, a man approached me and asked something in Chinese. Ben sheepishly translated, “He wants to take a picture of Zac and you.” Zac is 6’3 with platinum blonde hair; I am 5’1” with red hair. The man squeezed himself into the middle of the two bizarre Westerners and, with a flamboyant “CHEESU!”, Ben snapped the picture. The man, though I never learned his name, tagged along for the majority of the subway ride, flaunting his digital camera and awing at the Beida students. I’m excited to learn Chinese so I can speak with the locals!!

The Silk Market is famous for its knock-offs and haggling. Westerners shop at the Market hoping to find goods at cheap prices. Unsurprisingly, the shopkeepers prey on the tourists, hiking their unmarked prices up an acceptable bid in the West. They thus target the culture shocked and easily persuaded sightsee-ers, and 20-somethings are perfect.

I was with Michelle, Andrew, and Kim. Michelle attends Columbia and speaks Cantonese fluently. Andrew is ethnically Han Chinese, but he was raised in the States; his speaking ability is limited, despite a few semesters of training at Boston College. Kim (one of my roommates), with her long blonde hair and blue eyes, and I, with my short red hair and green eyes, became targeted.

Everywhere we went, Andrew and Michelle were left unscathed as people grabbed out for Kim and me. “Hey pretty girl,” shopkeepers yelled in their best English, “you like scarf? You like Burberry?” “You want Versace T-shirt?” “You see underwear now?” Offended when we walked by without acknowledgement, Kim and I said “duibuchi (sorry)” and “buyao (I don’t want it)” over and over again.

I came to the market with the intention of buying some gloves. My hands are small, almost children’s sized, so it is difficult to find a pair that fits me in the US. After trying on several, I picked out some black leather gloves with a wooly inside. VERSACE reads across the outside, though the chances of my Silk Market purchase being authentic are less than zero. The strategy for purchase was thus: I picked out the gloves, left the stand, got my Chinese-looking friends, and then haggled.

When I told the shopkeeper, a woman about four years older, 3” taller, and far shrewder than me, let out a horrified whine when I told her I was going to get my friends. She said, “No! You talk with me! Here, I give you good price!” She whipped out her calculator and wrote, ¥400, which converts to $58.80. I scoffed and walked away, intent on getting Michelle and Andrew.

With their help, we were able to talk it down to ¥85 ($12.50), but we could have probably gotten lower had Ben been with us.

As I found out during lunch, another student had not been so lucky. The BC boy, whose name I can’t recall at the moment, set his sights on a gong, and fell in love. Egged on to haggle and buy it, the American college student approached the retailer, who started the price at ¥850 ($125). In response, the boy started his bid at ¥350. He haggled it all the way down to his initial bid, and took the gong successfully.

Later, as he boasted his haggling skills, Andrew took out his phone and informed the buyer that he had spent $51.47. Realizing the rate of exchange, the college student slumped. To add further insult to injury, we asked Ben, the PKU student, what he thought the gong was worth. Shrugging, Ben guessed, “No more than ¥50 ($7.35).” The overpriced gong became the joke of the night.

I am finding that I really enjoy the company of my latest tour group. Everyone is supportive but laid back. We tease each other (How to pick up a saleslady at Silk Market? “Heyyyy nice gongs!”) and laugh about it, experiencing China not only through our own, but one another’s lens. I am really happy here.

Classes start today. Here is my schedule thus far:

Monday	Tuesday	Wednesday	Thursday	Friday
Chinese: 9:00 -12:20	Internship China in the Developing Economy: Late	Chinese: 9:00 -12:20	Internship Sino-American Relations: Late	Chinese: 8:30 -10:30

I’m a bit nervous to try and get everything done on time, but I tend to do pretty well in school so hopefully I’ll be able to manage it.

Pictures posted on Facebook! See my “Beijing is Awesome” album or try to use this link.

15: First Impressions

As some of you may know, WordPress, the hosting site for abroadburger.wordpress.com, is blocked in China. Many thanks to Aaron for copying and pasting my posts!

14: Twenty Hours to Take-Off

So this is it, my last day in the States.

A large part of me still doesn’t think that this is real. PKU has seemed like something very far-off since last February when I began to work towards attending; I’ve been working towards this goal for about a year. And I leave tomorrow. Weird.

Haircut

I’ve done some last minute preparations: haircut, ipod playlist, getting some Yuan, etc.  I’ve been going to bed around 4AM so maybe the jet lag won’t be too bad. We’ll see.

Tonight, my family is taking me out for kabobs because I know I won’t be able to get them in China. I’ll miss them so much!

As many of you have pointed out to me, there have been some developments with Google and China. Here’s the summary: Google noticed that some Chinese human rights protesters’ Gmail accounts were being hacked into. In response, Google cited that this was a violation of freedom of speech (remember this?) and have decided to lift all filters on the search engine.

This could be a huge step forward for the Chinese government, as per American ideals, but it could be troubling for me while I’m over there. If I can’t access my Gmail account, it will be difficult to have any communication with most of my friends (Facebook, Twitter, and other social networking sites are also blocked). We should watch closely to see what happens!

I will not be able to update when I get to China because I will have to pay for internet to be set up. I will be sure to update during orientation!

PS: it’s 1º in Beijing right now. I’m going to die.

13: All by Myself

Aaron left about an hour ago to go back to Atlanta. I’m all packed for Beijing; I don’t really have anything left to do.

My flight on Thursday was changed. My itinerary is as follows:

WASH/DULLES to BEIJING departing Thursday, January 14

UNITED  897

Depart: WASH/DULLES 12:23 PM Arrive: BEIJING 10:15 PM Seat(s):

STOPOVER Equip: PLANE CHANGE AT NRT MP miles: 8082

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The stopover is in Tokyo.

Time to kill some time…