Kale O.K.

8.31.2010

Figuring out how to make an American styled ‘quick’ breakfast of cereal in tea in the apartment I spent my morning in the apartment. Then I headed to Chinese class, which I decided can be pretty fun. I can make an absolute fool of myself and walk away my confidence unhurt. We are still learning pronunciations and how to count.
When class was over I headed over to have xiaolongboa at a favorite restaurant among students. Xiaolongboa are steamed pork buns with a soup like center that are a specialty in Shanghai. My friend Takako and I liked the dumplings so much we ordered seconds.
After lunch I went for an excursion into the city. My sought after destination was a district in town friendly to window shoppers (lots of shops, lots of people who don’t have too much money, like me). In trying to find the subway stop I ended up getting horribly lost. As the city’s heat pounded down on me I ducked in and out of department stores trying to soak up some air conditioning. It finally dawned upon me that I was near the Fudan campus. I trekked over familiar areas of the school and came to realize that I hadn’t actually gotten that far—I was within a mile of my apartment; I had been walking in circles. I did end up finding a shopping center at the mall close by but by the time I found the place I was too tired to enjoy my time there and I took a bus back home.
At the apartment Kevin had invited friends over to make dinner. We made pad thai and prepared to go out for a night of none other than karaoke—or kale OK as it is translated here.
Getting out of the cab in a blitz of neon color and millions of Chinese shoppers Marx took us to a huge multi storied building where we climbed only to the third floor. Getting out of the elevator it was as if we arrived in a drinking location that was crossed with a sleazy bar and a clean hotel. The walls were crowded with cheesy ads and metal finishing. After paying we were shepherded over to a small room in a maze of other carbon copy small rooms. We—the seven American students and Marx—found the living room like area to be just the right size to have a good time. All night long we sang Aerosmith anthems and pop hits to a teleprompting TV screen. At one point we were invited into another room full of drunken Chinese men. Although I missed it I heard that the American students’ rendition of Jay Z’ empire state of mind was unbeatable.
I can say that next Tuesday it is likely that we will be back singing karaoke—it was a great time. I see it as the perfect place for Chinese to let loose. The typically withheld populous only come to life in enclosed areas with close friends nearby. It’s not a bad way to spend the night at all.
Tuesdays are nice nights to go out because most of us don’t have class until 1:40pm on Wednesday which means we can take full advantage of an empty night seen. My American friends continued to another bar after our time had expire at the karaoke den but I headed for home so I could call Yuri.

Attached are some pictures of my apartment that I have always been meaning to put up. One of the photos (the one with the buildings in the background) is a picture of the view from my shower.

The Short Bus

8.29.10 and 8.30.2010

Sunday started after my morning ritual of a steamed bun from the stall down the street and cold bottled milk tea from the convenience store. In the late morning I met with my colleagues about our society and culture class. After that I left for Fudan to meet with my Chinese teacher. As a group of American students we had to endure an hour long rant designed to scare us into studying hard during our Mandarin experience and how we must take these courses seriously. For me I find this as no problem with me, I can’t wait to work hard on this stuff. Finally it was announced that I would be in no-nothing beginner class with just two other girls who also have no existing Chinese language skills. Our professors were young and sweet and after we met them one of them took us to lunch. We ate Chinese hot pot, a spicy make-it-yourself stew that was the best thing I have had in China yet. It turns out that we will not be taking classes at Fudan but rather in an office next to the apartment building. The reason behind this is because we beginners are not competent enough to communicate with our colleagues in hallway conversations—we ride the short bus to school.
I spent much of the afternoon cleaning the apartment. My goal was to have a clean house to come home to after I returned from a downtown excursion. In my head I wanted to see the Pudong business district or window shop in Jing’an but right as I had finished my chores and headed for the door my roommate Marx showed up with five friends and lots of groceries. “Do you want to make dumpling?” he asked. I couldn’t resist and I surrendered my afternoon plans to my appetite and the strangers in my apartment.
Our Chinese friends trusted Kevin and I with only dumpling forming. Two of the girls could really shape these ravioli like concoctions—they got artistic. After we had made close to 100 dumplings and half of them resembled the sorriest meat wads you have ever seen, they dumped them in the wok to boil. After the dumplings were mostly made, Marx started to cook the other dishes: egg and tomato, potatoes and peppers and sautéed river fish—we made so much food we ran out of dishes and had to ask the neighbors.
After dinner Kevin introduced the idea that we play Beirut on the laundry balcony. For me, the highlight of the night was to see our Shanghainese guests let loose and enjoy themselves in this game. Most of them got really into this American drinking game and everyone left with a smile their faces.
The next morning I had to start class. I woke up early so I could have enough time to buy breakfast and get money from the China Construction Bank (a Bank of America affiliate) down at the mall about 20 minutes walk away. I had just enough time to run a few errands and call my parents before class started. When class did start all I had to do was show up and sit in my seat because my two other colleagues were already there.
Learning Chinese has started like any other language class, in class I learned the most basic of basic phrases and then commence learning the right pronunciations. The pronunciations part was by far the most difficult, my teacher would say “A” and I would say “A” and then she would say “no Ah” and I would say “Ah” and then she would say “no no no Ahh” and so on…
On top of all that, we learned a few key phrases and how to count to ten. With only three people in class it might seem like she is picking on me but in reality I know that I will learn from some pestering.
When class was done I finished up some laundry and headed out to meet two friends for lunch. We went to a restaurant that served Taiwanese styled noodle soup and it was delicious. With a full stomach I headed to Fudan to sit in on my Chinese Economics course. The three hour class session was spent outlaying the basics of the course and microeconomics.
Class ended I retreated to my apartment for a much sought after nap. When I woke up Kevin and I went to the Wojouxin mall (the one with the China Construction Bank) on the bus. We walked around the maze of lights and glamour for some good and cheap food. We were amazed to find people waiting in line outside of restaurants like Haagen Daz and Pizza Hut begging for seats. We found a Hong Kongese place that served us roasted duck—delicous. When I got back home I did some studying and called Bhutan and Ecuador and then went to sleep.

The day of the dumpling

8.28.10

On our last day of orientation, I woke up early with my roommates and headed out to get some dumplings for breakfast. After that I got ready to go to the university to sit through the last discussions of what to expect while living in China. Not learning too many cultural intricacies I was excited for the next step of my day—a scavenger through the French Concessions.
I was put in a group of four and after getting out assignment we immediately headed out to lunch. We had Thai that had some very questionable ingredients. Collecting our things at our apartment was the last stop on the way to the metro. Getting to the nearest metro stop takes about 20 minutes (most of that time is spent crossing streets and hoping not to get hit by a speeding taxi). The metro stop is in the closest downtown shopping center; it is sleek, modern and clean. Upstairs there are fountains and green grass greeting urban travelers. Downstairs the tiled walls are Expo green and blue and there are LCD TVs with artistic images being shined across. It gets better when I got on the train: I have never seen a cleaner more modern subway system in the entire world. Everything moves efficiently and the trip is very comfortable. Perhaps the best part of the Shanghaiese public transit system is that you can you use the same metro card on anything that moves and requires money (like the bus, the train, the ferry, even taxis).
After a beautiful trip downtown we ended up in the French Concessions, a district of town that has some major European influences (duh). The avenues of this district are lined with trees and the architecture of the three story buildings is a combination of classical China and some Parisian spruce. As a group we roamed around the area looking to cross things off the list of picture taking opportunities. Along the way we found a living-history-farmesk museum that documents the way the interiors of the French Concessions looked back in the day. We also found a large and well manicure public park where old people sat at cafes drank tea and played checkers. Before we got on the metro to head back, we came across a corner shop that specializes in making buns. I tried a croissant with “radish” and cabbage innards and had to go back for seconds and eat a stewed vegetable steamed bun—it was divine.
Even for a Saturday afternoon the metro was packed when we headed up north. Lots of shoppers and travelers returning home filled up the subway line that was only completed in July. After getting off at the shopping center my group and I decided to take the bus back. Although this system works as well it is hectic as giant busses zoom into catawampus parking spots at the bus stop. Once they arrive the twenty Chinese women who want to get on all run after the parking bus and fight to get on first. It was crowded and the driving was crazy but I got a seat.
At home I was exhausted. Interacting with the millions of people on city streets is intoxicating and overwhelming and sucks a surprising amount of energy from the system. My roommate Marx made dumplings and leftovers stewed with noodles for diner. After that I collapsed.

Shanghai Nights

8.27.2010

Jetlag seemingly gone I got out of bed at around 7 on a mission to find some breakfast. Most Chinese people seem to grab a dumpling on the go along with some hot soy milk. I walked down the street aways until I find a woman in a stall selling buns out of a wicker steamer. I pointed to which ones I wanted and I ended up with one bean paste and one boiled vegetable—the vegetable was to die for.
After breakfast I headed over to the university with my colleagues. We had our first day of orientation in a class room that was lead by the program’s director. We learned about things to watch out for while living in China and that our program’s trip will travel to Qinghai lake, a place in central China that is said to be more Tibetan that Tibet—sounds good to me.
Once orientation was over Kevin and I went out to eat with our Chinese roommate Marx. We ate dumplings and cold bean soup. Then we headed to the mall so that Kevin could buy a phone. I found that electronics are somewhat more expensive here than in the States. Most of what you could buy here in China can be found much easier in the US except for Chinese replica phones (you can buy the same phone design of any major maker but from a Chinese company) and there was a huge selection of Sharpe phones, my favorite was the solar powered cell phone.
Our next stop was none other than Wal Mart. We needed to get things for out apartment and as Americans we can think of no better place than Wal Mart. The three story megastore is situated inside a huge mall—where one can eat anything they want and shop at any major clothing store in the world in the same place. Even though the idea of Wal Mart is more American than anything else on the planet, most of the products are distinctly Chinese. With that said, we had no problems finding the dishes, the wok, the cleaning products, the iron and the other stuff we needed for about $40. Too many people swarmed the tight aisles and after I climbed to the 11th floor of my building where my apartment lies with my arms full of newly purchased junk, I had to take a rest.
After the break Kevin and I headed out to eat. We patrolled the restaurants close by for a little bit until coming across a small place decorated with bamboo that had plenty of people inside. After we had ordered I noticed the traditional clothing on the wall and realized that we were eating at a Mongolian eatery. We had shredded beef with chili and rice—it was delicious.
We had to eat fast because we were meeting the group to go to a performance of Chinese acrobats. After taking 40 minutes to get there we arrived at the American Center in Shanghai, where they had several American establishments circled around a Ritz Carlton. After the fleets of tour buses and cruise ship limos excreted their stock of white shoed tourist into the theater it was time for all the American students to take their spots in rows one and two.
Initially I thought my seating position would disable me from seeing the show in the entirety of its awesomeness but luckily I was wrong. Being right up front I could see acrobats fly over my head, I could see that the card tricks were truly flawless and I could see the beautiful color of all the performers. Although this wasn’t the quality of traveling Chinese circus—like Cirque d’Soulay—I did enjoy the amazing performance.
As the acrobatic affair came to a close and tour busses evacuated the American enclave, feelings of Friday night mayhem began to take over the imaginations of my fellow American students. It being only 10, we knew we would have to wait around a while to go out. At around 12am I got in a cab with Kevin and another student Alex and we headed to a night club called shelter. It took the cabbie forever to find the place that was tightly tucked into the French Concessions but upon arrival we realized that it was very hard to locate. Shelter, after all, is a club in the sight of a former bomb shelter in the basement of a residential block. The cover was expensive—as was the beer—and there was not a whole lot of dancing going on in a place mostly populated by American expats and foreign students. I showed up late and left early. Shanghai nights I know will be fun but I have to find the right hang out first.

Not to forget I’m in Asia

8.26.2010

I woke up early again due to the never ending jetlag. I arose quickly and headed out onto the city streets. I walked to the west in my neighborhood to see what lies around here. Along the sidewalks were countless eateries, cafes, convenience stores and clothing outlets. Still the number of construction sights baffles me. I cannot remember how many large buildings surrounded by bamboo scaffolding I found. I ended up finding a Wal-Mart and shopping mall within a 15 minute walk from my house, close by the Oracle office in Shanghai. I walked around the shopping district for a while and found a sports stadium which at 6 in the morning was populated with old people exercising in traditional and modern methods.
Returning back to my apartment I got a little lost. Even at 6 AM I sweat profusely from the oppressive humidity and heat. I stopped to get some refreshment at a Japanese convenience store—Lawson—and enjoy sweetened icy cold milk tea. After passing a traditional housing district where I crossed a street and found a vendor selling hopping frogs and slithering snakes I finally found my way back to the International Village.
After eating breakfast with my colleagues we headed as a group over to Fudan University. I have discovered that Fudan is the Stanford of China—in the country’s top three universities. I was supposed to take a Mandarin placement examine but because I know absolutely nothing I was let go with three other students and given the morning off. My three colleagues (people I will be in the same class with) and I prowled around the beautiful Fudan University that is strikingly similar to major research universities in the US, like Berkley.
At lunch I got to know some more of my colleagues. They all have tremendously different backgrounds in speaking Chinese. Some learned to speak a few words in high school or college, others learned from their family lives (many in the program are Asian Americans) and still others have spent time at other language programs here in China or Taiwan. I ate chicken feet and boiled vegetables which turned off my appetite for the afternoon.
Later the whole group packed into a Chinese made bus to go around to see some Shanghainese sights. The tour was described as a conventional tourist adventure where we breeze through the places that we will inevitably return to. The bus was cool and outside of the sun’s glare is harsh. As the guide could only faintly be heard over the PA system I checked out the people on the sidewalk and the shops and restaurants they walked into. Many of my colleagues converse amongst themselves but I am in my own world digesting what Shanghai looks like. I can still find very few differences between a major US city and this Chinese megalopolis. Everything is clean, roads are functional, stores are making money and people are well kept and beautiful in appearance. We spend three hours on the bus and retreat to the Village in intense rush hour traffic.
At night Kevin and I played Beirut in our apartment’s sun room. In the distance we see buildings that with their light schemes remind us that we are in Asia—neon and electronic lights beautify the night’s sky. In the distance we see the thunderstorm remnants of a regional monsoon. Ocassionally the bursts of light explode over head and shake the building. We watch CCTV until our eyelid cannot take anymore and I crawl into my bed.

Radicoolous

8.25.10

This morning after bolting out of a jetlagged coma, I knocked on Kevin’s door to see if he was awake. He was and I asked him if he wanted to go see the Bund—the materialistic center of center Shanghai. We found a cab right away which took us over rooftop freeways to a spot on Nanjing Road. This place is like the Time Square meets Union Square of Shanghai. There were so many high end shops and huge billboards selling everything imaginable. The buildings were all built in a colonial style. And even at 5:45am in the morning there were still Chinese tourist crawling around.
We walked to the end of the Nanjing road and found the trademark Chinese colonial buildings consistent with the image of the Bund. We climbed up the stairs and saw the Huangpu River. On the walkway there were hundreds of people exercising and flying kites. There were old folks practicing traditional Chinese exercise methods, people would walk backwards and clap or rhythmically slap their heads. The sun was just coming up and I got some awesome shots of Pudong—the business center.
Kevin and I were hungry and we followed our stomachs away from the river and into the old town. We saw a few street stalls selling doughnuts and omelets with soy milk but Kevin was persistent in finding a sit down eatery. We kept walking and found the Yuyuan Gardens and Bazaar which with its oriental architecture looks like something right out of Tintin and the Blue Lotus. Wandering around the place seemed like a bit of tourist trap but we did find the oldest tea house in the city. It was situated in a carp pond in the middle of the bazaar. It was nice because there were very few tourists here at 6:30 in the morning.
Exploring a little more we found a vegetarian restaurant but when we walked in EVERYONE (the place was full) stared at us. I guess we were a little out of place. We skipped out on that place and ended up finding a place that serves steamed buns. At this eatery we had to wait around for ever for the place to open but when they did it was completely worth it. The scaldingly hot buns were filled with a sausage like meat and they were dipped in vinegar and soup broth. They were delicious and we both ate about 20 of them!
Completely stuffed we rolled into a cab. Once again we went on another rooftop freeway, this time we could see more of the city. The buildings were amazing, the architecture exquisite. I feel the way this city looks is only something that pictures (the ones I haven’t really taken yet) can describe. Upon returning to the apartment I crashed into jet-lagged lethargy and fell into a deep sleep for the next three hours.
When I woke I could hear someone in the apartment. To my surprise my Chinese roommate, Song Ning or Marx (his English name) was moving in. He seems like a good guy but until I learn some Chinese there will definitely be a language gap. After he started his laundry him and the friends that he was with took me out to lunch. We ate so much at lunch, about five plates of cooked vegetables, pork, duck, lamb and soup. It was delicious and great to have met some Chinese people.
In the afternoon I stayed in. There was a big thunder storm outside and I watched the rain approach from the West and shower the city. Periodically lightning bolts would strike towers or cranes in the far off distance.
At one point the repairman came to fix the air conditioner and the water cooler. When Kevin was finally able to tell him that our water cooler on spews out warm water I had realized that the function of this water machine was actually to keep water warm—Chinese people don’t enjoy drinking cold beverages.
Later in the evening other people from my program arrived from the States. We ate dinner together in a restaurant close by and carried on some small talk. I retired to my room pretty early.
So far I can say, the language gap is a funny thing. Because I can’t read what anything says I feel like I am a toddler again. Knowing no spoken Chinese makes me feel completely useless and more or less like a tourist.
Another observation I have had was so many American businesses in China have had such poor luck in the States but are prominent here in Asia. These include Ramada hotels, Dairy Queen and the most interesting to me—Buick. It seems that sales of Buick in China alone could save GM’s stock prices.

This is the Place.

8.24.10

I am officially in the Peoples Republic of China. It’s a large place, at least its Shanghai’s Pudong airport is a large place. I wheel my over-flowing cart aimlessly for a few minutes until I realize I should call my parents. Dad’s fine and I tell him I’m fine too. I then point my cart in the direction of Continental Airlines’s arrival terminal. I walk about a mile through the endless airport. I see the futuristic Maglev train and the entrance to the subway system and then come across the arrival hall which is invaded with people, more people than Pudong airport has space for--that’s a lot of people.
The people interest me the most inside my first hour in China. I see young couples, small families and foreign businessmen. It is as though there is a communication barrier with everyone, many don’t speak Chinese, so might speak Chinese but they speak a different dialect. All I know is that I felt there is a feeling of connection amongst all travelers that there is great difficulty in speaking to one another.
Sitting around in the arrival terminal I realize that I am seeing a new world, a place different from anything I have every known and yet I have to feeling that I want to be on the inside of this society. I do not want to be looking into the China and examine it from the perspective of a visitor, I want to relearn everything I know from a culturally organic way. I feel more than ever that I want to and have to learn the Chinese language.
I wait around for two hours and do laps so not to fall asleep. Finally they announce that the Newark flight has arrived and I move to the metallic gate that greeters hang over to wave at passengers. I wait for some 40 minutes, fearful that my accomplice didn’t make it through customs or already left the airport. Then finally Kevin rolls his two bags into China. I meet him outside the gated area and we head for the cab.
Outside its hot and the endless expanse of the concrete sidewalk is blinding. We only have to wait in the taxi line for a few minutes when we load our bulky luggage into the taxi driven by only the second female taxi driver I have ever seen.
The ride into the city is long and feelings of excitement build up inside of me, the journey is suspenseful in a way. The highway into the city is much like any other road from an airport to a major city. Pitched high above rooftops, the way bolts through small settlements and industrial areas. The one thing that is quite peculiar is that everything is so clean and new. That and everyone one on the road is deadly driver.
Then in the few hours that I spent in the country a hypothesis dawns on me: China in its rush to modernity is similar to the United States, in fact its cosmetic likeness is a mirror image—an inside out world of development. It is as if I walked into a backwards world where some things have changed—like food, smells and the way people look—but some things have stayed completely the same—modernization, the industrial mindset, well build buildings, capable people. In general I was not exceedingly culture-shocked, this place seems, not what I expected, but normal in a funny way. Even though I expected to see so much growth and building I am still blown back that when I look out of my window I cannot count how many cranes span into the horizon, or how many smoke stacks spew smoke into the distance. Everwhere I look someone is building something, mostly with manual labor. As Stephanie, Dad’s friend, said before I left Shanghai “reminds [her] of New York in the ‘80s,” I feel that cannot be more true. There is this spirit of development that is so American yet so Chinese at the same time.
After waiting in dead stopped traffic for about 50 minutes we get to our apartment building. Kevin and I meet a Chinese language professor who takes us to our apartment. I had thought that we were only going to live in a dorm with three connected single rooms but I was pleasantly surprised that Kevin, a Chinese roommate and I were going to live in a furnished apartment! The apartment own any living situation I have ever had: our place was equipped with brand new Ikeaesk furniture, a nice living room, a kitchen, a washer and an awesome view of Fudan University and the surrounding area. I was stoked beyond belief when arriving.
Kevin and I unpacked our stuff for a while and then headed out to buy some essentials and get some food. The streets were hot and sticky and we walked in and out of corner shops and grocery stores looking for soap and towels. Along our way we found that men really do wear their pajamas around town when they run their errands. We decided to eat at a Szechuan resturaunt located bellow the apartment complex. It was mouth numbingly spicy but delicious all the same. Both dishes included beef and copious amounts of chili. It was a good meal to start off the trip with.
Exhausted I retreat to my room, make a skype call and collapse into my bed. I am happy to be in Shanghai, to say the very least. In my mind this is the center of the world. I know this because although I am missing certain people, I know that this is where I want to be, without question. To me, this is the place.

This is Happening

8.22.10 and 8.24.10 (I lost a day)

Out of the shower and that tingly feeling really reaches into my spine. This is it, this is happening, I am going to fly across the world to a place I have never been to and live; I am going to learn to speak a language I no but two words; I am going to learn customs I have never thought of before; essentially I am going to relearn everything I have ever been taught in an academic year of nine months.
I feel the way one does when you are about to jump into a lake in the High Sierra in the early morning. After you lunge for the water, your toe having left its rocky footing you begin to think about what the water will feel like: will it be cold and burn your skin with shock or will it be warm and comfort your sleepy body. Your mind stops for a few moments as you ponder this. This mid air feeling is what accompanies my mind as I get out of the shower and gel my hair. I’m still like this as I throw on my t-shirt and slip in my shoes. I have felt like this all day now, and I have felt like this for the last week, but now this jumping sensation is at its peak.
I begin to repack my bag and make sure I didn’t forget anything. My mind is racing with adrenaline as I blast Tiger Army on my ipod. The jumping sensation has intensified to the point where I feel like I’m in the 101st airborne, about to parachute out of a perfectly good airplane into the war zone below. This is it, this is happening I tell myself.
Packing done, I am ready to go on my way. Nathan arrives and after the inevitable pre-departure pictures I load my stuff into Nathan’s car and we head to Santa Rosa to buy some last minute details. Nathan is not as enthralled about the trip to the big city as I am. He is bearded and looks like he has been asleep for the past week. We listen to noise rock on a quiet leave as I nervously ponder if I forgot anything at home.
On the way out of town, I see Rusty. I figure it a good omen to randomly see my mentor on my wait before I blast off. He gives me a hug, wishes me luck, and urges me to study the respatory patterns of the monolithic top-down political system that I am about to see. He tells me he will come and visit me in March and I bid him good-bye.
In Santa Rosa I score the deal of the century and get a down parka for $100 dollars off, then we stop at the pharmacy for the meds I forgot to get. There I meet mom and dad—who are in a different car—and we head in tandem to the Petaluma In-n-out. I have my last American meal, a 3x3 gut-buster with fries and shake. My dad cracks bad jokes about how I should eat lightly while traveling long distances.
Traffic to San Francisco is terrible. In the City grid lock get even worse when the oncoming lane is completely halted on 19th avenue for no apparent reason. Half of San Francisco is broken. Along the way, Nathan and I harass drivers like the one guy who looked like a blond headed Stephan Segall.
Two hours later we get to the airport hotel that Mom, Dad and Nathan call home for the night. The staff, fishing for tips, asks if they could help me with 50 pounds or so of luggage. No, I say, I got this, buzz off. I dropped my stuff in the room and looked out the window for a few minutes—the deceleration of boredom strikes in. Nathan asks if I want to go explore around. “Of course, we’re off to go cause mischief Mom and Dad.” We walked the bay trail for bit and found the meth-head enclave of carp fisherman at the edge of the water park where kite and wind surfers flew from the ocean’s surface. That was the only interesting thing we found, that and the rusty specimen of an antique ship that once served as a fine dining establishment, now it serves as the home to many a pooping seagull.
We head to the executive bar and order two rounds of Anchor Steam and watch baseball and planes land. Then Nathan and I went to find my parents who took us out to a bayside bar where we ordered more anchor steam. After leaving the bar Dad points out a plane, it was the China Airlines 747—the plane that would take me to China. We had dinner at the hotel’s restaurant and I had a digestive friendly club sandwich.
After showering and organizing my stuff one last time, it was time to go to the airport.
At the airport all the adrenalin brought to me by the Tiger Army psychobily anthems earlier in the day are lost to the never ending waiting game. I first wait in line to drop off my bag and get a boarding pass, then I wait with my parents and Nathan at the pre-departure café. After about an hour of killing time, I bid an abrupt far well to Mom, Dad and Nathan and then I head through the security line. Out of the metal detector I put on my shoes and restash my laptop in my rucksack with an Ecuadorian flag on it. I wave to my parents one last time and inhale a beautiful breath of liberation; at that moment something in my brain goes off and I feel as free as one can feel, I am flying.
My backpack imploding my shoulders, I seek refuge at the waiting area for my gate. The room is packed with all kinds of people from all over Asia. It seemed like most of my flight was filled with people heading home to Laos, Vietnam, India, China and of course Taiwan. I read the economist as my eyelids become heavy and fall down my face. An hour of waiting doesn’t pay off, they make the announcement that the flight is delayed due to a fuel problem. That’s fine I thought, waiting is much preferred to running out of gas in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.
I move locations after prowling around to do some plane watching. I end up in a quieter area down stairs and I wait there and fall asleep for some 30 minutes until the announcement that boarding has commenced. One of the China Airlines staff holds a cute sign that shows what rows are boarding. I board in the plane last group. I find my seat to the left of the wide body in the front of Economy by the window. The seat that they always give to the tallest man on the plane or a family with a baby. I sardine myself in with a middle aged Taiwanese couple. Drowsy I doze off during taxiing.
Heavy with freight, fuel and people the China Airlines jumbo jet just barely clears the sleepy rooftops of South San Francisco. It gains momentum and begins to cross the Pacific. I fall into a deep sleep but am awaken by a beautiful flight attendant tossing me a tray of slimy chicken with mashed potatoes and gravy. I suck down as much grease as I can handle and then fall into a peaceful sleeping state that lasts nine hours.
When I wake up the morning glow is persistent out my window. I eat Chinese rice porridge and drink delicious tea as we fly over Okinawa. Taiwan nears and the jet controls itself as it falls out of the sky. The island is below us but I am on the wrong side of the aircraft and I can’t see the volcanic mountain range. Constantly following the morning beauty of the Pacific Ocean time will now behave itself and at 6:50 am we land at the yawning airport.
Getting off the airplane in a mummified state I find the airport very clean but not too busy for the international hub for an East Asian megacity. I go through security again and they searched my entire bag for a Swiss army knife I assured them I did not pack. To my surprise the guards find one, which means that I have traveled all over the US this summer and no one noticed a knife in my bag.
Now in the departure terminal I walk around for a while and write and email at the free internet station. People here are well dressed and sophisticated and the luxurious duty-free shopping compliments their elegance. I refuse to enter any of these well kept establishments, afraid that my turtle house of a rucksack will knock over entire shelves of expensive scotch and Rolexes.
My flight and its gate are finally announced on the overhead board. I find a spot next to the window and take turns looking at airplanes and the crowd before me. Mostly business types, some tourists and a few families. They do announcements in English but I am one of three or foreigners whose skin tone shows they are of European decent.
I get on the plane and situate myself by the window over the wing. I listen to my ipod and eat the brunch the beautiful China Airlines attendants bring me. Then China’s jagged coast pops into view. The Jumbo jet breaks in over land and I can see small villages surrounded by farm land and mountains. There is evidence of road construction. It looks like the planners did not take into account those people in the way; dirt and asfault stretches over farms and villages. We descend and the urban landscape comes into view. Building developments sprout up with socialist precision. Carbon copy buildings flower the river valley. We fall into a flight pattern and bellow us in the widest river I have ever seen are hundreds of boats all serving different purposes—dredgers, freighters, junks and tankers. We fly over the metal plated river levy and the planes wheels grumble as we strike Chinese soil.
We taxi for about twenty minutes. The jumbo jet tours the many dirty Chinese airliners as a Globe Trekkers segment on Shanghai plays on the overhead screen. The airport is an immense iron and glass monstrosity, new in design, classic in feeling. The captain announces that outside it is a humid 91 degrees F.
After I depart the plane I walk forever in a horde of Chinese people to the passport check. Nervous thoughts race through my head: what if there is a problem with my visa? What if I didn’t do my paper work correctly? I stop to organize my paper before I step into line with the 12 other foreigners.
I approach the counter, “Ni Hao.” I was hoping the immigration guard spoke English. “What are you plans here in China?” The Chinese migra asks. “I’m going to study here” “Why have you been so many times to Ecuador” “I have family there.” That’s not exactly true but he wouldn’t know that. “For how long will you stay in China?” “Until December.” “At which University will you study?” “Fudan.” The man in the box opposite me raises his eyebrows at this and the guard looks up with pleased eyes. “Have a pleasant stay, xie xie.”
The airport is clean and really, really big. I collect my bag with plenty of time to spare.
I exit down the walkway exit of customs to hundreds of meeters and greeters. This is it, this is happening.