Taking Flight

Sand dunes make great places
to test out your wings... how far
can you go before hitting the
ground? Thar desert, Rajasthan,
India, January 2005.

Red Jade

Yangzhou, China, February 2009.

Fish Tales

A few of my favorite fish from the Bird and Flower
Market in Yangzhou, China, February 2009.

Bull in a China Shop

The proprietor of this little china shop let me
wander through at will taking photos of anything
I wanted to (and there was a lot that I wanted to!),
including himself, reflected in the mirrors lining
the walls. Yangzhou, China, February 2009.

Pick-Up Sticks!

Edible stuff on sticks, soaking in oil...
spicy on the left, bland on the right.
Chengdu, China, February 2009.

Yangzhou Bird and Flower Market

One of my favorite things to do in any city in
China is visit the local Bird and Flower market.
Invariably in cool little parks, these markets
typically sell all kinds of animals, not just birds,
in addition to flowers so beautiful they'd be the
envy of any florist the world over. The Yangzhou
Bird and Flower market is not very big, but it
is full of all of the charm and wonder of markets
throughout the country. Such a challenge not to
take EVERYTHING home!! February 2009.


How many rodents can one person get in one
picture?

'Hui Chiezi'! (The Chinese equivalent of 'Say
Cheese!'...roughly translated as 'speak eggplant').

Is it my imagination, or does kitty
look like maybe he's been sampling
some of the local fare???

Yangzhou Bird and Flower Market

We are neither birds nor flowers!!

Aah, memories of many childhood budgies...

Mmm, I wish, I wish!

'Henry, I had something a little bigger in mind
when I said let's move to the city!'

Grecian-Style Gyeongju

So I hadn't developed the film
in my camera for a while and
when I finally got around to it
this is what was waiting for me:
holy cow, is that a real picture??
Yes...from the park around the
ancient king's tombs in Gyeongju!
In fact, those aren't a pair of hills
behind the tree, they are a pair of
tombs - for a ruler and his beloved
wife, sweetly reflected in the pond
at their base. Gyeongju, Korea,
November 2008.

Rain at West Lake

Hangzhou, China, February 22, 2009.

Peaks and Valleys

Jinhae, from the top of Duck Ju Bong.

Changwon, my very favorite city in Korea! (I live
waaaaaaay over there at the base of the furthest
big mountains...)

Looking past Jinhae to Goje Island.
Korea, March 18, 2009

Beware of ...

...snowmen wearing hats and phantom
umbrellas? Slaloming taxi drivers (a
common local phenomenon)?
Changwon, Korea, March 18, 2009.

A friendly game of cards?

People often gather in public parks to play
mahjong or cards. This group was typical
in Chengdu, China, March 5, 2009.

Two Magnolias

Chengdu, China, March 5, 2009.

Feathered Friend

Chengdu, China, March 5, 2009.

The WWF of Massages, Revisited

My skin doesn't fit anymore. I stretch out my fingers and their wrinkly tips creak and complain. My palms look like saran wrap that's been pulled too tight. I am the kind of winter-white that makes people think I'm fighting a nasty bug. And I feel glorious!

The scrubby massage woman at the bathhouse near my apartment is thin and pretty. She has long hair that she wears tied in a neat ponytail, and a cheerful face. Bucking the trend, her lacy underwear is pale blue instead of the uniform black of all other scrubby massage women in Korea. But don't let the soft exterior fool you. Other scrubby massage women chat while they work. She does not. She is too busy working up a full sweat to spare energy for something so mundane. When you lay down on her table, she means business. And her business is removing every trace of impure skin from your body. This is a woman that would make Hannibal Lecter proud.

I have had lots of scrubby massages in my six years in Korea. Done by lots of different scrubby massage women. Most of them are interchangeable, uniformly good. Once in a long while, one stands out. The time in Seoul that two women simultaneously scrubbed was pretty exceptional. And the very first time I ever had one, with the woman who looked like a sumo wrestler, that was exceptional too. But of all the scrubby massages I've had, with all of the innumerable massage women, tonight's was the best of all.

First, the head massage (totally a first) and face mask. Usually this is a quick towelling off, and the application of a thick layer of shredded cucumber. It feels nice but the juice inevitable drips into my ears. But here, no cucumber in sight. She starts by massaging some kind of soap in, very, very thoroughly, and removing it with a hot towel that she wields like a traction machine. I can feel all the muscles lifting into higher, happier positions as she pulls on the folded edges in rapid succession. After the soap, a similar procedure with something aromatic and oily. And then the thick stuff. Applied with a soft paintbrush. Smelling of sugar and Chinese medicine. On top of which she puts a layer of gauze. And another layer of goo. There's a momentary panicky feeling at being so wrapped up, but it fades quickly into a kind of sweet, warm haze. I don't know what this stuff is, but it feels GOOD.

Then to the rest of the body. There's no hiding things from your scrubby massage woman. While all of my other friends and acquaintances in Changwon have been telling me how newly thin I look after my vacation (in which I put on 5 kg in only 5 weeks, man I LOVE Chinese food!), this woman tisks about each new roll she has to negotiate. Every extra bit of skin is more work for her, and she knows there is more than there used to be. Her hands in their abrasive mittens are like weapons. When she scrubs my backside, the waves nearly make me seasick. I think she uses the side-by-side, up-down technique on purpose just to make a point - 'you jiggle'.

Back, side, side, front, side, side, back. Feet, ankles, calves, thighs, hips, thighs, thighs, thighs (okay, I get the point!), calves, ankles, feet. Rotate. Repeat. She spends less time on my chest than usual, probably remembering the time that she scrubbed so hard she accidentally made me bleed (just a little). But infinitely more time on my mid-section. When there is as much balled skin rolling around on the table as there is on my body she throws basin after basin of deliciously hot water over me and peels the gauze off my face. Time for step two.

I feel momentarily jipped that she spends so little time with the soap and silky shower pouffe. Usually this part of the massage is nearly as long as the first part. But then I realize that she's not finished, she's just warming up. More basins of hot water. And then the hot towels appear.

Another first, layers of steaming towels laid over my back, with her kneeling on top using her elbows, knees, feet and hands to knead with. This is Korean scrubby massage meets Thai stretchy massage, and I am a FAN. Especially since my return to yoga this week has left pretty much every muscle in my body groaning. When I dare to open my eyes, I can see the sweat beading on her forehead reflected in the mirror in front of me. Her forearms across my calves make my legs feel like they've been rolled through the wheels of a pasta press (in a very good way). I can feel all of my vertebra snap into more comfortable positions when she walks up and down my spine.

Now I am exceedingly satisfied and content...but she's not done yet. Usually a scrubby massage ends with an oil or cream layer, squirted on liberally and rubbed in half-heartedly just before you are released back to the shower area to rinse off. She uses honey thinned with milk, and treats it as the oil in a classic Swedish massage. I have no idea how long I've been on the table, but I never, ever want to leave. At least 3 other people have come to ask about having massages too, but she's told them all to wait. Explained in terms of karma, I must have earned some SERIOUS bathing bonus points with my cleaning rituals in China to deserve this now. Forget sitting under a bodhi tree for umpteen years, THIS is definitely the path to enlightenment.

At the end of the massage, the scrubby massage woman is streaming sweat. And smiling. She thanks me (!!) for coming and tells me not to wait so long next time. And immediately goes to work on the next woman. She interrupts her flurry of skin-peeling just long enough to take my $20 and thank me again. I already can't wait for the next time.

Why you shouldn't arm wrestle with your brother...

Timothy and Chongchong engage in a little
friendly arm wrestling competition...can you
guess who is winning? Zoucheng, China,
February 2009.

Green Beans!

If only, if only, if only we could get such beans
in Changwon!! Taixing, China, February 2009.

Best Wishes

Women light incense in front of the characters
for (l-r) wealth, longevity, and happiness while
a monk tends to the brazier at the Daoist
Monastery in Chengdu. March 5, 2009.

Feeling Zen

Incense burning at the daoist monastery in
Chengdu, China, March 5, 2009.

Crossing the Road

The Tibetan part of Chengdu is totally different from the rest of the city. Instead of street after street of identical women's clothes shops, sportswear, computer repairs, and non-descript cement apartment blocks, it is a riot of colour in a haze of smoking insence. Vibrant in every sense of the word.

I have a cooking class at a guesthouse here at 2pm. Timothy puts me on a bus near the university that I've never been on before, one with no fare box but rather a young woman in uncomfortable looking heels collecting money in exchange for little paper tickets. As we are pulling away from the curb Timothy begs the driver through the open window to please help me get off at the right place. After a month of travelling together he has a pretty good idea of how often I get lost from missing my stop on busses.

Though most of the streets the bus travels I have never been on before, this is one destination it is impossible to miss. The transition from 'modern China' to 'old Tibet' is striking. As soon as I see the first wine-robed monk spinning his tiny prayer wheel I know I am close. Shortly after, shiny glass display windows give way to dark entries overflowing with sundries of Tibetan Buddhist life...prayer flags, beads, wheels, idols, offering bowls, jewellery, cushions, clothes, industrial blenders for yak butter tea.

Not only the driver, but also the ticket woman very kindly help me off the bus at the correct stop. Though I am near a popular tourist area, I am the only tourist to be seen. Riot police however are out in force. This is the Tibetan new year and the area is tightly patrolled. The women shopping have long braids strung with silver and beads, lined wrap-dresses that emphasize their slender height. Many of them carry infants. The men are mostly in monks robes, elaborate saffron hats all variations on a theme. Both are oblivious to the bored looking soldiers with loaded automatic weapons slung casually over their shoulders up and down the streets. Their faces are as different from each other as mine are from either of theirs. I feel as if I have entered another country entirely, just by crossing the road.

I want to live in China

Today is my birthday. 32 years. I feel incredibly lucky that they have been such good ones!

Yesterday morning Lily and I went to the local PSB (Public Security Bureau) to extend my visa. I've done this several times on other trips to China without any kind of trouble, so didn't worry about dates when I booked my plane tickets a month ago. My visa expires on Thursday. I fly out on Saturday morning.

Before spending an hour on the bus, Lily called the Visa helpline to make sure I had everything I needed. The woman asked me if I'd done this before. I told her yes. She asked me if I knew what to do. I told her I should take my passport and 160 yuan in and fill out a form. She said yes, that's it, perfect, have a nice day.

After spending an hour on the bus, the woman at the PSB had a somewhat different opinion about exactly what I needed. Temporary resident permit. Photos. Financial independence certificate. Visa application form. Plane tickets. And money. Lots and lots of money.

When she was enumerating all the things I was lacking, the PSB woman was more than a little intimidating. People in uniform waving official looking documents all typed in a language you don't understand inches from your nose have that effect. Having never encountered this before I was at a loss as to what exactly to do. Lily, who is absolutely wonderful but always has a lot on her mind, amped up my anxiety. The more the woman at the desk waved the papers around and talked about money the more anxious I got.

Wondering if I would have to empty my bank account or leave the country, I fled to Timothy at the university. Luckily he and his best friend Cai have calmer heads than I do. After a blissfully short initial panic period, they took the typed guide the PSB officer had given me and started to go through things one at a time. With telephone in hand, calling various friends and authorities for clarification. Cai kept repeating to me over and over again, don't worry, this isn't serious, we can take care of this together. And, think of this as training for next time!

First thing on the list, a temporary residency permit. From the police. Not wanting to bother Lily again, Timothy calls his friend Mabel who lives on campus nearby. She lived in Canada for several months recently and is working on her PhD in a field similar to mine. It was reasonable that we would know each other. And having been helped a lot with bureaucratic hoops in Canada she was happy to help out. We went to the campus police together.

A lecture ensued. Students should be living in the dorms, they should NOT be renting their own apartments. And they should definitely not be accepting foreigners into their homes without first getting police permission. You are Chinese! You should know these things!! Mabel wanted to ask him how, how am I supposed to know these things, but instead she bowed meekly and appologized over and over again. Lecture concluded, the officer told us that we weren't in the right police office anyway. He gave us directions to the appropriate office a 20 minute walk away.

Neither Mabel nor I wanted to make any trouble for her. So she decided to call the other police station first, and ask them some questions about the process and requirements before going in. All of the answers being totally satisfactory, we set out. Only to be foiled a second time because she is not the owner of her home. Only the owner can apply for a temporary residency permit.
Both of us really wish they had told us this on the phone. Not wanting to send us away with nothing, the officer told us helpfully that if I registered at a local hotel, even if I didn't stay there, then my information would automatically be uploaded to the PSB and I wouldn't need a permit from the police. So off we went to find a cheap hotel.

It turns out that there are 2 kinds of hotels near the university. The first are beds mostly used by eager lovers not wanting to share their passions with their many dorm mates. This kind of hotel does not register its guests and was therefore useless. The second are expensive tourist hotels, for visiting scholars and families. Though they could have given me the form I needed, I couldn't afford the bill. The foreign guesthouse on campus was not too expensive. But after going through all of the registration procedures they informed me that because I'm not a student they couldn't give me the paper I needed anyway. Bringing me back to square one. Defeated, Mabel and I returned to the guys at the dorm. The PSB would be closed soon anyway.

When I gave Lily the update, she was offended that I would try to go to a hotel before asking her for more help. I assured her that I just didn't want to cause her any more trouble. She assured me that there was nothing she wanted to do more. Which brings me back to my birthday...

This morning Lily and I went to the local Police station (third one in 2 days!) to register my 'temporary residence'. Apparently this is something I should have done within 24 hours of arriving in Chengdu - I must have missed the memo on bureaucratic rules when I bought my plane ticket. Lily lies on the form with ease, saying that I just arrived in the city yesterday. Though it takes some time to complete the paperwork, the women at the counter are friendly and we have no problem getting what I need.

Another Chinese friend, Charles, meets us at the station and I am handed off from one to the other for the trip back to the PSB. My intention was not to deal with this today, of all days, but Charles is adamant that we should get it done as soon as possible. Luckily for me, I listened to him.

At 10:30am, the Visa section on the second floor of the PSB is not crowded. Unlike the massively thronged first floor. I hand over all my documents to the woman behind the imposing marble counter. She peruses them disinterestedly, hands them back. Where are the copies of your passport and visa stamps? Where is your financial statement? The first are definitely NOT listed on the guide form I was given just one day before. And the second should be issued by this woman, now, as she well knows.

I take out my plane tickets, all completely paid for. I take out my resident papers that show I am living with a friend. I take out my small-ish wad of 100 yuan bills and my bank card and 2 credit cards. She sneers. How am I supposed to know if those cards will work here, she asks. I want to see cash. $100 US per day - minimum $500. Glancing at my passport, she adds not-very-helpfully that I can bring an equivalent amount in Canadian or 'another currency' if I prefer.

Then she refuses to talk to me any more.

Charles and I go out to find a copy machine and a bank. The duplicates are easy, but we walk for quite a while before stumbling across a bank that either of us can use. Rather than paying the exorbitant exchange rate to take such a large sum out of my Korean account and then have to carry it around with me until I get back to Korea, Charles takes the money from his account. It makes me nervous to have such a large bundle of someone else's cash in my hands. When we get back to the PSB at 12:01 we are informed that it's now lunchtime and the office won't reopen until 1pm.

Charles and I wander the back streets until we find a rickety little bench next to a dumpling vendor. He is worried about me eating street food, but the food is delicious. I couldn't imagine a more perfect birthday lunch. We talk and talk and talk, and the world seems good again.

At 1pm, I am the only person in line at the PSB. The women behind the counter all argue about who should serve me, before the same woman finally clicks the sign to call my number to the front. She glances at me purposefully when I reach the counter, before snapping her gum and returning to her magazine. She reads 2 more pages, excruciatingly slowly, before setting it aside and reaching for my papers.

You know this visa will only be for a maximum of 30 days, she says. As my plane tickets shows, I am leaving the country on Saturday, I reply. Saturday, she asks. But your visa won't be ready until Monday. She has already looked at my plane ticket twice today. She knows very well what day I am leaving. You should have come in last week, she says, pushing my papers back across the counter. What happens if I don't file for an extension, I ask. She glares at me coldly and tells me that then I will be in violation of Chinese law and will be detained. She suggests that if I need the visa urgently, I should produce my plane tickets (again) and fill out another form. Then she pushes the button to call the next person.

This is not going according to plan.

Charles and I step aside to fill out the other form. When I go to the counter again with the new form, the woman tells me I don't have a copy of my plane tickets. Without a copy, what's she supposed to do? As she asks this, she deliberately scans another form using the miniature copier next to her chair. She doesn't even need to move to do this. I am dismissed again.

On my next visit to the counter, she can't find anything wrong with the papers I've assembled. To complete the financial form she asks for my wad of cash, but she doesn't touch any of it. I could be holding a stack of red paper for as long as she glances at it. We walked all over town for this??? Friendly now, she smiles and draws me a detailed sequence of what happens next...on Friday, when I come to pick up my newly minted visa just hours before my plane flies off to Qingdao and then Korea.

By this point you are wondering why on earth the subject of this looong message is 'I want to live in China'. Here's why.

After the PSB debacle, Charles takes me to a traditional tourist street which is delightfully free of tourists despite the abundance of charm. Then we go to meet a group of church women that I met at a conference in Korea 2 years ago. They greet me as if no time has gone by at all, as if I am family.

Since it's my birthday, they take me for a traditional Chinese foot massage. 4 strong and handsome men enter, wearing sharp suits with their ties tucked into their breast pockets, carrying steaming wooden tubs full of herbal water. It smells divine. While we soak our feet, they knead our necks, shoulders, backs. Did I mention they are all REALLY attractive? This might be what heaven feels like.

After the massage, we all go to a fancy tofu restaurant a short walk away. The chairs are tall and elegant, giving the illusion of privacy even though there are dozens of tables around us. The food is unique and amazing. My stomach soon joins my feet in a state of absolute bliss.

On my way back to Lily's, carrying bags of gifts and half a cake to share, the square near the apartment is full of women dancing in unison. The choreography is intricate and graceful, the women all shapes and ages. Beside them, the oyster bar has just recieved a shipment of shellfish and 4 uniformed chefs are haggling with the fisherman over the price of the streaming crates. The briny scent of sea permeates the air.

Everyone I pass is smiling, enjoying the warm evening. And I smile too. This is a place that feels like home. And I am happy to pass another year here.

Turning Over the Car

When I studied Chinese in Korea, my teacher Kathy (pronounced with an 's' in the middle like Cassie, rather than with a 'th') was adamant about me studying characters. She said that reading and writing were essential. I was equally adamant about not studying them. The only reason I wanted to learn Chinese at that point was so that I could get by on my own more easily when I travelled in this country. I wanted to TALK to people, period.

For the first year or so she mostly relented on the subject of literacy. The Chinese have developed a very effective system of phonetic romanization, pinyin, which the low-level text book we were using relied on anyway. But she still managed to sneak as many characters in as she could, until finally she told me that either I began to study properly or I began to study to alone.

I liked writing. Liked the way similar strokes lined up in endless variations. Liked the symmetry of text. Liked the meditativeness of copying out the same character over and over and over again. Liked the sense of words as art. But I never internalized it. Never gained the ability to glance at a particular character, no matter how many times I copied it or named its flashcard (painstakingly crafted before I went to bed each night), and immediately associate it with the word or idea that it represented. To read even a simple passage I would have to convert all of the characters first into pinyin, and then again into English. Kathy and I shifted from teacher-student to friends and the vault of words in my brain grew dusty and were mostly forgotten.

Language is more than essential in understanding people - it is the framework from which their entire experience is built. This is more true in China than anywhere else I have ever been, where characters are more than symbols strung together to create sound, they are representations of the ideas that shape thought. I wish I had studied harder.

In the village outside of Tai Xing, Chongchong spent one rainy afternoon teaching me the names of all of the people in her family. Very, very patiently. Her name was the first Chinese that penetrated deeply enough that I need only glance at it to recognize it as HER. The second was 'xin' - heart. Coincidentally, a few days after our lesson, I read this passage in my current road book, Amy Tan's 'The Bonesetter's Daughter' (which I highly recommend):

'Precious Auntie taught me how to write this down on my chalkboard. Watch now, Doggie, she ordered, and drew the character for 'heart': See this curving stroke? That's the bottom of the heart, where blood gathers and flows. And the dots, those are the two veins and the artery that carry the blood in and out. As I traced over the character, she asked: Whose dead heart gave shape to this word? How did it begin, Doggie? Did it belong to a woman? Was it drawn in sadness?....'Why do we have to know whose heart it was?' I asked as I wrote the character. And Precious Auntie flapped her hands fast: A person should consider how things begin. A particular beginning results in a particular end.'

On the plane from Shanghai to Chengdu, Timothy showed me the characters for the USA. I had always been taught that 'Mei Guo' meant simply 'Beautiful Country' - a nod to the Chinese perception of that great land across the sea. Timothy scoffed. This is the problem with not being able to read. Mei Guo is not America on its own, it is an abbreviation. See this first character? It's true that this is the Mei of beauty ... sheep. Sheep were so important - imagine a pastoral country in which wealth was totally bound up in land and livestock. What was wealth? What was beauty? Fat, healthy sheep. But the Li that follows is not the li of beauty...say the sound aloud, all of the characters together. What do they sound like? May-Ri-Ca ... America. This is what reading opens up for you.

Later, in a friend's apartment, Timothy showed me the character for 'happiness'. God on the left, whatever god you conceive. And on the right, one, mouth, field - family, land, prosperity - all you need to be happy. He returns to this character often, describing things to me, using it all together or breaking it apart to fit the pieces into other ideas, tracing the lines in the air, or in the dust, or into the palm of my hand. In this way he is beginning to build a new vocabulary for me, a new way of seeing the world, through his eyes.

His eyes would have been laughing Friday night, to see me ink splattered amidst a room full of 6-year olds, learning to write with a brush. Paula's calligraphy class, plus one enormous foreigner copying with less skill than any of them. The teacher would hold the brush and it would glide across the rough paper like a swan, dipping its beak gently in one place, creating ripples that spread and fade, or making bold lines swimming towards the edge. And then my turn, the brush simply a brush again, doused in too much ink, soaking into the page like a squashed cockroach. When I would unexpectedly execute a graceful stroke, the pig-tailed girl in front of me would flash a gap-toothed smile and give me a thumbs up. When my brush folded over on itself despositing a fat blob of ink rather than twisting delicately to make a light spot, the four-eyed boy on my left would shake his head sadly, in commiseration and disgust.

Since I didn't have my dictionary with me, I had no idea what I was writing. I could only guess what the two characters I managed to paint with some grace said. I hoped they would turn out to be something lovely, as their strokes looked to me. First, 'xiu' - to flower, or put forth (as in ears of corn). Not was I was expecting, but a beautiful idea in its way. And the second, 'ji' - odd number. Hmm.

Emboldened by my calligraphy, I came home and sent Timothy a text message using only characters. 'Che fan le ma?' - 'have you eaten?' a common greeting. Hours later he wrote back, first in pinyin, confirming what I wanted to say. I smiled, content to be getting the hang of this new language thing. And then, just before my pride could get the better of me, he wrote in English, 'Your characters say that you turned your car over.' Clearly I still have a long way to go.