The Martyr With a Broom; or why you have to be brave to be a street sweeper in China

So I worry about this country sometimes.

I have a text book right now that depresses the hell out of me. Theclass is radio listening, and towards that goal it is effective. The
subjects, taken from real radio shows, however are awful. teachers
making whole classes of children slap a child's face, teenage Internet
criminals, fake diploma mills, and the like.

The last few day have been too much. The lesson is entitled "why do we make public sanitation workers shed blood and tears?" according to the radio report (circa '98). For some reason there is a prevalent phenomena of people "humiliating and beating up" sanitation workers. It seems that at the slightest provocation people are willing to go up to guys n gals (often from the countryside or elderly) driving garbage trucks and picking the trash off the street and beat to the point of unconsciousness, disability and death.

When i first read this i thought. Well its just to weird to be true. Then i thought, well at the end of the nineteens maybe it was a problem, but surely not now. I just googled the Chinese phrase
"Sanitation workers humiliated" as it appeared in my lesson. 17,300 hits came up, one from earlier this month. I was proud of myself that, armed with my new beating up sanitation worker vocabulary, i could make my way through a few articles calling for greater public respect for these people, as well as publicly provided medical insurance. So it is still a problem.

Sorry to tell you all this. It is just driving me crazy how absurd this is. I really like this country but this makes no sense. Why sanitation workers? What makes them such a target? Why not taxi drivers, construction workers, or the lady who sells me egg pancakes in the morning? (Not that I wish it on anyone, especially not the egg pancake lady.)

My mornings are filled with both garbage truck men and street cleaners, I am going to spend the next couple of weeks worrying about them.

On the upside, less than 6 days until Sarah comes to China and helps me think about less crazy things.

The Trip Begins; or Shanhai and Boat

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Originally uploaded by ebenlindsey.

Last friday morning, in honor of international Labor Day (the following monday), five of my friends and I skipped school to get an early start on our five day break. At five thirty in the morning roomate-Nick, roomate-Rhonda, fellow-ex-reedie-Jen, fellow-ex-reedie-Miri, and isreali-classmate-Yoel piled into to cabs to catch an early flight to Shanghai.

Upon arriving in shanghai, anyone who has been trapped in the sandy, dusty, blandness of Beijing will immediately be struck by two advantages of the southern city. Moisture and the color green. Not only were we hit with a welcome wall of humidity as we stepped out of the Pudong International airport, but our eyes were subjected to a whole range of green foliage the likes of which we could not even imagine in the capital.

We spent a lovely day meandering through the french quarter and staring in rapt amazement at the bustling crazyness that is the Nanjing lu shopping district. We ate a fantastic meal, and gernerally agreed that the Shanghaiese had it made.

As great as shanghai is, it was not our goal. That evening, after a harrowing taxi drive (by the way, it is impossible to get a cab in Shanghai) we borded a boat heading out for a 14hour trip to putuo shan.

tommorrow... arrival.

Home Again; or why you have to wait another day or so to hear about my vacation

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Originally uploaded by ebenlindsey.

Hey all, well, I am back in the Big BJ, which seems rather dusty in comparison to the beautiful south. My internet connection is cut off due to lack of payment (not my fault), so as soon as it back I will recount my adventures.

In the meantime, check out my flicker page for the photos.

The Shower; or How a Daily Ritual Became a Daily Horror

My apartment is fantastic. It is modern, spacious and populated with extremely pleasant people. My rent is more affordable than that of my fellow Laowai, and I get a huge bedroom with a sunroom all to myself.

There is of course a catch. Our shower seems to be possessed by a daemon. For weeks it will work much like any shower. Nothing amiss, hot water, cold water, a full range of warms, cools, and in between. Then, one day, for no reason what so ever, it turns on you. The hot water will come out as a tiny trickle if at all, or worse, the water pressure will be fine, but there will be no heat.

There are two ways of dealing with this problem. 1)Work for ten minutes before the shower to perfect the perfect amount hot water running in the sink. It must be on enough that it will keep the water heater running, but not so much that it will use up all of the pressure. 2) Shower less. I have been working on both of these fronts, but the basic result is that I have gone crazy.

Today, after weeks of a trickle, the pressure came back and for seven delicious minutes I had a perfect shower. When it went cold after that I did not care a bit. The only reason I can think for this blessing is that I am leaving in the morning for a week in the south. I am sure the moment I return it will be back to the good old shower purgatory.

See you in a week.

The Sportsman; or the secret history of a Beijing bicycle

The Sportsman, in happier days.
Originally uploaded by ebenlindsey.

Its origins were obscure. The Sportsman came into my life when american-roommate-Jed went looking for a theftproof bike. Two very expensive bikes had come into and out of his possession in the previous two weeks and he had decided that he needed a bike no one wanted. The bike dealer had offered him a variety of very nice used bikes but Jed was adamant. He only wanted the absolute worst bike in stock. The man thought for a moment and went around back. After a few moments he returned with a medium sized "woman's style" bike. Black with touches of read that looked like they were hastily added with spraypaint.

The shopkeeper pointed at the downtube sticker which read Sportsman USA, "its made in America", he promised. "10dollars*." In the end Jed got it for seven on the condition that the man remove the broken basket on the front.

The sportsman passed into my possession when Jed left Beijing to return to the sunny beaches of Florida. I put some money into it, replacing the pedals and the seat. For about one dollar I had the breaks repaired the day I slid into traffic on my way to school. In the end it still looked like a piece of crap, but it rode pretty well and I have taken it many places the last few months, exploring little corners of Haidian District.

I last saw it last night when I came home from dinner with some friends. I locked it up just like any night, but this morning it was gone. No one in this city really "owns" a bike. Bikes get stolen everyday and as a result they are cheap. I don't know anyone who has ever sold a bike, but the shops are full of second hand models.

The Sportsman had a secret history. I am sure it had many owners before me, and I bet it will have many after whoever gets in next. I hope they enjoy it.

*all monetary units converted for the readers convenience.

Big Test, Big Plans, Big Pain-in-the-Butt

I woke up at seven this morning to the sound of my alarm clock buzzing inches from my head. Strange, this seemed strange as I thought it was still the weekend. As it turns out I was right, but I had signed away my Sunday morning to the HSK. The Hanyu Shuiping Kaoshi is a Chinese proficiency test comparable to the TOEFL tests in the states. I have no real reason to take it, and no hope of testing as proficient, but as my program was paying for it, it would seem rude to turn it down.

The test was held next door at Beijing Yuyan Wenhua Daxue, the Beijing Language and Culture University. BLCU is notable for being a majority frowner school. And even more notable for being mostly Korean. On the way to the test I swung by a campus shop to pick up a juice box and I saw for the first time in months boxes of Coco Crispies and Frosted flakes, if this was not surprising enough the boxes were in Korean!

The test was two and a half hours of educated guessing, and was comparable to the practice test that put me squarely in the intermediate category. If I did really well I might have gotten a 5(of 9), which is one less than necessary to attend a Chinese University in Chinese (unless you major in science, in which case you need a 3).

After the test I had an enjoyable meal, and a walk through a clothing market that seems to have sprung up from nowhere in a parking lot in Wudaokou. (fellow-ex-reedie-friend-Jen claims it has been there all along, but I have my doubts.)

The rest of my day was spent planning trips, first the one I will take with my family in June, and second the one I will be departing for this Thursday. Hmm... in retrospect this seems backwards.

originally I was going to spend the International Labor Day holiday in the ex-people republic of Mongolia, but time, logistics, and lethargy made that plan seem a little two much. Instead I will be heading to one of my favorite places in the world. Putuo Shan, and island off the coast of Shanghai. Hours were spent today with my travel companions trying purchase tickets online (ultimately successful), figuring out boat tickets on Chinese web pages (still having trouble), and worrying about money (ongoing). All and all though it should be a good trip. I promise to take many pictures.

I go walking, after midnight; or a new look at an old place

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Originally uploaded by ebenlindsey.

Last night, while wondering the Tsinghua campus playing with my camera, I had the opportunity to see a different side of a neighborhood I consider myself quite familiar with. That is, the neighborhood between my apartment building and the Erxiao Men (pictured in the previous post, this is the old school gate and still lies on the equator of the campus, separating the "residential" southern half from the academic and dormitory buildings of the northern half. I guess it should be explained that students live near the class rooms, while the southern half of the campus is inhabited by professors, workers, shop owners, retirees and the like. But I digress.) While my neighborhood is made up of cookie cutter five and six story apartment blocks laid out in regular rows, this neighborhood is dominated by one story brown brick courtyard houses separated by narrow alleyways and small streets. The inhabitants of these residences have set up a variety of businesses, from dry-cleaners, and seamstresses, to print shops that advertise good rates for photocopies and digital photo printing. In general any service neglected by nearby supermarket and post office provides a cottage industry for the neighborhood.

While my elderly neighbors have all turned in by eight at night, these was a surprising variety of activity going on in this area after midnight. I noted, as I passed the windows on a small street, seamstresses finishing up dresses at their sowing machines, I saw a man in his mid thirties smoking and working on a computer in the print shop, and I even saw a woman asleep, sitting up in a small lit booth from which she sold egg pancakes during the day.

At the end of the street I found a Kodak shop (pictured) that I wanted to photograph. As I was struggling to level my tripod I noted that this part of the street was particularly active with people walking by every few minutes. It was not until I saw a gentleman a little older than myself tromp by in polka-dot pajamas that I realized the building next to the shop was the neighborhood bathroom.

After standing there for about twenty minutes a young lady who had been watching me from the bathroom entrance (I must have looked odd) came over and after greeting me in English, proceeded to question me in Chinese. I am quite proud of myself that we were able to carry on pretty well. When she used an unfamiliar word, she was able to supply the English equivalent, "hobby", which to my mind recommends a pretty high level of education, although perhaps informal.

It seems that she lived in the neighbor, which she exclaimed dated back to before the schools founding, and were some of the original building used as residents for teachers and administrators. It was not until after she left that it occurred to me how remarkable she was, or at least that she represented a somewhat remarkable phenomena. By American standards, or even Beijing standards, living in a coal heated brick house without a private bathroom would suggest poverty. But here was a neighborhood, that although outwardly shoddy, was positioned in the middle of one of the greatest institutions of learning in the country, and populated by hardworking and reasonably educated people.

I walk through this neighborhood several times a week. I have never given it much of a thought, except maybe once or twice when I was buying an egg pancake. It's nice to live in a place that confounds and confuses you.