Posts tagged ‘China’

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August 27, 2009

I’ve Been Watching: Up the Yangtze

In 1993, the Chinese government began construction on the world’s largest hydroelectric dam, the Three Gorges Dam across the Yangtze river. The dam would provide badly needed hydroelectric power, but it pretty much sucked for the two million people living and working along the river banks, who would need to find new sources of livelihood, and to be relocated by the Chinese government (which, you know, good luck). The decision was also unpopular for aesthetic reasons – the Three Gorges river is one of China’s big tourist draws, and riverboat cruises to take in the dramatic scenery have long been in demand.

Up the Yangtze is a documentary that primarily focuses on the eldest daughter, Yu Shui, of one family currently subsistence farming in soon-to-be-flooded land. The riverboat industry is doing a brisk trade in farewell tours of the Three Gorges, and the Yus instruct their teenage daughter (who would prefer to go on to high school) to get a job on one of the boats. “Cindy” works her way up through the rankings of the riverboat staff, progressing from dishwasher to dining cabin server, while her parents and little sister literally haul their few belongings up the banks of the rising river on their backs.

By focusing on the specific instance of the dam project and riverboat cruises, the documentary manages to illuminate a more sweeping picture of China today, without much editorializing. The scenery is beautiful, and the camera work conveys a sense of ominous, rising threat in the seemingly benign sweeping shots of the Yangtze: the film opens and closes with low shots in the high, prison-like locks of Three Gorges Dam; the abandoned ghost towns on the riverbanks loom through the mist; and there is a lovely time-lapse sequence showing the Yus ‘ home being gradually reclaimed by the rising river. Inside the riverboat, the interactions between the young Chinese staff, the older Chinese management, and the American and European tourists are hilarious and telling. In my favorite scene, a manager instructed a dining room full of new employees in the finer points of speaking tactfully to tourists. He tells them not to be overly humble when speaking to Americans, not to compare Canada to America, and never to bring up divisive political issues like the troubles in Northern Ireland or the Quebec separatist movement. He also tells them never to call anyone fat or old: “you should say ‘plump.’”

The subjects of the documentary are extremely aware of the camera, which is intermittently charming and distracting. Some random townsfolk interviewed by the crew clearly ham up the high drama – their complaints are legitimate, but I think their hysterics are overwrought. The tourists (mostly senior citizens) are framed to look foolish and self-involved, as they attempt to be tactful, cooperative and non-committal for the camera – wearing silly hats like good sports, and carefully saying that China is “so interesting.” And Cindy, as an already always embarrassed adolescent, is so horrified to be on camera (particularly while doing menial kitchen labor, or being visited by her hick parents) that she frequently actually weeps from self-consciousness.

For the most part, however, the film is an interesting and informative look at a large-scale project in rural China and the unfortunate individuals displaced by sweeping change, as well as an insightful picture of the shifting social classes and growing economic ambition in contemporary China. The dam is scheduled to be completed in 2011.

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May 21, 2009

Tea Tasting in Guilin, China

The Li River winds through Guilin, puddling into many lakes surrounded on all sides by landscaped parks and ornate pagodas. The parks and the river are lit at night with colored lights everywhere, and in the mornings, mist hangs over the huge, blobbish mountains that surround the city, and it’s lovely really. My second night in Guilin, I was walking back to my hotel when a girl on a bike ‘hello’d’ me. She told me that she was Wan Chai Ling and that she was very excited (like everyone) to practice her English with foreigners. I asked her what I should make sure to see in Guilin, and she said I had to take the Li River cruise. I said it was expensive for foreigners, and she said she’d go with me so they’d sell me a ticket for the Chinese tour, which is less.

Well, I think we all see where this is going. I saw where it was going at the time, but yet…I got hosed, my friends. But not until the next day. Actually, she did get me a good price on the Li River thing (I knew what the ballpark should be), and I really did want to do that. She asked if I was going to hike up Solitary Beauty Peak, and I said actually I was going to do that the next day, and she said maybe she could come along. We arranged a meeting place for the next morning. I was pretty lonely by this point in my travels, so I looked forward to doing something with another person.

I met up with Ling the following morning. It was a sunny day, but cool, and the sweet osmanthus trees were full and shady overhead. I was all set to head off for the park. Ling was too, just as soon as we’d made a quick stop by the art gallery where she was a student, so she could drop off her bike.

Now. The art student scam is so old, it was actually described in my guidebook…and yet, I fell for it anyway. We went into a little gallery on a quiet street, and looked at the prints, and Ling proudly showed me all of her work, and I praised it. Then she told me I should really buy some, and I said no thank you. And then she introduced me to her teacher – a soft-spoken, thin, older man – and the two of them showed me a binder where all sorts of travelers had written their many purchases and how much they’d paid, and how impressed they were to find such unique and beautiful souvenirs. I said that was wonderful, but I wasn’t going to buy anything. The three of us went several rounds with this, and whereas in normal circumstances I would have been terribly alienated by the pressure, in this situation what with the language gap (and the fact that, compared to them, I was swimming in dough), and because they were so nice and seemed so genuinely proud of the work, I started to feel like a real heel.

So, I bought a damn print of a stupid piece of bamboo. It was $10, which is insane by China standards, and at that point, I resolved to shake Ling as soon as we were done seeing the peak. Off we went to the peak, Ling showing me the osmanthus trees and the outcroppings of rock in the Li that people say resemble animals drinking. She explained that the bun I bought for breakfast was a wife biscuit, which differs from a husband biscuit by the filling. She translated the lyrics of this Chinese song that had been stuck in my head for about a week. I enjoyed having someone around to explain things, and by the time we got to the park, I was feeling fairly relaxed. Ling gave me a tour of the Jingjiang Princely Mansion grounds, and when we arrived at the base of the peak, she said she’d wait at the bottom for me while I climbed up.

Solitary Beauty Peak has a natural rock corridor running up one side that has been hewn into steps. From the top, there’s a nice view, but I was mainly busy having my picture made with a dozen Chinese tourists. In the midst of this, I struck up a conversation with some similarly plagued kids from Ft. Lauderdale (who were all on a semester at sea), and lo and behold – they told me they’d met a local young woman who was giving them a tour and was waiting at the bottom for them right now! When we all arrived at the bottom (followed by our camera-toting entourage), Ling was seated at a cafe table with these kids’ guide.

I couldn’t shake Ling after that, though, I have to say, I was probably the most obstinate mark she’d ever had the misfortune to choose. I didn’t want a massage, I didn’t want a tea ceremony, or a name chop or to go to the minority theatre or on a bamboo boat, I didn’t want lunch or to try some snake. But I did let her take me to a crowded, smoky Internet cafe, where she got to watch me check my email and blog comments, and then I announced that I was going to my hotel for a nap, but she said I was going to have some tea.

‘No, I’m going to my hotel to nap,’ I said.

‘Yes, to relax and cup of tea,’ she said. One thing about not speaking a language very well is you can often feign obtuseness to get what you want. I’ve done this myself.

‘I have to have tea to get away from you?’

‘What, my friend?’

So I went to a freaking tea shop. To my credit, I went with her on the slight off chance that she really wanted to have a cup of tea at a cafe, and if it was a shop, I was going to walk right out. But when we got there, the Ft. Lauderdale kids were there having the Best Day Ever, and had just purchased hundreds of yuan worth of tea. I didn’t want to ruin their time by informing them they were being taken advantage of, and while I hesitated, I found myself seated with Ling at a little table, and the shop attendant began to pour out a tasting. ‘You’ll love this!’ promised the Ft. Lauderdale kids. The guy serving us was really attractive and charismatic. He made super cool small talk and lots of eye contact with me, while he pressured me to buy some tea. I refused. He persisted. Ling joined in, and explained how I really ought to buy a lot of tea. I refused. They both scaled back on what they were requesting I buy, but I flat refused to buy anything at all, resulting in the guy getting visibly annoyed at Ling, and both of them losing all interest in me.

But the weird thing was, the social niceties had to be observed and even after the whole thing had turned sour, the tea guy, his manager, Ling and I all sat around and finished the tea and chatted stiffly, even though everyone really just wanted to get away from each other. It was much like being back home in the South. They charged me Y30 for the totally unwanted tasting. I should have refused to pay it, but I kept thinking of Richard Gere crawling into a tiny cage, and just wanted to get out of there. I actually ran into the tea shop guy later that night in the street, and I tried to flirt with him, but he only wanted to sell me a ticket to the minority theatre.

I realize now that people don’t get necessarily get taken because they don’t know what’s going on. Rather, scams succeed because people are immediately so embarrassed about being duped that they will participate in full knowledge of what’s happening just to avoid the social awkwardness of calling it out. I, for one, colluded in my own scamming, because I was too polite to make a scene.

Really, there was no harm done, other than to my pride. But as far as I’m concerned, Wan Chai Ling of Guilin, China still owes me Y15 for her half of a tea tasting.

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July 15, 2008

Marcel Proust, Travel Writer

On Italy

I read a book about Rome once. I was a child of seven, and I was looking through my grandmother’s bookcase. Well do I remember the smell of Grandmother’s house: talcum powder and slightly moldering carpets. Grandmother had a vast collection of books about far-away and wonderful places. Rome attracted my attention because of its connotation in my mind with gladiators and emperors and columns, all strapping and assertive things. I remember the photos of the Trevi fountain, photos of busy sidewalk cafes, photos of ruins under a setting sun…

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On America

When I read Alexis de Tocqueville, I imagine the America that de Tocqueville experienced. Wide, wonderful, its woods and its peoples exactly as de Tocqueville describes them. Perhaps one day, I too will travel there. I hope not.

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On China

Ah, the Orient! There is a Chinaman lives down the street from me. Four years ago, I went for a walk around the block and caught a glimpse of him. I assume he lives there still. Paris is probably very different from China and indeed, everything that I have read on the subject confirms my opinions on the matter.

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On The Arctic Circle

In my younger days, I traveled freely. All around the neighborhood and even somewhat into France – Illiers, Orleans. …I guess that’s about it. At any rate, winter (as remembered from back in the years when I used to go out in it) approximates, it seems to me, the far, icy Northern regions of the Arctic. Undoubtedly, the Arctic is colder still, but I think France in February is sufficiently bitter for my purposes; I can surmise the rest.

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On Africa

Africa. The dark continent.  Drums beating in the bushes, women beating cassava into flat pancakes for their suppers, the cruel sun beating down over the desert. The Brits beating everyone in sight. Africa! The cradle of civilization! All men trace themselves back to you, motherland – your blood beats through all our veins! If I think back, back into my ancestry, can I perhaps remember your vast savannas, your jungles, your lions roaming across the plains?

…Certainly not.

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On A Cafe

In my younger, hedonistic days, there was a bar I went to twice. The barman was an older Parisian fellow, who served me well and with a certain degree of familiarity, despite the fact that he knew me not. Both times, I felt ill at ease, and did not finish my libation, but there was a sort of feeling I experienced immediately upon entering the bar of being somehow freed of all cares. This feeling dissipated as quickly as ever it had descended, and I returned to feeling generally ashamed, frightened and overwhelmed with my adventure. But if I meditate intensely on that first, fleeting sense of peace, I can rather imagine what it must be like to frequent taverns and restaurants and opera houses and other people’s salons… Yes.

I imagine it feels similar to the comfort I experience here at home in my bed, knowing that I need never leave it, and that I will not leave it.

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May 19, 2008

Morning, Monday!

The Gap is offering a line of T-shirts designed by past Whitney Bienniel artists:

It’s rare that The Gap does anything I’d consider interesting or cool–they are the only store I can think of that would sell Relaxed Fit Skinny Jeans–but I was genuinely impressed with this particular partnership.

Of course, they misidentify the paintings they’re featuring, but you know, they gave it a shot.

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Libertarians might be moving into the ocean soon:

True to his libertarian leanings, Friedman looks at the situation in market terms: the institute’s modular spar platforms, he argues, would allow for the creation of far cheaper new countries out on the high-seas, driving innovation. “Government is an industry with a really high barrier to entry,” he said. “You basically need to win an election or a revolution to try a new one. That’s a ridiculous barrier to entry….”

Much simpler is to move into the ocean. But come on, it won’t be long before the hipsters start wading out, and then the whole cycle begins anew.

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Texas’s AT needed two years and $1.4 million in federal money to discover 8 cases of legitimate voter fraud, in addition to this:

The remaining 18 cases all involved eligible voters casting legitimate mail-in ballots. The ‘fraud’ was that others collected the ballots and deposited them in mailboxes without putting their own name and address on the envelope in which the mail-in ballot was sent. These latter instances were almost all cases involving elderly or disabled voters who could not easily mail their own mail-in ballots. In other words, the great majority of the cases in his meager haul were technical violations that non-politicized prosecutor’s offices most likely never would have pursued.

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Jessa Crispin reviews Mikita Brottman’s The Solitary Vice, in which Brottman blames too much reading for contributing to antisocial behavior:

You start to appreciate the value of reflection and privacy, choosing isolation and solitude over social situations, which become increasingly awkward and difficult to endure. You start to anticipate and avoid occasions that make you bored or frustrated, those in which you’re forced to get involved, where you can’t retreat to the corner with a book. You get used to uncertainty, detachment, and silence, and turn to reading all the more, to make yourself feel less lonely. (Brottman)

Well, this certainly describes my adolescence (substitute blogging for reading, and it also describes my morning), but I wasn’t socially awkward because I read too much. I read too much because I was socially awkward. If books hadn’t existed, I would have taken solace in TV or a mud-puddle, or bouncing a rubber ball off the wall of my bedroom. But I still wouldn’t have shown up at school dances.

I agree that reading too much is a vice, however, and it’s quite handy that people who don’t read much think reading can’t possibly be anything but admirable. Compulsive readers like myself can completely indulge in something that’s basically laziness for us, and reap nothing but praise for it, because for differently wired people, it looks like work.

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Monks are sick and tired of the Dalai Lama’s crap:

Another monk. . . put it this way: “For 50 years, the Dalai Lama said to use peaceful means to solve the problems, and that achieved nothing. China just criticizes him.”

“After he’s gone,” the monk added, “there definitely will be violent resistance.”

This has not been a red-letter year for China. In celebration of China, here are some photos from my trip there in September of 2006:





















Posted in Art, Books, People, Photos, Politics, Travel | Leave a Comment »

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October 4, 2007

Published!

I entered a 500-word memoir in Opium Magazine’s recent on-line competition. I didn’t win, but they published my entry on the site today. Check it out (those of you who read my travel blog will recognize this incident):

Into the Mainland

Posted in Travel, Writing | 1 Comment »

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