Adjusting to China

To travel is to discover that everyone is wrong about other countries
-Aldous Huxley

There are no foreign lands. It is only the traveler who is foreign.
-Robert Louis Stevenson

Kyle of Toungue (n., psychiatric): Irrational anxiety caused by wondering whether or not the ox tongue in your sandwich is meant for tasting you right back.
-Douglas Adams

Chou Phu (n.): Any completely made-up dish sold as a joke in an Eastern restaurant to see if Westerners will fall for it.
-Douglas Adams

This is my first blog written in China, at least on this website. If you're interested in mundane musings about my life and times here, check out http://greg-lifeinchina.blogspot.com/
I have been in this country for just over two months, and slowly my perspectives are beginning to coalesce into something beyond first impressions and generalizations.
Foremost, I am impacted by how differently these people have been conditioned to view their world. I do not say this condescendingly, for we in the West have been conditioned as well.
In fact, limited by my own preconceptions (some conscious and some not) I am hesitant to publish my assumptions too quickly. It is too early for me to be judgemental or to expound with authority. I am in the absorbing stage; not the critiquing.

There are many socio-political issues that intrigue me, but they will have to wait for another blog. It's not that I'm a blank slate. It's just that I know the writings there are not absolute.

I will say though, that I have found most first-hand accounts of living in China to be out-dated. From my readings, I expected to be stared at on the street and treated with suspicion. My experiences so far have been quite the opposite. People are curious, yes, but in a friendly and approachable manner. I get the sense that this culture has been changing quite rapidly in recent years and decades.

And here I am again in a new environment with a language that I do not understand. I won't repeat myself, but you may wish to check out the archives of May 2007 for my 'Learning the Lingo' entry.

In China, the lack of language is more problematic for me than it was in Thailand. The Xinjiang Province is less Western than Bangkok, and the city of Korla is definitly not a tourist town.
Having said that, I do admit to enjoying the pre-verbal time before I can speak and understand words. There is something powerful here, that impacts my human interactions. Body language becomes a more vital exchange, a smile goes a long way, and the eyes truly are windows to the soul. Kids, by the way, are great at this.

Aother phenomena of no shared words is that there is no exchange of personal histories. What you see is what you get, and the past that you usually use to define yourself just isn't on the table. Not surprisingly, kids are great at this too.

Immersion into a new culture, especially without language skills, makes you realize how little you can take for granted. For example (and this is but one of many): Do you hail a bus anywhere along its route, or do you find a bus stop? Then, when you get on that bus, do you pay the driver upon entering or do you have a seat and wait for the money to be collected? And, by the way, how much is the fare? If you don't speak the language and you can't read the writing, you really are a stranger in a strange land.

In the battle of language acquisition, it is important to be gracious in defeat. If I order fried rice and the waiter brings me chicken feet, I'm going to assume that the mistake was mine. And I will gnaw on those fowl claws like the good omnivore that I am.

Traffic is interesting here. Horns are so prevalent as to become inefficient, and these streets are no place for the infirm of leg or eye. If you are standing curbside at a major street (say, six lanes across), you do not wait until the whole street is clear to cross. You move forward one lane at a time, and consequently you find yourself standing on a thin white line while cars blow wind on you from either side. It's a lot like the video game Frogger, but with much more incentive to avoid the splat.

I was watching an episode of 'Kung Fu' the other day. As I saw David Carradine, the Shaolin priest, walking barefoot down the street of a western town, I was struck by the thought that this was me in reverse. Except that I can't speak the language and don't know kung fu. I can't even order kung pao correctly (thus the chicken feet)!

But as my stay here lengthens, more of this life opens up to me. Wandering the streets, I steadily increase my understanding of where things are and how to access them. Friends have started to accumulate, both foreign, Chinese and Uighur. I have a good Chinese teacher, and I am just at the threshold of starting to learn. My world is expanding.

I began this blog by saying that it was not the time to make judgements about this country. I do feel compelled however, to make some comments about my own.

demagoguery (n.): impassioned appeals to the prejudices and emotions of the populace
-WordNet

"It is of course, a trite observation to say that we live "in a period of transition." Many people have said this at many times. Adam may well have made the remark to Eve on leaving the Garden of Eden.
-Harold MacMillan

True, it may be cliche to say it, but I do see our Country facing a crossroads. And I do not know which direction it will take. If we continue with the current mind-set however, I believe that our country will devolve. It will devolve economically, and it will devolve morally.

I have been following the Presidential campaign from China, and I can only imagine what it is like in the States. You must be alternately fascinated and weary of the process. I'll try not to burden you with more of the same, and I'll be brief. I will also spare you the pages of vitriolic writings I have composed. Aside from the release of personal venting, it's not what's needed now. But, at the same time, this is not a time to remain silent.

Do I have doubts about Obama? Yes, I do. I have doubts about his ability to turn his visions into reality, and his faith-based statements set off my alarm bells. Also, I am a cynic as regards our political process. Is Obama a sincere idealist or a consumate actor? I lean towards the former, but I would not wager my life on it.

Do I have doubts about McCain? None whatsoever. I categorically do not want him as the president of my country. Here is where I temper my vitriol and return those emotional pages back to the drawer (oh, and some of the things I wrote were so clever and cutting).

But this election is less about Obama and McCain than it is about the consciousness and values of the American people. If Obama is elected and fails to make good on his promises, I will be disappointed but not disheartened. For it will tell me that although a leader has yet to be found, people still honor the concepts of freedom, honesty and generousity of spirit.

You know who I find myself watching most closely these days? Republicans. Not so much the party organization itself or talk show hosts, but the rank and file individuals who identify themselves as such. In the face of McCain's campaign tactics and Sarah Palin as the vice-presidential nominee, where do these people stand?

Those who consider McCain's tactics unacceptable, they give me some hope. They encourage me by demonstrating that human integrity is more important than a theoretical platform.
Some would say that the end justifies the means. But in matters of integrity, the means are the end.

Still, to quote Alan Watts, "the world is a giant rorshack ink blot." Anything that I say will be related to by those with similar views and denigrated by those who think otherwise. Accordingly, I will refrain from further efforts at either preaching to the choir or trying to teach a pig (lipsticked or not) to sing.

In a previous blog I said that our choices were to vote out of fear or out of hope. I'd like to revisit that statement, because actually I am voting out of fear. I am afraid that a McCain-Palin presidency would push America irrevocably over that slippery slope we've been stumbling down.

1200 miles to the post office

Salta (Argentina) was marvellous. The town is beautiful, old, with a wonderfully relaxed atmosphere. An entire month we were hosted by Federico, a member of Autostop Argentina - a club uniting all Argentinian backpackers who use hitchhiking as a way of traveling. Federico invited us into his life and made us part of his family - girlfriend Anita and Dalmatiner Albita, who always brought it's starving friends over, for whom we cooked great vegetarian dishes.

I had organized a birthday present for Augustas, which was sent to Santiago de Chile. Since we encountered problems keeping the package for an unlimited time free of charge in Correo Chile post office, we made an appointment for July 2nd to pick it up. We calculated roughly that, if we would leave on June 26th, we could have a short visit to Cafayate (in Calchaquíes valleys in province of Salta) before passing via Mendoza to Chile. Unfortunately, hitchhiking isn't much of a pleasure in Argentina, especially not on smaller roads with unfrequent traffic. After spending two entire days on heading towards 81 miles afar Cafayate, we turned around having managed only half. We decided to take the main road between Salta and Tucuman, which would lead us kind of straight to Mendoza, and finally Chile.

This change of direction lead to a chain of unexpected events. Carolina, a teacher in rural areas around Salta region of Argentina, brought us straight back to Salta. She invited us for lunch, and showed us her favorite book "Spark your Dream", written by Herman and Candelaria Zapp, who are on the road with their 3 children in an oldtimer built in 1928.

Satisfied in stomach and mind we walked towards a gas station, where within a second we got a ride. Driving in the latest version of a fancy 4x4 our driver complained about the agricultural tax increase which the Argentinian government imposed in March 2008. His mourning about the situation was difficult to understand looking at his seemingly wealthy lifestyle. Instead, it was probably wiser to listen to little farmers depending on him who in general suffer a life on or below the poverty line...

Left in a dirty, unpleasant drive-through town, we had a hard time to continue. We were saved by Faustino who responded immediately to my sign presented to each driver waiting at the traffic lights. Faustino was amazing. He is father of six grown-up, nearly independent kids, who always dreamed of conquering the world. He would not ignore a hitchhiker, and occassionally invite those picked-up strangers to his house, knowing that his wife was all but happy about vagabonds at her home. In exchange he could live for moments the life he was dreaming about through a strangers, and continue to shape his idea of leaving home again in the future, hitting the road which way ever. Since strikes of agriculturists caused a huge lack of petrol in Argentina, Faustino invited us to spend the night at his house. Though the initial meeting with his wife was seemingly unpleasant for her, we experienced a complete behavioural change within the next two hours. In the morning we left each other, hardly being able to stop hugging each other.

Truck drivers at the gas station were not welcoming nor helpful to us. But somehow we won the jackpot with a ride in a brand-new bus produced in Brazil on his way to Arica, Chile. Our driver Pedro was incredible hospitable, making us feel comfortable in this - for us - luxurious mean of transport. We had great conversations, passed fascinating landscapes on the road towards Paso Jama, and were in a truly festive mood.

We were supposed to arrive in the afternoon on the Panamerican highway in Chile, but in Susques everything collapsed. The border on the Chilean side was closed due to heavy snow falls and iced streets. Susques lays at 3,700m above sea level, an altitude, which made me dependent on coca leaves. Initially, the border was supposed to open a couple of hours later. Finally, we had to stay two entire days in Susques, which made it unlikely to reach Correo Chile post office on time.

We spent two days with waiting, walking around windy Susques, observing indigeneous children with running noses, enjoying a hot shower enabled by a women heating an ancient huge water tank above open fire, visiting the local cemetery, eating too many bread buns and peanuts, cooked terribly slow due to the altitude, and froze at least half of the day because of temperatures reaching until minus 59 degrees Fahrenheit (-15 Celsius) at night. The first night, though spent inside the bus, we nearly froze, and could hardly sleep on the narrow cold ground the bus offered us. Waking in the morning with numb noses, we could not quench our thirst due to crystal frozen water in the bottles. Pedro with his big heart offered for the second night his sleeping cabin in the bus. He himself shared a truck with another driver. The cabin was a paradise in this harsh nights up in Susques.

Since we let the light iluminate the whole bus for at least four hours the previous evening, the battery was out of power in the morning, and the motor did not start in the freezing temperatures. Watching Pedro and his Brazilian trucker friend, who had frozen throughout the night terribly, shivering in their summer pants while searching for a solution, made us feel terribly guilty. One hour lasted the experiments both undertook to make the bus wake up.

Around 11am we slowly hit the road driving towards Chile. The border crossing went perfect, the surroundings were marvellous, and the road nearly uninhabited. Early afternoon we arrived in San Pedro de Atacama catching a ride with a couple, which had broken their word to take us from Susques to Calama, Chile, as agreed upon the previous day. Actually, even as we caught up with them on the Aduana in San Pedro de Atacama they were not much willing to take us. But well, they did not say 'no', and thus we sat in and enjoyed the fact that justice was now done in this case. Needless to say, 'better don't escape'...

From Calama we made it the same day until near Taltal, and the next night until a gas station about 45 miles before Santiago de Chile. On July 2nd, as agreed with Correo Chile, we picked up our package. Watching Augustas happiness of holding the necessary mini-laptop ASUS EeePC finally in his hands, gave this 1200 miles (2000km) "hitch"-hike from Salta (Argentina) to Santiago de Chile a sparkling atmosphere.

Discovering Buddah's Sacred Tooth

The island nation of Sri Lanka impressed me so much that I've been dying to share its wonders with others. In fact, I actually feel responsible to share my experiences in Sri Lanka. This past couple of years has been terrible for tourism in the country and many of the wonderful people I met along the way were suffering greatly. Sitting here now reading my journals I can remember so vividly sitting alone admiring a splendid view of picturesque Medaketiya Beach where they were still attempting to re-build and re-establish tourism after tens of thousands died and so many were left injured, homeless and orphaned in the wake of the devastating tsunami of 2004.

Though lack of tourism may be hurting Sri Lanka, ironically, it was working wonders for my trip. "This is a very special time to be in Sri Lanka," one man told me. "You're seeing it for what it really is." This couldn't have been more true as I ventured into the city of Kandy, the easy-going capital of the Hill Country, set in a bowl of picturesque green hills and centered around Kandy Lake. It was Saturday morning, but more importantly it was poya (full moon) weekend, a holiday of sorts, especially for Buddhists who gather at temples to make puja (prayers and offerings). Lucky for me, Kandy is the home of one of Sri Lanka's most importantly temples, The Temple of the Sacred Tooth Relic, where the country's holiest relic is kept- a tooth of the Buddah.

The tooth is said to have been snatched from the flames of Buddah's funeral pyre in 543 BC, and was smuggled into Sri Lanka during the 4th Century AD, hidden in the hair of a princess. At first, it was taken to Anaradhapura, but with the ups and downs of Sri Lankan history it moved from place to place before eventually ending up at Kandy. Gradually, the tooth came to assume more and more importance as a symbol of sovereignty. It was believed that whoever had custody of the tooth had the right to rule the island. In the 16th Century, the Portuguese apparently seized the tooth, took it away to India, and destroyed it in a fire. Yet, the Sinhalese claimed the Portuguese had run off with a replica and the real tooth remained safe. Even today there are rumors that the real tooth is hidden somewhere and that the tooth kept in the temple is a replica. Whether you choose to believe this story or not, it is impossible to overestimate the importance of Temple of the Sacred Tooth Relic to Sri Lankan Buddhists, who believe they must complete at least one pilgrimage to the temple in their lifetime. Worshipping at the temple is thought to improve one's karmic lot immeasurably.

I entered the temple complex with hundreds of men and women who moved in separate lines through a brief security check. Then a pleasant walkway led me through green grass lawns dotted with families and couples relaxing, and to the next line of people, even longer and passing through yet another security check. This was the entrance to the Temple of the Sacred Tooth Relic, yet the numbers of people were too daunting for me at that moment so I turned and entered another temple called Natha Devale. The main temple, perched on a stone terrace with a beautiful gateway, was surrounded by hundreds of white-clothed worshippers who sat and prayed as a monk read over the loudspeaker. The scene was tranquil and inspiring and I wondered among the many people, most of whom seemed oblivious to the single foreigner in their midst.

Blessed with that moment of sanctity, I joined the long line entering the Temple of the Sacred Tooth Relic, left my shoes at the entrance, bought some flowers for the offering and began to move with the steady stream of worshippers. Inside the temple was a major traffic jam, two lines colliding in a crash of bodies that packed onto a staircase and snaked their way up to the main temple. Holding my flower arrangement above my head, I moved with the river of bodies as it filed to the second floor and slowly past the main shrine. For a few brief seconds I was in front of the shrine, laying my flowers upon a large altar piled high with beautiful, sweet smelling floral arrangements. Behind an elaborate gold, silver and bronze panel, through a door where I could see several large arcing elephant tusks and red velvet drapes, in the back of two rooms, lie the Tooth Relic Shrine. The tooth itself is not even visible, only the large gold dagoba-shaped casket in which it is supposedly kept. That doesn't deter the thousands of devotees who filed past the open door for a quick glimpse or sat around the shrine kneeling and praying. A sign above the door read "Abstinence from all evil, performance of all good, governance of one's mind, it's the teachings of the Enlightened One."

I have never considered myself to be religious, nor do I apply to a certain faith. But on this last trip, I felt moved spiritually in many ways. Be it wandering around the Hindu temple Arunachaleswar in Tiruvannamalai, dwarfed by a 66m gopuram with 13 storeys, surrounded by trinket sellers, merchants, half-naked sadhus and orange-clad priests; having tea in a friend's home in Negombo where a Catholic shrine in the corner lit the room with its countless pictures of Jesus interspersed with burning candles; exploring the Charminar in Hyderabad where hundreds of veiled Muslim women scurried in the midday heat between markets and Mecca Masjid, one of the world's largest mosques with space for 10,000 worshippers; or bowing my head to a gaudy golden shrine covered in jewels and supposedly housing a tooth of Buddah. In all instances, I have felt the strength of a Higher Power, in all the forms it presents itself to us.