For our battle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of darkness, and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavens.
Yes it is.
The enemy's strategy: weaken, deceive, induce unreasonable guilt.
Recent (as in the past 24 hours) attacks: a good friend confessing his undying love for you means the end of a relationship. A teammate giving you totally unfounded warnings to not touch guys so much. Unknown students leaning out of classroom buildings to yell that they love you and you are so beautiful. A co-teacher walking into class during break to remind you that he is free this afternoon to teach you how to play chess, to the vast amusement of the whole class. A sense of guilt for impure things that you have not done. A questioning towards relationships with other guys that were previously untainted, which now seem totally shameful for no particular reason. A man from the bank finding your house only to attempt to invite himself in and demand that you are the most beautiful girl he's ever seen.
Enemy, don't think I don't know what's going on here.
Enemy, don't you see my belt of truth? Inscribed clearly with: therefore, no condemnation now exists for those who are in Him. Don't you see my righteousness like armor? I received it because I am careful to obey Him. Don't you see my feet fitted with readiness? They are the only part of me that's beautiful. Enemy, did you forget that I have a shield? It's made of something which has a greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire. Did you somehow miss my helmet? It is the goal of my faith, granted by grace alone. And enemy, are you really so foolish as to forget my sword? It is flawless and I will not distort it.
Enemy, be afraid, because if this is war I want you to know that I already have the victory... it's His.
He is my fortress, my refuge in times of trouble.
The harvest is here...
The kingdom is near...
Monday, March 30, 2009
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Life with a capital la jiao!
Wo yao la jiao yi dian dian... but I always get a lot. Perhaps it's understandable, after all, my Chinese is really appaling.
When eating fish hot pot, la jiao looks like a bright red soup and more chili peppers than one dare count; enough spice to make your eyes water and nose run... if it's a good soup, you'll start coughing too. And afterward, if you survive, la jiao looks like indegestion of the uniquely Chinese variety.
When living in Lhasa, la jiao looks like a meal with some Chinese teachers that is paid for by other teachers who happen to be eating in the same dumpling shop. It looks like cups of sweet milk tea and bags of one kuai potatoes eaten with an extremely shy student and her sister in a crumbly tea house. It looks like a trip to the Norbolinka with some Tibetan friends who, out of habit, are compelled to do all the prostrations and other honorary offerings in every temple and before every god. It looks like being greeted by a friendly hand squeeze and getting to sit with the other leaders in the special seating during a school performance. It looks like text messages from friends demanding to spend some free time with you. It looks like games of badminton, if badminton were played by constantly having to pick up the birdy. It looks like eating spur of the moment meals with groups of other teachers, and sitting around while they chat mostly in Chinese as you obviously strain to pick up the spare word you might know. It looks like a hug. It looks like the fierce intensity of a neighbor forcing you to learn the characters of the Tibetan alphabet until late in the evening. It looks like being greeted by all manner of people on campus and in the street, known and unknown. It looks like students who are bold enough to use every ounce of their English skills and actually come up with something hilarious in class. It looks like non-complusory study sessions with students who somehow seem delighted to be there. It looks like the rare pan of brownies that both taste and look delicious.
In Lhasa, life looks like la jiao.
I may have asked for a tiny bit, but He's pretty intent upon giving us more than what we could ask or imagine...
When eating fish hot pot, la jiao looks like a bright red soup and more chili peppers than one dare count; enough spice to make your eyes water and nose run... if it's a good soup, you'll start coughing too. And afterward, if you survive, la jiao looks like indegestion of the uniquely Chinese variety.
When living in Lhasa, la jiao looks like a meal with some Chinese teachers that is paid for by other teachers who happen to be eating in the same dumpling shop. It looks like cups of sweet milk tea and bags of one kuai potatoes eaten with an extremely shy student and her sister in a crumbly tea house. It looks like a trip to the Norbolinka with some Tibetan friends who, out of habit, are compelled to do all the prostrations and other honorary offerings in every temple and before every god. It looks like being greeted by a friendly hand squeeze and getting to sit with the other leaders in the special seating during a school performance. It looks like text messages from friends demanding to spend some free time with you. It looks like games of badminton, if badminton were played by constantly having to pick up the birdy. It looks like eating spur of the moment meals with groups of other teachers, and sitting around while they chat mostly in Chinese as you obviously strain to pick up the spare word you might know. It looks like a hug. It looks like the fierce intensity of a neighbor forcing you to learn the characters of the Tibetan alphabet until late in the evening. It looks like being greeted by all manner of people on campus and in the street, known and unknown. It looks like students who are bold enough to use every ounce of their English skills and actually come up with something hilarious in class. It looks like non-complusory study sessions with students who somehow seem delighted to be there. It looks like the rare pan of brownies that both taste and look delicious.
In Lhasa, life looks like la jiao.
I may have asked for a tiny bit, but He's pretty intent upon giving us more than what we could ask or imagine...
Monday, March 23, 2009
An instant noodle day
Instant noodle day: noun:
The type of day where you wake up exhausted and tempted to never leave your bed or pajamas, force yourself to go teach even though you are hollow on the inside, and return four hours later in the emotional state where the only thing that you have the energy to eat, or that even seems right to eat, is a bowl of instant noodles.That was today.
However, somehow, in the very midst of my instant noodle day, steak dinner and three scoop ice cream cone day started to nestle its way in.
Steak dinner and three scoop ice cream cone day: noun:
The type of day where you see a teacher in the office who you've made it your goal of the semester to get invited over to his home to eat dinner with him and his family (an ambitious goal seeing as how this teacher is "always busy" and painfully shy) and have the following conversation in your semi-exhausted, emotional fragile, instant noodle day mood:me: so what did you do this weekend?
him: nothing, I at home
me: oh did you cook noodles?
him: no I am very busy
me: I heard you make really good noodles
him: who tell you this?
me: this other teacher, you cook noodles for her but not for me...
him: I will check my time, maybe you can come to my home and I will make you noodles.
SUCCESS! How to reach a goal in two weeks? Let the Almighty take over...
The type of day where you force yourself out of the house after a lunch of instant noodles to just go and buy something for the sake of getting out of the house and in the midst of forcing yourself not to let your head hang so low as you walk you notice your student shuffling toward you who has a history of emotional instability in class, and she happens to be looking glum, so you take the time to sit with her on a nearby pipe and find out that her emotional instability is well founded, her situation is tragic and typical of all your students. In the course of a thirty minute conversation, that probably should have taken only ten but adding time for language barriers, you are able to assure her that she is valued and set up a time to get together to make dumplings. The Lover of our souls has a tendency to use dumplings to speak grace into people's lives...
The type of day where you are reminded that steak and three scoop ice cream cones have absolutely nothing on the wedding feast of the lamb...
The type of day where instant noodles aren't even considered real food.
That was today.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Home sweet home was never in reference to a place...
Maybe it was the baking powder I found in some tiny, extremely cluttered little shop and in my joy bought for a mere six kuai.
Because something, imperceptible at times, has changed around here for me.
No longer do my shoulders sag from a glance around my sparsely decorated and usually acutely smelly apartment: I found a stationary store and made a day of decorating the walls with a few pictures and verses I find encouraging, and a timely box of scented candles sent by a saint in America has given those horrifying smells a massive setback. My apartment has become a place that is warm, well lit, with plants... a place I can make biscuits.
No longer is my breathless request before entering the classroom one for courage to make it through the period: instead it is one marked by specific mentions of students whom I have spent time with and gotten to know and come to see and love in a way that can only come from Him who sees and loves first, one filled with affirmation and praise to the One who is Holy.
No longer do I cringe and need to force myself to put on my brave face before stepping into a store or market: I know how to get what I need, I am not daunted by the fact that the stares never cease, or that the whole street will be talking about my purchases within moments, or that I am sure to look like an idiot no matter what I do or don't do. What is more, I find that in my most frequented stores I always get a friendly smile, some Chinese chatter, and usually a hug and a discount to go along with that.
No longer am I dismayed by being the circus freak of campus, to be stared at and possibly shouted at but otherwise gingerly avoided: I have been invited into various teachers' homes whom I would have been delighted to have a mere second glance from, I have seen their pictures, I receive their text messages and phone calls to come and visit or go out to eat or play a game of badminton, I greet them (in one of three languages) cheerfully in the office, on the street, in the halls, on campus, and find myself filled with an increasing sense of community.
Maybe it was the baking powder, or maybe it was the fact that for the first time since arrival in Asia I am finally taking Him seriously... isn't it true that you are no longer foreigners and strangers, but fellow citizens with the saints and members of His household... why did I ever let myself believe that this was contingent upon being in a place where you can know and be known with ease?
I may very well be a stranger here, and a strange one at that, but one thing is certain... I am a citizen also.
And the overwhelming relief, comfort, and gratitude that wells up inside my soul at that thought cannot possibly be the result of warm biscuits in the toaster oven, however edifying those may be.
Because something, imperceptible at times, has changed around here for me.
No longer do my shoulders sag from a glance around my sparsely decorated and usually acutely smelly apartment: I found a stationary store and made a day of decorating the walls with a few pictures and verses I find encouraging, and a timely box of scented candles sent by a saint in America has given those horrifying smells a massive setback. My apartment has become a place that is warm, well lit, with plants... a place I can make biscuits.
No longer is my breathless request before entering the classroom one for courage to make it through the period: instead it is one marked by specific mentions of students whom I have spent time with and gotten to know and come to see and love in a way that can only come from Him who sees and loves first, one filled with affirmation and praise to the One who is Holy.
No longer do I cringe and need to force myself to put on my brave face before stepping into a store or market: I know how to get what I need, I am not daunted by the fact that the stares never cease, or that the whole street will be talking about my purchases within moments, or that I am sure to look like an idiot no matter what I do or don't do. What is more, I find that in my most frequented stores I always get a friendly smile, some Chinese chatter, and usually a hug and a discount to go along with that.
No longer am I dismayed by being the circus freak of campus, to be stared at and possibly shouted at but otherwise gingerly avoided: I have been invited into various teachers' homes whom I would have been delighted to have a mere second glance from, I have seen their pictures, I receive their text messages and phone calls to come and visit or go out to eat or play a game of badminton, I greet them (in one of three languages) cheerfully in the office, on the street, in the halls, on campus, and find myself filled with an increasing sense of community.
Maybe it was the baking powder, or maybe it was the fact that for the first time since arrival in Asia I am finally taking Him seriously... isn't it true that you are no longer foreigners and strangers, but fellow citizens with the saints and members of His household... why did I ever let myself believe that this was contingent upon being in a place where you can know and be known with ease?
I may very well be a stranger here, and a strange one at that, but one thing is certain... I am a citizen also.
And the overwhelming relief, comfort, and gratitude that wells up inside my soul at that thought cannot possibly be the result of warm biscuits in the toaster oven, however edifying those may be.
Monday, March 16, 2009
If you give a Kelly an invite...
If you give a Kelly an invite, she's gonna take you up on it.
When she takes you up on it, she'll probably get some of your other classmates to go to lunch too.
When she's in the cafeteria with you, she'll probably eat anything you order and consume massive amounts of sweet tea.
When she's finished eating, she'll want to greet all of her other students who are present in the cafeteria.
She'll start to chat with them. She might get carried away and chat with anyone else who happens to say 'hello' or be present in the cafeteria.
When she's done, she'll probably want to rest.
So you'll have to invite her back to your dorm room. She'll go in and make herself comfortable and she'll probably ask you to show her some pictures.
So you'll end up showing her pictures of your childhood and offering her handfuls of walnuts and dried yak cheese.
When she notices her pockets getting stuffed with that hardened yak cheese, she'll look at her watch and realize that it's time for her to go.
So you'll show her to the door, and some other students will welcome her into their dorm rooms and play songs for her on their keyboards and offer her more dried up things and hard cheese.
When she realizes that she might be there all day and end up with more dried things than her pockets or stomach can handle, she will insist that it's really time for her to go.
So you'll show her to the door and as she's leaving you'll remember to invite her to do something else on another day.
And if you give a Kelly an invite...
she's gonna take you up on it.
When she takes you up on it, she'll probably get some of your other classmates to go to lunch too.
When she's in the cafeteria with you, she'll probably eat anything you order and consume massive amounts of sweet tea.
When she's finished eating, she'll want to greet all of her other students who are present in the cafeteria.
She'll start to chat with them. She might get carried away and chat with anyone else who happens to say 'hello' or be present in the cafeteria.
When she's done, she'll probably want to rest.
So you'll have to invite her back to your dorm room. She'll go in and make herself comfortable and she'll probably ask you to show her some pictures.
So you'll end up showing her pictures of your childhood and offering her handfuls of walnuts and dried yak cheese.
When she notices her pockets getting stuffed with that hardened yak cheese, she'll look at her watch and realize that it's time for her to go.
So you'll show her to the door, and some other students will welcome her into their dorm rooms and play songs for her on their keyboards and offer her more dried up things and hard cheese.
When she realizes that she might be there all day and end up with more dried things than her pockets or stomach can handle, she will insist that it's really time for her to go.
So you'll show her to the door and as she's leaving you'll remember to invite her to do something else on another day.
And if you give a Kelly an invite...
she's gonna take you up on it.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Hold the train and let me tell you about Losar!
Woah people.
What on earth was I doing going on with my life (which recently has been crammed with stuff, cool, His, and otherwise, happening) and not even stopping to tell you about the Losar festivities?
Cause missing Losar would be a huge loss, particularly to a blog.
What on earth was I doing going on with my life (which recently has been crammed with stuff, cool, His, and otherwise, happening) and not even stopping to tell you about the Losar festivities?
Cause missing Losar would be a huge loss, particularly to a blog.
The Basics:
- Losar is how they say "New Year" in Tibetan. As in Losar Tashi Deleg! (Good fortune in the new year!)
- It's a fifteen day celebration in which families get together, consume outrageous amounts of food and alcohol, and wear their new clothing.
- Much of the traditions which take place during Losar are from Bon religious practices meant to appease the gods in hopes for a good year ahead.
- The seond day of Losar begins the period of visitation where familes will rotate around different realitives houses and guests are invited.
- The second day of Losar a teammate and I go to visit the family of a guy who became friends with us after meeting us in the street one day.
- Present at this house: Three uncles, at least three aunts, seven neices, a mom, a few random neighborhood folks, and us two white people.
- For lunch: sweet tea, butter tea, chang (Tibetan beer, politely declined), raw meat, dried meat, fried bread, two kinds of meat dumplings, pickeled vegetables, and sweets.
- Activities of note: Pictures with everyone in the family multiple times, dress up in their spare Tibetan clothes and more pictures, long conversations about a mysterious lama, learn how to make sweet tea, learn how to play 'sho', refuse chang and cigarettes multiple times, leave exhausted four hours later.
- The fourth day of Losar we go to meet this same guy, we are taken to a different relatives home in a different part of the city.
- Present at this house: all the same folks as before, plus an additional four or five Chinese businessmen/collegues.
- For lunch: sweet tea, hot water, sodas, chang (politely declined), raw meat, dried meat, boiled meat, some meat dipping spice, fried bread, chicken feet, pickeled meat, rice, huge variety of vegetable dishes.
- Activies of note: playing games with some of the younger cousins, discussing remedies for hangovers with drunk uncles, more pictures with more family, getting to hold a four month old baby and hum 'Jesus loves me' over him, refuse chang and cigarettes multiple times, leave exhausted three and a half hours later.
Losar was fun. Really. Highly reccommended. Tashi deleg everyone!
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Many are the plans in a man's heart...
But His decree will prevail.
Friday:
I was bummed because I had no plans of my own.
He was elated, and took the time to draw me up the mountain behind our school to see from above the eagles circling the city that indeed He is enthroned above the circle of the earth, and be reminded that indeed its inhabitants are like grasshoppers.
Saturday:
I was frustrated with a cell phone conveniently running out of money.
He was ecstatic, and sent four primary school age Muslim children trundling after me, straining my Chinese language abilities to the breaking point and offering me their melting popsicles from their grubby, outstretched hands. All to assure me that unless you are changed and become like children you will never enter the kingdom of heaven...
I was grimly trapped in a restaurant because of a sudden, ferocious sandstorm.
He was free, and felt compelled to use that moment to grant me the opportunity to encourage one another and build each other up, as well as meet an unbelieving colleague.
I was late coming home after some failed attempts to find an open Nepali store.
He was right on time, and I got to spend the evening with my two closest co-teachers catching up on our long winter breaks apart and understanding more and more that no one lights a lamp and puts it under a basket...
Monday:
I was delayed after class and rushing to a lunch appointment.
He was calm, allowing events to pile up in such a way that I could meet my new neighbor, exchange a few words, and beg Him for another chance to make the most of the time because the days are evil.
I was forced out of a dinner and subsequently late for a meeting.
He was totally satisfied, having sent a group of students knocking at my door bearing plastic bags of assorted bread products, dried yak meat and cheese, nuts, fruits, and an obviously hand-patted sack of yak butter. I was full too, knowing that my food is to do the will of Him who sent me.
I was disappointed from a long-awaited, twice-interrupted phone call from a friend.
He was joyful, and arranged for a small gathering at my apartment during which I had the chance to meet two volunteer teachers at this school and marvel again and again that His decree will, in fact, prevail.
Many are the plans in my own heart... but really, His are better by far.
Friday:
I was bummed because I had no plans of my own.
He was elated, and took the time to draw me up the mountain behind our school to see from above the eagles circling the city that indeed He is enthroned above the circle of the earth, and be reminded that indeed its inhabitants are like grasshoppers.
Saturday:
I was frustrated with a cell phone conveniently running out of money.
He was ecstatic, and sent four primary school age Muslim children trundling after me, straining my Chinese language abilities to the breaking point and offering me their melting popsicles from their grubby, outstretched hands. All to assure me that unless you are changed and become like children you will never enter the kingdom of heaven...
I was grimly trapped in a restaurant because of a sudden, ferocious sandstorm.
He was free, and felt compelled to use that moment to grant me the opportunity to encourage one another and build each other up, as well as meet an unbelieving colleague.
I was late coming home after some failed attempts to find an open Nepali store.
He was right on time, and I got to spend the evening with my two closest co-teachers catching up on our long winter breaks apart and understanding more and more that no one lights a lamp and puts it under a basket...
Monday:
I was delayed after class and rushing to a lunch appointment.
He was calm, allowing events to pile up in such a way that I could meet my new neighbor, exchange a few words, and beg Him for another chance to make the most of the time because the days are evil.
I was forced out of a dinner and subsequently late for a meeting.
He was totally satisfied, having sent a group of students knocking at my door bearing plastic bags of assorted bread products, dried yak meat and cheese, nuts, fruits, and an obviously hand-patted sack of yak butter. I was full too, knowing that my food is to do the will of Him who sent me.
I was disappointed from a long-awaited, twice-interrupted phone call from a friend.
He was joyful, and arranged for a small gathering at my apartment during which I had the chance to meet two volunteer teachers at this school and marvel again and again that His decree will, in fact, prevail.
Many are the plans in my own heart... but really, His are better by far.
Part 1: "I'm gonna go visit the yak." - Qinghai
Tomorrow morning at 11am when the first train of many pulls away from the platform I guess I'll find out... sigh. Learning to trust is so difficult.
My mind swirled with these thoughts as I boarded the 25 hour long train ride taking us to Xining. I have mentioned that I love trains so I won't go into this particular ride, besides it was only one part of three which would take us to our first destination: village.
A three hour bus ride into desolation, and a forty-five minute taxi ride over the most pot-holed, about to drop off a sheer cliff face, winding dirt road you can imagine left us at the gate of our abode for the next week. Picture mud walls, mud streets, everything the same milky tea color of brown, and the most mind numbing view of sparse open mountainside you can dream of. And while you're at it, think cold... that that clear piercing cold that you can't shake off and you can't anticipate.
For one week we had a routine: wake up in the late morning to one of the brothers stoking the room's stove with yak dung, mosey into the family's room to eat our fill of freshly made bread, and drink our fill of milky, salty, stick tea. Do one (or more) of the following: ride motorcycles down that ridiculous dirt road that brought us to the village, herd the (singular) yak, make some pitiful attempts to gain respect of other villagers at archery, attempt to and succeed at riding wild donkeys and family yaks, wander around the village and chase pheasants, hang out with the brothers, play with local children, eat pig's tail, raw meat, blood sausage, glass noodles, or momos, watch an NBA game with the old Amdo mother, pester sister in law by insisting on helping with household chores, roast peas on the stove before calling it an early night.
For one week we didn't change a single lick of clothing. We didn't have any kind of access to plumbing (unless you count the really deep hole outside occasionally blocked by the family's (singular though formidable) yak. We didn't even once bother to look at our watches because it didn't take us long to realize that time stands still in a place like this.
However, we did get to be a part of an overwhelmingly hospitable and hilarious family. We were stuffed to the brim with all kinds of delicious, though predictable, food. We had the most amazing view of the stars at night. We had freedom to do or not do whatever we liked.
And how do I begin to describe to you what it felt like to have this Amdo Tibetan family (with no English skills aside from one member) teach us patiently to make momos and square noodles? Or how thrilling it can be to move from a guest of honor to someone who is asked to help feed the animals or allowed to dry the dishes? Or the singularity of having my hair brushed and braided by two brothers who have never attempted the feat before, and that with a foreigner? Or how, in the midst of langugae and culture barriers to the extreme, moments of sincere understanding can make one rise from the round piece of wood being used as a stool to give a hug to an unsuspecting sister in law?
I am indebted to this family and my time here far more than I can describe or understand. One week which felt like a heartbeat (albeit a progressively filthier one) and then a forty-five minute taxi ride, three hour bus ride, and twelve hour train ride to the next stop...
and so ends... or so began... my journeys.
My mind swirled with these thoughts as I boarded the 25 hour long train ride taking us to Xining. I have mentioned that I love trains so I won't go into this particular ride, besides it was only one part of three which would take us to our first destination: village.
A three hour bus ride into desolation, and a forty-five minute taxi ride over the most pot-holed, about to drop off a sheer cliff face, winding dirt road you can imagine left us at the gate of our abode for the next week. Picture mud walls, mud streets, everything the same milky tea color of brown, and the most mind numbing view of sparse open mountainside you can dream of. And while you're at it, think cold... that that clear piercing cold that you can't shake off and you can't anticipate.
For one week we had a routine: wake up in the late morning to one of the brothers stoking the room's stove with yak dung, mosey into the family's room to eat our fill of freshly made bread, and drink our fill of milky, salty, stick tea. Do one (or more) of the following: ride motorcycles down that ridiculous dirt road that brought us to the village, herd the (singular) yak, make some pitiful attempts to gain respect of other villagers at archery, attempt to and succeed at riding wild donkeys and family yaks, wander around the village and chase pheasants, hang out with the brothers, play with local children, eat pig's tail, raw meat, blood sausage, glass noodles, or momos, watch an NBA game with the old Amdo mother, pester sister in law by insisting on helping with household chores, roast peas on the stove before calling it an early night.
For one week we didn't change a single lick of clothing. We didn't have any kind of access to plumbing (unless you count the really deep hole outside occasionally blocked by the family's (singular though formidable) yak. We didn't even once bother to look at our watches because it didn't take us long to realize that time stands still in a place like this.
However, we did get to be a part of an overwhelmingly hospitable and hilarious family. We were stuffed to the brim with all kinds of delicious, though predictable, food. We had the most amazing view of the stars at night. We had freedom to do or not do whatever we liked.
And how do I begin to describe to you what it felt like to have this Amdo Tibetan family (with no English skills aside from one member) teach us patiently to make momos and square noodles? Or how thrilling it can be to move from a guest of honor to someone who is asked to help feed the animals or allowed to dry the dishes? Or the singularity of having my hair brushed and braided by two brothers who have never attempted the feat before, and that with a foreigner? Or how, in the midst of langugae and culture barriers to the extreme, moments of sincere understanding can make one rise from the round piece of wood being used as a stool to give a hug to an unsuspecting sister in law?
I am indebted to this family and my time here far more than I can describe or understand. One week which felt like a heartbeat (albeit a progressively filthier one) and then a forty-five minute taxi ride, three hour bus ride, and twelve hour train ride to the next stop...
and so ends... or so began... my journeys.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Part 2: "Let's meet at the McDonalds... or the Starbucks" - Xian and Xianyang
Xianyang welcomed three of the worst smelling travelers (and the competition for the title was fierce) with, what I still believe, is the best shower in all of Asia and the first one any of us had had in approximately nine days. I can't be sure, but it is possible that my clothes were beginning to mulch on my body.
Xian, China's ancient capital, and Xianyang, its close neighbor, were my first experiences in non-ethnic minority China. I spent most of my time there on a train back and forth between the two cities.
Luckily I really love trains (after the camel my third favorite form of transportation) and have come to love them more the more I ride them. Something about the rocking back and forth, the predictable clickity clack, and the scrolling view from the window is just appealing to me.
Chinese trains, though, are unique among trains. Get on too late and you'll find yourself standing wedged between a woman with a drooling baby and a man eating his weight in boiled eggs. Get on too early and bear the pummeling as hundreds of others squeeze their way on board. Go for the hard sleepers only to wake finding yourself the object of much scrutiny from the stranger on the bunk below you. Go for the hard seats and come to a quick and brutal understanding of the Chinese meaning of "hard". Always the train staff in vain attempt to sell anything from socks to holographic pictures of tigers while simultaneously pushing their way through the crowded isles as a salmon trying to get upstream. Occasionally a drunk man bold enough to pick a fight with a foreigner nearly twice his body mass. And don't forget, lone white foreigner, you are the entertainment for your car.
So I found myself intrigued by Chinese trains.
Other Xian and Xianyang notables:
Xian, China's ancient capital, and Xianyang, its close neighbor, were my first experiences in non-ethnic minority China. I spent most of my time there on a train back and forth between the two cities.
Luckily I really love trains (after the camel my third favorite form of transportation) and have come to love them more the more I ride them. Something about the rocking back and forth, the predictable clickity clack, and the scrolling view from the window is just appealing to me.
Chinese trains, though, are unique among trains. Get on too late and you'll find yourself standing wedged between a woman with a drooling baby and a man eating his weight in boiled eggs. Get on too early and bear the pummeling as hundreds of others squeeze their way on board. Go for the hard sleepers only to wake finding yourself the object of much scrutiny from the stranger on the bunk below you. Go for the hard seats and come to a quick and brutal understanding of the Chinese meaning of "hard". Always the train staff in vain attempt to sell anything from socks to holographic pictures of tigers while simultaneously pushing their way through the crowded isles as a salmon trying to get upstream. Occasionally a drunk man bold enough to pick a fight with a foreigner nearly twice his body mass. And don't forget, lone white foreigner, you are the entertainment for your car.
So I found myself intrigued by Chinese trains.
Other Xian and Xianyang notables:
- A mercifully easy trip out to the Terracotta Warriors... it looks just like the pictures, statues surrounded by dirt. Amusingly located down the street from the front gate is the Terracotta Warrior Factory... hmmmm....
- The sun in this city had a strange orange/red tint to it which I guess was the result of the light attempting to push its way through the pollution. Never saw the blue sky here.
- So many McDonalds and Starbucks and other western restaurants. It was easy enough to convince yourself that you weren't really in China, especially because the Chinese restaurants were all chains and not that great. But wait, those McDonald's pies are... bean paste flavored?!?! Guess I was in China after all.
- The Muslim quater was massive and easily the most fascinating place in the city. Miles of allies and markets, food and junk, art and clothes. It's amazing the variety of foods they can put on a stick. The funny thing was I actually felt a twinge of familiarity when we went to a Xinjiang restaurant to eat the muslim noodles we consume with glee in Lhasa.
- My first run in with Chinese Buddhism. Removing the giant gold covered gods and arcid insense stinging your nostrils there was little in common with the Buddhism which makes this city its prisioner.
- You can get bubble tea in Xianyang for two kuai... heads up travelers... it's worth a stop here just for that!
Monday, March 2, 2009
Part 3: "OH NO... I destroyed your love planet!" -Hong Kong
Hong Kong: a dream of Manhattan arising from the South China Sea.
Hong Kong: a city severely Chinese and yet, not at all.
Hong Kong: How on earth could I have been prepared to meet with you?
Hong Kong blew my mind and my senses. I think my most uttered word in that city was a breathless "wow". As soon as we walked across the border from Shenzhen I knew we had walked across the border to another planet.
An island of the lushest green I had seen since leaving North Carolina out of which is birthed the flash and glitter of thousands of neon signs and steel sky scrapers. The zoom and bustle of constant motion from the subways deep beneath, to the ferries littering the bay, to all manner of automobile, to trolleys and gondolas slowly dragging masses to new heights made the whole city feel like it was on the move and gave one an acute, but untraceable, sense of motion sickness.
The streets were packed with an alarming diversity of people all the time and yet I couldn't remove the distinct sensation that they were all alone. Not one looked up, not one made eye contact, not one glanced toward their neighbor.
A trip to Hong Kong Disneyworld (whose claim to fame is that it's the least you'll pay to go to a Disney park) with some new friends turned out to be extremely satisfying, mostly due to the company. Perhaps the most memorable moment, however, came when the park was minutes from closing and everyone who had come that day filed dutifully into the souviener shops to spend absolutely outrageous amounts of money on trinkets and clothes with a Disney character stamped on the side. It was breathtaking to stand at the side and watch consumerism at its maddening height.
Hong Kong, two days was enough of you. I'll take my modest apartment and simple needs over you any day. Shame to leave the dim sum though...
Hong Kong: a city severely Chinese and yet, not at all.
Hong Kong: How on earth could I have been prepared to meet with you?
Hong Kong blew my mind and my senses. I think my most uttered word in that city was a breathless "wow". As soon as we walked across the border from Shenzhen I knew we had walked across the border to another planet.
An island of the lushest green I had seen since leaving North Carolina out of which is birthed the flash and glitter of thousands of neon signs and steel sky scrapers. The zoom and bustle of constant motion from the subways deep beneath, to the ferries littering the bay, to all manner of automobile, to trolleys and gondolas slowly dragging masses to new heights made the whole city feel like it was on the move and gave one an acute, but untraceable, sense of motion sickness.
The streets were packed with an alarming diversity of people all the time and yet I couldn't remove the distinct sensation that they were all alone. Not one looked up, not one made eye contact, not one glanced toward their neighbor.
A trip to Hong Kong Disneyworld (whose claim to fame is that it's the least you'll pay to go to a Disney park) with some new friends turned out to be extremely satisfying, mostly due to the company. Perhaps the most memorable moment, however, came when the park was minutes from closing and everyone who had come that day filed dutifully into the souviener shops to spend absolutely outrageous amounts of money on trinkets and clothes with a Disney character stamped on the side. It was breathtaking to stand at the side and watch consumerism at its maddening height.
Hong Kong, two days was enough of you. I'll take my modest apartment and simple needs over you any day. Shame to leave the dim sum though...
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Part 4: "Trailmarkers are for babies"- Kunming and Lijiang
Kunming was, what I imagine, your typical Chinese city would be like. Think tons of traffic, taxis that won't take you to where you want to go because it's too far, mostly gray sky, tall buildings, disabled beggars on every corner, Chinese people wandering around.
But there were a few surprises for me... because I had no idea what a typical Chinese city was.
1. We woke up every morning in our hotel to the complimentary Chinese style breakfast. I guess I was thinking some clumpy rice porridge because when I woke to the massive buffet spread before me I was ecstatic. Potatoes, three kinds of eggs, varieties of noodles and rice, meats, bread stuff, french fries, fruit, choice of drinks and my personal favorite: as much bo cai (stir fried spinach) as one could possibly eat. As a result I counted my stay in Kunming, not in the number of nights I was there, but in the number of breakfasts I ate: 4 delicious breakfasts.
2. The group of us that met in Kunming together decided one morning (it being a Sunday) that we were going to find some place to go to a service. After failing miserably to find the one recommended to us (actually possible in a city as large as Kunming, not at all possible in Lhasa) we decided to wander around. And thus we wandered right into one of the most breathtaking experiences of my whole trip:
In what on a normal day would have appeared to be a simple shop front, on this day, with the gates rolled up and loud piano music and microphoned speaking blaring from somewhere deep within, was a government sanctioned Church. The first Church I had ever seen in China. Without even thinking, I took one of the plastic stools that they handed me as we walked up and sat down in a row with some other Chinese faithful outside on the sidewalk. We had to sit outside because the medium sized room was absolutely flooded with all manner of people. Old women with graying hair swept up in a bun, young children squiggling in their seats, teens and college students bending forward to listen with pens and paper in hand. When they sang a familiar tune with Chinese lyrics I was totally mesmerized to hear the praises of the One who is worthy echoing off the lips of so many in a language that I had only been able to use for trade. When the speaking was read from the text which I love all I could do was sit back and let it, the whole experience, and this amazing fellowship just wash all over me. I had never seen anything like it.
We weren't really in Kunming that long... the deal was that we were going to hop on an 8 hour long bus (with complimentary lunch and disgusting trough squatties included) to go to Lijiang. We were going to hike our way through the famed Tiger Leaping Gorge.
I can't even beign to describe the majesty of this experience. If I had been totally blown away but the Church we stumbled into, this gorge and these mountains spoke as loudly as those songs had been sung to the praise of their Maker.
Green trees and thick foliage gave way to dusty and often precarious rocks gave way to slick and refreshing waterfalls. A horseback ride up the 28 switchbacks (of doom) to the peak of the trail was an amazing opportunity to learn some Chinese and watch the turquoise waters at the bottom of the gorge slowly turn into a tiny thread. A night in a random guest house provided an amazing view, not only of a marajuana farm, but of the five fingered mountain. That night, despite the really cold chill I couldn't resist laying on the roof to stare up at the biggest night sky full of the clearest stars listening to the waters of the river push their way between those mountains somewhere far below. Another day of hiking through fields and over mountains, playing tag with a herd of goats brought us slowly down close to the base of the gorge where we stayed at another guest house, and met a very interesting character.
When I met Sean he was a disembodied voice stuck in a tree. He came down and I discovered that he, the owner of this guest house, was a Tibetan man, with long hair tied up in a pony tail, and a severly crippled hand. His English was good and we were able to have many enlightening converstations. Did you know that trailmarkers are for babies? and that tigers are only scared of two things: pregnant women and bird poop? that Christians have some powerful words? that all dogs should be called 'barbeque'? and did you know that white girls can't possibly know how to cook potatos in a bed of coals? Well I showed him... I haven't sat in North Carolina outside roasting potatoes over a bed of coals to eat some of the most delicious potatoes in the world with my family to be told that. So I roasted him some potatoes. It was sad to leave the next morning to head back to Lijiang, despite the fact that Lijiang itself was a pretty interesting place.
Once we arrived back in Kunming (again via the 8 hour bus complimentary lunch and scuzzy trough squatties included) we had an extra day before heading to Thailand so we decided to make the most of it and headed to the stone forest. Like everything in China, I'm not sure how much of it was natural and how much of it was man made, but it was an incredible place... literally a forest of towering limestone formations that stretched for what felt like miles, easy to be amused and easier to get lost. We only got out because there happend to be a Korean tour group nearby and we simply added ourselves to the mix.
What a privledge to see Him in so many extremes: from the heart of city to the heights of mountains!
But there were a few surprises for me... because I had no idea what a typical Chinese city was.
1. We woke up every morning in our hotel to the complimentary Chinese style breakfast. I guess I was thinking some clumpy rice porridge because when I woke to the massive buffet spread before me I was ecstatic. Potatoes, three kinds of eggs, varieties of noodles and rice, meats, bread stuff, french fries, fruit, choice of drinks and my personal favorite: as much bo cai (stir fried spinach) as one could possibly eat. As a result I counted my stay in Kunming, not in the number of nights I was there, but in the number of breakfasts I ate: 4 delicious breakfasts.
2. The group of us that met in Kunming together decided one morning (it being a Sunday) that we were going to find some place to go to a service. After failing miserably to find the one recommended to us (actually possible in a city as large as Kunming, not at all possible in Lhasa) we decided to wander around. And thus we wandered right into one of the most breathtaking experiences of my whole trip:
In what on a normal day would have appeared to be a simple shop front, on this day, with the gates rolled up and loud piano music and microphoned speaking blaring from somewhere deep within, was a government sanctioned Church. The first Church I had ever seen in China. Without even thinking, I took one of the plastic stools that they handed me as we walked up and sat down in a row with some other Chinese faithful outside on the sidewalk. We had to sit outside because the medium sized room was absolutely flooded with all manner of people. Old women with graying hair swept up in a bun, young children squiggling in their seats, teens and college students bending forward to listen with pens and paper in hand. When they sang a familiar tune with Chinese lyrics I was totally mesmerized to hear the praises of the One who is worthy echoing off the lips of so many in a language that I had only been able to use for trade. When the speaking was read from the text which I love all I could do was sit back and let it, the whole experience, and this amazing fellowship just wash all over me. I had never seen anything like it.
We weren't really in Kunming that long... the deal was that we were going to hop on an 8 hour long bus (with complimentary lunch and disgusting trough squatties included) to go to Lijiang. We were going to hike our way through the famed Tiger Leaping Gorge.
I can't even beign to describe the majesty of this experience. If I had been totally blown away but the Church we stumbled into, this gorge and these mountains spoke as loudly as those songs had been sung to the praise of their Maker.
Green trees and thick foliage gave way to dusty and often precarious rocks gave way to slick and refreshing waterfalls. A horseback ride up the 28 switchbacks (of doom) to the peak of the trail was an amazing opportunity to learn some Chinese and watch the turquoise waters at the bottom of the gorge slowly turn into a tiny thread. A night in a random guest house provided an amazing view, not only of a marajuana farm, but of the five fingered mountain. That night, despite the really cold chill I couldn't resist laying on the roof to stare up at the biggest night sky full of the clearest stars listening to the waters of the river push their way between those mountains somewhere far below. Another day of hiking through fields and over mountains, playing tag with a herd of goats brought us slowly down close to the base of the gorge where we stayed at another guest house, and met a very interesting character.
When I met Sean he was a disembodied voice stuck in a tree. He came down and I discovered that he, the owner of this guest house, was a Tibetan man, with long hair tied up in a pony tail, and a severly crippled hand. His English was good and we were able to have many enlightening converstations. Did you know that trailmarkers are for babies? and that tigers are only scared of two things: pregnant women and bird poop? that Christians have some powerful words? that all dogs should be called 'barbeque'? and did you know that white girls can't possibly know how to cook potatos in a bed of coals? Well I showed him... I haven't sat in North Carolina outside roasting potatoes over a bed of coals to eat some of the most delicious potatoes in the world with my family to be told that. So I roasted him some potatoes. It was sad to leave the next morning to head back to Lijiang, despite the fact that Lijiang itself was a pretty interesting place.
Once we arrived back in Kunming (again via the 8 hour bus complimentary lunch and scuzzy trough squatties included) we had an extra day before heading to Thailand so we decided to make the most of it and headed to the stone forest. Like everything in China, I'm not sure how much of it was natural and how much of it was man made, but it was an incredible place... literally a forest of towering limestone formations that stretched for what felt like miles, easy to be amused and easier to get lost. We only got out because there happend to be a Korean tour group nearby and we simply added ourselves to the mix.
What a privledge to see Him in so many extremes: from the heart of city to the heights of mountains!
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