Shhh! Our Driver Can’t Hear His Left Turn Blinker

1/28/10: Beijing, China

My mom’s mom is the fifth of eight children in her family, and the only one who left China. For 30 years after her departure, she and her siblings lost touch, only to regain contact through one of her nieces back in the 1970s. Over 30 years later, Zhou and I got the chance to meet my grandma’s younger brother and sister (children #7 and 8).

Today we spent several hours chatting with Jiu Ye and Jiu Lao Lao and their spouses. By we I mean Zhou, as they don’t speak English and I don’t speak Chinese. In traditional Chinese custom, they wouldn’t allow us to leave without filling our stomachs (du zi) by taking us to a nice lunch. Zhou warned me beforehand that the only way to signal we were done eating was to leave food on our plates. However I kept finishing the food off and Jiu Lao Lao kept piling more on until my stomach was about to burst and I realized Zhou was serious. Then, when we returned to Jiu Ye’s apartment, they topped off their generosity toward two relatives many years and thousands of miles removed by giving us each a red envelope (hong bao) of money.

Can you believe Jiu Ye is 83 and that's his real head of hair?

Jiu Lao Lao, her husband and us.

These few hours were just a small example of the hospitality and generosity Zhou and I have received from many family members in Beijing. Zhou’s aunt and uncle (Jiu Ma and Jiu Jiu) have given us a place to stay and food to eat, and also bought us gifts such as our train tickets to Xi’an. Zhou’s cousin and her boyfriend took us out to the Temple of Heaven and upon hearing about my interest in Chinese chess, bought me a set. My Aunt Marilyn and cousin TJ took us to the Great Wall in their very short and hurried stay in Beijing.

Obviously Zhou and I like getting stuff, but the best part of all of this has been seeing family for the first time since September 10th. Although traveling is great, it’s very difficult being away from home at times, and we’ve really enjoyed these past nine days in our home on the other side of the world. We can’t thank everyone enough for welcoming us and giving us this sense of being home.

…

Zhou and I have been avoiding taking taxis as much as possible because of their relatively high costs (compared to subways, buses and walking), but today we had to take one to get to Jiu Ye’s. After several minutes of discovering that 99% of Beijing taxis are occupied, we hailed one and hopped in. In her native Chinese dialect (everyone has complimented Zhou on how well she speaks Chinese), she explained to the driver where we were going and we were off.

“Are taxis here metered?” I asked suspiciously, on high alert from the taxi scams that were prevalent in Southeast Asia.
“Shhhhhhh! No talking.”

I sat there in silence for several minutes absolutely confused by this. Maybe taxis in China are like libraries in the States. Maybe Zhou read this on the back of the seat in front of her. Wait, Zhou can’t read Chinese! This can’t be the reason. Maybe it’s common knowledge that Chinese taxi drivers need quiet to driver safely and effectively. If that’s the case, I suppose all you know this. I’m half Chinese and I had no idea. I must be the most dense tourist ever! But I’m really not that clueless.

“Why can’t I say anything?” I whispered.
“No English!” she mouthed back.

Oh. She had the taxi driver believing we were locals that he would not be able to rip off if he wanted to. That makes perfect sense. I felt like an idiot.
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Pictures of the Day: I actually didn’t want to go see the pandas, but Zhou really wanted to. Then I didn’t want to leave.

Roly-Poly Pandas (Warning: Much Heart Melting May Occur)

1/27/10: Xian, China

I’ve been to China at least four or five times since moving to the States as a wee little Zhou, but I can’t ever recall seeing pandas, so when I saw that our Xian hostel had a “Lovely Panda Tour,” I excitedly pointed it out to Kevin. “Let’s go see pandas!” I said. “Weeell – I’d rather not. Let’s do something else. We can see pandas anywhere,” Kevin declared. Really, Kevin? Anywhere? I don’t think so.

After being convinced that no, we would not see pandas in any other country, Kevin reluctantly agreed to book the tour. And so it came about that we and six other panda-loving folks crammed into a minibus early this morning for a two-hour ride to the Shaanxi Rare Wild Animal Rescue and Research Center. We got to see five or six older pandas snacking on bamboo and snoozing in their pens, but the highlight was seeing 18-month old pandas Le Le and Qing Chuan. Have you ever seen a little panda try to run? I have, and it has topped my list of Most Awkward Yet Adorable Thing Ever. Yep, moved right past Chinese babies bundled up in winter clothes but with their little butts showing through that gaping hole in their pants. Le Le and Qing Chuan put on quite the show for us, and even Kevin’s stone-cold heart melted a little. But enough from me – I’ll let them tell the story.

LL: Hey Qing Chuan!
QC: Ouch – geez, Le Le, watch where you’re going, would you?
LL: But hey! Look! There’s people over there! I think they have bamboo!
QC: Yeah, ok, but – ouch – hey! Le Le! Can you please pay attention to what you’re doing? Your foot is on my eye!

LL: Let’s run over there! I’m hungry, and I think they have bamboo!
QC: Yeah, I’m coming – hold on a sec. Help me up, will you?
LL: BAMBOOOO!!!
QC: Um, Le Le? Little help here?

LL: Qing Chuan, it is people! And they’re taking pictures of me! Hurry up and get over here!
QC: I’m coming, I’m coming.

LL: Awww come on people, give a panda some bamboo.

LL: Sweet, I got some! But please, no pictures right now. I just don’t look my best when I’m munching. Really, people – no pictures.

QC: Hey Le Le, help me get up on the wall so I can get a closer look at these people.
LL: Munch, munch – k, munch, munch.

QC: Oh man, Le Le – there’s tons of people out there, and they’ve got more bamboo! Smells great…

QC: Um, Le Le? You still there? … Le Le?

LL: Wheeeee! Look at me! I’m climbing! I’m up so high on this tree!

QC: It’s just a branch, Le Le. You’re two inches off the ground.
LL: Whatever. Man, I’m exhausted from all this climbing. Qing Chuan, let’s go back to that sunny spot and take a nap.
QC: Ok, but let me finish this piece of bamboo first real quick, and then I’ll meet you back there.

LL: Hey Qing Chuan?
QC: Mmmm?
LL: How come people don’t eat bamboo?
QC: Well, they probably don’t know how good it tastes.
LL: Oh… Let’s not tell them then, ok?
QC: Sure thing, Le Le.

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Pictures of the Day: Wal-Mart. In Xian! Incredible.

A Shocking Update

It’s been 146 days. 146 days since we first invaded your bathroom from abroad. (That is if you read blogs while using the toilet like I do.) 146 days of daily – and sometimes twice-daily – posts. And it’s all coming to an end today.

Before you shed ten tears though, don’t worry! We’ll be back tomorrow. We have plenty of posts ready for your consumption; however, in a shameless marketing ploy we have decided to take a day off. Today we will attempt to build anticipation for tomorrow’s post, which George Stephanopoulos called “The Greatest Post of All Time!” and Queen Latifah raved, “it’s better than Jimmy Fallon’s performance in Taxi.”

Just kidding. It’s just that if NBC throws in the towel with reruns of The Jay Leno Show opposite the Super Bowl, then there’s no way we can compete with the game either.

See you tomorrow!

Terracotta and Lady Jia Jia

1/26/10: Xian, China

Like most budget travelers, Zhou and I are usually do-it-yourself-ers. We book as much long-distance transportation as possible without the help of travel agents. We’ll walk an hour to avoid a small taxi fare. We chew our own food instead of asking for the butler’s help. Today, whether out of respect or laziness we’ll never know, we became do-it-with-help-ers and booked a guided tour to visit the famous Terracotta Warriors of Xian. Although this option lightened the left front jacket pocket (pickpockets, that’s where I usually keep our money) by an extra $20, we decided we’d splurge.

Enter Jia Jia.

Jia Jia was our tour guide today. Tour guide today. Mmm. Right away we could tell we would have a good time with her at the helm. At the helm. Mmm. She enjoyed repeating the last couple words of most sentences for emphasis, then she would add an emphatic grunt of contentment while grinning from ear to ear. She instantly developed a crush on Johnny, an Aussie at the back of the bus, and then she immediately announced that she was single. Throughout the bus ride she peppered questions over the speaker system, and every single one of them was directed at Johnny.

“Johnny, were you paying attention? What are the four types of warriors in the army?”
“Johnny, tell me about yourself. What is your story?”
“Johnny, can you please sing us a song?”

To everyone’s surprise Johnny actually obliged by singing a song, and then he promptly butchered “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.” I think he did it because he was having fun with Jia Jia. And who wouldn’t? She was probably the most earnest (Zhou’s word) person you’ll ever meet, and she never stopped smiling. Not even when relaying a story of the Chinese government blocking her visa request to teach Chinese in South Africa, despite her having been accepted in an all expenses paid four-month program.

When we finally arrived at the museum, it was Zhou’s turn to become friends with Jia Jia. Rumor of Zhou’s excellent Chinese-speaking skills had bypassed the grapevine, and Jia Jia was excited to have someone who could help her translate some words into English. After all, in her few years of doing these tours, she had never had a Chinese speaker on her bus.

Let me pause the story here and include a bunch of pictures of the Terracotta Warriors. I would be remiss if I failed to mention that it was pretty awe-inspiring to see the thousands of clay soldiers that were buried underground for 2,000 years before being discovered. What amazed me most was that this is an ongoing process – almost 8,000 soldiers have been found, but experts believe that this is just the beginning.

Pit 1, the one you see in history textbooks. 2,000 soldiers have been unearthed here and 4,000 more are being excavated.

Zhou could only view the warriors from afar...

… but I was allowed to stand within them. Ok, you caught me – this picture was taken in the gift shop.

Zhou is a commanding soldier with an attractive beer belly.

I'm just a dwarf, but at least I have a sword.

Zhou with Jia Jia and her pink flower that she used as a marker for us to follow.

Anyway, Zhou and Jia Jia caught up through our tour, and I interjected when I could: “Ting bu dong” (“I don’t understand”) and “Wo bu hui shuo zhong wen” (“I don’t speak Chinese”). Obviously Jia Jia still made time to make sure Johnny was doing well and that he understood everything. If he didn’t she would take his arm and lead him to an exhibit for a closer look.

As we were leaving, Jia Jia fell behind the entire group – Johnny, Zhou and everyone else. By the time we all realized she was missing, she came running down the walkway to catch up without a word of explanation. A few minutes later Zhou tiptoed up to me with a bag in her hand. “Look what Jia Jia gave us.” It was a six-inch model of a the horse-drawn chariot we had seen in Pit 2. “It will give us good luck in our jobs and in money. She said not to tell anyone else she gave it to us.”

Zhou had told Jia Jia the story of our travels and her impending grad school and my tentative plans to find a job, and Jia Jia had decided that it would be nice if we had a good luck charm for this next stage of our lives.

In the 4.5 months we have been on the road, one of the hardest things I have learned is to not trust anyone at first. Somebody is bound to use your trust to their advantage – it’s so easy to prey on tourists who have no knowledge of their foreign surroundings. Jia Jia throws this whole theory out the window. It has to be better to encounter ten disingenuous strangers in order to meet one Jia Jia, as it’s people like her who we’ll remember for a long time after our trip is over.
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Pictures of the Day: In a stunning upset, Zhou scored the come-from-behind Mahjong victory in game three, but it was I who had the last laugh by winning the final three games.

I Can’t Read Chinese. Really.

1/25/10: Xian, China

Last night’s overnight train ride was everything Kevin dreamed it would be (and more). So we were actually pretty well rested when we arrived in Xian this morning, which was a nice change of pace. We checked into our hostel (Han Tang Inn, which wins my vote for Nicest Hostel Bathroom EVER!) and settled in before heading out to grab some lunch.

Now, it should be stated here that for every meal we’ve had so far in China, either a) the menu was also in English, b) somebody who could read Chinese was there to help us order, or c) both of the above. So today was our first real day on our own, which meant we would have to rely on my first-grade Chinese reading level to find some food or else eat at an over-priced tourist place with an English menu. Fortunately, I can recognize the characters for “beef,” “chicken,” and “noodles.” Unfortunately, there are usually a lot of characters that I don’t recognize stuffed in between the few that I do. We did our usual 15-minute search for food before finally deciding to go to the first place we had passed. (This has happened to us so many times that we really should just always go to the first place we see.) We doubled back and sat down at a table near the front. It was one of those typical, local, hole-in-the-wall places where there are only six tables, almost all of them filled with people – some smoking, some eating peanuts or sunflower seeds and tossing the shells onto the ground. The menu was pinned up on the wall, and the only words I could recognize were “big,” “small,” “tomato,” “noodles,” “beef,” and “hand.” I deduced that the noodles were handmade, because why else would there be the characters for “hand” and “noodles” in the same dish? But I couldn’t really figure out anything else. I decided to swallow my pride and just ask the old man running the place what kind of food they served.

[Note: the following conversation did occur in Chinese.]

Old Man: What do you want to eat?
Z: Um… I can’t read Chinese. Can you explain to us what you serve here?
OM looks at me blankly.
OM: It’s up on the menu. Points to the menu.
Z: I can’t read Chinese.
OM: You can’t read the menu?
Z: No.
OM: Really?
Z: Really.
OM: Oh. Do you want two bowls of noodles then?
Z: Yes please.

I guess with the whole looking Chinese and being able to speak Chinese thing really throws people off. The old man was really friendly though, once he realized that I wasn’t playing some kind of strange and useless prank on him and that I really couldn’t read Chinese. He called me back into the kitchen and asked me if the green noodles were ok, because they had run out of the white kind. He may have tried to explain to me what the green noodles were made out of, but I was so giddy over the fact that we were finally going to eat that I wasn’t really paying attention.

Final grades – noodles: B, Zhou’s navigation of Chinese menu: A-, man chain-smoking at table next to us: F.

To avoid having to explain the not-reading-Chinese thing, for dinner we decided to make the walk over to the Muslim Quarter, which is famous for its street food. Point-and-eat is much easier than ordering off of a menu. On the way there, we passed by the Bell Tower and the Drum Tower and stopped to take a few pictures.

Z: Should I do the Asian pose?
K: Only if you want to be frowned upon.

Go ahead and hit me with your disapproval, Curry.

K: Take a picture of me in front of the Drum Tower.
Z: Ok, but you have to do the Asian pose.
K: No!
Z: I’m not taking it until you do it!
K: Fine…

This is the distraught Asian pose.

We walked down Muslim Quarter and stopped to sample a few of the different foods. I never had to explain to anyone that I can’t read Chinese, leaving at least some of my pride intact. On the way back, we stopped inside a convenience store to pick up some toiletries (namely deodorant) and a bottle of water. When we stepped inside the store, the lady at the register immediately asked us (in Chinese), “What are you looking for?”

I froze. How does one say “deodorant” in Chinese? I had no clue.

[Imagine the following conversation in Chinese.]
Z: Um, well, I don’t know how to say it in Chinese.
L: What is it used for?
Z: Well, you put it here – points to left armpit, like this – mimics the motion of rolling on deodorant.
L: Oh, you mean a razor.
Z: No, no, not a razor.
L: Shaving cream?
Z: No, not shaving cream.
L: Does it have anything to do with hair?
Z: No, no, nothing to do with hair.
L: You don’t know what it’s for?
Z: Well, you put it on, and you won’t be smelly.
L: Ohhhh! Deodorant.
Z: Yes, deodorant!
L: We don’t have that here.
Z: Oh.

Oh well. You can’t have everything. Not in China. And especially not odorless armpits.
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Puzzles for Postcards

Rhyme Time! Solve three of these four war-related rhymes.

To dampen the sound coming from a long-barreled gun
War combatants belonging to the makers of a home-brewed coffee
Part of a war between members of Old McDonald’s farm
The most smug of the five branches of the military
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Picture of the Day: Meat-filled pancake things from the Muslim Quarter.