Maggie in the Middle Kingdom

Busy Busy Bee

There's been a big lack of posts on here for a while, and that's made a couple of you sad. The reason why is simple: I am just way too busy.  The site I created with the GoKunming guys, China Sports Today is chugging along and the business of keeping it updated and promoting it is very time consuming. We are looking beyond the Olympics, because we believe that the  games are just a starting point for a lot of great stuff on the sports scene here. Our chances of having a mega breakthrough before the games are very small, but this is still a key time for us to get our name out there.

We've made significant strides in promotion--I now post to Danwei.org (a news/media/marketing blog based in Beijing) and Shanghaiist.com (part of the Gothamist family of city sites). Working with the people who run these great sites is not just a great way to get publicity, but also an opportunity to get to know some of the most informed laowai in China, who are doing very important work in keeping the public informed here.

I've also had the opportunity to cover some great stories and more are coming. Last week, I started writing a sports column in a Chinese newspaper, the 21st Century Business Herald. Here is a link to the Chinese homepage for my column. Its name, Zhenpin Tiyu, is a play on my Chinese name that sort of means "Rare Sports,"... it's one of those translations that can't really be translated. Maybe if I stay here long enough, I'll understand what it really sounds like to a Chinese person. The English version of my first column is here.

Anyway, all of that should give you some idea how busy I am. If you want to know what I'm up to, the sports site is a better bet than here for a couple of months.

Earthquake!

The answers are "Yes," and "Yes." Yes, I am okay. And yes, I felt the earthquake. But no, I did not know what it was when I felt it.

Here's what I experienced:

Around 2:30 in the afternoon, I was sitting in my apartment working when I suddenly felt really queasy and off balance. I thought it was because I hadn't eaten lunch yet, so I put on my shoes and went out to get something to eat. Outside, the 250 or so migrant workers who are constructing this building across the street were all standing around in their yellow and read hard hats. I walked up to some of them and asked, "Why are you all taking a break at the same time?" They laughed so hard at me. "There was an earthquake!" I had to ask them a few times, because it's a new word for me.

Anyway, my stupid story aside, initial reports we were hearing for the first several hours were that maybe 10 or fewer people had died. Now I am hearing about 8,500 people. That's more believable for a 7.5-7.8 quake in a highly populated place. It's also more sad.

How Many? How Many?

There is a serious obsession here with counting things. People like to talk about how many English words they know and they want to know how many characters you know.

Random acquaintances often ask me how many countries and how many Chinese cities I have visited. When the topic of drinking beer comes up, men always ask how many bottles of beer I can drink. This once led to a very boring night of tediously downing lukewarm Budweisers in a bar in Lijiang's  ancient city, just to prove that I could in fact drink that much beer-flavored water. When my new roommate found out recently that I swim, she instantly asked, "How many meters can you swim?" Who wants to know how many meters they can swim?

The fact that you have never considered these questions is unacceptable.

+++++++++

As an aside, I am loving my new apartment and roommates. I live with a German guy and a newlywed couple--Chinese woman, Taiwanese man. Everyone seems completely reasonable, sane and easy to live with. The Taiwanese guy is a painter and we have these beautiful, huge, brightly colored canvases hanging in the living and dining room. The couple both laugh a lot, and it's great to be using Chinese at home. I also have a swimming pool and gym right here in the complex.

Visa Mafan

First, mafan is a word that anyone who plans to talk to me for the rest of my life should learn. The standard translation is "trouble," but of course it's not quite that simple. Here's an example of typical usage:

Friend 1: Did you register for the fall semester at Yunnan University?
Friend 2: Nah, too  I can't deal with all that paper work. Too mafan. I'm going to hire a private tutor.

Now I just want you all to know the new mafan that foreigners in China are dealing with ahead of the games. I've read a lot of small stories on it but this NY Times story does the best job so far of summing it all up and putting it in context.

Most critical to me at the moment is the visa mafan. Rules have become more obnoxious over the past few months, but last week they suddenly got really bad. Whereas it used to be easy to renew all kinds of visas from within China or to jet down to Hong Kong or Bangkok for a few days to get sorted out for another three to six months, now some reports say you have to go back to your home country and then can get only a one-month visa.

Before you get all excited about me coming back to NY for a visit when my current visa expires next month, check out this from a friend of mine who is a liaison for the New School's China program:

First - the regulations change and are not posted or communicated so people have shown up to pick up their visas to find out they need more info. In addition to the standard stuff (purpose of stay, duration,
etc) they have to show: hotel reservation, airline ticket (return ticket), bank statements, letters from the university in NYC.   As of today, I have sent them two letters from Yunnan Univ. and they are scrambling for another from The New School.  Not even sure if that is enough.

It's crazy.

A Different Perspective

In my three weeks in Beijing, I've noticed an apparent contradiction that's actually not a contradiction at all: The average foreigner in Kunming, the little provincial capital that I called home for several months, is definitely better informed about China than the average foreign resident of Beijing.

I have met several people since arriving who have been in China about the same length of time as I have, and have been surprised how little some of them seem to know about China. I'll spare you the examples; they would only be interesting to people who live here. But let's just say I'm glad that I didn't arrive in China via the usual routes of Beijing or Shanghai. It seems easier to spend a year in Beijing and not really learn much about China than it is to spend the same time in Kunming and come away uninformed. Here are some possible explanations:

    + It is easy to ghetto-ize your Beijing life. You can live, work and party exclusively with other Westerners. It's even pretty easy to just fall in with your fellow countrymen. In Kunming, I couldn't go out on a Friday night—even to the bars catering to foreigners—and not end up having to speak some Chinese.
    + Lots of people are here for money. Their companies gave them an offer they couldn't refuse. They want to collect their checks and get out. That doesn't foster as much interest in a place as those of us have who are here to learn and explore first, to cash in second or even third. Kunming is mostly populated with the latter.
    + Beijing is a massive city that can seem impenetrable and daunting. With Kunming's more manageable size, you see the same people around more, which makes it easier to bridge cultural gaps and come to some understanding.
    + Many foreigners here are working their behinds off in a corporate job. Even if they work with Chinese people, they face plenty of barriers to understanding: language, workplace politics, the demands of their jobs. In the lower-cost-of-living, less competitive environment of Kunming, I had the time and the freedom to stop and smell the stinky tofu. It was an opportunity for which I feel immensely grateful.

Of course, as major cities do, Beijing has attracted some of the best and the brightest and there are tons of foreigners here who can teach me a LOT. And if I ever start acting like I truly understand China, I hope someone who cares about me shuts me up and slaps me.  But I am so glad that I  got my China start in Kunming instead of Beijing.

Would You Buy an Apartment from This Woman?

Among the things I’ve learned since getting here three weeks ago: Beijing’s got apartments to sell, and it wants to sell them fast. On my three-minute walk from the Shuangjing bus station to my apartment I pass four real estate offices. One perpetually has a crowd of at least three (twice that on weekends) young staffers standing outside in yellow blazers handing out flyers.

And it’s not just my neighborhood, which is home to easily more than a dozen new high-rise apartment buildings. This morning, walking along North Chaoyangmen Avene, I passed a ludicrous McDonald’s promotion that involved 10 poor souls dressed up as some kind of breakfast pie that I’m pretty sure is exclusively sold in China, taking photos with kids and pretending to fight each other (a preview of what happens in your stomach after you eat them?).

A small crowd had gathered and a couple of young real estate promoters were practicing a signature Chinese marketing technique—proximity to something that seems to be working better than what you’re doing. They stood next to the breakfast pies holding 8-by-10 laminated renderings of their apartment buildings.

I stopped to talk to one of them, a young woman named Ai Hua.  She confirmed that she was advertising apartments for sale, not for rent. She explained that all I need is a Chinese friend to co-sign with me (and a stack of cash, I’m sure. We didn’t get that far) and one of these units could be mine. She assured me that her company wasn’t desperate to sell off this inventory before the Olympic Games end, and wouldn’t I just come with her and see one of these apartments?

I tried to think of other things that are sold on the street here—barbecued lamb and tofu, fake jade bracelets, newspapers… and real estate? I told her that I wasn’t shopping for an apartment but that if I were, I would wait at least for next fall. Beijing will certainly not be a ghost town after the games, but trust me: There will be an exodus, however temporary, of some deep pockets.

If sidewalk real estate sales doesn’t shock you, here’s another story. Friday afternoon, I was sitting in a cable car coming down from the Simatai section of the Great Wall and my phone rang. “Welcome to Beijing,” the voice on the other end said. They know I’m new here because I just bought a Beijing SIM card. “Have you bought an apartment yet?” I asked where he had gotten my number, and he answered, “China Mobile.” The phone companies here have no problem selling your number to businesses, and there’s no do-not-call list in China. I told him I am not buying an apartment, and never to call me again. That cold call was made with absolutely no knowledge of my ability or desire to buy an apartment—they had nothing but a number.

I am not a real estate expert by any stretch of the definition, but here is my humble suggestion on investing in property in Beijing this summer: Stay away.

Beautiful, Inscrutable

Because Lhasa is so small and I spent much of my week there just walking and biking around, when I read accounts of what's happened there, I have a pretty good idea of the lay of the land. Also, I have to say that while some of the photos and news coming out of there has been horrific, I'm not completely shocked. I did sense a tense undercurrent in the capital, despite some Western traveler's exclamations to the effect of: "Look how happy these people are, even in their poverty."  There was an edge in the air there, especially in the Barkhor area. And it was exacerbated among young people by extreme boredom. Despite the money being invested in the region, there seemed to be virtually nothing in the way of safe places for kids to play and hang out. And in stark contrast to every other Chinese city that I've been in, internet bars were almost impossible to find. Not that sitting in those nasty smoky dens playing online games is healthy, but at least it is something to do.

The closest I came to understanding how any everyday Tibetans feel about the Chinese government was one afternoon on the ride back from Ganden Monastery. Ganden is possibly the most beautiful place I've seen in my life, so beautiful that even my crumby camera couldn't help but produce some stunning photos. But on the bus ride back to Lhasa, you pass some pretty hideous monstrosities—factories, ugly residential developments, sloppy new bridges. In the local branch of Buddhism, nature is paramount. The pilgrims  who shared the bus with me had come from far-fetched parts of the region not just to visit Lhasa's important temples, but also to walk its koras, paths that loop up into the mountains above monasteries. To my travel companion and I, they were awesome for their beauty; to these pilgrims, they had deep religious significance. On the ride back, they pointed out the ugly new homes and factories with obvious disappointment.  Tibet is developing fast, and ordinary native people there have no say in how that is happening (not so different from what happened in the United States a couple hundred years ago). I was frustrated that my inability to speak any Tibetan kept me completely on the outside and unable to understand the people in this place. I came away from Tibet with two words: beautiful and inscrutable.

I've watched as reports have come out and listened as foreigners have discussed the situation (for most Chinese, there is really nothing to discuss; just a question: "Why are the Dalai Clique and YOUR governments trying to ruin OUR Olympics?"). I definitely see that mainstream non-Chinese media has its biases here, and that many people are too quick to paint this as a "peaceful protest followed by unjust crackdown" scenario. In fact, I think there is a lot of self-righteousness in American views of Tibet.
Unfortunately, no one's really been allowed in since two weeks ago, but I'm sure they would find that it is really not that simple.

During all of this, I've rekindled my relationship with the  International Herald Tribune. I've also discovered the work of the wise, well-spoken Lindsey Hilsum from the UK's Channel 4.

And for a look at some more local sources, check here.

Landed and Launched

So as of last Friday, I no longer live in Kunming. I moved to Beijing, where remarkably I feel like I'm experiencing culture shock even though I'm still in the same country.

I was met at the airport by a friend of a Chinese friend, who then very generously took me to dinner and let me stay in his home. His adorable little 6-year-old boy was just what the doctor ordered for me as I was feeling a bit sad about leaving Kunming.

I am in the process of launching a blog which is still very much under construction. It's giving me an opportunity to write about something that anyone who knows me knows is near and dear to my heart—sports. There's a lot of work still to be done on it, but check it out here: www.chinasportstoday.com.

Working on the site, plus some freelance assignments I've got, plus trying to milk Kunming for all it was worth, kept me from posting here very much since my Lhasa trip just before Chun Jie. And now I will still probably not post too much, as Beijing is proving to have a lot of opportunities that I need to hustle to take advantage of. But I will continue to keep this blog as an outlet for my letters home, to keep in touch with family and friends.

Letting the Secret Out

Life is good in Kunming, especially if you're here to study Chinese, travel and make friends. Here's a story I recently had published in the Beijing Review about why more people are coming to Kunming to do that.

Talking Politics with Charlie

For the Spring Festival, aka Chinese New Year, aka Chun Jie, I went down to visit a friend's family near Mengla, a city in Xishuangbanna near the borders with Laos and Myanmar. This part of Yunnan is tropical in climate, with rainforests, tall bamboo trees and that hazy, lazy feeling that makes you want to take a nap at 3:00 every afternoon.

My friend lived in a village that, like many in China, was basically a company town. Everyone worked for the local rubber company. Rubber trees grew everywhere, and they're actually quite pretty—tall and slender, spitting out profitable black spirals of sap. My friend's family lived less than 50 yards from company headquarters, in one of many rows of two-story cement buildings.

At dinner the first night, I talked a little bit with her parents about their past and my friend's childhood. Her father was very proud of what he'd made of himself, "Life was hard," he said. "We were very poor. We were four people on one bike." This was a reference to a common site all over China—poor families (though certainly not the poorest of the poor) who can only afford a bicycle or scooter and ride around on it together. It's remarkable (and of course completely unsafe) how they do this. You might see Dad driving, a toddler sitting on the running board, an older child on the seat in front of him and Mom sitting sidesaddle on the back. Now he owned a Kia automobile, and had sent at least one of three daughters to university. I also happened to know that one of my friend's grandfathers had died of starvation during the Great Leap Forward. The distance that so many families have traveled in such a short time here is amazing.

My friend's father mentioned that his career began in the army, helping Vietnam in the war against the United States. "That's history," he was quick to say.  And I believed that he felt this way.  The Chinese can sometimes be very reasonable when it comes to leaving the past behind. He was more interested in talking about the present.

"Who do you think will win the United States' next election?" he asked.

"I don't know," I answered. "Who would you like to see win?"

"The black man," he said. "America needs change, and that woman  is from the old guard. America also needs someone who can fix its problems with minority people."

It later occurred to me that he might be confusing the Democratic primary with the national elections. I also regretted that my limited knowledge of Chinese didn't allow the conversation to go any further. In any event, I appreciated the fact that I was sitting in the dining room of a Chinese man who had managed to pull his family up from poverty, getting his start by fighting against my country four decades ago, and now we were discussing my country's politics. His reasons for his political preference may have been superficial, but he clearly had more than passing interest in the contest.