Maggie in the Middle Kingdom

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.