I went out to lunch at a restaurant behind the school with my roommate and two of her classmates I hadn’t met before. I watched people walking past the window, slightly more bundled up because of a cool wind, and was instantly put in mind of a fall afternoon in New York. It was a nice feeling of familiarity, and though the weather’s been getting cooler all week, it was the first time I really felt like fall had arrived.
On a separate note, I’d like to write a bit about Chinese snacks. If there is one thing American cities lack, it’s street food, and China seems to be the capital of street eating. There’s a small alley behind the back gate of our school with various small restaurants and noodle shops, but the real spectacle is at night when the alley is chock full of vendors and carts selling anything from Chinese crepes, roasted pork sandwiches, dumplings, fried rice, stuffed pastries, all the way to these kebab things with various vegetables and meats that you can pick and have fried right in front of you. These various snacks are put in small plastic bags, which you can carry back to your room or eat from while walking down the street. On the weekends, vendors set up all over (mostly outside bars) with long metal boxes of lit coals and lamb skewers, fanning the flames and roasting the kebabs. I once saw one of these metal boxes, still glowing, on the back of someone’s bike riding down the street.
Though I have a few favorites, I’m always excited to try new snack foods, many of which are various bready pastries or fried dumpling type things. If I need change for the bus, I can just grab a sesame ball and nibble at it while I wait at the stop. I once had an octopus skewer, which was seasoned a bit oddly, and there’s a great crepe sandwich with some vegetables and a slightly sweet sauce. My favorite is a plain, puff-pastry type bread, sometimes with a bit of hot sauce thrown on.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
A Pile of Neuroses and then Some
Well I went from a low point of boredom yesterday, shut in by the largest rainfall in Hangzhou in recent history due to a typhoon, to a day full of many ups and downs and fears and excitements, and several choice blonde moments.
This morning I got to talk to a couple of close friends I haven’t talked to since getting here (High point).
Then I set about figuring out how to buy plane tickets for my upcoming fall break. It seems I couldn’t use the phone service because they don’t take credit cards and a trip to the bank was just as much trouble, so I went to a ticket office in town. They organized my flights, asked for my information, and I discovered I’d of course neglected to bring my passport (Blonde moment). Luckily I was able to conjure the passport number out of nowhere on only the second try (the first try I switched two numbers). When it came time to pay, they insisted they only took Chinese credit cards. Flummoxed, I asked if there was a Bank of China (the bank I knew I could get money from) nearby. They smiled and pointed me down the road. The problem with asking Chinese people for help is that they will always gladly and helpfully answer you, whether or not they actually know the answer. I walked down a street containing I think every bank EXCEPT Bank of China, finally trying one of the bigger ones on a whim. It worked, and as the guy had said I needed 3450, I took out 3500 and went back. Of course he’d really said 3750. This was a slur of speech I’d never encountered before: four and seven should NOT sound alike, but he definitely said “qi” which should have an “ee”, with the “i” sound from “si” (“eh”) and lisped, so it came out like “tseh”. I had in total in my purse 3700. Irritated beyond belief and with no one actually at fault besides my carelessness, I trudged back to the bank to get more money, thinking all the while, of course, of the inferior exchange rate, and fighting back tears of frustration and proclaiming my hatred of China, all the while chastising myself because, after all, I was buying the tickets I wanted (Low point). Later Jeremy insisted that he’s used credit cards before there, and there really should be no problem (Lower point).
This afternoon I had my calligraphy class, and while I am still woefully behind the rest of the class, I am definitely enjoying the class. Today, our instructor demonstrated some writing for us. He wrote in five different styles, for each one choosing an appropriate thing to write. The oldest form was written on fan-shaped paper, and had a four-character phrase encouraging studying one thing to perfection. The somewhat looser style was a long poem that he said was slightly ironic in meaning. The more modern, expressionistic style was a single, bold “dragon”. Afterward he let each of us take one for our own. I liked them all, and ended up with the dragon, which while it doesn’t have as significant a meaning, is very asymmetrical and artistic, and I think I’ll like having it on my wall (High point).
Afterward I set off with a few friends on an errand I’d been considering at a distance for some time: buying an electric bike. By the way, I’ve edited a previous entry mentioning said bikes so that no one can try to use it to call me a hypocrite. The bike I bought looks more like a bike and less like a motorcycle, so it is lighter and theoretically can be mailed home. This forms the basis for my decision to buy it, plus the fact that it will definitely help me get out into the city more in a less structured manner, post “I’m bored and it looks like I’ll stay that way” rut. Of course most people who know me know I suddenly become a neurotic mess when I buy myself things that aren’t frequent and repeating purchases (and even sometimes then), so though I knew I’d regret not buying the bike, and that I would love having it to use, the second I started writing the paperwork I started having what felt like a miniature panic attack of “what did I get myself into?” (Low point). Xueqin had done more research than I had, and especially since I knew I was going to buy the bike but hadn’t told myself yet I felt unprepared for the buying process. She walked me through it, and I took deep breaths. By the time I got ten feet down the road, all that was gone (High point). The bike runs smoothly, and though it’s pickup isn’t great it can get up to about 18 mph, plus it has pedals. I love it and I’m not even sad I didn’t buy one sooner: I’m really glad that I now really know the bus system, and now have to learn the city from another angle. We rode back (with our friend riding on the back in true Chinese form), locked up our bikes, and then I threw out some packing material and the keys to my two locks (Blonde moment).
We had an evening meeting, which was neither high nor low but definitely thought provoking, as among other things we discussed a certain lax attitude toward the language pledge among a large portion of our group. It’s true that a lot of people use English as their default language away from classes, and though I don’t particularly care what other people speak, it’s a little weird to go out with a big group and suddenly realize that everyone is speaking English. Especially when these are not people you’re particularly close with, it’s a bit strange and I end up tending to just not talk at all. So the meeting ended with a new conviction in the language pledge, and I went back to my room and discovered my keys were missing (Low point), went to the downstairs trash can, found one set right off, then removed everything from both bins before finding the other (High point).
This morning I got to talk to a couple of close friends I haven’t talked to since getting here (High point).
Then I set about figuring out how to buy plane tickets for my upcoming fall break. It seems I couldn’t use the phone service because they don’t take credit cards and a trip to the bank was just as much trouble, so I went to a ticket office in town. They organized my flights, asked for my information, and I discovered I’d of course neglected to bring my passport (Blonde moment). Luckily I was able to conjure the passport number out of nowhere on only the second try (the first try I switched two numbers). When it came time to pay, they insisted they only took Chinese credit cards. Flummoxed, I asked if there was a Bank of China (the bank I knew I could get money from) nearby. They smiled and pointed me down the road. The problem with asking Chinese people for help is that they will always gladly and helpfully answer you, whether or not they actually know the answer. I walked down a street containing I think every bank EXCEPT Bank of China, finally trying one of the bigger ones on a whim. It worked, and as the guy had said I needed 3450, I took out 3500 and went back. Of course he’d really said 3750. This was a slur of speech I’d never encountered before: four and seven should NOT sound alike, but he definitely said “qi” which should have an “ee”, with the “i” sound from “si” (“eh”) and lisped, so it came out like “tseh”. I had in total in my purse 3700. Irritated beyond belief and with no one actually at fault besides my carelessness, I trudged back to the bank to get more money, thinking all the while, of course, of the inferior exchange rate, and fighting back tears of frustration and proclaiming my hatred of China, all the while chastising myself because, after all, I was buying the tickets I wanted (Low point). Later Jeremy insisted that he’s used credit cards before there, and there really should be no problem (Lower point).
This afternoon I had my calligraphy class, and while I am still woefully behind the rest of the class, I am definitely enjoying the class. Today, our instructor demonstrated some writing for us. He wrote in five different styles, for each one choosing an appropriate thing to write. The oldest form was written on fan-shaped paper, and had a four-character phrase encouraging studying one thing to perfection. The somewhat looser style was a long poem that he said was slightly ironic in meaning. The more modern, expressionistic style was a single, bold “dragon”. Afterward he let each of us take one for our own. I liked them all, and ended up with the dragon, which while it doesn’t have as significant a meaning, is very asymmetrical and artistic, and I think I’ll like having it on my wall (High point).
Afterward I set off with a few friends on an errand I’d been considering at a distance for some time: buying an electric bike. By the way, I’ve edited a previous entry mentioning said bikes so that no one can try to use it to call me a hypocrite. The bike I bought looks more like a bike and less like a motorcycle, so it is lighter and theoretically can be mailed home. This forms the basis for my decision to buy it, plus the fact that it will definitely help me get out into the city more in a less structured manner, post “I’m bored and it looks like I’ll stay that way” rut. Of course most people who know me know I suddenly become a neurotic mess when I buy myself things that aren’t frequent and repeating purchases (and even sometimes then), so though I knew I’d regret not buying the bike, and that I would love having it to use, the second I started writing the paperwork I started having what felt like a miniature panic attack of “what did I get myself into?” (Low point). Xueqin had done more research than I had, and especially since I knew I was going to buy the bike but hadn’t told myself yet I felt unprepared for the buying process. She walked me through it, and I took deep breaths. By the time I got ten feet down the road, all that was gone (High point). The bike runs smoothly, and though it’s pickup isn’t great it can get up to about 18 mph, plus it has pedals. I love it and I’m not even sad I didn’t buy one sooner: I’m really glad that I now really know the bus system, and now have to learn the city from another angle. We rode back (with our friend riding on the back in true Chinese form), locked up our bikes, and then I threw out some packing material and the keys to my two locks (Blonde moment).
We had an evening meeting, which was neither high nor low but definitely thought provoking, as among other things we discussed a certain lax attitude toward the language pledge among a large portion of our group. It’s true that a lot of people use English as their default language away from classes, and though I don’t particularly care what other people speak, it’s a little weird to go out with a big group and suddenly realize that everyone is speaking English. Especially when these are not people you’re particularly close with, it’s a bit strange and I end up tending to just not talk at all. So the meeting ended with a new conviction in the language pledge, and I went back to my room and discovered my keys were missing (Low point), went to the downstairs trash can, found one set right off, then removed everything from both bins before finding the other (High point).
Sunday, October 7, 2007
Consumer Trends
As I was walking through the alley at back gate last week, I looked through a doorway I’d never noticed before and saw a big indoor food market. I have slightly more faith in my powers of observation than to think I could miss such a large and useful thing, and sure enough it turns out the market is newly-opened after being under renovation since I got here. A stroll through revealed vegetables of all kind (including a cucumber-type squash that was as big around as a salad plate) and a whole row of fish tanks, plus almost anything you could want to make a Chinese meal. Maybe I’ll have to give this cooking thing another shot, and just make Chinese food.
Last night for dinner six of us went to a Korean restaurant. I’d never had Korean food before, and I really liked it. Afterward we bought some ice cream from a convenience store and strolled down to a nearby street that is a main drag of bars near the other big university in town. We parked at “Black and White Bar” and I ordered a screwdriver, which was a mistake. I somehow forgot that there isn’t real orange juice in China. The stuff they sell everywhere labeled as OJ is watery, sweet and somewhat citrus tasting, and in small cups you can see straight through it. So my screwdriver was sweet, citrus tasting water with some vodka at the bottom. Still decent, but I should have just gotten a beer.
Today I dragged myself way across town to wander a bit, and I ended up going into a big shopping mall, only the second like it I’ve found in Hangzhou. The problem with shopping in China, however, is that I can’t actually do it. Chinese fashion is always interesting, and while there’s plenty of tacky silver-painted T-shirts and halter vests that I would never wear, there’s also a lot of pretty designs of dresses, blazers and shirts that I really like looking at. Of course, one gets self conscious walking into a store knowing nothing on the racks will actually fit, leafing through a few sweaters, noticing a shopclerk standing grinning over your shoulder, and then muttering something about nothing being the right size and leaving quickly before she tries to show you something large and hideous with an elastic waist that’s sitting in a box on the floor. The problem is not weight. I could lose 50 pounds and still not be able to buy clothing here. The problem is that my shoulders, ribcage, hips and thighs are just built significantly wider than those of most people here. Surprisingly, I do not feel fat here. I think I’m on such an entirely different level of body-type that my unconscious has just stopped making comparisons altogether. The thing is that there are fat people in China, and there are people with slightly wider frames, and they must buy clothing somewhere. I have no idea where it is, and I can’t exactly stop someone on the street and say “Excuse me, you’re a bit on the large side, where did you get those jeans?”. Anyway, the inability to actually try anything on takes some of the fun out of shopping, so I made a quick tour through the mall and headed back out.
Before getting on the bus I found yet another, larger indoor food market. This one had a whole row of butcher stands, spices, rice, vegetables and an aisle of poultry. They had chicken and duck, sitting in their cages, looking unalarmed and rather unlike the six-piece family tray at Shoprite. This reminded me of one time I saw a woman carrying her morning groceries in a shopping bag. Sticking out of the bag was a head of bok choy or some vegetable, and, after I did a double-take, a duck’s head bobbing along down the street.
Last night for dinner six of us went to a Korean restaurant. I’d never had Korean food before, and I really liked it. Afterward we bought some ice cream from a convenience store and strolled down to a nearby street that is a main drag of bars near the other big university in town. We parked at “Black and White Bar” and I ordered a screwdriver, which was a mistake. I somehow forgot that there isn’t real orange juice in China. The stuff they sell everywhere labeled as OJ is watery, sweet and somewhat citrus tasting, and in small cups you can see straight through it. So my screwdriver was sweet, citrus tasting water with some vodka at the bottom. Still decent, but I should have just gotten a beer.
Today I dragged myself way across town to wander a bit, and I ended up going into a big shopping mall, only the second like it I’ve found in Hangzhou. The problem with shopping in China, however, is that I can’t actually do it. Chinese fashion is always interesting, and while there’s plenty of tacky silver-painted T-shirts and halter vests that I would never wear, there’s also a lot of pretty designs of dresses, blazers and shirts that I really like looking at. Of course, one gets self conscious walking into a store knowing nothing on the racks will actually fit, leafing through a few sweaters, noticing a shopclerk standing grinning over your shoulder, and then muttering something about nothing being the right size and leaving quickly before she tries to show you something large and hideous with an elastic waist that’s sitting in a box on the floor. The problem is not weight. I could lose 50 pounds and still not be able to buy clothing here. The problem is that my shoulders, ribcage, hips and thighs are just built significantly wider than those of most people here. Surprisingly, I do not feel fat here. I think I’m on such an entirely different level of body-type that my unconscious has just stopped making comparisons altogether. The thing is that there are fat people in China, and there are people with slightly wider frames, and they must buy clothing somewhere. I have no idea where it is, and I can’t exactly stop someone on the street and say “Excuse me, you’re a bit on the large side, where did you get those jeans?”. Anyway, the inability to actually try anything on takes some of the fun out of shopping, so I made a quick tour through the mall and headed back out.
Before getting on the bus I found yet another, larger indoor food market. This one had a whole row of butcher stands, spices, rice, vegetables and an aisle of poultry. They had chicken and duck, sitting in their cages, looking unalarmed and rather unlike the six-piece family tray at Shoprite. This reminded me of one time I saw a woman carrying her morning groceries in a shopping bag. Sticking out of the bag was a head of bok choy or some vegetable, and, after I did a double-take, a duck’s head bobbing along down the street.
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