Well I’ve now officially passed the one-month mark. I can mark my progress by announcing that yesterday Yazhen and I successfully ordered a delicious meal for four at a beautiful restaurant on West Lake to celebrate her birthday, that I rolled my eyes at the masses of tourists standing around on the bridges around the lake (of course I’m still more of an outsider than they are, but it’s nice to feel the distinction anyway), that I had nothing confiscated at the grocery store checkout this morning (though I didn’t buy any produce), and that I finally let myself eat fried rice again for dinner today.
Before I left for Shanghai, I took a look at my money situation. At the start I kept a close eye on where I spent my money, so if I were wasting a lot on one particular expense I would know, or I could consider buying a multi-use bus pass or such. I quickly decided that this was a bad idea, because I am not traveling but living here for a semester, and cataloguing everywhere my money goes will only make me anxious and unreasonably cheap. Still, I really haven’t been all that extravagant. I’m enjoying Hangzhou and getting out, and I even go for a cup of coffee to study once or twice a week. I’ve accepted taxi rides as an occasional necessity, and I’ve gotten used to watching a ticker on my desktop alert me to exactly how much I’m spending on internet time. I haven’t bought an electric scooter, or plane tickets for weekend trips, or daily lattes like some of my classmates (I can’t make that not sound judgemental, but it’s really not, I just have my own way of doing things and it involves not buying a 35 yuan latte every day).
Not including my Shanghai weekend (but to be fair, including the last two days of August), I figure in my first month I spent about 2000 yuan, or 260 dollars. This seemed pretty reasonable to me, especially considering that 500 went to a cell phone and five month phone plan. I’ve succeeded in passing an enjoyable and non-Puritanical month, and I am under budget. I was pretty proud of myself. And then I remembered that one of my teachers let it slip that his monthly salary is 3000 yuan.
3000 yuan! And then you need to pay taxes, pay rent, have some savings, etc. If most people live on maybe 1000 yuan or less spending money a month, where exactly are my luxuries? The occasional cab ride, a drink at a bar now and then. I don’t cook for myself, but I hardly dine five-star; I eat a lot at the cafeteria, and breakfast is usually yogurt or a roll. I’ve bought myself very little: a towel, some shampoo, some clothes hangers and laundry detergent, a pen case, notebooks, maybe a few other things. My weekend in Shaoxing put me back around 200 and I spent 150 on the soccer ticket. I’m not saying I have regrets about having fun around here, but it certainly puts things in perspective. All in all, you could definitely live on that little money for a month, but it would be a fairly simple life, with little entertainment and a lot of nights at home. Someone should tell Paris Hilton…could be a spinoff?
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Shanghaied
I realize I left my last entry on a somewhat ambiguous note, my fault for writing in a hurry. The haircut experience was an enjoyable one, and I quite like the cut, or at least I did until I discovered that there’s a slight (must be intentional) gradient from back to front, and a sizeable chunk of longer hair in the front. Ooops. I’ll figure that one out tomorrow.
Friday afternoon took Xueqin, Jingbo and me to Shanghai for the weekend, to exploit a loophole that left everyone in China working or in class this weekend, in preparation for a national week off, and also gives us a class-free Monday. The weekend was lots of fun, but consisted almost entirely of walking and eating, so I’ll try and make it sound more interesting.
We got out of the subway station at Renmin Square around 7:30, and my first thought was that this was my kind of city. Don’t get me wrong, I really like living in Hangzhou, but aside from the manicured parks and restored pathways along West Lake it’s not much to look at. Chinese architecture leaves a lot to be desired, and most of the growth in the last few decades consists of big, white-washed utilitarian blocks, with cages built around the windows for hang-drying clothing and rust stains below the air-conditioning units. When we emerged in Renmin Square I saw a brick church surrounded by several beautiful business towers, and the cool breeze coming through the wide streets definitely added something to the atmosphere. A short walk took us to East Nanjing Rd, a pedestrian-only street that struck me as a somehow less obnoxious version of Times Square. Maybe that’s because the lack of cars made it a more comfortable walk, because it was equally as lit up with ridiculously bright and large neon signs. We emerged awed on the other end and continued on to our hostel.
We planned to go to the Bund area (riverside strip previously home to most of the expats) to eat, but found many pretty buildings with few open storefronts, and instead headed back to Nanjing Road to eat at a Japanese restaurant. The next hour and a half or so consisted of wandering about looking for a good bar we could park in, but found not a single bar, and in fact discovered the previously bustling Nanjing Road completely deserted at 11:30. Unarmed with Lonely Planets or maps, we had no idea where to look for nightlife, and the people we stopped on the street to ask were of little help. Admitting defeat, we headed back to the hostel, bought some beers and pored over our maps to figure out what to do Saturday.
What we did Saturday was wander around the area known as the French Concession (I doubt they ever actually conceded anything), which is characterized by pretty tree-lined streets, lots of history and the occasional good bakery. We parked in a café for several hours to get some work done, and scoped out the Indian restaurant we wanted to go for dinner. In the afternoon we dodged the hawkers “Hello? Lady? Watch? Handbag?” and set off down the main shopping drag on Huaihan Road. Against all odds, we found a shop called “Mister Donut” that is apparently a Japanese chain, so of course we had to go in and have a taste. One chocolate-custard filled pastry later, we continued down the line of expensive shops which carried clothing much too small for me.
We got to the Indian restaurant around 6:30. The appeal of the restaurant was not only the fact that it was Indian, but also the fact that it was a buffet with bottomless beer. Over the course of about 3 hours we slowly ate our fill of curry and did our best to get our money’s worth of Chinese beer (the story of the night is that my stomach took much more of a beating than my liver). Sated almost to the point where we couldn’t walk, we set off to a nearby Irish pub, which turned out to feature a large outdoor beer garden and a Rugby game on a projection screen. Jingbo satisfied his craving for a good cider, and we contemplated the oddities of Rugby (having seen some cricket at the Indian restaurant, I was more open minded to seemingly strange sports). After hitting another bar we were ready to check out the bar scene, and went to a place called Bonbon which had an amusing bilingual American emcee and good music. Somewhere around this time, Jingbo decided it would be a good idea to finish other people’s drinks, though he didn’t tell us this until later.
Today we slept in a bit and actually spent the entire day on a single item of business; trekking back over to the French Concession for a Western-style brunch (with a stop along the way to find Jingbo a Western-style bathroom). The café we picked had a glorious courtyard seating area, and something called the “Big Breakfast” which was a tray piled with two pieces of toast, three eggs, a pile of thick bacon, roasted potatoes, tomatoes and mushrooms, plus a glass of the first real orange juice I’ve seen since getting here. It was wonderfully decadent, and eaten around 2:00, so about the only thing I needed to eat all day. After digesting for a while we headed back to the subway station, and collapsed on some benches outside a shopping center for about half an hour watching the tourists and flipping through our Lonely Planets. All in all it was a beautifully extravagant weekend, well worth every calorie and every aching muscle.
Friday afternoon took Xueqin, Jingbo and me to Shanghai for the weekend, to exploit a loophole that left everyone in China working or in class this weekend, in preparation for a national week off, and also gives us a class-free Monday. The weekend was lots of fun, but consisted almost entirely of walking and eating, so I’ll try and make it sound more interesting.
We got out of the subway station at Renmin Square around 7:30, and my first thought was that this was my kind of city. Don’t get me wrong, I really like living in Hangzhou, but aside from the manicured parks and restored pathways along West Lake it’s not much to look at. Chinese architecture leaves a lot to be desired, and most of the growth in the last few decades consists of big, white-washed utilitarian blocks, with cages built around the windows for hang-drying clothing and rust stains below the air-conditioning units. When we emerged in Renmin Square I saw a brick church surrounded by several beautiful business towers, and the cool breeze coming through the wide streets definitely added something to the atmosphere. A short walk took us to East Nanjing Rd, a pedestrian-only street that struck me as a somehow less obnoxious version of Times Square. Maybe that’s because the lack of cars made it a more comfortable walk, because it was equally as lit up with ridiculously bright and large neon signs. We emerged awed on the other end and continued on to our hostel.
We planned to go to the Bund area (riverside strip previously home to most of the expats) to eat, but found many pretty buildings with few open storefronts, and instead headed back to Nanjing Road to eat at a Japanese restaurant. The next hour and a half or so consisted of wandering about looking for a good bar we could park in, but found not a single bar, and in fact discovered the previously bustling Nanjing Road completely deserted at 11:30. Unarmed with Lonely Planets or maps, we had no idea where to look for nightlife, and the people we stopped on the street to ask were of little help. Admitting defeat, we headed back to the hostel, bought some beers and pored over our maps to figure out what to do Saturday.
What we did Saturday was wander around the area known as the French Concession (I doubt they ever actually conceded anything), which is characterized by pretty tree-lined streets, lots of history and the occasional good bakery. We parked in a café for several hours to get some work done, and scoped out the Indian restaurant we wanted to go for dinner. In the afternoon we dodged the hawkers “Hello? Lady? Watch? Handbag?” and set off down the main shopping drag on Huaihan Road. Against all odds, we found a shop called “Mister Donut” that is apparently a Japanese chain, so of course we had to go in and have a taste. One chocolate-custard filled pastry later, we continued down the line of expensive shops which carried clothing much too small for me.
We got to the Indian restaurant around 6:30. The appeal of the restaurant was not only the fact that it was Indian, but also the fact that it was a buffet with bottomless beer. Over the course of about 3 hours we slowly ate our fill of curry and did our best to get our money’s worth of Chinese beer (the story of the night is that my stomach took much more of a beating than my liver). Sated almost to the point where we couldn’t walk, we set off to a nearby Irish pub, which turned out to feature a large outdoor beer garden and a Rugby game on a projection screen. Jingbo satisfied his craving for a good cider, and we contemplated the oddities of Rugby (having seen some cricket at the Indian restaurant, I was more open minded to seemingly strange sports). After hitting another bar we were ready to check out the bar scene, and went to a place called Bonbon which had an amusing bilingual American emcee and good music. Somewhere around this time, Jingbo decided it would be a good idea to finish other people’s drinks, though he didn’t tell us this until later.
Today we slept in a bit and actually spent the entire day on a single item of business; trekking back over to the French Concession for a Western-style brunch (with a stop along the way to find Jingbo a Western-style bathroom). The café we picked had a glorious courtyard seating area, and something called the “Big Breakfast” which was a tray piled with two pieces of toast, three eggs, a pile of thick bacon, roasted potatoes, tomatoes and mushrooms, plus a glass of the first real orange juice I’ve seen since getting here. It was wonderfully decadent, and eaten around 2:00, so about the only thing I needed to eat all day. After digesting for a while we headed back to the subway station, and collapsed on some benches outside a shopping center for about half an hour watching the tourists and flipping through our Lonely Planets. All in all it was a beautifully extravagant weekend, well worth every calorie and every aching muscle.
Friday, September 28, 2007
Haircut
I’ve never before had a haircut in a foreign country, though I’ve for several years thought it would be something I’d like to try. I almost did it in Italy two years ago, but time did not permit. This afternoon I got my $5 Chinese haircut, and I quite like it. It’s about chin length, just long enough that I can still put it up.
Xueqin has been saying for a while that she wants to “li ge fa” (trim a hair, an expression that is somewhat abbreviated and for some reason sounds funny to us), so I went with her to one of several salons near school. I had perhaps the longest hair wash of my life, using very little water (actually there was no sink, just a very lathery liquid poured on my head and worked through my hair), which was fabulous, and then rinsed sat down for my cut. At this point I should mention that I actually generally feel very uncomfortable talking to the people who cut my hair. I think it has something to do with the fact that the cape and wet hair make my neck and face look kind of fat, and I am forced to sit and make eye contact with myself, scrutinize every detail of my face, and simultaneously make small talk so someone who’s tugging away at my head. It’s harder when there’s a language gap.
When the stylist commented about my hair color, I mentioned that my sister has red hair. This news always seems to startle Chinese people. They of course understand genetics and that sort of thing, and if you shrug and say “it’s genetic” they concede that it makes sense, but these are people who are used to everyone having black hair, so the thought that within a single family there could exist several hair colors is a bit baffling. We hit on other various uncomfortable subjects like how much a hair cut costs in America, and how long I’ve been in China. This is an uncomfortable question for me, because due to the lack of verb tenses, continuing actions are a bit difficult, and I have trouble figuring out whether someone wants to know how long I’ve been in China or how long I plan to be in China. I generally answer both questions and hope they’re satisfied. So anyway my hair is now blow-dried and therefore the prettiest it’s been since I got here, and on one of the most humid days. Bad timing, I know.
Xueqin has been saying for a while that she wants to “li ge fa” (trim a hair, an expression that is somewhat abbreviated and for some reason sounds funny to us), so I went with her to one of several salons near school. I had perhaps the longest hair wash of my life, using very little water (actually there was no sink, just a very lathery liquid poured on my head and worked through my hair), which was fabulous, and then rinsed sat down for my cut. At this point I should mention that I actually generally feel very uncomfortable talking to the people who cut my hair. I think it has something to do with the fact that the cape and wet hair make my neck and face look kind of fat, and I am forced to sit and make eye contact with myself, scrutinize every detail of my face, and simultaneously make small talk so someone who’s tugging away at my head. It’s harder when there’s a language gap.
When the stylist commented about my hair color, I mentioned that my sister has red hair. This news always seems to startle Chinese people. They of course understand genetics and that sort of thing, and if you shrug and say “it’s genetic” they concede that it makes sense, but these are people who are used to everyone having black hair, so the thought that within a single family there could exist several hair colors is a bit baffling. We hit on other various uncomfortable subjects like how much a hair cut costs in America, and how long I’ve been in China. This is an uncomfortable question for me, because due to the lack of verb tenses, continuing actions are a bit difficult, and I have trouble figuring out whether someone wants to know how long I’ve been in China or how long I plan to be in China. I generally answer both questions and hope they’re satisfied. So anyway my hair is now blow-dried and therefore the prettiest it’s been since I got here, and on one of the most humid days. Bad timing, I know.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)