没钱别跟着我

I can feel the age of these stones.   This is the real thing.  Too often the sights China boasts of are rebuilt within the last 20 years, they reek of falsehood and newness.  When we were trying to choose our trip to the Great Wall, the number one requirement I had was that it be original.  I wanted the antiquity of the place to speak to me.  To soak in the wisdom it holds.

I remember going to the county fair in Michigan when I was a kid, with my grandma and my cousin Josh.  There was a ride called the Zipper that we were all afraid to go on, but too proud to admit it.  We'd stand in awe below it, watching the cars go round and round on a giant conveyor belt, spinning as the belt moved, and turning topsy turvy on top of that.  Three separate motions to make you sick. We'd shake with fear and one of us would dare the other one to get on.  It took a lot of name calling and double-dog-dare-yous but eventually we would get on together.  Then we'd spend the rest of the evening holding onto our stomachs and trying to see straight.

I'm thousands of miles away from the county fair but from time to time I feel like I just got off the Zipper.  The whole world keeps sliding first one way, and then the next, spinning the whole time, and occasionally bucking me off.

It comes when I least expect it.  I'll be walking along listening to Michael Jackson and then I'll have the image of my aunt walking in my house the morning of my brother's funeral and announcing that Michal Jackson died that day.  Suddenly the world is unstable.  I can't figure out which way is up, or how to move my legs, or that I'm supposed to breathe.  Sometimes I yell at God.  I tell him I'm not as strong as he thinks I am.  Then I'm on my knees thanking him for my many blessings.

Standing on these stones though, I can't help but feel the solidness.  They aren't going anywhere.  I know because I can see how long they've been here.  I cling to them because they remind me that some things can be stationary.  I need their assurance.

We weren't sure we were going to make it here.  It only took 6 hours.  Being too cheap to book a tour of the Great Wall, we wanted to get here on our own.  It can be done but unless you speak Chinese I recommend going with a group.  Luckily I've learned a word or two while living here.

The Lonely Planet suggests going to the Beijing Travel Center between 6:30 and 8:30am for a bus to 司马台.  So we dutifully showed up at 6:30 and asked the ticket counter for a bus.  Either the Lonely Planet is outdated or their information is most reliable during peak tourism seasons (which January is not).  The gentleman told me that we could only book a bus to the BaDaLing section of the wall unless we had five people.  Not willing to budge an inch, I went back to the hostel to take another look at the LP.

Option 2 looked promising as we got off the subway at 东直门 and looked for the bus station.  I'd gotten used to everyone speaking perfect Mandarin so I was thrown off when I asked directions from a newspaper stand and couldn't understand a word the man said.

Soon a woman came alongside me and started asking the usual questions.  "Where are you from?"  "How long have you been in China?"  "How did you learn Chinese?"  As we chatted she walked us to the bus station and I was struck by her friendliness.  The cynical voice inside me kept waiting for her to try to sell me something.  I was sure there was a catch somewhere.  She asked where we were going and even walked us to bus 980, which is what the LP said we wanted.  We started to board the bus and she started pointing at another bus and telling me I wanted to be on it instead.  Aha!  I thought smugly.  Here comes the pitch.  I knew she was being so nice for a reason.  I declined her advice as politely as I could and got on the bus anyway.  She followed us and sat to talk to the driver.  I was certain she wanted to get us on the wrong bus so that she, or her friend could charge us an exorbitant amount to get to the wall.

We sat in the back of the bus and the moments ticked by.  I was starting to get a little impatient so I went to ask the driver when we should pay.  Rather than answer my question he asked where we were going.  As if he didn't already know.  We're foreigners in hiking clothes on a bus to MiYun.  We had "Great Wall" written all over us.  He surprised me by pointing to the same bus my lady friend had been directing me to and told me to get on it instead.  I figured the bus driver didn't have anything to gain by getting paying customers off his bus so he seemed a little more trustworthy.  As we got off the bus, my lady friend shouted after me, "Why didn't you believe me?"  I apologized and ran to catch the rapidly filling bus bound for MiYun.  When we sat down I found out why there was such confusion.  We were now on bus 980快, which means 980 Fast.  Same number, fast rather than slow.

We were about 40 minutes into the trip when someone tapped me awake.  "Hello?  To SiMaTai?  Get off here."  If I'd been using half my brain I would have hesitated to get off.  But unfortunately both halves were occupied in slumber and not serving much use to me.  We stumbled off the bus and blinked.  This sleaze had talked us into getting off the bus in the middle of nowhere and had his taxi waiting to take us to SiMaTai for only 300 yuan!  What a deal!  I wanted to spit on his shoe.  We engaged in a short-lived shouting match while Jessica and I marched resolutely away from him and his deceitful ways.

We saw what appeared to be the city ahead and steadily ignored the shouting taxi driver behind us.  He waited til we hiked almost out of sight and then his car appeared beside us again, driver hanging out the window shouting prices at us.  If only he'd known how stubborn I am he would have saved his breath.  Even if it meant walking the whole 70 km to the Great Wall I wasn't going to give in.

Ten minutes later he was still following us and had dropped his price in half.  But by this time more taxi drivers had joined the fray and we had a full escort service driving by our sides as we marched ever on toward the elusive town.

I was certain we could get a better deal if we found the place where most tourists get off the bus and we could pitch the drivers against each other.  But we couldn't shake them even for a minute to gather our thoughts.   We ducked in a gas station to buy some time and one driver followed us inside, hovering over my shoulder like the grim reaper, determined not to let me escape.  I am starting to believe that everybody in Beijing speaks English so I turned to Jessica and slurred, "Whaddayawannado?"  She opened her eyes wide and answered, "Idunnotheyredrivinmecrazy." in our super secret English code.

I looked out the window in search of freedom from these human vultures and saw our chance:  the bus had just stopped and deposited a few more people on the side of the road.  I watched for the next bus and when it stopped I was waiting to jump on and quiz the driver.  Surely he knows where most people get their passage to the old wall.

At this point I began having an inner battle.  How badly do I want to see some crumbly old stones built by stubborn men who refused to admit that it was a bad idea anyway?

A year and a half in China has given me the necessary elbow skills to climb onto a bus while people are trying to get off, but just barely.  I made it to the driver and cast my question at him hurriedly, knowing that at any moment I could get carried away with the sea of bodies flowing out the door.  With his answer I let myself be forced outside in defeat.  He essentially told me that this was as good of a place as any.  The many taxi drivers outside didn't hesitate to pounce on their prey.  The second my feet touched the ground they closed in on me, teeth bared and claws extended.  One began in English, "No Bus!  No bus!"  While others tapped me on the shoulder and declared their superior offers.  Something inside me snapped and my frustration over-ruled my inhibitions.  I rounded on the short, chubby driver who had dared insult my intelligence with his assertion that there was no public bus,  "Wo zhidao!"  I bellowed at him, I know!  There must have been a snarl on my lips too, as I felt like all the taxi drivers took a step back and appraised me with new eyes.

At that moment I became a worthy adversary.  Deciding they liked this angry waiguoren they lowered their prices a hair and the real bartering started.  Eventually they were all set on the same price.  I thought it seemed high, but since we were there during the off season and the price of gas had most likely risen since the last time I drove I decided to give them the benefit of the doubt.  As brothers-in-arms, none of them would sell out and offer a lower price so I decided on the plump gentleman I'd screamed at in a conciliatory gesture.

About 31½ Chinese techno songs later we made it to the Great Wall.  My spirits rose with the altitude.  Seven months after I planned, I was finally here!  The sun sparkled his congratulations as we made our ascent.

I puased to catch my breath and spotted some old folks resting by the side.  Their eyes lit up when I began a conversation.  We stood and talked about the weather for a second.  Standing a little off to the side was a woman in a pink jumper with her arms full.  She watched me chat with the old people and then swung in step behind us as we moved on.  Soon the questions came flying in one-by-one.  Every time she flung another one my way I gave the shortest answer I could, hoping she'd get bored and move on. My disadvantage was a lack of other foreigners to host her.  I'd hunted so long for a place free from other tourists that we became a magnet for all the hawkers.

I took a step.  Looked over my shoulder and there she was with her silent sidekick, a younger boy.  The follower and the followed.  Another step, another deliberate look.  She mimicked my every move, skillfully ignoring my subtle pleas for solitude.  We stopped to take pictures.  She stood and waited, shadowed by the wordless boy at her elbow.  We started again.  She stepped behind.

I decided to risk offending her if it would give us some peace so I finally turned and asked, "Why are you waiting with us?"  She'd been on our tails for at least half an hour.  I knew already what her answer would be.  "I want you to buy my postcards."  I hated crushing her hopes.  "I don't want any postcards."  She didn't seem upset.  She smiled serenely and said, "But maybe on the way down you can take a look."  I apologized and told her I really didn't want them.  She finally slowed her pace and demanded, "Why not?"  I said, "because I don't have any money," knowing she wouldn't believe me.  She stomped her foot and declared, "You have lots of money," her voice rising with the distance I put between us.  I tried to put sincerity in my voice and answered, 'But I work in China."   The last I heard of her as I rounded the bend was her angry voice floating after me, "You have American money!"

As I surveyed the mountains of Mongolia from one of the world's wonders I thought about her accusation.  That I have money.  She's right of course.  I could probably afford to buy her postcards and not even notice.  But will buying postcards from every lady I feel sorry for allay the guilt I carry for things I can't control?  I'd like her to have more opportunities in life, so she doesn't have to make a living by following tourists around.  I just happen to think there are better ways to help than spending a few bucks on something I don't want.  I think one of the ways to help is to be a good teacher.  I may be biased since I'm an educator, but I believe in the power of education.  So I resolve to try harder.  I'm going to give my students my all again, in the hopes that they will make the world a better place.

"Our greatness comes from our woundedness."

火车票，护照， 和买东西

It's 5:45am!  Why are my eyes open?  Why did my dreams of cream-topped coffee and buttery cookies vanish?  These are the questions I cast at the fluffy white cat stalking around the living room.  He turned his baleful eyes on me and meowed his indifference.  The retort his wordless expression directed at me was less than helpful so I searched for a new interviewee.  The room was void of all other life forms so I consulted a cup of water but a few seconds later Jessica surprised me by emerging from her tent and joining me on the couch.  Both of us wondered aloud why we were awake so early.

We shrugged in perplexity and decided we might as well make the most of our day, so we started packing up our belongings and wondering how to get to the train station.  Right when we were standing by the door our couch-surfing host came out and offered to take us to breakfast.  Northern wind met the three of us at the door with ferocity and we retreated as quickly as we could to a steaming baozi shop.  It was the most creative batch of steamed bread wrapped around various assortments of meat, vegetables, or combinations thereof I'd ever seen.  Each one contained a delicious surprise.

Feeling satisfied by the last shrimp baozi I'd managed to stuff in my mouth I got up from the table and aimed myself in the direction of the bus stop to try to find the train station.  We jammed ourselves onto another bus, and then a subway where I found myself smashed against a pole.  The guy squished on the other side of the pole started making small talk in perfect English.  "It must be my lucky day to be standing next to two lovely girls."  I looked around trying to figure out who he was talking about.  I asked him if it was like this every day.  I couldn't imagine people willfully subjecting themselves to such crowds on purpose unless they thought all the cramming might somehow make them thinner.  His answer made me laugh out loud, "This is nothing.  Mondays are like hell."

When we crawled off the subway into daylight I squinted at the lines of hopeful ticket buyers in front of the train station.  They were intimidating but I was distracted by the beauty of the architecture.  Waiting in line for such a long time has inherent unpleasantness but this time it came loaded with a reward as well.  We were overjoyed to discover that we were going to make it home after all.  When we first bought two standing tickets and one sleeping ticket (for me, Jessica, and our friend James) we were jumping up and down with excitement.  We didn't know how we were going to divide the spoils but it didn't matter.  What mattered was that miserable as it would be, at least we would be able to go back to Yichang before we left for India.

From the train station our next stop was our friend Eva's workplace.  We were going to pick up our passports so we could check into a real hostel instead of bumming off complete strangers.  It was a moment of pure joy.  I opened my passport and there was a beautiful page dedicated to telling me that I was going to legally be allowed in India.  Jessica and I hugged each other, hugged Eva, thought about hugging complete strangers, then decided we'd better not.

Finally the rejoicing slowed and our stomachs started letting us know that they'd like us to remember them with gifts of food.  For that reason we went to our hostel to check in, meet Zack and Elizabeth, and find some sustenance.  Our hostel was tucked in a side street not far from the heart of Beijing and in a sense the heart of China.  The winding roads that lead there charms you as you walk.  Songs of varying nature and varying volume levels greet you at each new shop.  They all blend together to form the cacophony that China would be so lonely without.  At one point I listened to myself in disgust, I'd started singing along to a song I hate just because I recognized the words.  The amount of English songs that join the mix are few, and when I hear one I recognize I automatically feel a sense of belonging no matter how much I detest the song in normal circumstances. 

My first impression of the hostel was a good one.  The dimly lit lobby had a TV on the wall and the particular music video playing was "Power to the People" and the scene in the background had to do with a certain person standing up for themselves in front of a much larger machine in a very large square I would later walk across.  We checked in and decided to eat lunch there.  It took a while for all of us to be ready to go explore the city we'd tried so desperately to get to, but we finally managed to all make it downstairs eventually.  Our target was the forbidden city, after I bullied the others into agreeing that we needed to see it immediately.

As we sauntered down the ancient pathway leading up to the forbidden city, gaping at the walls around us, two guards crossed their arms in front of me.  They had just admitted their last visitors for the day and were closing the gate in front of us.  So we sighed, turned around, and weighed our options.  Eventually we agreed to go to the Pearl Market and shop, much to the guys' disgust.  At the Pearl Market I had my first experience with Beijing-style bargaining.

I've done my fair share of bargaining with salesmen, but the Beijing-ren are a new breed.  They are actors in the finest sense of the word.  They use flattery, guilt, cajoling and a hilarious amount of slapping to try to win your money.  It's entertaining to watch, a rush to participate in, and an art form in itself.  This is how a conversation goes:
"Come here friend.  Take a look at my (insert name of random junk).  Special price for you.  300 yuan."
     "Wo bu yao.  Wo juede na tai gui le." [No thanks, that's too expensive]
"Oh you speak Chinese!  You are very clever.  Okay okay I give you deal because you speak Chinese.  Only 180." *wink*
     "Ai you!  Bu xing!  Gei ni shi kuai qian." [Yikes!  There's no way.  I'll give you ten.]
*slap on the arm* "How can you say like this?  I will lose money if I give to you for that price.  Come on, be reasonable.  Okay okay only 120."
     "Zhende bu yao.  Xie xie." [I really don't want it.  Thanks.]  I start to walk away.
"Okay okay you are so smart.  I can give it to you for 50 kuai." *grabs my arm and hangs on to me for dear life.*
     I'm trying to walk away and I shake my head, "Bu yao, bu yao. Nide dongxi tai gui le.  Shi kuai qian." [Don't want it, don't want it.  Your stuff is to expensive.  Ten kuai.]
*yanks my arm out of socket* "You are too mean.  Come on only 15 kuai."
     I walk away leaving my arm behind.
*shouting after me* "Okay okay ten kuai.  You want how many?  I give you this one for only 5 more?  Okay?  How about a _______?"

I may have an argumentative streak.  Or a stubborn streak.  Or both.  Just slightly.  And that may be why I love bartering so much.  I think I enjoyed the experience so much I bought things I didn't even want just for the fun of getting my price.  But who doesn't love a few extra souvenirs?  Filled with adrenaline I decided to tackle the next obstacle of our trip:  Great Wall planning.  I had arbitrarily decided we were going to go to the Great Wall on Friday but no amount of compromise could get us all five to agree on a specific plan.  So our group of five tourists decided on three different Great Wall experiences.  Jessica and I wanted to avoid other tourists; rebuilt, fake, and therefore boring sections of the wall; and conformity (namely seeing the part everyone else sees).  My opinions on the subject might have been slightly stronger than Jessica's but none of us were prepared to give up what we wanted in our only chance to see the Great Wall of China.

We poured over our Lonely Planet, and websites detailing how to get to the (relatively) untainted parts of the wall and that's when I discovered that I'd left my tennis shoes in the home of our couch-surfer host.  It was 9pm and I ran out the door in the hopes that someone, somewhere would still be selling shoes.  In a rare streak of luck a shoe store down the street was just about to close their doors when they spotted a potential customer running at them in desperation.  I asked them for their cheapest pair of tennis shoes.  I asked them for the enormous size of 40.  Instead of laughing at me the lady pulled them of the shelf.  And they fit!  And I paused for a moment to reflect on the first thing that's ever been easy in China.  Then I complimented myself for understanding and communicating my dire needs in Chinese, brushing aside the fact that it's a lot easier to do that in Beijing where the Mandarin is crystal clear and beautiful.

I went to bed almost immediately upon returning to the hostel, because the plan was to leave at 6am the next day.  We wanted a bright and early start on the Wall.  I use the term "we" rather loosely since in reality I'm the only one in the group who had any desire to see 6am but I can be persuasive when I want to be.  Would we later regret losing sleep on this adventure?  Stay tuned to find out.

"It hurts me to say this about democracy (and I know because my band is one), but rarely does majority rule produce something of beauty."

-Bono

我们找不到火车票

It began in a wet, rainy place where the sun seldom shines.  Moss grows on the sides of buildings there, as trees are rare and buildings plentiful.  The depressed clouds drip continually but never get angry enough to storm.  The constant moisture clings to you, gets in your bones and soaks into your spirits weighing them down little by little.  It began there high on a hill overlooking the town square.

At the top of the hill rests the city train station.  We arrived there in the afternoon, two girls with backpacks full of hope and fear and a few too many substantial items to get us through the next week.  We were on our way to the north, where the sun shines and the wind blows.  We were giddy with the knowledge that the trip was actually happening after dealing with numerous setbacks the week before.  We were fearful that it would be a disaster if we didn't get our passports, or worse--if our visas to India had been denied.  I had woken up with a cold but was determined not to let it stop us from going, after all, the other pieces had fallen into place.  I stuffed my bag full of NyQuil and kleenexes, tea bags and the secret hope that people would run away from me screaming if they thought I had H1N1.  Jessica set off to find dinner while I waited in line to buy tickets home.

As I stood in line to buy tickets home I noticed a guy edging his way to the front, with wads of bills clutched in his hand.  I looked at him in awe of his daring and decided I wasn't in the mood to put up with cutting in line so I said, "Hey!" with as much force as I could.  The word may not have been Chinese but my meaning was quite clear.  After eyeing me for a minute, no doubt deciding who would win in a fight, he shuffled to the back of the line.  I turned around feeling victorious in time to see a lady jam her arm in front of the window from the exit line, cutting off the guy who's turn it was.  Before he had time or willpower to react she barked out her request to the lady selling tickets.  No one even blinked, they just accepted it as an unavoidable part of buying tickets.

One other lady managed to cut her way to the front before I made it to the window.  When I got there I asked about the availability of trains from Beijing to Wuhan on the 1st of February.  There was painful suspense while the lady typed in her request.  Nothing.  So I asked about trains to Yichang.  Nothing.  The 2nd of February was tried next.  Nothing.  I exhausted every option I could think of.  I began to suspect we were never going to make it home.  I knew this would happen, that buying tickets during the Spring Festival in China is like trying to wean my roommate off of milk tea, but I hadn't bought tickets earlier out of fear that the trip would be canceled.  My ability to think about other options while translating my  thoughts into Chinese for the ticket seller to understand was quickly reaching its limits so I ducked out of line empty-handed.

I met Jessica trudging up the formidable hill to the train station, breathless but holding supper in her triumphant hand.  Both of us were worried that upon arriving in Beijing we might not find a way home.  But rather than dwell on the problem we decided to solve the most pressing issue: hunger.  We fell on our food with abandon and with full bellies and happy tongues loaded our train.

The bunks we'd reserved for the next 22 hours were on the bottom.  Within minutes of depositing our backpacks and sitting down, we found our bunks serving as chairs for our neighbors all around.  We didn't mind sharing but as I was sick and Jessica is never averse to sleeping when she has the chance, we were both soon stretched out and slumbering.  At about 10 o'clock the lights in our car were turned out and I thought we'd all be able to sleep peacefully.  Then it happened.  Beep be-be-be-beep.  A minute of silence.  Beep be-be-be-beep.  I glared angrily in the dark and listened for the direction of the sound.  It was the guy in the top bunk receiving text messages.  I fantasized about ripping it out of his hand and throwing it out the window.  I imagined how relieving it would feel to free him from his invisible prison and show him that there is life beyond cell phones.  Maybe he would thank me.  Probably he would curse me.  But happily I wouldn't understand the words that he chose and could pretend that they were a blessing.

Eventually my anger wore me out and I slept again.  At 6am the bright minds in charge of the train decided to start playing music.  Soon cigarettes were lit all around, cards were being played, and subdued talking turned into uninhibited yelling.  We groaned and plugged in headphones to drown out the ruckus.  Fading to sleep again we noticed our beds being used as seats again, but didn't care.

Later that noon both of us had dragged ourselves to consciousness and were beginning to feel the pangs of hunger.  We eventually got around and went to the meal car where the lady asked me if I could read Chinese characters.  I told her a little and she gave me a menu, obviously impressed by my intelligence.  I perused their meager wares and settled on one I could read: chicken.  I ordered it and she told me they didn't have any left.  So I chose another dish, less sure what I was asking for and she apologetically told me there wasn't any of that either.  Then she told me the only things available were fish and rice.  I'm not sure why she bothered to give me a menu in the first place but I didn't feel much like paying 25yuan for a fish, so I headed back to my bunk to buy a bowl of instant noodles from the annoyingly constant hawkers who parade up and down the aisles.

After lunch I finished Wuthering Heights and spent the rest of the train ride musing, and formulating different scenarios that explain how it became such a famous book.  Then Jessica and I alternated suggesting routes home.  We considered trains to other cities in Hubei province.  We considered buses that smell  of stinky feet and stale smoke.  We considered hijacking a flying carpet.  We reminded ourselves multiple times to try to buy tickets when we arrived at the train station in Beijing.  After a full 22 hours of sitting on the same hard bunk we stumbled off the train wondering why the ground had stopped moving.  In our state of confusion we accidentally exited in exactly the place we wanted to be and boarded a bus to the other side of town.  It would be an hour before we remembered our resolution to buy tickets of some kind.

I've invented a new game I like to play in China.  It's a one-person game but anybody can play.  The rules are simple.  Try to remain standing on a city bus without holding on to anything.  This game is made more difficult when the bus ride lasts over an hour and made more simple when the bus is so crowded people are smashing into you from all sides, as is often the case in China.  We were a little worried we might lose the ability to breathe because of the number of bodies crammed into the pressure cooker on wheels.  After an hour of getting jerked around, stepped on, and squished we arrived on the East side of Beijing and called our couch surfer to meet us at the bus stop.

If you've never heard of couchsurfing.com go there right now (after you finish reading my blog that is).  It's a life-saving website for people who really want to go to Beijing and don't have their passports so they can't stay in a hostel.  We met a really sweet girl named Juliet, she took us back to her apartment and cooked dinner for us.  She was from Wuhan so the food was good and spicy and everything you could hope for in Chinese food.  Our bed for the night was a choice between a tent set up in her spare bedroom or the over-sized couch.  We asked her for advice on getting back to Yichang and she tried to help us look up tickets online, but didn't give us much hope.  We went to sleep fretting about whether or not we'd be able to make it back home.  We decided to get up at 8 the next morning and go to the train station to try again.  Would we make it back to the land of the clouds and rain?  To be continued...

"The only thing we learn from history is that we never learn from history."

-Hegel