SRAC Grant!

So, this doesn't have anything to do with China, but I thought I'd share that one of the grants I wrote for the Springfield Regional Arts Council was successful! The Junior League of Springfield is supporting Free Art Day for a whole year! YAY!!!

Free Art Day encourages families to spend a morning creating art projects that are easily replicable at home. It promotes family, community and creativity all at once! Check out www.springfieldarts.org/freeartday for the 2010 dates so you can join the fun.

 

Melissa: Hong Kong

I learned that this did not post correctly the first time. Hopefully this makes it: 


  One of the first things I noticed about Hong Kong is that we once again had the crutch of English; English and Cantonese are paired on everything from menus to street signs.  It is a good example of the merging of Western and Eastern that characterizes the city.

         Hong Kong, under British rule until 1997, now stands in a unique position of partial independence, jointly ruling with China. This transition period will last until 2047, when Hong Kong will officially become part of mainland China. Will they change the direction of traffic? Will signs turn to just Mandarin? Will the currency change? The Hong Kong currency looks awesome--beautiful designs--it would be sad to lose it.

         However, none of this bothers Hong Kongans at the present. They continue on their way, eating and shopping (the two most popular activities I observed in the city). The shopping district seems endless, occasionally interspersed with soaring skyscrapers ad 200 McDonalds.

         In one of the most expensive cities in the world, we were still determined to live as budget travelers. Already adjusted to the cheaper prices of China, we balked at spending the equivalent of 10 USD on a meal! As such, we became frequent customers of the nearby McDonalds (the free wifi and 2.50 HKD cones—only a quarter in US—helped). We also found Subway and a swanky Pizza Hut. And I do mean swanky. What Pizza Hut in the states will serve shrimp pizza, calamari salad and tiramisu?! I was unadventurous (and thrifty), sticking with plain pizza, which I'd been craving.

         Perhaps my favourite restaurant find was the Irish Pub right next to our hostel. Pumping out Riverdance music, it served Guinness and advertised for the Hong Kong rugby team! Madison and I had a leisurely drink one evening so we could enjoy our little taste of Erie in the middle of Asia. Slainte!

         I mentioned the Irish Pub was near our hostel; such a hostel deserves its own blog post, but a paragraph or two will have to suffice:

         When I was given the responsibility of planning hostels for our two-week trip, I specifically avoided a place called Chungking Mansion. Housing multiple dozen budget hostels in one building, the internet was filled with travellers' horror stories: dirty, uncomfortable, smelly, cramped, etc. The multitude of complaints convinced me to steer clear of the place and select an alternative, only slightly more expensive place to stay. However, when Josh completed his task of actually booking the hostels I picked out, he changed our reservation to the cheapest hostel in Hong Kong, located in—you guessed it—Chungking Mansion! This is why research is important, folks! Please, take a moment to Google Chungking Mansions so you can have a picture in your head as you read about our stay.

         We arrive at the "Mansion" to find it a squalid, dingy apartment complex in a surprisingly nice part of town. Entering the ground floor, we were first met with the overwhelming conflicting scents of various types of curry, followed by the sight of a hundred small shops crammed together in an incomprehensible jumble. As the predominantly Indian owners hawked their curry and other variety of products (food, electronics, clothing, everything imaginable), we tried to maneuver to our hostel. After finding the right block ("A block"), we rode the tired elevator up to the third floor, only to be told that we had reached the management office and our actually rooms were on the opposite side of the complex ("E block," 11^th floor). So down we go, threading our way through the badly-lit maze. I decided on the way that it was possible to live without ever leaving Chungking Mansion walls; live upstairs, work downstairs, eat next door and buy everything you need at the shop four aisles over. Repeat.

         We made it up the security-camera monitored and officer-guarded elevator (I couldn't decide if that made me feel more or less secure than I already did), only to find that Josh and Drew had been given the wrong key. They headed all the way to fix the problem, while the remaining four of us decided to check out our room.

         It's a good thing we're all friends as the 8 X 10 room only had space for 2 sets of bunk beds and a small counter. Only one person could be in the space between the beds, while the others sat or climbed up out of the way. The adjoining bathroom couldn't have been more than 2 X 3; shutting the slightly see-through door allowed the luxury of going to the bathroom, washing your hands, and showering at the same time! Of course, this meant that everything in the bathroom was perpetually wet. At least the water was hot, thanks to a lovely switch down the hall that we could turn on and then wait for 10 minutes to get heat.

         I'm glad there weren't any (visible) bugs, but none of us really trusted the sheets so we slept on top of them. For half the room it was so hot that this didn't matter, but since I was on the cold side I slept under my towel. Sleep for our three-night stay was fitful, especially because of the lengthy parade of loud women that went by at around 6 every morning. Our paper-thin walls made us feel like we, too, had joined the parade. In short, it was the most uncomfortable place I had ever stayed in—and I lived for a month in a tent in the African bush!

         The good news about living in a horrid place was that it encouraged us to spend whole days in the city. We spent our time relaxing in a variety of parks, visiting museums (Art Museum and Teaware Museum were both excellent), and trying to barter at the night markets, as well as finishing scholarship essays with looming deadlines (Josh, Drew, and myself).

         On our last day in Hong Kong, we set off by metro and then bus to find a Taoist Temple and the neighboring Buddhist nunnery. The Taoist temple was an enjoyable, brief stop but it was the nunnery that turned out to be one of the best-kept secrets in Hong Kong! I mean that both literally and figuratively, as we actually had to ask 20-odd people for directions before finding someone who both spoke English and knew of our destination. It was well worth the convoluted directions and resulting long walk.

          At the nunnery, a square, walled courtyard has a gated entrance on one side and a pagoda-style temple on the opposite side. The center is filled with lily pad covered pools, while rock sculptures line the side walls. While peaceful and beautiful, the best part is the huge park right outside the courtyard. Around the winding walking paths, .. Nestled amongst the trees and striking water features are almost other-worldly rock formations. Polished until their intricate facets shine, they stand with unmistakable power, grace, and age. Some have been there for a thousand years, I learned. I actually am immensely curious about how such a large number of impressive rocks came to exist in one location; perhaps news got around that the nuns were collecting and people donated to the nunnery!

         There weren't any nuns to be seen during our visit, but I could imagine the silent nuns strolling along the paths seeking tranquility and enlightenment. The idea of taking a vow of silence seemed unachievable to me when I first heard about the nuns' practice, but after seeing the garden I understood more fully. There isn't a need to talk when appreciating the grandeur of the surroundings.

         Unfortunately, I had to leave my quiet oasis. I will remember it fondly, especially in times of stress. My mom's "happy place" is a stretching green landscape in Ireland. I have a sunny field in South Africa and believe I found another "happy place" in the lovely Buddhist nunnery.

         Oh, and upon returning to Chungking Mansions for our thankfully last night, we learned it is closing in a week to be remodeled. No doubt the city is anxious to rid itself of the building, rather like scratching an annoying itch; personally, I simply cannot imagine anything that could possibly be improved about such a wonderful mansion!

 

Yellow Mountain Follow-Up

Alright, lets set the scene: I've been hiking strenuously for two days. I didn't even shower at the top of the mountain because our room was freezing cold and had no towels (I hadn't thought to carry mine up the mountain). So here's what happened:

Arrive at the base of the mountain sweaty and stinky. Kill time before our flight out of town. Go to dinner. Say hello to the rainstorm that followed us down the mountain. Walk to the hostel. Promptly get soaked. Decide to ditch the shorts covering my leggings. Wring out shorts. Decide that black leggings are decent enough for sitting on a plane. Pack shorts in plastic bag in duffel. Catch a taxi to the airport. Arrive to discover that flight has been cancelled due to rainstorm. Get on bus to nearby hotel for complimentary stay until next flight in the morning. Enter an expansive lobby. Marvel at the marble, huge granite statues and plush sitting areas. (Later discover it is a five-star hotel.) Stand in lobby soaked, sweaty, and stinky in only my leggings. Lean over to my sister: "Madison, I feel like I should have pants on in this hotel."

:)

Yellow Mountain Musings

I've never been a fan of the Stairmaster. I have nothing against stairs, mind you. You could even say I enjoy stairs in small doses; I'll take the stairs over the elevator if the distance is under four stories (five on a good day). With that in mind I am a bit confused about how I came to climb 14,000 stairs up a mountain –for fun. In my defense, I didn't know that the Yellow Mountain had stairs. I'd figured there would be a path, of course, but envisioned scrambling over rocks and boulders. Instead, I found myself having to use the exact same leg muscles on each step of a 6-hour Stairmaster Workout of Death.

While I dragged myself up the mountain, I was amazed to pass workers climbing the stairs with huge yoke-loads of materials up the mountain. They stopped to rest every 30 steps or so, but their sheer tenacity amazed me! Several workers carried a yoke balancing two cinder blocks that swayed as they climbed. As I cautiously edged around them, I wondered: Do their legs hurt as much as mine do? How long does it take them to climb the mountain? What then? The hotel is 2 cinder blocks closer to their expansion? Tomorrow maybe they'll be 2 more blocks closer, thanks to brute human labour.

It was almost like watching history; after all, this is how the Pyramids were built, not to mention the Great Wall. Huge structures have been built stone by stone by hundreds of tireless workers receiving little to no pay. It may have been faster for a company to pay to airlift materials in, or ferry them up on one of several available cable cars, but why pay more when cheap labour exists?

The cheap labour force is what keeps the mountain-top hotels operating. In addition to building materials, workers also carried linens and luggage up and down. Somewhere, there is a man panting down a mountain so that the sheet I slept on can be laundered at the base of the mountain and sent back up afterward.

Please don't get me wrong--despite my aching muscles and puzzlement over labour, I loved the Yellow Mountain. It was strikingly beautiful, especially in the mist that shrouded it for our two-day trip. Some may have wished for clear skies, but I appreciated the mystical, magical feel of literally being in the clouds. I watched enormous jagged rock formations appear out of the mist, only to disappear when I glanced back. The sky was pure white, the clouds almost tangible. Every now and then the rushing wind would sweep away the mist and reveal deep canyons and precipitous peaks alive with enduring trees.

The Yellow Mountain has a multitude of jagged peaks. Once the initial torturous climb was over, it was actually fairly easy to make my way from one peak to another. In the clouds, the air grew colder and wetter, eventually turning to rain during the night. My group slept in cocooned blankets while mourning the untimely death of our room's space heater.

The next day dawned even more misty than the first; I could barely see the forms of people 20 feet from me. As white air rushed by silently, the whole mountain seemed hushed. We quietly and slowly made our way down slickened stairs, pausing every now and then to marvel at the glowing clouds that cocooned us in their own form of a blanket.

As I descended, the landscape began to resemble an Amazon rainforest more than China. Moss-covered rocks and dripping-wet trees painted the view every shade of green imaginable. A waterfall appeared next to us and kept growing larger as we got closer to the bottom. For half an hour, it was next to us, rushing and roaring with the previous night's rainfall, eventually transforming into a healthy river at the base.

Looking up to see the mountain as we boarded a bus back to the nearby city of Huangshan, I was met with a cloudy sky that revealed no peaks. Only my protesting leg muscles were evidence of the hidden Yellow Mountain.

Melissa: How do you say "personal space" in Chinese?

    As I compose this blog in a river-side park in Huangshan, I am fully aware that at least six people in my periphery are watching me intently; one old woman has even stopped her once-purposeful walk to look. While aware of my spectators, I am already used to the sensation. For the past week, our group of six beiguoren (white people) is a walking sideshow in China. Wherever we walk, heads comically whip around to gaze at us. People walking near us slow their steps to pace us. Others pull out cameras and snap a picture (our own paparazzi).   
    Sitting on this bench, no less than three old men have stopped at different times to watch me write. When I say "stopped," I really mean that they stopped far away from me then purposely came within a foot of me to observe. Two stopped in front of me, while the other crossed behind me to lean over my shoulder and follow my motions. I don't worry that they know I am writing about them, as I am writing quickly and in cursive. Perhaps they haven't seen someone writing in English. Perhaps they haven't seen a young white woman writing in English. Who knows. I continue to write and they continue to watch. (It, like my whole life here, is an endless "personal private moment" for those readers who understand the term.)
    Unlike Americans, who glance surreptitiously from beneath lowered lashes if they are intrigued by something, the Chinese indulge their fascination with the unknown. Staring, pointing, and blatantly taking pictures are not impolite.  While accepting that my ideas of "politeness" are "privacy" are not universal has taken some getting used to, I understand the Chinese way. I, too, am curious about what I do not understand. At lunch, the people at the table next to us watched us eat, while I watched back. I was curious about methods of sharing communal food, discarding bones from meat, and chopstick etiquette. How much easier it was to simply watch, rather than try to hide that I was watching. When my eyes met theirs, we simply gazed at each other and then continued to eat. No apologies or embarrassment necessary.

Oh, and I must say "Happy Birthday, Hunter!" After celebrating with a wonderful dinner of hot-pot (buy ingredients,  cook them in a pot at the table, then eat communally), we will give him his real gift tomorrow: the Yellow Mountain!
   

Picture requests

 I've had several requests for pictures. Unfortunately, they will probably not be appearing until after March 5th, when I am back in Beijing. During this two-week excursion, the group is only using Hunter's computer, which does not have a slot for an SD card. As I did not expect this (one of the few negatives about a Mac!), I didn't bring my connection cord and thus have no way of transferring my pictures online.

Never fear, there are many, many pictures being taken! I'll be able to put some on this blog, but I'm only allowed five per entry so I will probably be searching for an alternative site to post pictures on. I'll let you know!

One day: Two Tea Cermonies

Shanghai is a city with tremendous energy. Crowds fill the sidewalks and often the streets, fighting for space with mopeds and taxis. Horns honk, subways roar and street vendors hawk their wares. At night, the skyscrapers and pulsing neon lights make the city glow and almost seem alive.

In the middle of this hubbub, I explored the peaceful haven of Jade Temple, a Buddhist temple. Nestled in between skyscrapers, the city seemed to disappear in the haze of incense and calming presence of respectful worshippers. People knelt on red pillows in front of enormous Buddha statues, incredibly ornate in their carving details. After learning the proper way to kneel, I joined them for a few moments; I didn't pray, or even think really, but simply found myself relaxing into a peaceful state of awareness through the repetative motions.

At the temple, we were privileged to experience a tea tasting. Our instructor explained the various functions of the different teas, including backpain relief, detoxification, relaxation, and energy infusion. My sister and I bought a package of our favourite, an infusion that promises to balance our metabolism, sooth indigestion, prevent skin allergies (important for our allergic-prone family!), and promote relaxation.

The whole atmosphere of the temple invited me to walk a little slower and breath a little deeper, a welcome respite from the fast-paced cities I spent the past few days in. It wasn't a religous experience, but rather a brief glimpse into a way of life that inspires men to become monks.

After emerging from the temple onto another busy road, my group made our way to The People's Square. There, we broke into different directions to explore individual interests. My hunt for theatres was disappointing; the Yifu Theater was locked and the Grand Theater turned out to be a cinema. After wandering through the square, I found a quiet bench in the adjacent People's Park. After befriending a 5-year-old whose parents wanted her to practice English (Lien-hua has one brother and her favourite animal is the panda), I was approached by three people slightly older than myself who greeted me in English. Ling Ling (female) teaches English to preschoolers, Lisa studies English and Japanese at university, and Wu Mei (male) is an engineer. All three live in Harbin (north of Qingdao) and were in Shanghai on holiday.

After having a wonderful conversation, my new friends invited me to join them in a traditional tea ceremony. While the previous tea ceremony had been focused on taste, the second ceremony focused on the proper way to participate in a ceremony. I learned what the organization of seating means, how to hold my cup respectfully, the traditional motions that precede drinking (circling, swirling, sniffing), how many sips to take, what each tea means (whether it is a "male" tea or "female" tea), and much more. Ling Ling gifted me a package of flower tea, which is actually a flower that blooms in hot water and infuses its flavour into the liquid. In addition, my friends gave me another gift: a Chinese name.

Choosing a Chinese name is an important task, for it involves selecting syllables that both sound like your English name and have a corresponding character with a positive meaning; it is considered a honor to have a Chinese name given to you because it has been selected with care. After learning about my interest in theater and the arts, I was pronounced an artistic dreamer and given the name Meng Li Sha, meaning Dream-Beautiful-Pretty. 

I bid my friends farewell and promised to write them if I ever make it to Harbin. I then made my way to the Shanghai Museum, considered one of the best museums in the world. It certainly lived up to its expectations, delivering fascinating exhibits on Chinese calligraphy, ceramics, seals, bronze, currency and more. Dual signs in Chinese and English allowed me to fully appreciate the relics I saw.

The evening ended with a stroll down Nanjing Street, the heart of Shanghai's shopping district. While some tourists passed us on tiny trains (including one advertising Kewpie Mayonnaise!), we made our way through the crowd on foot, stopping into stores to investigate Chinese fashion, which is very remiscint of the 80s.  One of the biggest highlights on our walk was successfully ordering a hot fudge sundae at the local McDonalds. Yes, McDonalds has invaded China; it was actually the only place to find ice cream other than Haagen-daaz! The guidebook from my parents (thanks, Mom and Dad) contained the words for both "ice cream" and "chocolate," which got me what I wanted. It was a good end to a wonderful day.

Yours truly,
MengLiSha