Eric's Beijing Diary

Dragged my old laptop here to the Reading Cafe this afternoon. I have been journaling on paper for almost a month, and now I have the task of trying to read my own handwriting, and put everything in a format which can easily be pasted into the blog client I use on the internet. The main reason I use Blogspot is because it is free and quick. I could write my own HTML code, I suppose--that's what I do for my student web site. But the Blogspot format is actually pretty handy, so I just use it, even though it can be very buggy at times. The reason I have not been updating it recently has nothing to do with that, though. What it comes down to is that I decided to leave my old laptop at home, so the only thing I had with me was my memory stick. Problem with that is that most of the computers I used at internet cafes along the way did not have USB ports. So I really was stuck scribbling in my notebook with my Mitsubishi pen.

This evening I went to one of those mixer things. A "networking" event, I guess you call it. I've been getting this invitation every month since I've been in China. Actually, since before I came to China--part of the extensive research I did in the three years that I was preparing for my China life. Well, I found out Monday that the lab will be closed until next week, so I have been kinda tying up loose ends this week, and I thought this would be a good time to take a chance on something that I usually don't have time for. So I show up at this club in the Chaoyang District, and everyone is dressed to impress. It's one of those kinds of things where everyone who wishes they were important comes to meet everyone else who wishes they were important. I was wearing what I happened to have on, which today is jeans and tennis shoes. Anyway, this lady comes up to me and says, "Excuse me, are you an artist?" Well, I'm definitely not an artist. But her question put another one in my mind...How do artists get off wearing anything they please? How come if an artist dresses really grubby its considered artistic, while if anyone else in the world dresses grubby it's considered sloppy? I suppose I should be glad she thought I was an artist. But if you ask me, I think artists are getting off too easy. I don't know...maybe they are just better at really not caring what anyone thinks of what they wear.

It was kind of a wasted evening—taxi there, taxi back, but I guess I had to do it once to find that out. I cut out early and went over to Annie's and had a plate of fettuccine (that place has a Caesar salad that won't quit) and got into an interesting conversation with a German businessman--the kind that is too busy working and doing business to worry about being important. So it wasn't a total waste.

Labels: Summer 2004

Shanghai to Beijing - August 14, 2004

Saturday night, as I was finishing my meal in the dining car, a couple ladies came and sat down across from me. They looked to be about my age. We had a very nice conversation, and they got up to leave as soon as they had finished eating. As soon as they left, a couple of young ladies who had been sitting at another table came and asked if they could sit down. Of course I welcomed them. As they were getting seated, one of them said apologetically, "We can only speak a little English." Well, they spoke a little English for about two hours. These two ladies were a generation younger than the previous two. The worked for a tourism company, and were preparing to go to the northeast corner of North Korea, where their company had built a five star hotel. I was somewhat surprised by this, because that corner of North Korea is very, very impoverished.

As we were talking, one of them asked me if I was interested in history. I don't know why--must have been something I said. I spoke of my interest in the fascinating, but very painful history of China in the 20th Century. The revolution of 1911, General Yuan Shikai selling out Qingdao to the Japanese, the rise of Chiang Kai-shek and his march to the north to unify the country in 1927, the conflict between the Communist Party and the Goumingdang, the revolution of 1949, and the various political movements that followed. As I talked, I noticed that their eyes looked a little glazed. Suddenly it dawned on me that these two young ladies had no ability to relate to what I was talking about. This younger generation of Chinese born after the Cultural Revolution has grown up in a very, very different China. A country bent on growth and prosperity. The stared blankly. Finally, one of them broke the silence,

"What's your favorite color?" We were back on track. Then we started talking about music. One of them said, "I like the Carpenters!" She started singing, "When I was young, I listened to the radio..." I said, "Yes, I've heard that before." I wasn't joking, either. I heard it on the cruise ship. I heard it at the Grand Lijiang Hotel. I am beginning to think every place in China that caters to foreigners uses the same musack track. Anyway, the waitress finally came and told us the dining room was closed, and we said goodbye.

Yesterday the trained pulled into Beijing at seven in the morning. I had enough time to get home and take a hot shower before church. In the afternoon, I got together at Milo's with some friends from church to plan our getting-together-again-after-a-long-time party. It's Monday now. I slept late this morning and took a very long nap this afternoon. Hmmm....must be tired. But it's good to be back. As always, it is fun to go, but it also feels good to return. Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home.

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Labels: Summer 2004, Travel Shanghai

Saturday Morning. Shanghai. This is my first trip to Shanghai. I have been here many times in my reading, of course, because Shanghai figures so prominently in the turbulent history of the last century. I'm sitting here having breakfast in the old Peace Hotel on the Bund. I wasn't sure how to tell the taxi driver how to get here, 'cause I don't know how to say "Bund" in Chinese. Fortunately, I had a small map I could show him.

The term "Bund" comes from the days when Shanghai was essentially a European outpost. It was different then. Shanghai was an open city--no visa required. This city was quite literally the last refuge of scoundrels. And they were all here. It was not governed by the Chinese in those days. It was governed by the British, who were, by treaty, exempt from Chinese law. Not everyone was bad, of course. There were decent people too. But the unusual nature of the treaty port arrangement attracted a whole host of people who were running from their respective pasts, along with pimps, prostitutes, gamblers, and other unsavory characters of every variety. Child prostitutes walked the streets closely watched by their handlers. White Russian refugees took whatever work they could find, to the consternation of the British, who didn't think it was good for white people to be seen doing such menial labor. The nights were long, the opium trade was booming, although not legally, and the sign in park along the Bund said, "Chinese and Dogs Not Allowed."

Sitting here in 2004 so very many years later, it's hard to believe that so much of this Victorian architecture has survived the many wars and political upheavals that have rocked this city throughout the turbulent 20th Century. This building here was built in 1906, and is located right where the old Nanking Road (Nanjing) meets the Bund.

So where does Shanghai go from here? It is poised to become the economic epicenter of Asia. This is a tough challenge. Hong Kong and Singapore have a longer history. Actually, that's not true--Shanghai was at it before either of them, and Hong Kong was largely developed by refugees from the Shanghai banking community. What I mean is that right now, in 2004, Shanghai's position as a market oriented banking city dates from Deng Xiaoping's economic reforms, which began in 1992. Both Hong Kong and Singapore have been at it a generation longer. And another thing: Can a market economy thrive in a controlled society? It's an interesting experiment, and I, for one, hope it works, because it is more appropriate for whatever Shanghai becomes to be run by the Chinese. This is China, after all.

Labels: Summer 2004, Travel Shanghai

Dining car again. Kunming—Shanghai Express. Just finished a bowl of noodles, and I'm reading the weirdest book I've ever read. It's called, "if nobody speaks of remarkable things," by jon mcgregor. Couple backpackers at the youth hostel in Chengdu gave it to me. I'm on page 105, and I still have absolutely no idea what this book is about. It's a novel of some kind. I know that, because it says on the cover. It's set in England. Beyond that, I haven't got a clue. If this book doesn't start making sense pretty soon, I may have to quit reading it.

It's not the first time this has happened to me. I read half-way through Imanuel Kant's Critique of Pure Reason, and didn't understand a single sentence of a single paragraph. The pages of my life are littered with the books I have started by have not finished. I suppose that's partly due to the old addage that "you can't tell a book by its cover." Sometimes you just have to start reading to find out if the book in question is really going to have the value added that it appears to. But there is another reason. The books I read generally fit into two categories. There are books I read because I believe that the information they contain will be of value to me, and there are others that are just very interesting. For the most part, the second category is a subset of the first, but it's a very small subset. Most of the books I read just are not that fascinating. They requre some measure of effort and concentration. Fortunately, I really do like to read, and I suppose this makes it easier to endure books that are a little boring in places. But the simple fact is that most of the books I read are books that I have entered into because of my thirst for knowledge and understanding. I would be a very different person if I only read books that held my interest easily.

Labels: Summer 2004

Sitting in the dining car reading as we are rolling across China. Kinda sorry to be leaving the majesty of Yunnan behind me. Wish I could have stayed a little longer, but I really need to be getting back. My classes don't start until the middle of September, but I have lots to do in the lab before then, partly preparation for the fall, but also exploring some areas I want to be working on in the future. I have been away from my work too long. One gets rusty real quick in this business. The summer is slipping away.

Forty hours to Shanghai. Full speed ahead for two days and two nights. Surprised me a bit--guess I lost track of how far I had wandered from home. The run from Kunming to Beijing is even longer--fifty-two hours--but as I mentioned earlier, I couldn't get a ticket before the twentieth, so I bought a ticket to Shanghai. From there, I should be able to get to Beijing without too much trouble. I went to the ticket window in Kunming and tried to buy a ticket from Shanghai to Beijing, but they said they didn't have any available. I am really not sure how that works. Perhaps each remote area is allocated so many tickets or something. Hard to imagine that I will not be able to get a spot on one of the several trains that make that trip every day.

This evening, after I sat down in the dining car, one of the cooks sat down across from me. I pointed to an item on the menu and asked him what it was. He put his fingers by his head to demonstrate ears. Beef. Actually, I got that clue because I recognized the word. I pointed to the next item. He moved is hand back and forth in a waving motion. Fish. I pointed to the next item. "Zhe shi shenme?" (What is this?) He started flapping his wings. Hmmm...this is going slowly. I told him I wanted some fish. Good. Got that part taken care of. Next was some kind of vegetable. I mentioned a few that I know. Qiezi (fried egplang, my favorite), bocai (spinach). I was running out of options. I started pointing at the menu and listened for anything with "cai" at the end. I wish I could have just told him that any kind of steamed vegetable would be fine, but I'm just not there yet. The Chinese are very good at making steamed vegetables. They're cooked, but not too much. I just didn't want cold pickled vegetables for dinner. I picked the first "cai" he mentioned and came out OK. Add a bowl of rice and we're good to go. Cost is a little higher than a normal restaurant, but that is partly because I don't have anyone to split the cost with me. My meal could quite easily feed a couple people.

Labels: Summer 2004

Kunming, China. Sitting here at Ming Tien Coffee Language looking out the window at the sun coming up over the small man made lake. Kunming. In terms of climate, this is a very unique city. Kunming has the same elevation as Denver, Colorado, and the same lattitude as Honolulu, Hawaii. This unusual combination gives Kunming a year-round spring time climate. This is why Kunming is known as the City of Eternal Spring. This city has come a long way since the days before World War I, when the Japanese planes flew up once a day from Burma to drop a bunch of bombs. No apparent reason--probably just an attempt to soften the resolve fo the people to prepare for the conquering forces moving west from Manchuria. The solution to this problem came in the form of the Flying Tigers. They were American airmen who had all volunteered to help defend China in the air from the Japanese bombers from Burma. But there was a problem. The United States was not at war with Japan at that time, so if captured, these airmen could be tried as war criminals. They got around this by joining the Chinese Air Force under Jiang Jieshi (Chiang Kai-shek). The commander, of course, was Claire Chenault. The Flying Tigers set up their base here in Kunming. So, one day, the Japanese bombers flew up from Burma on one of their daily bombing missions, and got the surprise of their lives. The Flying Tigers came swooping in, seemingly out of nowhere, and blew the Japanese bombers out of the sky. That day marked the last time in history that Kunming was bombed.

Labels: Summer 2004

I'm riding the hard seat today--day train from Dali to Kunming. Travel in and out of Yunnan is at a primium this time of year. I couldn't manage to get a ticket from Kunming to Beijing until the 20th. I would like to have stayed an extra week, but I really need to be getting back. Lots of work to do in the lab. So I finally bought a ticket from Kunming to Shanghai. I will have to try to get a ticket from Shanghai to Beijing later--not sure how that is going to work.

There are four levels of train passage in China: hard seat, soft seat, hard sleeper, and soft sleeper. Today, I am standing on the bottom rung. Sitting, actually, because I do have a regular assigned seat. Until now, I have always taken the soft sleeper, because my trips were overnight, and the cost difference between hard sleeper and soft sleeper is negligible for long runs. The terms "hard" and "soft" are not to be taken literally. The seats here are padded. Ever so slightly. But they are straight backed benches, not comfortable reclining seats like the soft seat section, which I have never ridden. The windows are all open. And they stay open when we go through a tunnel. This diesel exhaust is not nearly as noxious as the smoke from those old coal-fired steam locomotives when I was a kid, but it's a far cry from fresh air. I've really been spoiled by the soft sleeper section.

When I got on in Dali, my ticket showed a specific seat number on a specific car. But since then, many people have gotten on who seem to have no seat assignment. They're in the aisle. This section certainly isn't as quiet and restful as the soft sleeper, but the culture here is certainly more lively. Right now, though, it's packed to the gills. I am sitting across from a young lady named "Sophia." I she sat across from me for quite awhile before she said anything. When she did speak (after quite a bit of prompting from her mother), I was taken aback by her fluency. Of course, she did not think she was fluent--most Chinese young people speak English much better than they think they do--which is probably why it took her so long to begin speaking. Her mother really wanted her to speak with me, and insisted on buying my lunch. Sophia actually has a lot to say. I asked her about the area we have been traveling through. She mentioned something about the "Yungui Plateau."
This a little confusing to me. The "Yun" would be Yunnan, of course. And the "gui" is no doubt referring to Guizhou Province. I have never been to Guizhou Province, but Yunnan is about the furthest thing from a plateau that I can imagine. This area is very, very mountainous. We have gone through so many tunnels (and very long ones, I might add)that I have almost begun to feel that we are on a subway that occasionally surfaces.

Last night, was my last night in Dali. The guest house arranged a bus to take us to the Torch Festival. I have no idea what the history of this festival is--have to do some more research. But what it has become is basically a fire party. Everybody takes a torch--they appear to be made of heavy bamboo straws bound together. Then they take their torches to an open area and start playing--swinging them around, putting them in each other's faces, pretending to light each other's clothes on fire. Now groups of people take their burning torches together to make a large bonfire so they can take turns jumping through the fire. What it comes down to is an evening of wreckless, unsupervised, unrestrained playing with fire. There are vendors walking through the crowd, just as there are at any festival. But they are not selling candy. They are selling small bags of gunpowder for people to throw at each other's torches--sorta liven things up a little.

Kinda sad to be leaving Dali behind me. Dali and Lijiang both have an "old town." The old town of Lijiang is prettier than the old town of Dali, and better preserved. But Dali has the mountain and the lake, and it is a little less touristy. And it is very easy to live in Dali. It's hard to explain if you are not familiar with the currency exchange, but if I state the prices in dollar equivalents, you can get an idea:

Single room at Jim's Guest House Chocolate cake and coffee at Marley's Cafe Breakfast buffet at Guest House #5 Horse cart Pie and coffee at Marley's Cafe (they were out of cake) Single room at Guest House #5 Large bowl of Katsudon at the Sun Island Banana cake and coffee at Marley's cafe (really good) Motorcycle taxi Bai ethnic food banquet

$6.00 $1.25 $1.25 60 cents $1.25 $4.00 $1.75 $1.25 $1.25 $6.00

I certainly hope I can come back to Dali again. Maybe next summer.

Labels: Summer 2004

Last night, I attended a special Bai banquet at Marley's cafe. I sat next to an actuary from Switzerland. We were talking about retirement pensions. (Do I really look that old?) I told him that in America there tends to be a division between the Democrats and Republicans. The Republicans tend to view Social Security as an investment fund, while the Democrats tend to view it as a tax.

The makeup of the guests at this banquet underscored the importance of English as a lingua franca. There were no Americans there (except me). But there were several Europeans. They are all part of the EU, so, in a sense, they are part of the same country. But the Italians don't speak German, the Germans don't speak Italian, the French don't speak either, although their language is perhaps closer to Italian. But they all speak English. Interesting that English, the language of Great Britain, which has been reticent about membership in the EU, is the lingua franca of the EU. It is perhaps more noticeable in a community like Dali, where so many Europeans congregate, but I see it everywhere. If you want to be able to communicate internationally, you really do need to speak English.

China is catching on to this truth. The city of Beijing is pushing the teaching of English down to the elementary grades, so young people who are educated in Beijing will be familiar with English during the years when there is still the possibility of developing native language acquisition. Not that all of them will, but a generation from now, the effects of such a policy will be dramatic.

Labels: Summer 2004

I was walking out of the washing area of the guest house last night when a little Japanese boy pointed at my and became very animated. I said, "Nan desu ka?" He pointed at my stomach and said, "Onaka futoteru!"

Well, I tried to pretend that it was complete news to me, but I have actually been aware of it for some time. Thanks for giving it to me straight, kid.

As I was leaving the guest house this morning, she came running up to me. A young lady with two long braids.

"Do you need a translator? Do you need a guide?" I really wasn't looking for either, but she looked pretty desperate, so I thought perhaps I could have her take me around the area--show me something of her own village, or something. I told her that I could only use her for half a day. She asked me how much I would pay. I said, "I'll give you eight kuai an hour." I asked her how far away her home village was. She told me she was from Dongbei.

"Dongbei?! How long have you been in Dali?"

"I just got off the bus this morning."

Great. What good was a drifter from Manchuria who know less about the town than I did going to be to someone like me? I was really wanting to back out of the deal, now. "I'm sorry, I really need a guide who knows the area."

She was not to be deterred. "But I can buy a map and figure it out." This was comical, but she really looked like she could use a good meal, so I told her that if she worked for me for half a day, I would buy her dinner and pay her by the hour. I told her that I wanted her to take me around the lake. True to her word, she bought a map and told me which bus we needed to get on. We went to the bus stop and began our journey. As we proceeded, we began to approach an area that showed a peninsula on the map. The Shenyang drifter thought we might get off and have a look. We got off the bus and hired a motorcycle taxi to take us to the point. When we got there, it became quite obvious that this area was not frequented by tourists. I could tell that some kids had been skinny dipping at the end of the peninsula. I walked slowly and talked loudly. The drifter said, "Many people do not get to see this." No doubt about that. I noticed a swimmer staying very much in the water. It was definitely not a regular tourist stop, but the view was awesome (I mean the lake).

We headed back to the highway, and we were going to proceed around the lake, but the drifter complained of severe stomach cramps. I asked her what was wrong, and she said some people were trying to stab her. Hmmmm... well, it didn't look like she was going to last very long, so I told her that if she didn't feel well, perhaps we should go back to town. We crossed over to the lanes going the other way, and waited for a bus. One soon came along, but passed us without slowing down. I said, "Why didn't that bus stop?" She told me that the bus could not stop because it was full.

"And there's another reason."

"What is that?"

"They know us."

"No, they don't know us. I am not from this area, and you just got here this morning."

"Yes, but people have been following me."

We finally made it back to Dali, and the drifter got rid of her map as soon as possible. "I think that map gave me a stomach ache."

"No, you don't get a stomach ache from a map."

This young lady definitely has a few strikes against her. Most of the time she was fairly lucid, but her problems were not just emotional. She was encumbered with delusions which clearly impaired her mental functions. I worked with quite a number of people like her during the time that I was a psychiatric aide at Oregon State Hospital, and I have come to believe that, as William Sherman said, people believe delusions stronger than they believe the truth. I meet very few people in China who show outward signs of severe mental impairment. Perhaps most of those who cannot function are hospitalized. But there are certainly some like this lady, who drift around the country, making what they can. It's really tough to know how to help people like her.....I suppose, in a sense, someone like her who is marginally functional, and is determined enough to scare up part time work from whomever she can find it, could go for sometime without being detected as a candidate for treatment. But one wonders what she might be pressed to if she gets hungry enough. There is certainly a lot of ground to cover in trying to reach out to those who do not somehow fit into the mainstream of Chinese life.

Labels: Summer 2004

Sitting here in a Korean Restaurant in Dali, eating pan-fried potato and breathing pure mountain air. I don't know...perhaps I notice it because the spicy Kimchi side dish is clearing my sinuses.

I'm reading an interesting book. I bought it from the author. He runs a coffee shop here in Dali. It's actually sort of a "one book bookstore." Perhaps I should say "two books," because he wrote a book for children before this one. The book is called, "Mr. China's Son," and is an account of his life as a minority villager here in Yunnan Province. I was particularly intrigued with this book, because it is not translated--he wrote it in English based on the language skill he was able to develop as a university student.

I am hoping to visit the Higherland Inn at the top of the chair lift on Canshan, but I have held back because of the weather. The weather here in Dali is kinda tricky. When I go to Yahoo Weather on the Internet and check the forecast for Dali, it always seems to say something like "thunder storms," or "showers." Sure enough, in the morning, it is invariably raining cats and dogs. But it always clears up in the afternoon and evening. I wish I knew the pattern better--then I could just make my plans based on what the weather would be like in the evening. Anyway, I am busying myself with other things for the time being.

Wednesday, I took the cable car to the waterfall about half way up the mountain. Not knowing the area, I hired a tour guide for half a day. It turned out to be a pretty good deal, because a lunch meal was included, as well as a series of ethnic dances. My Bai tour guide is from this area, but her husband is a physician with the army in Tibet. I asked her if Lhasa was at about 4000 meters. She said, "More than 4000 meters. So maybe the first time you visit Tibet, you can throw up everything!" Yes. Altitude sickness. One of the main reasons I have so far avoided traveling there. Jim, the owner of Jim's Guest House, where I stayed the first three nights I was here, is organizing an eight day excursion to Tibet. The price, 5300 RMB, is between 600 and 700 US dollars, which isn't too bad, but part of the cost is the effect of altitude that everyone going to Tibet must suffer. Jim says that when you go by land, the effect is not nearly so dramatic as when you fly in. That's a good point. Some day I will do it. Maybe I will take the train.

Labels: Summer 2004

Cake and coffee for 10 yuan. I'm sitting here at Marley's Cafe in Dali. Originally, I had not planned to come here. But, as I mentioned earlier, a young lady from Chengdu put the idea in my head when I was in Lijiang, so I got on the internet at the hotel and found a place to stay, and here I am. Yesterday, I visited a small country church outside of Lijiang. Turned out to be a communion service, with heavy Naxi bread, and some kind of tea. This church did not have English translation like the one I go to in Haidian, but I was warmed by the fellowship and the realization that we are all part of one family. The lady who was leading the service wanted me to share something, so I shared a few thoughts on the scripture from II Corinthians 4, and my friend interpreted for me. "For God, who commanded the light to shine out of darkness, hath shined in our hearts, to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ." I met a Japanese lady on the bus this morning. She did not speak Mandarin, and had no place to stay, so I took her to Jim's Guest House and helped her get a room. I was kinda worried about her, because she was traveling on her own, but we had some stew at a local restaurant here, and after I had a chance to talk to her I realized that I needn't have worried. She has done quite a bit of traveling. But she did make one observation that I have heard from several foreigners. She said in most countries, when you are traveling you can usually find a receptionist or something who speaks English. But in China, as soon as you get away from the big cities, very few people speak English. This is true. And you don't have to leave the big cities, either. I live on a university campus, where it is very easy to find people who speak English. But if I step outside the West gate and go to a small restaurant or store, it is very unlikely that the folks I am dealing with will speak enough English to carry on even a moderate conversation. This language problem is something China is trying very hard to address. This is partly, I suppose, why they are hiring folks like me to come to China and teach content courses in English. But I am very concerned about the young people. On the bus from Panzhihua to Lijiang, I was sitting next to a young lady. I said something to her in English, and she said, "ting bu dong." (literally, "I hear you, but I don't understand you.") I was a bit troubled by this. For the older people, it is not so much an issue. This is China, after all. Chinese people should not be obligated to learn English. But for the younger generation, English is becoming very critical. What kind of future will the young lady on the bus have? The best jobs are reserved for those who are bilingual.

Labels: Language Learning, Summer 2004

Reading a brief essay by F. B. Meyer in Streams in the Desert, a gift from my friends at Blessed Hope: "When you are unsure which course to take, totally submit your own judgment to that of the Spirit of God, asking Him to shut every door except the right one. But meanwhile keep moving ahead and consider the absence of a direct indication from God to be the evidence of His will that you are on His path. And as you continue down the long road, you will find that He has gone before you, locking doors you otherwise would have been inclined to enter. Yet you can be sure that somewhere beyond the locked doors is one He has left unlocked. And when you open it and walk through, you will find yourself face to face with a turn in the river of opportunity--one that is broader and deeper than anything you ever dared to imagine, even in your wildest dreams. So set sail on it, because it flows to the open sea." This is very interesting to me, because it does parallel my own experience relative to coming to China. It's strange, but I am fifty years old, now, and I still know very little about how to find the will of God. But I can point to specific times in my life when I was absolutely sure what I was supposed to do. The fall of 2000 is one if them. That is when I made the decision to go to China. Exactly how I came to that decision is hard to pin down. And I can't tell you a specific date when the decision was made. But somehow, during that period, there was a point where I made a definite decision to give up my life in America and go to China. I know the decision followed a process. But it's very hard for me to describe that process. But somehow, after the fall of 2000, I never had the slightest question about what I was supposed to do. I did not have a job lined up in China. I had no idea just how I was supposed to go to China. But I knew that I knew that I knew that this was what I was supposed to do, and I never questioned that for the smallest fraction of a second. During the months that followed that decision, God spoke to me through Revelation 3 verse 8: "I have set before you an open door, and no man can shut it." God spoke to me very clearly that I should not waste time pounding down closed doors, but look for the one that was open. In the past, I have not always employed this approach. For example, when I determined that I wanted to work at the University where I taught before I came to China, I put together a resume, submitted it, and then kept pestering them until they gave me an interview. But when it came to my move to China, God seemed to be guiding me toward a very different approach. I moved very slowly, always trying not to pursue an option once it was clear that the door was not open. I tried several doors which I would have walked through if they had opened. But they didn't. This is why I was struck this morning by F.B. Meyer's words. Again, one must not build a doctrine of how to be led by God, based on ones own subjective experience, but I can say with absolute conviction that God does lead. He has led me. So where do I go from here? I don't know. I will just wait, and keep looking for the next open door. I know it's there, I just can't see it right now.

Labels: Leading, Summer 2004, Vision

Lijiang Grand Hotel. I like this place because it has a nice breakfast buffet. Really good bacon, eggs made to order, peaches, pears, apples, and Chinese mangos. Rice, bread, and Danish pastries. I know, food should not be the only reason for choosing a place to stay. There are other factors which ought to be considered, but right now I can't remember what they are. The train pulled into Panzhihua yesterday morning at 6 am. I took a cab to the bus station and bought a ticket to Lijiang. The country between Panzhihua and Lijiang is very mountainous. Doesn't look far on a map, but on the ground it's seven hours of switchbacks. I had books with me, but it's pretty hard to read when the bus is jostling back and forth. And the driver didn't waste any time, either. He was driving as fast as he could on the narrow mountain roads. Interesting...after I got to Lijiang last evening, I went to the travel office right near the hotel. I was asking about securing travel back to Chengdu. I found out that I could take the bus back to Panzhihua, but I would not be able to buy a ticket back to Chengdu until I got to the train station at Panzhihua. I thought this sounded a bit chancy, and to be honest, I was less than enthusiastic about taking the bus back over the mountains. Miraculously, a traveler from Chengdu happened to be in the office the same time I was, and she told me that the bus to Dali was only three hours, and from there I could take the train to Kunming. That struck me as a novel idea, although I had not originally planned to go to Dali. To put it simply, I like trains; I don't like busses. Now, I must admit, busses do give you a perspective that you don't get from the window of a train. Trains run the river beds. Busses weave back and forth up the mountain roads and look down on the river bed several thousand feet below from a narrow road with no shoulder or guard rail. And the bus is being driven by a driver who is moving just as fast as he can without rolling the bus over the cliff. As I said, I like trains; I don't like busses. Anyway, I thanked the young lady from Chengdu. I think I may change my original plans (plans??) a bit and go to Dali.

Labels: Summer 2004, Travel Yunnan

I'm in the dining car again--this time on the train from Chengdu to Kunming--except I'm not going to Kunming. I'm going to get off at Panzhihua (on the border between Sichuan and Yunnan) and take the bus over the mountains to Lijiang. I was talking with a photographer from Ireland this evening who is on his way to Burma. He was asking me about the people in the countryside. He was amazed by how hard the Chinese people work, even those who were very poor, and seem to have very little hope of improving their lot. He made the observation that people in the poorer parts of India seem to have given up. He said, "I'm not a religious man, but I think it's Hinduism." I agreed with him, but I said, "I think it is specifically the concept of reincarnation. The Bible says, 'It is appointed unto man once to die, and after this, the judgment.'" No matter how difficult our lot in life is, we can never just throw up our hands and conclude that this life is a wash. This really is something I have noticed about the Chinese people. Not having been here before 1949, I have no personal basis for comparison. But it does seem that China has been purged of the kind of religious thinking that allows one to "write off" this life because one has concluded that there is no chance of reaching a desirable level of life this time around. What will eventually replace this kind of thinking in the minds of the people is an open question.

Labels: Summer 2004

This evening I had dinner with a classmate of Leander from his university days in Chengdu. Anita picked me up and took me to a restaurant nearby. Sichuan Province is the home of the famed Sichuan Hotpot, and she wanted to treat me to the pride of the province. But I insisted on treating her, because she really was going out of her way to do this. She asked me what I wanted. I told her she was a lady, and if she picked something she liked, I would like it too. Many times when I go to eat with students, they ask me what I want. But I really don't know. I'm just not familiar with the names of all the dishes. And I usually get a better deal if I let them choose. That's one important problem with eating at a restaurant in China. You have to know how to order. Without the skill of someone who knows how to coordinate a meal, the experience is just not the same.

We feasted on fish heads, cow innards and bamboo. If you have never eaten (or helped to eat) a Sichuan hotpot, believe me, it is exhausting work. The food is very hot, in every sense of the word. They bring you a big pot sitting over a fire. In many cases, there is a hole in the middle of the table where the gas burner is located. Otherwise they will bring you a portable burner. Most of the time, the pot is divided between a spicy section and a non spicy section. Pepper is not spared. Before I had eaten for very long, the sweat was pouring down my face. Westerners tend to cringe a bit at the idea of eating fish heads, but the meat is actually quite tender. I decided to forego the eyeballs, though. I can have Jello anytime.

After dinner we went to the park and sat under one of the many gazebos by the river. Someone brought us two cups of tea and a thermos. I handed him 10 yuan. All the tea you can drink for 75 cents. Anita's father is a police officer. She struck me as being very well read, and her knowledge of history was impressive. She was very curious about Christianity. She wanted to know about Jesus, because her English teacher had been talking about Him. She said, "My English teacher asked me if I wanted Jesus to change my life, but I said, 'No,' because I don't know what I would want to change." Anita is a thinking person. She is very friendly and expressive. She kept apologizing for her English, but it was actually quite good, given that she is not an English major. When I told her of my desire to do something about the problem of primary education in the countryside, she was very sympathetic, because she grew up in the countryside of what is now the Chongqing political region (Chongqing was formerly part of Sichuan Province).

Labels: Chinese Cuisine, Summer 2004, Travel Sichuan

John Wesley Powell's conclusion to his journal is terse and unceremonious: "August 29.--We start very early this morning. The river still continues swift, but we have no serious difficulty, and at twelve o'clock emerge from the Grand Canyon of the Colorado."

Of course, I skipped some of the excitement, but the fact is that Powell's journey after the Howland party left him was largely anticlimactic. And once the mission is over, there is not much more that can be said about it. Powell is not writing for television. He is keeping an accurate journal, and he doesn't try to make it more than it is. Do the job, and report the results.

This morning, I departed the ship at Chongqing and took the bus here to Chengdu. I had hoped to spend a little time in Chongqing, because there is much history in that city. It was the capital for awhile when China, under Jiang Jieshi (Chiang Kai-shek), was fighting the Japanese. But Chongqing doesn't have any youth hostels. So I would have had to stay in an expensive hotel. Chengdu is a transfer point for backpackers going to Yunnan and Tibet, so there are quite a number of youth hostels. I am here at the Dreams Travel International Youth Hostel. I chose this one because it is run by a travel agency, so I figured it would have the best travel desk. The dormitory is 15 yuan per night (about two dollars).

This evening, the hostel had organized a tour to the Asian Cup football game at the new Chengdu stadium. Saudi Arabia was playing Iraq. When we got to the game, I was interested to notice that the people of Chengdu overwhelmingly favored Iraq. The team leader from the hostel told me that it was because the people in this area tend to view Iraq as the underdog in their fight with the Americans. As we were watching the game, a man sitting near us with a pair of cymbals stood up and started leading a cheer:

Iraq xiong qi! This is a popular cheer in the Sichuan dialect which means roughly, "Be a man," or "Rise up!"

The crowd responded:

Iraq, xiong qi! Iraq, xiong qi!

The man who was leading the cheer became more and more animated. Before long, he was saying,

"Saddam, xiong qi!" "Saddam, xiong qi!"

The police came and stopped him immediately. He had crossed a line. That was a political statement. Cheering one's team during a football match is fine. But Saddam Hussein has nothing to do with football.

Labels: Summer 2004, Travel Sichuan

An ironic and tragic footnote to John Wesley Powell's journal:

"The three men succeeded in climbing out of the canyon, but were killed a day or so later by the Shivwits Indians."

I'm not sure whether Powell penned these words himself or they were added in later by the editors of the anthology, but they force consideration of an important question: Where did Captain Howland go wrong? What was his biggest mistake--his decision to leave the party and climb out of the canyon, or his original decision to join the party in the first place. I say it was neither. His biggest mistake was his failure to count the cost. He should have been more particular about taking stock of exactly what this mission would cost him, so that he could make his decision as intelligently as possible. Once he made the decision, he should have stuck with it. Captain Howland's decision to leave the mission was a blow to Powell. But Howland was not indispensable to the mission. The mission, it turned out, was indispensable to him. He literally could not live without it. Once he decided to be part of this mission, he should have stuck it out. But it is perhaps just as true that he should have made the original decision more carefully. He would no doubt have survived if he had stayed with the mission. But he would also have survived if he had never gone. As Solomon says, "where there is no vision, the people perish." Nothing is more frustrating than the feeling that you have lost your way, and no longer know where you are going. It is at times like this that poor decisions are often made in too big a hurry. Some time to pause and reflect can be very helpful. Perhaps a day or so spent talking everything out would have prevented this tragedy. I have often found that even a single day spent in prayer and fasting can sometimes bring a whole new perspective.

Last night we were treated to a cabaret show put on by members of the crew and some passengers who wanted to get into the act. A group of tourists from California gave a slightly unrehearsed rendition of YMCA.

This morning we left the ship for a few hours to tour the ghost city of Fengdu. Each group was assigned to a bus. There is a tour group from Malaysia, a group of teachers from Shenzhen, a man and his wife from Austria, and a group of Americans. And then there's me. I didn't join a tour group; I just booked passage on the boat. I guess you could say I am a group of one, which means that I am my own tour guide. The blind leading the blind.

This afternoon we were given a tour of the bridge. I'm not sure how the ship's officers felt about having a group of foreign tourists gawking at all their equipment, but they were very polite. One of the Americans panned with room with his video camera, talking to himself. Another stared at a list on the wall, and pretended to be reading it,

"1. Mr. Wong is always right."

The tour guide politely corrected him, "Mr. Zhang."

Captain Zhang has been sailing the river for twenty years. I am sure that for someone like him, the three gorges project is very welcome, because it will make the job of navigating up the river so much easier. Of course, they will still have the same sophisticated equipment to monitor the depth, and whatever debris may be lurking, but the process will be much less critical after 2009.

I'm sitting in the lounge on the third deck now, gazing out the window. Soft music is playing in the background as the river is drifting lazily by. For three days I have feasted on the incredible beauty of the Three Gorges. It's a very peaceful experience, and yet painful. Painful because the Three Gorges project is just one more reminder that in this life, nothing lasts forever. The dam is functional now, but its effects have barely begun to be felt. But by the time of its completion in 2009, the water level will reach 175 meters, and much of the unearthly beauty that I have seen over the past three days will be under water, visible only to the fish, who couldn't care less. As I contemplate the impending loss of so much natural beauty, I am reminded again of the wretched transitoryness of life.

I remember when I moved back to North Dakota in the early Eighties. I had occasion one afternoon to visit the quarter of land where my grandfather originally homesteaded when he came from Norway. While I was at it, I swung around and drove by the old Williams quarter, where Uncle Torvall and Auntie Serine lived when I was young. As I stood there staring at the hole in the ground where their basement had been before they ripped the house off its foundation and dragged it into town, I remember thinking, "Why does everything always have to change?" Somehow it all seemed so unnatural. In some ways, it would probably be better if I did not have the memory of that beautiful farmstead in my mind. Every time I saw that house after that, it just didn't seem natural. In my mind, it was supposed to be sitting proudly on the prairie, not shoe horned into a tight city neighborhood. Of course, my sentiments are not realistic. Times change. When I look at an old map of Oliver Township, showing the homeowners of first record, there is virtually a separate family on every quarter section. That would mean over a hundred families just in that one township. Now? Probably less than 20 families. Maybe less than ten. It's too long a story to tell here, but it has to do with the reality that nobody these days can support a family on a hundred and sixty acres, especially when half of it is left fallow. Times change. Things get different. All of us have an ingrained desire for some measure of "settledness." But ever and always we must remind ourselves that this world is not our final home. As I look around me in China now, I see cranes everywhere. Just one more reminder that in this life, things are always changing. Stuff wears out. People get old. Flowers in a vase soon drop their petals, even if you have them in water. But one of these days, I am going to a city where the roses never fade. A city which has foundations, whose builder and maker is God.

Labels: Summer 2004, Three Gorges

It's hard to describe the scene last night as we docked at Badong just after the sun had slipped behind the mountains. Rich green vegetation along one side of the river. The city of Badong built into the hillside on the far bank. A large cable-stayed suspension bridge spanning the gorge. Pale blue mountain peaks waiting around the bend and a wispy, communion wafer moon pasted on a perfectly cloudless sky. Reading again from John Wesley Powell after Captain Howland had decided to leave the party. He first tried to persuade Powell to abandon the mission. Powell spent the entire night pacing back and forth, but decided he must go on: "The last thing before leaving, I write a letter to my wife, and give it to Howland. Sumner gives him his watch, directing that it be sent to his sister, should he not be heard from again. The records of the expedition have been kept in duplicate. One set of these is given to Howland, and now we are ready. For the last time, they entreat us not to go on, and tell us that it is madness to set out in this place; that we can never get safely through it; and further, that the river turns again to the south into the granite, and a few miles of such rapids and falls will exhaust our entire stock of rations, and then it will be too late to climb out. Some tears are shed; it is rather a solemn parting; each party thinks the other is taking the dangerous course." What can you say about those who do not share your vision? Perhaps they have a different destiny. Perhaps? Obviously. At first glance, we might be inclined to say that Captain Howland had lost his vision. But the truth is that he never really had a vision for this mission. He was living on borrowed vision. While the challenges appeared manageable, he was able to keep going. But when it really started to look dangerous, and there was not a clear picture of how things were going to turn out, he lost heart. Perhaps Powell himself was partly to blame. A big part of leadership is the ability to encourage those who have consented to follow you, not because of their vision, or their confidence in their own ability, but because of their confidence in you as a leader. Perhaps Powell had let his own doubts show a little too much. I don't know. It's hard to say. In the end, it doesn't matter, I suppose, because no vision or purpose or goal that is of any value can ever be reached unless and until you are ready to pursue it alone if need be. Captain Howland's decision to leave the party was significant. But Powell's decision to go on without him was far more significant, and history is much the better for it. We got off the ship this morning and headed up a tributary of the Yangtze. I really cannot do justice to the grandeur of this gorge, and the beautiful scenery along the tributary. One of the most interesting sights along this tributary was the presence of several hanging coffins high on the cliff above the water. These coffins are positioned on small platforms, or planks in small indentations in the cliff. It is mind boggling to contemplate how in the world they could have been placed there without the aid of a helicopter. The only thing I can figure is that they were lowered by ropes from above. One wonders how many people lost their lives trying to give another person a burial a little closer to heaven. I don't have a telephoto lens on my little pocket camera, so I didn't bother taking a picture. You will just have to take the cruise yourself and have a look. It's really weird. Nothing impressed me more than the futility of trying to improve a person's chances of going to heaven by taking such extraordinary risks. After moving up the tributary on a ferry, we boarded some sampans and were towed up a small stream by some Tujia trackers. There was a guide for each sampan. Fortunately, Katie, the guide who was assigned to my sampan, was a native of one of the communities along the bank. As we headed upstream, she pointed out the community where she was born, and the house she grew up in, and where her parents still live. We were pulled upstream for awhile, then turned around and shot the rapids down the stream, got back on the ferry, and headed down the tributary, past the hanging coffins and monkeys scampering along the bank, toward the mighty Yangtze, where our ship was waiting.

Labels: Summer 2004, Vision

Reading again from John Wesley Powell:

"We make ten miles and a half, and camp among the rocks, on the right. We have had rain, from time to time, all day, and have been thoroughly drenched and chilled; but between showers the sun shines with great power, and the mercury in our thermometer stands at 115 degrees, so that we have rapid changes from great extremes, which are very disagreeable. It is especially cold in the rain tonight. The little canvas we have is rotten and useless; the rubber ponchos, with which we started from Green River City, have all been lost; more than half the party is without hats, and not one of us has an entire suit of clothes, and we have not a blanket apiece. So we gather drift wood, and build a fire; but after supper the rain, coming down in torrents, extinguishes it, and we sit up all night, on the rocks, shivering, and are more exhausted by the night's discomfort than by the day's toil."

Ever had a day like that? Ever had a life like that? Life is a symphony--a balance between tension and rest. The problem, for many of us, is that we tend to regard the rest spots in our lives as "extra" space. All too soon, these rest spots get filled up with activity and commitments, our tension and rest balance becomes tension, tension, tension, and before we know it, the symphony of our lives has become a rock concert. So how do we deal with this? It's a simple matter of making choices. This morning, a group from the boat took a bus at 6:30 am and went to get a special top side view of the dam. They got back at 10 am, just in time for the ship to leave. The tour guide invited me to go along, but I turned down the opportunity. I'm too busy taking it easy. I'll do it some other time when I don't have so much relaxing to do.

The cruise ship I am on (Galaxy 1) is very much like a five story building floating down the river. Actually, it would be more accurate to say four story building, because the fifth deck is really a sun deck on the roof of the fourth deck. The first deck houses the lobby and crew's quarters, the dining hall is on the second deck and the lounge and recreation center is on the fourth deck. My cabin on the third deck is very much like a small hotel room with two single beds instead of two double beds. I have a private bath and shower. One wall is a huge bay window facing the water. Quite a bit better view than those old port holes on the Himalaya. Actually, the whole architecture is different, because this is a river boat, not an ocean going vessel. I mention the Himalaya, because that is the last time I was on a cruise. In those days, we didn't board a ship just to take four days looking at scenery. We used ships to go from Point A to Point B. But in many ways it was the same thing. I was seven years old then, standing on the deck looking quite a ways down at the dock in Vancouver, British Columbia. A lot of fanfare in those days. They walked around and gave us each some paper streamers, which we were to throw to someone on shore. I threw mine to some kid standing on the dock below. I have no idea who he was, but for a short time we shared a paper streamer. Slowly, the ship edged out of the harbor, and the paper streamers broke one by one.

Those days are gone now. The Himalaya was owned by the P&O line, which ferried passengers back and forth between the various countries of the British Commonwealth for 100 years. In those days, rich folks would get a cabin on the port side going out to India so that they could view the scenery going around the southern tip of Africa, and they would get a cabin on the starboard side coming back, for the same reason. Hence the acronym POSH (Port Out, Starboard Home). But when ocean travel was replaced by air travel as the primary means of moving passengers overseas, all those old ships were sold to the Princess Cruise lines. The Himalaya is probably scrap metal by now.

Today we negotiated the locks of the massive Three Gorges Dam. The dam is not fully operational yet, but it is functioning, and beginning to fill. This has got to be one of the most gargantuan civil engineering projects in history. Perhaps that's too strong--the pyramids of Egypt would certainly be more impressive. But this thing really is huge. You can't really get a grasp of it except, perhaps, from the air. It is to big to see in its entirety from any one location.

Labels: Infrastructure, Summer 2004, Three Gorges

I am sitting on the top deck of the Galaxy 1 watching the sun go down behind the mountains along the Yangtze River. I boarded the ship this afternoon, and we will pull out of here tomorrow morning. I'm reading now from a book I picked up at a used book store near the campus the other day. It's called Readings for Citizens at War. This book was published in the United States in 1943, during World War II. It is compendium of readings deemed appropriate for a people living in a country at war. That's the idea, anyway. I have no idea how they chose the selections, but the one that has my attention at the moment is John Wesley Powell's description of his exploration of the Colorado River in 1869. He was the first white man to navigate the river, and he began his journey without having any idea what lay ahead: "We have an unknown distance yet to run; an unknown river yet to explore. What falls there are, we know not; what rocks beset the channel, we know not; what walls rise over the river, we know not. "With some eagerness, and some anxiety, and some misgiving, we enter the canyon below..." I am struck by the boldness of his words as I sit here in the Yangtze. My trip will be up the river, not down, and I have a printed itinerary. But when I contemplate what I really want to accomplish in China, I can really relate to this guy. What is it? I mean my dream of being able to do something about the problem of education in rural China? Right now, it's just another day dream. When I look back over my life, I am forced to admit, that most of the things I have dreamed of doing have never come to anything. For example, I remember sitting in study hall when I was in Junior High dreaming of building a raft and sailing down the Mississppi. But I have also noticed that sometimes if you keep dreaming, your dreams really do come true, although perhaps not exactly the way your mind had originally framed them. I never sailed a raft down the Mississippi like Mark Twain's Huckleberry Finn, but I was a river boat pilot on the Mississippi for a couple hours one lazy Sunday afternoon. I won't talk about it now, because I don't want to get off on a tangent. Just these words of advice: Stay between the buoys, and when the Captain says "Bear to starboard," do it now! My point is that any enterprise that ever amounts to anything must begin with a dream, and the person who dreamed that dream most likely dreamed a whole host of others that never emerged from the mist of imagination to become reality.

Labels: Summer 2004