Eric's Beijing Diary

Last evening, I entered John's cafe late in the evening and saw a man waving me over to his table. I didn't think I knew him, so I thought he might be waving at someone behind me, but I looked, and it had to be me. I went over to his table, and sure enough, I didn't know him from Adam. Just a friendly guy. He is traveling through China with his wife. They are from a city in the South of Spain. He had managed to bring a bunch of other travelers over to his table, too, and he proceeded to introduce me to them. A guy from England, a couple Australians, and an American English teacher.

This man proves a point that I often make with young people. He didn't wait for friends to come to him. He stuck out his hand and introduced himself. I have a lot of respect for people like him. From time to time, I hear people saying that they don't have friends. While I do feel sorry for them, I don't quite understand. In my opinion, If you don't have friends, then you should make some. In any meeting between two people, someone has to be the first to put out his hand. After I went to America as a young person, I remember reading in Ann Landers that the lady is always supposed to offer her hand first. Ever since that time, I have tried to remember to follow this, but believe it or not, I even break that rule from time to time, if I think that perhaps a lady might need some help making friends.

His wife did not seem to be quite so comfortable with English, and my Spanish leaves much to be desired, so I did not get to talk with her very much, but she was very nice and very friendly, and she assured me that many Norwegians came to her town for vacation.

I had breakfast today with Peter. More correctly, I had breakfast; he had beer. Peter is a retired electrician from Scotland, who is bicycling around the world. He was born in Uganda of Pakistani parents. I suppose if you saw a picture of him, you would say he looks Pakistani, because both of his parents come from Pakistan. But when you talk with him, it's just not possible to picture him as Pakistani, because his speech and mannerisms are so distinctly Scottish. He looks like a Scotsman with a tan. When I asked him why he never got married, he said,

"Problem never came up."

When I asked him why he was traveling, he said,

"Cheaper than staying home."

He has just come through the country of Kyrgyzstan, so I told him I had heard a lot about it, and asked him what he thought.

"More horses than Texas."

He is on his way to Pakistan. Riding a bike is a very slow, but also a much less expensive way to travel. Peter told me that he often stops at a farm house to get something to eat. He will give the family a little money, and they are happy to help him. He has relatives in Pakistan, so he obviously has an interest in stopping in that country. But one must wonder how he will fit in to a society where he will look like everyone around him, but couldn't be more different.

Every day, five times a day, comes the cry of the muezzin from the mineret tower, calling the faithful to prayer. And in that cry is the often repeated affirmation of Islam:

"There is no God but Allah, and Mohammed is His prophet."
"There is no God but Allah, and Mohammed is His prophet."
"There is no God but Allah, and Mohammed is His prophet."

Over and over it is repeated. But times have changed. The muezzin doesn't climb to the minaret anymore. His voice is heard over the loudspeaker. I couldn't follow it myself, because the audio was a bit muffled, but mostly because I don't know Arabic. The mosque is open for prayer (and closed to tourists) five times a day. But it is on Friday that the crowds really come. The other days, most Muslims tend to go to a mosque in their own neighborhoods. Kashgar is a city with almost literally a mosque on every street corner.

It is hard for me to convey to you the importance of the mosque in a Muslim community such as this. Everything in "old town" Kashgar seems to be built around it. And even though some prefer to pray at home, a local Muslim told me that it is 27 times better to pray in the mosque than to pray at home.

The Id Kah mosque, built in the 15th Century, is the largest mosque in China. It is open to tourists, but the tourists are shut out during prayer times, which makes me wonder how this religion is propagated. This, of course, is one of the major differences between Islam in Christianity. A big part of Christianity consists of inviting others to worship services.

In some ways, I think the mosque is even more important than the religion itself, although that may be a contradictory statement, becuase the mosque is part of the religion. But I guess what I mean by that is that the mosque is a tangible representation of identity for both the "true believers," and those who really don't seem to be that religious, but still consider themselves Muslims.

Islam is definitely a man's religion. This is most noticeable on Friday, when you can see all the men streaming toward the Mosque for the mid day prayer time, and a group of women sitting outside the mosque. I have been told several times, in answer to my queries, that the women "pray at home." But I cannot help but wonder how many of them actually go through the process of bowing and praying at the same time as their men are praying at the mosque. I don't know.

Labels: Islam, Kashgar, Xinjiang

The people of Kashgar are members of the Uygur minority. These turkic people are conservative Sunni Muslims, who speak a dialect of Turkish. When I asked him about the similarity between the Uygur language and Turkish, one of my Uygur friends here said, "About fifty percent." Yesterday, he showed me around the "old town" area. The Uygur people are very friendly, but it is a bit hard to communicate with them, because they do not speak English, and although some of them understand a little Chinese if you speak slowly, most them cannot converse in Mandarin. And, of course, I do not speak Uygur, although I have mnanaged to learn a few basic words:

"Good morning." -- essalamu eleikum (surely borrowed from Arabic)

"Hello." -- yahshimusiz

"Thanks." -- rehmet

"Good-bye." -- hosh

This morning, I had an interesting conversation with some friendly folks from Canada--a mother and her daughter. Her daughter actually lives in Paris, but spent her childhood in Beijing. They have just come through Kyrgyzstan, and really encouraged me to see it.

Maybe some day, but for me, travel outside China is really kinda mafun (mendokusai). I have never used traveler's checks in my life. In China, I don't need to carry money, because I have a domestic ATM card. In addition to this, the exchange rate is not good. Naturally, China has had an interest in keeping the RMB low, because this has benefitted exports. But for someone like myself, working in China and being paid in RMB, this situation makes travel outside the country cost prohibitive. This situation may change after the news last Friday that China has tied the RMB to a basket of currencies, which surely means that it's value will rise against the dollar, which is falling against so many currencies worldwide. Traveling within China is generally pretty easy, but leaving the country really costs.

"In 1954 Simon Zhao and the other members arrested in Kashgar were transported to Urumqi where he met those arrested in Hami in 1952. The Public Security, People's Procuratorate and People's Court set up a special committee of investigation. Uncle Simon knew that as he and his co-workers were innocent the whole matter would soon be solved. But he was wrong.

"Not only was he not speedily released, but it was 36 years before he was able to meet up with those members of the Band who had survived prison. Some had died in prison or labor camps. For years he was separated from family and friends, and through the endless suffering he often called on the Lord's mercy in his utter loneliness.

"Day after day, year after year Simon toiled in the reform-through-labor camp, tilling the land and repairing dikes. He carried endless baskets of earth, dug up by hand, on shoulder poles for miles on foot. Often he was so exhausted his legs gave way and he could only crawl on the ground with his load. His body deteriorated, but his mind became sharper. He had not forgotten his commission and so secretly told the other prisoners about Christ."

It is all but impossible for me fully to appreciate the suffering that Simon Zhao and men and women like him endured for the sake of bringing God's love to people very different from themselves. And it is especially hard to comprehend the difference between then and now. China is still a controlled society. But today the government of areas like Xinjiang seems to be much more on the order "live and let live. If you keep your head down, and especially take pains not to create the impression that you have political ambitions, you are pretty much left alone in today's China. But while the treatment of people like Simon Zhao has changed somewhat, the government has never gone back and cleared the reputations of folks like Simon Zhao. Justice demands that this be done. I believe it is time, now, for China to set the record straight, and give such men as Simon Zhao the honor that is due them.

Sunday is Market Day in Kashgar. Lonely Planet estimates that upwards of 50 thousand people swarm in from all over the surrounding countryside. It is really something to see. Yesterday morning, we took the free bus from John's Cafe to the market, but three of us wanted to see the livestock market first. We happened to run in to a young Uygur man who spoke excellent English, and offered to show us how to get there. So we hired a motorcycle taxi, and he rode with us.

Lots and lots of sheep, donkeys, horses, and cattle. Donkeys are definitely the main beast of burden in Kashgar, so they were quite abundant. But there were lots of sheep, too. Mutton is a very big part of the Uygur quisine, and the wool is used for the strong and very traditional carpet industry.

But for me, the people are more interesting than the animals. With livestock sales, there always seems to be a middle man helping to negotiate the deal. Buyer will always check the teeth of the animal--the seller usually offers this service for the seller. There doesn't seem to be a lot of fighting or argument, but the process does take some time, so one can assume that there is quite a bit of discussion about the matter. And there always new animals being brought in. Constantly, you will hear the sound of someone calling "Bosh, Bosh" to tell you to get out of the way. If that doesn't work, there are other methods. At one point, I felt something on my behind. A farmer was tapping me on my butt end to get me out of the way. I moved, of course, as any good mule would.

Many different booths are set up to offer to food to those who are there. One of my favorites is a little hard shell dumpling filled with lamb. Really delicious.

I met a guy from Albania who lives in Italy and monitors elections for a living. He had just finished monitoring an election in Kyrgyzstan, and told me it was a very, very beautiful country. I don't know...I may go there some day, but not now.

Last night at John's Cafe, I ran into Michael, my neighbor from the foreign teachers' dormitory. He had been up to the Pakistan border, and tried to reach the pass in the "no man's land" between the checkpoints. But the Chinese would not let him past the check point without a visa. So he turned around an hitchhiked back to Kashgar. We were talking about this in John's Cafe, when he saw one of the other guys who had been with him. That guy mentioned something about hashish. Michael told me the truck driver had stopped to smoke some hashish. I told them about the time last summer, when a lady in Dali tried to sell me some hashish. The other guy laughed, "You don't need to buy hashish in Dali. You can pick it!" Well, I'm not into drugs, so I can't verify that, but it wouldn't surprise me. Dali has the perfect climate for that sort of thing. It's sorta the Greenwich Village or Haight-Ashbury of China.

I don't know why Michael decided to come to Xinjiang. I never really tried to talk him into it, but I have been telling him since last fall that I would be coming here. Actually, it probably doesn't have anything to do with me. Xinjiang has mountains, and Michael is definitely a mountain man.

Labels: Back to Jerusalem, Kashgar, Xinjiang

"Eager to plant the gospel on virgin soil, Zhao headed south with five fellow workers to Hetian, a remote oasis town in the far south of Xinjiang, in the winter of 1950. But two weeks after they arrived the Public Security Bureau ordered them to leave. So they were forced to move even further west to Kashgar, where in September 1949 the Band had set up a preaching station at Shule and where there were quite a few Han Chinese. (In those days the vast majority of the population of Xinjiang were Uygurs or other mainly Muslim minorities.)

"They arrived in January 1950 to a chaotic situation. The gospel compound had been taken over by armed soldiers who claimed there had been a ?counter-revolutionary incident.? Uncle Simon did not know what to make of it. But within a few days he was arrested and placed in prison. He had with him only a pocket Bible, a notebook and a pen, but even these were confiscated. Not until his release thirty years later in 1981 did he see a Bible again.

"Uncle Simon thought his arrest must be a mistake and that he would soon be released. But later, when let out of his cell briefly, he saw two of his co-workers had also been arrested and only then realized his situation was grave. Two years later he found out that members of the Band back at Hami had also been arrested. Clearly the arrests concerned the whole Band, not just him personally."

I'm sitting here at John's Cafe in Kashgar. Kashgar is a welcome oasis after spending the past 24 hours cruising across the most lifeless, mountainous desert you can imagine.

Joy's brother-in-law kindly brought me to the train station and put me on the train. He is a banker by profession, so I was interested to hear his thoughts on the news yesterday morning that China had moved off the dollar peg. The news is very significant, but it will take a while to determine just what it means.

Last night, I went to the dining car, to get something to eat. After I had finished, a PLA guy across from me invited me to sit with him. He was very friendly and conversational, but I was somewhat surprised that he didn't speak English.

This afternoon, when we pulled into the station, I got off the train, and started looking for a taxi. Usually, whenever I get off a train or plane, I wave off the people who offer a taxi to me, because they are invariably black-market taxi drivers who charge unbelievable rates, in addition to which they are not legal, so I always look for the regular taxi line. But I was in for a surprise. There is no regular taxi line. All the taxis look like legitimate taxis, but none of them have meters. I finally asked one of the drivers how much he would charge to take me to the Seman Hotel, and he quoted a rate of 10 yuan. He opened the trunk so I could put my backpack in, and then, to my immense consternation, he disappeared. I did not realize it then, but he was rounding up other customers. He did not manage to find any, so we got in the car to go. To make sure there was no misunderstanding, I asked him the rate again. It had doubled. I promptly ordered him to open the trunk so that I could get my backpack out. Well, another driver was glad to get my business. He quoted me a rate of 10 yuan, so I got in his cab. Sure enough, he started yelling out the window, to other people looking for a taxi, and managed to get some other customers. A couple of guys got in. I noticed that he made a point of dropping them off first...not sure if that was really in proper order. But I was not surprised when he dropped me off and asked for twice the original price he had quoted me. I suppose I should not complain about 20 kuai, but fraud is fraud. I gave him the price he had originally quoted.

So where, exactly, is Kashgar? Five thousand kilometers west of Beijing. Due north of India. Northwest of Nepal. Surrounded by Pakistan, Afghanistan, Tajikistan, Kyrgystan, and Kazakhstan. Mongolia to the north, the rest of East Turkestan (now Xinjiang Province) to the east, and Tibet, of course, to the southwest.

Labels: Back to Jerusalem, Kashgar, Xinjiang

I don't think anyone knows for sure when the "Back to Jerusalem" movement began, but it seems to have developed as an active movement by the 1940's. Phyllis Thompson, a CIM missionary stationed in Chongqing made the following observation in a prayer letter written in 1949:

"The thing that has impressed me most has been the strange, unaccountable urge of a number of different Chinese groups of Christians to press forward in faith, taking the gospel towards the west. I know of at least five different groups, quite unconnected with each other, who have left their homes in east China and gone forth, leaving practically everything behind them, to the west. Some are in Sikang [now western Sichuan], some in Kansu [Gansu Province], some right away in the great northwestern province of Sinkiang [now Xinjiang] or Chinese Turkestan. It seems like a movement of the Spirit which is irresistible. The striking thing is that they are disconnected, and in most cases seem to know nothing about each other. Yet all are convinced that the Lord is sending them to the western borders to preach the gospel, and they are going with a strong sense of urgency of the shortness of the time, and the imminence of the Lord's return."

As far as I can tell, the "Back to Jerusalem" movement seemed to have three characteristics:

1. It involved separate groups and individuals who, as Phyllis Thompson observed, did not know each other, but seemed to have gotten the same vision at the same time.
   

   
   

2. It was based on the belief that the development of what we often call the "Great Comission" has historically moved in a primarily westward direction, beginning with the missionary journeys of Paul, and moving into Europe, down into Africa and across to the Americas, and finally to Asia.
   

   
   

3. Last, and most important, is the belief that God has given to the Chinese people the responsibility to "complete the circle," bringing the gospel through the Moslem world on the way back to Jerusalem.
   

At any rate, during the forties, several different groups of missionaries began move toward the northwest. One of these missionaries was a man by the name of Simon Zhao.

Simon Zhao's involvement with the "Back to Jerusalem" movement began one winter day as he entered the prayer tower of the old American Presbyterian Church in Mukden (now Shenyang), the capital of Manchuria. Tony Lambert, writing in China Insight, tells the story,

"One day when it was his turn to pray in the tower, he was still wrestling with this question, so he brought a large map with him. It had been snowing hard so he opened the door of the prayer-tower with some difficulty. Alone in the vast silence, he laid out the map and prayed.

"He was drawn to Xinjiang with its strange-sounding place-names. Was this the place the Lord had for him? The more he prayed, the more Xinjiang imprinted itself in his mind. But Xinjiang was far away, plagued with many political, religious and racial problems, so he could not help feeling afraid. But had he not placed himself on the altar? Had not Christ given up his life for him? He ceased to resist any longer.

"He married Wen Muling, a fourth generation descendent of a Qing dynasty first-rank imperial councilor. They both went to study at the Taidong Seminary in Nanjing. There they met two women from Jinan who shared their vision to preach the gospel in Xinjiang. Zhao was very moved and determined to go there. In 1949 he, his wife and the two sisters set sail up the Yangtze from Nanjing. They were seen off personally by Rev. Yang Shaotang, one of China's leading preachers. This raises the fascinating question as to how much Rev. Yang may have had a burden for the evangelization of the far Northwest and "Back to Jerusalem."

"China was torn apart by the civil war between Nationalists and Communists. Everywhere there were refugees. Uncle Simon had already prepared himself for suffering, even prison, so did not complain about the hardships of the journey. Eventually they reached Hami on the eastern edge of Xinjiang and joined members of the North West Evangelization Band who had arrived there a year or two previously..."

I began my own "Back to Jerusalem" journey yesterday morning when I boarded a plane for Urumqi, the capital of Xinjiang Province. I had bought a backpack for this trip. I am not a backpacker in the classic sense of the term, but I have found that a backpack is much less troublesome than a suitcase when traveling alone. Michael, my neighbor in the foreign teachers' dormitory, helped me adjust the thing so that the weight rests on my hips, and not on my back. I don't think it's a major issue, becuase I am not planning to walk from Mexico to Canada as he did, but he is right that one should keep weight off the back as much as possible. This is especially true in my case, because I do carry a few books with me, which tends to make my backpack a bit heavy.

The four hour flight to Urumqi was uneventful. I spent most of the time watching a movie about this guy who is trapped in the New York airport due to lack of proper documentation. When it got to the part where he was describing his mission to a seemingly missionless airline stewardess, I found myself struck by the futility of his mission, which was to obtain the autograph of a famous band leader for his father, who was not able to obtain it before he died.

But while his mission may seem futile, I guess you would have to say that it was at least noble, because it was done to honor someone who had passed on. And I couldn't help being impressed by his commitment to his mission, and by how clearly he saw and understood exactly what he wanted to accomplish. I hate to use a secular film to illustrate a spiritual truth, but I think we can see from this movie, that a missionary is defined by the clarity of his vision, the quality of his mission, and the depth of his commitment to it.

Joy (one of the translators at the Haidian church) had arranged for me to stay with her sister. Her sister had told me which bus to catch from the airport in order to get to her neighborhood. For some reason, that bus was not immediately accessible from the airport, so I took another one that was going to that particular part of the city. When I got off, I was still some distance from where I needed to be. Fortunately for me, a kind passerby asked me where I was going, so I called the number Joy's sister had given me, and the friend who was at her home told the guy where I needed to go. He found the bus for me, and insisted on riding with me to the right place, not leaving until he was sure I had met my party. I have always been impressed by the kindness of ordinary Chinese people, who go out of their way to help a complete stranger.

Urumqi, the capital of Xinjiang Province, has the distinction of being the farthest from any ocean of all the cities in the world. Pick any direction, and it is a very, very long drive to the beach. It is the quintessential inland city. And it was a welcome relief from the humidity of a Beijing summer. Everyone has their preferences, but I definitely prefer a dry climate, which is what Beijing is, most of the time. Fall, Winter and Spring, Beijing is very dry. But there is that one period during the summer, when the climate seems to reverse, and Beijing becomes a steam bath.

Xinjiang Province is the home of the Uygur minority, but Han Chinese are moving in fast, and Urumqi, as the capital city, is definitely dominated by the Chinese. It has become a popular choice for modern Chinese yuppies (Young Urban Professionals), because they can enjoy the "good life" of the city, at a cost which is quite a bit less than what it would cost them in Beijing or Shanghai.

Labels: Back to Jerusalem, Kindness, Xinjiang

Picked up a copy of the South China Morning Post this morning. Very interesting article about the mayor of Taipei, who has just been elected to the chairmanship if the KMT. You may remember his comments in the Wall Street Journal, which I included in this blog (May 9).

Watch this guy. He will no doubt run for president in the next election. Chen Shui-bian is a charasmatic figure, but the problem with people like Chen, is that they become the identity of their party, and when they step down, they are hard to replace. It is very unlikely that Chen's party will find someone of his stature to take his place. This means that Ma will probably be the next president, which also means that the KMT, the old enemy of the Communist Party will be back in power. Ironically, the mainland will certainly encourage such a victory, since the KMT endorses, as, of course, it always has, the "One China" policy.

Had a jiaozi party at my apartment this afternoon with some friends from church. Jiaozi, or "dumpling(s)" are quite abundant in Beijing. In the old days, a jiaozi party would involve getting together and actually rolling the dough, putting the stuffing in, and forming the dumplings. All this before even thinking about cooking.

But we take the easy way out. The supermarket as several bins with different kinds of frozen jiaozi, which you scoop out, put in a bag, and buy for a few kuai per jin (500 grams). It's really a pretty simple way to have a cheap meal together, and jiaozi is pretty filling, so no one needs to go away hungry.

Buying a ticket in China can be a real pain sometimes. I'm talking particularly about train tickets. I went to the ticket office the other day to buy a ticket to Urumqi in Xinjiang Province. They told me to come back on Friday evening. It's because of the date I gave them. You cannot buy a ticket earlier than four days before the date on the ticket.

So I showed up at 7pm Friday (the time they had given me), and by when I got to the window, they told me there were no soft sleeper tickets. Not to be dissuaded, I took a taxi to the Beijing West train station. I was having dinner with Cathy, and she offered to come with me, which turned out to be a good thing.

The ticket window at the train station was mayhem. The particular window we needed did not have the restraining bars to keep everyone in line, so they just tended to mob the window. Well, my turn finally came, and I asked for the ticket I needed. No luck. She said I could get a "hard seat" ticket, but no soft sleeper. Believe it or not, I have talked to students who rode the hard seats all the way to Xinjiang, but sitting up for 48 hours was not something I wanted to look forward to, so I told her I wasn't interested.

As I was going home, I chanced to meet one of my neighbors, a guy from Florida. Somehow, he had gotten a hold of a travel agent in Fuchengmen, and he gave me the guy's number. I called him this morning, and told him my experience. He said, "You're not going to get a soft sleeper ticket like that at the ticket window. Those tickets are all sold through the back door." I don't think that's always true, because I have bought soft sleeper tickets before. But my experience last summer in Dali told me that he was not entirely wrong, either.

The problem is with the way train tickets are sold. Plane tickets in China are just like plane tickets anywhere. They are issued to a particular person. When you buy the ticket, they go to great pains to make sure that they name on the ticket is the same as the name on your passport. As long as this matches, you are OK. In other words, plane tickets are not transferable. But train tickets have no name on them. They are completely transferable. So, in a sense, they become a form of currency, because they can be freely traded. And also because, depending on the season, they are often very much in demand. Because of this, speculators will sometimes buy up a bunch of tickets, and then hold and sell them for a profit. This can be very frustrating to the average person who is just trying to get from Point A to Point B.

Anyway, the agent told me to call his office, and I asked them to check the date. They said this date was all sold out, but to my surprise, they were able to get me a very good price on a plane ticket. Plane tickets are very frustrating in China, because they are easy to get if you want to pay the price, but the price is a little high. I asked them for directions to their office, and they told me they would have the ticket delivered. About an hour later, I got a call on my mobile phone; it was the delivery guy. I went down to the North Gate, and this kid came riding up on a bicycle. I gave him the money, and he gave me the ticket.

Had to take the subway to Jianguoman to take care of some business, so I stopped by Tiananmen on the way back and went to the National Museum. They have been having a display of Zheng He, the fifteenth century Chinese explorer and navigator. Zheng He was a Muslim from Yunnan Province, who was made a eunuch after he was captured by the Ming Army. The Chinese, of course, take pride in the fact that his explorations took place in the century before Columbus sailed the ocean blue. But two other issues are raised by Zheng He's accomplishments. First is the question of how China became such a closed country after having reached out, through Zheng He's explorations, to so many countries. The second question, though is somewhat more poignant for today's geopolitical situation. This is the question of China as a growing naval force. China is a very large country, which is growing into an economic giant, with a strong disposition to build up it's military.

Had dinner with my students in Zhengzhou this evening. Sort of a "farewell" banquet. Seems like every time I do this, there is some new dish I have never tasted. For some reason, I have never quite adjusted myself to a Chinese breakfast. Don't why, but when I get up in the morning, I'm just not in the mood for a cold, wet pickle. Not a problem in Beijing. I can get Australian oatmeal for less than a dollar a bag, and if that doesn't fill me, I can go to the coffee bar and have bacon and eggs, or an omelet.

Sometimes I have the lunch buffet at the Korean bakery. And sometimes I just skip lunch. But for dinner, especially if you are with a group of people, there is no contest. I don't know how else to express it, except to say that the Chinese are very good at making Chinese food. It's hard to explain to you if your experience is limited to Chinese restaurants in the United States. They do contain a sample of what you can find here, but the variety available at any good restaurant in China is quite a bit better than what you can find at most Chinese restaurants in America. There are several reasons for this. One is that the food, and especially the meat, tends to be fresh in China. More than once, I have come out of a coffee bar close to midnight, after having studied through the evening, and seen the delivery folks with their bicycle carts, hauling the next days fresh pork to the restaurants in the community. And fish is the same way. When you order a meal that involves fish, they bring the fish out to you, and let you examine it while it is still alive. Fresh fish is not a rare experience in China. It is the norm.

After dinner, the ladies left, and the guys asked me if I wanted to stay for awhile with them. Of course, I like these guys, and I wanted to be sociable, but I really don't like drinking parties. They are not unique to China, of course, but the way it is done here is different from the United States. In America, when a bunch of guys want to go drinking, they head for a bar. In China, they head for a restaurant. Now, I don't want to give the wrong impression. I don't have a conscience about alcohol in the sense that I think it is inherently sinful. It is very common to have cold beer with a meal in China, because Chinese restaurants do not serve ice water. But when the meal is over, there is really no more reason to keep drinking (unless, of course, you really do want to be inebriated). We can argue all day about such issues as when (if ever) it is appropriate for a Christian to imbibe, but for a Christian, there can never be any argument about drunkenness. It is simply out of the question.

So the kinds of social activities that provide a subtle (and sometimes not so subtle) incentive for people to drink more than they otherwise would have, are something I tend to resist. The Chinese expression, "ganbei" means literally, "empty cup." But if you look it up in a Chinese--English dictionary, the English equivalent is stated as "Cheers," which doesn't necessarily imply emptying the tumbler. The same is true in China. Many times I have sat down at a meal, and seen everyone raising their glasses and clinking them together as a greeting and form of well-wishing. But when the point is made that someone will raise a glass and offer a special toast, then the term is taken very seriously. Everyone is expected to drain his cup, and they often make the point by turning their glasses upside down to show everyone that it is empty. I usually explain to them the difference between "cheers," and "bottoms up" as a way of telling them that I do not participate in "bottoms up." I guess I would not necessarily make such a point of it if my glass were near empty, but that rarely happens, because if someone sees me holding up a near empty cup, they will insist on filling it. I always like this, because it makes it easier for me to make the point that I do not allow anyone to tell me how much alcohol to put in my body. Sometimes they remonstrate quite loudly when they see me take a little sip, but no one has ever pressed the issue unreasonably. Many times I have heard expats who have been in China for some time, and consider themselves experts, insist that it is rude not to drink the entire glass full of whatever beverage. This is nonsense. The Scripture says, "Let your moderation be known unto all men."

But getting back to the point. These guys are not evil men. They're just a bunch of pretty decent guys having a good time. And I didn't see anyone getting out of control. I just don't like drinking parties, or any event that has no other purpose than consuming or getting others to consume alcohol. And I especially don't like them when people start to get drunk. Drunks are all the same. They are not interesting people. When I was in the trucking industry, I did know some alcoholics who had very interesting personalities. But I have never, ever met a drunk who was interesting. Drunks are the most boring people on the planet.

Zhengzhou to Kaifeng - July 5, 2005

Luke 21:24 says, "Jerusalem shall be trodden down of the Gentiles, until the times of the Gentiles be fulfilled." The great Diaspora of the Jews began in 71 AD when Jerusalem was "trodden down of the Gentiles," as described by the historian Josephus. The Jews were scattered to the ends of the earth, and have made their presence felt in every country where they have settled. Countries who welcomed them were blessed. There are more Jews in New York than there are in Israel. Countries who persecuted them were cursed. Germany was divided for 40 years after World War II.

Blessing or curse, they have managed, one way or another, to write their history on the pages of every nation's past. Few are unaware of the horrors of the holocaust. The Broadway musical, "Fiddler on the Roof" told the story of the Jews in Russia. Pick any country, and the history of that nation as been influenced, in some measure, by the Jews, and by the role that country has played as a host to the Diaspora.

They came to China during the Song Dynasty. They traveled over the Silk Road, and settled in Kaifeng, the ancient Song Dynasty capital. Yesterday, I took the train to Kaifeng to see if I could find them. Much has been written about the Kaifeng Jews, so I won't repeat it here. I only tell here my own effort to learn something of these people, and the role they played in China's history. I went first to the Kaifeng Museum, because I knew that this was the location of the Jewish History display, but when I got there, I didn't see anything that looked like a Jewish history display. I had some difficulty making them understand what I was looking for. Stupid me, I had not taken the trouble to learn how to say, "Jew" in Chinese. Fortunately, I had the Lonely Planet guidebook Rhea had sent me, and I was able to point out something in there that made them understand what I was looking for. They told me I would have to pay extra to see this. The first price they quoted me was 50 RMB. As the conversation progressed, the price came down. I ended up giving them 20 RMB. One of the curators took me to the third floor, and led me to a steel cage door. He pulled out a string of keys and opened the gate, leading me up a stairway to a small attic enclosure. For the life of me, I don't know why this display is sealed off from the public. One would think this would be a matter everyone should be interested in. But it is mostly pilgrims who come to see the three stone steles which record the destruction and reconstruction of the synagogue in the fifteenth and seventeenth centuries, which is ironic, because both the actual steles, and the rubbings taken from those steles which were taken out of China years ago, contain writings which are all in Chinese.

After leaving the museum, I hailed a taxi, and showed the cab driver the location on the map that the Lonely Planet identifies as the site where the Kaifeng synagogue used to be. This guy had no idea what a synagogue was, but he did know the city pretty well, so he took me to the point I had showed him on the map, and dropped me off in front of the Liu Shaoqi museum. Needless to say, Liu Shaoqi was not Jewish, so I was quite certain this museum would not have anything connected with what I was looking for. But I did not protest, because, while I am interested in the Kaifeng Jews, I am also interested in Liu Shaoqi. He was the president of China, and was highly regarded by the party as the man who, with Deng Xiaoping, helped the Chinese economy to recover from the disaster we know as the "Great Leap Forward." He was also hated by Mao because...well, because he was president of the country, and highly regarded by the party. Many in the West did not appreciate the extent to which Mao was slowly being sidelined in the early sixties because of his mismanagement of the economy. While Mao was being sidelined by the party, he was still viewed as an icon by the masses, and he used this to foment the widespread chaos we now call the Cultural Revolution. It was in the maelstrom of this chaos that Liu Shaoqi was removed from power, incarcerated, and allowed to die.

The tour guide at the museum did not speak English, but she did a very good job of showing me around the place where Liu Shaoqi spent the last month of his life, and when we were finished, I asked her where the synagogue was. Fortunately, being from the immediate area, she at least knew what I was talking about. She pointed to where she thought it was. Just as we were talking, a pedicab pulled up, and I asked the rickshaw driver if he knew how to get there. He obviously wanted business, so he said he knew how to get there. As the rickshaw driver and the museum guide were talking, another guy came up and pointed to a completely different location. Well, I was certainly not going to enter the conversation, because I had nothing to offer, and if you are ever in a position where you might have to find a location in a small, strange neighborhood, well, that is one time it is really handy to have the services of a bicycle rickshaw. So I let the three of them talk until they seemed to have come to a meeting of the minds, and then I hopped in the bicycle taxi and we took off.

The guy took me to the place which he said was the former location of the synagogue, and I got out of the cab. As we were talking with some of the local people, an old lady happened to walk by. She heard what we were saying, and motioned for me to follow her. She led me down a narrow lane, and up to a small dwelling, which appeared to be her home. It was clear that she had not been expecting visitors, so I was a little hesitant to impose, but my curiosity got the best of me. As we crossed the threshold, she pointed up to a narrow plaque on the doorpost. There I saw the unmistakable script which identified this home as the residence of a Kaifeng Jew. I can't tell you what it said, because I don't read Hebrew, but I was struck by the contrast between this unlikely Hebrew plaque, and the environment in which it had been placed, which, in every other respect, looked like a very traditional Chinese home, situated in a traditional Chinese hutong.

I cannot imagine a more stark picture of God's preservation of the Jews, then standing in the home of this aging Kaifeng Jewess, reading a Hebrew plaque that had no doubt been handed down to her from her forbearers. Later, as I was sitting in an "Italian" coffee bar, eating my lasagna, and listening to Jerry Lee Lewis singing, "Great Balls of Fire," I pondered the irony of what I had seen. We're not talking about two or three generations here. We're talking about an unbroken chain of religious heritage, handed down from one generation to another for a thousand years, with little or no outside connection. It's really quite astounding when you think about it.

I met a guy from Russia at the coffee bar. He had been living in Kaifeng for a year, studying Chinese, and was preparing to return to Russia. I would expect to meet many more like him in the years to come. Recent events in Russia, where Putin has declared that the fall of the former Soviet Union was the "greatest geopolitical disaster of the 20th Century," have made potential outside investors more than a little jittery. China has done a much better job of assuring investors that their property will be respected, and this contrast has not escaped the notice of ambitious Russian young people.

After lunch, I still had plenty of time before my return to Zhengzhou, so I took a taxi to the local CITS office (government travel service). The security guard told me that the lady who runs the place was not back from lunch yet, so I sat in the guard shack with him, watching a very old American movie, which was dubbed in Chinese. Shortly before 2 o'clock, the lady came riding back to work on her bicycle, and I asked for her advice. She did not speak much English, but she was very friendly and very helpful. I had been contemplating a visit to the "Iron Pagoda," which she also recommended. She told me which bus to get, and insisted on walking me to the bus stop, so she could make sure I got on the right bus.

The "Iron Pagoda" is not actually made of iron, but it does have a metallic appearance, because of the baked ceramic finish applied to the bricks. But for me, the most interesting thing about the Iron Pagoda is that you can actually climb to the top of it. Of course you can't travel around China much without seeing a pagoda here and there, but I had never scaled one before, so I paid my 10 yuan, stooped to pass through the mouse-hole entrance, and began my ascent. I don't really like to be locked in small, closed spaces. It is an eerie feeling climbing the nine-hundred-year old stair case which winds around the outside wall of the pagoda between two heavy, impenetrable brick walls. There is no way but up. No light, other than the light that filtered through the bars of the windows which came along every so often. I'd hate to do this at night. And The staircase is very narrow; there is only room for one person at a time. When I met some people coming down, they slid into one of the window wells, and waited for me to pass. After the first short flight of stairs, there is no railing of any kind. Nothing to hold on to. Of course, the passage way is so narrow that there is no where to fall, either, unless you fall backwards, which is too terrible to think about, because the stairs are steep.

Every time I came to a window, I stopped and looked out. I ask myself now why anyone would want to climb 13 stories up a narrow stairway from which there is no escape. I guess that is it...because the view from those prison fortress windows is something that you could not possibly experience any other way. But nothing is more amazing than the sure endurance of this structure through floods, storms, and every other possible disaster for over 950 years. It was here through all the wars of the Americas. In fact, it was already very old when the Pilgrims landed. It was standing here minding its own business when Columbus discovered America. Reminds me of the Kaifeng Jews, whose longevity it ironically parallels.

Later, as I was waiting for my train at the train station, a rickshaw driver came up and started talking with me. I was impressed by his surprisingly fluent English. I asked him where he had learned English, since he was a rickshaw driver, and obviously had not been to university. He told me that he had learned "New Concept" English in the Army. He invited me to wait for my train in his rickshaw. As we were talking, some other rickshaw drivers started to gather around. I don't know what they were more curious about, the foreigner sitting there, or the rickshaw driver who was speaking a level of English far above their own. The rickshaw driver asked me if I was a Christian, and I told him I was. He told me that he was a Christian, too. I told him of my interest in the Kaifeng Jews. He said, "Only one old woman still believes the religion of Israel." This seemed unlikely to me. Could it be that I had met the one remaining Jew in all of Kaifeng? I am skeptical. I would think there would be at least a handful of living descendents of the original Kaifeng Jews.

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Labels: Jews in China, Kaifeng

Had the onion pork chops at the Taiwanese coffee bar in Zhengzhou this evening. I am back to finish up the extension course I am teaching at Zhongyuan Institute of Technology. These Taiwanese coffee bars are all over the place. I think I have seen them in every city I have been in. In America, you really have two choices. You can go to a coffee shop like Denny's, or Village Inn, and get a cup of coffee with free refills, or you can go to a coffee bar and get the gourmet stuff. In China, there are no coffee shops. So if you want coffee, the coffee bars are your only option. In Beijing, there are plenty of Starbuck's outlets. But I don't like them. Go to Starbucks, and you have a tiny table the size of a dime. The Taiwanese coffee bars have large rectangular tables with upholstered couches. But the Taiwanese coffee bars also have a menu, with some really special items. I like Chinese food, of course, but there are two problems with eating at a Chinese restaurant. First, of all, you have to be able to read and speak Chinese, because the menus are in Chinese, and the fuyuans definitely don't speak English. The other problem is the Chinese restaurants are designed for groups. The menus don't contain individual orders. You order an arrangement of dishes, and share them as a group. In China, if you are eating with a group of people, you can't beat the traditional Chinese approach, because the food is extraordinary. But if you're on your own, a coffee bar is much simpler and more convenient.

There is another issue for me. I am a studier. It's against my religion to go into a restaurant without my books, unless I am with a group. The Taiwanese coffee bars are not study bars like the ones I am used to in Wudaokou. Taiwanese coffee bars don't provide individual reading lamps. In fact, they really aren't the best place to study after dark, because they tend to dim the lights, so it's hard to read. But during the slow part of the afternoon, when they are not busy, they are generally a very good place to study.