Picture Break

I'm hoping to get some writing done during my spring break about other days from my trip. Here is a beautiful photo taken by Julia Madden in the meantime.

Thoughts Here and There

When I think about home, I think of silver rain falling through darkness, as early as 4:30 pm. I think of the fragrance of moist forest duff, burning firewood, and my family’s hugs mingling in the fresh air. I think of enchiladas, wheat toast with Brummel and Brown’s, and Annie’s white cheddar macaroni and cheese.

Outside my window here, white clouds and grey clouds drift away from me across the blue sky, although our classrooms have been freezing cold for the last two weeks. My roommate sits at our hotel desk chatting on QQ as I write this – it’s Sunday and we’re both taking a slow day to catch up on homework and the nothing we’ve wanted to do all week. She loaned me a warm sweater which has been a lifesaver in the suddenly “cold” weather that I’ve grown weak against in these four months in the Spring City.

Kunming’s buildings and faces, my tears and laughter, the fresh flowers on the corner of “Culture Alley,” and friends’ increasingly fluent Chinese conversations over a delicious dinner that made us all sick pause for a moment to regard me before fading back into my memory. Every day the thought “I want to go home” rises up in my mind. But I don’t know exactly what that means anymore. I know in one week I’ll be making that long journey home, the reverse of the plane ride I took six months ago. Will all my gifts make it through customs? How will Portland, Oregon look through the grey clouds as my airplane tilts down? How will facing those I left behind, but never stopped loving feel?

Of course I still have to edit two essays, write two more, take a test, and give three presentations, but these are the last days with my friends and teachers. I need to write thank you cards, find a place to donate the clothes I’m not taking home, pack my suitcase and buy snacks for the plane. But this last week feels nothing like the end, nothing like how I thought it might. I feel more content than I expected: My experience has been completely fulfilling so I am ready to go home for the dark, cozy winter, but I also know I will miss the life I made here.

Classic Blog – My Day

I wake up just before my alarm rings at 7:30 AM, the sunlight hasn’t entered my West-facing room yet and the morning is still cool. After listening to NPR’s five-minute news report (more to hear the voices I grew up with riding to school in the car with my mom than for the actual news; “Oregon and Washington have been pounded by rain and windstorms…” Really? You call that news NPR?) I head out, and by the end of the fifteen minute walk across campus and down the tree-lined grand stone staircase, the sun has come out and begun to warm the streets of Kunming.

My morning classes are “Environment and Development” and “Kunming Studies.” I give my presentation on Starbucks’ environmental action, we discuss and move onto my classmate’s chosen corporations, including Exxon Mobile, and the discussion, as usual, escalates to a heated debate. “Kunming Studies” topic of the week is Yunnan’s NGO’s and our discussion is significantly milder although we do find opportunities to make fun of each other and laugh.

Lunch on Wednesdays is the best because our program pays the bill for “Chinese Table” and we all get to eat together at a slightly nicer restaurant than usual. Today’s restaurant is tucked down in a narrow cobblestone alley and the food is fantastic. I linger with Lili, our wonderful Assistant Program Director, and two other friends savoring the last few sautéed vegetables, not wanting to get up.

I arrive for my afternoon One-on-one special studies class (Yunnan Ethnic Minorities Dances) a little early, change into ballet slippers and shed my outer layers. Light shines in the six-floor windows, outside clear blue skies, pink and orange flowers peeking through dark green leaves that drape the faded buildings lining Green Lake. I put my headphones on, set Macklemore’s “Thin Line” to repeat and what begins as plies and tendus to warm my legs up melts into a private world of movement, simultaneous self-awareness and blindness. The only thing restricting my movement, the cord of my headphones, creates a force field that only I live in.

I’m startled out of this moment when I notice my pretty teacher, He Lu, has arrived. She hands me a can of coconut juice and asks “What were you dancing? Modern ballet?” I’m not really sure myself. He Lu, from Sichuan, talks fast, eats spicy, and dances like a boss. She never hesitates to tell me when my movements are “wrong!” or “too ugly!”and I love her to death. Today we get to spend the full two hours dancing, no research discussion, quizzes, or criticism of my pronunciation, just working on the austere Dai Peacock Dance. My hands get sore from the foreign gestures, I’m learning how to dance with gentle, implicit beauty, and it’s new for me but my body is beginning to understand.

Having learned all the choreography fairly well, we end class and I begin to pack my things up. She moves to the front and starts working through some choreography for her next class. I recognize it as hip hop from a K-Pop music video that I tried to teach myself once (BoA’s “Eat You Up.”) She turns up the music and we break it down for a few minutes. I leave class smiling and feeling invigorated.

Today we also have a special activity – cooking class! There are few students this time, but we enjoy washing, cutting, and stir-frying together. Will whips up some eggs Sunnyside Up and Lucas buys some French bread for a lovely American breakfast-style side dish. Kate, our fantastic Student Life Director, comes to join us and we joke around and laugh more. After dinner, we wash our dishes in a line in an alley outside, the sun lingers with us and I feel calm.
Starting the walk back to our dorms, I realize I’m feeling happy. It feels a little strange.

The thing is, life studying abroad is not always like this. Because it’s still life. Loneliness, broken fingernails, academic stress, exhaustion, heartbreak, the good days and the bad (and the real real bad) follow us wherever we go, no matter what. Sometimes it’s hard to admit, my life here is really not so majestic. I usually try to tell the best stories, and hide the rest, compressing them into a few cryptic sentences, but you know what? It’s ok. Because today was a good day.

Thank you family, friends, and teachers for taking care of me and giving me opportunities to experience days like today. I love you and happy Thanksgiving!

Fall Break – Travelling Away from Eternal Spring

As October came in the Spring City, our hearts began to yearn for fall. Where were the crunchy leaves scattered across the sidewalks? Where was the gold, the chestnut brown, the burnt orange of leaves and pumpkins and fields? We couldn’t quite ask the warm blue breeze blowing sunlight across our faces to leave, but it didn’t feel right anymore.

Over fall break, a group of six other students and I found escape from the eternally pleasant weather by means of travelling North, up, and toward the world’s real Shangrila; toward the bite in the air and vibrant colors that we all secretly needed. We began our trip in Lijiang (8,000ft,) hiking Tiger Leaping gorge before continuing up to Shangrila (10,000ft,) and then further up to Deqin (12,000ft) and Meili Snow Mountain – a National Park cradled against the ridges of Tibet.  
The first hint of fall came when we left the heat of the gorge – the bus ride to Shangrila ran like a time-lapse between summer and fall. The leaves changed slowly as we rose higher and higher, but the sky remained crystal blue.

The moment we stepped off the bus in Shangrila, I unearthed my warm pants, hat, scarf and gloves and pulled each one on in turn between shivers. We strolled around the cobblestone streets as the sun went down, bringing out the twinkling lights that had been hiding from the daylight. I never expected to find Christmas village in Northwest Yunnan, but there it was!

The ride from Shangrila to Deqin then took us through a Martian world of photo negatives. I couldn’t put the yellow-orange pine trees, pink-blue mountains, and dark green and maroon circular patches of vegetation to any season. The moon hovered above us and the mountains, and our van bumped though the desolate landscape, the switch-backed road lifting us slowly toward the roof of the world.

The morning of our first day in the Yubeng, a tiny village down in Meili Snow Mountain Park’s valley, the first snowflakes of the year drifted down, contrasting the flaming fall colors of the trees, the rushing turquoise water of the Mekong, creating a wonderland. After an exploration of the area around the village, we returned to the hostel to warm up around the fire. We roasted birthday cake Oreos and Snickers and chatted with the Tibetan innkeepers. They offered us fried bread and warm drinks and sang along to the beach-party Tibetan CD that played from across the room.

The trek out through the valley the next day took us through lovely orchards, yak fields, and dappled forest along the ever-turqoise river that pounded its stones smooth and kept us on track. After several hours, we abruptly spilled out of the lush paradise into a smoky watercolor desert.
We traversed our way back from that last desert canyon through Mars, down to Shangrila, and then home to the suffocating comfort of our Spring City. Here the clouds are white and the sky is blue, but I won’t forget that nine-day spectrum of seasons.

The Snickers Effect

A cold day, October 2008. I’m wandering through Beijing’s Lama Temple, spirals of incense smoke making opaque pathways to the smog above us. The angry gods glare out at me from their decorated temples, garish gold, red and blue breaking up the grey monotony of Beijing in the late fall. As my group trails out, I see a stand selling overpriced snacks. I’m pulled to it by an unknown force that tells me to buy a Snickers, a candy bar that I don’t even really like very much despite my knowledge that it is “America’s Favorite.”
But biting into the chocolate, nougat, peanut mix, it is the most delicious candy bar I have ever tasted.

A sticky hot day, July 2012. Mandy and I want dinner before heading on the bumpy two-hour bus ride back to the village. We set our sights on Sanya’s only McDonald’s. I haven’t eaten McDonald’s anything since my six birthday when my family’s car was rear-ended and we were all feeling shaken up and decided on McDonald’s to get some food in us. Queuing in China is one of the most culture-shock inducing experiences: getting on a bus, standing in line at the hospital, trying to buy train tickets, basically doing anything requires aggressive line-standing skills. When I finally reached the counter, I realized I had no idea how to order a meal at McDonald’s, led alone in China. In my most embarrassingly American moment even I go “Big Mac. With Fries!!”
That hard-won (ehhh) tiny air-puffed bun with questionable meat and watery cheese tasted pretty dang good! The thin little fries were also tasty.

August 2012: I arrive at Qiudi’s apartment exhausted from a ten-week internship that included three AMAZING bad ham-and-cheese sandwiches (watery ham, plastic cheese, best thing I’d eaten all month,) no milk, and only soy ice cream. Qiudi’s mom, knowing the ways of the snickers effect, prepared for my visit with milk and cereal. At home, I only drink skim and am even wary of 2%, but I joyfully consumed several bowls of cheerios with whole milk.

Fall 2012: Our program director offered one explation for my love of snickers in China, which is that China doesn’t use high fructose corn syrup. But what about the big mac? What about Lucas, who never eats chips at home, or every middle-aged foreigner’s propensity to hang out at Salvador’s? The lamest quesadilla I’ve ever had came from Salvador’s.
This is The Snickers Effect. A sociological phenomenon that makes The Backstreet Boys sound great, vegetarians in China excited about hamburgers, and snickers taste straight up better. Are Chinese Snickers really better? Maybe. But they can’t actually be that much better.


editors note: as of 11/12/2012 the previous entry, "Lost in Translation" has been added to. Go back to see an extra tale!

Lost in Translation

But Having a Great Time with It

Learning Chinese is intimidating. Some tourists in China aren’t even willing to try for fear of saying the wrong thing. As it turns out, saying the wrong thing, or mishearing words can greatly fortify one’s daily existence. Here are just a few examples from my life:

While giving an introduction to the different kind of dances of the Dai Minority group, what my teacher actually said was: “This group of dances includes the Elephant Foot (xiàng jiǎo) Drum Dance…”

Giggling about the ridiculous image in my head, I had to ask: “The banana (xiāng jiāo) dance? How can there be a banana dance?”

That same week I came back to my room to find my roommate in a bad mood. “Ugh I’ve been working on getting this form (biǎo gé) filled out all day!” she exclaimed.

This statement left me very confused, so I had to clarify “You and your cousin (biǎo gē) have been doing what now?”

When I was having a tough time, my friend Cat came into my room and sympathetically said “You have really born hardship.”(chī kǔ nài láo)

But in my distraught state, and thinking of the quesadilla I’d eaten for dinner, I just thought, “Why is Cat telling me that I have eaten bitter cheese?” (chī kǔ nǎi lào)

Then there was the time I ordered a veggie burger… And was awarded with a salad on a bun. Or the time I ordered a margarita and got two shots of tequila in a glass with salt on the rim.

Last but not least, a classic mispronounced Chinese phrase is one that almost every traveler will want to say: “I want to see pandas (xióng māo)!”

But to several foreigners’ chagrin, and their Chinese friends’ delight, the response could well be “What? Looking at chest hair (xiōng máo) sounds disgusting!”

(edited 11/12/2012)

Sketches of Xishuangbanna

Due to a weeklong national holiday, Middlebury in Kunming had a five-day weekend. Four of my friends and I decided to take advantage of this break to explore Xishuangbanna county in Southern Yunnan. We found a guide to take us on a trek through some remote villages near the China/Burma border. We set out for our hike on Sunday morning, taking a bus out into a village for lunch. Our guide Aixin knew the countryside and the people in it like the back of his hand. We received warm welcomes from the restaurant owners who quipped “How did you come by so many beautiful women?” They served us piping hot dishes including tiny chestnuts gathered from the forest and fresh vegetables. After our meal, we played with their baby bunny, puppy, and two little kids.

After lunch, our bellies full and ready for a long trek, we headed out up a tiny path behind the village. That day, we hiked for hours and hours. It poured as we were going down one of the hills and we tucked our rain jackets up over our backpacks, continuing on like colorful hunchbacked bugs in the forest. The trees intermittently opened up to show a patch worked valley of chartreuse and emerald plantations. We rested in a pagoda down in the valley and Aixin handed out fresh apples. We passed through a tiny village of people who speak the language of one nationality, wear the clothes of another, and live in the niche of another. The houses were wooden brown, the muddy paths tucked into the forest, pigs roaming in and out of the fences. A young woman in a satiny blue skirt with a red headscarf, a baby tucked into a white shawl on her back, called to us, inviting us in for water, but we had to continue on. 

Wherever a tree had been cut, the locals placed a stone on its stump for the tree spirit. Temples and pagodas for resting sprinkled the countryside, melancholy golden dragons arching their way across concrete staircases. Each village we passed through was full of babies - baby pigs, baby puppies, baby babies. I was glad to have both Aixin - who knows the local culture - as well as Prim, who is Thai, to teach us about the Buddhist traditions. Watching these people and their traditions, it was easy to believe that the spirits of their ancestors were watching over them, easy to believe that each tree and stone had a soul.

When we reached the next village, we had to pull off our shoes to enter a sacred temple patio. Our socks were already cold and wet, so padding around without shoes made little difference. We could hear Buddhist chants through the decorated walls, and peeking through the doors we could see rows of men and women kneeling in the dark, each of their faces illuminated by a candle. Aixin told us they were celebrating the "Open Door Festival." Kids trolled around outside, banging fireworks reminding us that they were playing behind the flower-draped buildings. One surprise was that three other kids from the Middlebury program happened to show up in that same tiny village while we were there!

We had the choice to stay in that village or continue on. Aixin told us it was only three hours further and we really wanted to make it to the next village so we set out again, fortified with yellow apples gifted to us by a village woman. We tramped down the path out of the village and onto a road. At that point we were tired, but as we trudged on, a lazy glance to one side startling each of us in turn as we came upon a vista of blue skies, white clouds, and the most beautiful rolling hills and valley I've ever seen. It filled us with the energy we needed to make it through the rest of the hike.

Festivals Passing Through Mengwa

Halfway through our trek across a small part of Southern Yunnan’s countryside, Abby passed out moon cakes to celebrate the moon festival, a holiday that wouldn’t be celebrated by the local people whose cultures are considerably removed from the rest of China. We munched on them happily before heading out again. Dusk was coming and our local guide, Aixin, started to get antsy, telling us to walk a little fast because we still had to clamber down a small path, cross a bridge, and hike halfway up a hill. When we entered the small path back into the forest, the darkness was overwhelmed by screaming cicadas. Clambering down the slippery mud in the dark put us all on edge, but when we finally made it across the rushing river the next road was wider. Some moonlight shone through the clouds, but it was still really dark. Aixin's time estimates turned out to be pretty far off target, and we continued climbing up for what seemed like hours, sweaty and dirty, until we finally got to the point where his pal was waiting for us with his tractor.

The road ahead of us lit by one flashlight, the tractor roaring and rolling and slipping in the mud, frequently grinding to a stop and starting to slide back, this terrifying and thrilling ride was unforgettable. There's a certain kind of laugh that means “I'm having so much fun but I'm also almost positive that I'm going to die in the next forty seconds,” and that laugh cut through even the tractor’s grindings at every sharp turn. Whenever the tractor couldn't make it, four people had to hop off and push until it got going again. Looking left, I could see the valley below us, misty moonlit clouds sleeping below the dark hilltops. A few minutes later we looked ahead to see firework sparks streaming up and falling down, and we knew that the village must be close. It didn't feel like real life.

When we finally rolled into the village, a group of boys were banging on drums and jumping up and down, celebrating “Door Opening” festival. We shakily clambered up the stairs to our homestay. That night I was awoken by the cries of the family's sick baby, and slipping outside, I found everything washed in the cool light of the full moon - Happy moon festival!

Aixin woke us up early the next morning to go to the temple. We left our shoes outside and entered the dark, colorful, sacred space.  A handful of people crouched on the floor in lines, each clutching a banana leaf with the names of their deceased family members carefully inscribed, a candle licking the back of each leaf to illuminate their names. We stepped out to use the "bathroom" (the forest,) and when we came back everyone was preparing to "Scramble," we didn't really know what that mean because Aixin didn't give us a very good translation, but we waited. Everyone was clustering around the middle of the temple where their ancestor offerings were. With a sharp shout that must have amounted to "go"! they all started pushing and grabbing for the things inside. The old ladies staggered out, grins cracking their wrinkled faces as they cackled with joy at the Karma their feistiness had just earned them.

After going back to the house for a snooze and breakfast, we geared back up for another "three-hour" hike. Aixin took us up to a lotus pond that is sacred to the locals. They go there every March to celebrate water-splashing festival. "This pond has a beautiful story," he said "Many years ago there was a village here. The villagers shot a deer and divided it up amongst all of the residents, except for one widow, who lived there," he gestured to a temple behind us. "The next day, there was a terrible flood. Everyone died except for two young lovers, the man pulling his lover out of the water and running away to start a new village. The old widow also survived. This is an evil place." We rested in this beautiful, evil place for a long while before continuing on across the countryside that we had fallen in love with within two days.