Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Monday, June 1, 2009
Sino-American Relations, or How to break up with your Chinese girlfriend
You’ve been dating for months, and you’re a bit worried about being a cliché. You see it everywhere, at the mall, on the street: sub-par average white guy holding hands with the cute young Chinese girl. Common enough these days, but here it brings an entirely different connotation than it did back home. It’s not really cool or progressive, its more … “loser Western guy can’t get girl in home country so he comes to Asia.”
Still, you’re happy enough, but not without a certain distance that comes with such an intimate cross-cultural exchange. Oh, she speaks well enough English, and you can talk about movies and pop music and hang out at the bar. But she’s not big on conversation. She doesn’t like hanging out with your friends, and she prefers to sing those Taiwanese songs at the KTV and you’re just not good enough at Chinese to join in.
At first, the lack of introspective conversations is a relief. You never have to feel guilty for forgetting and anniversary, and that “where is our relationship going?” speech never comes. She doesn’t introduce you to her parents, even when they’re visiting. And yet somehow, there’s an anxiety. It’s not that you particularly want to go through the awkwardness of having dinner with her parents and practicing your broken Chinese as they practice their broken English. But … you’d like to asked. You’d make up an excuse not to go, of course, but you’d just like to be asked.
And there was just one fight, and all of a sudden she stops returning your calls. Not even a text message. Maybe you saw this coming for a long time, but you’re surprised at how very depressed you get. It’s not a good feeling to be disliked.
You finally confront her, and tell her she can’t ignore you like this. You go to her apartment, and you have that uncomfortable conversation. She’d rather you just leave, but you need this. Because back where you’re from, they call this closure.
And you see her from time to time, and you’re civil, and you smile, and you miss her, but you know it’s over. You hate to bitch and moan, but you’re from a therapy-ridden culture, and so your friends console you. Your hip Westernized Chinese friend tells you, “Chinese girls just want to try the foreigner guy, and when they’re finished they want to go back simple Chinese life.” Your cynical American friend who’s been through it before tells you, “Chinese girls aren’t as sentimental. They’ll just forget about you one day.”
You go to the bar, and you look at girls, maybe aim higher for a fellow foreigner girl you can get along better with, and you chalk it up to experience, and you get over it. It’s a cycle that you go through in life from time to time, but now you’ve done it in China.
You wonder if we’ll ever reconcile these subtle differences between China and the West. You wonder if we can ever truly understand each other. Will we always be destined to meet halfway, have fun, but only glaze the surface? We can get along just great, but will we ever truly connect? Well, one supposes this question can go for the whole mixed up world, but today you’re asking it in China …
Still, you’re happy enough, but not without a certain distance that comes with such an intimate cross-cultural exchange. Oh, she speaks well enough English, and you can talk about movies and pop music and hang out at the bar. But she’s not big on conversation. She doesn’t like hanging out with your friends, and she prefers to sing those Taiwanese songs at the KTV and you’re just not good enough at Chinese to join in.
At first, the lack of introspective conversations is a relief. You never have to feel guilty for forgetting and anniversary, and that “where is our relationship going?” speech never comes. She doesn’t introduce you to her parents, even when they’re visiting. And yet somehow, there’s an anxiety. It’s not that you particularly want to go through the awkwardness of having dinner with her parents and practicing your broken Chinese as they practice their broken English. But … you’d like to asked. You’d make up an excuse not to go, of course, but you’d just like to be asked.
And there was just one fight, and all of a sudden she stops returning your calls. Not even a text message. Maybe you saw this coming for a long time, but you’re surprised at how very depressed you get. It’s not a good feeling to be disliked.
You finally confront her, and tell her she can’t ignore you like this. You go to her apartment, and you have that uncomfortable conversation. She’d rather you just leave, but you need this. Because back where you’re from, they call this closure.
And you see her from time to time, and you’re civil, and you smile, and you miss her, but you know it’s over. You hate to bitch and moan, but you’re from a therapy-ridden culture, and so your friends console you. Your hip Westernized Chinese friend tells you, “Chinese girls just want to try the foreigner guy, and when they’re finished they want to go back simple Chinese life.” Your cynical American friend who’s been through it before tells you, “Chinese girls aren’t as sentimental. They’ll just forget about you one day.”
You go to the bar, and you look at girls, maybe aim higher for a fellow foreigner girl you can get along better with, and you chalk it up to experience, and you get over it. It’s a cycle that you go through in life from time to time, but now you’ve done it in China.
You wonder if we’ll ever reconcile these subtle differences between China and the West. You wonder if we can ever truly understand each other. Will we always be destined to meet halfway, have fun, but only glaze the surface? We can get along just great, but will we ever truly connect? Well, one supposes this question can go for the whole mixed up world, but today you’re asking it in China …
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Education is truly its own reward
I try not to be one of those people who have nothing to talk about except their work, because these people tend to have boring conversations. But the truth is, I don’t really have much else to talk about except work. Sadly, the time to grow up and be one of those who are defined by their job.
And what a rewarding job that is. Teaching kids day in day out, with no idea how much they’ll retain and how much they care. With few exceptions (the ones that do care, and make it all worth it) these private school one-child policy products don’t really care. Foreign teacher English class is just a recess time for them to yell “Waijiao!” and “Hello!” and not pay attention. They’ll forget what little I’ve taught them the month after I’ve gone. But whatever, a job’s a job. At least I bring some entertainment value in the grueling Chinese kindergarten education system.
The last week-and-a-half has been focused on the simple English sentence “I like to eat _____!” and then pointing at the subsequent sandwich or fish picture, and magically the kids can construct a complete sentence.
And after days and days of conditioning them to say “I like to eat” without processing what that means, I have moved on to drinks. “I like to drink ____!” and then they are to say “water” or “orange juice” or whatnot.
But it can’t be that easy, because then they can’t help but saying “I like to eat-drink tea!” “I like to eat-drink soda!” I can’t get through . . . argh . . . “Bu shuo eat-drink,” I say. “Shuo I like to DRINK!” “I like to eat-drink,” they answer. “EAT-DRINK, EAT DRINK, EAT DRINK.” It’s so frustrating. I am driven crazy. Of course, it’s easiest to just do the job and go through the motions, not give a damn and teach a few nouns to show off to their parents and get a paycheck. But it’d really be nice to know that being a teacher involves true teaching.
In other news, the even smaller preschool kids are learning to say “Please” and “Thank you,” followed by “Xie xie!” And it’s so damn cute I just want to hop up and down. It’s not all bad.
Then the weekend, and I get thoroughly socialized at any number of Shenzhen bars, and then back to the cycle on Monday. But my camera is at the factory to be repaired (another frustrating story), and with my memory so hazy by dawn, hence there’s no record.
Its all quite fun, it really is. Ah, the minor adventures of everyday life. Then I wait on the bus and practice text-messaging in pinyin.
Soon it will be summer, and I’ll have to be all responsible with money and stop wasting it on taxi rides and impulse dvd purchases. I’ll have to fend for myself in the uncertain Shenzhen future. Then I’ll get a new job, and talk about that.
And what a rewarding job that is. Teaching kids day in day out, with no idea how much they’ll retain and how much they care. With few exceptions (the ones that do care, and make it all worth it) these private school one-child policy products don’t really care. Foreign teacher English class is just a recess time for them to yell “Waijiao!” and “Hello!” and not pay attention. They’ll forget what little I’ve taught them the month after I’ve gone. But whatever, a job’s a job. At least I bring some entertainment value in the grueling Chinese kindergarten education system.
The last week-and-a-half has been focused on the simple English sentence “I like to eat _____!” and then pointing at the subsequent sandwich or fish picture, and magically the kids can construct a complete sentence.
And after days and days of conditioning them to say “I like to eat” without processing what that means, I have moved on to drinks. “I like to drink ____!” and then they are to say “water” or “orange juice” or whatnot.
But it can’t be that easy, because then they can’t help but saying “I like to eat-drink tea!” “I like to eat-drink soda!” I can’t get through . . . argh . . . “Bu shuo eat-drink,” I say. “Shuo I like to DRINK!” “I like to eat-drink,” they answer. “EAT-DRINK, EAT DRINK, EAT DRINK.” It’s so frustrating. I am driven crazy. Of course, it’s easiest to just do the job and go through the motions, not give a damn and teach a few nouns to show off to their parents and get a paycheck. But it’d really be nice to know that being a teacher involves true teaching.
In other news, the even smaller preschool kids are learning to say “Please” and “Thank you,” followed by “Xie xie!” And it’s so damn cute I just want to hop up and down. It’s not all bad.
Then the weekend, and I get thoroughly socialized at any number of Shenzhen bars, and then back to the cycle on Monday. But my camera is at the factory to be repaired (another frustrating story), and with my memory so hazy by dawn, hence there’s no record.
Its all quite fun, it really is. Ah, the minor adventures of everyday life. Then I wait on the bus and practice text-messaging in pinyin.
Soon it will be summer, and I’ll have to be all responsible with money and stop wasting it on taxi rides and impulse dvd purchases. I’ll have to fend for myself in the uncertain Shenzhen future. Then I’ll get a new job, and talk about that.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
A fine fine day in Hong Kong
Much of my time in Shenzhen is uneventful, a routine of work and minor pleasures rushed through until the relief of a wasted weekend, which comes with the familiar territory of Monday thru Friday jobs, dating back at least to Hong Kong. Still, I try to make the time for novelty, and often enough a change in the formulae comes with my monthly sojourns out to Hong Kong.
Again with the visa bureaucracy, but at least I got Monday and Tuesday off work. But first, let us begin with my Sunday night. I read in the Shenzhen Daily that a Beijing pop punk band, Recycle, would be playing a show here at the Base Bar, and even though it was a school night I’d been looking forward all week. It didn’t prove disappointing, the best rock show I’d seen yet in the fourth-and-one-half months outside of the West. Lots of friends were there, sweaty pogo-dancing and bruised moshing, expensive drinks compared to 7-11 prices but relatively cheap when I do the math and convert to US dollars. Like, thirty kuai to get in, which my first instinct is to complain but then I realize that equals less than five dollars.
Being a Sunday night, it cleared out quick. Midnight and empty, and I played pool with Olivia – two bad pool players makes for a game that takes forever, but I won for once, by virtue of the preemptive eight ball shot – and then hanging out outside smoking with Chris and talking about youtube movie ideas.
Unfortunately I got home late, and had to wake up very early the next day. It takes about two hours to get from Louhu to Tsim Sha Tsui in Hong Kong, waiting in line for customs and that nervousness when they stamp the last entry of the visa because there’s a chance they won’t let me in the country again. At least I gave my girl the spare key in case of emergency.
Tired and hungry, I went to the Sikh travel agent and paid 2000 Hong Kong dollars. Something I’ve done every two months since I’ve been here, but this time I was promised a six-month multiple entry for my troubles. No more L’s, I was to get an M! And be free! Now I had nothing left to do but wait until noon the next day to get my passport back.
Time and time to kill. By virtue of google, I’d finally learned of some American comic stores in Hong Kong, and took the train to Causeway Bay. Now, there is of course an abundance of Japanese nerd culture in Hong Kong, but most of this is translated into a language I am only in the marginal beginner stages of. Occasionally I’m lucky enough to get DVDs with poor English subtitles. But this time, I might actually catch up on Green Lantern, finish up Final Crisis, and fill the gaps in Justice Society.
It was heaven, but I spent all my money. All in all, plus buying the English editions of Naruto manga and the fascinating McMafia nonfiction real book, I spent about a thousand Hong Kong dollars (maybe 150 US), and this ever reminds me of the immense difference between my mainland Chinese salary where everything is cheap and how much things cost in a fully developed rich country. But I do what I must, and always spend too much money on books when I go to Hong Kong. Its worth it, and I make up for it in cheap bootleg DVDs back in Shenzhen.
Still, no matter how busy and cool a city, it can get quite boring in Hong Kong when I wander the same touristy Kowloon and HK Island locales every damn trip. I rarely have time to wander to the beach and surrounding islands and the more authentic Cantonese experience. I went wandering at Golden Fish Market looking for souvenirs, and window shopped all the cool anime toys in Mongkok. Eventually I met up with the couchsurfing.com people.
I was hoping for a free place to stay that night, but it was too last minute and I ended up only making it for drinks. I had sushi with Laetiticia and met up with some guys from the Netherlands and Thailand, and it was too much fun going out late at the wine bar and talking about US and Chinese politics. Well after 1:00 AM I was stranded, but I’ve been in cities before with no place to stay at this time of night and it always seems to work out. I found a cheap guest house, inbetween a hostel and motel, and it was only 150 (about twenty bucks US). With African guys drinking beers outside and call girls holding hands with Indians, it was not a good place to stay for a long time but the mattress in the small room was just right for my needs. I even got to watch some Hong Kong television.
Late at night is the only time to call overseas, and I used my HK phone to call back home. Mom wasn’t home, and I woke up Dad and talked for a while. I don’t even know how to call the US from the mainland, but I assume it’s more expensive and honestly I’m fine not talking to my family for month-long durations. It’s a nice buffer. I talked to Dad for a few minutes to catch up and say “hi I love you,” but I have the great excuse that it’s a pricey call and can’t talk long. Then I decided to call Raven, and talked for an hour. It was great; the only time I’ve called someone who wasn’t a family member, and well worth the keeping up with her. There are many friends I miss, and I try to email everyone on occasion, and Facebook is good for minor stupid comments just to remind you all that I still exist, but sometimes I require a long gossipy conversation like the old days. Raven was always my favorite to chat with.
The next day I checked out and went to get my visa. There were no complications, and I finally had it. My six-month pass, level M, with only thirty-day durations of stay but infinite multiple entries. For the next six months, I don’t have to worry. After all the troubles with the two-entries that I have to update every two months, and having to get my new passport in Guangzhou when the old one expired, and when they almost didn’t let me into Thailand, and finally I am free! No more bureaucracy until September! And we’ll just have to see where my life is at by then, and where I want to live...
I went shopping, I mailed some stupid Bruce Lee shirts back home, ate the last chance of delicious Western food before back in greasy mainland, and took the train ride back to Shenzhen thru the Louhu border. I had plenty of reading material along the way, so it wasn’t boring. With minimal problems with the new visa, though they did doublecheck to make sure it was real, and I went home. Another errand, I had to get a bank account – which the didn’t let me do because of the expired visa but this time it worked out – and then finally I was done slugging the super-heavy backpack and I was back at my apartment. It was only the morning before when I left, but it felt like I was gone for weeks. I proceeded to be completely lazy for the rest of the day, and I read some comics.
Now it’s back to the dull routines. I go to work at the different schools, I teach simple English to uncaring Chinese kids, I study Mandarin, I read on the bus, and I watch DVDs at home. And I beat myself up for not being more productive in the meantime. Really, I should work out more, meditate, do some writing. Sometimes I go to my girl Dawn’s house, sometimes she comes here, but mostly the weekdays are just a wait-out period until I can do something for myself by Saturday. This weekend perhaps ye olde expat pub, or a show, or simply catching up on my to-do list. I’ll fulfill all the social obligations, and I will checkmark the days on my calendar until the next vacation, and hope for the new, the novelty, the something interesting.
Again with the visa bureaucracy, but at least I got Monday and Tuesday off work. But first, let us begin with my Sunday night. I read in the Shenzhen Daily that a Beijing pop punk band, Recycle, would be playing a show here at the Base Bar, and even though it was a school night I’d been looking forward all week. It didn’t prove disappointing, the best rock show I’d seen yet in the fourth-and-one-half months outside of the West. Lots of friends were there, sweaty pogo-dancing and bruised moshing, expensive drinks compared to 7-11 prices but relatively cheap when I do the math and convert to US dollars. Like, thirty kuai to get in, which my first instinct is to complain but then I realize that equals less than five dollars.
Being a Sunday night, it cleared out quick. Midnight and empty, and I played pool with Olivia – two bad pool players makes for a game that takes forever, but I won for once, by virtue of the preemptive eight ball shot – and then hanging out outside smoking with Chris and talking about youtube movie ideas.
Unfortunately I got home late, and had to wake up very early the next day. It takes about two hours to get from Louhu to Tsim Sha Tsui in Hong Kong, waiting in line for customs and that nervousness when they stamp the last entry of the visa because there’s a chance they won’t let me in the country again. At least I gave my girl the spare key in case of emergency.
Tired and hungry, I went to the Sikh travel agent and paid 2000 Hong Kong dollars. Something I’ve done every two months since I’ve been here, but this time I was promised a six-month multiple entry for my troubles. No more L’s, I was to get an M! And be free! Now I had nothing left to do but wait until noon the next day to get my passport back.
Time and time to kill. By virtue of google, I’d finally learned of some American comic stores in Hong Kong, and took the train to Causeway Bay. Now, there is of course an abundance of Japanese nerd culture in Hong Kong, but most of this is translated into a language I am only in the marginal beginner stages of. Occasionally I’m lucky enough to get DVDs with poor English subtitles. But this time, I might actually catch up on Green Lantern, finish up Final Crisis, and fill the gaps in Justice Society.
It was heaven, but I spent all my money. All in all, plus buying the English editions of Naruto manga and the fascinating McMafia nonfiction real book, I spent about a thousand Hong Kong dollars (maybe 150 US), and this ever reminds me of the immense difference between my mainland Chinese salary where everything is cheap and how much things cost in a fully developed rich country. But I do what I must, and always spend too much money on books when I go to Hong Kong. Its worth it, and I make up for it in cheap bootleg DVDs back in Shenzhen.
Still, no matter how busy and cool a city, it can get quite boring in Hong Kong when I wander the same touristy Kowloon and HK Island locales every damn trip. I rarely have time to wander to the beach and surrounding islands and the more authentic Cantonese experience. I went wandering at Golden Fish Market looking for souvenirs, and window shopped all the cool anime toys in Mongkok. Eventually I met up with the couchsurfing.com people.
I was hoping for a free place to stay that night, but it was too last minute and I ended up only making it for drinks. I had sushi with Laetiticia and met up with some guys from the Netherlands and Thailand, and it was too much fun going out late at the wine bar and talking about US and Chinese politics. Well after 1:00 AM I was stranded, but I’ve been in cities before with no place to stay at this time of night and it always seems to work out. I found a cheap guest house, inbetween a hostel and motel, and it was only 150 (about twenty bucks US). With African guys drinking beers outside and call girls holding hands with Indians, it was not a good place to stay for a long time but the mattress in the small room was just right for my needs. I even got to watch some Hong Kong television.
Late at night is the only time to call overseas, and I used my HK phone to call back home. Mom wasn’t home, and I woke up Dad and talked for a while. I don’t even know how to call the US from the mainland, but I assume it’s more expensive and honestly I’m fine not talking to my family for month-long durations. It’s a nice buffer. I talked to Dad for a few minutes to catch up and say “hi I love you,” but I have the great excuse that it’s a pricey call and can’t talk long. Then I decided to call Raven, and talked for an hour. It was great; the only time I’ve called someone who wasn’t a family member, and well worth the keeping up with her. There are many friends I miss, and I try to email everyone on occasion, and Facebook is good for minor stupid comments just to remind you all that I still exist, but sometimes I require a long gossipy conversation like the old days. Raven was always my favorite to chat with.
The next day I checked out and went to get my visa. There were no complications, and I finally had it. My six-month pass, level M, with only thirty-day durations of stay but infinite multiple entries. For the next six months, I don’t have to worry. After all the troubles with the two-entries that I have to update every two months, and having to get my new passport in Guangzhou when the old one expired, and when they almost didn’t let me into Thailand, and finally I am free! No more bureaucracy until September! And we’ll just have to see where my life is at by then, and where I want to live...
I went shopping, I mailed some stupid Bruce Lee shirts back home, ate the last chance of delicious Western food before back in greasy mainland, and took the train ride back to Shenzhen thru the Louhu border. I had plenty of reading material along the way, so it wasn’t boring. With minimal problems with the new visa, though they did doublecheck to make sure it was real, and I went home. Another errand, I had to get a bank account – which the didn’t let me do because of the expired visa but this time it worked out – and then finally I was done slugging the super-heavy backpack and I was back at my apartment. It was only the morning before when I left, but it felt like I was gone for weeks. I proceeded to be completely lazy for the rest of the day, and I read some comics.
Now it’s back to the dull routines. I go to work at the different schools, I teach simple English to uncaring Chinese kids, I study Mandarin, I read on the bus, and I watch DVDs at home. And I beat myself up for not being more productive in the meantime. Really, I should work out more, meditate, do some writing. Sometimes I go to my girl Dawn’s house, sometimes she comes here, but mostly the weekdays are just a wait-out period until I can do something for myself by Saturday. This weekend perhaps ye olde expat pub, or a show, or simply catching up on my to-do list. I’ll fulfill all the social obligations, and I will checkmark the days on my calendar until the next vacation, and hope for the new, the novelty, the something interesting.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Thrashin in Shenzhen
Thrashin’ in Shenzhen
by Ray H
Among the shops of Shenzhen’s electronics district of HuaQiangBei, one can find more than just discount iPods and pirated Windows XP software. A short walk down the street will lead to Fat Tongues, the city’s sole skateboarding specialty store. Full of shoes and boards and hip hop themed t-shirts, it’s easy to forget that this is China, and an expat might mistake themselves as back in their hometown’s suburban mall.
The owner of the shop goes by Xiao Feng – meaning Little Wind – but like most Chinese he also has a Western name that’s easier to pronounce. His expat friends call him “Thrasher,” he’s twenty-five, in debt, and determined to give his scene a voice in Shenzhen.
Running his own business since he was nineteen, he found local investors and started his own place. “When I started I had no information. Just for three years, push, push, and push more.” Thrasher, who taught himself English from watching American movies, pessimistically describes his industry with a sense of humor. “Business is so bad. (I had) no experience.” And he’s not optimistic about the future. “(Most) only come to my shop to buy shoes.”
Shenzhen had no specialty shops of the kind when he began skating at twelve, and he had to buy his wooded skateboards at the sporting goods market. “Shitty boards,” he says. Even just a decade ago China was decidedly less open, and his parents were not supportive. “I have to hide my skateboard, (when I lived) at home. The culture here . . . the parents stop you. ‘You can’t.’ ‘It’s dangerous.’” Cynical of China’s government and culture, he’s not shy to criticize. “Education sucks. Everyone (is) brainwashed.”
But Thrasher also makes money as a professional skater, sponsored by Gift Skateboards and Shanghai-based Quicksilver. Hopeful to get an Adidas contract soon, he periodically films his own videos for the sponsors. And while there may be no official skate-park in the city, that’s never stopped kids from skating where they want anywhere else. “At the park, Book City . . . not one spot.” Shenzhen, full of young buildings and marble parking lots, even boasting a naive police force that has yet to give out tickets for loitering, has quickly become a haven for skaters across the country. “Every pro-skater comes to Shenzhen,” Thrasher smirks the Shenzhen local.
But when it comes to getting shredded on the street – injuries being a source of price to skaters the world over – Thrasher isn’t a fan of the average Chinese citizen’s attitude. “Chinese people have no respect. If you do something different, they just watching. When I fall, 80% people laugh at me. They don’t fucking respect. ‘You try,’ I tell to them. ‘Motherfucker,’” he laughs.
Still, his shop has survived for the last six years, and is even expanding with plans to build a mini-ramp on the property. While it isn’t easy to set up plans with China’s notoriously bureaucratic local government, it’s obvious that Thrasher isn’t in it for the business glory. China’s economic future may depend on businessmen and entrepreneurs raising the national GDP, but the culture on a whole may be better served by values deeper than high profit margins. Some are in because they love what they do, and that can be enough. “I don’t give a shit,” Thrasher proudly rips. “I just skate.”
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Bureaucracy Part II
It’s a nerve-wracking feeling to know, that if you don’t do the paperwork just right, you may be kicked out of a country.
But I’m alright now. I know you worry though, so here’s the ever-progressing story:
After my near-bust Hong Kong trip last month, where the countdown timer on my exploding passport began to tick away, I had only three months left. I proceeded to book an appointment online with the American consulate in nearby Guangzhou. Because there is no American embassy in Shenzhen, I had a choice between familiar HK, costing me one duration-of-stay stamp, or go to the new city and stay in the proper mainland People’s Republic.
Guangzhou. The third-largest city in China. For some reason it used to be called “Canton” by the old British Imperialists, though I don’t see the phonetic similarity. Or maybe that goes for the province of Guangdong, but it still doesn’t sound right. Of course, this is where “Cantonese” comes from, the English butchering of Guangdong hua. Anyways, they speak Mandarin, or rather Pudong hua, in Shenzhen. I don’t know the etymology of “Mandarin” either.
Time to explore Canton. I woke up at 6:00 AM on January 22nd hoping to make it to a 2:00 appointment in the neighboring town. Half-asleep, I took the 83 bus down to the Louhu border train station, anxious to could figure out all this travel in time. It turned out to be simple enough; the trains come every fifteen minutes and 80 kuai later I took the 45-minute above-ground railway passage. The only word I needed to know to buy the ticket: “Guangzhou.” Smoother than waiting in line in customs to get to Hong Kong.
The security guy woke me up and I found myself in a new Chinese city. East Guangzhou Station. 9:00 AM. Hours and hours to kill. Wasn’t difficult to get around. More people speak English, good English, even the cashier at McDonalds. I could get by on my Mandarin too. And a much cleaner city than Shenzhen. The taxis have rules posted on the back. Not so much litter. I guess this is an average Middle Chinese city (like Middle American), but I prefer SZ’s zaniness.
After my Egg McMuffin breakfast, I bought a tourist map and just walked about. Shopping centers are boring in the morning, until I found a big bookstore. It’s no Hong Kong here, so the best I could hope for were English-language classics for Chinese students. I bought Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities.
For lunch I met my workmate friend, who’s back in her hometown for the Spring Festival. Went to a mall. Ate Italian food. I don’t like Chinese malls, for the same reason I don’t like American malls, and here they’re even worse. Bigger, shinier, plasticyer. Why go to a mall in China, when there are so many dirty open-air market to haggle for knock-offs in?
My workmate buddy helped me get to the American Embassy, and it turned out to be right back next to the train station. Good to know for the next time. I made sure to be there an hour early, and wandered around some more, and got lost in Ikea. Finally, I filled out the paperwork fifteen minutes before my scheduled appointment. I’d been putting it off for a week, but like a college paper due in the morning, the last-minute always seems to bring a motivation I can never find anywhen else.
The fifth floor of the office building, filled with travel agencies and currency exchanges, led me to the American Consulate. Filled with white Americans, even a few black people, and Chinese-speakers with American passports, I went through the metal detector and took a number and waited in line. After all that nervousness and they rushed through my paperwork and 2 x 2 photos like a toll road booth taking your three bucks during rush hour. They were in such a hurry they barely looked at my form. Unlike waiting in line with the Chinese bureaucrats, they could have cared less what I was doing in the country. My whole rehearsed “I’m not working, just staying with a friend . . .” line was an unnecessary memorization. The Americans just want you to pay the fees and get through to the next guy, and apparently they don’t care if I’m paying my taxes or not. Hell, I’m not sneaking into their country am I? The only rule was to turn off your cell phone.
I was directed to wait in the other line at the cashier station, where they take RMB, and then waited back in line # 35 again, and then I was told to come back in a week to get my sparkling new passport. I do get to keep the battered old one in the meantime. I’ll have to somehow make the time to return soon, possibly miss work for it after holiday ends. Well, no problems, otherwise done and done, so I thought about more time to kill.
The day was still on, and I looked at the tourist map and thought about my workmate’s suggestions, and decided to do a bit more sightseeing while somewhere new. Took a metro to the Chen Ancestry Temple, and watched some of the inauguration news on the subway TVs. My only chance to see Obama on a TV screen these days. Then it was time to absorb some traditional Chinese culture. It’s so rare to see pointy buildings in modern China, always an exciting observation. The folk museum was alright, amazing art, and English translations of ancient Cantonese history. I took pictures. Bought postcards. Then it was dark, then I took the train back, went to a shitty vegetarian restaurant, read my Gibson paperback, and nodded off on the return train ride to SZ.
Back home, there was dog drama to deal with. My neighbor couldn’t take care of my girlfriend’s dog after all, something about fighting with cats and lots of pee on the floor you see, so now I get to have a dog for a week. XiaoYu (Small Rain), a cute pup, albeit very needy, and now I am to be a responsible dog owner for a week, while Mommy is off to Changshu for the Spring Fest. Such a good boyfriend, eh? I’d like to think.
So now I wait for the last few steps in my visa-bureaucracy adventures. As noted: it’s back to Guangzhou in the coming weeks for a passport that doesn’t expire this year, and then finally to Hong Kong for that treasure-at-the-end-of-the-rainbow (or light-at-the-end-of-tunnel, just pick your clichés) . . . to my promised six-month multiple-entry visa.
I’ll actually be able to relax for the next half-year, and know assuredly that I get to stay here. And meanwhile, I’m also going to Thailand next week, because I have to leave the country once a month anyways, and it only right there. Tickets are cheap and work is off and the sirens of travel sing to me. It’s the last chance of a new stamp in a proud old passport, you do see, soon to be put to the rest, but deserving of one more foreign ink blot. Like the New Year’s killing of the Mouse and coming of the Cow, all things must end, and there comes the time to build on the new. I’ll miss the old girl, but such is this life game, and I’m ever-anxious for the new.
But I’m alright now. I know you worry though, so here’s the ever-progressing story:
After my near-bust Hong Kong trip last month, where the countdown timer on my exploding passport began to tick away, I had only three months left. I proceeded to book an appointment online with the American consulate in nearby Guangzhou. Because there is no American embassy in Shenzhen, I had a choice between familiar HK, costing me one duration-of-stay stamp, or go to the new city and stay in the proper mainland People’s Republic.
Guangzhou. The third-largest city in China. For some reason it used to be called “Canton” by the old British Imperialists, though I don’t see the phonetic similarity. Or maybe that goes for the province of Guangdong, but it still doesn’t sound right. Of course, this is where “Cantonese” comes from, the English butchering of Guangdong hua. Anyways, they speak Mandarin, or rather Pudong hua, in Shenzhen. I don’t know the etymology of “Mandarin” either.
Time to explore Canton. I woke up at 6:00 AM on January 22nd hoping to make it to a 2:00 appointment in the neighboring town. Half-asleep, I took the 83 bus down to the Louhu border train station, anxious to could figure out all this travel in time. It turned out to be simple enough; the trains come every fifteen minutes and 80 kuai later I took the 45-minute above-ground railway passage. The only word I needed to know to buy the ticket: “Guangzhou.” Smoother than waiting in line in customs to get to Hong Kong.
The security guy woke me up and I found myself in a new Chinese city. East Guangzhou Station. 9:00 AM. Hours and hours to kill. Wasn’t difficult to get around. More people speak English, good English, even the cashier at McDonalds. I could get by on my Mandarin too. And a much cleaner city than Shenzhen. The taxis have rules posted on the back. Not so much litter. I guess this is an average Middle Chinese city (like Middle American), but I prefer SZ’s zaniness.
After my Egg McMuffin breakfast, I bought a tourist map and just walked about. Shopping centers are boring in the morning, until I found a big bookstore. It’s no Hong Kong here, so the best I could hope for were English-language classics for Chinese students. I bought Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities.
For lunch I met my workmate friend, who’s back in her hometown for the Spring Festival. Went to a mall. Ate Italian food. I don’t like Chinese malls, for the same reason I don’t like American malls, and here they’re even worse. Bigger, shinier, plasticyer. Why go to a mall in China, when there are so many dirty open-air market to haggle for knock-offs in?
My workmate buddy helped me get to the American Embassy, and it turned out to be right back next to the train station. Good to know for the next time. I made sure to be there an hour early, and wandered around some more, and got lost in Ikea. Finally, I filled out the paperwork fifteen minutes before my scheduled appointment. I’d been putting it off for a week, but like a college paper due in the morning, the last-minute always seems to bring a motivation I can never find anywhen else.
The fifth floor of the office building, filled with travel agencies and currency exchanges, led me to the American Consulate. Filled with white Americans, even a few black people, and Chinese-speakers with American passports, I went through the metal detector and took a number and waited in line. After all that nervousness and they rushed through my paperwork and 2 x 2 photos like a toll road booth taking your three bucks during rush hour. They were in such a hurry they barely looked at my form. Unlike waiting in line with the Chinese bureaucrats, they could have cared less what I was doing in the country. My whole rehearsed “I’m not working, just staying with a friend . . .” line was an unnecessary memorization. The Americans just want you to pay the fees and get through to the next guy, and apparently they don’t care if I’m paying my taxes or not. Hell, I’m not sneaking into their country am I? The only rule was to turn off your cell phone.
I was directed to wait in the other line at the cashier station, where they take RMB, and then waited back in line # 35 again, and then I was told to come back in a week to get my sparkling new passport. I do get to keep the battered old one in the meantime. I’ll have to somehow make the time to return soon, possibly miss work for it after holiday ends. Well, no problems, otherwise done and done, so I thought about more time to kill.
The day was still on, and I looked at the tourist map and thought about my workmate’s suggestions, and decided to do a bit more sightseeing while somewhere new. Took a metro to the Chen Ancestry Temple, and watched some of the inauguration news on the subway TVs. My only chance to see Obama on a TV screen these days. Then it was time to absorb some traditional Chinese culture. It’s so rare to see pointy buildings in modern China, always an exciting observation. The folk museum was alright, amazing art, and English translations of ancient Cantonese history. I took pictures. Bought postcards. Then it was dark, then I took the train back, went to a shitty vegetarian restaurant, read my Gibson paperback, and nodded off on the return train ride to SZ.
Back home, there was dog drama to deal with. My neighbor couldn’t take care of my girlfriend’s dog after all, something about fighting with cats and lots of pee on the floor you see, so now I get to have a dog for a week. XiaoYu (Small Rain), a cute pup, albeit very needy, and now I am to be a responsible dog owner for a week, while Mommy is off to Changshu for the Spring Fest. Such a good boyfriend, eh? I’d like to think.
So now I wait for the last few steps in my visa-bureaucracy adventures. As noted: it’s back to Guangzhou in the coming weeks for a passport that doesn’t expire this year, and then finally to Hong Kong for that treasure-at-the-end-of-the-rainbow (or light-at-the-end-of-tunnel, just pick your clichés) . . . to my promised six-month multiple-entry visa.
I’ll actually be able to relax for the next half-year, and know assuredly that I get to stay here. And meanwhile, I’m also going to Thailand next week, because I have to leave the country once a month anyways, and it only right there. Tickets are cheap and work is off and the sirens of travel sing to me. It’s the last chance of a new stamp in a proud old passport, you do see, soon to be put to the rest, but deserving of one more foreign ink blot. Like the New Year’s killing of the Mouse and coming of the Cow, all things must end, and there comes the time to build on the new. I’ll miss the old girl, but such is this life game, and I’m ever-anxious for the new.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
the album should have been called “Chinese Bureaucracy"
Do the Chinese visa hustle. It's the latest craze. And when you live in the nightclub that is Shenzhen, you got to learn the steps quick. Lately I've become an expert in this dance . . .
First you go to Hong Kong to get a Category L permission slip, then you stand in line at the LouHu port and fill out arrival/departure cards, and it helps if you memorize your passport number.
When I first arrived here in the People's Republic I mailed my passport to the travel agency in San Francisco via my company sponsorship, and they did all the work. But thirty days later I was unfortunately informed that my time was already up. So I had to start shuffling my feet. My Canadian neighbor hooked me up with the agency she prefers, down in nearby pseudo-sovereign Hong Kong, and since then I've done it all myself. The school didn't do a thing but reimburse me the 1500 HK Dollars weeks later on payday. Such are the hazards unlicensed English teaching.
I got a six month, two entry, thirty day duration of stay. With the bureaucratic ripples of the Beijing Olympics still trickling, it's hard to stay in the country indefinitely. Though the rules change every few months, unpredictably but hopefully more lax each time. But for me and my lack of a work visa - being paid under the table without declaration to the mainland Chinese government - the overnight visas us Americans can get wasn't the best of deals. It says six months, but if I wish to stay in the mainland the entire time it's really only two, because a six-month pass only works in thirty day durations, and two entries was the maximum at the time.
I must stay overnight, take the train back, wait in customs lines, and two months later do it all over again. Cut to last week, my sixty days up: I learned the rules had been slightly changed. Americans can now get six months with multiple entries, meaning that although I have entertain the hassle of bouncing from the mainland to pseudo-abroad Hong Kong every thirty days, I can purchase just this one visa for the whole six months.
But there was another option, a new dance riff to jump to. One can also go to the local immigration office to apply for an extension on one's duration of stay. Best to stretch this out, and apply for another twenty days. And this too first requires registration at the DongXiao police station as a foreign resident before applying elsewhere. Armed with paperwork procured by a kind Chinese friend, I took off work on Monday the 29th to hitch a taxi up to my district's police station. Filled out more paperwork, mercifully the forms in English, lied about my employment, and they stamped my 2 X 2 photo. I was now officially in the system.
Step eighteen: at the government office near the iconic Di Wang Da Sha building - Shenzhen's tallest structure - I took a number and waited. And waited. And when they finally called up "F08" the English-speaking office worker told me . . . presently they will not do extensions for Americans. The rules might change in the future, but they just don't do that right now. You'll have to go to Hong Kong tomorrow and get a new visa.
At least I planned for this contingency. Pushing this to the ultimate last minute, the HK travel agency would be open on the 30th and 31st but closed on New Years day. So I called off work once again and made the old tourist trek to busy Nathan Road in touristy Kowloon. With little sleep and lots of waiting, RNB Travels took my money for the urgent one-day clearance, and all that was left was to wait for the next afternoon. I made sure to take a receipt.
New Year's Eve, the day representing the closing of the year of 2008 by way of Gregorian A.D., not the Chinese New Year yet though. And in what I hope is not prescient of next year's patterns, this day was defined by further bureaucratic fumbling. It turned out that my passport expires in five-and-one-half months. Therefore I couldn't get the six month multiple-entry. I could only get a three month two-entry.
I recall ten years back when I was sixteen, and I ordered this passport from the Post Office in the suburbs of Cincinnati. In the years since I've earned stamps from Ben Gurion, Kansai, London Gatwick, and Hong Kong International. These decorated pages will be gone soon. A more sentimental man might be nostalgic. But I have more cynical things to worry about, because just my luck, the passport had to expire while I was already living abroad.
So while I'm safely in my SZ apartment today, having arrived just in time to party at midnight last Wednesday, I know I have to get this taken care of in the next few weeks. The American consulate was closed in Hong Kong that New Year's Eve, and while there isn't one in Shenzhen the next town over of Guangzhou has an American flag raised somewhere high. The sixty day counter is ticking.
I can only hope the school will reimburse me this many times over. While other foreigners with teaching degrees get to relax comfortably, as their schools take care of the work visas - Category Fs I believe - I'll still have to do this all myself. It's not very professional. But it's all worth it to continue the experience life here in China; and the bureaucratic dance is just another part of the culture to study. Hope I can keep up the pace.
First you go to Hong Kong to get a Category L permission slip, then you stand in line at the LouHu port and fill out arrival/departure cards, and it helps if you memorize your passport number.
When I first arrived here in the People's Republic I mailed my passport to the travel agency in San Francisco via my company sponsorship, and they did all the work. But thirty days later I was unfortunately informed that my time was already up. So I had to start shuffling my feet. My Canadian neighbor hooked me up with the agency she prefers, down in nearby pseudo-sovereign Hong Kong, and since then I've done it all myself. The school didn't do a thing but reimburse me the 1500 HK Dollars weeks later on payday. Such are the hazards unlicensed English teaching.
I got a six month, two entry, thirty day duration of stay. With the bureaucratic ripples of the Beijing Olympics still trickling, it's hard to stay in the country indefinitely. Though the rules change every few months, unpredictably but hopefully more lax each time. But for me and my lack of a work visa - being paid under the table without declaration to the mainland Chinese government - the overnight visas us Americans can get wasn't the best of deals. It says six months, but if I wish to stay in the mainland the entire time it's really only two, because a six-month pass only works in thirty day durations, and two entries was the maximum at the time.
I must stay overnight, take the train back, wait in customs lines, and two months later do it all over again. Cut to last week, my sixty days up: I learned the rules had been slightly changed. Americans can now get six months with multiple entries, meaning that although I have entertain the hassle of bouncing from the mainland to pseudo-abroad Hong Kong every thirty days, I can purchase just this one visa for the whole six months.
But there was another option, a new dance riff to jump to. One can also go to the local immigration office to apply for an extension on one's duration of stay. Best to stretch this out, and apply for another twenty days. And this too first requires registration at the DongXiao police station as a foreign resident before applying elsewhere. Armed with paperwork procured by a kind Chinese friend, I took off work on Monday the 29th to hitch a taxi up to my district's police station. Filled out more paperwork, mercifully the forms in English, lied about my employment, and they stamped my 2 X 2 photo. I was now officially in the system.
Step eighteen: at the government office near the iconic Di Wang Da Sha building - Shenzhen's tallest structure - I took a number and waited. And waited. And when they finally called up "F08" the English-speaking office worker told me . . . presently they will not do extensions for Americans. The rules might change in the future, but they just don't do that right now. You'll have to go to Hong Kong tomorrow and get a new visa.
At least I planned for this contingency. Pushing this to the ultimate last minute, the HK travel agency would be open on the 30th and 31st but closed on New Years day. So I called off work once again and made the old tourist trek to busy Nathan Road in touristy Kowloon. With little sleep and lots of waiting, RNB Travels took my money for the urgent one-day clearance, and all that was left was to wait for the next afternoon. I made sure to take a receipt.
New Year's Eve, the day representing the closing of the year of 2008 by way of Gregorian A.D., not the Chinese New Year yet though. And in what I hope is not prescient of next year's patterns, this day was defined by further bureaucratic fumbling. It turned out that my passport expires in five-and-one-half months. Therefore I couldn't get the six month multiple-entry. I could only get a three month two-entry.
I recall ten years back when I was sixteen, and I ordered this passport from the Post Office in the suburbs of Cincinnati. In the years since I've earned stamps from Ben Gurion, Kansai, London Gatwick, and Hong Kong International. These decorated pages will be gone soon. A more sentimental man might be nostalgic. But I have more cynical things to worry about, because just my luck, the passport had to expire while I was already living abroad.
So while I'm safely in my SZ apartment today, having arrived just in time to party at midnight last Wednesday, I know I have to get this taken care of in the next few weeks. The American consulate was closed in Hong Kong that New Year's Eve, and while there isn't one in Shenzhen the next town over of Guangzhou has an American flag raised somewhere high. The sixty day counter is ticking.
I can only hope the school will reimburse me this many times over. While other foreigners with teaching degrees get to relax comfortably, as their schools take care of the work visas - Category Fs I believe - I'll still have to do this all myself. It's not very professional. But it's all worth it to continue the experience life here in China; and the bureaucratic dance is just another part of the culture to study. Hope I can keep up the pace.
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