Chinese stories

After moving from the suburbs into the city, I was a little worried that there wouldn’t be as good a selection of bootleg DVDs as I had in Huilongguan. But there’s a store downstairs that has three boxes full that they keep out pretty much all of the time (one exception was during the 17th Party Congress). Normally its the usual mix of copies of Russian or Japanese versions of Hollywood or Chinese blockbusters or the ones shot in the back of the theater. Once in a while, though, there are older ones mixed in that I can’t help but wonder where they came from.

One was a copy of Les Chinois a Paris, a hilarious French film from 1974 in which the Chinese PLA invades France. The Chinese just march right into Paris, with no weapons or threat of violence whatsoever, and the French leadership flees in confusion. Supposedly a mockery of the Nazi invasion and those French who profited from the war, it also pokes fun at socialism and communism.

The other one I found the other day as I was looking for some interesting things to watch over the short New Year’s break, which was a copy of Michelangelo Antonioni’s Chung Kuo, a documentary filmed in 1972. I was really shocked to see the surgery scene right at the beginning, in which they show a complete cesarean performed using only acupuncture as anesthesia! They put some needles in the lady’s legs, and some longer ones in her stomach. Two especially long ones, maybe 6 or more inches long, are placed vertically along her stomach, and all of the needles are hooked up to electricity. Then the doctors make a vertical incision right between the two long needles.

I was also surprised, because I may have lived near the place where one of the scenes was shot. After the surgery they visit a family in a 4-story brick compound, where the residents work in a nearby cotton factory. The buildings reminded me of the neighborhood where I rented an apartment for 3 months in the summer of 2005, to the northeast of 慈云寺桥 in Beijing. I think the neighborhood was called 八里庄西里, and hidden behind the new supermarkets and high rises near 四惠 is a neighborhood of those old brick compounds. I think it is the same area, because there was a cotton factory (probably just an administration building rather than an actual factory now) nearby. I liked the atmosphere of the neighborhood, because people would walk around and hang out in the courtyards between the compounds in a way that is impossible in the new gated communities that are springing up everywhere. I knew the buildings dated from the 60s, because of the artwork painted on some of them showing socialist themes and slogans. Unfortunately they were slated to be torn down, as they were labeled 危房, and everyone was to be relocated, presumably into high-rises. I remember reading posters and letters written by residents upset that the compensation was not what they expected. I wonder if those buildings have been torn down by now. If so, it is too bad, because with the new residential buildings being thrown up everywhere, you don’t get that sense of community that those older buildings gave.

Comments Off

Here is an amazing article about a Hmong group who fought for the CIA in the Vietnam War, and is still hiding out in the jungles of Laos, hunted by the Lao military. The reporter and photographer hiked 15 hours through the jungle to find them. So many of them appear to be children now, and the article says there are only 5 veterans still with them.

Comments Off

So, I’m in Vientiane with Souk, his girlfriend Noy, his brother-in-law Viengsay, and some of his other relations. The Chiense word for Vientiane is ten-thousand elephants 万象, and Laos used to be called 万象国 in China, or the land of ten-thousand elephants. I actually only saw one elephant when I was there, it was being used to move trees along the side of the road.

In Vientiane there was plenty to do, like go to the market, go to their Buddhist temples and visit the southeast Asian version of the Arch de triumph. This was built presumably by the French when they colonized Laos. We also visited a large park full of stone Buddhist statues that was about a half hour outside of the city. Everywhere we went we could see monks, and I guess it is kind of expected that everyone shave their head and become a monk for at least one short period in their life. I was surprised to see monks lining up to buy lottery tickets, however.

Laos is a communist country, but its all kind of low-key. You can see communist slogans and pictures when going around the city, but its not very prominent.

The food is excellent. It’s like nothing I tasted before, with lots of greens and sticky rice. They like bbq pigs ears, and use this seasoning of smelly tofu that is really potent. You just put a tiny square in the food when cooking, and that is enough to season everything. Eating out is hit or miss – once after we had some rice noodles for lunch I told Souk I felt my heart was beating really fast. He told me some places put a seasoning or chemical in the food to somehow get you to go back there again that will do that to you. Needless to say we didn’t go back to that place.

One day a relative of Souk’s took us on a trip in his pickup truck to a casino resort about an hour outside of town. Supposedly it was the only casino in Laos, and only foreigners could gamble there. I guess the relative took me just so he could get in, but when he tried to put some money down at one of the tables they didn’t let him.

After about a week or so of bumming around town, we got plane tickets to Luang Prabang. Souk had warned me that the road between Vientiane and Luang Prabang had been attacked by bandits less than a year ago, so we didn’t want to risk it. One of his friends was actually on a bus that got shot up, and he took a few bullets. He lived, luckily, but I guess a relative of one of his other friends died in the attack. Even though it is a small country, there are still strong divisions between areas, and a huge range of local customs. He told me in one village you can never leave your photograph laying around, because people will take it and curse you with it. They also believe in this one type of ghost that appears as a white light at night, and if it chases you down and goes between your legs, you’re cursed.

Anyway, the plane to Luang Prabang was sketchy to say the least. It was full of foreign tourists, but was a small prop plane, and the door to the cockpit kept swinging open mid-flight. Nevertheless, we got there in one piece, and hooked up with some other travelers to share a taxi into town. That led to an interesting situation in which I was speaking to Australians in English, translating to Chinese for Souk, who translated to Lao for the taxi driver.

We got a room in a hotel with two beds and a dead gecko on the bathroom wall. Luang Prabang was great, a relaxed, laid-back town with a lot of culture and history. We went to the palace of the former king of Laos, and to some caves full of Buddhist statues. That was when I started feeling sick, and came down with a high fever. Everything after that was kind of a daze, and I tried to find things I could eat and tried to keep drinking water. We still hadn’t found where Souk was born, and as this was the most important reason for our visit, we headed out anyway. It didn’t take us very long to find an old man who lived in the house where Souk was born, and who was very friendly and invited us in. Of course I couldn’t communicate with him myself, but I guess he told Souk the story of his birth and showed him where he was born, and since I was feeling so bad, they let me lie down in their bed for a while. The old man said that he was a little hard up, as his retirement pension had not been payed to him for the last few months.

I was surprised to see that everywhere we went in Vientiane and Luang Prabang, Souk bumped into people he knew! And this was his first time to these cities. That just goes to show how small a country Laos really is.

I was glad to get back on the plane to Vientiane, because I was really starting to feel weak from the fever. Too weak to really freak out when the cabin lights in our plane went out just as we were coming in to land. We landed just fine, though, and I got on the back of Souk’s motorbike and they took me to the hospital. It was definitely the poorest hospital I’ve ever been to–the toilet was completely flooded and unusable, and the conditions were not great. I waited a while, as there was a mother with a baby that was screaming it’s head off. I figured their problems were probably more pressing at the moment. Souk helped me communicate with the doctor, and she took one look in my throat and saw the white spots–strep throat. I was relieved it wasn’t anything worse, and after she gave me a big shot in my butt and some pills to take later, I felt a lot better.

A few days later was the Chinese new year, and as most of Souk’s village has some Chinese background, it is their largest celebration of the year. All of their friends came over to the house that day, and spent all day preparing for dinner. They made their favorite dish–stewed duck with peanuts and raw duck’s blood. They cut the duck’s throat in a certain spot (maybe the back of the throat?) and gather the blood in a bowl. They stir it for a while, and put it in the fridge. Then they cook the duck and peanuts, and when its all done, they pour the blood over it. It’s not half-bad, but I wouldn’t eat it regularly… The other food they made was delicious.

All of Souk’s friends, and probably most Laotians, are huge drinkers. They drink Beer Lao, and homemade moonshine they carry around in a plastic jug. One drink they called ‘green wine’ 绿酒, as its color was green. They have very specific drinking rules too. They all sit in a circle and everyone uses one cup. One person pours, and they go around the circle clockwise. The pourer must pour with the proper hand and pass the cup with the proper hand, or he is punished. Latecomers are punished. If you want to leave early you are punished, or not allowed to go. This goes on until people start passing out, or running away. As I was still getting over my fever, I got let off easy, but still had to drink a bit to be polite.

The rest of the visit was pretty uneventful. I applied for a one-week extention to my two-week visa, and with the help of smooth-talking Souk, we got the visa officer to grant my approval right away, instead of having to wait for a few days. Its one of those things where all that is needed is the guy to stamp your form, but they tell you it will take two days to complete. I was sad to go, because Souk’s friends had shown great hospitality and treated me like famliy. But when we got to the airport so I could get on my flight back to Kunming, I found that I would be spending an unexpected few more hours with them.

There was a big group of Chinese tourists in the ticket office arguing with the airline staff. They were in a hurry to get back by the end of their holiday, but the plane was in no contition to fly we were told. The story changed a few times–at first they said the plane had been hit by a car while it was parked on the runway. Next, they said the door was broken and could have flown off in mid-flight. (This is the Lao airlines, whatever they are called.) After a bit of negotiation, the ariline staff started giving us tickets rerouted through Bangkok. A few people had flights on to Beijing, and so were put on Bangkok-Beijing flights, and as I was not looking forward to trying to find a train ticket from Kunming to Beijing during peak travel season and spending 2 more days on a train, I talked them into letting me upgrade too. So I said goodbye to Souk and friends, and got on the plane to Bangkok.

This was when I saw something new: three old Buddhist monks, who were obviously very senior, came walking through customs. They walked right through, showed no ID or tickets to anyone, and walked right on to the plane to sit in first class. When we got to Bangkok, they got off, and were greeted with cameras and receptionists and were whisked away to the VIP reception. Now, that is showing respect to religious elders.

As we had half a day to kill in Bangkok, I hooked up with a German businessman who was on the same flight, and we took a guided tour to 3 tourist spots in Bangkok (plus shopping!). Not a bad deal for 25 bucks each. They whisked us in and out of customs through a special channel, and we had our own minivan, driver and tour-guide, and tickets to the sites were included in the price. The shopping was a trip to a gem store, where I just walked around telling people I was just a poor English teacher, while the German fellow picked out a thousand-euro sapphire (complete with guarantee of authenticity!). It was a fun little trip, but I guess we missed a Jacky Chan sighting at the airport in the meantime.

So we got on the plane back to Beijing. I had bought some drammamine to help me sleep, as the plane would arrive at 4AM, but the one I took made me feel like my heart was going to beat right out of my chest, and kept me up the whole time. In the meantime the German guy popped 2 or 3 of them and said they had no effect on him whatsoever.

It was good to get back to Beijing.

Comments Off

For the longest time I had no idea what Dongsishitiao (东四十条) was. East forty line? But then people pronounce it in a way that should mean East Fourth Tenth line. It wasn’t until I became more familiar with the area that I found there are many tiaos, from one all the way up to fourteen, and that Dongsi (like Xisi) is a place named after the four gates that used to stand there (they were torn down in 1954).

Today I came across an interesting article by CCTV that tells you everything you ever wanted to know about tiaos in Beijing. The article holds that tiao is actually a Beijing invention, as hutong 胡同 is Mongolian for ‘well.’ Linguistically speaking, tiao is a measure word, but hutong is not: you can say 一条胡同, but not 一胡同. It is also an adjective meaning something long and thin. Tiaos can be numbered from West to East or South to North, but you cannot use the word di 第 with tiao. For example, the first tiao is 头条.

Tiaos can be mixed in with Hutongs, and there are actually 422 tiaos in Beijing, mostly within the second ring road. If you want a list of a bunch of them, along with their former names, check out the article. Tiaos are the closest thing in Beijing you will get to numbered streets, like in Chicago and New York.

Now, if only I could find a Chinese partner and start selling 东四油条…

1 Comment »