DO YOU LIKE THESE PICTURES?
This is just a small sample of the photographs
I took this past summer
while traveling in Southeast Asia.
Please check out the rest of the photos...
by following the links
below.
Monday, December 19, 2011
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Reckoning, Thanksgiving-style
OR ON FAMILY, FOOD, AND SELF-DISCOVERY It all started with an email. An email I didn't want to write. It started with a joke about cooking an entire turkey in a wok, and it ended with me inviting myself and a bunch of other Obies to the recipient's house for Thanksgiving weekend. To a Thanksgiving party he had yet to know he was hosting. I quickly wrote the email, and I quickly sent it. Suffice to say, I was nervous. This email led to an amazing chain of events, involving a trip to Beijing, a two-day cooking marathon, a great Thanksgiving party, and the possibility of an invite next year. But Thanksgiving ’11 was more than just traveling, cooking, and partying. Amidst all the chaos, it became oddly self-reflective. Beautifully so. Let me share with you what I came up with while making my first green bean casserole, sans my loving aunts.
Thanksgiving is about family. Blood, chosen, adopted, makeshift. Whatever. Some family we love. Some we loathe. Some we avoid. Some we don’t name. But around family, the kind of family you want surrounding you, you are you. You are yourself. You fit. You don’t put on airs. And you can finally…relax. See, I’m an interesting person. I feel like I can fit in almost anywhere. You drop me anywhere, without any friends, without any language skills, and I will make friends. My fit is decent almost anywhere. But where is it great? Where can I…relax?
I can fit almost anywhere because I’m flexible. Adaptive. And I’m a hybrid. And I now think that the only people who will truly feel like family to me will have to be hybrids too. Let me talk you through all my roots, and then you can come to your own conclusions.
Wisconsin. The land of my fore-bearers. For at least 5 generations. My parents grew up in the same tiny town in southern Wisconsin. Understandably, we visited as often as we could, going to Beaver Dam maybe 3 or 4 times a year from my birth until I left for college. Once a factory town on the edge of the prairie, it's now a commuter suburb to Madison or Milwaukee, and also an unofficial retirement home. The town is full of babies and old people, and has no one from the ages of 18 to 30 still living there. Regardless, it is a nice place to hang out – somewhere where local shopkeepers would ask how your grandparents were ("They're no spring chickens" was a popular comment), and who would tell you funny stories about your parents when they were kids. By the time I was in college, 3 of my 4 grandparents had died, as had most of my parents' friends and relatives still living in Beaver Dam. During college, my final grandparent died, and suddenly we didn't know anyone who lived there anymore. I haven't been back since.
I like people from this town. But don't get me wrong. I'd never want to live in such a small town permanently (though my housing record for the past 5 and 1/2 years might say differently). But the people there are good, unarguably so. They are very down to earth, don't put on airs, and genuinely want to be nice to you. They don't fake it. They value a person’s word. They follow through. They value self-sufficiency and humility. I remember when my late aunt was just beginning to get sick. When we'd come to visit, she pretended that everything as still the same. That she wasn't sick. That she didn't need any help. That she could handle it. To this day, I still don't know what kind of cancer she died of. She never talked about it. Her attitude was this: whatever comes, comes. And as it comes, I’ll deal with it. Without complaint. All the people who make up my Midwestern family take life on life's terms. They don't try to paint it another color. They live life honestly. This too is how I like dealing with the world.
Washington, DC. The land of my upbringing. Could anywhere be more different from rural Wisconsin than the hotbed of American politics? Washingtonians make a point of painting everything a new and different color from its original. They've made “faking it” a fine art. The contrast is so severe that I normally define my self-conduct in opposition to DC’s. I am this way despite the fact I grew up in DC. Yes, it is that bad. In DC, everyone just smiles and smiles at you. But the second you step out of the room, people pull out their claws and rip your name to shreds. Honesty is not valued. Anyone who follows American politics knows that DC is never good at following through on its promises, regardless of which party is in charge.
DC has some redeeming qualities. I grew up thinking eating Chinese, Indian, Italian, and Midwestern American food all in one week was normal. I grew up thinking it was easy to see a doctor, even a specialist. Easy to get a visa. Easy to see a concert or a play. Easy to go to an art museum, and when you got bored, go to another one. DC is a very segregated place, but it began to show me that many types of people live in the world, and when they come together, they can create a beautiful, delicious place. It took living in Oberlin, where our exotic food binaries between take-out Chinese and take-out pizza, or living in Taigu, where I'm lucky if I can find food originating from outside my province (forget international food besides oreos and knockoff KFC). I'm staunchly cosmopolitan, and proud of it.
Taigu. Oh Taigu. My home for the past year and a half. I've lived and visited many places abroad, from Ghana to Mexico to England to Germany, but you, my friend, will leave the longest impression. Who was it that said two years was a long time? Whose face did I laugh in when they said that? By definition, by duration, by sheer shock value, Taigu will leave a lasting impression. And for all the trouble it's been, I do believe the impact will be a positive one.
Taigu has things that bother me. Perhaps this in an understatement. This makes it so that this place could never be a home for me. It kills me how un-cosmopolitan it is. And I could never emulate the interpersonal skills of the locals here. You must always speak so negatively about yourself, and always say “no” when anyone offers you anything. You know what? I’ve been there, done that. And when I do behave in these ways, I start believing what I’m saying, start feeling very depressed, feel like I have no close friends (since I’m rejecting their offers all the time) and that I’m experiencing less of China than I could. For example, if someone invites me to their hometown to have a meal with their family, should I turn it down just so I come off as polite? (Some say you should turn down things three times before you say yes.) No! That would be stupid.
But there are some things Taigu-ren (Taigu people) have gotten right. I love the way people deal with problems here. My problems and projects become my friends’ problems and projects, and vice versa. I can count on my friends always looking out for the answer to my queries, and are quick to tell me, if their do find out the answer…even if it is months later. And whenever I can, I love having something to give back, like speaking English, knowing how to play music, and being familiar with some hidden places in Nong Da and Taigu.
In short, this Thanksgiving, this time of being with and focusing on family, has given me a blue print for the style of family I want to build when I settle down in the States (if I ever settle down). I want a community of people who will give me the space to have Wisconsinite / Washingtonian / Taigu-ren tastes. And I won’t settle for anything less.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
A Taigu Winter Wonderland (Pictures)
OR HAVING NOT SEEN IT IN TWO YEARS, SNOW HAS NEVER BEEN MORE FUN...OR HAZARDOUS I love snow. In DC, every time snow was hinted at in the forecast, school was canceled. In Oberlin, it could snow anytime between November and May. Snow kept things lively. I could always count on finding an igloo on my way to class, or seeing some friends jumping off the Dascomb 2nd floor cafeteria roof onto a big snow heap. Last year in Taigu was just not the same without snow. The world was brown, coal-filled, and lacked all forms except the mildest of flurries. This year, all of the sudden, and without warning, we had a snow storm! A proper snow storm! Within 4 hours we had around 4 inches of snow! Luckily my students had invited me out to lunch. We still went, driving over unplowed roads in a rickety taxi cab. We ate a HUGE meal, complete with bai jiu (Chinese hard liquor...or as I like to call it, Chinese rubbing alcohol). I came home drunk to 4 inches of snow, and immediately decided it was snowman time. I then walked around taking pictures. The next day, some students invited me to their snowball fight, where they preceded to pick me up, drop me in a snow drift, and pile as much snow as possible on top of my uncovered head. Don't worry, I got them back. ;-)
Our campus has turned into a winter wonderland.
Everything looks prettier in the snow.
Even my rat-filled, drafty house.
On the first day of snow, I built this guy. I decorated him with unwanted Chinese candy and compost.
Rain or shine, you can count on the Chinese being out and about.
With umbrella galore.
And even biking around in a blizzard.
I was ecstatic about the snow.
Others were not so happy.
Welcome to the Third World, boys and girls. We apparently have no snow plows at Nong Da, so every last street and sidewalk was hand-shoveled (if it was shoveled). The best part is they don't salt the roads here, so every walk or bike ride outside has neck-breaking possibilities! Fun!
On the second or third day, the ice on the trees did something really cool. Way to stick to yourself, water.
Days later, Taigu is still the slippery, beautiful wonderland the blizzard bestowed upon us. Death by ice slip and all, I would still take snowy Taigu any day.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Cupping and Scraping
OR FORAYS INTO CHINESE MEDICINAL PRACTICESI was feeling sick. Feeling stressed. Anxious. I had just started an antibiotic round to cure my G.I. disease of the week: Giardia. (I started the semester with a three-month case of intestinal worms, then had such bad food poisoning that I was put an IV drip at the campus hospital. Fuck you, natural pesticides.) In under 2 weeks, I obsessively watched the entire first and second season of The Vampire Diaries. Something was terribly wrong. So when offered a chance to make things better, I jumped on it. Even if it meant taking a knife to my back. Or being covered with perfectly circular hickie-like marks, as if I had made love to a giant octopus just the night before.
My roommate was off to cure her cold with some good, old-fashioned cupping and scraping. This balances the "wind" and "fire" in your body. By returning your body to its proper balance, you're returned to health. Or so I was told. I didn't really understand the treatment. All I knew was that if anyone was out of balance, I was. So I prescribed cupping and scraping to myself. And joined Alexandra under the knife, fire, and glass fish bowls.
My limited knowledge of Chinese medicine involves my fascination with "hot" and "cold" food. Food that, irregardless of its scientifically-measurable temperature, is always hot. Or cold, as the case may be. Cold foods include rice, soy beans, watermelon, and ice cream. Hot foods include noodles, mangoes, chilies, and potatoes. You must eat the correct ratio of hot to cold to stay healthy or to regain your health...which is all based on what condition your body is in at the current moment and what the weather happens to be doing. If you ignore this balance, your body reacts...badly. For example, during your period, you shouldn't eat cold foods because they cause cramps. (I still find this hard to believe.) I love it when my Chinese friends say, "OH my cramps are so terrible! I must have eaten too much ice cream." Chinese medicine is not just pills or smelly herbal concoctions, it's a lifestyle. So off to the masseuse, I went. For around $4 or 25 RMB, I got 45 minutes of her attention. I didn't get to see a second of the procedure. I was just told to take my coats and shirt off, lie on my stomach on a cold massage bed (in front of a fan-turned-heater), and stick my head through the hole. I tried to relax. She pulled out some sort of knife, and then went to town on my back. It felt like someone was scratching me with their nails, not softly but not hard either. And with a fair bit of pressure too. The feeling was mildly annoying, but easy to tune out. Each scrape came with a loud sound of dry skin against blade. She never made me bleed, but as you can see from the pictures, she brought a lot of blood up to the surface. She stretched my skin this way and that to get better scraping angles. She really loved scraping my shoulders. All and all, it was mildly entertaining, constantly wondering when this was supposed to hurt. (All Chinese medicine seems to be painful in one way or another.) It never was.
She was finished, and so brought her fish bowls over in a giant plastic crate. OK...they weren't really fish bowls, just tiny glass globes with a end lopped off that I loved imagining the tiniest of fish calling home. Picking up an oil-soaked, lighter-lit cotton ball, turned ball of fire, with metal tongs, she heated up the air inside one bowl. It was time for the cupping to begin. She started with my left shoulder. SLURP went my skin into the bowl. As she put more and more on, I felt my back becoming tighter and tighter, until I was sure I could not move. The skin stretched so tight, I felt like I was being laced into something, like a corset made of the strongest bubbles. It was nice feeling being so secure.But a few minutes passed. I swear my skin was being pulled bit by bit, a little more and a little more into the bowls. And even when I thought there was no way my skin could be sucked and stretched any more, even then, the suction kept going. It kept going on and on. I was in so much pain that I was twitching on this table
...when moments before I swore I could not move. They had draped a blanket over my bumpy, glass back, and I felt like a monster going through some terrible transformation, slowly. Ever so slowly. I broke. I lay there strapped into my secure corset of glass, and no one could save me. I just started floating. Mentally, I was just gone, and there was only peace with a background constantly awash with pain. Somewhere after reaching this place, the masseuse came back. She took the globes off, one by one. Starting exactly where she had started. Under her fingertips, the bowls easily popped off my back, as if I had made up the feeling of complete bondage. By the time she got to my right side, the pain building up there was threatening to consume me. Those cups did not come off as easily as the ones before.
I put my shirt back on, took a taxi ride home, ate dinner with friends, then passed out early. Deeply. That peace stayed. At the price of a purple/red-spotted, useless back. (I couldn't sleep on my side or back for 3 days.) The bruises stayed longer. Two weeks later, I could still see faint circles on my shoulders.
The days after the procedure were strange. I felt like I had the flu. I was exhausted and weak, though calm. I ate little. When I told my Chinese friends, I was universally reprimanded. "Why did you get that?" I had not had a cold. Cupping and scraping are supposed to cure very specific illnesses, not just balance a person. They looked at me as if I had casually mentioned I had played with fire, and believed that to be a good cultural learning experience. Be careful, playing with culture. Or, as I did, play away. A NOTE ON THE PICTURES: The first two pictures were taken a few hours after I was cupped and scraped. The third picture was taken 24 hours after. The forth picture was taken 48 hours after. The last picture was taken 4 days afterwards.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Naming the Face of China's Next Generation
OR FREE WILL IN CHINESE CLASSROOMSO, be some other name!
What's in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet.
--William Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet (2.2.44-46)
We don't use Chinese names in English class. Call me lazy. Or culturally insensitive. But across China, using English "names" in ESL class is standard practice. "Ok, class. For homework, please pick an English name." I provided no name sheets. And I did my best to not pass judgement. The assignment was about freedom and choice, self-expression and self-definition. I had changed my name when I entered college. And so, I gave my students the same option.
Some chose English spellings of their Chinese names (Yilin). One girl chose a Chinese spelling of an English name (Annine). Others handed in your typical white American names (Anna, Sara, Caroline, Grace). Still others handed in your typical African American names (Letisha, Akili). Nice names all. But names that will not get you noticed by me -- someone who is very talented at forgetting names at the drop of a hat.
To get remembered, you need to try a little harder. Like my student from last year, Rebecca, a tall and husky Chinese man. I will go to the grave with his name etched into my memory.
I don't believe in standardization. I don't think it was my job to take Rebecca's name away because he was not nor wanted to be a girl.
This post is my wall of fame to those whose names I will never forget. This is what happens when you introduce creativity and free will into a Chinese classroom. May they amuse and entertain, enlighten and perhaps explain. I wish I could tell you why these names were picked. If my students' English were good enough, maybe I'd have them write a 500-word essay on the symbolism of their name choice.
But since it's not and I won't, please enjoy the mystery.
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Traveling through Summer 2011: Beijing & Bali (Pictures)
OR WITNESS MY WILD ESCAPADES THROUGHOUT 4 COUNTRIES IN 2 MONTHS - PART IThis summer I took Southeast Asia by storm, by visiting Indonesia, Thailand, Cambodia, and Southern China. My first stop -- the island of Bali in Indonesia -- was one of the most visually stunning places I have ever been. "Take my picture and say my culture is beautiful." It's hard to help but exoticize Bali, and most of SE Asia because it is beautiful, tourist-y, and the locals are in the far, faraway background. All this being said, I did enjoy my trip, and witnessing these very interesting social trends (Taigu, a town smack-dab in the middle of coal minning company could never be considered sexy, exotic, and alluring) and I hope you will too.
It all started with a gift. This wall hanging was our end-of-the-year present from our bosses. Unfortunately, in true Chinese fashion, they decided to give it to us in a very lavish, ceremonial way...an hour before my train left -- making goodbyes impossible, and making missing my train, inevitable. But somehow...
I arrived in Beijing. Almost all my flying happens out of this city, and besides I needed to add passport pages and meet the new fellows. This is the American embassy with President Obama on the Great Wall. What you can't see is the hundreds of Chinese nationals in line waiting for visas. It took an hour to get into the building, after which I was ushered into a different room for citizens that had about 5 people in it. After handing over $80, I got a passport thick with pages. I rushed off to meet the new fellows, Skylar and Claire. I then had a fun adventure on the Beijing subway, where I decided that I could go from where my dinner was (center of Beijing), to where my luggage was being stored (the far west side), to where the night's housing was (the far east side)...in 2 hours. As I ran with my two backpacks (one, the size of me; the other, the size of a small child) through many line transfers. Stations closed around me and trains would stop in the middle of their lines. By the time the subway closed at 11pm, I somehow ended up farther away from my destination than if I had never gotten on the subway (after getting my bags)! And I was in the seediest part of Beijing I've ever seen. The taxi drivers wouldn't drive me unless I paid double the normal price, because they wouldn't pick up any customers going in my direction. Somehow a very nice Chinese bookseller took a taxi with me to his car and then drove me to a place where my host said had agreed to pick me up after I kept frantically calling her. (Did I mention her cell phone was dying during this whole catastrophe?) Through a lot of kindness and luck, I got to bed that night...at 3 am.
After a flight the next day (thank god my host lives ten minutes from the airport), I arrived at 5am, in Denpasar, Bali, Indonesia. I went straight to my most expensive hotel of the trip (the only prebooked one) -- at $40/night. I messed up the dates of the hotel, so for the price of 2 nights, I got 3. For no extra charge I went straight to bed at 5am, then had booked the 2 following nights. I proceed to sleep my way through those nights and days.
My hotel was an odd mix of the sacred and the profane.
In my sleep-deprived state, it was super amusing to walk around.
I finally pulled myself together and out of bed to spend an afternoon at Kuta beach, less than an hour's drive from my hotel. This beach is the hot spot/bane of many's existences. It is crowded, over-priced, and could easily be confused with Little Australia.
But I found ways to amuse myself for a few hours. I wish I could have gone to this.
Instead, I listened to some live music, read my book, ate some Middle Eastern food.
And watched baby turtles being re-released into the ocean. Very cute!
Finally it was time to leave Denpasar and go to Ubud, a city full of art, music, and eco-tourism. A complete by-product of tourist demand, mind you.
These are pictures of my $12/night hotel. I found it by walking down alley after alley off of Monkey Forest Road.
It did come with free banana pancakes.
But the room was not nearly as nice as the food or the front garden.
After spending my days window-shopping in the many art galleries on Monkey Forest Road, I went to a Jegog performance. Jegog is type of music and dance style. The instruments? A giant bamboo gamelan.
Here is me and some of the dancers.
Gender is a very fluid concept cross-culturally. So even though I think my body is very feminine-looking and was wearing scarves, no one knew if I was a boy or girl. "Hi I'm Ray." Confused look. "...Short for Rachel." "HA HA I wasn't sure if you meant Rachel or Raymond. HA HA" This happened every time I introduced myself to a Balinese person. So I decided to go more femme. What's more femme than earrings? After I bought these -- even though they're quite masculine -- my perceived gender confusion seemed to disappear.
Happy Fourth of July! Wanting to feel a little more at home, I wore red, white, and blue and ate pizza and garlic bread.
The next day I took an eco-tourism bike tour.
We had breakfast overlooking a volcano.
And then biked downhill for the rest of the trip.
Here is me and my new Aussie friends trying Indonesian coffee on our eco bike tour. Did you know the most expensive coffee comes from here? Kopi Luwak. It's so expensive because the beans must first pass through the digestive system of the Luwak animal before being roasted. Yes, it's poop coffee. And it tastes terrible.
We visited a local's home and found a great gym setup.
I loved the rice paddies.
They are so unbelievably beautiful when they reflect back the clouds in the sky.
That evening I decided to buy a mask. Two actually. One was a 21st birthday present, the other hangs on the wall of my bedroom.
The carver took me on his scooter to his workshop to pick out the masks, and then we went sightseeing.
It was all so beautiful, and sarong-filled.
While in Ubud, the 10-day Hindu festival Galungan began.
Lion/dragon dances lined the streets.
As well as a old person.
The performers were all children. This dance-drama is a battle between good (the lion/dragon, Barong) and evil (the old, evil witch Rangda). I don't know to much else about Galungan, click here to read more about Hinduism in Bali.
It was time to say goodbye to my Australian friends. I thought we'd only have the one-day bike tour together, but I ran into them as they were taking a stroll hours before they left.
It was a bit sad. This is a piece I saw right before we separated.
That night, I dolled myself up, Bali-style, and went to see a Kecak Fire and Trance Dance.
It was possibly the coolest thing I have ever seen in my life. First a section from the Ramayana was told through chanting, highly stylized dance, and amazing group choreography. The men sitting on the ground swayed, chanted, sang to add mood and staging possibilities of the dancing. For example, here the dancers have a little circle. During the epic battle at the end, they got a wide rectangle to "fight" in.
The dance ended. They brought out a pile of dried coconuts. And started the fire.
After the fire died down, a man in trance wearing a horse head headdress kicked around the embers of the coconuts. The sparks were a million dots against the sky. It was so beautiful. When he was done, he came out of the trance. His feet were completely black.
I think this picture really symbolized the attitude of Bali.
On my last morning,
I visited to Sacred Monkey Forest Sanctuary.
And saw some great erotic art.
It even had a monkey temple!
Which was absolutely stunning.
I left Ubud, and traveled to Tulamben, the home of USS Liberty wreak to learn how to scuba dive. This is my PADI mommy (Italian, grew up in the Netherlands). She was my first teacher.
She helped out (Finnish).
This one tried to drown me over and over during my Rescue Diver course. Don't worry, I paid him to do it (American).
She helped out (Finnish).
This guy arrived at Dive Concepts the same time I did (Singaporean, studying in American). We both arrived as newbies, and left smarter, stronger, and way more sexy...as Advanced Open Water (him) or Rescue (me) divers.
The dive shop had great banana pancakes. But once I'd had my fill, I knew it was time to move on...to JAVA.
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