文明

Eleanor, briefly I shall present you with several things I have learned in my short few weeks here in Beijing:

1. Never wear your seatbelt in a taxi, for apparently it is insulting to their driving skills. Just today, as I was sitting in the front, I had a momentary lapse of sanity and common sense and decided to put it on. The cab driver began waving his hand at me, telling me not to put it on; I obliged, chastised, murmured an apology, and watched, bemusedly, as the cab driver then proceeded to put his own seatbelt on. (Also, it is not at all strange to ride in the front seat of a cab when there is no one in the backseat.)

2. Despite the Chinese government's insistence on 文明, or "culture", in preparation of the Olympics, one must never follow those rules or risk a life of being unpleasantly trod upon. The idea generally follows ideas such as:

不随地吐痰。 Don't spit on the ground.
不损坏公物。 Don't damage public property.
不破坏绿化。 Don't destroy trees, flowers and grass.
不乱扔垃圾。 Don't trash everywhere.
不乱窜马路。 Don't cross streets against traffic lights.
不说脏话粗话。 Don't use vulgar or obscene languages.
不在公共场所吸烟。 Don't smoke in confined public place.

There are more guidelines that often line the walls of subway stations, in an effort by the government to simply brainwash the masses of commuters through constant repetition. However, I find that they are simply hindrances. For instance, you simply cannot be polite and let others off of the subway car before you get on; you must instead rush the doors or risk having them close on you, and sometimes if you push the elderly people out of your way quickly enough, you can get a seat before the pregnant lady gets there.

3. When stuck in the middle of a five-lane street, it is best to make eye contact with a driver before you dart out in front of their car. But, contrary to what you might think, bicycles are by far much scarier than the huge city buses bearing down on you and refusing to brake. So far, I have been hit by three bikes, but only one car (it was reversing slowly at the time, so perhaps it does not even count after all). In fact, I caused a bike pile-up just last week (four people fell off of two bikes thanks to me), and if it hadn't been so embarassing and frightening, it would have been amusing.

4. You must add "r" to the end of everything for anyone in Beijing to understand you. For instance, I might tell a taxi driver the following, "Beida xinan men." And when he looks at me blankly, I must correct myself, "Um... xinan menrrrrrrrrrr." He then nods and chastises me for trying to put on a seatbelt (actually, most taxis are missing the actual buckles so it's a fruitless attempt anyway) and drives me on my merry way.

But enough. Today I went temple hopping, and I am quite fatigued. Now I shall peruse more of your journeys through America and then complete mes devoirs.

PS: I bought my ticket to France. I am most dreading it; is that normal?

爱丽

More on my exploits

Dearest Friend,

Today I got a postcard from you. It was very nice of you to pay all those yaun (yen?) to send me your thoughts. I like the picture; it is pretty. I was trying to think what it would look like if Zhao took it and it was one of her artistic shots. I then realized I would not be able to have recognized the building as the picture would have been of a crack in the sidewalk.

Your anecdotes about China amuse me greatly. I like to laugh at you being harassed by a billion people. It brightens my day.

Some thoughts on Savannah. Why does it have an H at the end? Moving on. It is really hot there, another really freaking hot southern city. However it is very charming, the people are warm and very helpful. Alright most embarrassing moment- I went to one of those old houses to go take a tour by myself because my mom decided that sitting by the pool constitutes seeing a city- pathetic. Anyway, I show up 20 minutes before the next tour and for some reason the woman behind the giftshop desk decided that she needs to make small talk with me and tell me all about how she moved to Savannah from Charleston and how I should go see Beauford. I of course counter her small talk with my own; what is the impact of the convention center on tourism, how historical preservation is carried out, how I admire the architectural splendor. You know the usual stuff I say to people that is indicative of my upbringing. However, during the course of your conversation, I began to notice that all of a sudden my accent changed and i was doing my sort or really slowed down speech. It got awkward; you would have been embarrassed for (by) me.

I did quite a few things while I was there. I took a city tour which was a bit overpriced but informative. I wandered around all those beautiful squares walked into the Catholic church, went to mass. I bought some ice cream and ate it by the river per your request; it was very refreshing in the heat of a Savannah afternoon. I got a lemonade and strolled around. The best part was that Roman Holiday was playing at the movie theater and I went with my mom. Seeing that movie with all those people and hearing their reactions made me realize how funny that movie was, so much more than I had remembered it. The impression that the city left me with was one of an eerie charm; the way the moss hangs down from the tress gives the feeling of decay and perhaps of the city being held by its past. We stayed there for four days or so and then we headed north to go to Charleston, but you will just have to wait for the next installment to hear about that. I hope you are doing very well and staying out of trouble. Eleanor.

Shanghai nights

Chère Eleanor,

I am returned from a fulfilling voyage to Shanghai, where I spent my four days free from classroom woes traversing that great metropolis. I shall soon present you with an accurate retelling, but first, here are a few Reasons why the Good People of Shanghai may now think me Slightly Insane:

1. Having received Harry Potter, I unwisely begin discussing a certain matter with Jenn on the subway, she having already finished the book. Inadvertently, she lets slip that a certain FAVO(U)RITE CHARACTER of mine DIES, causing her to begin whimpering slightly--reliving the pain of the loss--and me to start angrily berating her, all while Kenina--having barely begun the book--walks away from us, plugs her fingers into her ears and begins humming. Surreptiously, the man who began the journey facing us shifts ever-so-slightly stop to stop until by the time we exit (still weeping, yelling and humming, respectively), he has his back turned to us.

2. While waiting in the train station to return to Shanghai from Suzhou, Scott turned to me as we were playing cards and asked, "What would you do right now if I gave you a raspberry?" And without further ado, he promptly seized my arm and thus did--loudly--causing me to shriek piercingly above the clamo(u)r of hundreds of Chinese waiting for trains. I swear at least a third of the waiting room fell silent and turned to look at us.

3. On the plane leaving Beijing, we played word games to distract ourselves from boredom. So we played GHOST for an unnecessarily long amount of time, leading us to dispute--loudly--the correctness of words such as xenograph, Ptolemaic, and how sexpot could be used to make Scott lose.

Yes, well, I'm sure you understand what it is like to travel in a foreign country with five loud Americans. Here begins my narration, which will doubtless take me a while to compose, but I shall read Harry Potter for breaks when I tire.

Wednesday: we set off at promptly 3:11, eleven minutes behind schedule, our eager faces shining with anticipation... We got to the airport before 4, and were told we were not allowed to check in until 5 (our flight was at 7). We returned at 5 only to be told 5:30. We returned at 5:30 only to be told our flight had been delayed--do we want to try to get on an earlier flight? Yes? Well, then go to that ticket office at the other end of the airport. We went, and there were no other tickets. We went back, checked in (fourth time's a charm), and passed through security.

We settled in the waiting room for about an hour, munching on food and playing cards. Then, at 8 o'clock (our plane still not having arrived), we were told to move to another gate. We followed the swarm of travelers downstairs to another waiting room, where we stood aimlessly, crowded up against each other, for another ten or fifteen minutes before we were allowed to pass through a gate and onto ... a bus. ("They're driving us to Shanghai!" we shouted). By this time it was well past 9 o'clock. We crammed onto the bus, luggage and everything, like state prisoners off to work camps. I was pressed into Trevor's back, and I tried to move my head and ended up poking some guy in the head with my hair sticks... twice. Apparently seeing this as an opportunity to strike up conversation, he BEGAN TALKING TO ME. Much as you described how you managed to freak out and make little outward appearance of it, I was thinking this, in time with our conversation:

Random Man I Cannot See: You speak English? Where are you from?
Me: (answering in Chinese) America. (Why are you talking to me? I can't turn around or I'll take out your eye!)
RM: You... um, traveling?
Me: (answering in Chinese) I'm studying at Beida. (This is not the place for new acquaintances! My face is shoved in someone's armpit and you are uncomfortably pressed up against my back! Where is this bus taking us? ARE THEY GOING TO KILL US?)
RM: blah blah blah
Me: blah blah--oh look! airplane!

We then exited the bus and walked up stairs to a sturdy 737, where we found our seats and settled in. After another few minutes, we received news that... there was no news. They had no information about our departure time, though we did receive full meals. See above for how exactly we killed time. And then... finally... our plane took off... at MIDNIGHT, five hours after the planned departure, and over eight hours after we had reached the airport.

Finally, we reached Shanghai after two in the morning. We walked outside to get a taxi, and let me tell you my first impression of the city: heat. Not just heat, either, but a smothering blanket of humidity and stale, stale air. If you think Atlanta and other Southern cities were bad, if I think Beijing was warm on some days, multiply it by three and then drench yourself in water to mimic the sweat oozing out of every pore--that, my friend, is Shanghai.

Then, having to split into two taxis, we told the drivers the address of our hotel. This then led to a wild ride through the streets of a sleeping Shanghai by two taxi drivers who obviously had absolutely no clue as to where our hotel was located. My car decided to be adventurous and wheeled away from the other one, claiming he was driving to the wrong place; we then passed through developments and warehouses and places where bodies could easily be stashed and never found until experts are needed to come in and run tests to analyze what the age, sex, race and last meal of the rotting bones were. But I digress. We arrived, weary, tired and with nearly a 100 kuai taxi fare to our hotel. We promptly cleaned ourselves of the dust of travel and collapsed onto our nice, freezing cold beds.

Thursday: Waking up late, we decided to walk around Shanghai. In the evening, we went to the Bund, where you can see a great night view of the "modern" city on the other side of the river. We met up with another Georgetown student, Brian, who is working in Shanghai for the summer.

Friday: We decided to take a day-trip to Suzhou, a small city outside of Shanghai that was described as "the Venice of China." I would call this a bit liberal of a description (we found two canals, and by the time we found the beautiful scene, it was time to rush back to the train station), but it was a rather lovely place, with beautiful gardens and temples (I prayed to Confucius in one for good study skills, and to my astrological god (兔子) in another, having paid 30 kuai for the ability to do so; as one of my many asides, I must keep track of Kenina now and fear retribution, as she accidentally prayed to the wrong god). There used to be more canals, I believe, but like everything else in China, commercial development over the past fifteen years has changed things remarkably quickly, even just from one year to the next.

Saturday: Originally we planned to wake up at 6 in the morning for the opening release of Harry Potter (coinciding with the release in London), but, tired from sweating and walking for hours the day before, we instead left at 9 and purchased our lovely, shiny books. I bought the English one simply because the American one was almost 30 kuai more expensive; I regret it slightly as now it will not match my other books, but I shall think fondly of this decision when I try to buy dinner tomorrow night. We then spent the day reading while walking into people, and traveled to the Old City and the Yu Gardens (I took many pictures of rocks), and the French Concession (which is not very French anymore, thanks once again to commercial development). And then, declining invitations of clubbing, Kenina, Jenn and I returned to our hotels late and read JK Rowling's latest book with fervor until sleep.

Sunday (being today, to clarify): We woke up early and went shopping, where I managed to finally find clothes that fit me, a feat truly extraordinary in a country full of tiny, skinny women! Our time was cut short, however, as we needed to leave for the airport at one o'clock. We had time for a last meal (not of dim sum, but rather Japanese food--and truly it is bizarre to go to a Japanese restaurant and order in Chinese) before heading off for the airport. The trip passed pleasantly because a) I had my book to read, and b) the flight was perfectly on time, and thus I have returned safely, if a trifle poor, to Beijing, and it feels cool comparatively and also as if it's been ages since I've been here.

And, this being unnecessarily and even painfully long, I will now go take a shower and finish You-Know-What and then try and complete homework before tomorrow morning drags me so abruptly and carelessly from my bed. Your friend,

Alison

Savanna(h)

Has WedNesDay happened there yet? I get so confused with the time difference. Good luck/job on your midterms. Hey, did you hear the some people got their HP books early, a la your dream? Well they did, were you one of them. Does Ron die? Don't tell me, no wait, does he? No. shut up. Percy?
Anyway after we left Atlanta we took that highway, you know which one, south towards Macon. Interesting fact, or rather amusing, not that interesting, my mother is firmly convinced that at one time Augusta was the capital of Georgia. I mean she has asked several people. It is awkward.I believe that Marion was in fact once the capital but that was like a hundred years ago and not when my mother was in school, which is where she claims to have learned this fallacy. Moving on...
My mom has this habit which happens to be the bane (well one of them anyway) of my existence. Whenever we drive anywhere she will just pull off the freaking road in any old (not necessarily old) town that catches her fancy, no matter how far it may or may not be from the highway, thus throwing us off of my nicely planned schedule. ( Five miles at 30 mph is 10 minutes times two is twenty do you see where I am going with this.) There is a lot of work that goes into those timetables and I factor in some stuff, like rain and acts of good and bad drivers and woodland creatures, but a 53 minute side tour is not something I can emotionally deal with. Ergo this little side comment on Dublin, Georgia.
Dublin, Georgia is amazing. I say that not because it is a center of industry or anything, I say it because as I sat in the KFC off of the second exit of Dublin, drinking a Pepsi (there was no Coke, I was quite angered) and eating a biscuit (there is a u in that word?), two men came in and they had on cut off jeans, flannel shirts open with a wifebeater on underneath and no shoes. There were no freaking shoes Ali. I couldn't handle it. I mean, I showed no outward emotion, which is as you know how I freak out, but on the inside my interior monologue was like "WTF where am I. Why did my godforsaken mother bring be to a fastfood restaurant in the middle of fracking georgia so I could watch these two scruffy looking hill people eat their fried chicken four feet away from me with their dirty feet. Dirty feet! AHHHH." There was a lot more swearing in my head though. Also, I dont' really think in words, but you know, creative liberties. There is also a federal courthouse there, which is of no interest to me but great interest to my mother, who thinks it is evidence of congressional graft in action, or rather in action during the 1920's when i surmise the courthouse was built. I think that it is a country capital and therefore fine. I don't really want to verify this fact.
Anyway we drove some more and ended up in Savannah. But I have a headache now and I will write about it later. Also the Tigers are playing the Twins so I am distracted.
PS- bargain better or we are finished. Also I had a dream I bought your family groceries the other day. Creepy- absolutely. True- yes.

Not quite a thousand words.

Hello. This is just a test to see if I can add pictures to posts. You know, a thousand words and all of that; in this case, it was a thousand steps plus an infinite more. I am still sore today, so that when I went to the Dirt Market I was far too tired to bargain for what I really wanted (so I ended up paying 50 kuai for hair sticks; they smell nice though), and bargained too much for what I didn't want (I offered 20 kuai for a 300 kuai embroidery, and the woman shouted at me and walked away wringing her hands together).

So.... test test test test test test test test. I have two midterms on Wednesday. 哎呀!

Reflections on the South: Atlanta

Dear Alison,
Now that I am aware that this blogger thing is working, I will keep our pact.

Atlanta: The ATL was very humid. I can stand humid, the heat in Cleveland, sometimes referred to as CLE or C-Town and such amusing names can often times be humid because of our wondrous and beauteous Lake Eire which traps warmth in its semi-polluted waters. They look clean, but I know the truth. When it is hot here, for some reason, I always think of that passage in To Kill a Mockingbird where Lee writes about the heat Maycomb that made people's shirts stick to their skin by mid-morning and ladies take shows three times a day or something like that, I can't remember the words exactly. The humidity in your fair southern city, though, reminded me of the heat of Italy in June. It is a sort of intense clasping sensation which drives the energy from you until you are able to return to the safe harbor or the nearest air-conditioned building. Well, not quite as bad as all that. Luckily coke isn't like $10 a bottle in Atlanta like it is in my ancestors homeland.
After you left, my mom and I had dinner with your parents at was it Murry's or Murphy's? The food was very good. I apparently got the same thing you had gotten the last time you were there. Good taste my friend. We had some very pleasant conversations. Then I bid Adieu to your family; your little brother loathes me I think, and David is indifferent to my existence. I need to go cry about this now for a moment- I am recomposed. We stayed in Atlanta until Tuesday. You will remember that you left Sunday, so therefore that leaves Monday to be discussed. In the morning, ehem, early afternoon, I got my hair cut at the Omni Hotel, in the CNN center building. I walked through the park to get there. There were children playing in your very clean filtered water fountains. It was charming. They guy took tons of my hair off. I didn't say anything. I am a pushover, you need to cure me of that. It looked good though when he was done, just a little shorter than I would have liked, like three inches shorter. Later that day, my mom and I took a tour of your fair city via car narrated by some man that was physical therapist for your hockey team, you have a hockey team?, during his former life. He had recently been to the Emirates, I think he was really a spy. Not really, but doesn't that make the story more interesting. We saw some of the homes in Buckhead and the intersection where Mitchell was killed. Basically, he told me all the stuff you told be, and then he wanted money. I could have given pretty much the same tour to my mother. Or I could have given you all of the Alana series and we could have called it even, had you been there. Then we went to Savannah on Tuesday. We spent a huge amount of time at Budget on Tuesday morning, where we rented a car because there was some guy at the Airport budget that didn't do his job correctly which cost us like 4 hours of our lives as well as the downtown office's two very nice employees. We had lunch at a restaurant that looked charming two blocks away from Budget while they tried to straighten things out. It was not charming. I had crab cakes, they were edible. I had sweet tea, it was far to sweet. Your mother's is perfect. We acquired our rental Prius, which gets fifty miles to a gallon and you can fill up for $20. Then we drove south to Savannah.

A wonder of the world.

Friend Eleanor,

Climbed up the Great Wall today, a rather intense experience that has left me in my room, curled up on my bed in fatigue. Things I have bargained for and purchased today:

Postcards: from 10 kuai to 5 kuai for a set of ten.
T-shirt for my little brother: from 30 kuai to 10 kuai.
Artwork scroll: from 180 kuai to 40 kuai.
Ice cream: from 15 kuai to 5 kuai.

Still overpriced, mostly the latter two, but what can one expect? My legs were literally trembling when I came back down; Kenina and I engaged in an argument about the fact that the guy selling ice cream was selling it for 15 kuai (but it's ice cream! we bought some yesterday for no more than 5 kuai!), and I think it was more out of amusement than anything else that he agreed to 5 each. (As an aside anecdote, later, having collapsed on some steps and commenced munching contentedly on our ice creams, we watched bemusedly as two Chinese women stood right next to us, with another man holding a camera. Then, apparently not getting us in frame enough, he told them to sit with us! So they both sat on either side; I was incredibly weirded out, but Kenina handed her camera to the guy and asked him to take a picture of us and the two strangers, too. We have proof!)

But see? I am improving in my interactions. Really. Just like a Chinese. I swear... I'm just... so... sleepy...

尴尬

Eleanor, I think that you would find the level of awkwardness that consumes me here on a daily basis to be most amusing, could you stand the scenes I endure without bursting your appendix from laughing so hard. I seem to be singularly superlative at attracting the weirdest conversations, not the cool and interesting ones that other students have with taxi drivers and passersby. And so I would like to present you with a few of my most random encounters with "the natives."

1. I was walking back from dinner one night, and I entered Beida through the West Gate. A small crowd of school-age Chinese kids, perhaps around seven or eight, was walking towards us. Suddenly, one girl ran up to me, thrust a flower into my hands, said "Hello!" in a very bright voice, and ran off with her laughing friends, leaving me to throw a bewildered "Thank you" at her retreating back. (This was all in English.) I must admit that the flower was rather lovely and smelled nice, though Scott and Kenina joked that it was probably full of poison to kill me. It was actually a lily, which my tutor Liu Fen told me is a popular flower to give in China; I told her in many Western cultures it is the flower of death.

2. On the subway one afternoon going to Xi Dan, it was chock full of people like any normal cattle car, or subway train, is. I was awkwardly holding onto a handle when a guy behind me said, in English, "Change," gesturing that I should take his handle and he mine for a more comfortable situation for both of us. After this maneuvering, his friend, standing next to me, said something that I didn't understand. The following is the conversation, roughly transcribed and roughly translated from the original Mandarin:

Me: I don't understand.
Guy #1: (the one who initiated the handle-switching) It was English.
Guy #2: Haha.
Guy #1: His pronunciation is so bad you don't understand. (mumble mumble)
Me: (uncomfortably) I can't hear you.
Both guys: (laugh)
Guy #2: Where are you from?
Me: America (a land of hot dogs, air-conditioned subways and cold bottled water).
Guy #2: What are you doing here?
Me: I'm studying at Beida.
Guy #1: (blah blah something I don't understand)
Me: ...
Scott: (coming to my rescue, having understood and apparently tired of laughing at me) We're here for two months.
Guy #2: Oh. Looking for friends? (找朋友？)
Me: (acutely uncomfortable at the way they only come up to my shoulders, invade my personal space and haven't stopped staring at me) Er, no, not looking for friends. This is my stop. Bye!

3. This one has only been related to me tonight, as I was not entirely aware of its happenings. We were at an overpriced club the other night, and I was dancing (startling, I know, but I figure no one in China could possibly know me). Later I was told that there was a strange Chinese man (also incredibly short and apparently looked not unlike my two subway friends) standing behind me, dancing, and watching me as if he wanted to approach me. You have to watch your back in those places, my friend; they like to approach and attack from the back.

4. I must admit the following interaction was mostly not directed towards me, but rather to Jenn, who as you know is of Chinese heritage and speaks the frustrating language fluently. We were strolling about the Purple Bamboo Garden when a man walked up to us and said (mumble, mumble). Yes, obviously I understand Beijingers so well. We just walked on, having mumbled something ourselves, thinking he was trying to sell something. It wasn't until he came back up to Jenn that she realized he had tried to say "Good morning" in English. He then asked her how to say 画 in English (painting). She told him, and as we were walking away he followed again and asked for the word "draw," and asked her to write it for him.

Fifteen minutes later, and halfway around the lake inside the park, he came up to Jenn yet again and asked for "painter," "artist," "to paint," and other things that she patiently pronounced and wrote for him.

Another ten minutes later, he came up to us yet again and said, "Good morning." Bemused, we said "Good morning" back (it was four o'clock in the afternoon). He then asked in English, "Where are you from?" I panicked and looked at Jenn who said "Answer him." I kind of mumbled, "America." And he repeated, "America," as if committing it to memory before rambling off.

I must admit that the rest of my time in the park I was waiting for him to appear from anywhere--emerging from the lake with a bamboo tube he used as a periscope to locate us; from climbing over a wall separating us from the city, having taken a taxi to the other side of the park following us; from the sewer grate a few paces to my left. Alas, that was the last of our conversation.

5. The following, by far the most uncomfortable interaction that in fact prompted me to write this to you, just happened as I was walking back from the cafeteria tonight. I heard a voice behind me going, "Excuse me, miss!" so I moved out of the way, thinking it was just someone on a bicycle for once considerate enough not to try to run me over. Then I heard another, "Excuse me!" and Trevor told me to stop. There was a Chinese woman who, completely ignoring Scott and Trevor, walked up to me and asked, "Are you American?" Prepare yourself, my friend, for another roughly transcribed conversation, though this one took place in English:

Me: Yes.
Her: Oh, what... um, city?
Me: Atlanta.
Her: I am working. I am looking for an English partner to speak English. And you can practice Chinese. My major is... is European and American (something mumble mumble).
Me: Oh. Um.
Her: Are you free right now?
Me: Um, I have homework, um.
Her: Oh you have class tomorrow?
Me: Yes.
Her: Every morning?
Me: And evening. (This is a complete lie.)
Her: Oh, oh.
Me: Um, do you have an email address? (Hoping that she would give it to me and I could conveniently lose it.)
Her: No. Do you have a cell phone?
Me: (inward groan) Yes, but, um, I don't know the number. I just bought it.
Her: (having completely not understood me) I can give you a call.
Me: (completely caught, and being laughed at silently by my dinner companions, I pull out my phone and give her my number. She calls me.)
Her: You have my number?
Me: Um. Yes. (here I glare at my phone as if it's its fault.)
Her: How do you spell your name?
Me: A-l-i-s-o-n.
Her: Alison. I'm (name I don't remember).
Me: Um. Okay. Talk to you later. Bye.

As I walked off, being mocked by my useless compatriots about how I attract the weirdest interactions, I entered her phone number under the name "random girl." Perhaps it's rather rude of me, but I'm rather weirded out by the encounter, though I know it must take guts to approach someone like that. However, I already have a tutor with whom I speak Chinese, and this I know is a trustworthy and rather friendly girl set up for me by the program. Perhaps I shall meet with Random Girl once and then tell her that I must leave the country suddenly, my visa having inexplicably been revoked by the government.

I also must work on my lying to deflect uncomfortable conversations. I shall now practice the following: 我不会说英语，我是法国人 (I can't speak English, I am French). 我明天早上回美国去 (Tomorrow morning I am going back to America). Etcetera.

Of course, at the same time I must admit that I rather enjoy these encounters, however uncomfortable. For when not conducted in English (people speak English to me a lot, here) I can at least practice as best as my ineptitude will allow (remind me to tell you the story of ordering two dinners for myself, as I was rather frightened of the cashier). If only I could have normal encounters... but it's not like that happens in America, anyway. At least it's consistent.

Alison

北京，第一个印象

Eleanor,

So while Blogspot is effectively blocked from my curious eyes, I've discovered that Blogger is still open for the erstwhile blogger. I don't know if that is the correct word usage, but I must admit, somewhat ashamedly, that I am a wee bit tipsy on Yanjing beer. I have, in fact, just come from an impromptu celebration of America's independence with my fellow American students, which consisted of nothing American, but rather cheap Chinese beer (roughly 30 cents for a bottle twice as large as is commonly found at home) and street-cooked kebobs--3 for 1 kuai (not even 20 cents... some kid ordered 300 for our celebration from a bewildered man selling them on the street, and proceeded to sit next to him and gather up every batch to distribute once it was cooked).

My dorm just got internet the other day, but it's been over a week that I've been in Beijing, and yet it really does feel like ages. I miss milk, and cold fruit, and cold water and ice and, well, my family. Beijing is all haze and smog; it lodges itself in my throat and all over me so that I breathe it in and step in it even in the clean dorm rooms (by the way, Peking University gives international students the best dorms; most Chinese have at least three other roommates in a tiny room; we have our own bathroom, and people come in to clean up after us while we're in class). There are people everywhere; often it seems like there's no room for anyone else--on trains, in cars; there are also no sidewalks. Bicycles and cars come from every direction--I fear getting used to it, for it will surely cost me when I return home ambivalent to traffic laws and honking vehicles. I feel ignored and stared at equally; people try to pretend I'm not there, or they openly stare. I've already had pictures taken of me and the people I've been with--when playing frisbee on a small lawn of Beida and when walking to the cafeteria the other day. I've never been a foreigner so blatantly, and felt it so strongly.

I guess I've seen a lot of the city, and at the same time absolutely nothing at all. I went to an acrobatic show last night to watch people distort themselves into odd shapes; I also went to a market and bargained for a tea cup with a green dragon painted on it. I still think every picture of an athlete is Yao Ming, and it takes me a few minutes to realize an error. I've been to McDonald's at least three times in one week already (it's because they have ice in their drinks and cold, delicious ice cream; that's all, I swear!), but I compensate by having pig's tongue and Peking roast duck on other days.

But at the moment I have a presentation in class tomorrow (yes, I do attend classes, really), and I have not finished my other homework as well.

When I finally find postcards, trust that your name shall be among the first, Ms. Cleveland. I trust your voyage through the Southern Country to be most enjoyable.

Alison