The bridge across the Yalu that the Americans destroyed in '51, or something like that. You can walk to the end of it and gape.
Boat going as close as possible
NK, in all its glory.
Myself, at a Dandong military museum. Yes, that is a T-34
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Dandong and Beijing
A few days ago Spencer (friend from Vietnam) and I went to Dandong. Dandong is on the North Korean border. The Chinese we met there had a tough time understanding why we wanted to go. This curiosity about an inaccessible country seems natural to me. The incomprehension here made me recall a passage in Kapuscinki about question asking in Russia. It was surreal to look over the Yalu River and see the North. If you have looked on Google Earth or seen the photo spreads of North Korea taken from Dandong, then you have seen what I have. Perhaps more so than you realize, because the Korean side is as still as it appears in the photographs. I saw about 10 Koreans. Some were wading in the River, a police boat in the River, a few farmers, a girl walking a dog. The factories were quiet, and the windows were dark. You can get closer to the Korean side in two ways: walk as far as a ruined bridge will allow, or take a Chinese speedboat as close as you can. We walked to the end of the ruined bridge and ogled at the other side through binoculars. Chinese tourists were there too. Rumor has it that the Chinese speedboat will go so close that the North Korean guard will point his rifle at the tourists, then the boat speeds away. Rehearsed theater or real threat? I don't know. I enjoy being in places like this, because there are some things you just cannot know. We saw one other group of Americans there and smiled at them.
That night we ate at a N Korean owned and operated restaurant on the Dandong side (of course). We wanted to sit with some Chinese. Perhaps aware that our conversation might drift uncomfortably, the waitress pushed us to a table where it was only the two of us. It was entirely too big, but we needed room for the dishes, she explained. We spoke in Mandarin. I can proudly report that after three years of studying Chinese in college, I am able to order food in restaurants. I asked her if she was a Korean. I unwittingly used the word for South Korean. Exasperatedly, she told me that she was from "chao xian." I had no idea how you get Korea from that, but a few days later it hit me: Chosun. Chosun is the name of an ancient Korean kingdom. The regime uses the ancient word to establish its claim to represent Korea. The waitresses were wonderfully nice, they sang, and the food was excellent. I told them we were Canadian, but I think they knew we were Americans.
I look terrible. I haven't washed my clothes in weeks. The cleanest shirt I have is a Ho Chi Minh shirt I got awhile ago in Vietnam. It earns some stares. Though it was interesting when my hostel owner in Beijing started singing a Vietnam and China friendship song from the Cold War. Thankfully I am feeling pretty good and am swine flu free. I've had my temperature taken a few times. I am trying to trade my mild coffee addiction for a green tea addiction. I spent a few hours at a Houhai cafe today, drinking very good green tea. The waiter didn't charge me for it, because, he said, I didn't get wasted like all the other Westerners. It was a little weird. My language program starts in a couple days.
That night we ate at a N Korean owned and operated restaurant on the Dandong side (of course). We wanted to sit with some Chinese. Perhaps aware that our conversation might drift uncomfortably, the waitress pushed us to a table where it was only the two of us. It was entirely too big, but we needed room for the dishes, she explained. We spoke in Mandarin. I can proudly report that after three years of studying Chinese in college, I am able to order food in restaurants. I asked her if she was a Korean. I unwittingly used the word for South Korean. Exasperatedly, she told me that she was from "chao xian." I had no idea how you get Korea from that, but a few days later it hit me: Chosun. Chosun is the name of an ancient Korean kingdom. The regime uses the ancient word to establish its claim to represent Korea. The waitresses were wonderfully nice, they sang, and the food was excellent. I told them we were Canadian, but I think they knew we were Americans.
I look terrible. I haven't washed my clothes in weeks. The cleanest shirt I have is a Ho Chi Minh shirt I got awhile ago in Vietnam. It earns some stares. Though it was interesting when my hostel owner in Beijing started singing a Vietnam and China friendship song from the Cold War. Thankfully I am feeling pretty good and am swine flu free. I've had my temperature taken a few times. I am trying to trade my mild coffee addiction for a green tea addiction. I spent a few hours at a Houhai cafe today, drinking very good green tea. The waiter didn't charge me for it, because, he said, I didn't get wasted like all the other Westerners. It was a little weird. My language program starts in a couple days.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
China 2009-2010
This summer I will be at ACC (Associated Colleges in China). This is in Beijing at the Capitol University of Economics and Business. This fall and spring I'm at IUP (Inter University Program). IUP is at Qinghua. I am extremely happy about how this has played out so far. Perhaps I would have rather gotten out of Beijing for some time, but because the best programs (I'm told) are in Beijing, I will just accept the pollution.
I am there for 12 months. That part is still holding together. I want to have a big New Year's get together in Vietnam, to which everyone is invited. I'm tentatively calling it "New Year's Fest 2010."
The year at Yale ended well, I think. Spring came and the secret society initiations started. You would see hooded people who looked like Harry Potter extras smugly traipsing around campus, asking to eat a bit of your pizza and things like that. At night incongruously tuxedoed men and ball-gowned women would walked quickly by you and laugh loudly about things. Tired girls and boys, they look like girls and boys when they are tired, would file out of the secret society door in pajamas and carrying pillows. We happened to pass it at the right time. Okay I staked it out, jealousy is powerful. Every sort of crazy behavior was tolerated, and tolerated rather kindly because these proudly humiliated people are the future leaders of the free world. I thought I could take advantage of this, and that people would assume my insane behavior was part of a secret society initiation, wrong. My escapade involved renting a big bird suit, liberally applying ketchup, and rampaging through the library proclaiming that I (big bird) had come down with one or more blood-borne diseases. I spent a great deal of fellowship money buying myself out of that one. The Yale cops are top of their game, but for a price they can be persuaded to overlook a thing or two. I made back the money, however, by telling frightened underclassmen that I was a bonesman, and to remain in consideration for membership they had to pay me moderate sum. As they say in the Lion King, Hakuna Mattata.
Last semester we played some soccer, and lost every game except for the time the opposing team failed to show up. I got better grades this semester than last semester. I think that is because this semester I took courses that involved less formulaic writing and more creative activity (coloring). Seriously, this semester was better than last semester, and last semester was great. I will miss everyone.
While in China I want to go to Tibet and/or Xinjiang. Tibet seems a bit more realistic, if more expensive and difficult to access. I want to travel from Lhasa to the Nepal border. Then I'll sit down at one of those prayer-flagged camps and come to terms with my inability to join the skull and bones.
I am there for 12 months. That part is still holding together. I want to have a big New Year's get together in Vietnam, to which everyone is invited. I'm tentatively calling it "New Year's Fest 2010."
The year at Yale ended well, I think. Spring came and the secret society initiations started. You would see hooded people who looked like Harry Potter extras smugly traipsing around campus, asking to eat a bit of your pizza and things like that. At night incongruously tuxedoed men and ball-gowned women would walked quickly by you and laugh loudly about things. Tired girls and boys, they look like girls and boys when they are tired, would file out of the secret society door in pajamas and carrying pillows. We happened to pass it at the right time. Okay I staked it out, jealousy is powerful. Every sort of crazy behavior was tolerated, and tolerated rather kindly because these proudly humiliated people are the future leaders of the free world. I thought I could take advantage of this, and that people would assume my insane behavior was part of a secret society initiation, wrong. My escapade involved renting a big bird suit, liberally applying ketchup, and rampaging through the library proclaiming that I (big bird) had come down with one or more blood-borne diseases. I spent a great deal of fellowship money buying myself out of that one. The Yale cops are top of their game, but for a price they can be persuaded to overlook a thing or two. I made back the money, however, by telling frightened underclassmen that I was a bonesman, and to remain in consideration for membership they had to pay me moderate sum. As they say in the Lion King, Hakuna Mattata.
Last semester we played some soccer, and lost every game except for the time the opposing team failed to show up. I got better grades this semester than last semester. I think that is because this semester I took courses that involved less formulaic writing and more creative activity (coloring). Seriously, this semester was better than last semester, and last semester was great. I will miss everyone.
While in China I want to go to Tibet and/or Xinjiang. Tibet seems a bit more realistic, if more expensive and difficult to access. I want to travel from Lhasa to the Nepal border. Then I'll sit down at one of those prayer-flagged camps and come to terms with my inability to join the skull and bones.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Pictures from China
The Yellow Mountains, Anhui Province
Boat on West Lake, Hangzhou.
The coolest monkey I've ever seen, Hangzhou
Chinese character on a Buddhist Temple, Hangzhou
Church, Hangzhou
The layout is crazy, I know, still experimenting. And yes, these pictures should have been here a long time ago.
Pictures from France
Obelisk and Eiffel Tower, Paris
Montmartre, Paris
Paris from Sacre Couer
Random Cafe, Paris
Restaurant on top of the mountain, Chamrousse
I should have put these up awhile ago, but I'm exceptionally inefficient.
China it is (probably)
I've been accepted to a program in China (ACC Beijing) and I was lucky enough to get funding. Several 4th years I know here are not getting money. I have an application out to study in Vietnam as well, and have not completely given up the idea of spending the year there instead.
However, one must consider a friend of a friend. This friend of a friend, who shall not be named, studied Vietnamese quite well, loved the history, got a Ph.D from one of the best Vietnamese Studies programs in the U.S. and now hates his job teaching at a small college in the South. Another guy, who does not speak Chinese fluently, worked as a journalist in Beijing for a year and only reluctantly left his job for grad school. A job list serve I get sends me about 30 jobs a year for people who speak Chinese. I have yet to see one for Vietnamese. To be fair, maybe Chinese is overfished, and one should think about other places in East Asia, like Vietnam. I sort of got that impression visiting the Eurasia Group in New York. They had Chinese-Americans for the Chinese speaking jobs, but there was a vacancy for a Vietnamese speaker. As mine is only intermediate, I wasn't competitive for the job, but it was food for thought. Nevertheless, that is the only job I've come across that requires Vietnamese. This is anecdotal evidence, but it is, unfortunately, persuasive. As always, everything is subject to change.
I am going to visit Vietnam as much as I can, but I think it is going to be China next year. Any and all are invited to visit. In China I am deciding between ACC Beijing and CET Harbin. Does anyone have an opinion on which program is better?
However, one must consider a friend of a friend. This friend of a friend, who shall not be named, studied Vietnamese quite well, loved the history, got a Ph.D from one of the best Vietnamese Studies programs in the U.S. and now hates his job teaching at a small college in the South. Another guy, who does not speak Chinese fluently, worked as a journalist in Beijing for a year and only reluctantly left his job for grad school. A job list serve I get sends me about 30 jobs a year for people who speak Chinese. I have yet to see one for Vietnamese. To be fair, maybe Chinese is overfished, and one should think about other places in East Asia, like Vietnam. I sort of got that impression visiting the Eurasia Group in New York. They had Chinese-Americans for the Chinese speaking jobs, but there was a vacancy for a Vietnamese speaker. As mine is only intermediate, I wasn't competitive for the job, but it was food for thought. Nevertheless, that is the only job I've come across that requires Vietnamese. This is anecdotal evidence, but it is, unfortunately, persuasive. As always, everything is subject to change.
I am going to visit Vietnam as much as I can, but I think it is going to be China next year. Any and all are invited to visit. In China I am deciding between ACC Beijing and CET Harbin. Does anyone have an opinion on which program is better?
Thursday, January 29, 2009
I'm re-branding myself as an elitist
It had to happen sooner or later, elitism. The question is why now? Didn't I become one when I got here? And how did I used to brand myself? The last question I could answer as follows: a guy interested in foreign affairs with a rather desperate fear that he will never find worthwhile employment. What I am now is quite different. It would be impossible to say what, exactly, but as an elitist I don't really have to tell you. Instead just examine some of the features. See what they create when you put them together. It's gestaltian, or something, hah.
Old Bob: Starbucks
New Bob: Blue State Coffee
Old Bob: The Shins
New Bob: World Music
Old Bob: J Crew
New Bob: J Press
Old Bob: Hated New Haven because it is dangerous
New Bob: Loves New Haven because it is authentic
Old Bob: Rarely named dropped, considered it rude
New Bob: Big time name dropping, pretends not to notice
Old Bob: Went to classes
New Bob: Attends directed readings
Old Bob: Racketball
New Bob: Squash
Anyways, I need to go grab a quick sushi with Tony Blair
Old Bob: Starbucks
New Bob: Blue State Coffee
Old Bob: The Shins
New Bob: World Music
Old Bob: J Crew
New Bob: J Press
Old Bob: Hated New Haven because it is dangerous
New Bob: Loves New Haven because it is authentic
Old Bob: Rarely named dropped, considered it rude
New Bob: Big time name dropping, pretends not to notice
Old Bob: Went to classes
New Bob: Attends directed readings
Old Bob: Racketball
New Bob: Squash
Anyways, I need to go grab a quick sushi with Tony Blair
Monday, January 5, 2009
Scavenging
Living in a hostel on a fairly limited budget has meant a bit of scavenging. I pick up anything I can find that could be useful: bits of leftover food from the free breakfast, a book, internet acess cards that people leave lying around, and, perhaps most importantly, a South Americans discarded bottle of cologne. I am in Paris by myself for a few days, so in a sense I have also done a bit of scavenging for friends.
Photojournalism is about action verbs, the budding Romanian photojounalist told me. We were sitting in a coffeehouse endlessly, neither of us had anywhere to go. He explained growing up in Romania where no one understood his talent, and his moment of triumph when national geographic accepted one of his pictures, the one about the trash collectors in the danube delta. Photojournalism you see, blended perfectly his passions for the environment and talking to people. As a photojournalist you have to make your subjects comfortable, so comfortable with your presence that they forget you are there.
Smelling like a South American, I entered a different coffeehouse, of the second variety that I described earlier. It was a bit too expensive but I was cold, and I did not see many tourists. A somewhat distraught woman kept looking at the door and then at my book. I looked horrible and am not in the habit of picking up strange French women in cafes, to be frank. What was she doing? After awhile, perhaps it was the way I smelled, she offered to buy me another coffee. She explained that the man she was waiting for had apparently ditched her, but she thought highly of the author I was reading. I did not want to make the evening too exciting, so I started talking intensely, too intensely, about politics. The evolution in international sovereignty is the most significant facet of globalization, and the like. In the sense that she supplied me with a list of left wing authors and then continued on her way, I suppose it had its intended effect.
Photojournalism is about action verbs, the budding Romanian photojounalist told me. We were sitting in a coffeehouse endlessly, neither of us had anywhere to go. He explained growing up in Romania where no one understood his talent, and his moment of triumph when national geographic accepted one of his pictures, the one about the trash collectors in the danube delta. Photojournalism you see, blended perfectly his passions for the environment and talking to people. As a photojournalist you have to make your subjects comfortable, so comfortable with your presence that they forget you are there.
Smelling like a South American, I entered a different coffeehouse, of the second variety that I described earlier. It was a bit too expensive but I was cold, and I did not see many tourists. A somewhat distraught woman kept looking at the door and then at my book. I looked horrible and am not in the habit of picking up strange French women in cafes, to be frank. What was she doing? After awhile, perhaps it was the way I smelled, she offered to buy me another coffee. She explained that the man she was waiting for had apparently ditched her, but she thought highly of the author I was reading. I did not want to make the evening too exciting, so I started talking intensely, too intensely, about politics. The evolution in international sovereignty is the most significant facet of globalization, and the like. In the sense that she supplied me with a list of left wing authors and then continued on her way, I suppose it had its intended effect.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Cafes in Paris
My take on cafes in Paris is this. To be clear, before I go anywhere, I like them quite a bit. My opinion is based solely on the quality of the coffee, it is quite good. As clearly as I can tell, they fall into three categories.
The first contain the old, historic, expensive ones, the type Hemingway visited 80 years ago. Coffee and a pastry of some sort there costs in the neighborhood of 15 dollars. If you start to read there, or start to write in anything resembling a journal, you will immediately be branded a sentimentalist idiot. This may or may not be written from personal experience, I will not say.
The second type is found on the grand street corners, the place, as they say here. I will try to avoid using French as much as possible, because as an American it disgusts me. However you cant argue with the coffee, the chocolate, or the pastries, so I will continue describing the second type of cafe. It is still expensive. Perhaps a bit cheaper than the first type but not much, still looking to pay more than 10 dollars for coffee and a pastry. The view will be wonderful, cars and mopeds whizzing by, the table tops, the floor, and the decoratioins inside will be immaculate. You will convince yourself it was worth it. I did just a few hours ago.
The third type of cafe is located in the middle of the boulevards, or on the corners of lesser avenues. Few tourists and you are usually addressed in French. What I shoot for is to pay 5 Euros for a pastry and a coffee. I ask alot, I know.
Tomorrow I am headed to Chinatown, expecting that the French have mixed up Vietnamese people with Chinese people and I will find good Vietnamese food there.
The first contain the old, historic, expensive ones, the type Hemingway visited 80 years ago. Coffee and a pastry of some sort there costs in the neighborhood of 15 dollars. If you start to read there, or start to write in anything resembling a journal, you will immediately be branded a sentimentalist idiot. This may or may not be written from personal experience, I will not say.
The second type is found on the grand street corners, the place, as they say here. I will try to avoid using French as much as possible, because as an American it disgusts me. However you cant argue with the coffee, the chocolate, or the pastries, so I will continue describing the second type of cafe. It is still expensive. Perhaps a bit cheaper than the first type but not much, still looking to pay more than 10 dollars for coffee and a pastry. The view will be wonderful, cars and mopeds whizzing by, the table tops, the floor, and the decoratioins inside will be immaculate. You will convince yourself it was worth it. I did just a few hours ago.
The third type of cafe is located in the middle of the boulevards, or on the corners of lesser avenues. Few tourists and you are usually addressed in French. What I shoot for is to pay 5 Euros for a pastry and a coffee. I ask alot, I know.
Tomorrow I am headed to Chinatown, expecting that the French have mixed up Vietnamese people with Chinese people and I will find good Vietnamese food there.
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