Friday, March 20, 2009

Signpost Map to SWAN Day Shanghai

Here is the front gate of the Downstream Garage/Performance Space where SWAN Day Shanghai will take place.  It's a little tricky getting here, so I thought I'd lead you through a signpost map to get to this yellow gate that says 'xia he mi cong.' It's a warehouse district so if you ask for 'xia he mi cong' people can point you to it as well.
You take Subway Line No. 1 to Caobao Rd. Station and come out of Exit #4 towards Longcao Rd.  Caobao becomes Longcao Rd.  Here is 218 Longcao Rd, a hospital, where you will enter to find the Downstream.  Once you see this, turn right.
This is the unseeable sign that gives you the actual address of the Downstream...200 Longcao Rd., but never mind.  (Anti-sign posted).
After turning right at the hospital at 218 Longcao, walk straight until you see this FOCUS sign and turn right after it (you're not going into Focus Base, but onto the road after it).
There you will see the neutralish 'mecooon' sign that has a subtle arrow pointing you leftward.  Go left!
And follow this...
You will see this building...it means you are very close.  Look to your right and you should see the Yellow Metal Gate...'xia he mi cong'...Downstream...
Enter here...
Go up to the third floor.  This is Xiao Zhou...he is the caretaker of the Downstream.

You will enter, pass a snooker table and come upon the blackbox space where we will hold SWAN Day Shanghai.

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Monday, December 22, 2008

Kung Fu Panda

Back when it was warm, I had the chance to sub for a class called 'Western Culture.' It's a 'class' comprised of watching American TV shows like 'How I Met Your Mother' and then going over the slang and then listening for the slang during the second viewing. It's like that first time I went into the Lida office and a bunch of students were watching every episode of 'Friends' and not laughing. O, they were practicing their slang comprehension. So yes Hollywood, make your shows according to the Nielsen market and know that you are representin' in English comprehension classes across the world. Then, there is a whole other side of comprehension that may be problematic to the non-sitcom watching American.

Since I didn't have access to the 'How I Met Your Mother' discs, I showed what I did have access to: Kung Fu Panda. I had actually heard from very smart sources, like the NYC actor Debargo Sanyal whose face lit up at the uttering of the title, that it was really good. And so for the 'Western Culture' class, (which was basically my Speaking and Listening class) we heard the fat-ass voice of Jack Black go from a noodle-making panda to a disciplined kung-fu master. It is the American Dream updated for the new, economically expanding Chinese population, and laced with enough core Chinese values in its enactings to hit home with the young Chinese population and charm the pants off of the 'Western Culture' class. They really took to it like it was a really good salesperson. I really took to it like it was the perfect cultural ambassador.

The hugest thing that the students responded to, and quote over and over again:
Yesterday day is history
Tomorrow is a mystery
Today is the present
that is why it is called a gift.

Ah wisdom. You say 'fortune cookie say' but the cadence really hit home. Americans love to make fun of these little ah-so ditties, but in Chinese, they really are concise and wise this way. That was one of the remarkable things about this flick, that it could re-spin these American stereotypes into a good-natured and earnest embrace of the truism (after all, stereotypes are true; they just are not enough to represent the whole truth). Any offense taken may just be one's own self-conscious discomfort with being minority asian in majority america, or you're just a thin-skinned, overargumentative liberal who has no idea what their actually arguing for.

We had an exuberant conversation following the movie. Here are a few things the students responded to:

We all have our place in the world.
Nothing is impossible.
The word 'flabby'
The pronunciation of 'shi fu' (master) as 'she fu' (like the english pronoun for girl).
There is now a Level Zero.
'Wuxi finger hold' no such thing, American invention?
You don't belong here (in our world)
You don't belong here (in my room)
Fat jokes.
The refrain: There are no accidents.
The illusion: A peach seed can wish to be an apple tree or an orange tree, but no matter what, it will grow to be a peach tree.
Guide. Nurture. Believe.
I need you to believe. You must believe.
Trust in your Master
When you've been trained, you may eat.
He taught you well--but he didn't teach you everything.
The mark of a true hero is humility.
Continue your journey without me. I am proud to have been your Master.
Definitive article swticheroo: I am not a big fat panda. I am the big fat panda.

It seems the students responded to the wisdoms of life and the empowering belief in self which is counter to both Chinese humility and Communist bureaucracy. There were a few things I helped  illuminate to them about the American psyche...and I had some favorite points too:

It was smart of Dreamworks to play off of Jack Black's movie persona. Here he is kind of a dufus schlub, dreaming of being a master and then having someone believe in him and give him the awareness of making masterhood possible. I had to inform the students that as much freedom and possibility that Americans are given, there is huge self-doubt and a constant need of empowerment. You would think if you had all of the resources and materials and power in your country, that all of the citizens would be functional and self-assured (like in Switzerland). But because the U.S. is so huge, and so diverse, with two coasts of possibility, that too many dreams diffuse focus. And perhaps the citizens are more easy to control because they are addicted to materials and do not have a focus of purpose, and so they need constantly need boosting, need assuring, need a Master to keep with them, to constantly advise (ja, Dr. Freud?). 

'O,' said the students. 
(They actually didn't say O. They got hesitant, or just let it gloss over).

Trust in your Master:
'I stayed, because if anyone could change me, it was not me: it was you. I can. I can. I will.'
(Panda's need for Master to continue, before he can wholly believe in himself.)

How are you gonna change him into the Dragon Warrior? 
I don't know. 
Yeah, that's what I thought.
(It sounds like such a dramatic retreat, but 'I don't know' is truly wise and brave. I think it deters co-dependence).

I eat when I'm upset--emotional eating.
(After I pointed this out, the students got this. And understood better why Americans are so fat. And why the Chinese are getting fatter.)

This is one of my favorite pop-culture switcheroos:
Panda returns to noodle shop. We've kind of in the back of our minds been wondering how a fat panda is the son of a neurotic duck. Noodles are foregrounded.
Panda Son: I can't believe I'm your son. 
Father Duck: I have to tell you something:
(Maybe because Angelina Jolie is the voice of the tiger, we're thinking it's gonna be a touching adoption revealing moment).
Father Duck: The secret ingredient is nothing.
(Aha, once again, it's all in the mind. It's what you want it to be.)

And for the final believe-in-your-self grand slam, 4 RBI sweep:
The ever-pursued Scroll, which is the secret of the Dragon Warrior is finally revealed.
The scroll has nothing. It is just reflective. It is just you. No secret ingredient.
This is a moment when the Chinese feel like, whoa, the Americans are really really into themselves--give me some of that!

Panda: You're alive! Or we're both dead.
Master: You are the Dragon Warrior. You have brought peace to this Valley. And to me. I am at peace.
Panda: Should I stop talking?
Master: If you can.

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Friday, December 5, 2008

Highlights of the Contradiction

THE CONTRADICTION OF THE CHINESE-AMERICAN
through the theater play Last of the Suns
As rendered by Alice Tuan

for Beijing Foreign Studies University
December 5, 2008

The talk was 90 minutes. Here are snippets from each of the six sections.


I. BACKGROUND

I was born in Seattle, Washington, in the northwest of the United States, to Chinese parents.

My mother is from Shanghai, from a family specializing in business in industry. My father is from Jiangxi Jiujiang, from a military family. His father, my Yeh Yeh, served as a Lt. General in Chiang Kai Shek's Nationalist Army. My parents did not know each other in China.

Both of my parents studied at Taiwan University. My father came to the United States for graduate studies in Engineering and found employment in Seattle once he received his degree. My mother also came to the United States to study and also landed in Seattle. It is at this time that my parents met, and wed and started their family.

***

A kid would come over and push my nose down asking 'Why is your nose so flat?' I would say, 'Because stupids like you keep pushing it down!' Or another kid would ask 'Why are your eyes so small?' and I would naively say 'You should see my father's eyes--they're even smaller.'

It was a funny time.

When I was 5 years old, my father got a new job in Los Angeles, California. That was the first time I went to Disneyland. I liked to go on the fast rides and laughed constantly with my mouth wide open. I liked Los Angeles. It was sunny all of the time so you could be outside. I had no bothers or sisters, so I would play with my dolls and make up stories by myself.

***

My grandparents arrived 1 month before my sister was born. This was part filial, part pragmatic. Of course my father was taking care of his parents in their old age. But also my Nai Nai and Yeh Yeh would take care of my sister once she was born, and me, while my parents worked.

***

After Chinese school, we would get lunch from McDonald's to take home. Yup, even Yeh Yeh and Nai Nai. They really liked to eat Big Macs and of course, the frenchfries. Although Nai Nai would eat just a few because of 'huo qi.' That was a great site--to see Yeh Yeh and Nai Nai open sied for the Big Macs. No coca-cola, though, only tea.

When I was invited to sleepover at a friend's house, my parents wouldn't allow it. Yes they were being protective, but there was a feeling of not being allowed to have fun, not being allowed to socialize, American-style. Not being allowed to be close to friends, to participate, to feel normal. I would return home, extremely unhappy.

***

I was not a good student at UCLA. I had no Chinese rules now. I could do whatever I wanted. And why study? All of the time spent studying for entrance into the name-brand schools didn't get me into any of them. I fully embraced my American individuality and freedom. I would rather be a human than some successful machine.

Even though I had broken away from Chinese restrictions, somehow living free was wonderful but aimless. I wanted to exercise freedom through writing. I wanted to write but had nothing to write. Or what I wrote was filled with anger and confusion. Each time I would see my parents, all were unhappy. My Yeh Yeh and Nai Nai were getting older and weaker. I was made to feel insensitive and selfish. Chinese strategy on an American subject yields failure all around.

I realize Chinese criticism is for one's good, but to American ears it makes one feel like a failure. Particularly when here is no positive reinforcement. The U.S. way of teaching tends to be too generous with its praise, saying nice stuff to encourage and to not hurt anyone's feelings. This is not necessarily useful for the long run, as one might have an inflated notion of self. But the Chinese way of, 'I only tell you when you are bad and won't say anything if you are good' is realist and pragmatic and ego-checking, but somehow, inhuman. It is disciplinarian old school, vs. touchy-feely new school. It is patriarchy vs. matriarchy. It is competition vs. compassion.

***

Strangely, though, when I read the Danish philosopher Soren Kierkegaard, I felt like he was writing about my alienation. He wrote through many identities that would speak of many philosophies. But he was from 150 years ago. I needed help now. When I went to seek counseling at UCLA,  the nice white man had no idea about what to do with this dual psychology, this cultural schizophrenia. I would explain my thoughts, tell of my displacement. He told me: 'Just study harder.' When there is no one to help, you help yourself.


II.  LAST OF THE SUNS, the play

This plays intends to reflect aspects of one Chinese American point of view by:
--introducing dynamics between the Chinese and U.S. cultures
--relaying the stress of modern life trying to uphold old traditions
--procuring dramas of misunderstanding

In this play, I have completely fictionalized historical aspects of General Sun, in order to heighten and mythologize his character.

Yeh Yeh/General Sun--wavers in and out of past and present
Twila Sun--wavers in and out of Chinese and American
Sonny Sun--American, Valley dude
Ho Ping Sun--General's son, isolated Chinese in America, traditional
Ni Lee--General's daughter-in-law, Chinese in America, trapped between 2 eras, traditional vs. modern

Monkey King--trickster of many identities, multi-faced, fluid
Eight Pig--literal, gluttonous, the way only superpowers can breed

If one culture is clear in its value, transparent as a sheet of glass, then I will touch upon themes that accumulate to form the prism that I see Chinese American to be.

Immigrant.
Ni Lee:  Here anything is possible with hard work.--Chinese discipline + American promise.

Children's success hugely important.
Doubly so for immigrant who is isolate from resident culture.
The Children become their culture, their huge center.
Conflict when children adapt American standards of free will.

Monkey King and Eight Pig reflect the immigrant isolation in that they cannot understand the western concept of 'unconscious' which they represent in the play.

This reflects a Chinese American disposition in that Chinese American know American ideas better and more directly than Chinese, so in a way, they don't know what they represent in the world.

Feminist elements.
Discarded women in the patriarchy
Unhappy modern women who 'can have it all'
Detached from maternal instinct due to need to win at all costs.
Ni Lee a modern capable woman caught in filial duty to husband and husband's family.
A huge repressed fury from the sanctioned inequality.

American and Chinese culture can agree on the lesser importance of women.

In a way Ni Lee and Twila both want to be heard but have different ways of going about it. Ni Lee, the Chinese, won't say anything, and just suffers, but longs to be heard with full attention, like a camera. Twila, the American screams for attention, 'look at me!' her strange hair and eyes, shouts to be heard with outrageous actions, goes against feminine norm by being tough and alienating. Both tactics yield deaf ears.

Hypocrisy vs. Duplicity
Hypocrisy, where word and action do not match up.
And example, the promiscuous use of sorry. Empty words. No thought before action and then just hapless 'sorry.' Not aware of inconsistency, or just doesn't care. Whatever.

Duplicity, aware of the double face. Saving face. Say opposite of what really is true to save face.

Words vs. actions--Better to say and then not do?  Or to not say and just do?
If not going to do it, why bother saying it?
Can words persuade, alter mood?

This cultural barrier
(In the play, Twila was to be an Olympic champion but could not take being treated as an ice-skating machine anymore and 'defected' from her family by sabotaging her Olympic trial and running 'screaming from the rink.' The day of the play she returns after a 5 year absence)

Twila: You need other people cheering for me before you can food good about me.

How about directly?  Twila wishes her mother to love her American style, to give her support and kind words.

Ni Lee: Children don't tell parents what they should say.
Twila: Then the parents have to share their life stories or their children will run screaming from the rink and find out about life from someone else.

Twila needs guidance, needs mothering. Ni Lee feels humiliated, cannot forgive her daughter for losing her face in front of the world. 

The title
The family Sun
The nationalist Sun
The boy of parents, son (Sonny has run away at the end)
all revolve around Yeh Yeh, the sun
Last is another word for endure, the family's endurance


III. CONTRADICTION
Tendencies--

Chinese/American
long-suffering/pleasure
patience/instant gratification
cash/credit
saving/spending
humility/aggrandizement
homogeneous/heterogeneous
perfection/originality
obedience/rebellion
stoic/emotional
public space/private space



IV. PLAWRITING

Writing to me is the last place for freedom.
You can decide about all the things you are taught.
You can determine what your world truths are.
You can find your own voice, your natural voice.

In 1988, I saved up enough money to be able to write for 6 months without working. In those six months, I came up with the first draft of the play called General Yeh Yeh.

I didn't know how to write. I just wrote. And kept on writing.

I now know in playwriting, it's important what people say, but it's equally important what they don't say.

Perhaps this is a way into eastern and western character: the new westerners are youthful, bold, have nothing to hide--they say it all out loud, talk and talk and talk. The older easterner is more guarded, aware of appearances--they say what should be said, and there is gravity in what they are not saying.

The First Scene
My Yeh Yeh inspired this play, yes. The event that sparked the writing: his warming his tea in the microwave. I remember being awoken by the constant beeps, as he could not find the start button.

Something about an old world man using new world technology, all the power at hand, but unable to start.

And so it started, as a short radio play for LA poet Philomene Long's playwriting class, broadcast on left Pacifica station, KPFK.

Language
Language intersects character.
WHAT is said and HOW it is said tells a lot about character.

The beginning of the play starts with a child-like tone. The more we age, the more child-like we become. A full circle.

Monkey King and Eight Pig speak in rhyme and as Yeh Yeh joins in, he rhymes with them as well.

As Yeh Yeh casts his 'playmates' away, we hear his monologue as a powerful general decrying his loss to Mao, criticizing the detour of ideology towards that hairy Marx man.

When Yeh Yeh talks to Twila, we see him in the exterior world; he is indeed 100 years old, unable to hear, constantly braying 'HAH?!'

Ho Ping and Ni Lee have immigrant language strategies.

When speaking English, Ho Ping has a heavy accent--he speaks broken English, which is son uses as ammunition:  'Turn off it?  Speak right!'

When Ni Lee speaks English, she speaks with a Hong Kong British accent. This gives her an imperial feel, as Queen's English garners an air of respect.

When Ho Ping and Ni Lee are speaking fluent English in the play, this signals that they are speaking to each other in their native tongue, in Chinese.


V.  CHINESE AND/OR AMERICAN

The duel worlds coming together in the play is key to the success of the Chinese American psyche. And perhaps a healthy launch into a 21st century global mentality. One that does not solely embody one culture or another, but rather includes ways of living as the individual finds most meaningful, whichever culture it may come from, thus laying a path for global citizenry.

There was a time when I was completely confused by the label Asian American. What did it mean? I was like a snake, eating its own tail, trying to understand this label beyond the tidy comparisons of east and west. It must be more than Asian or American. The more I wrote, the more confused I was as to what I was supposed to represent.

In the American theater world, I am supposed to represent Asians, even though I am American. I am supposed to know about the Chinese, even though I went to American schools and was never taught Chinese history. When I attempt to show the fusion of the contradiction, the whole complexity of the Chinese American, beyond the surface comparisons, it is not easily understandable by American audiences. Or not as relevant. Or not as entertaining.

It  is not about entertaining Americans with exotic or pitiable or modernizing Chinese culture, which can seek acceptance by imitating western culture. It is about forming a new mentality, fusing the contradictions, so that it is not east or west, but rather east and west.

I finally understood that Asian American is a marketing label. A tool to better sell the package. One that looks yellow on the outside, but still can explain to the white on the inside.


VI.  NOW, SYNTHESIS

It is one thing to write and another thing to be heard.
You can write as you like or you can write to meet the market.
Writing practices a faith in one's own ideas:
to believe when others don't
to test the 'truth' of an idea (there are so many truths)
to question its sustainability.

In the contextualization of the label 'asian american'
for Chinese and American alike
I knew I needed to better understand the asian side of the label
and so I knew I needed to live in China for an extended time.
I not only can observe the New China
I can also reaffirm what I appreciate about the United States.

How lucky I feel to be a writer at the beginning of the 21st century. A time of two mindsets: the literalness of paper vs. the porous ether of the internet. Opposite schemes. We are in that moment where the 20th century still has its imprint on systems and values and beliefs. But the 21st century will require an evolved set of systems and ingenious comprehensions to handle the further complexities of the modern being.

It's a new time, a new way to be. The rules are changing as the borders of countries become less apparent because of our shared global culture. Now is the chance to coexist contradictions, to house oppositions within one mind, without having winners or losers, without having one better than the other. This can deepend democracy. It can uplift humanity. This is an exciting beginning for the new millennium.

A head start on thinking about, of being in the 21st century.



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Thursday, December 4, 2008

Alice Through the Beijing Glass

Taking the night train to Beijing--11 1/2 hours yo
Got an upper, soft sleeper, chug a chug a chug
Gonna give a talk at the Beijing Foreign Studies University--
'The Contradiction of the Chinese American'
through the theater play Last of the Suns

hope i don't suck
gonna have duck
wish me some luck



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Thursday, November 13, 2008

There IS a Lake

It's been two months already. Since that first night I arrived in darkness to my apartment here at Lida. After a long harrowing journey from Los Angeles, I fell to bed, hearing crickets and cicadas and bullfrogs. My last thought was--'There must be a lake.'

And there is. Smack dab in the middle of campus. A scenic, though manmade, reflecting pool surrounded by willows. It is serene as it is calm, gently rippling with the breeze. It stretches all along the back side of the administration building, and curves around reaching both eastern and western enclaves of the campus. I remember first arriving to a teaching stint at the University of Texas, Austin, and being blown away by the huge 50,000-seat verticalia of its football stadium, right there in the middle of that campus. Big, tall, pure Longhorn swagger . I suppose it shows what the school values at heart. Or how budgets can budge.
I can safely say, the tourist enthusiasm of my stay here in China is officially over. Life here can be challenging, but I see it as an opportunity to go to a more philosophical place to get me through difficult moments. It allows me to appreciate the freedoms of the U.S. more handily. It gives me insight into how the Chinese culture's valuing of long-suffering molds political habits and societal trends. It focuses me back to my purpose of being here--to have a quiet place to write, a chance to earn some income, and to experience a society in fast (and slow) transition. 

As my honeymoon with being in Shanghai wanes, I accept this arrangement, this discipline, and feel lucky, in that outward bound way, to have this experience. It's tough, it's sobering. It strips me of indulgences and affords me clarity. Through it all, I must say, one of the simple pleasures I enjoy everyday is the landscape of this school. I, being a chronic window-gazer, am buoyed by my immediate environment. The serene beauty outside my windows, from every angle, tempers the frustrations.

The fascinating dilemma of being a writer is the contradiction of playing god from the inside, and then being humbled from the outside. When both these aspects are in balance, when one can also be humble from the inside and work the rules to at least have audience to play god to from the outside, there is movement for the writer. To try and make sense of how any of this transpires is to be reasonable, and reason, in my field of drama, may sell tickets for entrance to some 'erudite' or 'hip' experience, but will not necessarily impact or cathart past the theater exits.

The playwright David Mamet describes this phenomenon in his book about the nature and purpose of drama called 'Three Uses of the Knife':

'...the cleansing lesson of the drama is, at its highest, the worthlessness of reason.

In great drama we see this lesson learned by the hero. More important, we undergo the lesson ourselves, as we have our expectations raised only to be dashed, as we find that we have suggested to ourselves the wrong conclusion and that, stripped of our intellectual arrogance, we must acknowledge our sinful, weak, impotent state--and that, having acknowledged it, we may find peace.'
Gone are these clement, sunny days. The cold is setting in now. My apartment is gorgeously warm, though the classrooms are not, not heated even, a humbling chill as I see it. And so, I'm preparing for 4 months of teaching with hats and layers and coats and scarves and gloves. I just think: Kierkegaard probably had it worse in Denmark in the first half of the 19th century. Just as all that German Romanticism was really pissing him off.  In my mind's eye, he's always wearing a thick coat and refined gloves, wrapped in a bulk of scarves, carrying around his tome of writings, limping on his cane, decrying the Hegelian dialectic, while obsessively pursuing the idea of Regine Olsen. It's time to organically inhabit and deeply feel the comic ice of Either/Or.
The first week I was here, this cute young server man in the cafeteria, who has the wide-eye sparkle of Aladdin, asked me, 'Were you the one fishing for shrimp in the lake?' I thought he was joking, I said 'No, that wasn't me.' 'O,' he said. I don't think he was joking.

And the bullfrogs I heard that first night, well that was just some warped sonic mirage--there were no bullfrog sounds after that night. Sure, cock's crowing at 2 am, even some ducks in the morn, and yes, still crickets and cicadas chirping and spinning their symphonies. But the croaking was fully my mind's own. And I believe the songs around the lake will get scarcer, silent even, as the lake freezes for the winter. Though this again, may be the wrong conclusion, and acknowledging it, I may find peace, as I have, when I pass the lake.

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Sunday, September 21, 2008

Vogs through Shanghai I: Xu Jia Hui

I love my Fluevogs.  John Fluevog, that is.  The Canadian shoe designer, who makes sturdy shows that are also fun and stylish.  My sister Su introduced me to them--she who has a great eye for detail (God is in the details, she believes) and very good taste.  And so, I am fortunate to know about Vogs.  
This particular shoe is called Katia.  Fluevog designs for both sexes, and gives people names to all of his shoes, whether practical or gravity-defying.  And the special touch...one's heel sits upon a Fluevog pronouncement:  'Your love makes me sing,' it says, surrounded by musical notes.  Happy feet, in every way.  And most importantly, comfortable. 
So for my third excursion into the city, I'm Vogging it.  I will meet my teaching cohort, Deb, in her neighborhood called Xu Jia Hui. (BTW, in pinyin, the 'X' is pronounced 'Sh').  Deb is from Sydney, Australia and has taught at Lida for the past year and a half.  When I ask her what she misses about Sydney, she answers 'Fresh air.'  Touche.  We're gonna check out the ExPat show at the Shanghai Exhibition Center.  While at Xu Jia Hui, I'm thinking of getting a webcam, but even more importantly, a cell phone...lthough it's been quite the pure living without any interruption whatsoever.

So in my Vogs, I walk out of the gates and there, a pink bus is already stopped.  No wait.  And there are seats available.  I always think I'm gonna read on the bus, but it's so much more interesting to gaze out the window.  

There is Ye Xe, the small town the school is near, there is the lot of stone lions for sale to guard the gates of new constructions, there we cross the bridge over this part of the Huangpu river, there we're honking and speeding down the highway.  If you think about the high-flying Chinatown buses that get you from city to city in record time, well this is the ancestral ground and there is no speed limit or precaution whatsoever.  No time to fear, just hold on and go with it. I grab tight to the railing.  Folks around me are napping.

Xu Jian Hui is not as far as People's square:  only 6 stops from Lianhua Rd.  There is a very friendly recorded voice on the subway, but on this weekend I swear that the recorded voice is just a little lower, like she slept in or something.  Could that be?  A different, more relaxed voice for weekend passengers?  Maybe played at a different speed? Though she still says the most curious thing.  After explaining in Chinese whether to exit on the right or the left side of the train, she says in English the name of the stop and then 'Please 'lide' on the left (or right) side of the train.' I've heard it over and over, and whether weekday or weekend voice, it still always sounds like 'lide.'  Leave?  Ride?  Elide?  Don't matter.  No one really speaks English.

I get to Xu Jia Hui.  I'm to meet Deb at Exit 2.  The place is bubbling over with shoppers.  I see Exit 8 and 9 this way, 10-12, that way.  That's it.  I go to the ticket seller, I can say this in Chinese.  'Excuse me, where is Exit 2.'  'There's no more Exit 2.'  I'm adjusting, and check again.  'No more Exit 2.'  Hmmm.  I go to Exit 12, to maybe wait there, but it's the entrance to a ritzy department store.  I go back to 8-9 and decide to just go up to the street.  The whir increases, I look for Deb...there's just no way, without a cell phone.

I surface at the entrance of the Orient Shopping Centre.  I am greeted. 
Rock on with your bad self, Lion at the Gate of the Orient...
I figure if I stay in one place, maybe Deb might pass by.  I take in the sites.  I find the mall that's a ball that houses electronics stores.  I do need that phone and webcam, but I can't get myself to navigate.  I really just want to get my bearings.
The lion looks on so merrily.  Laughing at the fesitivities, or perhaps about to feast upon it.  Eyeing that ball, the toy that always teases the lion in how many New Year's dances.
It may be the Orient, but it certainly welcomes all the world.
Turns out it's a display for the Festival of Shopping.  Aha, it's a festival, alas.
At it's base, gleeful bubbles of prosperity.  How can I get a picture of this with me in it?
I start sussing out passersby.  Who isn't carrying bags.  Who has hands free.  Everyone's got stuff.  That's cool.  I've got all the time in the world and no plan.  A nice gentleman passes by. Hands free.  I approach.  He abides.  I pose.  He pushes the button.  The Vogs are in.  So is South Korea, Germany and Italy and all those gleeful bubbles of prosperity.  What a display.
I've got to get a shot with the lion.  This proves to be a bit more challenging.  It seems that every person I asked to take a photo doesn't quite get the most important instruction:  Please include the shoes in the photo.  Granted it is the kindness of strangers that even allows me to have a photo with the mighty lion.  Is it too much to include the Vogs?

After standing on ground level for 3  photos, each time thanking the person for granting me the favor and then flicking the camera switch to view the photo, lo and behold the whole of the lion is in, but the photo would crop at my ankles.  They were even pretty good poses, but none of the photographers could appreciate the Vogs enough to include them in.

Finally, I ask a gal if she might take a photo of me.  I don't mention the shoes, and this time leap up onto the pedestal with the lion.
Et voila.  Mission accomplished.  All the while, the popping sound of a tennis ball is constantly heard.  Just behind the lion is a coupla men taking turns hitting a ball attached to a piece of elastic, hitting out into the street, no net, no court, just this device to practice your swing.
The strange thing is that upon closer inspection, these rackets are badminton rackets and have nothing to do with tennis.  I try to get a photo with the ball in action, but my timing with my camera is off. The guy behind the rackets asks if he can help me.  As a matter of fact yes.  How do I get to the...to the...to the Shanghai...museum, not not museum...boy my Chinese is limited...that place on Yan'An Blvd, a big place where there's a...there's a...it's at 1000 Yan'an Blvd...

I get my point across...it's the Shanghai zhan lan zhong xin... zhan lan zhong xin...I don't have a pen to write it down... Can I walk?  The fellow looks at my shoes...it's too far to walk.  How about subway?  Subway you have to change trains, it's complicated.  Better take a taxi.  Across the street.  

So how do you say it again?  He looks at me.  Sorry, I'm from the U.S. and my Chinese... Shanghai zhan lan zhong xin...zhan lan zhong xin, ...that's what I tell the taxi cab across the street...zhan lan zhong xin.  Yes, he says, suspiciously.  Something weird to him about a Chinese person who can't understand him so well, and can't remember how to say something as simple as zhan lan zhong xin.  I had that in Guangzhou too, when I was teaching there 23 years ago.  As if you're playing a joke or something. Part of the low trust of this culture.
I wonder if I should try at least to get a webcam to see my peeps back in the U.S....if I might venture into the great good mood that is this huge shopping district.  I'm not a big shopper, in fact I'm kind of averse to it.  It's not that I hate to shop, it's just that I never really want anything.  Not that I don't want anything but living the writing life, I've trained myself to not want what I cannot have (yo Sinead!), or at least cannot afford.  But when I need something, I'll go to where I need to get it--not really a browser.  Where to begin here in this Festival of shopping?  And I think you need your game and your Chinese to get the good deal.  Gosh, there's just too much to look at.  Can't do it in 20 minutes.  No webcam today.
I also decide to hold off the taxi to the ExPat show and checkout all of these huge gifts that continue to loom in, I guess, this Festival of Shopping.  The red above the happy gray cubeface is the flag, flagging indeed compared to the bright optimism of this set. 

And above the happy faces, towering bags with overflowing presents.  It looms even larger than the skyscraper.
It puts me in the mood for looking.  I go into one of the malls.  I walk inside and immediately get a sinking feeling.  I can't.  It's too overwhelming. The lights.  The music.  The crowds inside.  I see the taxi stand at the foot of the escalator and head down.  But not before I notice a string of Toshiba ads, with a familiar face, standing tall like a goddess from above.
It's the diving queen Guo Jingjing, Olympic gold medalist and China beauty, who makes 2 mil a year in endorsements. She's all set.  This one is for computers.  Feel Quality.  Feel Toshiba.

I feel dizzy from the air and stimulus.  I descend the stairs and grab a cab from the taxi stand. The Vogs are doing me right!  And I'm off to the Shanghai zhan lan zhong xin.

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Saturday, September 20, 2008

Commissary # 2

Here is the path from my apartment building that leads out into the school.  On the left is Commissary #1, and on the left Commissary #2. Lida hires two different catering companies to feed the students.  Commissary #1 is more Shanghainese, has lighter, more local fare, like wontons and noodles.  Commissary #2 is more traditionally Chinese, with a variety of dishes and rice.
To the west and behind the Administration building we are, right behind the curves of the library and media center.  You can see my apartment building at the top, Commissary #2 to the left and Commissary #1 to the right.
Luna took me to eat lunch that first day after I landed.  Groggy and trying to orient, she chipperly led me down the path.  'Let's go to #2.'  As a creature of habit that's the one I go to. For pretty much every meal.  With the 15 hour difference and the jet lag, I am awake to hear the early cock's crow at around 4:30 am and have been getting to Commissary #2 at 6AM, when it opens. 
It's 8 tables deep and 16 tables wide (8 x 16 x 4).  It amazes me the masses of folks it can accomodate, and superfast, too (if friends don't let friends cut in line).  Here is breakfast:
Lots of breads and light cakes, but also stacks of steamers, loaded with both meat and vegetable bao.  The also have plain bao (man to) available, and sometimes they'll have the foldable kind that you can stick a fried egg into the center.  They vary from 30 to 80 fen.  (100 fen = 1 RMB).  I've gotten so good at dividing by 7.  The prices keep blowing me away and I guess I really am Chinese at the core because if the price is good, it tastes better.
Here's some preparation.  O look at all the glorious dumplings, waiting to be cooked.
Then there are vats and vats of rice porridge, also known as congee, and to the Cantonese, jook.  One of them is plain, and one has century egg in it.  Since the food and fillings tend to be on the salty side, I've stuck to having the plain.  One bowl is 70 fen, and it comes with either pickled radish, or salted mustard greens with soybeans (edamame).  I switch off between the salty and the salted, and try to put only half the portion in.  
Today it's pickled radish, a veggie steamed bun (that has the salted mustard green in it) and a tea egg.  Tea eggs are hard boiled eggs that have then had their shells cracked and then stewed in tea.  It's a Shanghainese specialty.  It always reminds me of my Ma cuz she used to make a whole pot of them and eat one or two as a quick meal.
This is the magic card that gets deducted from.  This total is from lunch or dinner cuz it's a whopping 6.50 RMB (usually breakfast is around 1.20 RMB, which at 7 to 1 is less than 20 cents).  My card is credited with 250.00RMB every 25th of the month.
The card also works at this little convenience store, right in the commissary.  You can get basics like toiletries, mini-notebooks, sodas and snacks, fresh fruits like asian pears, fuji apples, or honey pomelos (oro dulce?), and yes, tea eggs.  You never really need cash, unless the machines are down. 
This is pretty much my breakfast every morning.  Right in the middle of it, I down an Omega 369 fish oil pill.  I bring my own water.  The bottle is from the 'nongfu shan something' which means 'farmer's spring.'  I just keep filling it with my big jug of water at home and chilling it in my mini-fridge.  And since I'm done with breakfast by 6:30am (it's 6:30pm in NY and 3:30pm in LA), I usually have a mid-morning snack as I'm reading the internet, to tide me over to lunch. Did you know that food is very important to the Chinese? 
Yup, still got mooncakes, and they're still delicious.  I have it with jasmine tea.  Come lunch:
It gets packed.  It's serious food for lunch and dinner:
The masked ladies are ladened with ladles, and have very good technique, scooping forehand from there closer side, and then able to reach across and scoop backhand just as proficiently.  They can make big scoops of rice too.  I usually just ask for a small scoop, it's 30 fen.  This here is a weekday spread.  They usually have more greens and variety.  Today's weekend selection is more limited, but still pretty tasty:
On the left is textured tofu with chili flakes.  The middle is a kind of zucchini with egg, and then there's sliced seaweed with tiny bits  of ground pork.  Really tiny.   And this meal is 6.80RMB--delicious!  

My only reservation is the salt and MSG situation.  Not to be an obnoxious American or anything, (because I am duly appreciative of having this food available to me 3 times a day and my not having to cook so that I can just do my work and stuffs), but I am extremely thirsty after eating and the MSG headache does creep in.  I can't exactly request 'low sodium'--it ain't that modern yet, and what do these kids have to worry about high blood pressure.  So I, when no one's looking, rinse some of the food with my water.  It might make a bit of a puddle in the tray compartments, but it just looks like...uh, extra sauce, yeah yeah.  I caught someone watching me do this--only one of us was embarrassed and hint:  it wasn't the American.  I swear, not so much headache anymore and not as thirsty.  (Or maybe I've adapted.) And it's not every bite. Some days are not as salty as others.  And there are ways around it.  For instance in the zucchini egg dish, the eggs seem to carry all the salt, so they tend to get left in the puddle. Since this is the one-child generation of students, brought up in a time of prosperity, they tend to be picky with their food and only eat what they want.  Yeah it weighs on my waste conscience, but it's either the egg, or my head.

I certainly do not do the rinse when I'm eating with others.  Though just today, I invented the bath: when one compartment is empty, I rinse the bite over it, and then I bathe the other bites in the new water, until it gets too salty.  That way I don't have to pour as often.

Not pictured here is the lady with the plastic container who wipes the tables and catches the food bits in her container.  She sits there as the eaters eat, and waits for them to leave their tables and then she wipes.  It didn't feel right taking a photo of her.

Also not seen are the three dishwashers that the tin trays are self-bussed to.  It was awkward for them when I gave them my tray and I would say 'Thank You.'  One would meekly, in his or her country Shanghainese accent say 'No need.'  When I told Winner about this, she said that no one thanks them.   I still do.  If they look at me.

When I stacked my tray today (cuz the dishwashers were taking their meal), I saw that I was not the only one with 'lots of sauce' in the tray compartments.  Someone else had done the rinse too... 

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Friday, September 19, 2008

Shanghai Reign and Shine

This was my first view of Shanghai, as soon as I stepped out of the Renmin (People's) Square subway station.  I could immediately feel the energy and whir, despite the rain.  It was slick.
I was instantly in glee.  Finally, I had made it to the heart of Shanghai.  It was beating fast!

Just to the right was what appeared to be the Empress.  No Queen of Hearts here.  
She stands regal and imposing, her crown of grids, at once ornament and shield.  She's actually the Urban Planning museum, mapping out the vision and design of Shanghai's future.  All hail the Empress!  In her left pocket of neon glow is the entrance to the surrealization of 'Old Shanghai' circa 1930.  
I consider it a mini-simallacra, part pictorial history, part food court, part quaint shops, all tourist photo op, for both Chinese and foreigners alike.  It's got a Vegasian, yes, Vegesian blue sky with painted white clouds.  Across the street from the Empress--
The tall part, I didn't catch, but its left consort is Raffles City, a Singapore-owned, non smoking (what?!), mall, with the likes of Tissot and other fine western stores.  The top floors have lots of restaurants from Cantonese fancy to Korean BBQ to Benihana style sit-at-grill cooking and even a western restaurant called Swensen's.  It's got 7-storeys of boister and shine.

Away from Raffles City, we ducked out of the rain at this joint. I had a kung-pao chicken bowl for 18 yuan (you can call it yuan or renminbi, either way it was 7RMB to 1US$, until the recent global instabilities, and now it's 6.834 RMB to the dollar.)  It came with a few baby bok choy and a tall semi-sweet milk tea.  My cohorts said it was a bit expensive for what we got, but look at me, still in glee from just being in the Shang of hai.  Pinch me!
My guides for this maiden voyage:
Eric and the here mysterious Luna, who picked me up from Pudong Airport.  We won't mention that Eric was the one who didn't mention the visa situation to me, but at this point:  don't matter!  I'm in Shanghai, for real!  Eric is from Shanghai, from the outskirts near Songjiang actually, but he knows the city inside and out, from coming here since he was a singular tot.
By the time we finished eating, the rain had stopped and it was full dusk.  On our way to a fancy bookstore, we passed many a Starbucks:  but lo and behold, here is my preferred coffee chain, on the bottom floor:  Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf.  I used to go to the one in Los Feliz on Hillhurst above Franklin all the time with my pal Moises.  I don't really drink coffee these days; it doesn't quite fit the tastes here.  But it's nice to see an old pick-me-up on the other side of the world.  And I know that I do have access to my preferred franchise cup of joe, in case that jonesing should arise.  

We couldn't take photos in the huge 5-storey bookstore.  It was well-lit, clean and, yup, shiny.  There was literally a sign right as you entered that said no cameras, no food and no cellphones, in that order.  It was so bright and yellow, I just wanted to sneak one photo, much to Eric and Lunas stern dissuading (both with their eyes, and both at the same time.)  They kind of non-chalantly directed my attention to the handful of security guards at the door, say 8 feet from the bright yellow sign.  OK.

I got two dictionaries:  a hefty, big-charactered one for home and a pocket-sized one to carry around.  These days, the dictionaries are all organized by pinyin, the romanized and phoeniticized spellings of Chinese words.  (Wait Romans and Phoenicians?)  It helps that I speak and can look up words by ear, but if I see a character and don't know how to pronounce it...ooo, gotta ask.  Can't do it by myself.  



So we walked and walked eastward, towards the Huangpu river until we arrived at:
The Bund.  This is the centerpiece of Shanghai, right along the Huangpu River.  It has eye-popping European architecture, built when China was cut up like a melon by, well, the Europeans.  Excuse me, but Lonely Planet calls it the most 'iconic concession-era backdrop and a source of intense local pride' (with regret tinges that has bred inferiority) and 'standout spectacle.'   It's called the Bund from it's Anglo-Indian name (a band is an embankment in Hindi) built to discourage flooding (but not foreigners).  It's now known as Zhongsan Yilu, or 'first Sun Zhongsan Road, in honor of the father of Modern China (Sun Yat Sen for all you old colonials).  Thank you Lonely Planet, as written by new colonials.
Moving on to Nanjing Rd, we walked the promenade, so festive and lively, grand and wide, particularly on Moon Festival weekend, but on weekends anyway, so Luna tells me.  It's the equivalent to 5th Ave or the Champs (Elysee).  Everyone is out walking the well-paved streets, filled with bright stores.  Consumerism gives such as sense of pride, or of growth just being surrounded by so much stuff of so many varieties.  It makes a promenader feel strong.  And oh, the chance to be seen.  With that stuff.
Hard to capture the grandiose scope, so I'll just take a tourist photo.
And check out he variations of grid on the ground.  I'm so awed by the energy of Shanghai, I wanna photo its ground, and yes, hot pink shoes with the black bobby socks.  And how to make west appealing to east?  Veriticalize, for that familiar feel:
And pour into the cute icon that sells China's famous 'la mien' or literally pull noodle, cuz the noodle dough is pulled and pulled and then plunked in boiling water and cooked up fresh.
And of course the 'la mien' boy stands on the shoulders of old grandpa Sanders.
Is it just me or does he kinda look Chinese here?  
And finally, in the name of icons old and new, here is Haibao, the official welcomer of the Shanghai Expo that will happen in 2010.  Here he's in the subway, standing in a patch of fauna, holding a sign that says, yes, 'Shanghai welcomes you.'  Pretty grand subway, eh?  It has to be. There are lots and lots and lots and lots and lots and lots and lots of folks here.  And lots


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