Youth In Asia

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I’ve been indulging my audio book addiction, and it’s left me with little time for blogging. But I’ve got about 20 min so I’ll hammer out a quick update (I‘m writing fast, please excuse my grammar errors and my developing tendency to slip into Vietnamenglish):

Here’s what we’ve been up to since last time I wrote:

-bamboo raft down the Li River (look up online -grand scenery) to reach Southern China.
-tasted (just one sip) snake wine -it’s rice wine marinated in a bottle full of dead snakes.
-spent 3 days rock climbing in Yangshuo, China -very epic, see Jeremy’s blog.
-rented bikes for 80 cents a day and got around with out peddling by grabbing passing vehicles.
-got massages -the girl who worked on Jeremy was a lot cuter than the guy I got.
-long lists are boring…so this one is ending.

I hadn’t realized that U.S. citizens can’t get Vietnamese visas at the border, so we had to go to Nanning, in Southern China, to get our papers sorted out at the Vietnamese consulate. Nanning is a regular city. Tourists don’t go there. There’s nothing particularly remarkable to see but that made it a really neat place to spend a few days. People were genuinely curious about us since we were foreigners. Mothers would bring there children over to us and prompt them to say the four words which constitute their English vocabulary: “hello, how are you?”

From Nanning we took a bus to Hanoi, Vietnam. We had our first major hiccup at the border. Jeremy could not convince the Chinese officials that he was the long haired guy pictured in his passport. Despite a whole pile of documentation and identification, including his birth certificate, there was no convincing them. Finally we got out our computers and dug for pictures to demonstrate Jeremy’s Jeremy-ness. I had happened to snap a picture of him cutting his long hair off when we were in Cusco, Peru, so I made a little slide show documentary of the evolution of Jeremy’s hair-do. I’m not sure if the slide show was the reason, but after much ado they finally let us into Vietnam.

Vietnam: Central America is to the U.S. what Vietnam is to China. It got a whole lot more primitive and a whole lot less organized as soon as we crossed the border. Super fun! The people we‘ve encountered are incredibly sweet and enormously helpful. “We want help you first -more important. then maybe second we can make some money,” the pretty lady at the hostel desk said with here beaming smile when we asked here why she was so nice.

I should mention the youth in Asia. This was a big topic in ethics class and I never fully understood why. Anyway, in this part of Asia the youth are splendid. We are regularly befriended. Their help is extended. But my rhyming has ended. For the past two days two youth in Asia have helped us find, buy, and fix up the two scooters we‘re going to drive the 1700 miles to Ho Chi Minh City (plus possible detours into Laos and Cambodia). It’s time to hit the road….blessings, I’ll catch you later.

-bjorn2bwild

Seedy Trains and Rice-Filled Plains

The rising sun of the Japanese flag flew proudly aboard the Su Zhou Hao ferry as we bid farewell to Osaka. We were at sea long enough for the sun to set and rise twice more before a leathery crewman clambered to the top of the bridge to lower the Japanese colors and hoist China’s bright red, yellow star-studded banner. Our landing in Asia proper was nigh. The individual “chugs” of the low rpm engine could be heard as the Su Zhou Hao slowly, but unrelentingly moved out of the swelling Pacific and into the mouth of the Huangpu River to Shanghai.

As we approached the dock an astonishing cityscape peaked through the smoggy haze. On the Huangpu’s Northern bank lies the Bund, a massive but carefully tended walking thoroughfare along the river. Cascades of pink petunias hung from every light post along the wide stone walkway. The Bund lies between the river and Shanghai’s old European quarter where merchants of colonial days have left telltale architectural fingerprints.

The newest and biggest skyscrapers are across the river, both they and their dancing reflections in the river are clearly visible from the Bund. In the past 30 years more skyscrapers have been built in Shanghai than New York City has ever built. The city’s crowning architectural gem is, as ought to be expected here, actually a pearl -the Pearl Tower. The tower is something like the Seattle Space Needle’s big brother. However instead of a saucer on top, the Pearl Tower has two enormous globes (pearls), one on top of the other, adorning its slender frame.

It was in Shanghai that Jeremy and I first encountered the baffling Mandarin language. So far this is what I’ve learned: The word for “horse,” ma, is also the world for “what” and “mother.” Subtle tonal differences allow the trained ear to distinguish between words. You would think context might help convey meaning when foreigners inevitably blunder. If you’re ordering a dish at the corner restaurant, “horse” could likely be found the menu, but “mother” would probably not be offered. The funny thing is how bad the Chinese are at cross-tonal guessing. If you don’t get the tone right it just doesn’t register.

It’s not fair for me to say they’re bad at it, it’s their language after all and for them there’s never a need to guess. Tones positively distinguish one word from another. It just that when you climb into a cab and ask to go to qingwa (a nearby university), it seems like the cab driver should be able to figure out that you want to go to the university and not to “frog” which is what you inadvertently said as a result of mismatched tones.

I memorized a few Chinese phrases that I hoped to use when ordering food, but when I tried to say them the confused expressions I received told me my tones were wrong. I had to revert to the Russian roulette method for ordering food -pointing to something on the pictureless menu and praying. Finally I struck upon a good idea. My IPod can record voice memos so I had a bilingual friend record a few Chinese sentences for me that I anticipate may come in handy. Now I have two sentences to play back in perfect Chinese: ”May I please have my noodles with eggs or tofu instead of meat?” and, “Hi, I am Barack Obama, President of the United States, nice to meet you.”

“Seedy.” That’s the best word I can think of to describe the railway passenger car Jeremy and I endured for 20 hours between Hangzhou (our first stop after Shanghai) and Guilin, where we arrived yesterday. I looked up the word seedy and sure enough they actually had a picture of our railway car right there in the dictionary. Further etymological research confirmed my suspicion as to the history of the word. Sunflower seeds are the snack of choice onboard Chinese railways (I think they help with boredom and motion sickness). People eat piles of these seeds on the train, and thus produce even bigger piles of saliva soaked husks. Very little effort is dedicated to helping the shells find their way to a garbage receptacle. The shells litter the benches and tables; shells on the floor stick to shoes, dirty diapers, and every manner of neglected garbage. So it was here in China that “seedy” came to be associated with general filth and degeneracy. Words are fun, huh?

I have developed what I think is a worthy criterion by which to judge the places I visit. It’s called the smile quotient. Chinese people are quick with smiles (even on seedy train rides) and have earned a high smile quotient. Japan is ahead of China when it comes to automobile manufacturing. So the “miles per hour” award goes to Japan, but China is the clear leader when it comes to “smiles per hour.”