I’m a big fan of Rebecca Black’s “Friday.” The lyrics are stupid, sure, but now they can become a learning experience! This guy Dawen has translated the song into Chinese. How’s this for the ultimate blend of East and West?
I especially like how he translated Rebecca Black’s name into Li Bei Ka, the transliteration for Rebecca, and then Black is just “hei,” which is the color black. He also has an excellent translated video for Backstreet Boys’ “I Want It That Way.”
I love Vietnamese cuisine, especially in the summer when its refreshing dishes are often served cold. And its use of uncooked dipping sauces for flavoring is a great alternative to the greasiness and saltiness of Beijing fare. (I really love fish sauce!) As of late, anything Vietnamese has been my favorite food.
You’d think that, with Vietnam so close to China and its food sharing many similar ingredients with some regional Chinese cuisines, that good, cheap Vietnamese wouldn’t be so hard to find. You would be wrong, like I was, though. I mean, why would you pay more than 6 bucks for a bowl of pho? You don’t even have to do that in the U.S., and if you do, it’s a total rip-off. But alas, any foreign cuisine, even if it’s Asian, automatically means developed country prices, so my limit for a bowl of pho is 40 kuai. They can be 60 RMB or more here.
There are actually quite a few Vietnamese restaurants in Beijing, including two popular ones in my second home of Sanlitun. One is pretty expensive and not worth the price; the other has French influences and a hefty menu that makes it too easy for me to run up a pricey tab. There’s also a couple of sketchy-looking banh mi shops that have gotten decent reviews. At any rate, I’ve never really cared for banh mi, but now that I think about it, I’m kind of craving one.
None of these places beats my small neighborhood Vietnamese dive. This is exciting! We’ve been frequenting this place near once a week since we moved. The first time we went, it was just us. The second time, one person came in for takeaway. Now, every time we go, there seems to be more and more diners. It’s affordable: a large bowl of pho is 20 kuai ($3.08) and if you get a combo meal, you get a tiny side and drink for about a buck more. The dish itself isn’t as amazing as what you’d find in the U.S. because the quality of ingredients in China just isn’t there, and the ratio of noodles to beef always errs on the side of the noodles, but I am more than satisfied with the broth (never too oily or sweet) and the fact that $3 still gets me all the trimmings (basil, bean sprouts and a lime wedge).
My only complaint about this restaurant is that its menu is rather limited. It has three kinds of pho (with beef, beef tripe and chicken) and a rice dish that came with grilled pork. It has sides of include chicken wings, spring rolls and fish cakes. Basically, I only eat the pho.
But then, to my delight, when boyfriend and I went last night, the place was nearly full and they had expanded their menu. (They also raised their prices slightly, but not by too much.) In addition to pho and rice dishes, they had bun, which is pronounced like boon and you have to inflect your tone up. I’ve been craving this dish ever since I had it in Yunnan at my mommy’s second cousin’s house. I’ve actually had it, or similar, a couple of times already (in London and last Friday at Muse), but my craving just won’t go away! MMMM crispy lettuce and vegetables, cold rice noodles and grilled pieces of pork. I could eat this all day. Bun is also really fun to say, like a balloon inflating.
Now if only I can find a place that serves banh cuon, banh beo and decent goi cuon…
Some people (like me) would argue that we are already in the dog days of summer. I dread going outside before 8 at night, so I don’t know what I will do come July and August. You’d think other Chinese might be like me, too lazy from the heat to do anything. But, no, they are just stirring up trouble:
A wave of violent unrest in urban areas of China over the past three weeks is testing the Communist Party’s efforts to maintain control over an increasingly complex and fractious society, forcing it to repeatedly deploy its massive security forces to contain public anger over economic and political grievances.
The most recent protest started Friday in Zengcheng, a factory “town” of 800,000 in southern China near Guangzhou, and lasted until Monday. Security guards personnel clashed with a street vendor couple, claiming the couple had “illegally” set up shop. (Does this sound familiar?) In the kerfuffle, the pregnant wife was pushed and fell to the ground. A large crowd, which the China Daily says was as large as 1,000 people at one point, gathered and turned violent, smashing police cars and throwing stones and bricks at police and the guards. Rumors spread that the wife was injured and the husband was killed (both untrue, says state media), but protests continued through the weekend. The government responded with tear gas, armored vehicles, arrests and an investigation into the incident.
Other violent protests in the past month or so include bombings of government buildings in two cities, which killed five total, ethnic clashes in Inner Mongolia and one in Lichuan after a bureaucrat who was challenging a land deal died in police custody.
Social unrest has grown markedly over the last half-decade, from 60,000 “mass incidents” in 2006 to an estimated 127,000 in 2008. But they are usually isolated, local incidents, and the WSJ article duly notes that the protests this past month appear uncoordinated. In fact, there is almost a cycle to them: a spark ticks off some angry citizens, who protest and are put down by an iron-fisted government.
None of these protests aimed to overthrow the government or Communist Party, and despite similar beginnings — a small protest of the government abuse of power — they did not approach anywhere near the scale of protests in the Middle East. Would they have had they not been effectively squashed by the government? As the WSJ article notes, the Global Times says in an editorial that “China is not a nation where public anger collectively seeks to topple the existing order” (emphasis theirs). My instinct is that they’re right, for now. The government is quick to make amends, by removing officials, launching investigations and bringing fruit baskets to their victims and making a big deal out of that. People here have so far been easily appeased. Life then moves on.
I made this last night:
It looks like bread loaves because I only have mini-loaf pans. But it’s still pretty tasty. Why haven’t made this before? All it takes is apples, flour, sugar, eggs and butter.
England pics are up, so I will now take the time to elaborate more on my trip, which has nothing to do with China and only a little something to do with the U.S., if you think like that.
I went without any sort of picture in my mind of what to expect. My impression of England, a sort of caricature that I have deliberately held because it’s so funny and stereotypical, has been formed over the years through history lessons on imperialistic Redcoats, rom-coms featuring floppish English blokes, the invasion of British comedy and its rising cult popularity, royal mania that is more often more maniacal abroad than in England, silly curse words (including one of a man-part), and a feeling that England is synonymous with quaint that I just can’t shake. It has been buttressed over the last year and half by my quaint, floppy, English bloke of a boyfriend (he’s all of these things only because he’s English, not because he’s actually quaint, floppy and blokey) and his accent, even though he’s denied that England and English people are much like what I pictured in my head. For example, he swears they don’t wear silly hats, but then, why is the queen always wearing one??? I rest my case.
In normal everyday life, though, English men and women aren’t always wearing silly hats. However! – I did see many (like, four maybe) hat shops with silly hats inside. There wouldn’t be supply if there weren’t a demand.
Also, boyfriend tells me that it doesn’t rain all the time in England. I am convinced this is untrue because they are always complaining about the weather (his father confirmed this) and Wimbledon always gets rained out. In fact, it rained three of the 10 days I was there, which is near enough to all the time, if you don’t take “all the time” literally.
To their credit, the English, on the whole, are neither pretentious aristocrats looking down on everyone from their green country estate lawns and city townhouses, nor are they industrial labor workers with dirty mouths and a penchant for drinking beer. They are pretty average. Most of them seem well-educated, civilized and friendly. Kids seem independent and strong-minded. Young people are opinionated and have a distaste for nonsense. I read somewhere that the English invented queuing. Nothing is cuter than seeing a long line of English people on the side of a narrow sidewalk, waiting for the bus, after being in China, land of chaotic scrambles for a bus, for two years. They just call it “being polite.”
They do love their pubs, though. And so do I! Based on this fact alone, England is the perfect place for me. I didn’t do an official count, but I am certain pubs in England are like Starbucks (not in England). There’s probably one on every other street. Even in Islip, a tiny little village outside Oxford, where I stayed most of the time, there were two pubs. Granted, one of them was closed, but the other was full. This is a fantastic way to live. Go to work, get a drink with coworkers and friends, then find your way home. Easy! No car needed, and the pub is probably within stumbling distance of your flat. And this is in cities as well as small towns.
There is one strange caveat to these pubs, though. They often come with children. As in, parents will bring their kids with them. Little toddler kids, who bring their toy trucks and run/crawl around the place while you’re trying to play pub quiz or shoot pool or something. It’s certainly strange, but at least none of the kids screamed bloody murder while I was there. It also gave the pubs, which is short for “public house,” a more familial and homey feel.
All in all, I had a very pleasant time in England. I don’t know if it’s because Beijing has felt so rough lately, and a relaxing country escape is just what I needed. England is surely beautiful, though. There are actually a lot of farms, or cows and sheep at least (I didn’t see any farm farm, but I did see a lot of cows and sheep grazing in the fields – we lived right next to some cows, in fact). I never thought of England as an agricultural place, even though I knew it’s very green, but I stand corrected. As an added bonus, they all drive really fast. I was kind of scared when we first got there, because the fastest I’ve gone in Beijing has been something like 40 kilometers an hour. In England they just zoom by twice that speed on their tiny country roads and approach 90 mph on their highways. Speed and beer. I like it.
A few other notes:
I’m on a roll! I’ve just had two consecutive mafan-free (no hassle) experiences with the Chinese bureaucracy. The first, yesterday, was at the post office, mailing your postcards. Over the past year, I’ve gone to the post office to mail something, only to be told that I couldn’t mail it or that it was written in the wrong color ink or a dozen other weird excuses. Moreover, it is usually some old surly lady basically barking at me and giving me short shrift. Not yesterday, though! It was a young-ish woman who accepted my postcards, written in pink (formerly unacceptable), and who seemed on the cheerful side of indifference. She even smiled at me when she handed me my change and I said “thank you” and left. Pleasant!
Then today, when I went to my “local” police bureau to register my address (so China knows where I live for tabs-keeping purposes), they didn’t give me any crap for not registering earlier, in the three months since I’ve changed addresses. Furthermore, the last time I was registered was in December, when my residence permit expired. Not registering has been known to result in hefty fines and even deportation. I consider myself quite lucky.
By the way, all foreigners are required to be registered with their “local” police stations. If you’re staying at a hotel, the hotel sends your passport and visa information to them. It sounds a bit scary, but for most people it’s something they wouldn’t think about again. For others, such as al-Jazeera’s Melissa Chan, who are of more interest to local police, it could become a bit troublesome.
The biggest worry about registering at the popo is that it’s just a hassle. Technically, you’re supposed to inform them of your whereabouts within 24 hours of a change. Fines of up to 500 kuai PER DAY can apply. Some people even say that you’re supposed to re-register after returning from an overseas trip, also within 24 hours. This is obviously all very mafan. I mean, what if I return on a weekday? The police stations aren’t open past normal working hours, and I’m not taking time off work just to register. Not to mention, the term “local police station” is a total misnomer. It sounds like it’s close to you and all, but it’s not necessarily. There may even be another police station closer to you that isn’t your “local” one. My local police station is half-an-hour’s walk away, and it’s not on the way to anything, either. Did I mention I got hailed on when I went there on Saturday? It was relatively sunny/smoggy when we left, but 10 minutes later, the weather changed. Then it started dripping, and the next thing I know, I’m being attacked by ice balls falling from the sky. All because I was trying to obey Chinese laws.
But I’m not complaining because I didn’t get fined or deported. All the police lady did was ask me for my passport and my lease, then made me sign my Temporary Household Registration Form. She didn’t smile, like the post office lady did, but in China, this is already a blessing.
In a country of 1 billion people, productivity needs to be kept low and responsibilities divided up into the smallest tasks possible so that more people can be employed, which goes a long way in producing the ever-elusive harmonious society. This is why, despite having so many people, China’s per capita GDP is still below the U.S. (and also because American workers are supposedly workaholics and very productive). At any rate, let’s just say I have marveled many times about how one person could do everything faster and better — i.e., more efficiently — by himself than five people each assigned to one step in the production chain. The latter is how much of the work in China is done. For example, I have one coworker whose only job (to my knowledge) is to hand me stories to edit. She doesn’t write or translate anything. Maybe she schedules stories so that the more timely ones are edited first. But all of this can be sorted in a copy editor program, which is how things elsewhere are usually done. Drop in, check out, send through.
Anyway, in a normal day, I get maybe four or five stories to edit. Usually, it’s straightforward Chinglish and wordiness that I have to deal with, which takes me less than half an hour to fix. (Reporting holes are another problem entirely and are usually impossible to fix perfectly because we work with translators and not the actual reporters. My approach to these glaring offenses is determined by a complex equation involving my faithfulness to good reporting on that day, my boredom, my annoyance at the translator, and time.) Needless to say, to feel productive, I need other things to fill my time at work.
Today, I had five stories to edit, including one particularly long one where I had to track down the bits (all of it) that were copied (yet another problem) and provide appropriate citations. In between, I managed to go to the post office to mail the postcards I got you, my loyal readers, in England. Yes, it’s been four days since I’ve been back; no, I didn’t send them from England, sorry! I did put some nice, unusable-for-postcards English stamps on there, though. I bought them in a desperate bid to mail them off on my last day, a Sunday, before I had to leave for Gatwick. Then I learned that they were only good for 2nd-class postage of large envelopes within England. You see, the English stamp system is a bit weird and complicated: Unlike in the U.S., they aren’t just the monetary value you paid for, but also different colors and stuff that reflect the stuff you’re posting. So even if the stamp is worth 58 pence (haha, not cents!) and the cost of mailing a postcard overseas is 76p, I can’t just tack on two 4x2nd large letter stamps (which is what I bought) and stick the postcard in the postbox. It won’t get to you! I have to use special stamps for postcards. They are Grey/Ultramarine/Red, according to Royal Mail’s website. Like I said, weird! But there is a stamp there, so it’s almost the same as if I mailed your postcard from England. Be happy.
I also compared VPNs, purchased one (my old one no longer works) and got all the payment and program files and stuff sorted out. Now I can post pictures to Picasa and Facebook, so there’s something else for you to look forward to.
And most importantly, I got the air con man to fix the air conditioning in my apartment. Phew! It’s been 30+ degrees (that’s Celsius, you Americans) in there, despite only having one small window in the entire place, and it’s just been unbearably uncomfortable. It was a three-day affair that involved, first, calling to get him to switch the air con unit thing from heating to air con, which he wouldn’t do until the next day; then him saying I need to pay 350 kuai to fix some broken pipes connected to the air con unit; me not being able to OK the fix until I could get my landlord to agree to pay for it; me giving the go-ahead; me coming home to find that the air con was not actually fixed; and on the third day finally, calling the maintenance man again to tell him to fix it, whereupon he goes and finds out what the problem was and asking me to pay another 300 kuai to fix that problem, which I wish I could tell you, but I can’t because I didn’t understand his Chinese. I interpreted it as replacing the coolant in the unit.
Old Asians are the ultimate cool: so cool, they don’t even care they’re cool. Or not.
Back from merry old Engrand now and catching up on my China news. A few quickies:
Luckily it was a fake tiger, and zookeepers and animal control/law enforcement were just doing a training exercise. No kitties were harmed.
And even though England is unrelated to China and the U.S., more to come on that.
**Warning** This is a short post.
James Fallows had a contest on his Atlantic blog yesterday, asking readers if they could figure out the meaning of this sign:
It was taken in Ritan Park, the park I frequent. I had noticed it before, and as I found out from Fallows, was wrong about what it meant. Hint: it does not mean “No tearing at leaves/grass/ferns/green things” or similar, such as “Keep off grass.”