Too many stops, not enough sleeper cars. Don’t ever do it on a hard seat ticket.
If you’re ever in Dandong, stay at the Crowne Plaza.
A rather unfortunate fact: My favorite part about my mini-holiday to Dandong was the hotel I stayed at. Crowne Plaza Dandong was probably one of the best things I’ve ever treated myself to. This is not a slight on Dandong (the town was fun), but Beijing has been rather rough on me. I think I’ve only recently began to realize how much I needed to get away, and staying here has been one of the most pleasant outcomes for things I wasn’t expecting. In fact, I am enjoying my last few moments of Dandong at a dessert cafe in the lobby of my hotel. Here, they have rather decent (above China average) Wi-Fi and homemade ice cream. The staff is so friendly and helpful. I love our doormen, who call cabs for us twice a day, open the doors for us, and greet us upon our return with “Hui lai le, Yueh xiaojie?” I love the travel service guys who kept our bags and shoes nice and safe for us. I love the pool, accessible only through the locker room, which had amazing shampoo, conditioner and lotion (and flowers and hair dryers), and its Nemo float. I love the beds, which had pristine white down comforters and pillows. I love how clean I feel here.
And now I have to leave. I will return post-hard seat with a sore ass.
Thoughts from Dandong
First impressions: Dandong feels like the Myrtle Beach of China, complete with waterfront seafood restaurants and an island with a small amusement park. There are bright neon lights at night, a road and walkway along the river and lots of public spaces. It is in these public spaces where Dandong comes alive. Many groups of people, young and old, gather around: to play jianzi (the Chinese hackey sack), play music, listen to music, people-watch, dance, exercise, swim, fish, catch frogs or just enjoy the night air. Walking along this riverfront drive, one finds it impossible to go more than 100 meters without stopping to watch — something.
North Korea: I saw the Ferris wheel! It looked lonely and out of place (after all, Kim Jong-il just put it there for show and didn’t intend for any North Koreans to actually enjoy it). It wasn’t lit up at night, either, but little of the DPRK was — a stark contrast to Dandong right across the Yalu River. I wonder how the North Koreans I saw through a telescope feel: envious? thankful? confused? curious?
North Koreans: North Koreans are farmers living in sad houses, as best I can tell through a telescope off the Hushan Chang Cheng (Great Wall at Tiger Mountain). I saw some again at the Duan Qiao (OK, the broken bridge), and they were playing (or washing) in the water at a really tiny beach. Continue reading
Dandong-a-dong
I’m off to Dandong in a few hours, so I thought I’d best start preparing for my trip!
According to Wikipedia, it’s a coastal city in Liaoning Province at the mouth of the Yalu River delta, which means it touches the Yellow Sea, East China Sea and Korean Bay. This makes it an important port, as well as a great access point to North Korea. In fact, there’s a bridge linking it to the North Korean town, Sinuiju, right across the river. Even though it’s called the Friendship Bridge, I think I will be staying off it. You know, since I’m American and all.
Dandong, with a population of 2.4 million, is significantly smaller than Beijing. In China terms, it’s practically a town. Thus, many tourist guides say that there is not much to do there. Really, the only reason we’re going is to see North Korea, which is pretty much the only reason to go to Dandong. But there’s also a section of the Great Wall at Tiger Mountain (rar!), which is about 25 kilometers outside the city, and a lot of Korean food.
Wikitravel makes Dandong seem as if it’s better to take hours-long bus rides to other places in Liaoning, like Shenyang and Dalian, which is probably true. It’s going to be raining the whole time we’re there, so might as well take refuge on a bus. At least I’ll get relief from the Beijing heat for a little while with temperatures in the high 70s.
Meanwhile, here’s to hoping that I will be able to get a return ticket once we make it out to Dandong. The crazy Chinese ticketing system doesn’t release tickets until about 10 days in advance, but somehow tickets were already sold out when we try to buy them 10 days in advance. We were told it might be easier to get tickets issued in the departure city (that would be Dandong). We’re aiming to return Monday or Tuesday — especially because Dandong isn’t the most exciting city to get stuck in. I only need to see the DPRK once.
Smog eclipses eclipse
Millions saw the eclipse while I looked over cubicle walls out my office windows to try to find the sun. This was the first time I’ve been in the correct country and had an opportunity to see something so cool and rare, but Beijing’s stupid pollution (and maybe clouds) got in the way. It was a partial eclipse where I am, but I still would have liked to have seen it. The government cleared the skies for the Olympics, so it’s not like it was impossible…
Quick Takes: Developments
- Google music is revolutionary. I now have all the hottest and latest Chinese music (and the popular karaoke songs) so I can be that much more Asian.
- Beijing nights are not as comfortable as they were a few weeks ago. Chilling out on my balcony before bed is impossible now.
- They put up traffic lights at my favorite intersection. Crossing the street is no longer fun and disorderly.
- Looks like we jinxed Beijing drivers. Auto accidents are actually quite common in China. Ever since we commented on the lack of accidents on Beijing roads, we’ve seen a few a week. Oops!
Tongs are more than utensils and hallways
I’m not a lawyer, but I had to polish a user agreement.
The user agreement forbids content that incites unlawful assembly, unlawful tongs, unlawful parades and/or unlawful demonstrations, among other things.
At any rate, I learned what a “tong” is.
It’s not just something you use to grill meat!
It’s something far cooler.
It’s an association, society or political party in China. Or a nefarious secret society, especially of Chinese Americans from back in the day. Like a Chinese mafia.
Are we tools?
Hung out with the foreigners from the office today after work. As usual, had very interesting conversations that provided intriguing perspectives on the motherland. Then met some more foreigners from the States who were here interning with some city planning folks. Made me wonder:
As Westerners, we tend to think of our Chinese colleagues as rather incompetent: disorganized, dysfunctional and just plain clueless. How much does work frustrate me? How often do I think that what I am handed is just plain bad journalism? How often do I think that no one knows what he’s talking about (no one knows what he’s talking about)? About every other sentence.
The city planners we met had their own complaints about Beijing’s highways and building spacing. Of course, no one is going to listen to them. The truth is, China just works, even without us Westerners meddling in their established modus operandi. It was quite astonishing to me that we even met a couple of foreigners in a random beer garden on a random street in the outskirts of the Haidian district. China is inviting so many foreigners into its bowels — and for what? Certainly not to heed our advice and knowledge. Perhaps it is in its Chinese off-handed way? But more likely, it is another case of maintaining mian zi, where China wants to appear inviting and open.
And perhaps it actually is inviting and open. China’s murky like that. It doesn’t appear to be, but you can never be quite sure. There are so many vagueries that even the Chinese can’t explain it. They are so deferential to foreigners and, yet, will never believe foreigners to be their equals in ideas and outlook. Foreigners are simply foreign, incapable of understanding. China must be the loneliest country.
Anyway. Why am I here? Can I change China for the better? Or am I simply living off the government’s auspices and getting the vacation of a lifetime for little more than helping the Chinese appear like they’re making overtures to the West?
Tidbits
I wrote a post recently about a Web site featuring Chinese nappers. To ruin the fun and save you the time of looking at all the (hilarious) pictures, the point of it was: Chinese people can sleep anywhere. Like on bicycles, park benches and rocks, and usually in a really awkward position.
Anyway, here is a more specific group of nappers: Internet cafe goers passed out by their computers. I’m not sure why you would go to a wang ba to sleep, but with all the trimmings they offer now (blankets, comfy sofas and chairs, fruit), why not?
On another instance where a fun story I wanted to do has popped up before I got to it, Shaq has been “buddha blessed.” He’s practicing kung fu with a bunch of Shaolin monks in Henan. Chris and I had wanted to do a story on a Shaolin martial arts training camp at some Shaolin monastery. It’s 8,000 yuan a year for everything: the training, the lodging, the food. Would’ve been cool to see how rigid the program is.
Lucky ducks
I’ve been in Beijing for almost two months and had not yet eaten the famous Beijing kao ya (Peking roast duck, duh). Until tonight.
A few of my colleagues took Chris and me to a nearby branch of Bianyifang. Most people are more familiar with Quanjude, but Bianyifang goes back further in history — like 600 years worth of history. And, well, they make a really tasty duck.
Apparently, what’s special about Bianyifang is that they roast their ducks in a closed oven (not an open pit). Not that I know the difference between the two, but compared to roast ducks back in the States (severely misleading but still the only point of reference I have), Bianyifang’s duck kicks ass. Tender, subtle flavors and crispy-juicy-succulent skin: such culinary mastery barely registered as I gobbled the duck up.
I realized how little I actually knew about the Peking duck tradition. I knew the part where the cook brings out the duck and carves it up in front of you into thin little slices. But apparently it is served and eaten with these very thin steamed “pancakes,” with which you wrap up some duck meat, cucumbers and onions. There’s also hoisin sauce, rose and chrysanthemum petals and sugar for garnish. We went all out and got some buns (that can be used to create a sandwich), duck soup, duck kidneys, duck stomach and these duck rolls that were kind of like egg rolls. I ate half a duck brain. (The duck head is chopped in half, so the inner workings of a duck mind is exposed.)
Pictures are forthcoming.