Travelogue 10-4
Dateline: Beijing, China; March 18, 2010—The new housing was great. They all settled in and smiles wreathed every face. The “kitchen” still left much to be desired. It was dark and small with a floor that, if you dropped something on it, it was as good as compost. But let not little things deter us.
The classroom was a dream. He has spoken in many places. Under trees in Africa, in dry rice fields in India, in cavernous halls of Eastern Europe still echoing with the Hymn of the Soviet Union, in simple classrooms of many medical missionary schools, but this was special. A raised dais kept him in view of each student. A static-free PA system with which to project his unintelligible words to the last uncomprehending ear. A projector screen recessed on the dais with no windows nearby spilling sunlight across the Keynote images. And most of all, it was wonderfully warm. Not “take off the jacket and sweater” warm, or “leave the long handles in the room” warm, but “can’t see my breath warm.” And of course the classroom full of smiling and expectant faces. It was a great place, until…
The very day they all arrived, the police showed up. Now, you need to understand, they had just moved about four kilometers, passing the second police station where the happy hour had been spent swilling tea with the chief. So, how does one spell totalitarian? George Orwell must have visited China, or the Soviet Union, to come up with the shocking society we read about in 1984. There were problems again.
The second day, he was called to the restaurant. Oh yes, the restaurant. As part of this new school, there is a restaurant. It is like a large greenhouse with a man-made stream bed meandering the length of the floor. Smaller semi-private dining areas line one side with large round tables surrounded by eight chairs with a large lazy-susan in the middle of the tables. On the other side of the restaurant are the same tables and chairs without their oriental screens separating them from the rest. Whereas the place is closed, people still come and eat there. Chinese people eat just about anything.
One day as he was sitting there with his dinner of rice, steamed vegetables and buns, a group of ladies were gathered around the next table preparing to eat their noon meal also. Being a people-watcher, he languidly ate his meal while enjoying the culture unfolding around him like a fashion buyer sitting just below the runway. A shallow bowl was brought in and placed before these Chinese matrons, as well as a small jar of toothpicks.
It was like a feeding frenzy. The contents of the bowl, which appeared to be small dark nuts, were amazingly attractive to these gourmets. Grasping one of the diminutive morsels, they would poke a toothpick in, spear whatever it was, extracting it neatly and gobbling it down. Asking his tablemates what was the delicacy they were enjoying, they told me they were snails. Oh yum! And me stuck with rice, deliciously steamed and seasoned veggies, and some almonds on the side. No, he ate durian in Malaysia, but no snails in China.
Back to being called to the restaurant. He was told to bring his passport with him. This is never a harbinger of good things, especially here in China. Sure enough the local police were paying another call. One of the men spoke very good English and naturally did all of the talking. But this time it wasn’t the police filling out the forms; this time he had to, as well as Wai Fong and the members of the staff from Hong Kong. Seems that, even though Hong Kong was surrendered to China in 1997, its citizens are not recognized as Chinese by some police districts. This was one of those districts and therefore they had all violated a cardinal law. When a foreigner comes to China, one of the first matters of business, “before toilet” as they learned, was to register with the local police department. It must be within 24 hours. The school had moved on a Wednesday afternoon and it was now Friday morning. We were illegal aliens, and in China illegal aliens cannot obtain food stamps, free medical care, drivers licenses or welfare. We all had to fill out a confession. The hapless American explained in his confession that he assumed he was in the same police jurisdiction and therefore was still under the first registration. He was informed that first, was no longer in the same jurisdiction and second, registration was based on your physical location. They want to know where you are at all times.
This was the first warning. The policeman, who by the way was very cordial, said the next time we violated this law it would cost us 500 RNB and should such behavior continue, it could result in their deportation.
But still the new place was much superior. It was nearer the mountains, of which China has many. They are not like the ancient, smooth mounds America has in the east, nor its craggy granite peaks of the west. Chinese mountains are snaggled dragon’s teeth, rising menacingly one uneven row after another. Abrupt and sharp, they are as evocative of China, thanks to National Geographic, as any landmark here, second only to the Great Wall.
Now, he has felt the cool mists rising from Niagara Falls and been drenched by the cloudless rains of Victoria Falls. He has seen Half Dome at sunrise, explored the cathedrals of Europe and strode Red Square past Lenin’s hopeless remains. He has explored the bowels of the Shrine of Kamakura, been chased by a lion at Hwange, flown a plane, sailed a boat, shot the rapids and rappelled down cliffs. And now, after all these years of wondering, he has touched the Great Wall. Like the raised scales of an ancient Stegosaurus, it traverses the undulating hills and mountains for 2,400 kilometers, from Kansu Province to the Yellow Sea north of Beijing. Begun 200 years before the birth of Christ, this marvel of construction is massive. Each block was chiseled to exact proportions by an army of workers. No haphazard work here, no way. Each exposed stone is slightly tapered so the wall rises at a very slight angle thereby foiling nature’s attempt to throw it down. Not saying the whole gray granite guardian of the northern frontier has weathered the ages unscathed. There are some sections in poor repair. There is but one Rock unaffected by elements of nature or the arms of men, and that Rock yearns for these people.
It was very cold at the Wall, and very cold means it was almost unbearable. Now, Don isn’t exactly a wimp. Cold has never been a major problem for him. Hey, the mercury drops, put on more clothing. Ergo the problem. Packing at the last minute, which is his wont, back in Alabama, he packed from his present frame of reference which was Alabama. You would think he would learn after all these years. Late February in Alabama is early spring. A sweater and jacket is fine…for Alabama, and that is what he packed. A sweater and jacket are not fine for China in late winter. Remember that if you travel to China.
More changes coming up. Read about them next blog.
Blessings,
Don
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