The Boluo Man Cometh and Other Tales

In flourishing-

spring when Beijing is dust-

crazy the little

spry boluo man

cries, yi kuair yi kuai

and tingting and zhou come

strolling from textbooks and

essays and it's

spring

when the city is feichang fetching

the cart

wheeling boluo man cries

yi kuai yi kuair

and bingbing and su come peddling

from taichi and b-ball and

it's spring

and the street-wandering

boluo man cries

yi kuair

yi kuai.

Now, my profound apologies to ee cummings, whose "balloonman" is an excellent poem not done justice by my theft to create "boluo man." Boluo is the Chinese word for pineapple. It is one of my favorite parts of living in Beijing, that I can wander out into the street and have my pick of fresh fruit. Right now, I can get pineapple, strawberries, or miniature mangos within a minute of my front door.

The boluo man carves the pineapples into a lovely spiral, taking off the inedible parts. Then you can buy the whole pineapple, or some half- or quarter- pineapple slices on kebab sticks. It's a lovely afternoon snack. Strawberries (and other fruit, like apples or watermelons) are sold by weight. You pick out how much you want and the dealer weighs in in a little scale. I bit into a strawberry the other day at lunch, and it was an instant shock of homesickness. I could practically feel the dirt on my fingers as I picked berries in Dresden; I could hear the light tap of the paring knife as Mom sliced berries for cereal or muffins. I could smell the sweet stickiness of strawberry shortcake filling mellowing in a mixing bowl. Ah, summer in Maine. The best part, you see, is that I can enjoy strawberries and lilacs here now, and I will enjoy them all over again when I am home again in June.

Miniature mangoes appeared on the street about a week ago. I had no idea what the orangey, miniature-computer mouse sized fruit were. Then, last Wednesday, they had some in the cafeteria, so I picked one up. Then I surreptitiously waited and watched for someone else to eat one first -- I had no idea how to eat it. Apparently, one peels back the skin like a banana peel (although not as easily and a lot messier -- they're quite juicy) and then eats around the tough fibrous center, then flips it around, holding it by the core, takes off the rest of the skin and eats the bottom. It's sweeter than a large mango, and I quite enjoyed it. It left my fingertips yellow for half a day, though.

Fruit is all well and good, but I'm afraid I have a dietary confession to make. Today, I went to McDonald's. Yes, a terrible sin. I can't even remember the last time I ate McDonald's food, but I had this awful craving for a hamburger. Not really a fast food burger, but what other option do I have here? Well, I got the dollar menu cheeseburger (which is really the 6 kuai menu). As I ate it, sitting in some sun, perched on a raised wall beside the sidewalk, I realized that the yellow, tasteless American plastic cheese slice on the burger was the first piece of cheese I have eaten in 10 weeks. Ah, what I would give for some chevre. Or some fresh mozzarella. Perhaps a nice chuck of extra-sharp cheddar. Then I had a small vanilla soft-serve cone. It was delicious, but it doesn't quite taste like it does in the US. You know what else doesn't taste the same as in the Western world? Diet Coke. Diet Coke here tastes more like C2, or whatever they called that version of Coke which tasted like regular coke but had no calories. Which, to someone who actually likes the taste of Diet Coke, is a bit disappointing.

So, upon my return home, there is a long list of food I desperately want. It starts with baked beans and brown bread, moves on to whole-wheat bread and chocolate cake, a whoopie pie, a thanksgiving-dinner turkey sandwich, and eventually ends with corned beef hash. That's just because I always want corned beef hash. It's salty and delicious.

That said, there is a growing list of Chinese food that I really love and already know I'll miss. Dumplings. Suanlatudou. Chaobing. Corn flavored ice cream and blueberry potato chips. Well, you're right. That last one is disgusting, and I won't miss it at all.

Lions and Tigers and Bears, Taking a Siesta.

So it seems that China can join the long list of civilized countries which believe in the after-lunch nap. I think afternoon naps are lovely. Why, exactly, do we English-speaking people feel that working hard between noon and 2pm makes us more productive and hard-working than others?

Regardless, I was at the Beijing zoo one fine afternoon during vacation. It was in the 80s, sunny and summerlike. I'll admit, I was wearing much too many layers. You can take the Mainer out of Maine, but you can't convince her that she doesn't need a sweatshirt in April. It's enough that I'm not wearing a jacket.

The Beijing Zoo is a short, one-bus trip from my home base. The bus was not crowded at all, and I actually managed to get a seat, which is quite a treat, let me tell you. The zoo wasn't crowded, either, and I bought my ticket and wandered in without any difficulty. To see the animals and the pandas during the busy season is 20 kuai. Let me take another moment to marvel at the idea of a tourist season that begins in April and lasts until November. Really. To think, I thought Memorial Day to Columbus Day was stretching the summer season. But who am I kidding? It feels like summer, so let's call it summer.

The animals were feeling the heat. Or perhaps they were doing as the Romans do and doing a little afternoon xiuxi-ing.
As promised, here is a lion, settling down for a cat nap:
And here is a tiger, looking a lot like Bastet in the backyard sandbox, except moving even less:

Here, my dear sister and father, is your mascot, the black bear, snoozing away:

Amusingly, in the next bear enclosure, I think home to the Tibetan Brown Bear, there is a large note painted on the stone in Chinese. I'm pretty sure it says something along the lines of "Of course we would love your children, but when we eat too much our stomachs hurt, so please don't feed us again." I can't decide if it means don't let your children throw food to us, or don't let your children climb into our pen. I like the second meaning better.

Of course, no one goes to the zoo in Beijing without going to see the pandas. Panda, in Chinese, is da xiongmao, which literally is 'large bear-cat.' Apparently, they were supposed to be called 'maoxiong,' or 'cat-bears,' but the name was popularized during the transition from reading characters right-to-left to left-to-right, and the backwards reading became most common. More informative plaques told me that pandas can be considered bears, but some scientists put them in their own category. So, cat-like bears or bear-like cats, pandas are just too cute.

Alas, on the day of my visit, they were repairing/replanting the outdoor enclosures, so I saw the pandas in their inside spaces, behind glass. My camera does not get along with glass, so I have no pictures. I suppose I could stick in some from my 2006 trip to the zoo with none the wiser, but I shan't. Instead, watch this little video of a panda eating some bamboo that I took:

There was a German couple and their Chinese friend beside me as I watch this panda, and they were wondering whether pandas eat just the stalks of bamboo and not the leaves, as this panda was stripping the leaves and outer bark off entirely and throwing it aside. But if that was true, we couldn't use the wonderful grammar joke about pandas. You remember, that the panda "eats, shoots and leaves?"

Speaking of jokes, I learned another Chinese one today. It depends, as all the Chinese jokes I know, on a foreigner whose Chinese is a bit "chabuduo," as our head teacher would say (meaning, not quite right), and a word with two meanings in Chinese. Come to think of it, I'm a little worried that all the jokes I know are about math or grammar.

Now for something completely different: I am officially 78.5% finished knitting the essential parts of the Periodic Table. Sadly, I've run out of yarn, but on the plus side, recent measurements lead me to wildly hope the finished product might actually fit on a bed. Wouldn't that be nice?

Your French Catholic Canadian Aunt is Knitting a Sweater

Hello, ni hao!

This how cheerful, brave strangers between the ages of 5-100 greet me in the street or at the park. For those under the age of five, it more often goes like this:

Grandmother (in Chinese, other than 'hello') to child: Say hello, ayi! Nihao, hello, ayi!

Little child, too cute for words: *Stares at strange-looking person.

Grandmother: Nihao, hello, ayi!

Little child, in tiny murmur: hello, ayi.

Me: Ni hao, hello! *Grins at cute child and also from embarrassment.

Of course, if I'm generally stationary, say, sitting on a bench in the local park, knitting, this is a Language Practicing Opportunity Not to Be Missed. Just yesterday, as I relaxed in the warm early evening air, a perhaps-5 year old was coached by grandma through telling me about his nose, and his two eyes, but clammed up about his mouth. I half-felt like teaching him "Head and shoulders, knees and toes" but I blanked on the words. I would be more concerned, but a few days ago I called an airport a "plane station" so I know I've got bigger English language issues at the moment. Looking back at my posts, I see this is an ongoing problem. I called a power drill an "electric screwdriver." This is descriptive, but not exactly common phrasing. Perhaps it was the low-cost version of a sonic screwdriver?

Slightly more annoying are the college-aged/twenty-something adults who decide you are a perfect opportunity to practice English. First of all, it's a breach of my language pledge, but more importantly, hello, stranger. The best way to avoid this is to reply, in Chinese, "oh, I'm sorry. I don't speak English, I'm from France." This may be ridiculous -- how many internationally-traveling French people do you imagine have never studied English? But, your newest Chinese friend might not know this. This way, you also avoid being asked about Obama, Iraq, or general American politics. If by some chance, your speaking buddy also studies French and is suddenly thrilled to practice that language, you can probably remember enough French to comment about Sarko's handling of the economic crisis. Of course, if you're fine with a conversation, or you can manage to switch it into Chinese, but still don't want to discuss Sino-American relations, you can always claim to be Canadian. Be sure to be polite, though. We can't go and give Canadians a bad name.

So there I was, sitting and knitting, listening to headphones -- aren't they a universal "don't bug me" sign? apparently not -- when a 27 year old man decides to take a break from his evening run to chat. Thinking back, he told me his age, his relationship status, and his current feelings about the state of Chinese government, but not his name . . . anyway. My silly mouth managed to give away that I spoke English before my brain could catch up. So I told him I was Canadian when he asked. Then we preceded to have a conversation about Beijing rent rates (they're through the roof -- he's 27, has a good job, and still can't afford to get married. Girls just won't date a man with no money. Is that true in Canada? ...Um, I think that's true everywhere.) and how he's lost heart in the Chinese government. There's so many problems, you see -- rent, education, health issues, pollution, elder care, population, every other topic our textbook has mentioned. How is one supposed to respond to Chinese dissing their government? Where's the unity? Are you secret police, and if I agree with you, will I wake up tomorrow in a detention facility? So I settled with 'all countries have their issues.' Then we discussed my Chinese language learning. I hate the question "what can you say?" I can say a lot of things, but it generally works best if you ask a question that I can answer, first. For instance, we could probably have had this whole conversation in Chinese with relatively little difficulty. Off the top of my head, on the other hand, I can respond "what do you want me to say?" Witty, self. Very witty.

All that explains, dearest eldest sister, why Oxygen is accidentally two rows short. I got distracted.

Knitting in the park is its own hazard. Chinese grandmothers will come to talk about it (much like if you knit in public in the US, actually). Since you're knitting something with a two color pattern in stockinette stitch, everyone asks, "Oh, are you knitting a sweater?" Well, no. I'm knitting Group 16 of the periodic table of elements, as part of a blanket. Let's see... I don't know the Chinese for PTE, translating Group 16 directly would probably make no sense, as would 'I'm knitting air,' so I said "It's a blanket." This got some seriously surprised reactions. I know what's in my hands right now is only about four square inches, but come on. A knitting project of a thousand rows begins with a single stitch, you know. I think I need that on a button, or something. Today, knitting in the park, I gave up. When someone asked me if I was knitting children's clothes, I just said yes. So look for it for Fall Fashion 2009: The sweater with oxygen on the front, sulphur on the back, and sleeves of selenium and tellurium.

To explain the rest of this post's title, I should remind you all that 'ayi' means 'aunt.' It's a respectful term of address, and I'll get used to it, even if it makes me feel old. As for being French Catholic, well, when I was at St. Joseph's on Wangfujing, a passerby asked me if I was French Catholic. I would have understood being asked if I was Catholic, as I was a Westerner visiting a cathedral, but why French Catholic? Who knows.

Well, it's time for some more knitting and perhaps some questionably legal television online. My dear sister graduates in less than a month, and there's still quite a few elements to go. More pressingly, I think I'm going to run out of red for the gases, and I haven't seen anything like a yarn shop hereabout. Is that a legitimate excuse for not meeting my deadline?

Spring Sur Pied: Wangfujing

Ah, Spring Break. We are done with midterms, and now we have a whole glorious week to relax and lazily explore. I am spending the week here in Beijing -- there's so much to do and see here, I couldn't imagine going somewhere else. So today I set off on Adventure #1: Wangfujing.

Wangfujing is a shopping street just east of the Forbidden City, meaning it is southeast of my neighborhood. To get there efficiently involves a bus and two lines of the subway. Me being me, which is to say, about as acclimated to city life as a fish is to the desert, I couldn't actually find my bus station. But, I knew the direction I wanted to go, and it wasn't too far, maybe a kilometer, so I walked.

The weather today was in the high seventies, sunny and clear. It's April 6th, and I'm a Mainer: I left my room with a sweatshirt and no sunglasses. I took the sweatshirt off within five minutes, and only the six flights of stairs between me and my sunglasses kept me from going back for them. Anyway, it was quite a pleasant walk, and I made it to the subway station without any faults. The subway in Beijing is very easy to use -- the map is clear, and most of the trains have clearly enunciated English announcing the stops. I had to make one transfer, but it was easy (and free). On the other hand, taking the Beijing subway is to truly understand the life of a canned sardine. Line 1 at 1pm is beyond crowded. You get so close to the other passengers it's not even a matter of personal space violation anymore. It's something you have to go to Confession for.

Wangfujing is a physical metaphor for Chinese development, in my humble opinion. Approaching from the south, the first thing you see is the Oriental Plaza mall. It is smooth and sleek, all gleaming lines and shiny glass. Inside the shops are all very high end -- Rolex, Cartier, clothing stores with fancy Italian names.

Continuing down the street you see the Chinese bookstore -- celebrating 60 years of being no better place to feel ridiculously illiterate -- and the foreign languages bookstore, where Agatha Christie is in the Best Sellers section, Bill Bryson's A Short History of Everything is in the social sciences section, and Isaac Asimov and The Tales of Beedle the Bard are shelved side by side. It's the little things in life which are most hilarious. Adidas, Nike, North Face -- if it is a famous Western brand, it's on Wangfujing.

About halfway up the street is the old pre-Reform and Opening Up Beijing Department Store. It is a study in blocky, Soviet-inspired architecture. Nowadays, it's full of more high-end shops.

Continuing a little further, you encounter St. Joseph's Cathedral.Now, I could tell you the history of St. Joseph's, or you could just go read the 5 page paper I wrote about it last year. Suffice it to say, having written a paper on it, I felt like seeing in person. It's ... smaller than I expected. Of course, building high-rises on either side of a three storey cathedral will do that. Inside it is quite ornate, and smells just like a church. Some things are wonderfully constant.

Around this point, I was feeling hungry, so I ducked into a side street of food vendors. It all looked delicious, but I was too darn hot for hot food, so I settled on a bottle of juice and a spicy chicken and cucumber sandwich thingie. I didn't take a picture, sorry, but I did get a shot of Samantha Brown's favorite:

The day was getting long, so I meandered my way back towards home. I attempted the catch the bus this time, but it turns out the 345express goes north by a different route it goes south. I figured this out, and managed to get off at, ironically, my roommate's university. I knew from her that it was about a 15 minute walk, and from past map-gazing that it was a little west and a little south of homebase.

I bought an ice cream from the friendly hole-in-the-wall shop on our street and ate it on the bench in front of our dorm, watching a father and son bat a badminton shuttlecock back and forth in front of the elementary school. It reminded me of summer evenings in the yard playing baseball.

And as the perfect finish to a lovely day, I saw something I haven't seen clearly in far too long.