Please note that this was written several weeks ago and I am just now getting the chance to post it. I have since changed apartments and no longer have the wonderful sights I am about to describe. But I do have similar sights, to fill later posts.
People watching is fun. A cheap form of entertainment, unless of course you are watching at Disneyland. Then it becomes an expensive form of entertainment. I have discovered the perfect spot for people watching. My bedroom window at the apartment I am currently staying at overlooks the street below. And since it is on the second floor, I am high up enough that I can see a good bit and low enough that I can still see the people.
My street is by no means a busy street, but there is a steady stream of traffic. What do I see?
Cars and more cars. Many are taxis, but more and more are private owned. Most cars are Asian makes, with a few Russians thrown in since we are so close to the border. I have also seen some really nice looking Mercedes and Volkswagons go by. To date, there has also been one Ford and one Chevy. Seeing those brought a smile to my face.
Motorcycles. Most of these two wheeled motorized contraptions would probably not be called motorcycles by enthusiasts in the States. Mopeds are probably the technical term. The few real motorcycles I have seen makes me want to intoduce the Harley to the streets of Hailar. I can just see a Hog rolling down these streets. The part I would love to see the most would be the pedestrian reaction. Unfortunately, the speed of traffic here (considerably slower than America) would probably annoy any true Hog and they would just roar through and leave the entire city wondering if the alien invaders had passed them by.
Bicycles. China is the land of bikes. Unlike India which seems to be in a competition of who can put the most people and/or stuff on one vehicle, China has sensibly adopted the one rule. One bicycler can have one passenger. This passenger does not perch precariously on the handlebars like we did as children. Instead, all bikes have a short little seat over the rear wheel on which to perch precariously on the back. Most people ride sidesaddle, as it were, but I have seen a few adventurous and younger souls hanging on astride the narrow seat, most of which are padded with a thin foam. Children like to play the balance game, but girlfriends will use the opportunity to hold their boyfriends. No one falls off though, at least that I have seen. I did see a mom yesterday attempting to teach her son how to balance. He looked to be about two, almost past the size for the little children’s baskets that take the place of the rear seat on some bikes in America. He didn’t seem to thrilled at the idea.
Bikeshaws. I am not sure what the official name for these contraptions is but it is as if someone chopped off the handlbars and front wheel of a bicycle and attached replaced it with a front loaded, two-wheeled cart. It is sort of like a backwards rickshaw, though never for people, at least not that I have seen. They carry everything from garbage to vegetables. Some wander slowly through the neighborhoods, calling Ping-no at various intervals. No, that is probably not what they are saying, but that is what it sounds like. I asked what they were saying. The answer was “I think they are selling ice cream.” When I commented that it didn’t look like there was ice cream in the cart, the only answer was a shrug. So I don’t feel to bad about not knowing what they do.
Pedestrians. Many people walk everywhere. And in a smaller town like here, that is perfectly possible. Most women wear heels of some kind. The practical part of me wonders how they do not trip and fall on the bumpy tile-like sidewalks.
For a side note on all traffic, I have noticed that umbrellas and facemasks are in vogue. Umbrellas to keep the sun off. Lighter skin is considered more beautiful. (If this is truly the case, my legs should have about the same value as Helen of Troy’s face, not that I am eager to start any sort of violence. Besides, Paris was an idiot.) I am not really certain what the facemasks are for, but I think they are to keep the wearer from breathing in pollution. Most of the facemasks are made of cloth and some have eyelet lace designs. Women ridding bikes also wear these, although a standard variation is a gauze scarf drapped or tied over the face. My American mind is much confused on this one.
The rest of the traffic is made of a various buses for public transportation, a donkey cart or two (they assist with the sewage and garbage disposal process) and a couple of kids on rollerblades. Navigating traffic is a lifesized game of rock, paper, scissors. Bus beats car beats motorcycle beats bike beats ped, with the ped not beating anyone. Anyone higher up on the vehicle food chain isnt going to move out of the way. Not the mad house or cacophany of sounds that Indian traffic is, but all in all it makes for an entertaining scene.
My new apartment is on the sixth floor and does not have a street below. I am excited to move in, but will have to locate a new form of entertainment. Perhaps I will go downstairs and outside and talk to my neighbors. They probably won’t understand me, but that hasn’t stopped me yet. Don’t worry, I still only say good things about you.
28 August 2008
11 August 2008
The Little Insect That Did
Remember that joke about mosquitoes in Minnesota needing tennis rackets to squash them with. Well, I have been introduced to their distant cousin.
We went outside the other night and there in the lamp light was a swarm that would have made Hitchcock do a whole different film. Ever wonder what the Egyptians saw? This was about the same thing, only mosquitoes instead of locusts and under a lamp instead of over the entire country. Just a taste of the terror they must have felt at the sight of that cloud coming to devour. Which was more than what we were giving the mosquitoes.
Know the most annoying thing about a mosquito? She can fly around a room, land on you, be swatted away, only to fly for three more hours, waiting patiently until you fall asleep to land on you again, this time actually sticking her needle nose into you. The next morning you wake up with a half dozen more itching bumps just because the damn thing was too quick for your swats and too nocturnal for you to wait her out. If thorns didn’t exist before the fall, perhaps mosquitoes didn’t either.
And we are not even going to mention the case of squishing a mosquito while you are half awake with your lip as she was biting you. Ok, maybe we will. I just really hope I was the first bite of the night, cause if not that brings a whole other ick factor to the situation that I am steadfastly not thinking about.
I have heard that mosquitoes like O type the best. In high school, when we studied genetics, I did the percentages of the likelihood of my blood type based on my mom (O) and my dad (A). (I don’t remember the positive or negative part now.) It was 75% in favor of A, but I never was tested. The scientist part of me always wanted to know, though. Thanks to the mosquitoes, if the number of bites I have gotten is any sort of proof, I believe I have inherited my father’s blood. I suppose they are useful for something.
Going back to those Minnesotan skeeters, the mosquitoes here might be their long lost relatives. My theory is that a few of their ancestors hitchhiked on the Siberians who came across the land bridge and became the many tribes of Native Americans. Sustained by the blood of those hardy individuals, the mosquitoes only grew larger.
But here in Northern China, they have subsisted on the same diet and remained the same. Although that might change. With the introduction of milk as a staple into the Chinese diet (along with other Western foods), the average Chinese is getting taller and larger. Perhaps their mosquitoes will too. In that case, be afraid, be very afraid.
So how do we deal with these pesky bloodsuckers? My solution, aside from a dosing of deet and praying for wind, has been to not give them any skin to bite. Oh, they try. Part of me feels sad for them, trying in vain to get their noses through my sweater and into my skin. I am forever thankful that my jacket is thick enough that they cannot. My face is still open though.
Anybody know where I can buy a burka in China?
We went outside the other night and there in the lamp light was a swarm that would have made Hitchcock do a whole different film. Ever wonder what the Egyptians saw? This was about the same thing, only mosquitoes instead of locusts and under a lamp instead of over the entire country. Just a taste of the terror they must have felt at the sight of that cloud coming to devour. Which was more than what we were giving the mosquitoes.
Know the most annoying thing about a mosquito? She can fly around a room, land on you, be swatted away, only to fly for three more hours, waiting patiently until you fall asleep to land on you again, this time actually sticking her needle nose into you. The next morning you wake up with a half dozen more itching bumps just because the damn thing was too quick for your swats and too nocturnal for you to wait her out. If thorns didn’t exist before the fall, perhaps mosquitoes didn’t either.
And we are not even going to mention the case of squishing a mosquito while you are half awake with your lip as she was biting you. Ok, maybe we will. I just really hope I was the first bite of the night, cause if not that brings a whole other ick factor to the situation that I am steadfastly not thinking about.
I have heard that mosquitoes like O type the best. In high school, when we studied genetics, I did the percentages of the likelihood of my blood type based on my mom (O) and my dad (A). (I don’t remember the positive or negative part now.) It was 75% in favor of A, but I never was tested. The scientist part of me always wanted to know, though. Thanks to the mosquitoes, if the number of bites I have gotten is any sort of proof, I believe I have inherited my father’s blood. I suppose they are useful for something.
Going back to those Minnesotan skeeters, the mosquitoes here might be their long lost relatives. My theory is that a few of their ancestors hitchhiked on the Siberians who came across the land bridge and became the many tribes of Native Americans. Sustained by the blood of those hardy individuals, the mosquitoes only grew larger.
But here in Northern China, they have subsisted on the same diet and remained the same. Although that might change. With the introduction of milk as a staple into the Chinese diet (along with other Western foods), the average Chinese is getting taller and larger. Perhaps their mosquitoes will too. In that case, be afraid, be very afraid.
So how do we deal with these pesky bloodsuckers? My solution, aside from a dosing of deet and praying for wind, has been to not give them any skin to bite. Oh, they try. Part of me feels sad for them, trying in vain to get their noses through my sweater and into my skin. I am forever thankful that my jacket is thick enough that they cannot. My face is still open though.
Anybody know where I can buy a burka in China?
01 August 2008
Chewing, Swallowing and other Eating Processes
Did your father ever tell you “Chew your food; you’re an animal”? Mine did. Of course, he could have just been quoting Matilda, but something in his eyes told me it was more than just a quote. There was wisdom to be learned here, my young padawan.
In America, good little boys and girls are instructed to chew their food into an unrecognizable state. Some people advocate the chewing eat bite 100 times. Others would say that if Lileks couldn’t compare it to one of his 50’s recipes, you shouldn’t swallow it yet. And those children who do not follow one of the above, receive quotes like I did or little side glances or not quite so sympathetic noises when the cud comes out one way or the other in an untimely fashion.
But all of this negative social pressure doesn’t really work on children who don’t care about social pressure. Take me for example. Despite all of my parent’s quotes, I am still a fast eater, mostly because I don’t chew long enough, whatever that is. There was also that term served at a camp run by “an organization for young women” where we were only given 10 minutes to eat. That psuedo-boot-camp might have had a lingering detrimental effect on my chewing habits, but we will save my stint at being Oliver for some other post. Today I wish to enlighten you all on another, perhaps more effective way of controlling how much children chew.
(A quick note lest anyone take offense at what I am about to type. I am thoroughly enjoying the cuisine here. The versions in America simply do not do it justice. Yes, there are a few more exotic things I have discovered that I just cannot eat, but for the most part I am enjoying Chinese food. That said, there is been a bit of a learning curve when it comes to the actual eating part. And that is where this discussion resumes…)
Leave some bones in. Believe me, children will take the threat of their intestines being torn to shreds by an errant bone fragment much more seriously than they will Mommy cautioning them in her best you-better-listen-now-voice to chew slower. I am not exactly sure why. Maybe Berkley could give me a grant and I could study the phenomenon and find out. Until they do, we will have to rely on empirical evidence that this is just true.
Let us consider the pros to this approach.
The poor cook, who has more than enough to do, does not have to go through the entire carcass, picking out every little last bone. She has other food to cook rather than waste her time with little bones. Just let her chop it up into roughly portion sized pieces and let the eaters do the work.
The meat will still be hot. All of that time taking the bones out takes time. Time that the meat will be cooling instead of being eaten.
The pieces will be big enough for the eating utensils to handle. Let’s face it, in the land of chopsticks, this is a very important culinary consideration. Go tearing all of the meat to little bits just to get those pesky bones out might mean that you spend the next several hours chasing around those illusive meat bits you rescued from being stuck to a bone you could have easily picked up. Wouldn’t it have been easier to pick up the meat laden bone with the chopsticks, put it in your mouth, pretend you had a sunflower seed, eat what you want and spit out the rest? You might actually gain calories, which I hear is one of the main purposes for eating.
Conversation will be enlightened. Junior is studying biology in school. You are quizzing him. He doesn’t remember what a vertebra is. You point out the piece of bone he has just finished chewing around. This, of course, presents a perfect segue into the difference between vertebrates and invertebrates. As a result of your cooking choices, Junior scores a perfect on his test the next day.
Now for those pesky cons. Hmmm…aside from a perforated bowel, I really can’t think of any. And those only happen if a) you know you should chew and you don’t or b) you are a visitor to this new land and you don’t know all of the tricks to eating yet. If the problem is the former, just slow down. Live life as the bones come along with meat. If you find yourself in the latter situation, pay attention to your lunchmates. If they are spitting out bones, the probability that you will have to as well is rather high.
Now that we know the dangers of the fireswamp, we can chew here indefinitely.
In America, good little boys and girls are instructed to chew their food into an unrecognizable state. Some people advocate the chewing eat bite 100 times. Others would say that if Lileks couldn’t compare it to one of his 50’s recipes, you shouldn’t swallow it yet. And those children who do not follow one of the above, receive quotes like I did or little side glances or not quite so sympathetic noises when the cud comes out one way or the other in an untimely fashion.
But all of this negative social pressure doesn’t really work on children who don’t care about social pressure. Take me for example. Despite all of my parent’s quotes, I am still a fast eater, mostly because I don’t chew long enough, whatever that is. There was also that term served at a camp run by “an organization for young women” where we were only given 10 minutes to eat. That psuedo-boot-camp might have had a lingering detrimental effect on my chewing habits, but we will save my stint at being Oliver for some other post. Today I wish to enlighten you all on another, perhaps more effective way of controlling how much children chew.
(A quick note lest anyone take offense at what I am about to type. I am thoroughly enjoying the cuisine here. The versions in America simply do not do it justice. Yes, there are a few more exotic things I have discovered that I just cannot eat, but for the most part I am enjoying Chinese food. That said, there is been a bit of a learning curve when it comes to the actual eating part. And that is where this discussion resumes…)
Leave some bones in. Believe me, children will take the threat of their intestines being torn to shreds by an errant bone fragment much more seriously than they will Mommy cautioning them in her best you-better-listen-now-voice to chew slower. I am not exactly sure why. Maybe Berkley could give me a grant and I could study the phenomenon and find out. Until they do, we will have to rely on empirical evidence that this is just true.
Let us consider the pros to this approach.
The poor cook, who has more than enough to do, does not have to go through the entire carcass, picking out every little last bone. She has other food to cook rather than waste her time with little bones. Just let her chop it up into roughly portion sized pieces and let the eaters do the work.
The meat will still be hot. All of that time taking the bones out takes time. Time that the meat will be cooling instead of being eaten.
The pieces will be big enough for the eating utensils to handle. Let’s face it, in the land of chopsticks, this is a very important culinary consideration. Go tearing all of the meat to little bits just to get those pesky bones out might mean that you spend the next several hours chasing around those illusive meat bits you rescued from being stuck to a bone you could have easily picked up. Wouldn’t it have been easier to pick up the meat laden bone with the chopsticks, put it in your mouth, pretend you had a sunflower seed, eat what you want and spit out the rest? You might actually gain calories, which I hear is one of the main purposes for eating.
Conversation will be enlightened. Junior is studying biology in school. You are quizzing him. He doesn’t remember what a vertebra is. You point out the piece of bone he has just finished chewing around. This, of course, presents a perfect segue into the difference between vertebrates and invertebrates. As a result of your cooking choices, Junior scores a perfect on his test the next day.
Now for those pesky cons. Hmmm…aside from a perforated bowel, I really can’t think of any. And those only happen if a) you know you should chew and you don’t or b) you are a visitor to this new land and you don’t know all of the tricks to eating yet. If the problem is the former, just slow down. Live life as the bones come along with meat. If you find yourself in the latter situation, pay attention to your lunchmates. If they are spitting out bones, the probability that you will have to as well is rather high.
Now that we know the dangers of the fireswamp, we can chew here indefinitely.
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