Experience means rain and summer camp

I think it’s safe to say that first impressions have expired. We have been in Beijing a month now and for better or worse we have decided what it will always be for us— if I truly believed that this blog would have started out “I’m home.”— It’s very difficult to like Beijing. The noxious smells and white sky make most days gloomy. The other night I dreamt about bright blue sky, before thunder and reality awoke me. We had felt the tension of rain for weeks, seen the sky wrought with pollution and felt the sticky air offer the moisture that the environment was craving. I’ve always loved rain; the soft methodic thump can ease any tension and make sleep unavoidable. At home rain seems more innocent, not always necessary but still welcome. For Beijing its innocence is forgone by urgency. It’s not just that you can feel the pollution piling on your skin and clinging to your lungs, it’s that you can see the tops of buildings slowly blend in with the murky sky that was meant to be tinted blue.

Maybe I’m just making small talk with the weather, but my days now are rarely spruced with historical artifacts and funky foods. I have traded that all in for the glisten and glory of Olympic Archery. Happily donning our delectable uniforms four of us have swayed rhythmically on the bus that leads us to work every day. I often feel like a kid at summer camp, and maybe that’s exactly where I am. Nonetheless, I’m gaining impressionable knowledge about archery and showing off my journalism skills as well. It turns out I have them, who knew? While we have grown accustomed to the feel of being inside a venue, awe can still strike. Thoughts of the competition summon up fear and nerves and a slight respect for world’s ability to overcome what it can to compete.

I felt a little twinge of excitement and a connection yesterday as we watched the Men’s team practice, and today when we interviewed Jenny Nichols, the #1 female archer in the U.S. and #8 in the world. (In the archery world, that would be considered name-dropping, forgive me). Although we have been lumped with scores of Americans for weeks, seeing the athletes was relieving, a promise that home is still there and that we really get to share in an experience few others can counter.

I’m limited in what I’m allowed to write and to be honest a little tired. Sorry for the laxed blogging, I will try and keep up with myself. I do want to add, for those of you who may care, that I will give my regards to Lebron James when I move over to Basketball on the 16th! ;-) Take care all,

~Molly

Experience is humbling

While you can’t escape the political carnage that seems to be the side effect of every Olympics, swallowed in the masses of the country there is a hint of camaraderie and love of sport. Tibet, North Korea and Taiwan might be swear words around here but for so many it truly is about China’s spotlight year.

“I give a shit about these Olympics,” a young Chinese man told three of us as we sailed along on line five to the pearl market. “I’m going to put my ticket in picture and show my kids kids.” He wasn’t old, but he looked it. His father stood beside him and grinned at our American enthusiasm for the Beijing games. The two had spent three days and three nights sleeping on newspaper outside of the Bird’s nest to get tickets for the 100m swim. I think I would look old too. Their shirts offered proof of their ambitions; the white had browned to match the earth they had slept on but neither quit smiling. We stood and let them take our seats, “That is why you have the spirit for the Olympics,” the young man said. Despite enduring China’s heat and smog on beds of old newspaper the pair weren’t tired. They came from a different province and wanted to see Beijing museums, but they had been here before. The older man was a general in the army and that was enough to keep them off of newspapers while scrounging for Asian games tickets a few years ago. This time however, “the Olympics are fair. So we must sleep outside.”

The food sucks and I miss home every day, but the excitement is genuine and infectious. Our mere presence as Westerners incites conversations about the Olympics and elicits a glow around citizens who may have felt slightly neglected by their Western neighbors. There’s still a lot more to do, however, before the city is prepared for additional visitors. Beijing is already bulging at the sides with its current population, and I see my well-thought-out travel routines halting like the traffic once the games begin.

On another note, I had my first and so far last day of training on Tuesday. Although it was relatively uneventful, I experienced something most people never will. I got to stand on the turf for Field Hockey and sit in a vacant, echoing Archery stadium. They’re always different than you imagine. But none of us has ever experienced an Olympics without the aid of a glass screen and a cable box. It’s something that’s bigger than any one country; it’s as big as this world. It’s humbling (and corny) to know that soon the world will come to Beijing, and for two weeks seven continents will be smaller in something that is bigger than we can imagine.


Now, as promised, here are a couple of pictures of my uniform to tickle your fancy and brighten your day! Have a good laugh at my expense, I had one already.

Experiences means occasional clip blogs!

For all that is great in this country it must be balanced by all that is strange. For a change of pace, I thought I would visually share some of my experiences for y'all. Here is a video of a Peking Opera we attended one Sunday night. It is entirely in Chinese, and despite the English subtitles I'm still at a loss for the plot. However, the colorful costumes, atrocious singing and cultural wealth kept me interested. As usual, I try to pass on a bit of my acquired knowledge: The Peking Opera was entertainment put on for a particular empress at the summer palace. Once a month for six days she could expect to see a new show in similar format and be entertained for an entire summer. For us, one night was enough. Enjoy.



Shrimp complete with eyes, scorpion and shish-ka-bob hearts may be on my black list, but Peking duck is not! I'm a notoriously picky eater, with the exception of chicken and beef, I would typically prefer to name my meat than eat it, but in the spirit of trying new things and being in China, I found it necessary to try something a little "gamey." While I could regale you with the detailed preparation steps for Peking Duck, I will opt out and just tell you that there is a reason it is so expensive (no, I didn't pay for this meal). Anyway, the video portrays our chef cutting the duck into 90 equal pieces, which you then roll in tortilla-like pancakes and add onions and soy sauce.




I'm certainly glad that I didn't have aspirations of being an artist because the fluid talent of this man's calligraphy would have promised a career change. Unfortunately, I can't remember his name, but he was supposedly one of the best calligraphy artists around. We intruded on a lesson between him and his student, but both were eager to show us the true art of Chinese characters. In this video he is making something special for one of the girls in our group. I believe this translates to "bold" or "gutsy." I was, however, neither when it came to showing off my Chinese to several news cameras. I opted to document the process, however shaky it may be.

Enjoy all the videos guys. I have a few more, but I didn't think Chinese Hooters girls line dancing would be appropriate for the blog. However, if y'all want to see the video, I will be happy to share it. Until next time!

~Molly

Experience means fame!

Two weeks into our journey and I’m pretty sure if someone were to utter the words “cheeseburger” or “chicken strips” our heads would spin with intense excitement. The same goes for the discussion of flushable toilet paper, Pepto Bismol and hand sanitizer. I think a lot of us are ready to grovel apologetically for not having appreciated things like ice, sit-down toilets and non-upset stomachs while we were home. However, in the spirit of my genius parents I will utilize their advice: “Molly, it’s all part of the experience.” Great guys, but I can’t eat experience, and if you do here you run the risk of it eating you back…

Aside from bipolar stomachs constantly torn between sickness and hunger, we are all doing fairly well here. The Olympics are creeping ever closer and China seems bent on expressing itself as best it can. While stories of pollution reduction may seem absurd back home, I have to report that I have seen a drastic change in just two weeks. The air no longer posses the thickness of soup, and we are quite often greeted with blue sky (at 430 am, I might add). My official training begins Tuesday, that means spandex pants, bucket hats and fanny packs may be in the forecast. If I receive my uniform on Tuesday I will be sure to post pictures, I know y’all are aching to see it. Believe me, I’m aching to wear it.

The blocks that surround the famous Olympic Village have received intense makeovers promising scads of tourists and more importantly money. Whether it’s cultural or industrial, the unique buildings boast their own personalities. Side streets feed off of the curiosity of tourists eager to see the tales of Chinese cuisine. Past the modern architecture and flashing English signs, the outer streets host kiosks baring fried cicadas and cockroaches on sticks, and that’s just what we were able to identify. Past the aisles of mystery meat and “burritos” (I’m from Texas, those weren’t burritos!), are locals selling cheap goods that supposedly display Chinese culture. The benefits of the Olympics seem to run deep, as these unique gifts (such as Mao Bags and magnets) are only worth something to foreigners. Nike and London Fog buildings conceal these small shops and perhaps this speaks a little about the exaggeration of China’s wealth. As it is the locals and poor that stay up late in order to mimic the schedules of Westerners seeking an opporutnity to make a sale, I’m not sure that every one is climbing up that “wealth” ladder equally. In the spirit of transparency, I have to say that this is only based on my observations, but we met a young Chinese man (about my age) who is working for BOCOG to send money to his family back home. His advice for young travelers: go to the smaller provinces of China to really see the culture, because Beijing isn’t quite it.

Cultural change is slow, and as an American I’m not about to shirk the responsibility that my own country still holds to its people. I am, however, enjoying first-hand recognition of the contrasts between the U.S. and China and the tension it breeds. Observation is the key to experience, and with the help of several overly-caffeinated Chinese people, I now know why so many people hate journalists. It’s a misconception, of course, as journalism truly is an industry of curiosity. However, I was a bit worried when curiosity almost killed…well me! Ok, now I’m sensationalizing. Anyway, a series of events on Wednesday night led my friend Lyndsey and me to a well-populated park in the center of campus. Man-made ponds and older women exercising set the ambiance for the “English Corner,” which was meeting that night. As we stood conspicuously watching the women’s synchronized movements and listening to the slow, even flow of the music, a young Chinese man asks us to join him at the “English Corner.” Had we not already known what this was we wouldn’t have gone, but a few others from Mizzou had read to the group a couple of weeks ago and I was eager to meet them. We followed him as he tried to make conversation, “Our teacher much better than me,” he said. I could only make out a shy smile in the fading sun when I told him he was doing great. We were led only a few feet from where we were initially standing, but like a kid coming back to camp after having caught a fish, the young man smiled at probably 25 Chinese people all wanting to practice their English. Lyndsey and I were swarmed with questions, and I felt like the president at a press conference. For many of them, we were the first Americans they had ever spoken with or seen. And they weren’t shy about asking us difficult questions, “Do you like China,” “I bet America really doesn’t care about the Olympics, they are too far,” “Tell me about the weather here. The pollution isn’t bad, right?” “What do you think of your country’s economy?” “President Bush is from Texas, right?” Like mosquitoes swarming around a light, some questions came simultaneously others came before I could answer the last. At times I struggled to understand their questions, and they struggled to accept my answers. The group grew and waned as the hour passed. Sometimes the numbers inflated with the question, as others got bored of waiting their turn. Most had never left China, and saw little reason to do so. Many wanted me to move to China to study at Renmin or find a job here. One man even took down my blog address; I hope you found it ok, sir.

Surprisingly, we all had to go to a foreign country to lose our anonymity and we constantly discuss how we have grown accustomed to the stares or awkward and surprised looks when we blurt out “nihao” to anyone who finds our appearance particularly exotic. In fact the young man I mentioned earlier was kind enough to point out that he had seen us on TV, although we hadn’t bothered to watch the news cast ourselves.

Moral of this blog: Mom and dad, the next time you tell me I talk too much, put yourself in the shoes of these people who stood around for an hour just for the chance to ask me a question.

~Molly

Experience means sweating

I went on a walk this evening because it was unusually cool and the sky resembled, well, sky. For me, walks are as essential to writing as a pen or keyboard. But in this instance when my lack of organization, time and motivation has led me to a four-day lapse in blogging, I find a walk to be as essential as breathing.

Whether my walk was to escape or to just get lost (you know how I like to do that) I’m not really sure. Perhaps it was a little bit of both. With 17 million Chinese people in one city, and 80 or so American journalists in a hotel, it’s rare to catch a solitary moment. You begin to blend in more with each other, and as a result stick out more in the crowd. And while it seems that Chinese culture is privy to mixing themselves with others, I just can’t. I’m frightened of being labeled as “that girl from Missouri,” but at the same time I’m tired of being seen as a novelty for my round, blue eyes (we are all constantly stared at). I think everyone can testify that being “cool” has always eluded me; I would so much prefer ice cream to alcohol, a museum to a bar or a quiet walk to a loud, late night. So sometimes escaping into yourself and remembering how you are different is vital and getting lost is just preferred.

I didn’t, however, have much opportunity to get lost these last few days. As we were bussed around the city we were lost to memories within American music and YouTube. While it’s only been a few weeks at times it feels like months. We have all stopped questioning what we are eating and either just accepted the cuisine or else quit all together (don’t worry, mom, I chose the former). A trip to McDonalds or Pizza Hut is a happy occasion, but on the plus side, we are all becoming very professional with our chopsticks (although we still aren’t wearing white clothing to meals). As a result of our tour, I’m pretty sure I know more about Beijing than Fort Worth now, and could probably give you better directions. However, having seen the water purification plant and government housing, I’m also certain that Friday was a day centered on propaganda. Despite their best efforts, I’m still not drinking the water!

While Friday was as transparent as air, Saturday and Sunday did offer the essentials of a genuine tour. I feel as if I should enter this part with a drum roll, however, my music skills are on par with my math, so I suggest using your imaginations. Achem, yes, I have seen the second wonder of the world, the Great Wall of China. I mentioned earlier that I don’t consider myself a writer. I didn’t say that to get comments. As much as I want to be a writer, I truly can’t see myself as one until I have met my goals. However, I feel like if I can express to you what I saw on top of that wall than I might be one step closer.

The wall is outside of the city and that day the sky was completely blue, but the hills and mountains still hid behind a mask of smog and clouds. Their grandeur made the city dissolve behind us as we wound our way through the paved streets that seem to bow to the whim of the hills rather than interfere. The wall stretches for 621 miles and so began long before we arrived at our particular spot. You can see as it too bows and weaves around the mountain. Like a freckle atop skin, the wall only adds character to its already impressive host. Your eyes follow as it disappears behind a nook of a hill, reemerging on another hill or side. Some of it is torn and beaten from centuries of duty.

After parking and dodging the masses of people attempting to sell us postcards, hats and fans we walked through a street that boasted a Starbucks, which resulted in cheers of gratitude from a group that has felt quite deprived. As we neared the top of the street and the winding entrance to the ancient wall we were stopped because the president of Mexico decided to take a trip to the wall as well (suddenly our blue eyes, blonde hair and American accents hold no merit). Long story short, thirty minutes later we let out a big cheer as the Chinese military allowed us to pass them and then, I’m sure, they erupted into a raucous of laughter after watching us cascade into each other. Like cattle we prodded, pushed and screeched at each other in a multitude of languages, before finally reaching the stairs that would allow us to touch the ancient relic.

We joked around as we gracefully followed the initial bits of the wall. Not only did it serve as a physical defense for ancient China, but it works as a psychological one as well. We played in the small openings of the first guard tower. The tiny corridors worked as a maze, and I was the only one who needn’t duck! We paused for scads of pictures before staring stupidly at the height of our endeavor. The top was easily visible, but the uneven steps stood testament to ancient Chinese defense, and we struggled to keep from sliding down the slopes or collapsing. I had never imagined the wall being so difficult to maneuver, and I kept thinking about the millions of individuals who spent centuries carrying stones up the unwavering hills.

Eventually the wall overtook me and I gave up, not quite reaching the top guard tower. I can’t say that I had an epiphany, discovered the meaning of life or achieved enlightenment (I need to have Dave Matthews playing for that to ever happen), but it was astounding to see. Some had stayed behind and others had gone on, so I rested comfortably in the middle alone. Beneath my feet stood thousands of years of imperial rule paranoid about vulnerability and below that stood probably millennia of earth that had yet to succumb to the development of modernity. The pair has relied on each other for centuries of solitude. The wall is allowed to rest upon the hills while warding off threats of development simply because it’s there. Leaning against the wall so as not to slide back the way I came, I gazed past the stone structure and over the horizon of the hills. They ran pure green and together the wall and hills were frozen in time. As cliché as it may be, I felt as if the grass blanketing the hills and the ancient stones could combine to expel centuries of tales. I felt as if all the discrepancies of history could be dispelled by a whisper of agreement from both nature and civilization, which had witnessed so much. The wall only made up a thin part of the clustered hills. The rest was littered with purity and solitude. For once I wanted to blend into the landscape, become a part of what the wall and those hills knew. Perhaps even to escape for a time from the ills of civilization that the pair had so willfully fended off.

While there is more to tell, I think this should suffice for now. We are currently in our training for the Olympics, so I will be sure to regale y’all with stories from that as soon as they become interesting! Love to all,

Ziajian
~Molly

Experience means tranquility

The busy streets of China chime with squeals of pedestrians as angry car horns pressure them out of the way. Subways bulge as travelers, businessmen, children and families make the immense population of China imaginable. And crowded sidewalks promise to teach the casual observer how to stop texting and walk!

You could almost liken Beijing to New York, where trusting your life to a taxi driver may label you “reckless” and eating the local fare may temporarily render your stomach out of commission. It is a rare and fleeting moment to stop and gather your thoughts and, if you take it, I’m certain the city would pass you by. The city and its people move with the chaos and thrive on the adrenaline it takes to keep up.

The intoxicated smells of sewer and subway, the vivid sounds of life in china and the thick air that engulfs it all can’t be experienced from the back of a tour bus. It is within one’s ability to get lost in the smells, sounds and smog, to question it and ask people for help that experience is born.

With everything that this city is, it is everything different from the guided, comfortable life I have always known. Chinese, and English have both become obsolete in the world outside of my hotel, which means communication is reduced to pointing, nodding or smiling. It takes immense amounts of work even to receive a meal worthy of my evolving chopstick skills, and yet yields intense appreciation. The range of human emotions that can be expressed through gestures is refreshing. Language can only bar so much before something breaks through and connects two beings from separate worlds, binding them as humans. In the end, language is the same words that just sound different.

In all its intensity, Beijing is little more than overwhelming at times and today’s adventure brought a slight balance to all the originality. Our first stop was the Lama Temple just out the Yonghegong subway station. A beautiful garden surrounds the inner gate of this several-layered Buddhist Temple. Although there are the expected ice cream and Olympic licensed stores in the beginning, past the gates lay several yards of temples filled with Buddhas. We grazed through the temples, sampling each ritual and smelling the incense that burned so delicately as an offering to each Buddha. The most impressive was a 60-food Buddha carved from a tree by monks, who still live there and can be seen walking amongst the grounds. It took the temple several years to acquire the money to buy the giant tree, another three to bring the tree from the forest to the temple and another few to carve the magnificent statue. While no photos were allowed, we did receive a CD supposedly of pictures from the temple. I’m hoping to use those.

We finally maneuvered the tiny, crowded streets to the Confucius Temple. Inside there were few visitors save some Western tourists and others leisurely absorbing the gardens and temples. While I’m not completely familiar with the practice of Confucianism, I know that this was one of the most peaceful places I have ever experienced. It was as if a bubble had formed over the centuries-old buildings and relics, preserving the tranquility that you would expect from a temple. As Americans we despise crowded areas, and surprisingly tend to veer from intense noise (especially since we are often the ones causing it). It was a sighing relief to hear nothing besides the beautiful “flute” that seemed to come from nowhere. It was hypnotizing and for the first time I felt my heart relax and my head ease. The tranquility issued in that bubble pulled me away from the exit, begging for just one more moment of solace.

A few of our friends opted for massages instead of the temples today. I don’t blame them, but I’m certain I gained more relaxation from the beauty and serenity of those temples than they did from an hour-long massage.

*Yes, I'm trying to add pictures. But by now, you know how that goes.

Until next time!

Ziajian
~Molly

Experience means getting lost

After four years of college you could almost amount what I have learned to what I owe. I have learned that philosophers who predated Jesus penned the persistently true thoughts of our society. I have learned how to grocery shop, cook (well, relatively), make enemies and lose friends, weigh small problems with large and how to hold my alcohol. With all that, nothing compares to what I have learned here: I was wrong.


(While I know someone who will try and etch that statement into stone, he should know that he can’t make me grow, and therefore he is still wrong.)


I took this trip to China in stride with everything else. I never amplified its possibilities in my mind or tossed around my luck or accomplishments in the endeavor. I passed over every excited glance I received from people as I worried about what story my life would tell afterward. For that, I’m sorry to all of you. I apologize for not acknowledging what an experience China is.


China is the smog that invasively masks the tops of buildings, and yet hides the suns heat. China is the wafted smell of sewer that permeates through the air, blending with the pollution above. China is the delicious smell of simmering mystery and the pleasure the people take in watching you cringe. China is the curious smirks of children steadying themselves for photos taken by foreigners who speak strangely, loudly and often. China is the beauty of a culture matured well beyond our knowledge and proud of such. And China is the inducer of tempted envy for a country where chivalry, respect and certainty seem abundant.


At 22, I’m far from smart. I don’t know how to do my own taxes, I can’t keep up with dishes and I still can’t get anyone to explain what “escrow” means so that I can understand. But in light of it all, I’m here without any guidance besides that of my peers, and I’m proud of myself too.


Now I know I promised regaling y’all with stories of news outlets and pizza, but things change. I have better ones instead.


While I’m in a country that puts toilets in the floor, packs rice within their peanut butter and changes the elevator rugs to reflect the day, sometimes it feels like I’m in the States. Perhaps it’s the 58 other goofballs traipsing around in their Mizzou paraphernalia loudly swearing and towering over the Chinese people, (ok I don’t tower…). Saturday led us to Tian’Anmen square and the Forbidden City (yes, I know, not so forbidden). Both were breathtaking, in both size and historical value. The Forbidden City acts like a beacon in the center of Beijing and echoes memories of centuries-old architecture and evolving government. The staunch buildings, bland and intimidating of Tian’Anmen square mark the fall of the neighboring Forbidden City and the ushered new reign at the beginning of the 20th century. Both can only be told through pictures and video, so I will be quick in posting those for you.


Now, the good stuff. As I sit here writing, I’m enjoying the childhood joy of pocky sticks, which eluded me after we left Japan. I have American Music playing and my tea is Lipton. However, not everything can be so familiar in a foreign country. Yesterday began as any other day on Molly’s agenda: a day of shopping! A day off to explore meant such to all of us. So as five of us started a trek across Renmin’s campus with several issues of Frommer’s Beijing guide and a Mandarin picture book, we were ready to experience China—in a mall riddled with American clothing and a Dairy Queen. Ok, not so much.


So in the middle of an air-conditioned mall the five of us literally put our heads together over a map and guide book settling on a market famous for bargaining—we all thought we could use a little practice with our poker faces. Frommer’s in hand, we headed off to hale a cab and take a subway several stops across the city to our destination.


Clamoring up the stairs we all talked excitedly about our experiences bargaining for fake brands and devising a strategy to keep me away from all possible deals (I have no poker face. My only talent is sneezing). Now picture our excitement halting like the screeching tires of a semi-truck as a squirrel barely eeks through the tires with his life. Such was our emotional drop when the taxi driver refused to continue onward with five people squeezed on his pleather bench seat. We had to split—two and three. I ended up in the group of three as we excitedly continued our drive to the subway station. Remember that poor squirrel? Well here comes another semi—the lovely cab we were all schvitzing in begins to slow down on a bridge before coming to a halt on the shoulder of the highway.


“Sorry” says the cab driver in probably the only English word he knew (which leads me to believe he uses this one a lot) before he shoos us out of the cab and onto a highway parading with cars, busses and taxis, none of them willing to stop for anything more than a photo of the stranded Americans.


A few walked blocks in sweltering heat, a dart through oncoming traffic and persuaded taxi driver later, we are on our way again to meet our friends at the subway station—maybe not. Apparently my Chinese isn’t up to par and a missed pronunciation brought us back to Tian’Anmen Square in the second taxi. Lovely spot, not where I wanted to be…


We paid the sorry driver and the three of us again put our heads together around a map like some ancient religious ritual. A few photos, broken Chinese, and a subway later, we found Yashow market and proceeded to buy cheap goods. I bought a bag and with the help of my friend lowered the price from about 650 yuan to 200 (that’s about 28 bucks). Still, I’m certain my giggling and probably sneezing limited our possibility to get it down more. We ended the night at Hooters Beijing (I have a video of that too) and some lovely chicken strips!

To finish up here's a treat: A Chinese paper did an article about us. No, I'm not in it, but it's worth a gander.

http://www.chinadaily.com.cn/cndy/2008-07/04/content_6818182.htm

Finally, I know y'all are craving pictures as much as I'm craving American food, however, I'm continuously running into problems on that front. Our Internet is restricted, so for now use your imaginations, and if y'all want I can try and e-mail some pictures. Sorry about that, xiexie


Zaijian!

~Molly

"Let's order Pizza!"

“Misunderstandings lead to more problems than shared interests,” Dean Gao so tactfully (and in Chinese, I might add) preached on our second day. Misunderstandings about culture, or desires perhaps? It’s almost as if we expect that by jumping continents we will some how emerge walking on the sky instead of the ground. As if flavoring various cultures may lead our insides to unfold in shock at the differences. With the exception of a 13-hour head start on the day from the U.S., China and its people seem to share twin ambitions with the U.S.

Our initial arrival into China was marked (thankfully) with nothing save a camera lens, and that seems to have continued as a theme for our trip. The eye of some man’s video camera and many interested Chinese have kept track of our group, scouting our moves and musing at complete misunderstanding of their language. However, in no disrespect to Professor Gao, I’m certain we haven’t stirred up any hard feelings.

It seems however, in our musings around the country, I have some catching up to do here.

Day 1

While I’m neither a prisoner keeping track of my incarceration, nor a stranded sailor, I’m organizing myself by labeling each day.

After a groggy night and several forced hours of consciousness, including a dinner menu with no traces of English and a meeting where nearly every attendee fell asleep with their eyes open, we awoke somewhat refreshed. My roommate and I started out with our tourist hats on and got lost on Renmin’s campus (we are staying at the hotel at the university). Clearly a quizzical look is the same in any language (chalk one up to similarities!) because a nice Chinese student approached us to ask if we were lost. I was both ecstatic to hear English and to know that I wouldn’t be late to our first meeting. Tom showed us to where we needed to be and we clamored up the stairs to meet our group.

Now, back home I know my place quite well, and have become accustomed to being knocked around. My anonymity at home is nothing to warrant the star treatment we have so far experienced. I’m just guessing but it may be the University I attend and (quite honestly) the power over the journalism community it holds, but that’s just a guess!

However, not all cultures can meet right in the middle and later that day it was like awakening on Christmas morning to socks. We were asked to try on our uniforms for the Olympics. Exciting, you say? Ah, but I beg to differ; the shirts and shoes pose no problem besides the obvious carnie feel of 59 matching college kids as we collectively march off to a "summer job". No, no, they say Beijing Olympics, and this opportunity is worlds away from a high schooler matching with his Six Flags co-workers, they get paid. It’s the pants. It’s their murky gray that matches the polluted smog, which on most days hides your head from your feet, it’s their spandex waist band, which could double as my bra, and its astonishing talent to make my butt look especially elongated several decades beyond its age.

By days end we were hungry and seeking a meal experience fat different from lunch, which ended with many of us questioning our decision to come to China; “I had a plate of tomatoes,” “A ball of rice was my lunch,” “Really, I had nothing.” Our chatter must have mustered its way to the top and that evening we were greeted with an assortment of fruits and a less intimidating introduction to Chinese cuisine. (By the way, American-Chinese food isn’t even close, and that’s probably a good thing). We were again greeted by Professor Gao, thanked for our interest in China and told that when we start to miss our home to please consider his campus home. He presented us with stamps with our Chinese names. Want to know mine? “Molly” I know, I was excited too! It means Jasmine Flower, and we were given stamps with our names in English and Chinese, I will be letter-heading my correspondence with those, so just wait.

While I can see each of you poised at the edge of your seat ready for more, I will have to leave you here as my chattering takes too long and I will be even farther backed up tomorrow.

Next time on “Beijing Bound”… Day two of my adventure starts with a tour of two media outlets and ends with Beijing pizza…stay tuned!