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