Don't forget to check the CHINA PHOTO GALLERY and CHINA VIDEO CLIPS, as well as the BEIJING DAY-BY-DAY tracker for multimedia updates.
BLOGGER'S NOTE: BE SURE TO VISIT MY EXPAT BLOG FOR NEW UPDATES ON MY LIFE IN BEIJING.
Unpaid Intern in Action: Episode II The Saga Continues
19 July 2009
Last Thursday was the last night of my internship with China Daily. If you're confused by past blog posts where I said I'd be staying longer, stay with me.
The internship is over, but my time in Beijing is just beginning. Last Monday I was offered a job with Beijing Review, the magazine that asked me to take an editing exam the Friday before. So now, instead of working for free, I'll be getting a paycheck.
I start work tomorrow (Monday).
The job at Beijing Review is an English copy editing position. I'll have to start looking for an apartment again, but it should be much easier since I'll be here longer.
The contract is for one year, as long as an X/Work Visa lasts. I get Chinese and American holidays off and 2 weeks paid leave after I've been working at BJR for 11 months. The pay isn't bad either, so I won't be living in a shack.
When I first arrived in Beijing, I wasn't sure what to expect or how I'd feel about China. Now, two months later, I find myself attached to the Asian nation. This next year will be full of new experiences as I fully adapt to living in a foreign country.
So here ends the adventures of an unpaid intern. The extensive sightseeing will be put on hold as I focus on other priorities, topping that list with learning the language. But while the 2-month work vacation may be coming to a close, so begins my life as an expatriate.
Now all I have to do is find a big enough apartment to house all the friends from home who say they'll be visiting.
Photo: Lui Weitao, Mike Peters, Brandon Taylor and Marisha Thakur, China Daily's International News Department
Last Thursday was the last night of my internship with China Daily. If you're confused by past blog posts where I said I'd be staying longer, stay with me.
The internship is over, but my time in Beijing is just beginning. Last Monday I was offered a job with Beijing Review, the magazine that asked me to take an editing exam the Friday before. So now, instead of working for free, I'll be getting a paycheck.
I start work tomorrow (Monday).
The job at Beijing Review is an English copy editing position. I'll have to start looking for an apartment again, but it should be much easier since I'll be here longer.
The contract is for one year, as long as an X/Work Visa lasts. I get Chinese and American holidays off and 2 weeks paid leave after I've been working at BJR for 11 months. The pay isn't bad either, so I won't be living in a shack.
When I first arrived in Beijing, I wasn't sure what to expect or how I'd feel about China. Now, two months later, I find myself attached to the Asian nation. This next year will be full of new experiences as I fully adapt to living in a foreign country.
So here ends the adventures of an unpaid intern. The extensive sightseeing will be put on hold as I focus on other priorities, topping that list with learning the language. But while the 2-month work vacation may be coming to a close, so begins my life as an expatriate.
Now all I have to do is find a big enough apartment to house all the friends from home who say they'll be visiting.
Photo: Lui Weitao, Mike Peters, Brandon Taylor and Marisha Thakur, China Daily's International News Department
Terracotta Master and Commander
17 July 2009
An army of gray and red stood at attention before me, awaiting my command. Their lines stretched back, row after row of disciplined soldiers. It was an empowering feeling, standing above this legion. And then I was relieved of my duties, pushed aside as a few American tourists took photos of themselves with the ancient terracotta army. I decided it was time for a few photos myself.
The Terracotta Warriors, located in Xian, were next on my list of things to see in China, having seen the Great Wall and Tiananmen Square.
The tour I found first stopped at a terracotta factory, where replicas and miniatures of the warriors were produced. Workers explained how the soldiers were made and then took us to a room where we could pay absurd prices for scaled models or life size warriors. A stone figurine cost anywhere from 100 Yuan ($14) to 15,000 ($2200) for a full-size stone replica of a terracotta general or emperor.
Soon enough, we were badgered to buy the mini-warriors no more and were off to see the true ancient army.
About 8,000 terracotta warriors line an area about the size of two or three football fields. The truly impressive part of the army isn’t the shear size, but the fact that each soldier is unique. The bodies were mass produced, but each soldier’s face is unique, different from the stone faces of his surrounding terracotta brethren. After the terracotta project was undertaken, the heads of the warriors were molded by individuals throughout China. If the emperor was displeased with the craftsmanship of a warrior, there was a very good chance the sculptor would be killed. Perfection was expected in this era before Playdo provided a great resource for practice.
The warriors occupy three pits. Pit No. 1 contains the bulk of the army, with the other pits housing the terracotta generals and a much smaller column of soldiers. Interspersed between the ranks were horses and charioteers, their wooden, wheeled vehicles now gone after centuries of deterioration. A few warriors were destroyed during the initial dig, too brittle to handle the shovels and other instruments of excavation. Yet despite these casualties, the army stands strong and proud as if ready to spring to life to defend their emperor.
I felt a bit foolish after I was awoken from my daydream of being commander of the terracotta army. Who was I to assume such a command? But standing before the warriors does give a small, quirky sense of empowerment, as the soldiers stare off into space, awaiting orders. For 2000 years they’ve waited and for 2000 more they will remain fixated. Standing, staring and impressing wannabe-generals.
To see more photos and video, visit CHINA PHOTO GALLERY and CHINA VIDEO CLIPS
Mr. Taylor's Neighborhood- China Daily
16 July 2009
It's kind of difficult to miss the China Daily building, even without being able to read Mandarin. The words CHINA DAILY are displayed on the building's top and are illuminated at night.
The building houses China Daily's main staffs, including those of their US Edition as well as the 21st Century publication, whose readership includes mainly younger Chinese who wish to learn English.
My "office" is on the second floor, among the other night staffers. We recently were moved into our own little room, with three clocks hanging on the wall to indicate the time of three different major cities (although we're sill not sure which cities).
Within the building is a canteen area, where China Daily employees can get lunch, dinner and a midnight snack.
Right behind China Daily are two apartment buildings where they house their domestic and foreign staffs. So, theoretically, an employee can eat, sleep and work within the China Daily compound without having to leave. This gave new meaning to the phrase "I practically live at the [insert place of employment]" that I used so many times when describing my life at Penn State's Daily Collegian.
It's kind of difficult to miss the China Daily building, even without being able to read Mandarin. The words CHINA DAILY are displayed on the building's top and are illuminated at night.
The building houses China Daily's main staffs, including those of their US Edition as well as the 21st Century publication, whose readership includes mainly younger Chinese who wish to learn English.
My "office" is on the second floor, among the other night staffers. We recently were moved into our own little room, with three clocks hanging on the wall to indicate the time of three different major cities (although we're sill not sure which cities).
Within the building is a canteen area, where China Daily employees can get lunch, dinner and a midnight snack.
Right behind China Daily are two apartment buildings where they house their domestic and foreign staffs. So, theoretically, an employee can eat, sleep and work within the China Daily compound without having to leave. This gave new meaning to the phrase "I practically live at the [insert place of employment]" that I used so many times when describing my life at Penn State's Daily Collegian.
The Hills Have Smells
13 July 2009
On another one of my adventures to the outskirts of Beijing, I found myself standing on top of a hill. Actually, by American standards, it was more like the foot of a mountain. The name was equally deceiving – Fragrant Hills. While I didn’t notice any particularly good smells in the area, I did notice the stunning view before me.
Positioned about 10 km outside of Beijing, the Fragrant Hills offer a panoramic view of the entire Beijing area. And I mean entire. In either direction, all the eye can see is the urban jungle of Beijing.
I’d found the park online in my search to see more monuments dedicated to Sun Zhongshan. A small temple here had another statue, a coffin that was to be used in Zhongshan’s burial and a few of his original writings.
I’d intended to spend about an hour around the hilly area, but after discovering a ski lift that would take me to the top of the hill for 50 kuai, I decided to stay a little longer.
The ride up was invigorating, as more and more of Beijing and the suburbs became visible as I slowly made my way up the hill. After hopping off the lift, I had a complete view of the city.
I took a few photos of the area and mountains surrounding me, including one with another random Chinese person, and made my way to the ski lift. I gave the person my ticket, which they gave back, waving their hand in a “Do Not Pass” fashion and pointing to ski lift price sign. I read it again: Ski Lift- 50 Yuan (one way). One way. I’d somehow missed that on the way up.
I wasn’t about to pay another 50 kuai to take the lift down, so I started walking. As I began the trek down the hill, a group of young Chinese were approaching the top. They looked as if there were about to keel over and die, breathing heavily as sweat drenched their clothing.
“Well, at least I’m walking downhill,” I thought, snug with the thought of having taken the lift up.
How wrong I was. Five minutes into the hike I was sweating profusely. I’d started with two bottles of water, one of which was now gone, and I looked out hopelessly to see I’d only made it about one-fifth of the way down the hill. I had to keep moving.
People passed me on the way up. One man was briskly jogging with his shirt off. “What do you have to prove man,” I thought to myself. I passed a couple on my way down. The woman was wearing high heels. And for some reason I ran into an unusual number of stray cats (about 6 on the walk down).
Close to an hour later, I made it to the bottom. I’d taken my shirt off and quickly threw it back on as some of the older folk looked disapprovingly as my pale white skin in the bright sun.
I barely made it out of the park without falling over from exhaustion, but soon found a bus and was on my way home. I was glad to have found the Fragrant Hills, something my guidebook had mentioned briefly. Despite the walk down the hill, which took me some time to recover from, the view from the top had been a sight worth seeing.
One of the other interns asked me about the Fragrant Hills when I got back. Before mentioning the view and overall peaceful atmosphere of the area, I took a deep breath, relaxed and sighed deeply.
“Be sure you have 100 kuai,” I said.
To see more photos and video, visit CHINA PHOTO GALLERY and CHINA VIDEO CLIPS
On another one of my adventures to the outskirts of Beijing, I found myself standing on top of a hill. Actually, by American standards, it was more like the foot of a mountain. The name was equally deceiving – Fragrant Hills. While I didn’t notice any particularly good smells in the area, I did notice the stunning view before me.
Positioned about 10 km outside of Beijing, the Fragrant Hills offer a panoramic view of the entire Beijing area. And I mean entire. In either direction, all the eye can see is the urban jungle of Beijing.
I’d found the park online in my search to see more monuments dedicated to Sun Zhongshan. A small temple here had another statue, a coffin that was to be used in Zhongshan’s burial and a few of his original writings.
I’d intended to spend about an hour around the hilly area, but after discovering a ski lift that would take me to the top of the hill for 50 kuai, I decided to stay a little longer.
The ride up was invigorating, as more and more of Beijing and the suburbs became visible as I slowly made my way up the hill. After hopping off the lift, I had a complete view of the city.
I took a few photos of the area and mountains surrounding me, including one with another random Chinese person, and made my way to the ski lift. I gave the person my ticket, which they gave back, waving their hand in a “Do Not Pass” fashion and pointing to ski lift price sign. I read it again: Ski Lift- 50 Yuan (one way). One way. I’d somehow missed that on the way up.
I wasn’t about to pay another 50 kuai to take the lift down, so I started walking. As I began the trek down the hill, a group of young Chinese were approaching the top. They looked as if there were about to keel over and die, breathing heavily as sweat drenched their clothing.
“Well, at least I’m walking downhill,” I thought, snug with the thought of having taken the lift up.
How wrong I was. Five minutes into the hike I was sweating profusely. I’d started with two bottles of water, one of which was now gone, and I looked out hopelessly to see I’d only made it about one-fifth of the way down the hill. I had to keep moving.
People passed me on the way up. One man was briskly jogging with his shirt off. “What do you have to prove man,” I thought to myself. I passed a couple on my way down. The woman was wearing high heels. And for some reason I ran into an unusual number of stray cats (about 6 on the walk down).
Close to an hour later, I made it to the bottom. I’d taken my shirt off and quickly threw it back on as some of the older folk looked disapprovingly as my pale white skin in the bright sun.
I barely made it out of the park without falling over from exhaustion, but soon found a bus and was on my way home. I was glad to have found the Fragrant Hills, something my guidebook had mentioned briefly. Despite the walk down the hill, which took me some time to recover from, the view from the top had been a sight worth seeing.
One of the other interns asked me about the Fragrant Hills when I got back. Before mentioning the view and overall peaceful atmosphere of the area, I took a deep breath, relaxed and sighed deeply.
“Be sure you have 100 kuai,” I said.
To see more photos and video, visit CHINA PHOTO GALLERY and CHINA VIDEO CLIPS
Unpaid Intern in Action: Job Interviews
10 July 2009
This week, I've had two job interviews. That's two more interviews than I probably would be getting back home.
The first was for a position at an eCommerce company called Light in the Box as an English editor and language consultant. The company was created earlier this year by the former CEO of Google China. I did a little research before the interview, since I have no background in economics, eCommerce or anything business related so I wanted to at least have a basic understanding.
The interview went well. The woman said I was more than qualified but there was one problem - I didn't speak Chinese. That hadn't been a prerequisite under qualifications, but I knew I'd need at least a basic understanding of the Chinese language. Essentially, I had no hope for that job.
She later called me back and said that she'd recommend me to her boss for further evaluation (essentially the next level in the process, I guess) but that it would be difficult convincing the higher-ups since my Mandarin was non-existent.
She also put me in touch with some of her friends, trying to arrange for me to teach kids to speak English. It's an option I'll keep open.
Today, I had an interview and editing exam with Beijing Review. Beijing Review, a weekly magazine, is considered to be the Newsweek of China. I answered questions and took the test.
Now the hardest part of the interview processes begins - the wait.
This week, I've had two job interviews. That's two more interviews than I probably would be getting back home.
The first was for a position at an eCommerce company called Light in the Box as an English editor and language consultant. The company was created earlier this year by the former CEO of Google China. I did a little research before the interview, since I have no background in economics, eCommerce or anything business related so I wanted to at least have a basic understanding.
The interview went well. The woman said I was more than qualified but there was one problem - I didn't speak Chinese. That hadn't been a prerequisite under qualifications, but I knew I'd need at least a basic understanding of the Chinese language. Essentially, I had no hope for that job.
She later called me back and said that she'd recommend me to her boss for further evaluation (essentially the next level in the process, I guess) but that it would be difficult convincing the higher-ups since my Mandarin was non-existent.
She also put me in touch with some of her friends, trying to arrange for me to teach kids to speak English. It's an option I'll keep open.
Today, I had an interview and editing exam with Beijing Review. Beijing Review, a weekly magazine, is considered to be the Newsweek of China. I answered questions and took the test.
Now the hardest part of the interview processes begins - the wait.
Unpaid Intern in Action: Extending the stay
9 July 2009
I've been having such a great time in Beijing that I've decided to stay a little longer. My visa lasts 90 days after I arrive, so I have another 30 left. I figure I'll use this time to keep the job options open and maybe do a little additional sightseeing.
I talked to my internship adviser and he was more than happy to have me stay. I mean, really, who's going to turn down free labor from an unpaid intern.
As of now, I have until the end of the month to stay in my apartment and work at China Daily. Then it's either homeward bound or the start of a second apartment search here in Beijing.
I've been having such a great time in Beijing that I've decided to stay a little longer. My visa lasts 90 days after I arrive, so I have another 30 left. I figure I'll use this time to keep the job options open and maybe do a little additional sightseeing.
I talked to my internship adviser and he was more than happy to have me stay. I mean, really, who's going to turn down free labor from an unpaid intern.
As of now, I have until the end of the month to stay in my apartment and work at China Daily. Then it's either homeward bound or the start of a second apartment search here in Beijing.
There's a smog rolling in
8 July 2009
When it rains, it pours in Beijing. And when it's not sunny, it's smoggy. I'm not sure what factors determine where these hovering plumes form, but at different times throughout my stay, certain parts of the city skyline have been hidden behind a curtain of gray.
A thick covering blanketed our area a few weeks ago, placing a sheet of smog at the street level that made seeing the adjacent sidewalks difficult. Since then, it hasn't been too bad. The occasional haze in the distance is almost always visible, but a strong breeze is usually able to blow the smog away.
It rained today, so the skyline view from my 10th floor apartment was visible this morning. Earlier this week I could barely make out any of the buildings in the distance.
When it rains, it pours in Beijing. And when it's not sunny, it's smoggy. I'm not sure what factors determine where these hovering plumes form, but at different times throughout my stay, certain parts of the city skyline have been hidden behind a curtain of gray.
A thick covering blanketed our area a few weeks ago, placing a sheet of smog at the street level that made seeing the adjacent sidewalks difficult. Since then, it hasn't been too bad. The occasional haze in the distance is almost always visible, but a strong breeze is usually able to blow the smog away.
It rained today, so the skyline view from my 10th floor apartment was visible this morning. Earlier this week I could barely make out any of the buildings in the distance.
Mr. Taylor's Neighborhood: China Construction Bank
6 July 2009
This trip has certainly put a hole in my bank account, but so far it's been worth it.
Before coming to Beijing, the longest trip I'd taken was to Germany for about three weeks. I was able to keep all my money in my suitcase, which wasn't much because I was staying with a host family and they provided me with food and a roof over my head.
For the last two months, I've been completely on my own, paying for my the hotel and all my meals. Carrying around all that money in a suitcase would be unwise, so before coming to China I opened an account with Bank of America.
Bank of America has a partnership with China Construction Bank, so whenever I use a CCB ATM here I don't get charged a fee. The account has worked out well, especially since ATM fees usually amount to about $5 per transaction.
Better yet is the fact that CCB has two branches near my apartment. I don't access my account too frequently, due to the exchange rate and my ability to keep my spending to a minimum, but it's nice knowing there's money in the bank whenever I need it.
This trip has certainly put a hole in my bank account, but so far it's been worth it.
Before coming to Beijing, the longest trip I'd taken was to Germany for about three weeks. I was able to keep all my money in my suitcase, which wasn't much because I was staying with a host family and they provided me with food and a roof over my head.
For the last two months, I've been completely on my own, paying for my the hotel and all my meals. Carrying around all that money in a suitcase would be unwise, so before coming to China I opened an account with Bank of America.
Bank of America has a partnership with China Construction Bank, so whenever I use a CCB ATM here I don't get charged a fee. The account has worked out well, especially since ATM fees usually amount to about $5 per transaction.
Better yet is the fact that CCB has two branches near my apartment. I don't access my account too frequently, due to the exchange rate and my ability to keep my spending to a minimum, but it's nice knowing there's money in the bank whenever I need it.
New Do
5 July 2009
I stared at the face of the wolfman - bags under his eyes from an uncomfortable night’s sleep and desperately in need of a shave. The sides of his hair were pointed up in dog-ear fashion.
“God, I need a haircut,” I said to myself while looking into the mirror the other morning.
I hate having long hair. Ever since I started buzz cutting the top of my head, the low maintenance look is all I can take. Really, it’s not that long, but in the Beijing heat the shorter the haircut, the better.
I thought I could handle the situation myself by cutting my own hair or at least trimming it a bit.
At this point, you (the reader) should be thinking “Bad idea Brandon. Bad idea,” If not, think back to when you were 7 years old and cut your bangs with a pair or Crayola scissors (been there, done that).
To cut a long story short, I meant to just trim my sideburns but took a little too much off. I’ve shaped up my sides before, but the number 4 setting on my small electric razor was not the same as the industrial sized one I have at home. Whoops.
I consulted my China Daily friends, asking about a place to get my hair cut around here. They recommended a place down the street: the Purple Bat.
I found the place relatively easily, but realized the language barrier would present a bit of a problem. I Googled a few haircut words, like duan (short) and bu duan (not short), as well as trim (xiu jian) beforehand.
I entered the Purple Bat with confidence and was greeted by a short Chinese girl. After a few awkward stares since I had no idea what she was saying, I said “duan” pointing to the short patches on the sides of my head.
After a shampoo and wash, another woman came out. I explained to her how long I wanted my hair (and by “explain, I mean I pointed to my hair and said “duan” numerous times). She began cutting away. I was sitting in front of a massive mirror, like the one the evil queen has in Snow White.
“Mirror, mirror on the wall. When this is done, will I have any hair at all?” I thought to myself. I hoped that in saying short they knew that I still wanted some hair on my scalp.
Soon enough, the stylist was done. She handed me a small mirror. The haircut was exactly how I usually have it cut back home. Actually, it looked even better. The price was the best part – 38 kuai ($5.50). I usually pay between $20-30 back home.
In the States, I’ve always had a difficult time finding a place to get a haircut, having had enough bad experiences in the past or paying too much for something I could have done myself. Having found Purple Bat, I’ve fulfilled one of the many requirements necessary in finding a new place to live. If I find a gym around here, I may never want to leave.
I stared at the face of the wolfman - bags under his eyes from an uncomfortable night’s sleep and desperately in need of a shave. The sides of his hair were pointed up in dog-ear fashion.
“God, I need a haircut,” I said to myself while looking into the mirror the other morning.
I hate having long hair. Ever since I started buzz cutting the top of my head, the low maintenance look is all I can take. Really, it’s not that long, but in the Beijing heat the shorter the haircut, the better.
I thought I could handle the situation myself by cutting my own hair or at least trimming it a bit.
At this point, you (the reader) should be thinking “Bad idea Brandon. Bad idea,” If not, think back to when you were 7 years old and cut your bangs with a pair or Crayola scissors (been there, done that).
To cut a long story short, I meant to just trim my sideburns but took a little too much off. I’ve shaped up my sides before, but the number 4 setting on my small electric razor was not the same as the industrial sized one I have at home. Whoops.
I consulted my China Daily friends, asking about a place to get my hair cut around here. They recommended a place down the street: the Purple Bat.
I found the place relatively easily, but realized the language barrier would present a bit of a problem. I Googled a few haircut words, like duan (short) and bu duan (not short), as well as trim (xiu jian) beforehand.
I entered the Purple Bat with confidence and was greeted by a short Chinese girl. After a few awkward stares since I had no idea what she was saying, I said “duan” pointing to the short patches on the sides of my head.
After a shampoo and wash, another woman came out. I explained to her how long I wanted my hair (and by “explain, I mean I pointed to my hair and said “duan” numerous times). She began cutting away. I was sitting in front of a massive mirror, like the one the evil queen has in Snow White.
“Mirror, mirror on the wall. When this is done, will I have any hair at all?” I thought to myself. I hoped that in saying short they knew that I still wanted some hair on my scalp.
Soon enough, the stylist was done. She handed me a small mirror. The haircut was exactly how I usually have it cut back home. Actually, it looked even better. The price was the best part – 38 kuai ($5.50). I usually pay between $20-30 back home.
In the States, I’ve always had a difficult time finding a place to get a haircut, having had enough bad experiences in the past or paying too much for something I could have done myself. Having found Purple Bat, I’ve fulfilled one of the many requirements necessary in finding a new place to live. If I find a gym around here, I may never want to leave.
My, What a Great Wall You Have
3 July 2009
Richard Nixon took a lot of flack when he stood before the Great Wall in 1972 and proclaimed “This is a great wall.” Politicians and people of all nationalities were stunned, believing the U.S. president was either unimpressed or ill prepared for his trip to the Chinese mountains. Gazing upon the wall with my own eyes, I too was left speechless and realized how the most powerful man in the world could have made such a nondescript and seemingly obvious statement.
The Great Wall, simply put, is great. To call it anything else, such as the Awesome Wall or the Extremely Long Wall, would be inappropriate, understated and inconsiderate of the time and effort put into making this pan-ultimate defensive structure.
Beijing is surrounded by numerous sections of the Great Wall, but I made it a point to avoid the touristy segments. What I wanted was pure, unadulterated Great Wall. No rails. No restoration. Just Wall.
Through Google I found exactly the kind of tour I was looking for – a five-hour, 10 km hike of the Great Wall that included transportation.
A driver from the tour agency picked two of the other interns and myself up at our hotel at 6 a.m for a two hour drive to Jingshanling. Three hours later, I was standing on the Great Wall.
The view was breathtaking. A mountain breeze cooled my brow under the baking sun. Looking to the east, the wall stretched on for miles, rising and falling over the hills and trailing off into the mountains.
We spent the whole day traversing the wall. I bought a farmers hat to protect my head from the sun. I even brought my traveling gnome (a gift from a friend at Penn State), Harold, along too. If the hat wasn't enough, seeing me take photos of the one foot tall gnome dressed in blue and white made people stare even more.
Four hours later, my group reached the end of our Great Wall tour at Simatai, a relief since the next section of the Great Wall shot vertically up the side of a mountain. As we made our way down a slope leading to our tour van, clouds rolled in and a deluge was released on the area. Had we been on the wall another ten minutes, we would have been caught in the storm and probably stranded in one of the covered watchtowers.
After returning to the hotel, I called it a day at 7 p.m. The next morning, my feet felt like lead weights and my muscles ached. I spent the rest of the day waddling around the hotel room before going to work.
The experience had turned out just as I expected. I’d walked the Great Wall in the blazing sun, taken hundreds of photos and missed getting drenched in a downpour by minutes. It had been a great day on the Great Wall.
To see more photos and video, visit CHINA PHOTO GALLERY and CHINA VIDEO CLIPS
Richard Nixon took a lot of flack when he stood before the Great Wall in 1972 and proclaimed “This is a great wall.” Politicians and people of all nationalities were stunned, believing the U.S. president was either unimpressed or ill prepared for his trip to the Chinese mountains. Gazing upon the wall with my own eyes, I too was left speechless and realized how the most powerful man in the world could have made such a nondescript and seemingly obvious statement.
The Great Wall, simply put, is great. To call it anything else, such as the Awesome Wall or the Extremely Long Wall, would be inappropriate, understated and inconsiderate of the time and effort put into making this pan-ultimate defensive structure.
Beijing is surrounded by numerous sections of the Great Wall, but I made it a point to avoid the touristy segments. What I wanted was pure, unadulterated Great Wall. No rails. No restoration. Just Wall.
Through Google I found exactly the kind of tour I was looking for – a five-hour, 10 km hike of the Great Wall that included transportation.
A driver from the tour agency picked two of the other interns and myself up at our hotel at 6 a.m for a two hour drive to Jingshanling. Three hours later, I was standing on the Great Wall.
The view was breathtaking. A mountain breeze cooled my brow under the baking sun. Looking to the east, the wall stretched on for miles, rising and falling over the hills and trailing off into the mountains.
We spent the whole day traversing the wall. I bought a farmers hat to protect my head from the sun. I even brought my traveling gnome (a gift from a friend at Penn State), Harold, along too. If the hat wasn't enough, seeing me take photos of the one foot tall gnome dressed in blue and white made people stare even more.
Four hours later, my group reached the end of our Great Wall tour at Simatai, a relief since the next section of the Great Wall shot vertically up the side of a mountain. As we made our way down a slope leading to our tour van, clouds rolled in and a deluge was released on the area. Had we been on the wall another ten minutes, we would have been caught in the storm and probably stranded in one of the covered watchtowers.
After returning to the hotel, I called it a day at 7 p.m. The next morning, my feet felt like lead weights and my muscles ached. I spent the rest of the day waddling around the hotel room before going to work.
The experience had turned out just as I expected. I’d walked the Great Wall in the blazing sun, taken hundreds of photos and missed getting drenched in a downpour by minutes. It had been a great day on the Great Wall.
To see more photos and video, visit CHINA PHOTO GALLERY and CHINA VIDEO CLIPS
You ate WHAT?!?: Something fishy this way comes
1 July 2009
I’ve been going to this noodle place down the street from where I live for a few weeks now. Every night, I pretty much order the same thing: some kind of rice bowl or noodles and a few pork or lamb kebabs. Like any other night, I said a few Chinese phrases and pointed to the menu. This time my finger must have been off.
I had order five pork kebabs but was placed in front of me was not pig. It wasn’t even a hooved creature. It was fish, but not just any fish. Fish with child. I must have pointed to the pregnant fish by accident.
The fish stared at me and I stared back. I tried explaining this wasn’t what I had ordered, but was getting nowhere. I did what any unpaid intern would do – I took a bite.
The large belly of the fish bulged with fish eggs. It sort of tasted like couscous, except a bit slimy. After one fish, I’d had enough. I only paid five kuai (slang for money).
I finished the bowl of noodles and left. When I got back to my room, I looked up the word for pork and lamb. No more pointing. It was time to stop pretending to be a tourist
I’ve been going to this noodle place down the street from where I live for a few weeks now. Every night, I pretty much order the same thing: some kind of rice bowl or noodles and a few pork or lamb kebabs. Like any other night, I said a few Chinese phrases and pointed to the menu. This time my finger must have been off.
I had order five pork kebabs but was placed in front of me was not pig. It wasn’t even a hooved creature. It was fish, but not just any fish. Fish with child. I must have pointed to the pregnant fish by accident.
The fish stared at me and I stared back. I tried explaining this wasn’t what I had ordered, but was getting nowhere. I did what any unpaid intern would do – I took a bite.
The large belly of the fish bulged with fish eggs. It sort of tasted like couscous, except a bit slimy. After one fish, I’d had enough. I only paid five kuai (slang for money).
I finished the bowl of noodles and left. When I got back to my room, I looked up the word for pork and lamb. No more pointing. It was time to stop pretending to be a tourist
Weekend Getaway: Xian, Shaanxi Province
30 June 2009
Having seen most of the sights in Beijing, I decided it was time to take a nice weekend getaway to Xian, Shaanxi Province. Xian is one of the oldest cities in China and was the former capital in ancient times. It’s also home to the Terracotta Warriors.
Long distance travel in China is best done by train, so I booked a soft-sleep bed on an overnight train. I also reserved a bed at the top-rated Shuyuan hostel that would send someone to pick me up. They also provided tours to the Terracotta Warrior Museum, located 40 km outside Xian.
Departing on the 11.5 hour trip from Beijing West Train Station, which reminded me more of an airport with its giant departure/arrival sign, at 9:18 p.m. I arrived in Xian the next morning around 9:20 a.m. We were an hour late, but a driver from the hostel was there to pick other backpackers and myself up at the train station. I ran into one of the other interns, CJ Holtzman, who was also staying at the same hostel and had been on the same train (we aren’t the most organized group of interns).
After arriving at the hostel, I asked about the tours to the Terracotta Warriors. A tour was leaving shortly, so without even checking in with the hostel, I jumped into the tour van.
The tour included a stop at a terracotta factory, where replicas of the actual warriors were produced, followed by three hours at the actual Terracotta Warrior Museum (I’ll go into detail and post more pictures later).
After getting back from the tour, I checked into the hostel and headed out into Xian. CJ and I made our way to the Muslim Quarters for dinner and then to the Giant Wild Goose Pagoda for a water and light show.
Waking up early the next day, I bought a ticket for the return trip to Beijing and started a full day of sightseeing.
I started in the city’s south district, where I’d snake my way north and then finish at the hostel before taking a bus to the train station. My list included: pictures by the Giant Wild Goose Pagoda (again), meandering through the Shaanxi History Museum, strolling through an antique market, more photos by the Small Wild Goose Pagoda, a hike on part of the city wall, a visit to the site of the Xian incident, a leisurely walk through the Stone Stele Forest, and then concluding my stay by ringing the bell and beating the drums of the Bell and Drum Towers, respectively. I figured I’d get another meal at the Muslim Quarters before heading to the train station.
Ultimately, the day turned out to be a near total disappointment. While on the bus to the Giant Wild Goose Pagoda, a storm moved in forcing me to buy yet another umbrella. The Shaanxi History Museum, while housing a few interesting exhibits, took me only 30 minutes to walk through. The antique market’s main feature was last year’s cell phones (yes, they’re a year old but that does not make them “antiques"). The Small Wild Goose Pagoda was exactly that- small.
Xian is one of the last cities to have a wall surround it and the walk around a short portion of the 30-km wall was the most impressive part of my day.
The site of the Xian Incident was difficult to find (the sign was in Chinese) and the Stone Stele Forest was by no means forested with stone tablets. Instead, the steles were preserved in glass casings in small halls. I’d pictured it differently.
Having spent 45 Yuan on the steles, I decided to just take photos of the Bell and Drum Towers instead of paying their entrance fees. I also managed to find my way into a shopping mall and was blown away by the seven or eight floors of merchandise housed within.
Ending the trip with another Middle Eastern meal, although a much smaller one since I was low on money at this point, made the day well worth the mileage I’d put on my feet. And soon enough, I was back on a train heading for Beijing. The train left at 8:34 p.m. By 9 p.m. I was passed out, my feet sore from walking and my body tired from touring. I woke up only once to the thunderous snores from the person in the bunk below mine, but then the z’s kicked back in.
An appropriate saying (one borrowed from my hometown of Tamaqua) for the Shaanxi city would be "Xian: A nice place to go, if you just say no to the tourist attraction entrance fees."
The only real tourist attraction worth seeing may be the Terracotta Warriors, but Xian was the perfect place to spend a weekend away from Beijing. It had that big city feel, minus the tourists, with enough side streets and small sights that made the trip worth while.
I only wish I'd avoided the entrance fees and spent the money on more food at the Muslim market.
To see more photos, visit CHINA PHOTO GALLERY
Having seen most of the sights in Beijing, I decided it was time to take a nice weekend getaway to Xian, Shaanxi Province. Xian is one of the oldest cities in China and was the former capital in ancient times. It’s also home to the Terracotta Warriors.
Long distance travel in China is best done by train, so I booked a soft-sleep bed on an overnight train. I also reserved a bed at the top-rated Shuyuan hostel that would send someone to pick me up. They also provided tours to the Terracotta Warrior Museum, located 40 km outside Xian.
Departing on the 11.5 hour trip from Beijing West Train Station, which reminded me more of an airport with its giant departure/arrival sign, at 9:18 p.m. I arrived in Xian the next morning around 9:20 a.m. We were an hour late, but a driver from the hostel was there to pick other backpackers and myself up at the train station. I ran into one of the other interns, CJ Holtzman, who was also staying at the same hostel and had been on the same train (we aren’t the most organized group of interns).
After arriving at the hostel, I asked about the tours to the Terracotta Warriors. A tour was leaving shortly, so without even checking in with the hostel, I jumped into the tour van.
The tour included a stop at a terracotta factory, where replicas of the actual warriors were produced, followed by three hours at the actual Terracotta Warrior Museum (I’ll go into detail and post more pictures later).
After getting back from the tour, I checked into the hostel and headed out into Xian. CJ and I made our way to the Muslim Quarters for dinner and then to the Giant Wild Goose Pagoda for a water and light show.
Waking up early the next day, I bought a ticket for the return trip to Beijing and started a full day of sightseeing.
I started in the city’s south district, where I’d snake my way north and then finish at the hostel before taking a bus to the train station. My list included: pictures by the Giant Wild Goose Pagoda (again), meandering through the Shaanxi History Museum, strolling through an antique market, more photos by the Small Wild Goose Pagoda, a hike on part of the city wall, a visit to the site of the Xian incident, a leisurely walk through the Stone Stele Forest, and then concluding my stay by ringing the bell and beating the drums of the Bell and Drum Towers, respectively. I figured I’d get another meal at the Muslim Quarters before heading to the train station.
Ultimately, the day turned out to be a near total disappointment. While on the bus to the Giant Wild Goose Pagoda, a storm moved in forcing me to buy yet another umbrella. The Shaanxi History Museum, while housing a few interesting exhibits, took me only 30 minutes to walk through. The antique market’s main feature was last year’s cell phones (yes, they’re a year old but that does not make them “antiques"). The Small Wild Goose Pagoda was exactly that- small.
Xian is one of the last cities to have a wall surround it and the walk around a short portion of the 30-km wall was the most impressive part of my day.
The site of the Xian Incident was difficult to find (the sign was in Chinese) and the Stone Stele Forest was by no means forested with stone tablets. Instead, the steles were preserved in glass casings in small halls. I’d pictured it differently.
Having spent 45 Yuan on the steles, I decided to just take photos of the Bell and Drum Towers instead of paying their entrance fees. I also managed to find my way into a shopping mall and was blown away by the seven or eight floors of merchandise housed within.
Ending the trip with another Middle Eastern meal, although a much smaller one since I was low on money at this point, made the day well worth the mileage I’d put on my feet. And soon enough, I was back on a train heading for Beijing. The train left at 8:34 p.m. By 9 p.m. I was passed out, my feet sore from walking and my body tired from touring. I woke up only once to the thunderous snores from the person in the bunk below mine, but then the z’s kicked back in.
An appropriate saying (one borrowed from my hometown of Tamaqua) for the Shaanxi city would be "Xian: A nice place to go, if you just say no to the tourist attraction entrance fees."
The only real tourist attraction worth seeing may be the Terracotta Warriors, but Xian was the perfect place to spend a weekend away from Beijing. It had that big city feel, minus the tourists, with enough side streets and small sights that made the trip worth while.
I only wish I'd avoided the entrance fees and spent the money on more food at the Muslim market.
To see more photos, visit CHINA PHOTO GALLERY
Unpaid Intern in Action: The Hunt for Red Employment
29 June 2009
Let’s make it official: I’ve begun searching for a job in China. I actually started looking two weeks ago, getting advice and contact information from the internship adviser at Penn State, but today I started writing cover letters and sending emails.
As I begin the second half of the internship, I realize how much I like living in Beijing. Two months is just not enough time to experience the city or nation and since I have no chains binding me to home, aside from my family, this seems like the perfect opportunity to spend some time abroad.
My ideal job right now would be working as an editor as a publication or communications agency. I wouldn’t necessarily have to do the writing, but I’ve had enough experience as a copy editor to rewrite content.
The biggest obstacle I’d have to overcome is the language barrier. My Mandarin is less than ideal/non-existent, but, again, living in Beijing would give me the perfect opportunity to improve my Chinese speaking abilities. I haven’t really focused too much on learning the language the past month because my time has been limited. Focusing on speaking skills would take time away from actually experiencing the culture.
It’s a big step, but it’s also a now or never situation. With my mind made up, I just have to keep all possibilities open if I want to extend my stay in China.
Let’s make it official: I’ve begun searching for a job in China. I actually started looking two weeks ago, getting advice and contact information from the internship adviser at Penn State, but today I started writing cover letters and sending emails.
As I begin the second half of the internship, I realize how much I like living in Beijing. Two months is just not enough time to experience the city or nation and since I have no chains binding me to home, aside from my family, this seems like the perfect opportunity to spend some time abroad.
My ideal job right now would be working as an editor as a publication or communications agency. I wouldn’t necessarily have to do the writing, but I’ve had enough experience as a copy editor to rewrite content.
The biggest obstacle I’d have to overcome is the language barrier. My Mandarin is less than ideal/non-existent, but, again, living in Beijing would give me the perfect opportunity to improve my Chinese speaking abilities. I haven’t really focused too much on learning the language the past month because my time has been limited. Focusing on speaking skills would take time away from actually experiencing the culture.
It’s a big step, but it’s also a now or never situation. With my mind made up, I just have to keep all possibilities open if I want to extend my stay in China.
Marco... Polo (Bridge)
26 June 2009
Pool parties were the bane of my childhood existence; I always feared that someone would want to play Marco Polo. Whenever I was the designated seeker and forced to close my eyes while shouting “MARCO!”, everyone would slip out of the pool, leaving me alone. On another one of my sightseeing excursions, I again found myself alone and engaged with a Marco Polo of a different sort. Except this time, Marco Polo wasn’t a game - it was a bridge. Constructed before the time of Marco Polo, the Lugou Qiao (Marco Polo Bridge as it is known to most westerners) spans the length of the Yongding River. Today, it is almost unnoticeable between the major highway overpass and a railroad bridge on its other side. But there it stands, a monument of the past. The Marco Polo Bridge was the site of a military clash in the late 1930s that led to open war between Imperial Japan and China. One can speculate that this was the first battle in Asia in what would become World War II. While I’d come to see the historically significant bridge, what caught my attention were the hundreds of stone-carved statues that lined each side of the bridge. Each was a tiny lion-like figure in a different position and with a different facial expression than the one next to it. Some looked as if they’d been carved yesterday, while others showed the wear from sitting on the bridge over the centuries. I spent the afternoon walking across the bridge multiple times (I paid 20 kuai, so naturally I wanted to walk across the bridge more than once), looking at the miniature statues and analyzing the detail of each creature. After numerous trips, and about an hour baking under the sun, I decided to leave. There wasn’t much to see at the bridge area besides the aging overpass itself, but this had been one Marco Polo encounter I was glad to have been able to keep my eyes open to experience. To see more photos and video, visit CHINA PHOTO GALLERY and CHINA VIDEO CLIPS |
Tian A.M. Morning
24 June 2009
I sat under the roof of a public restroom pavilion across the street from the Mao Zedong Mausoleum as the rain came down in torrents around me. It was 6:30 a.m. and I was surrounded by cold, wet Chinese who were also seeking refuge from the rain. It would be another 30 minutes until the underground metro trains began their daily routes and I could return to my hotel from my morning out in Tiananmen Square.
I'd woken up two and a half hours prior in order to catch a cab to the city center. The previous evening, I'd read in my travel book about the flag raising ceremony that takes place in concurrence with the sun rise each morning in the square. Since I didn't have work until 5 p.m., I decided to visit Tiananmen and see the procession that morning.
The early morning event was described as one of those things you had to do before leaving Beijing, much like climbing Mount Nittany before graduating from Penn State University. What the travel book had failed to mention was that the ceremony took place at 4:46 a.m. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen a clock with the numbers 4-4-6 on it without first seeing the sun in the sky. This wasn’t going to be easy, but I set my phone alarm for 4 a.m. and tried to catch some sleep.
Awaking from my short slumber, the alarm rang and ten minutes later I was in a cab headed for Tiananmen. It was 4:10 a.m., a tad bit behind the schedule I'd set, but at least I was moving.
Even at this hour in the morning, the red lights were still a hassle and we seemed to be hitting all of them. Each red traffic light brought the anxiety that I’d miss the flag raising. The cab clock read 4:19. The sky had started to transition to a lighter shade of blue from the pitch blackness that I’d left behind at the hotel. Time was running out.
It was 4:32 when the cab started down Chang'An Avenue. Through the mist I could see Tiananmen Gate, Mao's face barely visible through the morning mist. On the left was Tiananmen Square. As the cab passed the Mao portrait, we hit a final red light just as the driver was about to turn into the drop off area. One light stood between me and the square.
The light changed and the cab driver all but burned rubber as he turned onto the street to drop me off. I paid and stumbled out, video camera, messenger bag and change from the cab fare in hand.
A line of people was filtering through the checkpoint, but in no time I was on the square. 4:40. Time to spare. I walked past the Monument the People’s Heroes I’d seen so many times before under the sun, making my way toward the crowd standing before the flagpole.
And then it started to rain. It was more like a light drizzle, but, at any rate, I was getting wet. The sky lit up as thunder and lightening cracked across the square. 4:42. I said a little prayer to God, Buddha and any other local supreme being I could think of. "Four minutes, just give me four minutes."
From across the street, a row of guards came out from under the watchful eyes of the Mao portrait. As they approached the pole, the Chinese national anthem began to play. The crowd came alive, some singing along, others humming the words. I was horribly out of place: a tall white guy holding a video camera in one hand and a digital camera in the other trying to document the event. I didn't know the words or the beat so I just stood there absorbing the atmosphere of Chinese patriotism.
It was 4:45 and the flag was reaching the top of the pole, as the sun brightened the area substantially since I'd arrived. At 4:46 the flag reached the top, and nothing happened. The music stopped, the crowd dispersed and I stood there thinking to myself, “That’s it?” I'd expected the sun to burst through the clouds, illuminating the square. Instead, the rain picked up, with the thunder increasing in volume. I wanted to stay for a bit but I realized that standing out on the world's largest public square holding metallic electronic devices during a lightening storm was probably not a good idea.
Sprinting for the nearest shelter, I found refuge under a public restroom pavilion. There I sat for more than two hours as the rain pitter-patted off the cement squares of Tiananmen.
What a bummer this morning had been. I'd actually managed to drag myself out of bed, catch a cab and position myself in a good spot for photos and video, and the event had been somewhat of a dud. The weather didn't make the experience any better.
By the time I got on a train home, my shoes were soaked, and my glasses and hair dripped with rain. Despite my sad state, I somehow managed to smile. Waking up early, sticking out like a sore thumb among the Chinese crowd and even getting drenched was kind of fun. I could never motivate myself to get up that early back home for any reason, yet here in China a mundane event like a flag raising an interesting experience in itself. Even the fact that my shoes felt like Sponge Bob Square Pants was wrapped around my feet didn't bother me that much. I had witnessed a Chinese tradition that had, in a sense, turned what would have been a boring morning into an amusing one.
Upon returning to the hotel room, I tossed my sodden clothing into the shower and lay on the bed. I would have to do this again. Next time, I'll check the weather report. Next time, I'll bring my own umbrella. Next time it will be just as enjoyable.
To see more photos and video, visit CHINA PHOTO GALLERY and CHINA VIDEO CLIPS
I sat under the roof of a public restroom pavilion across the street from the Mao Zedong Mausoleum as the rain came down in torrents around me. It was 6:30 a.m. and I was surrounded by cold, wet Chinese who were also seeking refuge from the rain. It would be another 30 minutes until the underground metro trains began their daily routes and I could return to my hotel from my morning out in Tiananmen Square.
I'd woken up two and a half hours prior in order to catch a cab to the city center. The previous evening, I'd read in my travel book about the flag raising ceremony that takes place in concurrence with the sun rise each morning in the square. Since I didn't have work until 5 p.m., I decided to visit Tiananmen and see the procession that morning.
The early morning event was described as one of those things you had to do before leaving Beijing, much like climbing Mount Nittany before graduating from Penn State University. What the travel book had failed to mention was that the ceremony took place at 4:46 a.m. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen a clock with the numbers 4-4-6 on it without first seeing the sun in the sky. This wasn’t going to be easy, but I set my phone alarm for 4 a.m. and tried to catch some sleep.
Awaking from my short slumber, the alarm rang and ten minutes later I was in a cab headed for Tiananmen. It was 4:10 a.m., a tad bit behind the schedule I'd set, but at least I was moving.
Even at this hour in the morning, the red lights were still a hassle and we seemed to be hitting all of them. Each red traffic light brought the anxiety that I’d miss the flag raising. The cab clock read 4:19. The sky had started to transition to a lighter shade of blue from the pitch blackness that I’d left behind at the hotel. Time was running out.
It was 4:32 when the cab started down Chang'An Avenue. Through the mist I could see Tiananmen Gate, Mao's face barely visible through the morning mist. On the left was Tiananmen Square. As the cab passed the Mao portrait, we hit a final red light just as the driver was about to turn into the drop off area. One light stood between me and the square.
The light changed and the cab driver all but burned rubber as he turned onto the street to drop me off. I paid and stumbled out, video camera, messenger bag and change from the cab fare in hand.
A line of people was filtering through the checkpoint, but in no time I was on the square. 4:40. Time to spare. I walked past the Monument the People’s Heroes I’d seen so many times before under the sun, making my way toward the crowd standing before the flagpole.
And then it started to rain. It was more like a light drizzle, but, at any rate, I was getting wet. The sky lit up as thunder and lightening cracked across the square. 4:42. I said a little prayer to God, Buddha and any other local supreme being I could think of. "Four minutes, just give me four minutes."
From across the street, a row of guards came out from under the watchful eyes of the Mao portrait. As they approached the pole, the Chinese national anthem began to play. The crowd came alive, some singing along, others humming the words. I was horribly out of place: a tall white guy holding a video camera in one hand and a digital camera in the other trying to document the event. I didn't know the words or the beat so I just stood there absorbing the atmosphere of Chinese patriotism.
It was 4:45 and the flag was reaching the top of the pole, as the sun brightened the area substantially since I'd arrived. At 4:46 the flag reached the top, and nothing happened. The music stopped, the crowd dispersed and I stood there thinking to myself, “That’s it?” I'd expected the sun to burst through the clouds, illuminating the square. Instead, the rain picked up, with the thunder increasing in volume. I wanted to stay for a bit but I realized that standing out on the world's largest public square holding metallic electronic devices during a lightening storm was probably not a good idea.
Sprinting for the nearest shelter, I found refuge under a public restroom pavilion. There I sat for more than two hours as the rain pitter-patted off the cement squares of Tiananmen.
What a bummer this morning had been. I'd actually managed to drag myself out of bed, catch a cab and position myself in a good spot for photos and video, and the event had been somewhat of a dud. The weather didn't make the experience any better.
By the time I got on a train home, my shoes were soaked, and my glasses and hair dripped with rain. Despite my sad state, I somehow managed to smile. Waking up early, sticking out like a sore thumb among the Chinese crowd and even getting drenched was kind of fun. I could never motivate myself to get up that early back home for any reason, yet here in China a mundane event like a flag raising an interesting experience in itself. Even the fact that my shoes felt like Sponge Bob Square Pants was wrapped around my feet didn't bother me that much. I had witnessed a Chinese tradition that had, in a sense, turned what would have been a boring morning into an amusing one.
Upon returning to the hotel room, I tossed my sodden clothing into the shower and lay on the bed. I would have to do this again. Next time, I'll check the weather report. Next time, I'll bring my own umbrella. Next time it will be just as enjoyable.
To see more photos and video, visit CHINA PHOTO GALLERY and CHINA VIDEO CLIPS
Unpaid Intern in Action: Keys to the Castle
23 June 2009
After four days of desperately searching for an apartment, I finally found a new place with the assistance of my China Daily internship adviser. The new place is close to China Daily, within reasonable walking distance. We also worked out a monthly rental plan. The apartment happens to be exactly the kind of place I was looking for: one bedroom, one bathroom, a living room and kitchen area. It also has a washing machine, which I’m actually looking forward to using, having washed my clothes in a sink for the last month. For the next month, this small, air conditioned apartment will be my castle. I cannot thank the adviser from China Daily enough. Now I can get back to being an intern/tourist and not a frantic American trying to find a place to live. That may come later. |
Zhongshan Park
22 June 2009
Hundreds of parks dot the cityscape of the constantly expanding Beijing area. For a city that is essentially getting a modernized facelift, that’s a lot of green space. While I usually don’t stop to explore any random green location, a particular park made it to the top of my “To See” list: Zhongshan Park. Situated within the walls of Tiananmen Gate, Zhongshan Park has that out-of-the-way feel despite being located at Beijing’s center. Right outside is the always-busy Tiananmen Square, yet inside the atmosphere is calm and soothing, as if it were located miles away from the city. Like any park in Beijing, Zhongshan Park has trails, trees and nice places to sit and people watch. Nearby is the moat that surrounds the Forbidden City, where park goers can take a boat out for a quick cruise. The park is home to its own temple and altar, the Altar of Land and Grain. What drew me to the park was the man it was named after: Sun Zhongshan (or Sun Yat-sen). Zhongshan, while predominantly unknown to foreigners, is considered to be the Father of modern China, or Father of the Nation. Just inside the park’s main entrance stands a statue of Zhongshan. Had I not taken a Chinese history course during the spring semester, I would not have recognized the man. Ultimately, Zhongshan Park is just that – a park. While beautiful, it really is no different than any other park I’ve visited in Beijing so far. Yet standing next to the statue of Sun Zhongshan brought all those Chinese history classes to life. Instead of just pictures, here was a larger than life figure of the man who had helped bring China out of its feudal past and enter into a new age. He had made history, helping to mold the foundation for the Chinese nation that now stands strong as a member of the global community. To see more photos and video, visit CHINA PHOTO GALLERY and CHINA VIDEO CLIPS |
Unpaid Intern in Action: Ohhh, we're halfway there
20 June 2009
I’m halfway through my trip in Beijing. Some of the interns will be leaving early to travel. I plan on staying for the remainder of the internship and seeing a few more local sights and possibly look for a job while I’m at it.
Over the course of the last month, I’ve become used to many different aspects of Chinese culture in Beijing. At the same time, there are many things about America I didn’t realize I’d miss so much.
Things I’ve learned to love about China:
1. The Food- While a bit spicier than the Chinese food I’m used to eating back home, I’ve grown to enjoy my daily meals (even the weird things I’ve tried so far).
2. Haggling- It never gets old, this ancient method of bargaining. If you don’t like the price, offer a new one. Most Chinese believe that all white people, especially Americans, are rich and will charge more than the “Chinese price”. Since we white folk don’t all have bottomless pockets, a bit of negotiating is required to get what you want at an affordable price. And I love every moment of it.
3. Chopsticks- I only learned how to use chopsticks a week before arriving in Beijing, but now when offered a fork, I promptly turn it down.
4. Bootleg everything- You can buy knockoffs of just about everything in China. I’ll be updating my wardrobe with some Armani shirts and Calvin Klein jeans. I’ve also been able to keep up with American summer movie releases by visiting a few local DVD vendors for just 5 Yuan.
5. Public Transportation- My first recollection of Beijing was the horrifying cab ride from the airport to the hotel. I thought we were almost going to die about four times. Now, cab rides are nothing but exhilarating experiences getting from Point A to Point B, much like an amusement park ride without proper seat harnesses. The subway station, too, while a bit crowded, is a cheap way of getting anywhere in the city quickly. We could use one of these in State College (call it the Bar Route on College Ave.).
Things I miss about America:
1. The Food- While I’ve grown to love rice and noodles, a big, juicy American cheeseburger (not from McDonalds) would be nice every now and then, as would a good, grease-filled American breakfast. I’ve also been craving my parent’s homemade macaroni and cheese.
2. Toilets with seats- I don’t really think this one needs explanation.
3.Good beer- The local brew isn’t bad but oh what I would give for a Yuengling Lager or Black and Tan right now…
4. Clean(er) air- It gets a little smoggy in Beijing sometimes, but that’s the price of a nation that is constantly growing and expanding into a new global superpower. I just wish I had fair warning. A breath of smog burns the lungs.
5. YouTube- While I never relied on YouTube for all of my entertaining needs (I only watched the Susan Boyle video once) there comes a point where my mind craves useless comedic homemade videos. It must be an American thing, because my other friends from home have the same need for the Tube.
I’m halfway through my trip in Beijing. Some of the interns will be leaving early to travel. I plan on staying for the remainder of the internship and seeing a few more local sights and possibly look for a job while I’m at it.
Over the course of the last month, I’ve become used to many different aspects of Chinese culture in Beijing. At the same time, there are many things about America I didn’t realize I’d miss so much.
Things I’ve learned to love about China:
1. The Food- While a bit spicier than the Chinese food I’m used to eating back home, I’ve grown to enjoy my daily meals (even the weird things I’ve tried so far).
2. Haggling- It never gets old, this ancient method of bargaining. If you don’t like the price, offer a new one. Most Chinese believe that all white people, especially Americans, are rich and will charge more than the “Chinese price”. Since we white folk don’t all have bottomless pockets, a bit of negotiating is required to get what you want at an affordable price. And I love every moment of it.
3. Chopsticks- I only learned how to use chopsticks a week before arriving in Beijing, but now when offered a fork, I promptly turn it down.
4. Bootleg everything- You can buy knockoffs of just about everything in China. I’ll be updating my wardrobe with some Armani shirts and Calvin Klein jeans. I’ve also been able to keep up with American summer movie releases by visiting a few local DVD vendors for just 5 Yuan.
5. Public Transportation- My first recollection of Beijing was the horrifying cab ride from the airport to the hotel. I thought we were almost going to die about four times. Now, cab rides are nothing but exhilarating experiences getting from Point A to Point B, much like an amusement park ride without proper seat harnesses. The subway station, too, while a bit crowded, is a cheap way of getting anywhere in the city quickly. We could use one of these in State College (call it the Bar Route on College Ave.).
Things I miss about America:
1. The Food- While I’ve grown to love rice and noodles, a big, juicy American cheeseburger (not from McDonalds) would be nice every now and then, as would a good, grease-filled American breakfast. I’ve also been craving my parent’s homemade macaroni and cheese.
2. Toilets with seats- I don’t really think this one needs explanation.
3.Good beer- The local brew isn’t bad but oh what I would give for a Yuengling Lager or Black and Tan right now…
4. Clean(er) air- It gets a little smoggy in Beijing sometimes, but that’s the price of a nation that is constantly growing and expanding into a new global superpower. I just wish I had fair warning. A breath of smog burns the lungs.
5. YouTube- While I never relied on YouTube for all of my entertaining needs (I only watched the Susan Boyle video once) there comes a point where my mind craves useless comedic homemade videos. It must be an American thing, because my other friends from home have the same need for the Tube.
Unexpected shopping spree
19 June 2009
We’ve all been on those last minute shopping trips. The cats need food and are attacking each other as their stomachs empty. Your brother didn’t get Mom a birthday card and her birthday is today. Or worse, a roommate forgot to buy toilet paper and you're stuck on the stool. Yes, we’ve all been there, but in the last two days I’ve found myself shopping for something completely unexpected: a place to live.
Until this week, my living situation was under control. Through our arrangement with the Yinghua Hotel, I’d be paying $600 a month to share a room with another student from Penn State. In the span of a week and a half, the other interns began to get restless with the idea of living in an “expensive” hotel. My roommate had mentioned that he was considering moving out to save money for a trip he planned to take to Tibet. He’d keep me up to date on any apartments the group found, since I work at night and don’t see the other interns that often.
I, on the other hand, had no problem staying put. The hotel was nice, and while we didn’t have free internet or laundry, my evening work schedule made the walk home quick and convenient.
To cut a long story short, all the other interns moved out of the hotel yesterday. The great diaspora occurred quite suddenly, leaving me reeling: What the heck was I supposed to do now? I would be stuck paying double for the hotel room, all $1200. I felt like Wall-E – the only working robot left on Earth who was committed to doing the job he was programmed to do. This was unacceptable. I acted quickly.
I compiled a list of possible places to live on Thursday. Single bedrooms with a cheap rent. I was only able to visit one and it was dismal enough to make me go back and rework my list, filtering out anything with specifications that matched the ones described for Fail Apartment No. 1.
Today, I woke up early and got a start on the search. I had five locations. I began with cold calls. By noon I was in Wudaukou, the university area of Beijing where I’d met Erica a few days before for lunch.
My contact who would be showing me the apartments was late by an hour. In searching for a pay phone, I found my way into a China Mobile shop. There a lady convinced me that the cheapest option to staying connected with the rest of the world would be to purchase a cellphone, since all public phones require a communication card that costs around 50 Yuan for 30 minutes.
Fifteen minutes later I had a new cell phone, with a SIM card and 250 minutes. I paid about 348 Yuan, or somewhere around $50 USD.
I called the apartment contact, who quickly apologized and told me he was on his way. He showed up 10 minutes later, and the great apartment search began. I told him what I was looking for: a one bedroom apartment with a bathroom and Internet. Air conditioning would be a plus.
He pulled out a notebook, began searching through page after page of note and names (I assumed, it was all written in Mandarin) and made a few calls. The first place was close, he said, and we began to walk.
Close, by English definition, is much different than the same word in Chinese. This “close” place was a good 10-minute walk from where we’d met by the subway station. I didn’t care, I needed a new place. We entered a gated area that didn’t look too shabby. It reminded me of a few places in State College – beaten up and shady but livable. We continued further into the complex, with each turn of the street the buildings became shoddy and scarier. Like walking from the suburbs into the Projects.
We found the place. There were bars over the windows and it smelled. The inside wasn’t much better. Upon entering the apartment, I knew I was in trouble. Water lay on the floor in some places. The kitchen would be unusable. And the bathroom… well, let’s just say that while there was a western toilet (a definite plus) the shower was essentially a hose coming from some unknown netherworld in the wall.
I smiled politely, asking for the price but having no intention on ever living here. I looked at my contact. “So, what else do you have?”
The contact’s name was Tan. Showing people around to the many apartments in the area was his job. The notebook he carried around with him was essentially his life’s work. He even earned a commission if he completed a deal between renter and rentee.
The situation I found myself in (that I only needed an apartment for one month) was going to be a difficult task, since most apartment owners want tenants to stay for three months. I’d been telling apartment owners, and Tan, that I had been here for two months already and that my roommate was off back-packing across Asia. I also included in my fabricated story that I was working for a newspaper in Beijing under a short-term contract and that the company may extend my contract – all told in an effort to convince them I may stay longer. I don’t think it helped.
The journey continued, as I narrowed my specifications and Tan made more calls. Two dungeons and an over priced castle of an apartment later I decided it was time to call it a day.
Tan was on the phone with another landlord. I told him I needed to leave. He gave me his card and said he’d call tomorrow with more places. I told him specifically what I was looking for, with a price range and exact accommodations.
“No dungeons. And nothing too expensive,” I said. He smiled, shook my hand and pointed me in the direction of the subway station.
I’d spent almost five hours looking at four apartments, walking to each possible residence. Tired was an understatement. I hurt from my feet all the way up to my brain. Mental exhaustion would be an accurate description.
The train ride home seemed to take longer than it should have as my mind raced over the day’s events. Was I going to be able to find a place? The search itself had been exciting but coming home empty handed was the ultimate fail.
I stopped at a restaurant that served American style food and had free WiFi. I hoped that a few of the other landlords I’d emailed had gotten back to me. There were no replies.
Instead, one email stood out. It was from one of my new-found friends at China Daily. She had volunteered to look up locations of places closer to China Daily and within a much more reasonable price range of 900 to 1800 Yuan a month. She had come through with a list of 13 local apartments looking for occupants.
Thirteen. I had only been able to compile a list of seven in one day, but here was nearly double that number. The email gave me a sudden surge of energy. The email was hope. And hope was all I needed for tomorrow.
We’ve all been on those last minute shopping trips. The cats need food and are attacking each other as their stomachs empty. Your brother didn’t get Mom a birthday card and her birthday is today. Or worse, a roommate forgot to buy toilet paper and you're stuck on the stool. Yes, we’ve all been there, but in the last two days I’ve found myself shopping for something completely unexpected: a place to live.
Until this week, my living situation was under control. Through our arrangement with the Yinghua Hotel, I’d be paying $600 a month to share a room with another student from Penn State. In the span of a week and a half, the other interns began to get restless with the idea of living in an “expensive” hotel. My roommate had mentioned that he was considering moving out to save money for a trip he planned to take to Tibet. He’d keep me up to date on any apartments the group found, since I work at night and don’t see the other interns that often.
I, on the other hand, had no problem staying put. The hotel was nice, and while we didn’t have free internet or laundry, my evening work schedule made the walk home quick and convenient.
To cut a long story short, all the other interns moved out of the hotel yesterday. The great diaspora occurred quite suddenly, leaving me reeling: What the heck was I supposed to do now? I would be stuck paying double for the hotel room, all $1200. I felt like Wall-E – the only working robot left on Earth who was committed to doing the job he was programmed to do. This was unacceptable. I acted quickly.
I compiled a list of possible places to live on Thursday. Single bedrooms with a cheap rent. I was only able to visit one and it was dismal enough to make me go back and rework my list, filtering out anything with specifications that matched the ones described for Fail Apartment No. 1.
Today, I woke up early and got a start on the search. I had five locations. I began with cold calls. By noon I was in Wudaukou, the university area of Beijing where I’d met Erica a few days before for lunch.
My contact who would be showing me the apartments was late by an hour. In searching for a pay phone, I found my way into a China Mobile shop. There a lady convinced me that the cheapest option to staying connected with the rest of the world would be to purchase a cellphone, since all public phones require a communication card that costs around 50 Yuan for 30 minutes.
Fifteen minutes later I had a new cell phone, with a SIM card and 250 minutes. I paid about 348 Yuan, or somewhere around $50 USD.
I called the apartment contact, who quickly apologized and told me he was on his way. He showed up 10 minutes later, and the great apartment search began. I told him what I was looking for: a one bedroom apartment with a bathroom and Internet. Air conditioning would be a plus.
He pulled out a notebook, began searching through page after page of note and names (I assumed, it was all written in Mandarin) and made a few calls. The first place was close, he said, and we began to walk.
Close, by English definition, is much different than the same word in Chinese. This “close” place was a good 10-minute walk from where we’d met by the subway station. I didn’t care, I needed a new place. We entered a gated area that didn’t look too shabby. It reminded me of a few places in State College – beaten up and shady but livable. We continued further into the complex, with each turn of the street the buildings became shoddy and scarier. Like walking from the suburbs into the Projects.
We found the place. There were bars over the windows and it smelled. The inside wasn’t much better. Upon entering the apartment, I knew I was in trouble. Water lay on the floor in some places. The kitchen would be unusable. And the bathroom… well, let’s just say that while there was a western toilet (a definite plus) the shower was essentially a hose coming from some unknown netherworld in the wall.
I smiled politely, asking for the price but having no intention on ever living here. I looked at my contact. “So, what else do you have?”
The contact’s name was Tan. Showing people around to the many apartments in the area was his job. The notebook he carried around with him was essentially his life’s work. He even earned a commission if he completed a deal between renter and rentee.
The situation I found myself in (that I only needed an apartment for one month) was going to be a difficult task, since most apartment owners want tenants to stay for three months. I’d been telling apartment owners, and Tan, that I had been here for two months already and that my roommate was off back-packing across Asia. I also included in my fabricated story that I was working for a newspaper in Beijing under a short-term contract and that the company may extend my contract – all told in an effort to convince them I may stay longer. I don’t think it helped.
The journey continued, as I narrowed my specifications and Tan made more calls. Two dungeons and an over priced castle of an apartment later I decided it was time to call it a day.
Tan was on the phone with another landlord. I told him I needed to leave. He gave me his card and said he’d call tomorrow with more places. I told him specifically what I was looking for, with a price range and exact accommodations.
“No dungeons. And nothing too expensive,” I said. He smiled, shook my hand and pointed me in the direction of the subway station.
I’d spent almost five hours looking at four apartments, walking to each possible residence. Tired was an understatement. I hurt from my feet all the way up to my brain. Mental exhaustion would be an accurate description.
The train ride home seemed to take longer than it should have as my mind raced over the day’s events. Was I going to be able to find a place? The search itself had been exciting but coming home empty handed was the ultimate fail.
I stopped at a restaurant that served American style food and had free WiFi. I hoped that a few of the other landlords I’d emailed had gotten back to me. There were no replies.
Instead, one email stood out. It was from one of my new-found friends at China Daily. She had volunteered to look up locations of places closer to China Daily and within a much more reasonable price range of 900 to 1800 Yuan a month. She had come through with a list of 13 local apartments looking for occupants.
Thirteen. I had only been able to compile a list of seven in one day, but here was nearly double that number. The email gave me a sudden surge of energy. The email was hope. And hope was all I needed for tomorrow.
Close encounters of the consumerist kind
18 June 2009
I was transferring subway trains when I saw it starring at me from outside the metro terminal. I froze. I hadn't seen one since leaving the States, where their population had grown out of control. Nobody else seemed to notice or care, but I felt compelled to further investigate this most unexpected encounter – a Wal-Mart. Yes, a Wal-Mart; the ultimate symbol of consumerism. I knew the chain store monstrosities were a global enterprise but I’d somehow managed to avoid any contact with the beasts during my stay in China. I was far too curious now, so I headed into the Super Center. It wasn’t unlike any other Wal-Mart I’d already seen back in the States. Signs urged people to buy in bulk and the familiar price tags and yellow smiley faces made me feel like I was indeed home. Since space in Beijing is limited, this Wal-Mart was built vertically, instead of horizontally, with multiple floors instead of one football field sized complex. I examined each floor, marveling in China’s acceptance of the capitalist/consumerist way. What amused me the most was not the unusually large stockpile of toothpaste and socks that crowded floors 2 and 3, but the food section hidden away in the basement of the Wal-Mart. As I rode down the slanted escalator, built so that shopping carts could use it as well, a waft of unusual smells hit me in the face. Upon hitting the basement floor, I found out why. Unlike our pre-packaged meat section, the Chinese prefer to do everything on the spot. I soon found myself looking at chicken and geese hanging by their necks, pigs feet and snout sitting around waiting to be bagged and an aquatic section that reminded me of a pet store. The fish were overcrowded in their tanks and the turtles seemed to be a bit too cheap to be pets. It was an experience that put American Wal-Marts to shame. Where our Super Centers are relatively dull, this was far more interesting. While I try to avoid the lair of the smiling yellow face as much as possible, if I could see my food being processed or pick out exactly what fish I wanted to eat for dinner that night, I may be a bit more inclined to visit from time to time. |
Lunch with a fellow Coal Cracker
17 June 2009
A few weeks ago, I received a response to one of my blog posts from a young lady with roots in the Coal Region. Her name was Erica Redline, a Jim Thorpe native, and she’d be spending a few weeks working on graduate research in Beijing, the post said. We corresponded via email and were able to meet up for lunch.
Erica was spending about a month and a half in Beijing, along with her boyfriend Brad Jones of Williamsport, conducting research at the Chinese Academy of Sciences. The opportunity to research abroad came almost out of the blue. As Erica explained it, she was more or less asked “Uhhh. So do you want to do some research in China?” to which she answered “Sure.”
Erica and Brad were finishing their third year of a five-year PhD. program studying material sciences and engineering at the University of Minnesota, Twin Cities campus.
The two were also Penn State graduates, and we reminisced of the good ole days of being a college student. It was somewhat depressing for me to think of myself as a Penn State alum, since the idea of being a graduate hasn’t really sunk in yet.
We ate at a place that specialized in Western-style food. While I’m a big fan of Chinese dishes, I’ve been long overdue for a cheeseburger or other American delicacies. The menu was all American, including breakfast. I had French toast and pancakes – my first western style breakfast since arriving in Beijing. It was the most satisfying meal I’ve had on the trip so far.
The thee of us talked about our experiences in China so far – about the language barrier and the different places we’ve visited. I was able to give them some pointers about tourist attractions and how to haggle with the locals. They hadn’t had the thrill of bargaining with a street vendor over the price of a bottle of beer.
They paid for my meal (unlike myself, they’re getting a paycheck for their research) and we said our goodbyes. It was a nice afternoon with a great meal and entertaining conversation among people fluent in English. That the two were from Pennsylvania and had also attended Penn State reminded me that even though I was on the other side of the globe, it really is a small world.
A few weeks ago, I received a response to one of my blog posts from a young lady with roots in the Coal Region. Her name was Erica Redline, a Jim Thorpe native, and she’d be spending a few weeks working on graduate research in Beijing, the post said. We corresponded via email and were able to meet up for lunch.
Erica was spending about a month and a half in Beijing, along with her boyfriend Brad Jones of Williamsport, conducting research at the Chinese Academy of Sciences. The opportunity to research abroad came almost out of the blue. As Erica explained it, she was more or less asked “Uhhh. So do you want to do some research in China?” to which she answered “Sure.”
Erica and Brad were finishing their third year of a five-year PhD. program studying material sciences and engineering at the University of Minnesota, Twin Cities campus.
The two were also Penn State graduates, and we reminisced of the good ole days of being a college student. It was somewhat depressing for me to think of myself as a Penn State alum, since the idea of being a graduate hasn’t really sunk in yet.
We ate at a place that specialized in Western-style food. While I’m a big fan of Chinese dishes, I’ve been long overdue for a cheeseburger or other American delicacies. The menu was all American, including breakfast. I had French toast and pancakes – my first western style breakfast since arriving in Beijing. It was the most satisfying meal I’ve had on the trip so far.
The thee of us talked about our experiences in China so far – about the language barrier and the different places we’ve visited. I was able to give them some pointers about tourist attractions and how to haggle with the locals. They hadn’t had the thrill of bargaining with a street vendor over the price of a bottle of beer.
They paid for my meal (unlike myself, they’re getting a paycheck for their research) and we said our goodbyes. It was a nice afternoon with a great meal and entertaining conversation among people fluent in English. That the two were from Pennsylvania and had also attended Penn State reminded me that even though I was on the other side of the globe, it really is a small world.
Mr. Taylor's Neighborhood: The Subway Station
16 June 2009
Hello neighbor. Huixinxijie Nankou. Try saying that name five times fast. It may seem like a horrible foreign disease, but Huixinxijie Nankou is actually the name of the nearest subway (underground metro) station to our hotel. Over the past three weeks, it’s proven to be a lifesaver on my many excursions around Beijing.
Pronounced Hway-shin-she-jee-uh Nan-koo, the metro station has saved me a considerable amount of time and money in my travels to every corner of the city. A cab ride to some of my favorite spots can cost about 20 to 30 Yuan, or roughly $4.40. A cab to Tiananmen costs a bit more, closer to $6. The metro will take you anywhere on its route, transfer stations included, for 2 Yuan. That’s about 29 cents!
Unless the metro stop is no where near the location I’m trying to get to, which usually isn’t the case, this underground railroad is my primary means of transportation. From my hotel, I can reach Tiananmen Square in about 20 minutes. The Olympic Sports area is 10 minutes away, while the Temple of Heaven about 25.
On rainy days, I’ll just ride the metro to an unknown destination and people watch. It’s like riding a roller, minus the intensity, but just as fun.
Hello neighbor. Huixinxijie Nankou. Try saying that name five times fast. It may seem like a horrible foreign disease, but Huixinxijie Nankou is actually the name of the nearest subway (underground metro) station to our hotel. Over the past three weeks, it’s proven to be a lifesaver on my many excursions around Beijing.
Pronounced Hway-shin-she-jee-uh Nan-koo, the metro station has saved me a considerable amount of time and money in my travels to every corner of the city. A cab ride to some of my favorite spots can cost about 20 to 30 Yuan, or roughly $4.40. A cab to Tiananmen costs a bit more, closer to $6. The metro will take you anywhere on its route, transfer stations included, for 2 Yuan. That’s about 29 cents!
Unless the metro stop is no where near the location I’m trying to get to, which usually isn’t the case, this underground railroad is my primary means of transportation. From my hotel, I can reach Tiananmen Square in about 20 minutes. The Olympic Sports area is 10 minutes away, while the Temple of Heaven about 25.
On rainy days, I’ll just ride the metro to an unknown destination and people watch. It’s like riding a roller, minus the intensity, but just as fun.
The Nightlife: The Bar Street
15 June 2009
Imagine a street lined with nothing but bars, bright lights and an endless supply of cheap beer. Decent music is playing in the background. It’s a college-aged person’s paradise – San Li Tun.
San Li Tun was the first bar area we explored and is a favorite place to revisit every now and then. My guidebook has the street marked as “San Li Tun (Bar Street),” an accurate name since the area is home to bars, bars, a few clubs and even more bars. It’s essentially State College, with all the bars on one street.
The main avenue has the tourist-centric bars, with bright lights meant to lure unsuspecting foreigners in to buy the more expensive imported beer. We fell for that trick the first time, paying 160 Yuan, or $5.80 each, for four 600 mL bottles of Heineken. Never again. We found out quickly that the local stuff is much cheaper, 10 Yuan, although lacking in quality.
For me the dirt-cheap price of the local draft overshadows the cheap-dirt taste. I’ll take that bad Beijing beer over imports anytime, as long as it’s cheap. Additionally, my philosophy concerning alcohol is simple – the beer may taste worse than our poorest brands at home, but I didn’t travel halfway around the globe to drink Miller or Coors. That would be like going to Germany and requesting Yuengling over a local, micro-brewed brand.
The real parties can be found in the back alleys of San Li Tun, where basic bars are scarce and clubs are plentiful. One evening, we found ourselves hopping from a rooftop tropical themed bar with loud Tiki music, to a dance club featuring Lady Gaga. We finally ended up at a calm Western type bar, having never left the building for the three bar excursion.
San Li Tun is an easy-going place suitable for large and small groups of all ages. On those warm Beijing evenings, it’s nice to just sit outside or walk around, admiring the lights and sounds, and drinking a bottle of the worst beer you’ll probably ever taste. But hey, at least it was cheap.
Imagine a street lined with nothing but bars, bright lights and an endless supply of cheap beer. Decent music is playing in the background. It’s a college-aged person’s paradise – San Li Tun.
San Li Tun was the first bar area we explored and is a favorite place to revisit every now and then. My guidebook has the street marked as “San Li Tun (Bar Street),” an accurate name since the area is home to bars, bars, a few clubs and even more bars. It’s essentially State College, with all the bars on one street.
The main avenue has the tourist-centric bars, with bright lights meant to lure unsuspecting foreigners in to buy the more expensive imported beer. We fell for that trick the first time, paying 160 Yuan, or $5.80 each, for four 600 mL bottles of Heineken. Never again. We found out quickly that the local stuff is much cheaper, 10 Yuan, although lacking in quality.
For me the dirt-cheap price of the local draft overshadows the cheap-dirt taste. I’ll take that bad Beijing beer over imports anytime, as long as it’s cheap. Additionally, my philosophy concerning alcohol is simple – the beer may taste worse than our poorest brands at home, but I didn’t travel halfway around the globe to drink Miller or Coors. That would be like going to Germany and requesting Yuengling over a local, micro-brewed brand.
The real parties can be found in the back alleys of San Li Tun, where basic bars are scarce and clubs are plentiful. One evening, we found ourselves hopping from a rooftop tropical themed bar with loud Tiki music, to a dance club featuring Lady Gaga. We finally ended up at a calm Western type bar, having never left the building for the three bar excursion.
San Li Tun is an easy-going place suitable for large and small groups of all ages. On those warm Beijing evenings, it’s nice to just sit outside or walk around, admiring the lights and sounds, and drinking a bottle of the worst beer you’ll probably ever taste. But hey, at least it was cheap.
Tiananmen Square
13 June 2009
Since arriving in Beijing, I’ve visited Tiananmen Square about five or six times. There’s something about the awesome size, the monuments, buildings and overall setup of the square that draws me to it. Before arriving in China, Tiananmen had only existed in photographs and images from TV specials. Standing made those photos and images more significant. Like most other structures of old in China, Tiananmen Square is massive – a solid sheet of cement covering roughly the same area as 90 football fields. It’s the largest public square in the world. Walking from one end to the other had me winded under the intense heat the first time I traversed the endless sea of gray. The solid sheet of cement makes an extended stay on the square difficult during the hot summer months. Entering the square from the south, you’ll see the Arrow Tower, followed by the Zhengyang Men (Gate). Then, in front of you Tiananmen Square unfolds. Chairman Mao’s Mausoleum sits near the south center, with the Monument to the People’s Heroes, a large obelisk structure, near the north center. The National Museum of China guards the square’s East, while the Great Hall of the People sits on the western border. The Forbidden City and Tiananmen Gate, featuring a large portrait of Chairman Mao, span the northern section. A series of metal fences border the perimeter of the square on both sides of the street. Checkpoints allow people to pass through, ensuring a steady flow of human traffic into and out of the square. Despite the negative connotations when mentioning Tiananmen Square, the area is truly a sight to see. While there may not be that much to do while on the square, aside from taking photos, drinking over-priced bottled water and perhaps kite flying, Tiananmen is another fine example of the awe-inspiring skill of Chinese architecture. |
To see more photos and video, visit CHINA PHOTO GALLERY and CHINA VIDEO CLIPS
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Unpaid Intern in Action: International Man of Mystery
11 June 2009
My supervisor told me they’d be spending the first two weeks training me to design and layout pages using Adobe InDesign. Approximately 90 minutes later I was designing a page on my own. It was a half page, but still, I picked up pretty quickly. Each night now, I’m responsible for designing and copy editing a page of my own.
The International News department is responsible for three pages in China Daily: Pages 10, 11 and 12. Page 10 (my page) is usually lighter news stories or features. Page 11 consists of harder news stories, while page 12, the International front, is breaking news – the Air France flight crash and North Korea nuclear incident appear daily on this page.
Picking stories for each page is also a new and interesting challenge. For me, international news equates to anything that has nothing to do with America. For instance, Hummer being purchased by a small company in Sichuan would be international by my standards, Anything that has to do with China would also be international news, as would the increases of A(H1N1) in Asia. The roles are reversed now – Chinese is local, America is foreign.
But one thing that both the Chinese and American media have in common is their mutual love for Barack Obama. Every day so far, China Daily has published either a whole story or sidebar with something Obama related. I don’t mind, since it allows me to keep up with news from back home. It’s somewhat difficult to find a New York Times or Newsweek magazine in English over here.
I was, however, disappointed to have to put a Newsmaker brief on my page featuring Britney Spears. I questioned the validity of the brief, asking if she was really that popular in China. The answer was an unequivocal “YES!” I guess when you’re the pop diva that Spears has become, it’s kind of hard to just leave Britney alone.
My supervisor told me they’d be spending the first two weeks training me to design and layout pages using Adobe InDesign. Approximately 90 minutes later I was designing a page on my own. It was a half page, but still, I picked up pretty quickly. Each night now, I’m responsible for designing and copy editing a page of my own.
The International News department is responsible for three pages in China Daily: Pages 10, 11 and 12. Page 10 (my page) is usually lighter news stories or features. Page 11 consists of harder news stories, while page 12, the International front, is breaking news – the Air France flight crash and North Korea nuclear incident appear daily on this page.
Picking stories for each page is also a new and interesting challenge. For me, international news equates to anything that has nothing to do with America. For instance, Hummer being purchased by a small company in Sichuan would be international by my standards, Anything that has to do with China would also be international news, as would the increases of A(H1N1) in Asia. The roles are reversed now – Chinese is local, America is foreign.
But one thing that both the Chinese and American media have in common is their mutual love for Barack Obama. Every day so far, China Daily has published either a whole story or sidebar with something Obama related. I don’t mind, since it allows me to keep up with news from back home. It’s somewhat difficult to find a New York Times or Newsweek magazine in English over here.
I was, however, disappointed to have to put a Newsmaker brief on my page featuring Britney Spears. I questioned the validity of the brief, asking if she was really that popular in China. The answer was an unequivocal “YES!” I guess when you’re the pop diva that Spears has become, it’s kind of hard to just leave Britney alone.
Squatty Potty
Day at the Museum
9 June 2009
Before me were enough tanks, missiles and other weapons of mass destruction to destroy a small country in Europe. I thought maybe I’d stumbled into a secret Chinese military facility and would soon be whisked away to a political prison for spying on China’s armament capabilities.
Instead, a women behind the information desk informed me that Hall B of the Military Museum of the Chinese People’s Revolution was closed for renovation. Admission to the museum was free, but if I wanted to explore the interior of a Chinese tank or man an anti-aircraft cannon I’d have to pay extra. I said I’d pass.
The Military Museum of the Chinese People’s Revolution is exactly what it sounds like – a four-floor building that chronicles the military history of the great Asian nation through the ages.
The focus is appropriately set on the Chinese Communist Party’s rise to power, but weapons of old from Ancient China’s military history are also present.
Large metal statues of Mao Zedong, Zhou Enlai and Deng Xiaoping presented great photo opportunities for tourists and locals alike. I jumped at the opportunity to have my photo taken with the Great Helmsman.
Marvels of Chinese military might, including rockets, missiles, tanks and fighter jets, are prominently displayed in a central hall. One of Mao’s hats and a cannon made of wood from the People’s Army’s retreat during the Long March can be found among other relics from the early years of the Chinese Communist Party. In other display areas are replicas of the world’s first rocket launcher, as well as a few Terracotta army soldiers from Xi’an.
Two outside courtyards feature various aircraft and armored vehicles. While most were Chinese or Russian made, a few planes and tanks stood out. They were American. Among the Soviet MiG fighter planes and T-34 tanks were American Sherman tanks, as well as a destroyed U-2 spy plane. Each had a plaque in front declaring that these American machines of war had been captured or shot down by the People’s Liberation Army during the Chinese Civil War, where America was a major military and financial contributor to the efforts of Chiang Kai-shek’s Guomindang. These were their trophies – the spoils of war.
To an extent, it was embarrassing that I had to travel to another continent to see these American "classics" up close. I’ve only seen a Sherman tank on my yearly trip to the Reading, Pa., World War II weekend. TV specials and history books have been the only source for seeing the U-2.
The China Military Museum is less of a place for history and more of a chest for all of China’s war toys from the past thousand years. If Ben Stiller were guarding this museum, as his character is tasked to do in the “Night at the Museum” film series, he’d have more to worry about than a monkey stealing his keys.
To see more photos and video, visit CHINA PHOTO GALLERY and CHINA VIDEO CLIPS
Before me were enough tanks, missiles and other weapons of mass destruction to destroy a small country in Europe. I thought maybe I’d stumbled into a secret Chinese military facility and would soon be whisked away to a political prison for spying on China’s armament capabilities.
Instead, a women behind the information desk informed me that Hall B of the Military Museum of the Chinese People’s Revolution was closed for renovation. Admission to the museum was free, but if I wanted to explore the interior of a Chinese tank or man an anti-aircraft cannon I’d have to pay extra. I said I’d pass.
The Military Museum of the Chinese People’s Revolution is exactly what it sounds like – a four-floor building that chronicles the military history of the great Asian nation through the ages.
The focus is appropriately set on the Chinese Communist Party’s rise to power, but weapons of old from Ancient China’s military history are also present.
Large metal statues of Mao Zedong, Zhou Enlai and Deng Xiaoping presented great photo opportunities for tourists and locals alike. I jumped at the opportunity to have my photo taken with the Great Helmsman.
Marvels of Chinese military might, including rockets, missiles, tanks and fighter jets, are prominently displayed in a central hall. One of Mao’s hats and a cannon made of wood from the People’s Army’s retreat during the Long March can be found among other relics from the early years of the Chinese Communist Party. In other display areas are replicas of the world’s first rocket launcher, as well as a few Terracotta army soldiers from Xi’an.
Two outside courtyards feature various aircraft and armored vehicles. While most were Chinese or Russian made, a few planes and tanks stood out. They were American. Among the Soviet MiG fighter planes and T-34 tanks were American Sherman tanks, as well as a destroyed U-2 spy plane. Each had a plaque in front declaring that these American machines of war had been captured or shot down by the People’s Liberation Army during the Chinese Civil War, where America was a major military and financial contributor to the efforts of Chiang Kai-shek’s Guomindang. These were their trophies – the spoils of war.
To an extent, it was embarrassing that I had to travel to another continent to see these American "classics" up close. I’ve only seen a Sherman tank on my yearly trip to the Reading, Pa., World War II weekend. TV specials and history books have been the only source for seeing the U-2.
The China Military Museum is less of a place for history and more of a chest for all of China’s war toys from the past thousand years. If Ben Stiller were guarding this museum, as his character is tasked to do in the “Night at the Museum” film series, he’d have more to worry about than a monkey stealing his keys.
To see more photos and video, visit CHINA PHOTO GALLERY and CHINA VIDEO CLIPS
Photo for You, Photo for Me
8 June 2009
For some strange reason, the Chinese love to have their pictures taken with Americans. It’s this unexplainable phenomenon, much like crop circles. While at the Temple of Heaven, Alexandra (one of the Penn State interns) was asked to have her picture taken with a Chinese family. The rest of us stood there laughing as each family member stood next Alex, who had also broken down into laughter as well.
A few guidebooks say this is mostly common at tourist attractions, where people from outside the city will visit, see foreigners and ask for pictures to take home and show relatives. To them, foreigners are exotic.
I personally have no problem with the random photos. Actually, I wish more Chinese of all ages would approach me, asking to have their picture taken.
While in Tiananmen Square, a group of three Asian girls, who spoke relatively decent English, asked to have their picture taken with my roommate and me. They took turns standing next to the white boys, posing a bit for each shot.
When they were finished, I held out my camera and asked all of them to get in a picture with me. Tit for tat – you want my photo, I want yours. Plus, it almost made me feel like a celebrity. You gotta love those 15 seconds of fame.
For some strange reason, the Chinese love to have their pictures taken with Americans. It’s this unexplainable phenomenon, much like crop circles. While at the Temple of Heaven, Alexandra (one of the Penn State interns) was asked to have her picture taken with a Chinese family. The rest of us stood there laughing as each family member stood next Alex, who had also broken down into laughter as well.
A few guidebooks say this is mostly common at tourist attractions, where people from outside the city will visit, see foreigners and ask for pictures to take home and show relatives. To them, foreigners are exotic.
I personally have no problem with the random photos. Actually, I wish more Chinese of all ages would approach me, asking to have their picture taken.
While in Tiananmen Square, a group of three Asian girls, who spoke relatively decent English, asked to have their picture taken with my roommate and me. They took turns standing next to the white boys, posing a bit for each shot.
When they were finished, I held out my camera and asked all of them to get in a picture with me. Tit for tat – you want my photo, I want yours. Plus, it almost made me feel like a celebrity. You gotta love those 15 seconds of fame.
Unpaid Intern in Action: One of the Gang
7 June 2009
My staff invited me to join them for an evening of eating and drinking at a few popular locales on Saturday. Quite a few of them had started working at China Daily within the last few weeks and months, so this would be a nice opportunity to mingle and share stories. I was glad they considered me, a lowly intern, to be one of them, so I tagged along.
We ate at a Middle Eastern style restaurant called Souk. The food wasn’t as good as I expected, but I had a great time chatting among the other China Daily workers.
It was an international experience to say they least, with employees coming from all over the world with different career backgrounds. England, India, Canada, the United States, Russia, New Zealand and others were all represented at our little gathering. Some were experienced, having worked at other publications (one gentleman used to work for CNN in London), while a few younger people were just starting their careers.
For the most part, the English speaking employees at China Daily copy edit, fine tuning stories and rewriting segments to make them more understandable for the average Chinese reader. The reporting is designated to those who speak Mandarin, since it would make interviewing in China much easier.
After finishing our meals, we decided to relocate to a bar called Nashville, located about half a mile away. Despite the name, Nashville had an acceptable variety of music (and by that I mean, no country). The live band played recognizable tunes, from the Rolling Stones to Led Zeppelin, filling in a few words with “fah lah lah” occasionally. Still, they sounded pretty good.
It was a nice way to spend a Saturday evening after a long week of late work nights at China Daily. I learned a great deal more about the paper, the employees I worked with and most importantly, I began matching names with faces. Now I won’t just be saying “Hey… buddy” when passing people in the halls at work.
While my stay in China may be short, it was nice to feel like being part of the team. The cold glasses of local Beijing beer and the classic rock in the background made the evening feel a bit more like home, which was nice for a change.
My staff invited me to join them for an evening of eating and drinking at a few popular locales on Saturday. Quite a few of them had started working at China Daily within the last few weeks and months, so this would be a nice opportunity to mingle and share stories. I was glad they considered me, a lowly intern, to be one of them, so I tagged along.
We ate at a Middle Eastern style restaurant called Souk. The food wasn’t as good as I expected, but I had a great time chatting among the other China Daily workers.
It was an international experience to say they least, with employees coming from all over the world with different career backgrounds. England, India, Canada, the United States, Russia, New Zealand and others were all represented at our little gathering. Some were experienced, having worked at other publications (one gentleman used to work for CNN in London), while a few younger people were just starting their careers.
For the most part, the English speaking employees at China Daily copy edit, fine tuning stories and rewriting segments to make them more understandable for the average Chinese reader. The reporting is designated to those who speak Mandarin, since it would make interviewing in China much easier.
After finishing our meals, we decided to relocate to a bar called Nashville, located about half a mile away. Despite the name, Nashville had an acceptable variety of music (and by that I mean, no country). The live band played recognizable tunes, from the Rolling Stones to Led Zeppelin, filling in a few words with “fah lah lah” occasionally. Still, they sounded pretty good.
It was a nice way to spend a Saturday evening after a long week of late work nights at China Daily. I learned a great deal more about the paper, the employees I worked with and most importantly, I began matching names with faces. Now I won’t just be saying “Hey… buddy” when passing people in the halls at work.
While my stay in China may be short, it was nice to feel like being part of the team. The cold glasses of local Beijing beer and the classic rock in the background made the evening feel a bit more like home, which was nice for a change.
Mr. Taylor's Neighborhood: The Bakery Next Door
6 June 2009
Hello neighbor. One of the most useful and reliable shops in the immediate area of the Yinghua Hotel has been the Weidoumei bakery. Upon entering, all bakery staff will shout out a welcome in Chinese as the aroma of freshly made pastries fills the air. On mornings when I’m just not in the mood for rice or noodles, a 30-second walk has a limitless supply of croissants and other breakfast pastries as my fingertips. I’m a big fan of the chocolate filled Danish butter biscuits. Jellyrolls are also available, along with sandwich-like cakes that may look odd, but are simply scrumptious. While lacking in donuts or cupcakes, the pastries are just as good, if not better than their western counterparts, A clear glass window also allows bakery-goers to watch the pastry-making process, as three or four workers mix, roll and bake throughout the day. Be it an egg filled tart or a croissant covered in pork (I’m serious), it’s all at the bakery, waiting to be eaten. |
Made in China
5 June 2009
Armani. Get me Armani. And bring Dolce and Gabbana too. Those were a few names I had in mind when I entered Beijing’s Silk Market, the pan-ultimate shopping center for bootlegs, knockoffs and knick-knacks of every kind. Jeans, shoes, shirts, suits, purses, jackets, golf equipment, iPods, DVDs, watches, dishes, jewelry, luggage, computers, ties, hats, wallets, swords, belts, sunglasses, rifle scopes and even contact lenses were all at my fingertips if I so chose to spend the cash. Needless to say, I was going to take a peek.
There’s no easy way of describing the Silk Market, except that it may be one level above Purgatory, but not quite Heaven. Try to imagine an American farmer’s market with 10 times the number of vendors placed in a basketball arena sized building with six floors packed wall to wall with knockoff products. Throw in the fact that each vendor will try to entice you to consider his or her products by complimenting you on how handsome you are or how nice you would look in a nice new knockoff shirt, suit or pair of jeans. In the broadest sense, that’s the Silk Market.
The best part about the Silk Market is the buyer-seller awareness of the market. The vendors know that what they’re selling is fake. You know that what you’re buying is fake. And they know that you know that it’s fake. The only people who don’t know are the people back home – the people you’re trying to impress with your fake goods. And honestly, they don’t really need to know anyway.
After perusing four of the six floors, I found a few items I liked, but I decided to try to catch a bigger fish: an expensive looking suit for my brother, Michael.
A few stalls later, I found what I was looking for. I took a deep breath and went in.
“Hello. Hello. You are a handsome young man. Very cute. You look for suit?” the female vendor said.
“Oh yeah. I’m looking for a suit. A nice suit,” I said, smiling from the compliment, which was probably fake too.
“Good, good. I have good suits,” she said, pointing to the three stacked rows of assorted suits. “What kind you like.”
I found a black pin-stripe suit. It would be perfect for my brother. It was also Armani.
Zeroing in, I pointed to the suit. She took out a tailor’s measuring tape and put it around my neck and waist. It was the right size, since my brother and I have similar body shapes. I tried it on. A perfect fit. Removing the suit I made the next move.
“How much for this suit?”
She immediately went for her black, large button calculator that all vendors at the Silk Market have. They need the mathematical machines to communicate the price, since many cannot bargain using American numbers and prices.
“Ahhh. This is a nice suit. And you are a nice young man. A student right? So for you, I give student discount,” she said.
She typed in a number. 2100 Yuan. Despite the exchange rate (6.8 Yuan is roughly equal to one American dollar) I shook my head.
“This is too much. How about this,” I said. Erasing her extreme figure, I typed 300. Typically, in bargaining situations, you don’t offer more than 20 percent of the asking price to begin with, I’ve been told.
“You are just being silly. That is too low,” she said, fake laughing at my offer. “This is a good suit. A nice suit.”
I agreed. “It is a nice suit. And I really want to buy this suit, but I don’t have that much. So how much lower can you go?”
She smiled and typed another number. 1800. Still too high. I said no, typing 325. She laughed again.
“Please sir, stop joking.”
Another offer. 1650. Too high, but I raised my offer to 400 to see what would happen. Again, she told me to be serious.
I turned to leave, but she blocked my path.
“Ok, ok, ok, ok. How bout this.” She typed 1525. I was getting nowhere. I forced my way passed her, smiling and saying I wasn’t interested any more. Her hands shot out before I could get out of the stall, latching onto my left hand.
“Ok, ok. 900”
I smiled politely, declining the offer once more. Then a second person grabbed my other hand, trying to pull me back in.
“800,” she said. I still was not interested. I gently shook the two off, said thanks and went down the endless aisle of knockoffs. Even so, the vendor pursued me for a few stalls.
“600.” I had started to ignore her at this point. I turned a corner. She followed.
“Sir, 400, sir. Do you want the suit? 400. SIR!”
I turned and smiled.
“Maybe next time,” I said. She disappeared.
While I had reached my set price, the fact of the matter was that I did not have 400 Yuan. Actually, I had very little cash on me, having purposely left most of it at the hotel so I wouldn’t buy unnecessary goods or spend too much my first time haggling. It was a rude thing to do, I’ll admit, but I wanted to make sure I could handle myself in a situation like this.
And I had. I had haggled the suit down from 2100 to 400 Yuan. In American dollars, the suit would have cost roughly $58.85. She had initially tried to charge me $308 USD.
Although I left without a suit, success felt good. Sorry Mike, maybe you’ll get your suit next time.
Armani. Get me Armani. And bring Dolce and Gabbana too. Those were a few names I had in mind when I entered Beijing’s Silk Market, the pan-ultimate shopping center for bootlegs, knockoffs and knick-knacks of every kind. Jeans, shoes, shirts, suits, purses, jackets, golf equipment, iPods, DVDs, watches, dishes, jewelry, luggage, computers, ties, hats, wallets, swords, belts, sunglasses, rifle scopes and even contact lenses were all at my fingertips if I so chose to spend the cash. Needless to say, I was going to take a peek.
There’s no easy way of describing the Silk Market, except that it may be one level above Purgatory, but not quite Heaven. Try to imagine an American farmer’s market with 10 times the number of vendors placed in a basketball arena sized building with six floors packed wall to wall with knockoff products. Throw in the fact that each vendor will try to entice you to consider his or her products by complimenting you on how handsome you are or how nice you would look in a nice new knockoff shirt, suit or pair of jeans. In the broadest sense, that’s the Silk Market.
The best part about the Silk Market is the buyer-seller awareness of the market. The vendors know that what they’re selling is fake. You know that what you’re buying is fake. And they know that you know that it’s fake. The only people who don’t know are the people back home – the people you’re trying to impress with your fake goods. And honestly, they don’t really need to know anyway.
After perusing four of the six floors, I found a few items I liked, but I decided to try to catch a bigger fish: an expensive looking suit for my brother, Michael.
A few stalls later, I found what I was looking for. I took a deep breath and went in.
“Hello. Hello. You are a handsome young man. Very cute. You look for suit?” the female vendor said.
“Oh yeah. I’m looking for a suit. A nice suit,” I said, smiling from the compliment, which was probably fake too.
“Good, good. I have good suits,” she said, pointing to the three stacked rows of assorted suits. “What kind you like.”
I found a black pin-stripe suit. It would be perfect for my brother. It was also Armani.
Zeroing in, I pointed to the suit. She took out a tailor’s measuring tape and put it around my neck and waist. It was the right size, since my brother and I have similar body shapes. I tried it on. A perfect fit. Removing the suit I made the next move.
“How much for this suit?”
She immediately went for her black, large button calculator that all vendors at the Silk Market have. They need the mathematical machines to communicate the price, since many cannot bargain using American numbers and prices.
“Ahhh. This is a nice suit. And you are a nice young man. A student right? So for you, I give student discount,” she said.
She typed in a number. 2100 Yuan. Despite the exchange rate (6.8 Yuan is roughly equal to one American dollar) I shook my head.
“This is too much. How about this,” I said. Erasing her extreme figure, I typed 300. Typically, in bargaining situations, you don’t offer more than 20 percent of the asking price to begin with, I’ve been told.
“You are just being silly. That is too low,” she said, fake laughing at my offer. “This is a good suit. A nice suit.”
I agreed. “It is a nice suit. And I really want to buy this suit, but I don’t have that much. So how much lower can you go?”
She smiled and typed another number. 1800. Still too high. I said no, typing 325. She laughed again.
“Please sir, stop joking.”
Another offer. 1650. Too high, but I raised my offer to 400 to see what would happen. Again, she told me to be serious.
I turned to leave, but she blocked my path.
“Ok, ok, ok, ok. How bout this.” She typed 1525. I was getting nowhere. I forced my way passed her, smiling and saying I wasn’t interested any more. Her hands shot out before I could get out of the stall, latching onto my left hand.
“Ok, ok. 900”
I smiled politely, declining the offer once more. Then a second person grabbed my other hand, trying to pull me back in.
“800,” she said. I still was not interested. I gently shook the two off, said thanks and went down the endless aisle of knockoffs. Even so, the vendor pursued me for a few stalls.
“600.” I had started to ignore her at this point. I turned a corner. She followed.
“Sir, 400, sir. Do you want the suit? 400. SIR!”
I turned and smiled.
“Maybe next time,” I said. She disappeared.
While I had reached my set price, the fact of the matter was that I did not have 400 Yuan. Actually, I had very little cash on me, having purposely left most of it at the hotel so I wouldn’t buy unnecessary goods or spend too much my first time haggling. It was a rude thing to do, I’ll admit, but I wanted to make sure I could handle myself in a situation like this.
And I had. I had haggled the suit down from 2100 to 400 Yuan. In American dollars, the suit would have cost roughly $58.85. She had initially tried to charge me $308 USD.
Although I left without a suit, success felt good. Sorry Mike, maybe you’ll get your suit next time.
You ate WHAT?!?: Sea creature on a stick
4 June 2009
I’m a big fan of seafood, and when I see food, I tend to eat it (sorry for the play on words). The unfortunate fact, however, is that sea food is not a big fan of me. Whenever I eat a meal consisting primarily of sea dwelling creatures, I usually end up with an upset stomach. On two occasions so far, I’ve cast my fear of the deep to the way side, enjoying a new found favorite food on a stick – squid.
While a bit chewy, the seasoning most vendors cover the squid on a stick in makes this arthropodic snack taste delicious. I’m not sure what part of the squid was placed on the wooden spear, but I definitely took a bite out of a tentacle or two.
Jules Verne's “20,000 Leagues Under the Sea” used to give me nightmares about such beasts of the open water. Now, having consumed one such nemesis of the Nautilus, I feel like those childhood fears were a bit overrated. Brandon, devourer of squid. Captain Nemo would be proud.
I’m a big fan of seafood, and when I see food, I tend to eat it (sorry for the play on words). The unfortunate fact, however, is that sea food is not a big fan of me. Whenever I eat a meal consisting primarily of sea dwelling creatures, I usually end up with an upset stomach. On two occasions so far, I’ve cast my fear of the deep to the way side, enjoying a new found favorite food on a stick – squid.
While a bit chewy, the seasoning most vendors cover the squid on a stick in makes this arthropodic snack taste delicious. I’m not sure what part of the squid was placed on the wooden spear, but I definitely took a bite out of a tentacle or two.
Jules Verne's “20,000 Leagues Under the Sea” used to give me nightmares about such beasts of the open water. Now, having consumed one such nemesis of the Nautilus, I feel like those childhood fears were a bit overrated. Brandon, devourer of squid. Captain Nemo would be proud.
Unpaid Intern in Action: Can I see your ID please?
3 June 2009
The identification card I held in my hand had a somewhat unrecognizable face on it. The person was handsome, yet unsmiling in seriousness. A few Chinese characters were scribbled in different sections of the card. I was able to make out the symbols for name. The words Brandon Taylor next to it. It was my ID card, my entrance and exit pass to China Daily for the next month and a half.
I felt official. I may only be an intern, but I was an intern at the China Daily and not some other publication. The expression plastered on my face could have passed for a government ID badge. Throw on a pair of shades and I could be Brandon Taylor, FBI Agent or member of the Secret Service.
The card allows me entrance to the building during the day, but also exit at night. I found out last evening that you need the ID to get out – a few sensors allow you to scan your badge to unlock the doors. It’s also handy for the security guards who walk the perimeter of the China Daily building.
But most importantly, the ID acts as a debit card for China Daily’s lunch room, which the employees call the canteen. Cheap and frequent meals are available throughout the day. This may come in handy on those late evenings on night desk duty when the urge for noodles becomes unbearable.
The identification card I held in my hand had a somewhat unrecognizable face on it. The person was handsome, yet unsmiling in seriousness. A few Chinese characters were scribbled in different sections of the card. I was able to make out the symbols for name. The words Brandon Taylor next to it. It was my ID card, my entrance and exit pass to China Daily for the next month and a half.
I felt official. I may only be an intern, but I was an intern at the China Daily and not some other publication. The expression plastered on my face could have passed for a government ID badge. Throw on a pair of shades and I could be Brandon Taylor, FBI Agent or member of the Secret Service.
The card allows me entrance to the building during the day, but also exit at night. I found out last evening that you need the ID to get out – a few sensors allow you to scan your badge to unlock the doors. It’s also handy for the security guards who walk the perimeter of the China Daily building.
But most importantly, the ID acts as a debit card for China Daily’s lunch room, which the employees call the canteen. Cheap and frequent meals are available throughout the day. This may come in handy on those late evenings on night desk duty when the urge for noodles becomes unbearable.
The Forbidden City and Jingshan Park
2 June 2009
Ancient Chinese dynasties really knew how to treat their rulers. Not only did they have palaces and temples made for their pleasure, they also had an entire city constructed for the emperor’s use- the Forbidden City. The ancient structure, while not so "forbidden", holds true to its designation as a city – it’s massive, with impenetrable walls, numerous gateways and a moat around the main interior section. Attacking such a structure would seem impossible, making the city itself a deterrent to aggressors. Built roughly around the same time as the Temple of Heaven in the early to mid-1400s, the Forbidden City is said to be rivaled only by the Great Wall as a symbol of Chinese longevity and magnificence. As is the case with other structures, the city is an architectural marvel in size and scope. Each gateway leads to another section that is even bigger than the previous, with places of worship and even a decent sized garden near the cities exit. Passing through each archway brought greater expectations as I walked through the ancient city. After exiting the Forbidden City, Jingshan Park, sitting atop elevated terrain, offers tourists the opportunity to get a complete glimpse of the Forbidden City, as well as the surrounding area. The view is stunning. Think standing atop the Empire State Building and being able to see New York City in its entirety. Seeing the Forbidden City from a bird’s eye view put the immensity of the structure into perspective- it’s roughly half the size of Central Park. Other locales I’d visited in the recent week were also visible, and I was able to chart the course cabs took as they hurried me to and from destinations in Beijing. In the distance, you can see the mountains where the Great Wall of China lies in wait, snaking mysteriously across the far northern part of the Beijing area. It must have been nice to be an Emperor in China. Ruling from a walled complex with tiled roofs and endless walls to walk upon must have made waking up in the morning a much more fulfilling task. I pity our modern rulers. Instead of a city, all we give our leader today is a white house. For more photos, visit CHINA PHOTO GALLERY. |
Unpaid Intern in Action: Night Desk Introduction
1 June 2009
I found out today that my primary duties will revolve around the night desk of the China Daily. Apparently, international news is code for copy desk. I’ll still have a few opportunities to get out on assignments with reporters, but for the most part I’ll be reading copy, picking stories and proofing pages.
I started my evening at 5 p.m. with introductions to the staff. The actual international news night crew consists of three people, one of whom had the night off, but there are a plethora of other night staffers from around the world.
After reading over the China Daily stylebook, I was asked to pick out stories for the three international news pages. Features, hard news and a few interesting picks were on the top of my list as I searched the AP, AFP and Reuters wire services. I also did a page mockup to practice using Adobe InDesign, since I’m more of a Quark man.
It was a fairly uneventful night, one that was much more calm than I had expected. We had been waiting for a news story from the wire about a French plane that had gone missing over the Atlantic when my boss told me I could leave. Since there wasn’t much else to do I decided it was a good idea to call it a night.
I’m used to the late nights, having worked on the copy desk of the Daily Collegian for a year, so this shouldn’t be a difficult transition. The fact that everyone speaks English (there’s a few Americans I saw wandering the building during the late hours) helped with introductions and will definitely come in handy as the internship progresses. The next big step will be learning my colleagues’ names. I’ll need a little luck with that one.
I found out today that my primary duties will revolve around the night desk of the China Daily. Apparently, international news is code for copy desk. I’ll still have a few opportunities to get out on assignments with reporters, but for the most part I’ll be reading copy, picking stories and proofing pages.
I started my evening at 5 p.m. with introductions to the staff. The actual international news night crew consists of three people, one of whom had the night off, but there are a plethora of other night staffers from around the world.
After reading over the China Daily stylebook, I was asked to pick out stories for the three international news pages. Features, hard news and a few interesting picks were on the top of my list as I searched the AP, AFP and Reuters wire services. I also did a page mockup to practice using Adobe InDesign, since I’m more of a Quark man.
It was a fairly uneventful night, one that was much more calm than I had expected. We had been waiting for a news story from the wire about a French plane that had gone missing over the Atlantic when my boss told me I could leave. Since there wasn’t much else to do I decided it was a good idea to call it a night.
I’m used to the late nights, having worked on the copy desk of the Daily Collegian for a year, so this shouldn’t be a difficult transition. The fact that everyone speaks English (there’s a few Americans I saw wandering the building during the late hours) helped with introductions and will definitely come in handy as the internship progresses. The next big step will be learning my colleagues’ names. I’ll need a little luck with that one.
Mr. Taylor's Neighborhood: The Yinghua Hotel
1 June 2009
Hello friends. Having lived here for ten days, I guess it’s about time to show you around my home away from home: the Yinghua (Cherry Blossom) Hotel, located in the upper Chaoyang District of Beijing.
The hotel is located not 100-feet away from the China Daily, which will make the morning commute relatively easy. It will also allow extra sleeping time that would otherwise be spent on the underground Metro system or stuck in traffic taking a cab.
A free breakfast is served from 7 a.m. to 9 a.m., which consists of rice, noodles, dumplings, fruit and a kind-of pound cake.
Our hotel room is typical of any western establishment: two beds, a TV, mini fridge, over-priced waters and sodas, and bathroom necessities. Internet access is available, but at a set price.
The beds aren’t too comfy, but I’m usually so worn out after a day of sightseeing or an evening out on the town that I barely notice when I hit the sheets. The hotel itself may be a bit bland, lacking a pool or exercise room, but it’s a nice place, and a roof over my head for the duration of my stay.
Hello friends. Having lived here for ten days, I guess it’s about time to show you around my home away from home: the Yinghua (Cherry Blossom) Hotel, located in the upper Chaoyang District of Beijing.
The hotel is located not 100-feet away from the China Daily, which will make the morning commute relatively easy. It will also allow extra sleeping time that would otherwise be spent on the underground Metro system or stuck in traffic taking a cab.
A free breakfast is served from 7 a.m. to 9 a.m., which consists of rice, noodles, dumplings, fruit and a kind-of pound cake.
Our hotel room is typical of any western establishment: two beds, a TV, mini fridge, over-priced waters and sodas, and bathroom necessities. Internet access is available, but at a set price.
The beds aren’t too comfy, but I’m usually so worn out after a day of sightseeing or an evening out on the town that I barely notice when I hit the sheets. The hotel itself may be a bit bland, lacking a pool or exercise room, but it’s a nice place, and a roof over my head for the duration of my stay.
The Nightlife: Chillin' by the Lake
31 May 2009
Beijing may be all about business and sightseeing during the day, but the city changes into a creature of bright lights and cool bars once the sun sets. The bars and clubs are endless, but one area our group has found to be the ultimate chill spot, if not also the most touristy, is Hou Hai, a small lake situated in Beijing’s northwest region of Haidan. It’s a 10-minute cab ride from our hotel.
Hou Hai encapsulates everything you need for a fun night: nice bars, fancy eateries and a lake beautifully lit by the surrounding venue lights. Walking around the perimeter of the area can be fun without spending too much on food or alcohol.
Bars offer a variety of music and most have an open-air roof to sit and people watch throughout the evening. Bar staff will try to lure you in with promises of good beer at an affordable price. They also offer dinner specials and a happy hour menu.
Probably the greatest part about Hou Hai, and China in general, is the lack of an open-bottle policy. If you buy beer at one bar, you can carry it around as you walk to another. Strolling around the lake, beer in hand, feels good – like breaking a rule. The drinking age is also much lower than in the States.
Hou Hai, however, is a tourist location, so vendors tend to jack the prices up when they see foreigners. A 500 mL beer costing 40 Yuan (roughly $5.88) or more can put a damper in one’s night, but fret not, a bit of bargaining can get that same beer down to 10 Yuan or even five ($1.47 and $0.73 respectively) from the right vendor.
The food is delicious, if not a bit expensive (30 Yuan for a plate of French fries), but the cheap beer makes everything even out.
A few historic relics can be seen in the area, for the history-inclined person, like myself.
After a long day of work at the China Daily, I’ll look forward to making a stop of Hou Hai from a cheap beer and the cool lakeside air.
Beijing may be all about business and sightseeing during the day, but the city changes into a creature of bright lights and cool bars once the sun sets. The bars and clubs are endless, but one area our group has found to be the ultimate chill spot, if not also the most touristy, is Hou Hai, a small lake situated in Beijing’s northwest region of Haidan. It’s a 10-minute cab ride from our hotel.
Hou Hai encapsulates everything you need for a fun night: nice bars, fancy eateries and a lake beautifully lit by the surrounding venue lights. Walking around the perimeter of the area can be fun without spending too much on food or alcohol.
Bars offer a variety of music and most have an open-air roof to sit and people watch throughout the evening. Bar staff will try to lure you in with promises of good beer at an affordable price. They also offer dinner specials and a happy hour menu.
Probably the greatest part about Hou Hai, and China in general, is the lack of an open-bottle policy. If you buy beer at one bar, you can carry it around as you walk to another. Strolling around the lake, beer in hand, feels good – like breaking a rule. The drinking age is also much lower than in the States.
Hou Hai, however, is a tourist location, so vendors tend to jack the prices up when they see foreigners. A 500 mL beer costing 40 Yuan (roughly $5.88) or more can put a damper in one’s night, but fret not, a bit of bargaining can get that same beer down to 10 Yuan or even five ($1.47 and $0.73 respectively) from the right vendor.
The food is delicious, if not a bit expensive (30 Yuan for a plate of French fries), but the cheap beer makes everything even out.
A few historic relics can be seen in the area, for the history-inclined person, like myself.
After a long day of work at the China Daily, I’ll look forward to making a stop of Hou Hai from a cheap beer and the cool lakeside air.
Small talk can cost Big bucks
31 May 2009
While Matt, my roommate in Beijing, and I emerged from the metro station outside Tiananmen Square, a young Asian girl followed closely behind. She startled me by speaking in English. “Hello. Are you American?”
A group of Americans staying in our hotel had told me that younger Chinese had often approached them, wishing to practice their English. Thinking this was the case, I decided to make small talk.
“Yes I am. You speak English pretty well,” I said. She smiled and thanked me.
The young girl talked a bit about where she was from and asked me the same, also inquiring about my visit to Beijing. I told her about the China Daily internship and said a few phrases in Chinese. She seemed impressed, commenting me on my “perfect Chinese accent.”
It was pretty cool, finally talking to a Chinese person my own age. I could potentially make a new international friend. Then, she did a complete 360.
“I am a member of an art student group here in Beijing for a showcase. We specialize in ancient Chinese painting and calligraphy. Would you like to take a look?”
I knew what this was and felt a little embarrassed by my naivety. This “art student” was no calligraphist, or disciple of the brush. It was a scam.
I’d read about these instances in my travel books. Younger Chinese will pose as art students, telling elaborate tales of how they need money to fund their education or the education of their peers in an effort to persuade foreigners to buy their overpriced work. This young Asian was very convincing, and had I not been a wiser traveler I would have probably fallen into her web like an unsuspecting fly.
By allowing our little conversation to go on too long, it would be a bit difficult to get the faux art student to leave me alone. I had to sever the connection.
“Maybe later. We really want to see the Forbidden City first,” I said. She tried to convince me it would only take a few moments to view the artwork, but I declined once more. She persisted and I walked off.
I felt a bit used, having opened up to this stranger from the square. I’ll admit, I let my guard down here and was open to attack, but it really would have been nice to make a new Asian friend.
While Matt, my roommate in Beijing, and I emerged from the metro station outside Tiananmen Square, a young Asian girl followed closely behind. She startled me by speaking in English. “Hello. Are you American?”
A group of Americans staying in our hotel had told me that younger Chinese had often approached them, wishing to practice their English. Thinking this was the case, I decided to make small talk.
“Yes I am. You speak English pretty well,” I said. She smiled and thanked me.
The young girl talked a bit about where she was from and asked me the same, also inquiring about my visit to Beijing. I told her about the China Daily internship and said a few phrases in Chinese. She seemed impressed, commenting me on my “perfect Chinese accent.”
It was pretty cool, finally talking to a Chinese person my own age. I could potentially make a new international friend. Then, she did a complete 360.
“I am a member of an art student group here in Beijing for a showcase. We specialize in ancient Chinese painting and calligraphy. Would you like to take a look?”
I knew what this was and felt a little embarrassed by my naivety. This “art student” was no calligraphist, or disciple of the brush. It was a scam.
I’d read about these instances in my travel books. Younger Chinese will pose as art students, telling elaborate tales of how they need money to fund their education or the education of their peers in an effort to persuade foreigners to buy their overpriced work. This young Asian was very convincing, and had I not been a wiser traveler I would have probably fallen into her web like an unsuspecting fly.
By allowing our little conversation to go on too long, it would be a bit difficult to get the faux art student to leave me alone. I had to sever the connection.
“Maybe later. We really want to see the Forbidden City first,” I said. She tried to convince me it would only take a few moments to view the artwork, but I declined once more. She persisted and I walked off.
I felt a bit used, having opened up to this stranger from the square. I’ll admit, I let my guard down here and was open to attack, but it really would have been nice to make a new Asian friend.
The Lama Temple
30 May 2009
As we passed through another ancient Chinese archway, smoke filling the air, my roommate Matt turned to me, saying “You know, I never thought I’d say this while in Beijing, but I love this smell.”
The smell was incense. We were at Yonghe Gong, the Lama Temple. A few people had told me that if you see one temple, you’ve seen them all. The Lama Temple was that one temple to see, aside from the Temple of Heaven.
Initially constructed in 1694, the complex became a temple in 1744, housing many beautiful incense burners. A few monks can still be seen maintaining the premises and preventing tourists from taking pictures of the ancient statues and places of worship.
Five central halls comprise the Lama Temple, with the largest housing a 59-foot statue carved from one piece of white sandalwood, a feat that earned it a Guinness World Record. Statues of Buddha representing the past, present and future ordain many of the halls, where people still come to pay homage.
The Lama Temple shares many similarities with the Temple of Heaven, specifically the use of bright colors and architecture. The temples here are more colorful and welcoming compared to our seemingly bland churches made of stone; their dark, grey bricks casting an ominous shadow on passerbys. And yet, it would seem worshipping is/was taken just as seriously in China as it was in the western world based on the sheer size of the temples and the effort put into making them look so ornate.
Based on the number of monks present, Buddhism seems to still be popular. Perhaps we need to make churches a bit brighter to draw in the younger crowd back in the States.
For more photos, visit the CHINA PHOTO GALLERY.
As we passed through another ancient Chinese archway, smoke filling the air, my roommate Matt turned to me, saying “You know, I never thought I’d say this while in Beijing, but I love this smell.”
The smell was incense. We were at Yonghe Gong, the Lama Temple. A few people had told me that if you see one temple, you’ve seen them all. The Lama Temple was that one temple to see, aside from the Temple of Heaven.
Initially constructed in 1694, the complex became a temple in 1744, housing many beautiful incense burners. A few monks can still be seen maintaining the premises and preventing tourists from taking pictures of the ancient statues and places of worship.
Five central halls comprise the Lama Temple, with the largest housing a 59-foot statue carved from one piece of white sandalwood, a feat that earned it a Guinness World Record. Statues of Buddha representing the past, present and future ordain many of the halls, where people still come to pay homage.
The Lama Temple shares many similarities with the Temple of Heaven, specifically the use of bright colors and architecture. The temples here are more colorful and welcoming compared to our seemingly bland churches made of stone; their dark, grey bricks casting an ominous shadow on passerbys. And yet, it would seem worshipping is/was taken just as seriously in China as it was in the western world based on the sheer size of the temples and the effort put into making them look so ornate.
Based on the number of monks present, Buddhism seems to still be popular. Perhaps we need to make churches a bit brighter to draw in the younger crowd back in the States.
For more photos, visit the CHINA PHOTO GALLERY.
You ate WHAT?!?: A Lunch Tail
29 May 2009
On the way to the subway station two blocks from our hotel, we’ve passed a restaurant where amazing smells escape onto the sidewalk as we pass. After an afternoon of sightseeing, my roommate, Matt, and I decided to stop and try the local cuisine. We looked at a menu before committing to the restaurant.
The pictures resembled beef-like dishes, so we took a seat and ordered. I chose something that looked like ribs, or beef strips of some sort, but what was placed in front of me was completely different.
I picked at it with my chopsticks. It looked more like spine, with the meat wrapped around a long slender piece of connecting bone segment and tissue that narrowed at the end. I’ve adopted a very lenient eating policy concerning foods here, since I was to experience real Chinese food, so I shrugged it off and dove in.
Despite the fact that there was actually very little meat on each segment, it tasted pretty good. One thing stood out, though – it didn’t taste like beef. It was too chewy; the texture of the meat was different. It didn’t take me long to realize this might not be spine and I may not be eating beef. The large segment narrowed too much, ending in a finer point than would resemble that of a spine.
I put the chopsticks down and inhaled. I was confident that I was eating tail. Dog tail, perhaps, but almost definitely tail.
Finishing the last of my Coca-Cola, I looked at the last piece of whatever it was on my plate. “When in Rome,” I thought, and picked the last bits of meat off the bone.
On the way to the subway station two blocks from our hotel, we’ve passed a restaurant where amazing smells escape onto the sidewalk as we pass. After an afternoon of sightseeing, my roommate, Matt, and I decided to stop and try the local cuisine. We looked at a menu before committing to the restaurant.
The pictures resembled beef-like dishes, so we took a seat and ordered. I chose something that looked like ribs, or beef strips of some sort, but what was placed in front of me was completely different.
I picked at it with my chopsticks. It looked more like spine, with the meat wrapped around a long slender piece of connecting bone segment and tissue that narrowed at the end. I’ve adopted a very lenient eating policy concerning foods here, since I was to experience real Chinese food, so I shrugged it off and dove in.
Despite the fact that there was actually very little meat on each segment, it tasted pretty good. One thing stood out, though – it didn’t taste like beef. It was too chewy; the texture of the meat was different. It didn’t take me long to realize this might not be spine and I may not be eating beef. The large segment narrowed too much, ending in a finer point than would resemble that of a spine.
I put the chopsticks down and inhaled. I was confident that I was eating tail. Dog tail, perhaps, but almost definitely tail.
Finishing the last of my Coca-Cola, I looked at the last piece of whatever it was on my plate. “When in Rome,” I thought, and picked the last bits of meat off the bone.
Stairway to Heaven
29 May 2009
The first definitive Chinese structure I saw was the Temple of Heaven. Now I felt like I was in China. Much more than the Temple itself grace the area, as an entire park surrounds the magnificent structure. Built in the early 1400s, this altar to heaven was used to offer sacrifice in order bring about a good crop harvest each year. The last time it saw such use was in 1914. The temple sits elevated above the rest of the park, at the end of a long, decorated hallway. While relatively small in comparison to cathedrals I’ve seen in Germany and France, the Temple of Heaven is greater in splendor and eloquence than its European religious rivals. The bright, distinct colors and architecture reinforce the sense that this is truly a gateway for communicating with the heavens. For more photos, visit the CHINA PHOTO GALLERY. |
An Evening at the Olympic Sports Center
For more photos, visit the CHINA PHOTO GALLERY.
|
28 May 2009
We had been told by our China Daily hosts that the best time to go to the Olympic Sports Center was at night. The area, especially the Water Cube where American Michael Phelps won gold medal after gold medal, would be nicely lit.
The Cube and National Stadium (aka the Bird's Nest) were beautifully lit, still giving off that Olympic aura felt during the opening ceremonies of the 2008 Summer Olympics. The sheer immensity and grandeur of the Sports Center really shows the pride the Chinese feel for their nation. The Olympics must have been another one of those instances were China "stood up," as Chairman Mao stated on October 1, 1949 with the founding of the People's Republic of China. |
Hello? This is the U.S. Government. Your mom called.
27 May 2009
I was showering when the phone rang. It had just passed 9 a.m. Since arriving in Beijing, I was asked to take my temperature before 9 and before 3 in the afternoon, followed by a call to one of the China Daily workers to report the thermometer reading. Today, I had taken my temperature but not made the call – the China Daily person was in Shanghai and told me to just keep track myself.
Through the bathroom door I heard my roommate call my name. Dammit. I was going to get yelled at. The person on the other line was not from the China Daily. Actually, she wasn’t Chinese.
“Hello, Brandon?” said the voice on the phone. “This is the United States Embassy. Your mom just called. She said she was worried about your situation.”
Situation? Uh oh. As I had feared, my mom had taken the email I sent home, explaining that someone on my flight had been diagnosed with the swine flu and that we were under a very loose observation, too seriously.
“There’s no situation. Everything is fine. She worries about everything,” I said. “My mom is just being a mom. She just misunderstood what I had told her about what was going on.”
I assured the embassy worker that nothing was wrong and the conversation ended.
But now I was worried. My mom had gone and caused a stir with the embassy. The last thing I needed was them meddling with the China Daily or Chinese government about an email taken out of context. I feared I was going to find myself on a plane home, the second time this scare had happened to me in less than a week.
The fear turned to anger. Constantly worrying is what my mom does best. We’d had countless discussions before I left for China on safety and health issues and anything that could possibly go wrong on my trip. For most of those talks, I just nodded my head and agreed. I was a big boy and could take care of myself.
I was typing away a nasty email, about how her actions could have jeopardized my stay in China, when I stopped. What was I doing? I was going to yell at my mom for being concerned about her son, who she was unable to call since he just happened to be on the other side of the world. I calmed down, erased the email and started from scratch.
Logging onto AOL Instant Messenger, I had one of my friends from Brooklyn call my brother, who would relay the message to my parents that I was fine and that they should check their email ASAP.
My parents were irate, my brother informed me through the instant messenger service. Apparently, my mom was going to “kill me,” my brother quoted, for not emailing sooner, an action that provoked her to call to the American embassy.
I thought about it and laughed. My mom had pulled out the big guns, enlisting the U.S. government to save her son. What a great mom.
I too often shrug off my parents’ constant badgering, relying on myself for my own well-being. I’m 22 and being completely independent of my parents could not come soon enough. But even with other Americans around me, I’m still in a foreign country that I’ve never been to before and don’t speak the language.
So what would I do if I were seriously hurt? I’ll tell you what I’d do: I’d call the embassy to call my mom. My stupidity had come full circle. Once again, my mom was right and I was wrong. Wrong to be upset with her and wrong to not worry myself. The swine flu may not be all its made out to be (only younger children and old adults have been truly affected) but it’s still a serious matter, especially when traveling abroad.
For this excursion in general I have been very laid back, almost uncaring if anything went wrong and not making the necessary planning, an act that has only caused my mom to worry more. Essentially, she was worrying for the both of us.
That made me glad. Glad that I had a mom who hadn’t just shrugged off her son’s lack of enthusiasm in ensuring his own safety on a lengthy trans-ocean trip after he basically ran off to that foreign land with his head in the clouds. I was glad she hadn’t waited for me to email her back, since the situation could have been more serious and I could very much have wound up in a hospital if it had been. I was glad she had acted like a mom.
I thought over the matter again and laughed. At least now I know if I wind up in a prison somehow, I can count on my mom.
Thanks Mom.
I was showering when the phone rang. It had just passed 9 a.m. Since arriving in Beijing, I was asked to take my temperature before 9 and before 3 in the afternoon, followed by a call to one of the China Daily workers to report the thermometer reading. Today, I had taken my temperature but not made the call – the China Daily person was in Shanghai and told me to just keep track myself.
Through the bathroom door I heard my roommate call my name. Dammit. I was going to get yelled at. The person on the other line was not from the China Daily. Actually, she wasn’t Chinese.
“Hello, Brandon?” said the voice on the phone. “This is the United States Embassy. Your mom just called. She said she was worried about your situation.”
Situation? Uh oh. As I had feared, my mom had taken the email I sent home, explaining that someone on my flight had been diagnosed with the swine flu and that we were under a very loose observation, too seriously.
“There’s no situation. Everything is fine. She worries about everything,” I said. “My mom is just being a mom. She just misunderstood what I had told her about what was going on.”
I assured the embassy worker that nothing was wrong and the conversation ended.
But now I was worried. My mom had gone and caused a stir with the embassy. The last thing I needed was them meddling with the China Daily or Chinese government about an email taken out of context. I feared I was going to find myself on a plane home, the second time this scare had happened to me in less than a week.
The fear turned to anger. Constantly worrying is what my mom does best. We’d had countless discussions before I left for China on safety and health issues and anything that could possibly go wrong on my trip. For most of those talks, I just nodded my head and agreed. I was a big boy and could take care of myself.
I was typing away a nasty email, about how her actions could have jeopardized my stay in China, when I stopped. What was I doing? I was going to yell at my mom for being concerned about her son, who she was unable to call since he just happened to be on the other side of the world. I calmed down, erased the email and started from scratch.
Logging onto AOL Instant Messenger, I had one of my friends from Brooklyn call my brother, who would relay the message to my parents that I was fine and that they should check their email ASAP.
My parents were irate, my brother informed me through the instant messenger service. Apparently, my mom was going to “kill me,” my brother quoted, for not emailing sooner, an action that provoked her to call to the American embassy.
I thought about it and laughed. My mom had pulled out the big guns, enlisting the U.S. government to save her son. What a great mom.
I too often shrug off my parents’ constant badgering, relying on myself for my own well-being. I’m 22 and being completely independent of my parents could not come soon enough. But even with other Americans around me, I’m still in a foreign country that I’ve never been to before and don’t speak the language.
So what would I do if I were seriously hurt? I’ll tell you what I’d do: I’d call the embassy to call my mom. My stupidity had come full circle. Once again, my mom was right and I was wrong. Wrong to be upset with her and wrong to not worry myself. The swine flu may not be all its made out to be (only younger children and old adults have been truly affected) but it’s still a serious matter, especially when traveling abroad.
For this excursion in general I have been very laid back, almost uncaring if anything went wrong and not making the necessary planning, an act that has only caused my mom to worry more. Essentially, she was worrying for the both of us.
That made me glad. Glad that I had a mom who hadn’t just shrugged off her son’s lack of enthusiasm in ensuring his own safety on a lengthy trans-ocean trip after he basically ran off to that foreign land with his head in the clouds. I was glad she hadn’t waited for me to email her back, since the situation could have been more serious and I could very much have wound up in a hospital if it had been. I was glad she had acted like a mom.
I thought over the matter again and laughed. At least now I know if I wind up in a prison somehow, I can count on my mom.
Thanks Mom.
Under Observation, not Quarantine
26 May 2009- Penn State students Alexandra Petri, Caitlin Holtzman and Sarim Ngo have their temperatures taken by a Yinghua Hotel staff member. Normally we took the temperatures ourselves. NOTE- this was not a quarantine, but a very loose observation for health purposes and was completely understandable considering the circumstances. FACT- I am not sick, at all.
28 Hours Later
I blog while having my temperature taken.
25 May 2009
It’s not the best time to be an American in China, and when you’re me, it’s even worse. While the people are more than friendly, the swine flu (AH1N1) has made some Beijing locals less than willing to interact with foreigners.
While the swine flu seems to be raging rampant in other parts of the world, with Japan reporting over 130 cases, China seems to have kept its number of incidents in the single digits. But not 24 hours after arriving in Beijing, I was made aware of incident number seven.
Swine flu case No. 7 was discovered on a Chinese citizen on Flight CA0982. Flight CA0982 departing from New York City. Flight CA0982 departing from New York City on May 20. Flight CA0982 departing from New York City on May 20 at 4:20 p.m. Flight CA0982: my flight.
Swine flu incident number seven - my lucky number.
When the China Daily staffers had picked me up at the airport, they had mentioned something about staying in the hotel for a week, but had offered no specifics. The other interns and I were scheduled to start working May 25, but the swine flu “epidemic” had caused the Chinese government to take precautions (which I whole-heartedly agree with), enforcing a loose, voluntary quarantine policy whereby all travelers, citizens and tourists alike, would have to stay in their hotels or homes for five to seven days. We were certainly no exception.
I was perfectly fine with the matter. True, I had wanted to run out to Tiananmen Square, see the Bird’s Nest Olympic Stadium and maybe even grab a few bootleg designer clothing at the Silk Market, but I was in China and willing to play by their rules. If these were the precautions they wanted to take, then these were the precautions I was going to follow. The internship was two months, and hadn’t even started yet for that matter, so staying for the duration would be ideal.
A day later, I got a phone call from another China Daily staff member. He explained to me the situation – someone on my flight had an irregular temperature and was sent to a hospital. The man was fine now, but my name had come up as a passenger sitting in the general area of said-possibly-swine-flu-infected man.
“Come up?” My name never came up. Not for contests, not for scholarships, not even in topics of interesting conversation But now, as a person sitting in the vicinity of someone who had been diagnosed with swine flu, my name had come up. Perfect.
In my mind I began packing my bags, half expecting them to just send me back to the States, a broken-hearted intern with unfulfilled dreams, jobless and now thousands of dollars down from a plane ticket for a two-day stay in Beijing. I hadn’t even gotten to see the Great Wall.
Instead of sending me home, they sent me a thermometer. I was to take my temperature twice a day and report back to a China Daily staff member, who would in turn contact the Chinese government. So now I was practically a celebrity, just not the way I had hoped.
The fun didn’t stop there. The hotel staff, wearing mask and staying only long enough to drop off the thermometer and run away, began taking all the other interns’ temperatures. Everyone was sharing in the fun now.
But the coup de grace came after I found out that someone had misspoken about my quasi-quarantine status. Apparently, some of the hotel staff was under the impression that I was actually sick. This would have explained the awkward stares at breakfast, or how my roommate, Matt Hershberger, had an interesting encounter with the hotel front desk staff. He had gone to ask about the internet malfunctioning in our room, only to have the worker take a few steps back as he approached the desk, asking “Your roommate is sick, right.”
So I was the allegedly the sick American staying in room 423. “When were the men in the hazmat suits coming?” I thought. Well, at least I had enough dress clothing, which I had brought for the internship, to look decent for my close-up on CNN later that night.
It’s not the best time to be an American in China, and when you’re me, it’s even worse. While the people are more than friendly, the swine flu (AH1N1) has made some Beijing locals less than willing to interact with foreigners.
While the swine flu seems to be raging rampant in other parts of the world, with Japan reporting over 130 cases, China seems to have kept its number of incidents in the single digits. But not 24 hours after arriving in Beijing, I was made aware of incident number seven.
Swine flu case No. 7 was discovered on a Chinese citizen on Flight CA0982. Flight CA0982 departing from New York City. Flight CA0982 departing from New York City on May 20. Flight CA0982 departing from New York City on May 20 at 4:20 p.m. Flight CA0982: my flight.
Swine flu incident number seven - my lucky number.
When the China Daily staffers had picked me up at the airport, they had mentioned something about staying in the hotel for a week, but had offered no specifics. The other interns and I were scheduled to start working May 25, but the swine flu “epidemic” had caused the Chinese government to take precautions (which I whole-heartedly agree with), enforcing a loose, voluntary quarantine policy whereby all travelers, citizens and tourists alike, would have to stay in their hotels or homes for five to seven days. We were certainly no exception.
I was perfectly fine with the matter. True, I had wanted to run out to Tiananmen Square, see the Bird’s Nest Olympic Stadium and maybe even grab a few bootleg designer clothing at the Silk Market, but I was in China and willing to play by their rules. If these were the precautions they wanted to take, then these were the precautions I was going to follow. The internship was two months, and hadn’t even started yet for that matter, so staying for the duration would be ideal.
A day later, I got a phone call from another China Daily staff member. He explained to me the situation – someone on my flight had an irregular temperature and was sent to a hospital. The man was fine now, but my name had come up as a passenger sitting in the general area of said-possibly-swine-flu-infected man.
“Come up?” My name never came up. Not for contests, not for scholarships, not even in topics of interesting conversation But now, as a person sitting in the vicinity of someone who had been diagnosed with swine flu, my name had come up. Perfect.
In my mind I began packing my bags, half expecting them to just send me back to the States, a broken-hearted intern with unfulfilled dreams, jobless and now thousands of dollars down from a plane ticket for a two-day stay in Beijing. I hadn’t even gotten to see the Great Wall.
Instead of sending me home, they sent me a thermometer. I was to take my temperature twice a day and report back to a China Daily staff member, who would in turn contact the Chinese government. So now I was practically a celebrity, just not the way I had hoped.
The fun didn’t stop there. The hotel staff, wearing mask and staying only long enough to drop off the thermometer and run away, began taking all the other interns’ temperatures. Everyone was sharing in the fun now.
But the coup de grace came after I found out that someone had misspoken about my quasi-quarantine status. Apparently, some of the hotel staff was under the impression that I was actually sick. This would have explained the awkward stares at breakfast, or how my roommate, Matt Hershberger, had an interesting encounter with the hotel front desk staff. He had gone to ask about the internet malfunctioning in our room, only to have the worker take a few steps back as he approached the desk, asking “Your roommate is sick, right.”
So I was the allegedly the sick American staying in room 423. “When were the men in the hazmat suits coming?” I thought. Well, at least I had enough dress clothing, which I had brought for the internship, to look decent for my close-up on CNN later that night.
Sneeze on a Plane
20-21 May 2009
SOMEWHERE OVER CANADA – I was halfway through my Beijing travel book when the stewardess tapped me on the shoulder.
"Ni hao” she said with a typical stewardess smile, and asked what beverage I preferred. Coke, no ice – my Bondian equivalent of a martini shaken-not-stirred. I’m very particular.
Then, without warning, the unthinkable happened. I sneezed. It was the kind of sneeze where a few particles slip through your fingers and land on whatever’s in front of you – in my case, the travel book.
For a moment, time froze. The people to my left, right and even the guy in front of me slowly turned, looking in my direction. I knew what they were thinking: sick white man.
That wasn’t the case at all. I had just forgotten to take my allergy medication that morning and the in-flight meal they served had been a little spicy, giving me a runny nose as well. I was relieved my obnoxious cough that’s been following me for the last six months wasn’t present. The sneezing continued and I began to drink water and tend to my now somewhat-drooling nose.
I looked at the monitor that was almost too far to see, even with my glasses. Ten hours, 22 minutes. This was going to be a long flight.
Sleep somehow found me, even at 35,000 feet into the atmosphere. Long flights usually prevent me from getting any shut-eye, since missing one of the few meals served is simply unacceptable. Now awake, I noticed a few passengers had donned protective white masks, one with a filtration system in the front, like a scientist dealing with deadly chemicals would wear. Had I been sneezing in my sleep? Or worse, had my cough returned?!?!
There was now only four hours left in the flight. Our final meal was served, the in-flight movie ended and our descent into Beijing began.
Once on the ground we were greeted by showers, a wet and humid Beijing.
“It would,” was all I thought.
My airplane adventure, however, was not over. Before the plane had come to an immediate halt, passengers were out of their seats, scrambling for their overhead luggage so that they could get off the plane (and away from the sneezing boy perhaps). The stewardess came over the loud speaker, making an announcement in Chinese. Everyone groaned. They returned to their seats. “Uh oh.”
I peered out from my aisle seat to the front the plane. Like stormtroopers boarding the captured rebel space ship at the beginning of the first Star Wars movie, two people in white shirts, gloves and masks began walking down the aisles. They were even carrying laser guns, from what I could see. They moved slowly, pointing their device at each individual’s head, then moving on. I sneezed again. A cough followed.
“Help me Obi Wan Kenobi…”
It was almost my turn to be zapped. I sneezed. Sneezed again. But no cough. The device was at my face, then gone. The stormtrooper walked past. Phew. It was over.
The stewardess made another announcement and everyone jumped up again. I made my way off the plane, joined one of the other Penn State students who had been on my flight and made my way into the terminal. Somewhere, a China Daily member would be waiting to take us to our hotel, where the great China experience would begin. Beijing at last. Now all I had to do was control that sneeze.
SOMEWHERE OVER CANADA – I was halfway through my Beijing travel book when the stewardess tapped me on the shoulder.
"Ni hao” she said with a typical stewardess smile, and asked what beverage I preferred. Coke, no ice – my Bondian equivalent of a martini shaken-not-stirred. I’m very particular.
Then, without warning, the unthinkable happened. I sneezed. It was the kind of sneeze where a few particles slip through your fingers and land on whatever’s in front of you – in my case, the travel book.
For a moment, time froze. The people to my left, right and even the guy in front of me slowly turned, looking in my direction. I knew what they were thinking: sick white man.
That wasn’t the case at all. I had just forgotten to take my allergy medication that morning and the in-flight meal they served had been a little spicy, giving me a runny nose as well. I was relieved my obnoxious cough that’s been following me for the last six months wasn’t present. The sneezing continued and I began to drink water and tend to my now somewhat-drooling nose.
I looked at the monitor that was almost too far to see, even with my glasses. Ten hours, 22 minutes. This was going to be a long flight.
Sleep somehow found me, even at 35,000 feet into the atmosphere. Long flights usually prevent me from getting any shut-eye, since missing one of the few meals served is simply unacceptable. Now awake, I noticed a few passengers had donned protective white masks, one with a filtration system in the front, like a scientist dealing with deadly chemicals would wear. Had I been sneezing in my sleep? Or worse, had my cough returned?!?!
There was now only four hours left in the flight. Our final meal was served, the in-flight movie ended and our descent into Beijing began.
Once on the ground we were greeted by showers, a wet and humid Beijing.
“It would,” was all I thought.
My airplane adventure, however, was not over. Before the plane had come to an immediate halt, passengers were out of their seats, scrambling for their overhead luggage so that they could get off the plane (and away from the sneezing boy perhaps). The stewardess came over the loud speaker, making an announcement in Chinese. Everyone groaned. They returned to their seats. “Uh oh.”
I peered out from my aisle seat to the front the plane. Like stormtroopers boarding the captured rebel space ship at the beginning of the first Star Wars movie, two people in white shirts, gloves and masks began walking down the aisles. They were even carrying laser guns, from what I could see. They moved slowly, pointing their device at each individual’s head, then moving on. I sneezed again. A cough followed.
“Help me Obi Wan Kenobi…”
It was almost my turn to be zapped. I sneezed. Sneezed again. But no cough. The device was at my face, then gone. The stormtrooper walked past. Phew. It was over.
The stewardess made another announcement and everyone jumped up again. I made my way off the plane, joined one of the other Penn State students who had been on my flight and made my way into the terminal. Somewhere, a China Daily member would be waiting to take us to our hotel, where the great China experience would begin. Beijing at last. Now all I had to do was control that sneeze.
Planning, paying, practicing
After the initial euphoria that I would be spending the summer in China had run its course, the realities of the situation set in.
As I mentioned before, the internship is unpaid. I didn’t have a job per se, but I did get a grant check for being an editor at Penn State’s student publication, the Daily Collegian. That money would cover my housing arrangement at the Cherry Blossom Hotel for the two months. I also began to cut back on certain luxuries in my college lifestyle. No more trips to the liquor store; bar hopping was cut back; and I began to cook for myself more often.
Since China doesn’t exactly fall into America’s category of ally, as opposed to Germany or Great Britain, I would also need a visa to even get on the plane to Beijing. A visa for any other member of the world costs between $30- $40. Since I happen to be American, mine would cost an extra hundred bucks. Applying would require me to appear in person at the Chinese embassy in New York City, Washington D.C. or Chicago, and embassy hours varied from day to day. I decided to use a courier service, that applied for the visa on my behalf, charging additional fees, but getting the visa to me within a week.
I began reading travel books on Beijing, so that I would be able to maximize my site seeing trips. True, I had two months, but when you’re visiting a nation with thousands of years of history, there’s going to be a lot to see. My love of history would inevitably cause me to visit some sites twice.
But above all else, the biggest obstacle to preparing to this trip was the plain and simple fact that I did not speak a word of Chinese. I hardly remembered any of the random words I’d picked up from the back of the fortunes you get in each cookie when ordering Chinese food. I was a blank slate, but I set to work. I bought two “Chinese for Dummies” books – one for phrases and one for language background and basics.
Three weeks before my trip, with the language learning moving at a sluggish pace, I caved in and bought a certain TV-advertised, language learning Pandora’s box of sorts. You guessed it – Rosetta Stone. Now I’m not one for product placement but I have to admit, Rosetta Stone is the real deal. It’s essentially a video game for mastering the basics and building a foundation for whatever language you choose to learn. If that sounds like a line out of the Rosetta Stone commercial, it probably is, because I’ve been wholly indoctrinated to love the RS brand.
Chopsticks replaced my fork and spoon, as I began eating everything the Chinese way. Noodles were somewhat difficult, but rice posed the real challenge. I just hope I learn quickly enough so I don’t resort to primitive means, like using my hands or slurping noodles through a straw.
As I mentioned before, the internship is unpaid. I didn’t have a job per se, but I did get a grant check for being an editor at Penn State’s student publication, the Daily Collegian. That money would cover my housing arrangement at the Cherry Blossom Hotel for the two months. I also began to cut back on certain luxuries in my college lifestyle. No more trips to the liquor store; bar hopping was cut back; and I began to cook for myself more often.
Since China doesn’t exactly fall into America’s category of ally, as opposed to Germany or Great Britain, I would also need a visa to even get on the plane to Beijing. A visa for any other member of the world costs between $30- $40. Since I happen to be American, mine would cost an extra hundred bucks. Applying would require me to appear in person at the Chinese embassy in New York City, Washington D.C. or Chicago, and embassy hours varied from day to day. I decided to use a courier service, that applied for the visa on my behalf, charging additional fees, but getting the visa to me within a week.
I began reading travel books on Beijing, so that I would be able to maximize my site seeing trips. True, I had two months, but when you’re visiting a nation with thousands of years of history, there’s going to be a lot to see. My love of history would inevitably cause me to visit some sites twice.
But above all else, the biggest obstacle to preparing to this trip was the plain and simple fact that I did not speak a word of Chinese. I hardly remembered any of the random words I’d picked up from the back of the fortunes you get in each cookie when ordering Chinese food. I was a blank slate, but I set to work. I bought two “Chinese for Dummies” books – one for phrases and one for language background and basics.
Three weeks before my trip, with the language learning moving at a sluggish pace, I caved in and bought a certain TV-advertised, language learning Pandora’s box of sorts. You guessed it – Rosetta Stone. Now I’m not one for product placement but I have to admit, Rosetta Stone is the real deal. It’s essentially a video game for mastering the basics and building a foundation for whatever language you choose to learn. If that sounds like a line out of the Rosetta Stone commercial, it probably is, because I’ve been wholly indoctrinated to love the RS brand.
Chopsticks replaced my fork and spoon, as I began eating everything the Chinese way. Noodles were somewhat difficult, but rice posed the real challenge. I just hope I learn quickly enough so I don’t resort to primitive means, like using my hands or slurping noodles through a straw.
Internship Specifics
The CHINA DAILY is a state run publication (note that ALL publications, media outlets, etc are state owned and operated) written in the English language. It has a circulation of about 200,000 and numerous offices throughout the world, including one in New York City.
My duties will revolve around reporting on the international news desk at the publication. What will I be doing? Writing, hopefully, but assisting in research wouldn’t be bad either.
The internship lasts two months (May 25- July 17), during which time the five other Penn State students who are also interning will be staying at the Cherry Blossom (Yinhua) Hotel in Chaoyang District. We’ve also been given four days prior and four days after the internship to adjust and prepare to go home.
Oh. And the internship is unpaid. I know what you’re thinking: “BRANDON! You’re a recent graduate and you need to be putting that mass communications degree to good use!” Trust me, that thought has crossed my mind. What has also crossed my mind is how amazing this trip will be, not just in the fact that I have an internship/place to acquire additional work experience, but that it’s an internship in a foreign country with a foreign news publication. To me, that’s a vacation and work opportunity all in one.
My duties will revolve around reporting on the international news desk at the publication. What will I be doing? Writing, hopefully, but assisting in research wouldn’t be bad either.
The internship lasts two months (May 25- July 17), during which time the five other Penn State students who are also interning will be staying at the Cherry Blossom (Yinhua) Hotel in Chaoyang District. We’ve also been given four days prior and four days after the internship to adjust and prepare to go home.
Oh. And the internship is unpaid. I know what you’re thinking: “BRANDON! You’re a recent graduate and you need to be putting that mass communications degree to good use!” Trust me, that thought has crossed my mind. What has also crossed my mind is how amazing this trip will be, not just in the fact that I have an internship/place to acquire additional work experience, but that it’s an internship in a foreign country with a foreign news publication. To me, that’s a vacation and work opportunity all in one.
Internship of a Lifetime
I’ve interned at two publications, done summer work at a local TV news station and been a member of my college newspaper, the Daily Collegian, for two-and-a-half years. I’ve written profiles, hard news stories, features, taken photos and covered municipal meetings of every shape and size. I’ve been a copy editor, reporter, photographer, columnist and, yes, I’ve even brought coffee to one of my superiors. But this summer I can add a new position to my resume – foreign international news reporter.
This summer, I’ll be spending two months in Beijing, China interning with the China Daily newspaper, an English language publication.
While most kids dreamt of being firefighters or police officers, I always envisioned myself writing. As time passed, I developed a desire to cover international news. The only problem was that not many local newspapers have international news beats, instead relying on the every powerful Associated Press wire. Finding domestic internships was equally difficult – I’ve got the no go from Newsweek three times (insert sad face emoticon). Finding another place to intern this summer was equally difficult, as I was rejected from all five of my main internship potentials (insert even sadder face emoticon).
Then, one mid- January day I got an email.
“We are pleased to report that you have been offered an internship with China Daily in their international news department for the summer of 2009. Congratulations, Brandon!”
I was still in bed, reading the email while half-asleep. Needless to say, I was fully awake now.
I glanced over the rest of the email, picking up on key words only. Two months. Internship. Beijing. International News. Beijing. China. China. China.
What?!? How?!? WHERE?!?
“When had I applied for this internship?” was my first question. I couldn’t even recall what I’d written in my cover letter, as specifics were lost in the great sea of requests for acceptance into an internship program that I created in the last year.
I remained in bed for a good 20 minutes, sitting upright with the laptop placed in front of me. Then I took a deep breath, got out of bed and went to the sink. I didn’t need to splash water in my face to complete the waking up process, but I did anyway.
“Holy sh*t” was all I could say to the image of myself in the mirror. I was going to China.
This summer, I’ll be spending two months in Beijing, China interning with the China Daily newspaper, an English language publication.
While most kids dreamt of being firefighters or police officers, I always envisioned myself writing. As time passed, I developed a desire to cover international news. The only problem was that not many local newspapers have international news beats, instead relying on the every powerful Associated Press wire. Finding domestic internships was equally difficult – I’ve got the no go from Newsweek three times (insert sad face emoticon). Finding another place to intern this summer was equally difficult, as I was rejected from all five of my main internship potentials (insert even sadder face emoticon).
Then, one mid- January day I got an email.
“We are pleased to report that you have been offered an internship with China Daily in their international news department for the summer of 2009. Congratulations, Brandon!”
I was still in bed, reading the email while half-asleep. Needless to say, I was fully awake now.
I glanced over the rest of the email, picking up on key words only. Two months. Internship. Beijing. International News. Beijing. China. China. China.
What?!? How?!? WHERE?!?
“When had I applied for this internship?” was my first question. I couldn’t even recall what I’d written in my cover letter, as specifics were lost in the great sea of requests for acceptance into an internship program that I created in the last year.
I remained in bed for a good 20 minutes, sitting upright with the laptop placed in front of me. Then I took a deep breath, got out of bed and went to the sink. I didn’t need to splash water in my face to complete the waking up process, but I did anyway.
“Holy sh*t” was all I could say to the image of myself in the mirror. I was going to China.