WANDERING STRANGER

Hiatus

2011-01-31T12:52:00.003+09:30

Applying for grants from the warmth of New Orleans. Aiming to get back out later this year.

New Orleans

2010-11-16T14:28:00.009+09:30

The longer I am in New Orleans, the more I like it. I might even profess to love it. The culture here is quite agreeable with me, and I find that being in a city again provides a comfortable level of anonymity that I was not afforded as a stranger in rural Mississippi.

The recording is going fantastically. My main source in New Orleans is the street musicians. There are four main drags where I find them, all in the French Quarter or just north of the Quarter in a district called Marigny. During peak hours (12pm-4pm, 8pm-11pm), one can scarcely walk a block without finding another busker. This is real relief for me after the difficulties of rural Mississippi. The talent level and diversity here is superb. A few are not that great, but most are. Brass is extremely popular in New Orleans-- two friends of mine came down from the 10th to the 14th and we danced to the street corner brass band until 3am last Friday with a crowd of about 100. The buskers who grab my attention the most, though, are the string musicians. They tend to play in groups of up to four people, and some singularly. There are a number of folks down here playing old time picking style, and a few on slide guitar, all with a vast repertoire of originals and traditional songs.

So far, I have had two sit for me, and anticipate recording at least three more before I leave. I am very excited for all three that I presently have lined up, and also excited to have learned that one of the few people who was on my list to try to record before I left Detroit IS actually down here. I had heard through the grapevine that he had moved to Minnesota after the hurricane, but apparently he is back and no longer busking. I do have the means to find him, though. The others I have planned are a man who plays a 1931 National; a dapper fellow on a cheap Dobro who really knows how to work a crowd and plays with an attractive washboarder in a 1920s housedress; a charismatic young man who plays with a quartet, has an eager grin, and can project his singing voice remarkably far and clearly; and a man with X's tattooed across his eyelids known as "Stumps the [Alcoholic] Clown." Stumps does not play out too much but I had multiple buskers tell me that I need to record him, so I was quite happy to see him at the secret street musician acoustic show at one of the bars on Frenchmen last night. They were correct-- I definitely want to record him. I have his address, and was told he's one of the hardest to track down, so I am feeling happy about that accomplishment. "Bring a twelve-pack when you come," he implored me at the end of the night. "At least a twelve-pack. That's all I ask."

Scottie and his washboarder in front of the Cafe on Frenchmen Saturday night (11.13.10)

Today, I recorded a duo from Seattle; two street kids squatting in an abandoned chicken coop in the backyard of a deserted house in the 8th Ward. They were probably somewhere between 19 and 22. There are quite a few squats running in that neighborhood right now. We sat in the coop while it rained fat Louisiana rain on the tin roof; they played originals for 45 minutes. As long as the microphones weren't picking up too much wind (and I don't think they were; it was not windy today), I think this session is going to sound really cool with the rain in the background. The boy, Pete, wore a nice set of slacks, an off-red plaid shirt, and pageboy cap [not pictured]; the girl, Charlie, was in a flowing green top. She has a tattooed face and jiggled her leg constantly while playing the musical saw.

Last Tuesday, I recorded a man named Jesse in his Tremé apartment that he shares with a washboardist named Robin. Their flat was littered with artworks-in-progress, ash, and the occasional empty bottle. Jesse played originals for me while sitting on a rolled out sleeping mat on the floor. His dog, Rosalie, wandered the room.

Jesse and Rosalie

It's such a nice scene down here. It's very easy to meet the musicians, and they have nearly all been very eager to record for me. The community amongst the buskers is strong and once a certain hour rolls around, they tend to congregate on Frenchmen Street to watch each other play in front of a closed cafe. These are fun nights, as open containers are perfectly legal in the city. I know most of the string players now and it's all a good time. There are also a lot of brass buskers, but I am not too interested in recording that style at this time. I have stumbled upon a lot of great jazz in the tourist areas, though. Jazz clubs are classy and casual.

Since the majority of the buskers are technically hobos who come into the city during the cooler months and leave during the hottest ones, it is a bit challenging to set up the recording sessions. Very few of them have phone numbers or addresses. I prefer to go to their home to record if they have one, but sometimes they do not. One man has been living out of his camper for four years; others crash in random places; one is truly homeless. The most successful way of working around these challenges so far is to get the address of the place where the musician is staying at the time, then go to their house at a particular hour the next day. This may seem like a no-brainer, but it is always a little iffy as to whether the person is going to remember or not-- generally there is some mild inebriation occurring during the conversation. For me to bring a bottle of wine or some beer to the recording session as payment is a common request. I am generally happy to oblige.

Fridays and Saturdays are good busking times for the musicians; one quartet made $287 in an hour and a half last weekend.

There is a dark and cheap bar near the middle of the Quarter called "The Chart Room" that I have enjoyed a few times. They have Muddy Waters in the jukebox. Last Tuesday, the night before my friends got here, I stopped in for a drink alone. It was the tail end of what could be considered a "Happy Hour" crowd and I plopped down at a table near the open air wall to watch the people walk by. The spot also happened to be near a woman wearing all black who seemed to be on her fourth or eighth drink. She is at the age where her long hair is making the transition from blond to gray. "You have to love Larry because he got me a AAA membership," she sternly lectured and slightly slurred into her cell phone. "You have to! No, it's not. No, it's not. He got me a AAA membership! I love Larry. This is the best relationship I've ever had." I guess love really is different for everyone.

Football is King in New Orleans. THEY LOVE THE SAINTS. "Who dat?" an apparent playoff rallying cry from their 2009 Super Bowl Championship run is EVERYWHERE. Signs all over the place, and in every store. "Do dat again!" others beseech.

My friends and I had breakfast in the Ninth Ward on Sunday morning. It was in the news so much during the Katrina aftermath that we wanted to see for ourselves how things are looking there now. We found out there is actually the "upper ninth ward," which is on the western side of the river and is in the midst of a slow gentrification, and the "Lower Ninth" east of the river which is the really dangerous part that saw a lot of severe flooding, violent crime and theft in the hurricane days. They are not kidding about the dangers there. In many ways, it is quite similar to the east side of Detroit-- a lot of abandoned and stripped homes, broken glass, empty fields (though fewer empty fields than Detroit), ridiculously bad neighborhood roads, and vaguely threatening glares coming from some of the few residents who remain. It doesn't look exactly the same because the vegetation is different and there are fewer dwellings afflicted by arson, but it is a vibe I have experienced before. It is not a place to get out of the car; and the sort of neighborhood where the population is so sparse that if something happens to you, no one will hear you scream, and if they do hear you, they aren't coming to the rescue. It was strange to see the water tower that was on the news all the time in person. Even just driving through for 15 or 20 minutes down random residential streets, it was clear that there is a lot of anger that remains in the neighborhood from current and former residents.

It says "God help," "Knock me down," and "Pussy government"

I took a stroll down Bourbon and Royal Streets the other night. The French Quarter is a sharp contrast to the Lower Ninth-- it feels very safe. Bourbon is the most touristy street in the city. It glows brightly with neon and after a certain hour, clubs on lower Bourbon are lined with female silhouettes pole dancing in the windows and women in skimpy lingerie standing in entryways trying to entice men inside. There are also more traditional dance clubs, a number of daiquiri shops, cover band bars, and things of that ilk. There are a couple fantastic jazz clubs, as well. At ALL the clubs, the band members are true performers and know it is part of their job to get the seats filled. They often greet each patron personally as they come in, and say things like, "Heyyy, welcome to the party!" or "Thanks for coming in!" Royal Street is where a lot of the buskers set up shop. The police are cracking down on them more lately.

As I walked, I passed a man in a Bill Cosby sweater, a 19-year old police officer, a lot of old folks, two bachelorette parties, a busker in a wheelchair, and a drug-ravaged looking man waiting at an ATM with two friends who said to him, "What time you gotta be at that goddamn rave?"

I overheard one person talking to her friend about a show they had gone to the night before. "It's shitty in a way that it needs to be, you know?" she reasoned.

Blanchard

2010-11-08T15:16:00.009+09:30

On Monday, November 1, I attended the jam session at the Blanchard Town Hall in Blanchard, Louisiana. Blanchard is a small village just outside of Shreveport. It has one stoplight and is the type of place where, if you blink going through, you've missed it. I have blinked through many of these towns, not knowing exactly where I am going, but am happy I was invited into this one.

Mr. Wordy told me about the country jam session that happens at the town hall each and every Monday night at 6pm ("except the week of Christmas," more than one attendee warned me). Other jams run in the surrounding rural areas different nights of the week; the one the next night was at a small pizza place just north of the city. I was told by multiple people that it's possible to go to one every single night of the week. I walked in a bit late, partly due to my internal live music-viewing clock being perpetually set to "rock musician time," and partly due to not seeing town hall on my first drive-by. The sign's not very big. It was a mistake to have not gotten there early; I should have been more astute with my observation of the local culture in that way.

When I did arrive at around 6:30, it was as though I had walked into a dream. The room was at the night's apex, positively packed with at least fifty people, all elderly, singing "I'm Thinking Tonight of My Blue Eyes" together. The wholesomeness was overwhelming. A large circle of folding chairs contained about twenty musicians strumming away on various instruments (guitars, mostly, also upright bass, banjo, mandolin, and fiddle). Additional folding chairs were set up on the perimeter of the room, and the players entertained a healthy audience of elderly couples, widows, and widowers who also sang. I am amazed at how frequently the groups meet to play, with slightly different casts in each location. It is very exciting to me, as it indicates there is a real wealth of musical tradition in northern Louisiana that has not been much touched by archivists in the way that Mississippi has been mined.

When the song was over, some eyes went straight to me, standing out again as a stranger in a place where everyone knows each other. This time, my most obvious demarcation was not my race but my age. I was the youngest in attendance by at least thirty years. The woman I sat down next to engaged me in conversation, and after that the women in front of me turned around and engaged me in conversation, and after that, the man sitting behind me came up and introduced himself. "A Yankee!?" he quickly and good-naturedly exclaimed as soon as I opened my mouth. Each one proudly shared that the fiddler sitting directly across the room (one of the older men in the room) was the former house fiddler for the Louisiana Hayride. His aging form held the fiddle about mid-chest level, and he still played extremely well. His presence piqued my interest a great deal due to my cyclical obsession with Hank Williams. The Hayride is where Hank really broke out as a musician, and what I consider to be many of his best recordings happened during his Shreveport years.

I waved to Mr. Wordy, my friend from the Primitive Baptist church, who was playing guitar. He seemed very happy to see me and took me to the kitchen to try to load me up on the potluck of desserts and coffee. We shared our mutual happiness at seeing each other again, and then he tried to give me money. "Everyone at the church just wanted to collect a little something to help you with your project; to help you on your way," he said. I was really touched by this, hardly believing that they had done such a thing after I left the post-service luncheon the day before. Such kindness extended by virtual strangers after weeks of stress and uncertainty. I refused, of course, insisting that there was surely a needier cause than me that the money could go to.

I met his occasional dinner companion, Martha, and we returned to the main room together. I put the recorder down amongst the musicians and away from myself, it having been made clear that I was going to be doing a lot of chatting. The ladies started back up with me. We covered all the usual South bases, including my marital status. "Good!" the woman on the right exclaimed upon hearing that I'm single. For me, the most interesting part of the conversation came when one woman shared that she had gone on a date with Hank Williams in 1949.

"Well, I didn't know that!" said the other ladies.

"He was a wild one!" she said. I laughed. The other women did not.

"He was between wives then," she continued. "Or at least, I'm pretty sure he was! Maybe it was just a separation, I'm not really sure. I thought he was divorced. I had gone to the Hayride one night; I was just a young girl then, and he came down after he played and asked me to come out with him so I said 'yes.' I had been looking at him up on stage all night! He picked me up at home in his car and was drunk. He was really drunk and driving like a crazy man. I went with him, anyway, but after awhile I said, 'Hank, my mother wants me to come home!'

Left: Hank's date
Right: "Good!"

"He married a Shreveport girl not too long after that. Billie Jean." The other women all nodded and made agreeable noises.

"I heard she was real wild, too!" I said, though I was quite sure our definitions of wild were different. What with that shocking red hair and all, how could she not be? This statement did not go over well and I worried that one of the women knew her, or that she was perhaps even in the room right then. Clearly, none of them were gossipers.

They glossed my faux pas over politely, instilling me with an adequate amount of shame, and then said, "Well, you know, she still lives right here in Shreveport." This was said with some pride.

While we spoke, the songs were continuing. I wish I could have been listening a bit more closely, but it would have been rude not to engage with everyone when they were so eager to talk to me. I am looking forward to going back through the recording to see if I got anything of quality from this night. I fear I missed the best of it by arriving half an hour late. The main issue later in the night, as people slowly trickled out, was that the song selection got slightly more obscure after the favorites were covered early, and fewer people knew the words. This sometimes resulted in the song selector singing onward strongly while others floundered through verses with the genre-defying "I-don't-know-the-lyrics" refrain of "la la la la da da da mmph hmmph haaaa aaaaah" then coming back in on the chorus. We'll see.

As the night wound down, Mr. Wordy got up and indicated to Martha that he was ready to leave. "Sitting in the chair like that for too long hurts his back," she explained to me. I spoke to him before they left, confirming my visit to his home at 11:30 the next morning before I left for New Orleans. Originally, I was going to come over at 10 but then he remembered he had promised to take Martha to go vote in the morning so we pushed it back. The women I chatted with for most of the night invited me to come to McDonald's with them for their weekly ice cream.

Mr. Wordy and I really had a nice time at his house on Tuesday. He sat and played a few songs for me, the strongest being the ones he knew from memory instead of those he may have been trying to impress me with by playing out of the book. I tried to steer him to his memory but he seemed to prefer the book. He would be an interesting person to write a profile on, and part of the reason there has been such a long time between posts is I couldn't decide in my mind this week if I wanted to write a profile on him or a more general summary of my experiences at the town hall. I may still do so at a later date and transcribe some of the recording. He had 12 siblings and grew up on a large farm. He still lives on the property where he grew up, though the house is now in a different location after his childhood home was decimated by a falling tree when a tornado went through when he was fifteen. In that home, he said, there were two large beds when you first walked in, one on each side of the room. The kids shared these, and his parents slept in the back room. The property is smaller now, having been sold off slowly through the years. He continues to harvest a healthy garden, though. Wanting to share a treat with me, he took me for a ride on his golf cart to go to the back of the property and sample fresh persimmon off the tree.

Truly one of the kindest people I have ever met

It is difficult to describe the sense of caring and faith the people of rural Shreveport afforded me. There was no suspicion, and a great deal of support and interest in what I am doing. But not in an academic, pretentious way, or self-serving/proud way-- this is the most welcoming group of people I have ever encountered. They were all remarkably friendly and not a single one displayed any shred of a false pretense. I was originally going to write "happiest," but that's not really correct. As a whole, they had clearly endured their share of hardships. Many spoke of deceased spouses, wayward children, and siblings who died in childhood. The difference, to me, really seems to be their faith, and their focus on what really matters in life-- connections with family, friends, and community. Through it all, they maintain their religion and look to it as a constant in what, at times, is a world of sorrow. The camaraderie and steadiness of life their faith affords them makes me kind of jealous. It's just not a world I am privy to, nor really understand. That's not to say there are not drawbacks, because there certainly are, but entering into that world briefly made me consider the lifestyle in a way I never really had before.

I am in New Orleans now, a stark contrast to my days in Shreveport. The bars here are open 24 hours a day and drinking on the streets is legal and common. Much more on New Orleans soon.

Yazoo City and the Primitive Baptists of Shreveport, Louisiana

2010-11-01T08:01:00.012+09:30

I arrived in Shreveport, Louisiana last night after a meandering drive through Yazoo City and Vicksburg, Mississippi. Yazoo City is a rough town trying to reclaim its small Main Street charm. Two blocks of Main Street yielded a drug store, an insurance agency, a general practitioner's office, a furniture store, a newly opened cafe (though closed on Saturday afternoon), three brightly painted loft entrances in a row, and at least ten abandoned storefronts. Speakers pipe happy, old-fashioned music that gives the whole street an Edward Scissorhands-like feel despite the closures.

Can you hear the music?

Walking more than a block off Main Street yielded a much different vibe. No fewer than three men hissed and beckoned for me to get into their cars as I wandered between three gas stations in search of pretzel M & M's. "Hey, girl," they said in low, threatening tones designed to be heard only by me. "C'mere." It was always a demand, never a playful flirt. I hightailed it back to my car and out of town after that fine display from Yazoo City's male species. The town's roughness is physically conspicuous, as well-- broken windows and tired buildings line the non-rehabbed blocks of Main Street, some of which may be a result of a tornado that ripped through last spring. As with all others towns I've been to on this trip, the little money that is there mostly flows through the chain stores and restaurants that were plopped along the highway.

Unrehabbed Main St.; Yazoo City

This Halloween morning, I attended church with the Primitive Baptists of the Bethel Primitive Baptist Church in the countryside of Shreveport, Louisiana. The church is small, and the building they use today was erected in 1847. I woke up at 8am to drive there, not sure what time the service was but definitely not wanting to miss it. Most services this far south are at 10:30 or 11am; this one was at 10:30. In Tennessee, they were typically at 9:30.

Since I know many of my friends are as irreligious as I am, I will steal this bit from Wikipedia and put it here: "The word 'Primitive' does not mean 'backward' but, in the context of this division among Baptists, it means 'original.' These churches attempt to retain or restore what is seen as primitive (or original) patterns of Christianity, such as baptism by immersion, family integrated worship, a cappella singing, close (but not closed) communion, and feet washing."

In other words, their services have not changed much in the last 200 years. This lack of evolution is aided by the fact that it is a dying religion in many parts of the country. At this church, there were ten parishioners (excluding myself) today and one minister. The pastor was 94 years old and the oldest parishioner haltingly told me he will be celebrating his 98th birthday soon. I asked him what the best year of his life has been, and he said "Twenty-one." Conveniently, this is also the age he was in a photo of the parishioners outside the church from decades ago that hangs on the wall in the church kitchen. The rest of the crowd featured five people in their mid-to-late-60s, two in their late 70s, and two in their late 80s (approximations for most).

Baptism by immersion - I would love to record one of these!

I got a chance to talk with Elder Wordy (real name Marty Kent) at significant length before church started because I had gotten there so early. When he arrived to open the church, I got out of my car and we introduced ourselves to each other. He had a bit of a hard time understanding me due to his age (late 80s) and my accent. Without fail, he called me ma'am, said yes'm often, and interjected "ma'am" instead of saying "What?" or "Excuse me?" when he didn't hear me fully. I'm not sure where the origins of his "Elder Wordy" moniker come from, but I have a hunch it might be from his excellent conversational skills. We rarely lacked a thing to talk about in our hour alone. He frequently mentioned the loneliness that has invaded his life after the death of his wife of fifty-nine years six years ago (she is buried in the small cemetery behind the church, along with nine of his twelve siblings), and hinted to his guilt that stems from occasionally going out to dinner with a local widow, a fellow church member. I found out that he attends a folk music session that occurs every Monday night at the Blanchard Town Hall and plays mandolin and banjo for folk and gospel songs. He also leads the singing that occurs at the start of every service. I hope to record him on his own, but still need to think of a polite way to invite myself to his house to do so.

Which leads me to the best part of the week... their numbers were few and the voices were, in many cases, waving, but the hymns they opened the ceremony with were FANTASTIC. It was nearly everything I had dreamed. They sang many traditional songs, and a few others I did not know. After everyone got their chance to choose a song, the pastor began his sermon. At his age, he may have expended the majority of his energy for the day on this spirited sermon. It began quietly and a little hard to understand, but he got quite passionate about it and engaged in the heavy breathing style associated with the Baptists. Much of his sermon was related to a generic promise that God will take care of His own. One example that was particularly noted by me is when he referred to the time he fell off a horse when he was young and "I was laying there when a nigger walked over to me and said, 'I thought you was going to be dead the way your head hit that ground!'" ... Yes, this is on the recording.

Taking secret pictures in church is hard.

Later, he meandered into the evils being perpetrated in Washington over the last few years (i.e. Obama years). He stated that the current administration is denying people the right to worship God, and that our country was blessed to have the Founding Fathers with foresight to create our good Constitution, but that Washington has blatantly disregarded it for years (meaning Obama years) and might as well tear it up. There was no further evidence presented on this, though he did preface the entire rant with "I know some of you may not agree with me, BUT..."

It was really nice to be amongst a crowd who appreciated my vintage dress and shoes without a smirk or casting me a mildly jealous eye (this is not meant to disparage anyone; I get jealous of a lot of my friends' clothes!). None of them batted an eye when they saw my outfit. I didn't realize how rare that was until I was hanging out with people in their 90s! Age seemed quite ambiguous for most of the parishioners. They each chose to see me in the light that they could most relate to. Elder Wordy saw that I was young, and asked if I was recently retired. Another man, one of the people in their early 60s, told me he thought I was 18 or 19.

I will be attending another Primitive Baptist service next weekend if I can find one, in hopes that the turnout will be at least slightly larger so I can get a stronger recording.

Southern man

2010-10-30T13:24:00.007+09:30

I've seen some cool things in Clarksdale.

Charlie Patton "Pony Blues" 78 - one of only six known in existence
Original Muddy Waters & Chuck Berry Chess 78s
Muddy Waters' log cabin
Sam Cooke's old home

Cotton blows off the plants and gathers on the sides of the roads here.

Sam Cooke's childhood home is about a mile from where I'm staying, at the corner of 7th & Illinois. I walked the long way through the countryside to get there, then cut back in through the neighborhood. It's rife with churches back there. Baptist, mostly. Got a lot of looks while I was walking; a lot of pickup trucks stop. Men sitting three deep in the front of the truck, each asking me how was I doing and if I want to kick it with them. When I first entered the neighborhood, I passed an elderly woman slowly walking down the street with a cane. Had another conversation with a nice verging-on-elderly man who raced off his porch to greet me as I walked by, wanting to know if I had just moved into the neighborhood. He was dressed in a wonderfully dapper suit, was drinking juice and listening to a local R & B station on the radio. We had an engaging conversation which ended with me telling him I was going to New Orleans and him saying that I better be careful down there and do I believe in Jesus? Because there's a lot of black magic down in New Orleans and if I just keep my heart set with Jesus, I will be fine.

I don't know what this area is called, but every time I go into one of the shops downtown and chat up a clerk, or to one of the numerous art galleries here and meet the owner, they all say, "Well, I don't go to that part of town," and seem very interested in how my motel stay is going.

I went to the "Ground Zero" blues club last night; one of three main venues in town. I feel very popular at the clubs because the men here are like vultures. As soon as I walked in, the doorman informed me that I didn't have to pay the cover charge, and that he would be buying my drinks. He bought me 3 and gave me one for the road in a Styrofoam cup with a top and a straw. Mississippi is casual like that, apparently. Especially since, as he explained to me, he is well known around these parts by the police and everyone in town as an upstanding citizen and that we won't be bothered by them if we were to take a ride to the after hours club together. I really wanted to do this because the place he was proposing to go is one of the very last true juke joints in the state and only open on Thursdays. However, it's tucked well into the farm country 35 minutes away. Considering all factors put me on the fence, though. I made a concession to my dad and didn't go. This is one of those times it would have been much more convenient to have someone with me.

Abraham was very open and wanted to impress me. He told me how he's been at Ground Zero since day one, and how well co-owners Mr. Freeman (actor Morgan Freeman) and Mr. Luckett (local politician) have treated him.

After Abraham bought my first drink, another man came up and asked me to dance. After declining on the basis of having not worn my dancing shoes, I met a bunch of the local art dealers and musicians. Three people recognized me from my brief stint at the show I went to on Tuesday. One does not stay a stranger long in Clarksdale.

The fellow I talked to the longest last night, besides the door man, owns a gallery on Delta Avenue, right downtown. He grew up on a farm near Clarksdale, then went to Ole Miss and abroad to teach English and art in Asia and is now back. After I told him about my project, he told me to come by and listen to an album he has of female inmates at Parchman (which is only 40 minutes away). I went today and fell straight in love with the record. I didn't realize until I heard it and read some of the liner notes that the Mattie May Thomas recordings off of American Primitive were from Parchman. It's a really amazing record and he made my week by giving it to me. Most of the recordings were done in the sewing room of the prison.

Mississippi is fruitful in that I've made a lot of contacts for booking and publicity, but unfruitful in terms of my real reason for being here. The people I am looking for are nonexistent, extremely spread out, extremely old, and extremely suspicious. There is a very hearty blues community in Clarksdale, and they claim to play "hill style" blues (as opposed to old style, meaning slide), gesturing to the surrounding countryside as they explain, but it is all electric and all full bands. I've found one youngish person who I am very interested in but he's on tour. It is clear to me that the elderly blues players are not going to be immediately taken with my particular brand of muted enthusiastic chirping. Trust issues run deep, and while the most visible folks in the blues community here (shop owners) may respect what I am doing and say as much, they are apparently unwilling to stick their necks out for me even a little bit. My confidence is going down with each occurrence of this and I become less insistent and less creative at finding ways to push my agenda. Bad.

I notice I am the only young woman at the clubs. I think my age is causing confusion for some of the people I'm talking to.

I found out the Riverside Hotel, which I talked about in the last post, is also where Ike Turner wrote "Rocket 88." I drove by it again today and, now being more familiar with the layout of the town, noticed it is right in the heart of the black neighborhood downtown. Each of these little towns in Mississippi have railroad tracks running straight through them and the "wrong side of the tracks" remains a relevant adage in most places. My walks make it very clear where the blacks live and where the whites live.

Clarksdale

2010-10-27T12:18:00.010+09:30

I love Clarksdale.

The population as of 2000 was only about 20,000 people, but this is definitely a place I could see myself living for a little while. I do not understand it here, and I want to. Clarksdale is straight in the heart of the poorest of poor Mississippi. The most visible source of economic viability in Clarksdale is its blues history. The towns all around here are much smaller than this; I drove through some towns with signs that said things like "Pop. 623" to get here.

There is still some real fallout still going on here from the days of segregation, and a very noticeable divide in the behavior between generations. The young are like the young everywhere-- oversized clothing and endless hiphop blasting. The elderly are much different; much more reserved, with a distinct air of cautiousness.

Clarksdale has a strange sort of vibe, something is a bit off-kilter or creepy about it as a whole. It's hard to describe. The people are generally quite pleasant. I walked into a corner store today and three elderly black men were sitting amongst the remnants of their lunch. They all three immediately nodded their heads and greeted me. I heard one of them say to the others, quietly, "Now there's just what I needed to see!" The two chuckled in response. I guess my dress is shorter than they're used to around here.

Three times now I've been waiting in line behind a mother with a young black child (talking young, like six or under) and the kid gazes at me without smiling even after I wave or smile at him or her. His mom will finish her business at the counter and they walk away, and I see the child scurrying to catch up, pulling on his mom's hand and pointing at me with wide eyes.

I don't know what this means. What is remarkable about me? White? Dark hair? Different type of dress? (I have never felt like much of a sophisticated dresser, but I feel like a real city slicker here, even with wearing clothes that have been rumpled in the suitcase for a month).

But it does personify what is strange about this part of Mississippi. WHAT IS WITH THE LOOKS? There are so many very polite people, but they stare for soooo long. It makes me feel everyone is very suspicious.

I'm staying at a motel that's less than a block from the storied 61/49 crossroad. Though I did want to see this, just to say I have, staying so close to it was entirely circumstantial, as this happens to also be the cheapest motel in town. Good for me, unless the devil happens to frequent this area. Which it kind of feels he does. It probably sounds hokey but this really is a strange town. The motel, like the one I stayed in last night and the night before, is run by a married Indian immigrant couple. The office smells heavily of curry and I have the impression these couples work solely for the benefit of their children; to send their children to college so they can create a better life. I walked out of my room twice tonight to get something from the car, and both times I caught the woman exercising in the emptiness of the U-shaped building, pacing and raising her hands up and down with each step. I couldn't figure out what she was doing until I saw it was the owner's wife, but it made me nervous because she was looking so crazy.

I think I have alluded to this in a previous post, but poor country is a different thing than poor city. In the city, even in Detroit, there's almost always someone around, and behavior is more predictable. The chronic alcoholic asleep on the curb with his ribs and hipbones defining his entire silhouette and the neighborhood crackhead with his bright pink eyes tend to be predictably unpredictable in the city (at least during the day). The country has a similarly desperate tinge about it, but with less of a sense of how the truly down and out are going to behave. Though I guess the thing that really gets my heart rate up in both locales is the same-- the solitary figure slowly roving down a dark street. There is a man who thinks he has nothing to fear. The neighborhood streets are much darker here; most do not have street lights. I keep to myself as much as possible while away from the safety of shows and stores, and try to make it seem as though a man is with me. Motels are prime picking for evil minds. I've heard them talking in the parking lots at night.

In other news, I went to the Delta Blues Museum this morning, and happened to drive by the Riverside Hotel, the place where Bessie Smith died after having her arm torn off on Highway 61. It's a small, tired looking building that doesn't seem to have changed much in the subsequent decades, aside from raising their rates to $10 more a night than every other motel in the area. The museum was really fantastic and had a lot of cool artifacts, including a very nice exhibit on Muddy Waters, the highlight of which was the actual log cabin he resided in when Alan Lomax paid him a visit. They also had one of the six known copies of Charlie Patton's "Pony Blues" on display. Maybe the most valuable thing I've seen in person. Certainly the most valuable record I've been near.

I also caught a show at an art gallery tonight. I felt lucky finding a show on a Tuesday but it didn't turn out to be much of anything. I met a woman from Baltimore who travels with her husband all over the US to attend blues festivals. We had a ten-minute conversation in which she told me her in-depth theory as to how popular music is leading to the downfall of American civilization. A blues fan who's way too serious about music-- what a shocker.

She did tell me, though, of the festivals they hold in the area every so often which bring all the old, old, old folks down from the surrounding hills and into town to play. What is this secret network and how do I find them... This is the other half of the reason I think I would really like living here. I want to meet these people, and I don't think I can actually get the type of recording I'm looking for without really knowing them first. And that is going to take more than a week because they are hard to find, they are spread out all over the region, and it takes more time than it does up north to build trust.

I need funding.

The woman I met tonight warned me of the time she hugged an old black bluesman because she was so happy to meet him, and how quickly he stiffened up, not knowing how to react, as though I would do the same. Foolish... You can't do that to a man who lived through Jim Crow. She was nice enough, but geez.

"Now, I'm not a racist, but..."

2010-10-25T11:03:00.005+09:30

Como, Mississippi is a small town about 45 miles south of Memphis. Main Street consists of the United States Post Office, City Hall, the library, two restaurants, two Baptist churches (one for blacks and one for whites), an abundance of parking spaces, and a recording studio. Como is on my radar due to it being the hometown of Fred McDowell, commonly known as "Mississippi" Fred McDowell, but known around here as "Shake 'Em," owing to his most popular song in the region. McDowell died in 1972 but Como is now a marked site on the Delta "blues trail" due to his accomplishments. The townspeople of Como seem generally uninterested in their main claim to fame. As with everywhere else in the US, rap is definitely the preferred music style amongst black people under the age of 50.

On Friday, I finally left the boarding house in Memphis to head into Little Rock, Arkansas. Little Rock was to be my sanity break. I was committed to spending a week in Memphis, birthplace of rock'n'roll, after having paid the weekly boarding house fee. Knowing the history of music in Memphis, I thought I would be able to find a few old timers to record, or a youngster with an appreciation for older styles and traditional tunes. Unfortunately, blues in Memphis leans very heavily on bass, electric guitar, and a few tired chord progressions. Out of the 100+ bands I glimpsed on Beale Street, I didn't see a single musician displaying anything that would sound special outside the confines of the band. Together, they were fine. Separate, they would have been soulless and monotonous. I'm not claiming to have exhaustively searched Memphis, but I did what I could in a week.

When I left Memphis, I was unsure as to whether I was going to head straight down into the Delta, or go to Little Rock where the Entrance Band was playing. I decided to give myself a break and go to Little Rock to see some vaguely familiar faces after dealing with that damn crackhead all week. I know the folks in that band, but not that well. I figured they might also be happy to see a vaguely familiar face in the middle of Arkansas. I think it was the correct decision to go because we all had some nice chats, I briefly reengaged myself with a genre other than straight roots, and I met a very nice woman at the bar next to the venue who let me sleep on her couch and made me an omelette with fresh basil and string cheese the next morning. It was delicious.

I have gotten quite a few quality recordings on this trip, but being in the midst of it and not being sure where I'm going to sleep tonight, or tomorrow night, is creating a significant amount of stress for me. I am trying to roll with the punches as much as possible but it's hard to impose on people. Finding sleeping quarters is becoming increasingly difficult the farther south that I get. Last night, I met with the fellows who run the recording studio on Main Street to see if they have any recommendations for locals I should record. They were playing a gig at the restaurant four doors down, so I followed them down there and met all their wives. EVERYONE down here is married, and married young. The men were less than forthcoming with their recommendations and thinly veiled their suspicions about my motives. The women were much more forthcoming and friendly, but significantly worried about how I am going about this project (alone, female). Their concern is disconcerting to me, and I am still trying to place how much of it is valid and how much of it is racism. And, while friendly, I have also caught many of them giving me short, suspicious glances as though as a single woman in her mid-20s, I am surely there to sleep with someone.

I had a nice conversation with a local songwriter last night while we were at the restaurant show. In the middle of it, perhaps four or five drinks deep, after I had told him of my experiences in North Memphis he said, "Now, I'm not a racist." I braced myself.

"But as far as I'm concerned," he said. "Niggers is niggers and white trash is white trash. Just some uneducated people, you know how they go. I don't care what color they are, it's just the type of person. You need another drink?"

He bought me three drinks last night. One nice thing about southern men is they're much more forthcoming with the free drinks. I've had more bought for me in the last week than I have in three years in Detroit.

He was very interested in my project and invited me to stay in their living room last night. So, I did, I think much to the chagrin of his wife. When we got home, they fed me takeout from the bar. "How do you know we're not going to murder you in your sleep?" she drunkenly asked me in their kitchen after prancing around for a bit.

I REALLY hope to catch up with the number one recommended guitarist tomorrow. I tried to catch him today, but he and his wife were not home either time I went to their house. He is 87. I asked bass player and the singer's wife last night if Fat Possum has already snatched up all the area talent and they both immediately said, "Oh, no. Goodness, no, not at all. There's a lot of good folks unrecorded." That was great news for me, but now it is a matter of finding them and actually getting them to sit for me. I feel that I am close but I will be very disappointed if I leave the region without much to show for it afterward. Time is strange on this trip because the immediate circumstances are often up in the air (where am I staying? where can I shower? what should I do with this interim 5-hour period?) but the days are flying by when I look at the calendar, see it's October 24th and I have not yet recorded any Mississippians. I'm planning to hit New Orleans in the first week of November. It seems simultaneously too near to and quite far from now.

Heading to a couchsurf in Oxford (home of Ole Miss) tomorrow. 45 minutes away in cotton country is not too far. I've been taking the back roads as much as possible since interstates all look the same, generally, and I want to see this part of the country as the people who live here tend to.

In all my travels throughout Tennessee, Arkansas, and Mississippi, I've noticed that the towns are generally really down and out economically. There are empty storefronts EVERYWHERE-- cities, towns, and villages. America's changed from how it was decades ago and there doesn't seem to be any economic reasons for a return to the independent business model. For the most part, the only businesses actually staying in business are the chains near the interstates. Mississippi is rife with Family Dollars, Dollar Generals, and Citgos. Tennessee was sprinkled with BPs (at least half the gas stations there seemed to be BP), Walgreens and Church's Chickens.

Heartbreakers

2010-10-22T10:53:00.014+09:30

My downstairs neighbor, Aaron, whom I did not profile in the last post because I had not yet met him, has apparently taken a shining to me. Last night, he came and visited me in my room. We had a nice conversation about Memphis, blues, movies, the "urban horror" werewolf book he's writing, and, of course, the other people in the house. "It's not often I get to have intelligent conversation in this place," he kept saying. "This is nice."

Aaron works at a biomed lab during the day, and has to make his way through rigorous screening each morning on his way into the buildling. He has a friendly face and light complexion. He frequently wears a baseball cap and rim wired glasses.

Tonight, he knocked on my door holding a bag of popcorn and his laptop. Clearly, he was going to sit with me for the movie we talked about last night that I said I wanted to see, and which he has on his computer, Larry Clark's "Bully."

Today was a little nutty for me. I lost some of my bearings and confidence in Memphis due to not getting as much done here as I wanted to. I think this may come as a strange statement to some of you reading this since every trip or unusual endeavor I embark on, I receive multiple comments on my bravery, foolishness, luck, independence, and intelligence, sometimes all in the same breath. The loss of confidence is not an unfamiliar feeling to me, but one which I wish I were better in handling. Publicly, you can tell when I'm in a bad way with it because I'll speak in a higher pitched voice, flit my hands around a little bit, dart my eyes around the immediate surroundings, and spring up and down on my toes slightly and gradually. I also do this combination of actions when I'm nervous and excited, so don't take too much away from this description for the next time you see me. Privately, as with most people, there is a whole other set of demons that race through my mind when experiencing troubles.

Tomorrow I leave for Oxford, Mississippi, then back this way a bit to go to Como on Saturday. The further I get into the Delta, the more of my confidence in my project I want to maintain. No one likes to interact with a wilting flower, and no one will think your work is important unless you do. But weekends make me nervous because of the added pressure to scout a good show, and the knowledge that it's almost time for church again. (I have been attending a different denomination church every Sunday to record wild sermons. Me at church will probably be a separate, future post, but the gist is that I usually do not feel comfortable at church).

So, the pressures of the upcoming weekend are ringing in my mind. When I saw Aaron at the door with his eager smile, computer and bag of popcorn, my protective and strangely effeminate state of mind immediately came up with a lie after his proclamation that I need not live like a monk on my last night in Memphis. "Oh, gosh, that's so nice, but I'm going out soon! You're so kind. I'm sorry; I'm planning to go out in an hour." His face fell like a movie, urging me to continue with my guilty apologies. "Really, I'm sorry. You've been so nice to me and look at you there with the popcorn and everything, that's so nice."

Am I supposed to apologize for having the moves put on me?

I met a man on my 8.7-mile walk this morning who said he had seen me in another neighborhood while he was riding the bus. He couldn't believe I was now in this neighborhood, since it was so far away. His name was Fred, and he was standing a block away from the barber school while his friend was in there. "I don't mean no harm. Can I get witchyoo?" he asked immediately and without shame. This type of forwardness always gives me a mild sense of relief at maintaining attractiveness to middle aged hoodrats. I really like how they always inquire about my marital status and where my man is.

"No, sorry," I said to him, as well. "Sorry, I have to go home." I walked on.

30 minutes after my initial brushoff, Aaron knocked on the door again with a piece of paper. "I wrote this about you at work this morning. It's about the first time I saw you."

He handed it to me and I read the first line. "Carrie's legs take the long way up Carries skirt,..."

"Oh, that's really sweet!" I quipped, bouncing on my toes slightly. My mind raced for something kind to say. "What was I wearing?"

"I don't know; something similar to what you are now," he said. In my state of mental disrepair, I have been wearing the same dress for a few days. I wondered what he thought of me wearing the same thing as yesterday.

"Should I read it now, or wait till you go downstairs?" I asked, looking for a respite. He shrugged, then continued standing in front of my door. I guessed that meant to read it immediately, so I continued in front of him.

"...divide then remeet on the way to Carrie's shirt. It's a long journey, but the way is smooth, the scenery sublime, and fraught with fragrant loveliness.. When she stands, she's a wishbone of pale allure, the divide glorious to behold."

"I like it! This is very nice; I don't think anyone's ever written something like this for me before," I said, starting to close the door. "You've been really nice to talk to; have a good night!"

He said, "You, too," and I shut the door.

I don't know why I made such a long post about this. It would probably do me well to write a little more about my project and a little less about my interactions with the local derelicts, but the house has been a wealth of source material. What really strikes me about these types of situations and has made me write a too-long narrative about it is that romantic misses are so much more common than mutual interest. That seems like the real heartbreaker.

The only other thing to mention about Aaron (really about Charles) is that, in conversing with him last night, I found out why I have not heard a peep out of Charles since confronting him about when he tried to use his key to get into my room while I was in it. "Don't be trying to get in my room; there's nothing in there for you," I said when I confronted Charles in the hallway, trying to be a hardass in the face of the self-proclaimed "former biggest dope dealer in Memphis."

Aaron told me everyone in the house (particularly Charles) thinks I am a spy for the FBI or CIA because I have a car with Michigan plates and a computer, and that I am recording everything that happens. This paranoia confirms my suspicion of Charles being a drug addict, but I am ok with the conclusion since it means I haven't seen him in days.

How Bukowski

2010-10-16T10:34:00.002+09:30

Presently staying in a boarding house in Memphis, Tennessee, about three miles out from Beale Street. Rent is paid by the week, so I paid for a week and signed the “lease.” The $25 deposit was quickly waived once I realized it was non-refundable and told the woman I would be staying elsewhere. The local hostel would be cheaper if the deposit hadn’t been waived, but she took it off the total real quick and I am now a weeklong resident of 1505 Jackson Ave., Memphis, Tennessee. My room is outfitted with a full-sized bed that immediately broke on one side when I sat on it, two dressers, a stout coffee table, end table with a lamp, two small and dirty mirrors, and two windows with cracked glass covered by maroon curtains.

The other tenants are Charles, a lanky man with braids in his late twenties; Larissa, a stocky black woman in her thirties; Larissa’s husband Dre, a small but attractive man also in his late twenties; and Mr. Shaw, a black gentleman who appears to be in his mid-sixties and enjoys television.

They all looked on with great interest while I moved the few belongings I’ve got with me into the room for the week. “You’ve got nice, white teeth,” were Charles’ first words to me, can of Colt 45 in hand.

“You let me know if you need anything,” Larissa said after knocking on my door. So I asked her immediately where the blues clubs were. The real ones are what I’m after, not the Beale Street tourist venues. She directed me to a bar down the street that has no music at all. As luck may have it, this house is actually only two blocks away from the supposed “hidden gem” of Memphis’ blues scene, a bar where the only beverages served are 40s and the only seating comes in the form of long wooden benches. “Located in an old strip mall in the middle of a (somewhat sketchy) residential neighborhood,” says a Yelp reviewer. So far, this house seems like the sketchiest part of the neighborhood.

An attempt to relieve myself in the common bathroom was cut short by the realization that this is the type of joint where everyone uses their own toilet paper and their own soap. From what I can tell so far from my room’s position next to the bathroom, this results in no one ever washing their hands.

After checking out the bar Larissa mentioned, I saw her standing on the lawn sharing a cigarette with a disheveled white man in his late thirties. “New here? Just moved in? Second floor, end of the hallway?” Nathan asked me. “I just moved out of there last week.”

I asked them for directions to the grocery store. Larissa asked to tag along, as she needed to return the headphones she got from the Family Dollar and didn't want to have to take the bus again. She bought them earlier today and they immediately zapped out. We got in the car. “That man ain’t nothin’ but a god damn junkie,” she said as soon as the door shut. “Asshole stole $65 from me and still be denyin’ it to this day.” I thought about the recent activity my room has seen. "Put his cigarettes down on my table next to the money and next thing I know, the money gone. Nearly got me evicted on account of that being my rent money!"

Larissa is a good immediate, tentative ally to have as the only other woman in the house. As I’m writing this, I can hear the buzz of her husband’s tattoo gun as he tattoos her name onto her lower back down the hall. We talked about a variety of things in the car on the way to Kroger, mostly delving into her enthusiastic knowledge of the blues scene in Clarksdale, Mississippi, where she is originally from, once she heard what, exactly, I am trying to do down here. As we turned back onto Jackson Avenue, she spewed forth another bit of wisdom: “Nearly all the bad ones are out the house now, but watch out for Charles; he tellin’ me he gonna kill me last week when me and my husband and him was all drinkin’. Lord, we do stay up late drinkin’! Makin’ a bit of noise!” With this, she glanced at me to gauge my reaction to see whether I am likely to complain to the homeowner or not. “My husband made him apologize but I know he didn’t mean it.”

A desperate situation

2008-03-23T03:53:00.003+09:30

Buduburam: March 17, 2008 (Photo: Leon Toe)

I'm reviving this blog for the moment because of what is happening with the Ghanaian government and the Liberian refugees. Things have become extremely heated over the last week between Ghana and the refugees. I'm just going to copy and paste my communications with Leon, a reporter for The Vision newspaper at Buduburam, here because he relays the sense of urgency and upset far better than I ever could from Michigan (where I am now):

Sunday, March 16
Hi carrie,
It has been a while since I last wrote you.How are you and the family? How is the jod? am hioping all is good. Well things sre not that find here. conditions at the camp are not good, we have a protest going on here, because the Un has not done much in the repatriation. Now the process is halted.refugees are asking for an increase package for repatriation or resettlement, because we do not want to be integrated here in Ghana. But the interior minister is very angry. he warned refugees to put a stop to the protest or face the weight of the law. there is fear among us as to what will happen next as the protest continues.
Carrie, I have a proposal can I sent it to you to find a sponsor(s) to enable me to operate in Liberia? I will be glad and grateful if you accept it. am looking forward to hearing from you. I may not have money to always contact you. You acn pls call me on [phone number].
may God bless you and thank you in advance
leon

March 18
Well as I told you early on sunday, the interior minister has order the arrest of the women that were protesting. the police has arrested more than 700 women and children and taken them to an unknown place. we do not know what is or will happen to them. before dawn monday the police raided the camp. all the guys at the vision are still on the camp, and we are all doing well, expect the present condition. my aunt were also taken.
Leon

Saturday, March 22
HI Carrie,
it me again. this time am in hidden. the p;lice are raiding the camp for any man at sight. I MANAGE escape from them and walk thru. the bushes to kasoa. Thousands of us are running to where we do not know. they are arresting men at will. calling us a threat to national security.

There has been next to NO NEWS at all about this in America or Europe. Every news outlet I have called in an effort to get Leon's story published has said something along the lines of, "Well, this hasn't come through on the wire."

Ghana images and video wrap-up

2007-12-27T06:52:00.000+09:30

As some of you have noticed, I am back in the United States. Southeastern Michigan, to be exact. The last entry on the blog is completely fake; I had to keep up appearances so I could surprise my family on Christmas Eve. It went swimmingly; they were SHOCKED! The previous three entries are legitimate but delayed; most of them happened about three weeks prior to when I actually posted them.

A "few" wrap-up photos and videos are in order now that I'm somewhere I'm not paying for internet or computer access. Some are things I've posted about in the past but didn't have a chance to put up the photos and some of them are things I forgot to mention earlier.

Mary's son, Chris, is a rapper in Ghana. He likes to talk about how famous he is and how difficult it is for him to leave the house because people will always be pointing and trying to talk to him. He has a blond Austrian wife and a 1-year old son. He lives in a longhouse behind his mother's house that he likes to tell you he built with his very own hands, but actually did not. He drives a blue convertible with no muffler and a DIY splatter paint job. He also splatter-painted some clothes to match for nights he performs at a club. The interior of his house is decorated with graffiti. One day, he told me "Americans are so selfish. You make your cell phones so that no other country can use them. My brother in Columbus used to send me phones to sell here and I had to lie to the people and tell them they took the [SIM] cards!"

He and his friends started freestyling for Marrie, Natalie and me.

Labadi beach:

Locals trying to make a living, waiting for tourists under the unexpected-hike-from-hell umbrella rock. Two of the young men had built those ladders for people to go on the top; charge of 10 cents.

Home security in Dzorwulu, my neighborhood=broken glass in newly poured concrete walls to prevent burglary. Though the house next door was actually, according to Chris, a stolen guns warehouse. It's a possibility; I only saw two people there once in two months. Barbed wire is also popular.

Government school kids at the end of the schoolday:

Vibe FM, "The soul of the capital". Known as "the station with the couch" around town. The computer in the foreground was only available for the accountant, who skims money from the station to finance his restaurant. The computer in the background is only a monitor and does not actually have a computer, keyboard or mouse. Note the complete lack of telephones. The owner/boss/CEO is on the right.

View on the way to work everyday, after arriving at Circle:

I took a picture into a dark room at the Elmina slave castle. It was not part of the tour. The flash revealed all these bats; I squealed like a little girl and ran.

Elmina courtyard. The incline with a pole on each side to the left is where male slaves were forced to climb to the top using only their arms in order to keep up their strength:

View of the coastal village from the castle:

Slaves who caused trouble were sent into this room to die. None of them were cleared out until every person inside was dead.

Male dungeon at Cape Coast slave castle. Between 800 and 1000 slaves were put into three rooms of this size.

Accra coast as viewed from Eddie's car during one of my first tours of Accra:

Field in Dzorwulu:

Dorm at the University of Ghana; the best school, by far, in the country. No washing machines so everyone puts their clothes on the balcony to dry:

Circle, one of the trotro parks and stations and crossroads and markets and black markets and everything:

Trotro change table at Pig Farm. She thought it was very funny I wanted to take her photo:

AIDS is Real and do not urinate here!

Pounding fufu (most popular food in Ghana) in the backyard in preparation for the wedding reception:

Flower girls:

Breakdancers at the wedding reception at Mary's house. This is not a usual thing; they were just cool guests.

All the babies are carried like this:

Two of a group of six or so kids who were totally into the digital camera concept at the wedding. Some famous news anchor was making a speech while I took this picture:

Tiaraing ceremony with the bride's mother and aunts, pre-ceremony. The outfits the aunts are wearing are very typical church garb, though the weekly Sunday outfits aren't usually quite so shiny:

At the orphanage in Kasoa at dusk. The boy on my left is 11; the one who gave me a tour and grabbed my hand to prevent himself from getting hit. The girl is the daughter of one of the orphanage workers and the other boy was playing with her.

Fun toy:

The younger kids attended school at the orphanage. There was a row of four classrooms; this is one of them:

Deborah and me in the front yard, four days before she left:

Typical dinner: redred, fried plantain and water in a pouch

Mary, the former Muslim, Christian-convert, daughter of northern chief with 22 siblings and homeowner:

Van, practically the only trustworthy and productive guy at Vibe:

Typical street at Buduburam, the Liberian refugee camp:

Sonnie and her aunt in the room they share with four others at Buduburam. Sonnie is the 18-year old nursing student:

Wheelbarrow boys at Buduburam. They rent the wheelbarrows for $3ish a day then sit out front all day, hoping to be hired to carry some loads around for people. They charge $1 to do this so they often lose money or only break even.

At the meeting called by the UN to tell the Liberians the plan was to integrate into Ghanaian society. No new news, big meeting.

Some video of the trotro preacher. Marrie is sitting next to me.

Deborah standing in front of the new place:

The school where Julie works is pretty rural. These kids all go there; they followed me around in a huddle like this the entire time we were there.

Julie's daughter, Julie and Deborah seeing me off at the airport. This is the same day Deborah left the house forever. She got her hair done and all dressed up and looked really nice. Julie is wearing a Bike & Build T-shirt!:

I flew through Milan on my way to Boston. The Alps from the plane:

The rest of the pictures from Ghana are now up here.

Visiting the Teddy Exports primary school in India:

Thanks for reading!

Christmas plans

2007-12-23T04:33:00.000+09:30

Christmastime in Ghana is significantly less in-your-face than America. Because the economy is less developed and less diverse, there are fewer people with money enough to make it profitable for businesses to institute gigantic advertising campaigns and sales for the holiday season. My Christmas will be relatively low-key; I got some little candies for Mary and am planning to walk around the neighborhood while she's at church. I will visit other churches to hear the singing and the wild preaching but I don't want to go with her because when she goes on normal days, she's there for five hours so I imagine Christmas will be like seven hours. I am also planning to go back out to Achimota to visit Deborah and her friend Julie, and bring them some food that they don't have to cook and clothes for the little girl. I got her a dress and a couple T-shirts.

The weather remains extra hot, of course. I finally figured out that I'm about five degrees away from the equator. Christmas in flipflops.

Someone at work got busted for stealing a Muslim's iPod and selling it for $50 last week. Now the guy keeps coming to the station and waiting for the DJ, but the DJ keeps avoiding him and it's creating a problem for the office because he's sullied the Vibe name. Not that it's so full of integrity to begin with after all the shady business dealings and money laundering to begin with but it certainly doesn't help.

Deborah's escape

2007-12-21T01:21:00.001+09:30

Deborah and I took the majority of her things to Achimota today. I skipped work in order to help her because we had to do it on a day Mary would not be coming home early. I was the bank behind this move; paying for our trotro fares and one taxi ride. When we got to the house, her friend was there in the room with her daughter who looked about eight. It will be the three of them in that room, squatting in a single room in a rich-man-from-America's mansion. She told me something else because she thought I would disapprove, but I'm actually quite happy about their squatting situation. It's far better than all the other options and the police in Ghana are so corrupt that they'll never be found out. I sat with her while she got her hair done as a celebratory gesture. It was $2 for a wash and style.

I am so happy she escaped. I gave her "War and Peace" as a housewarming gift because she told me she wants to read it. I was interested to see what Mary's reaction would be when I got home, but she pretended nothing was wrong, as usual, aside from hearing her screaming on her phone in the backyard. Now, one of the workers from her shop is here slaving away in Deborah's position. I knew this would be the outcome of Deborah's escape; simply someone else in her spot, but I'm still super glad it happened. It's just strange to act so straight around Mary when I know exactly what happened. Kind of funny, actually.

Waterfalls and machetes

2007-12-16T00:40:00.000+09:30

I became interested in waterfalls when I saw some photos of rural West Virginia four years ago. Now I love them and want to see them as often as possible so yesterday I went to the eastern region (like going to another state) to see waterfalls with Vision. Leaving Circle at 9:30am meant getting to the top of a mountain at 2pm after an hourlong wait for the trotro in Accra to fill up followed by a 3-hour ride and transfer to a local trotro and, finally, a line taxi. We traveled through a lot of rural mountain villages. This was what you see on the documentaries and National Geographic channel about Africa—naked children and homes made out of sticks and clay dirt bricks.

Led by a local man wearing a red polo shirt that said “Anderson’s Candies” where a nametag would usually go, and blue plastic flipflops, we embarked on the most difficult hike of my life. It was far more difficult than the Great Wall; it was more like straight-up mountain climbing at some parts. Good thing I wore a skirt!

Half an hour in, we were deep into a path in the half-forest, half-rainforest. The mosquitoes were as big as dragonflies and I was sweating like I had just run ten miles at the beginning of August in Michigan. “It’s all worth it,” I told myself. “Waterfalls!” brain continued giddily.

10 minutes and one more straight vertical climb later, we were there. It was a big rock shaped like an umbrella shading about twenty locals who apparently have their best chance for income by sitting underneath this giant rock and waiting for the tourists who come through once a week. There were literally two tourists who had signed in before us in the guidebook, one on Tuesday and another five days earlier. The location isn’t in any of the Lonely Planet/Fodor’s type guidebooks so they don’t get many visitors because no one knows about it.

So, a big rock. Cool, whatever. “Are the waterfalls nearby?” I asked, dreading another 40-minute hike.

“Oh no,” said Anderson’s Candies. “The waterfall is back by the office.”

Death. Death glare. Sweaty death glare resignation.

Back we went, via the same route. It was slightly better this time because I knew what we were in for and was planning to swim in the cool, fresh waterfall and get clean for the first time since I was in the river in India. (Bucket showers are not really cutting it.)

We arrived back at the office’s main grounds and descended down 250 steps to the falls. They were huge, coming down from four or five stories up with a rainbow bridging them down near the water.

NO SWIMMING signs greeted us everywhere. By this point, it figured. I consoled myself by convincing myself that the water was crocodile and piranha-infested. We hovered for awhile but there’s only so long you can look at something so we headed back up to the exit to wait for a line taxi to take back to the town. We waited and waited and waited. Village children wearing only T-shirts gathered to gape at me and hand me empty film canisters.

“It’s market day a few villages up so everyone is going home now,” Anderson’s Candies said helpfully as trotro after taxi passed us once every twenty minutes, packed to the gills with humans. One taxi even had a man lying across the trunk, hanging on for dear life as it rounded the corners at forty kilometers pre hour. The driver seemed quite unconcerned.

A group of five walking men passed us, swinging machetes haphazardly and vaguely menacingly. Machetes are extremely common in Ghana. They’re used for everything from cutting pineapples and sugarcane by street vendors to destroying overgrown foliage and cutting grass manually, but I always think of the genocide depicted in the Hotel Rwanda movie because that was the weapon of choice.

Finally, 90 minutes later, a taxi stopped and we rode seven adults and one three-year old in the five-person car down the mountain. By the time I got home, I had been gone for 13 ½ hours, seen one rock shaped like an umbrella and sweated the most I have ever sweated in my life and got misted on by some giant waterfalls.

Things that have been said to me in the last three days from complete strangers:
- “Obroni?! Give me thousand [cedis, the equivalent of ten cents].” – 12-year old girl.
- “I am looking for a white lady to marry.” – Yelled by a man sitting on the side of the street while another man sat ten feet away saying, “Obroni. Obroni!”

A strange house

2007-12-10T00:01:00.000+09:30

I had a conversation with Mary's 25-year old former house boy who lived here for five years before getting fed up about not getting paid and only comes on Sundays to make the fufu with Deborah (most popular Ghanaian food that involves pounding the crap out of some flour) yesterday. He initiated a lengthy conversation about America but was particularly excited when I told him he has the same name as Detroit's mayor. Kwame is a name for males born on a Saturday here. My name as a Thursday woman is Yaa though most people on the street call me Akosua, which is for Sunday ladies, because Ghana gained its freedom from the white colonizers on a Sunday. Occasionally, I am also referred to as Nkosua, which means egg. They sound the same to me.

The questions went all over the place.
"What does a mayor do? Arnold Schwarzenegger is the mayor of California, right? What does a governor do? I know some US states like California, LA, Chicago, New York... British people speak different English from Americans, right? How did you and Marrie understand each other? Have you heard of gold diggers? I think more black ladies than white ladies are gold diggers. What do you think? Do you think America will have a black president? Who's Obama? They had that one a long time ago but he was killed. He wasn't president? Are you sure? Is it true some US states are only for white people? Where do you live? Why don't you live with your parents? Are you going to live alone when you get back? Are there really poor people in the US? Why are the musicians so rich? Does Lil' Bowwow really have such a big house and cars worth $100,000 like I saw on Cribs? Why don't people like him and Tupac ever come to Africa? It's like they have no interest in their own people. How many political parties do you have in America?"

and like that until Mary got home from Kumasi unexpectedly early and Kwame, Deborah and I scattered away from the living room. As soon as she got in the door, she yelled at Deborah, wondering why Deborah didn't answer the phone earlier when she called. The reason was that we had snuck out to take most of her stuff to her new place. Oops.

Goods That Mary Keeps Locked In Her Bedroom
1. Individual packets of crackers, cookies and peanuts that she feeds us for lunch.
2. Toilet paper.
3. Bread.
4. The bathroom rug.

Economics and preaching

2007-12-04T23:38:00.000+09:30

I went back to the refugee camp yesterday. I took two T-shirts and some anti-malarial medication with me to give them and they were totally psyched about everything. I bought a sack of safe drinking water for the newspaper's office for 50Gp ($0.50). The second most common cause of death at the camp is cholera, which is a result of unsafe drinking water. The first is malaria.

In the morning, I went with Marrie, Abednego and Leon to interview the neighborhood watch chief and arbitration council head for her article, then met with the principal of one of the schools there to discuss what they need for supplies. The most important thing is food. Since the UN cut off their food aid supply, many of the children have gone with one meal a day and find it difficult to concentrate. Other things on the list are textbooks in English, math, social studies, environmental studies, reading books, science and pre-tech (vocational); pens and pencils; notebooks; coloring books; chalk (white and colored). The "reach for the sky" wish was a typewriter.

I was taken on a small tour, interrupting classes taking tests. It wasn't quite like my elementary school test-taking experience where the more diligent and anal among us created visually impenetrable forts by surrounding the perimeter of our desks with upright folders, nor like my middle school experience where everyone rushed to sit behind or beside the smartest kids on test days. Instead, the Liberians were sprawled most anywhere in the room. Many of the teachers stood at the back and seemed very unconcerned about talking during the test. In some rooms, the children were about the same age. In others, it looked like they ranged rom 11 to 20.

By the time I was done interrupting, it had been agreed that we would come back later for a group shot of the students. I returned after a long conversation with Leon, but it was too late; most of the students had gone for the day (12:15pm).

The chat with Leon outside the Vision office was enlightening. I had tried to show him and Jimmy the video I took of the CNN special on UN Indian women peacekeepers in Liberia but the volume was too quiet because my recording technique was to record the TV using my digital camera so we ended up chatting about what might make for economically viable solutions for refugees returning to Liberia. I tried to explain about the factory I visited in India and the concept companies with a sense of social responsibility in the developed world and how they might get them to invest in Liberia but it didn't really work. It is hard to speak in each other's terms when one person is from the richest nation on Earth and the other's country doesn't even have electricity. He kept highlighting how rich America is but didn't quite grasp my explanation that most of the wealth is in the private sector or wrapped up in the military.

The whole thing was sparked off when Leon asked me why the failure of the banks in America a few months ago had such wide-reaching effects to other nations. I had told them on a previous visit that I majored in economics and history so it wasn't really an out-of-the-blue inquiry. After correcting that the banks had not actually failed, I made it very obvious to myself that I am not good at giving clear explanations on complex subjects when I started off with the formerly overheated real estate market, drifted into interest rates and investment; by the time I got to the decreasing value of the dollar, both Jimmy and Leon's eyes had glazed over and I could tell they were thinking I had not answered the question at all. And now that I think about it, I didn't even mention the war spending. Anyway.

The interesting thing is that everyone looks up to China. They see what the Chinese have accomplished in the last 30 years and are desperate to imitate even a fraction of its success. Exactly zero thoughts are expressed as to the government there.

Leon wanted to know why a rich nation like America would import so many goods from elsewhere instead of producing them within the country. A mini-lecture on low production costs and low wages translating into lower prices, American unionism and cost effectiveness went slightly better, though his conclusion was "Why would America let other nations get so strong by giving away all its money?" Just what everyone else is worried about, especially with China.

I got into trouble on the trotro on the way home. I know I have mentioned it before, but Ghana is an extremely Christian nation. Sometimes, on longer or large capacity trotro rides, a preacher will "sneak" on and start gonig wild about five minutes after it starts moving. This is generally awesome because they sound just like the Baptist preachers in the 1930s south but also particularly amusing when the rest of the passengers don't respond because he'll be really into it; emotional and waving his hands around, almost hitting people in the face while everyone else is sitting there stonefaced, tired and hot. Yesterday, the mate (tells the driver when to stop the car and collects the money) asked the preacher for his fare in the middle of his sermon and I thought it was hilarious. People turned around to look at me and the preacher starts screaming, "Young girls may enjoy their laughing now! Oh yes, Lord, life is very funny! But you won't be laughing when He comes for you! You will not be laughing when you realize your soul has not been saved!" I was delighted to have been included in the sermon.

Secret friendship

2007-12-01T02:19:00.000+09:30

On Wednesday, I took Deborah to the beach. It was fantastic; she had a great time and that made me happy. I bought her a swimsuit for $3.50 and she went in the ocean for the first time in her life. She also finished out writing her life story in summary fashion for me. She is really ambitious and great; I'm so happy she did that because I think it will make it easier to find assistance for her. Some man hit on her at the beach. Generally, they are disgusting and creepy but this was a big event for her because so many people completely disregard her because of her disability and since she is in the house all the time, she rarely meets anyone.

Our "secret" meetings have been occurring more frequently because she is getting ready to run away from the house. I am aiding her as much as possible while trying not to encourage her one way or the other because while I am so glad she is doing it, she has to live the rest of her life here while I go back to the US. She has a local pastor who found her the job and has taken an interest in her so he is going to provide her with a place to stay for now. I am going to meet him on Wednesday so we can all make a support plan together.

I think our friendship must seem ridiculous from the US but it's no exaggeration... we talk in secret, I act like I have no further interest in her other than her ability to serve me when Mary (owner of the house) is around, pretend not to hear when she's getting screamed at and let her clean the room I'm staying in because it's easier for her to do that than get yelled at some more. For a long time, I thought about stepping in but it would make things worse.

This morning, I visited another orphanage; this one is just north of Accra. There were like 300 kids there; they were all very active, except for the scattered ones who were crying and being completely ignored by everyone unless another child came up to hit them. I took those ones on and, as predicted, all they wanted was a little attention. Pat pat.

I was holding one boy who was dirty and about two for a long time. I think he had malaria because when he fell asleep, he started sweating profusely. But before he fell asleep, one of the women who works at the orphanage full-time came over to us and started speaking to him in Twi, one of the local languages. He looked at her silently with big eyes, nodding his head very slightly every so often. When I asked her what she said, she told me, "I asked him if he wanted you to take him back to London!" then roared with laughter. I was horrified!

Tomorrow is December 1 but nothing's looking Christmas-y here. Despite the fact that almost everyone in Accra is Christian (with a large Muslim minority), Christmas is exceedingly less commercial here. I could count on one hand the number of Christmas decorations or advertisements I've seen. In one way, it's nice. In another way, it's confusing.

Visit to the Liberian refugee camp and an orphanage

2007-11-28T04:36:00.000+09:30

Marrie and I went to the Liberian civil war refugee camp yesterday and today. We stayed at an orphanage a few miles away with 74 kids. Yesterday morning was spent touring the grounds of the settlement and speaking with the editor of the camp's newspaper, "The Vision." Liberia has only recently recovered from the throes of a civil war seemingly instigated by Americans, or at the very least, influenced. 35,000 Liberian and 200 Sierra Leonian refugees reside at Buduburam and try to eke out a living via trading, renting wheelbarrows to hire themselves out and the like. They are unceasingly positive, even after seventeen years in Ghana. Many of them have witnessed unspeakable horrors and I didn't talk to a single person who wasn't missing a family member or more. They have to buy water for drinking, cooking and bathing, as well as food, but practically nobody has gainful employment due to the fact that they are foreigners in Ghana and that even many Ghanaians are unemployed. I believe the unemployment rate here is around 18%. Everyone told me that they survive by sharing what little they have with their neighbors and if someone gets something from America, it goes to everyone.

The editor is exceedingly helpful and smart and agreed to our proposed articles right away. He also wants us to give a lecture on economics and law, respectively.

The people who work at the newspaper all arrived in Ghana in different ways. One came via foot (Liberia is on the other side of Cote d'Ivore, just to the west of Ghana), another on a UN refugee boat and one via a different refugee camp in the Ivory Coast. They all want to go home to a strong and united Liberia eventually but many dont' seem to believe the present peace will last nor do they have the means to get home.

The lucky ones have one-room family accommodation. The unlucky ones, which includes many orphans, sleep on the street. There are vast sanitation, education and HIV/AIDS problems in the camp.

I am going to attempt to write an article on one young woman I met; the only female working at the newspaper. Her father was killed in the civil war, she lost her mother, entered a convent and was encouraged to become a Catholic nun, decided she would like to be married in the future and is now in nursing school. She was at the refugee camp in Cote d'Ivore for six years before coming to Buduburam where she is now pursuing medicine. She told me she would love to be a doctor someday if she can get that far but is going to nursing school for now while volunteering (they are all volunteers) at the newspaper because she also really wants to be a writer. They are all remarkably open about their experiences.

This morning, we had two pieces of bread each for breakfast. The kids had porridge with milk. They all wander around in their various school uniforms. some of them stay on site for class in open-air classrooms and sit on folding chairs or benches in front of a propped up blackboard. The electricity in our room didn't work so we went to bed quite early last night. It was super hot because there was no fan either but by the time we were awakened at 5am by the incessantly crowing roosters and the boy ringing a bell outside of every window to wake up the kids, I had cooled off considerably. Both Marrie and I were exceedingly dirty by this point.

Last night, I hung out with Isaac, the 12-year old who was the size of a 9-year old. I don't think they feed the kids enough there; I was constantly surprised by the ages they told me they were. He showed me the kids doing their prayers at the other orphanage that was just a little ways closer to the road. I asked which one was better and he said "Ours is." we stopped outside the director's house where a few kids were watching football from outside the window and eating fufu. Then more came to get in on the food action and one of the managers came around to yell at them. They scattered super quickly with sincere fear and I walked on with one of them hiding behind me, using me as a human shield. It worked, because he didn't get hit. He grabed my hand and said, "Let's go watch the telly. They let all the orphans watch television at night sometimes." they call each other orphans instead of children. It seems strange and dehumanizing to me; they must have picked it up from the staff.

We came upon a small house on the other side of the grounds with a television displaying a grainy football match and about twenty children crowded around it. A 13-year old or so girl latched on to me right away and hardly let go. A 6-year old boy was on the other side. When I detached myself and headed back to our hut/room (we stayed in a two-room house- Marrie and I in one room and twelve 6 to 15 year old boys in the other), I encountered a 3 or 4-year old standing alone in the dark in the middle of an open dirt space. When I stopped to say hello, he latched onto my legs in a giant hug. When I stooped to pick him up, he instantly relaxed in my arms, laid his head on my shoulder and said, "I want to go to bed." I felt bad because I don't know where he sleeps but even worse because all of the kids there are so starved for affection.

This morning at the Liberian refugee camp was an interesting one. It has been there for 17 years, practically as long as the civil war, so it's quite settled. There was a big meeting with about 2000 people in attendance at the settlement's Catholic church because the UN was going to share the next step with people. Often at refugee camps, the people on the ground have no idea what's going on with decisions being made on their behalf or even the present situation in their home country. This one is better than most in that regard.

We attended the meeting with the guys from the newspaper. There were a few speakers before the "big news" who went on about why there has been no electricity in the camp for the last two months (blaming the refugees for taxing the system by routing wiring from paying customers to their neighbors, along with a black market for electricity). The two news items which received the most reaction was the news that "The laws of Ghana do not prevent refugees from paying tax" and the ban on the use of firecrackers in the camp. Both came from the head of the camp's welfare council who is a Ghanaian appointed by the Ghanaian government. The rest of his council is appointed by him. In other words, the refugees have no direct representation. The tax news is just utterly ridiculous considering these people literally have no money, no means of making money and, in many cases, no education. If they don't pay the taxes, the government in Ghana doesn't have the means to throw them in jail, nor the gall to make an internationally unpopular move like kicking them out of the country. The firecrackers ban got a lot of reaction because people were angry they were being sold to them by the Ghanaians if they were now being delegalized. The reason behind their ban was that it was too reminiscent of the war and it was scaring people. Most of them found this laughable.

When the woman from the UN came on, all she said was "We are now at the stage of local integration," which everyone present knew already. This means that of the 15-20,000 or so refugees left in the camp from its peak population, most will be integrated into Ghana. This is better for a few and worse for most considering most of them want to look for family and friends in Liberia, but after 17 years (for some) in refugee camps, they are eager to do anything to get a real life back. If they are repatriated to Liberia, they get $5 and a pot from the United Nations and are dropped off in Liberia's capital with a "Good luck!" This is what happens when someone has a good idea and it goes through the pillars of bureaucracy. Many of the refugees hope to be eligible for refugee-status entry into Europe, the US or Canada. Providence has a large population of Liberian refugees.

I'm going back next week to get my work done for the articles and give an economics lecture. Today wasn't good for interviews because everyone who was busy with the meeting. It's difficult to know what to talk about because everything we covered at Brown was either theory or applicable only to already developed nations. I can't give a lecture on Smith, Marx or Keynes and supply and demand when what they really need is practical advice. So, I guess I'm going to discuss the factory I saw in India and how the same thing may be able to happen for them with some sort of rubber product (not tires, bad history) in Liberia.

Home troubles

2007-11-24T22:46:00.000+09:30

Things keep getting weirder at home. The new Swiss girl gave her laundry to Mary (host mother) because she asked for it, but didn't realize that everyone washes their own underwear in Ghana. (There are no washing machines here; you wash it in a bucket in the bathroom). Mary gave it to Deborah (house help) and forced her to wash it. This is a big insult and a continuance of Mary treating Deborah like crap and not paying her. I've been paying Deborah on the side to do my laundry because she really needs the extra $3; otherwise I would do it myself so I kind of shared that with the new girl and now it's morphed into a big problem. Mary has also informed Deborah that she now gets NO time off starting in December because Mary will be "so busy." In reality, she watches TV approximately eight hours a day and goes to her shop twice a week, if that.

Mary is afraid that we are going to tell the placement company that she is unfit to host if she disagrees or corrects our cultural faux pas in any way, so she turns around and unleashes anger on Deborah and her driver/gardener. Deborah will now be working 24/7 for $40 a month. What she doesn't realize is that we are telling the company how poorly she treats others if she thinks she doesn't have anything to gain from them. This is representative of the common attitude in Ghana. The "rich" people skoff at anyone who takes trotros or wants to help the poor or starts a school to village kids or wants a job that only rich people do (like being a DJ on Vibe). Also representative in the way that people think you are judging them for one thing and so go to great lengths to cover it up, when in actuality, you are appalled by both behaviors.

I'm also feeling really bad because last week, Deborah asked me for some anti-malaria pills. I have a lot of extras, so I gave twenty to her. I thought she wanted them for herself because she said, "The bugs have been biting me so bad!" Eight days later, she told me her uncle died of malaria so now I am afraid she thought the pills were going to save him. It's hard to know what to explain and what not to explain. They deal with malaria so much here but the information is not disseminated very well, since she obviously thought the pills got rid of malaria. That's not the case; you have to get two shots if you actually get the disease. The pills just lessen the effects of it. I was chatting to her about a rug that is in the house of planets and stars and she thought the planets (Saturn-like) were fish and that it represented the ocean. Then, "But I don't know why there are all the stars." I just said, "Maybe it's reflected from the sky." Deborah is a smart woman but when there is no access to information and those with disabilities are deliberately kept in the dark, it's next to impossible for them to get anywhere.

I met some interesting people yesterday

2007-11-20T19:47:00.000+09:30

1. When I arrived at work, a former Vibe guy was deep in conversation with my boss about the level of corruption in the government and police force here, how much cocaine goes through the country and who it hurts, how politicians are stupidly and excessively venerated for doing things like meeting the queen of England (or whatever high profile figure) when she generally couldn't care less, and so on. He was dropping the f-word everywhere then lit up a cigarette in the middle of the office. I was enraptured as he was both passionate AND educated; traits I haven't encountered in the same person since I left the US. He had the most objective viewpoint on the situation in Ghana that I have come across by far. As it turns out, he works for the United Nations radio in Liberia.

2. George. George is an older man who does a lot of voiceover work for the station. He is also an actor and jazz drummer. He wears a lot of snazzy clothes and always tells me that I'm too kind. He studied at university in England and did a significant amount of traveling in Europe prior to Ghanaian independence in 1957. He grew up in Cape Coast. He told me stories about when Louis Armstrong came to Ghana and how they demonstrated outside of the American Embassy to make it happen. We share similar outlooks on life and I think he's fantastic. The best thing about old people is that they see life very clearly. Young people are always hung up on things that don't really matter.

3. Zak. I had my first conversation with the afternoon rush hour DJ. He's about 45 and grew up in London but his parents from Ghana. He lived in Miami, Atlanta and NYC in the 1980s and had some wild story about how he was involved in the music industry there. He was sitting in a hotel room with all the other industry folks when two girls with AK-47s came in and left. Next thing he knew, a man came in and shot the guy sitting next to him. And that's why he doesn't like New York.

4. Nname. Nname is Zak's female friend. Finally, my first Ghanaian female friend who I am allowed to talk to. She's a single mom with a 3-year old named Angel. I chatted with her while Zak was doing his show.

A girl from Switzerland moved in last night. She looks like Brandi Chastain.

I've been meaning to share for a long time that lizards are like rats here. They are everywhere, would hide under dumpsters if there was any sort of organized refuse collection and scamper away when you get nearer, but are completely still until you're within a 4-ft radius so that you have a mild heart attack. They also like to hide behind the toilet, like cockroaches. There are really tiny ones that are translucent (cockroach-esque) and big medium-sized ones that are like rats. It is also dragonfly mating season so not only are the bugs three times the size of the ones at home, it's like a pterodactyl-sized double mutant freak dragonfly coming down on you since you rarely see them flying singly now.

Broken internet and not being rude

2007-11-17T20:05:00.000+09:30

MIA for the last week because the internet in the whole of Accra has been down. Heard many excuses, most of them relating to Ghana Telecom which apparently supplies internet for the entire country, but the best one has been that it's the Nigerians' fault. People here trust the Nigerians even less than in the US, where all they're known for is e-mail scams.

So, I meant to post this on Monday but wasn't able to until today (Saturday):

It is continually difficult for me to remember that part of the reason why I’m so “popular” here is because your average joe on the street has not had much, if any, interaction with “obronis” (whites). Coming from a country where there is every race, religion and nationality imaginable, it seems very odd for someone to get super excited about meeting someone different from them in any of those ways. Actually, coming from China and India, it just seems odd in general because the populations in both of those countries are also quite homogeneous but I guess the attitudes of the people there are not as open as here.

On Sunday, I went to Labadi beach, a beautiful beach on Accra’s southern coast. It faces the Gulf of Guinea, which is part of the Atlantic Ocean. I went with one of the other DJs at the radio station who doesn’t like to swim. I went in the water a couple times and was informed when I got back that the men at the next table wanted to talk to me because I was white and from the United States. I thought it was going to be the usual “I want to marry a white woman because they’re more loyal and honest” spiel (yes, this is the reason almost every single Ghanaian man gives when you ask them why) but it turned out these guys just wanted to meet me because I am white!! Generally, the actual reason is because they think we’re going to get married, move to the US and live the fantastic swinging lifestyle that everyone there leads while driving down the streets paved with gold in our Hummer. It’s so strange…

On the other hand, I was walking to work after the beach on Sunday and a man with a little boy said hello to me. I said hi back because he had a kid so I stupidly assumed he was just being friendly. He was being friendly… in that he then dragged this little 3-year old boy (his brother’s son) behind him for the mile he walked with me to the office, chatting and telling me his background (Muslim from the north who comes to Accra to buy TVs and other electronic equipment to take back to the north and resell) and how his brother got money from a German woman and why he wants to marry a “white lady” and I’m the one! Since we’re so loyal and honest, you know. I keep telling myself I’m going to pretend I’m deaf or only speak German but it never works. These people are truly impossible to shake.

At the same time, you have can’t really be rude. He told me I was the first white person he’d ever spoken to! In his entire life. Which is probably false but also feasible. So, sometimes they have never spoken to a white person before and sometimes they just want to tell their friends they’re friends with a white person and sometimes they want to get married. In short, being famous is actually not that fun because it’s about one in every 200 people you meet that are actually cool and want to know you for you, not for what you symbolize or might do for their own lives.

The beach was beautiful and very easy to access. You take a trotro from home to Circle ($0.32) then from Circle to Labadi ($0.40). Admission to the beach is $2 and there are deck chairs and tables and shade and palm trees and white sand and acrobats and really good soccer players and tide surveyors who move two flags which all the swimmers have to stay between so they lessen their chances of getting sucked out to sea. The water is SUPER WARM, even warmer than the Indian Ocean was because it’s so shallow. I went out about 200 feet and was still only up to my chest. It’s also extremely salty so it’s very easy to float, though the waves are pretty big so you can’t float for long before you’ve gotten a pint of saltwater up your nose. The current was nothing compared to Varkala in India, though, so it was fine.

Saturday was a trip to the National Museum and a market. The museum was a history lesson in and of itself, as most of the labels and explanations looked as though they hadn’t been updated since 1947. There are a lot of Stone Age tools there—such a trip because they’re labeled like “Stone Age ca. B.C. 3000” as though it might as well say “Bronze Age ca. 850” (or whenever the Bronze Age was). A trip anywhere where goods are sold in Ghana is always difficult and maddening. Nothing has a fixed price so you have to haggle for everything but the starting price is always four times more than normal because you’re white, and walking down the rows of an African market as an obroni means you’re very conspicuous and obviously rich so the vendors stop you literally every five feet. “You are invited, please look, please look, looking is free!, see pretty lady earrings for you, take a look, take a look, oh, you like bracelet?, I give you a good price, very good price, see, this one means unity and this one means love and this one means peace, no, no, please look! I have kente, also necklace, see beautiful necklaces, dress, you like dress?” and there might be three or four different vendors yelling all this at you at the same time. In the US, I boycott Victoria’s Secret because the saleswomen are so pushy because they work on commission but that’s a dream compared to shops here.

Frenchman with no resources

2007-11-13T01:07:00.000+09:30

On my way home from work today, I was accosted by an African man speaking French. He was sweating like mad, hadn't eaten and started telling me in broken English about how he was robbed last night by a taxi driver and a boy; they took all his money and cut his wrist. He went to the police station and all they said was to give them the license plate number. He asks Ghanaians for help and they ignore him. He's trying to get back to Togo but has zero money for the trotro to the border, which costs $3.40. He was really in terrible shape. Of course, this was the one day I decide to take $1.50 with me to work. I will remember him for a long time. I've only met one beggar as desperate as him before; a man with AIDS on College Hill in Providence.

Here, my most fascinating skill is typing. Literally EVERYONE watches me type. Today at the internet cafe, ten or so 9-year old boys in government school uniform (brown shorts and orange button-down shirts) came in and stared at me typing. At work, my most commonly received compliment is, "I like how you type." Uh.. thanks?

Hate for no reason

2007-11-10T02:51:00.000+09:30

Yesterday morning at the radio school, the class clown, who is normally just silly, was making some very unfunny remarks about how white people are only in Ghana to keep Africans down and kill them and then he said, "But I'll kill you first. I'm going to shoot you after class today." There were three white people in the class and none of us knew what to do so I just said, "So you think Ghana should be a military government?" to break the suddenly tense silence. I knew they would agree because there are a lot of pro-militarists here.

Clown said, "Oh yeah, definitely. Military is the best. way." The only Muslim in the class sat behind Clown and said "Yes. Definitely yes. No question," with no trace of a smile at all. He was looking right into my eyes. I am used to the pro-militarism attitude from Eddie but this went even farther as he then got into a long and passionate discussion with the clown about why he is a believer in Osama bin Laden, the greatest man alive. I didn't want to listen to this for obvious reasons but had to because they were so near. I knew he hated me then, just because I am from the US, the country which supposedly keeps both of "his" people-- Africans and Muslims -- impoverished and powerless. He said he loves bin Laden because he fought back against this imperialism. I had nothing to say because I was so shocked over the statement of faithfulness to al-Qaeda.

Only other significant news of late is that I have a column in a local newspaper (did I already say this?) in addition to working at the radio station. And that there was a FISTFIGHT between two of the DJs in the lobby yesterday after I left!!! I don't know what it was over but no one has been fired as the CEO just seemed to think it was kind of funny and not a big problem.

Worthwhileness! Glee!; slave castles and un-Christianity

2007-11-07T01:04:00.000+09:30

I've been feeling exceedingly bored/homesick lately and after the arrival of the station's general manager back to the office today (I wasn't aware she existed), I realized that my feelings were a result of worthlessness. Ghanaians are generally extremely laid back, to the point of a fault, particularly where a business is involved. The GM is from Atlanta and is a really pro-active sort of person who asked me to list my skills and background right away. Now I'm doing exactly what I did at BSR for Vibe, on top of audio editing and the soul show-- creating a commercial sales packet. I have relatively little experience in sales and marketing but, somehow, this little is even more than the marketing team at the station. People here are very into Image in terms of how an individual projects himself (i.e. keen on dressing in suits in the constant 90 degrees and sunny weather) but have little concept of what a professional presentation or pitch looks like. This is my new mission. The business opportunities in Ghana are great but there are very few people here with a high level of education or computer literacy so it is difficult to attract foreign investment for those who don't understand how already developed nations operate.

On Sunday, I was set to do my radio show but was unable to because the transmitter got disconnected from the studio. I went in anyway, though, because I didn't know that until I got there. By 6:30pm, three of the office workers had shown up to sit with me during my show. It was exceedingly awkward, as they all looked surprised to see each other. It's becoming clear to me that as the only woman (and from the US-- this is really the big draw) who works at the station, I'm gathering some devotees. I'm not sure what to do about it because I already told a few of them that I'm not married so I can't really go back on it now. On Thursday of last week, a man followed me down the street to the trotro I was taking home. I didn't notice because it's a really crowded street. I got in and he reached in the window to hand me a note that said, "I love you, ok? I'm a musician. Call me," with his phone number.

On the plus side, it's a weird self-esteem booster. While I'm not one of those people who work really hard on their looks in the US, I put exactly zero effort into it here. My clothes rarely match, I am chronically underdressed, I brush my hair about once every two weeks and never wear makeup. Very few of them are actually interested in ME ... just because I am white and different. And might be able to get them out of Ghana. I was not expecting this here, it's very strange. You can't even use the lesbian excuse here because the society is extremely homophobic.

Marrie and I went to Cape Coast over the weekend, where the slave castles are. This is where they kept the Africans before shipping them to the Americas or Europe. As expected, the two castles were very depressing, creepy and disturbing. The slaves were kept thousands to a room with no ventilation or sanitation. Disease was common, as was rape. The only thing that surprised me was that if the women the governor raped bore a child, the child was treated very well-- educated and well-fed. In the US, if a master raped a slave, the child was usually treated as a slave by its own father. The whole place smelled like death, even 150 years later.

Never in my life did I think I would make so many people uncomfortable by simply NOT being a Christian. Yesterday, a man I've never met spent an hour trying to open my heart to Jesus and told me at the end that he's going to pray for me. Very sincerely. It made me very angry because he insinuated that I'm selfish because I don't try to convert others to Christianity and that religion=morals, therefore I must have no morals at all. He touched on many points that are close to my heart and suggested that I wouldn't try to stop someone from committing suicide. It is this kind of occurrence that makes me feel there is zero logic in religion. My own assessment of the "discussion" was that the only major point we differ on, aside from the whole Heaven/Hell/Jesus thing, is that it is one's duty to force their beliefs on others.

Superstition

2007-11-03T00:56:00.000+09:30

Yesterday, I went back to the radio school and talked with the students there after their exam. Their third question of me was (as always), "Are you a Christian?" When I told them I didn't believe in Jesus, they got super disturbed, which led to how things are "different" in Africa-- things happen here that don't happen anywhere else and they began a list of occurrences which the ENTIRE class believed in. There was one girl from Britain there and we were both the odd ones out because we thought it was untrue. Stories include:

- The Ashantis (a big tribe in Ghana) have slaves whose forearms have been cutoff from their wrist to halfway up their arm, all the way down to the bone so that they can play special drums and beats for the king. While this is feasible and probably true, it is also claimed that the slaves retain full function of their hands. This isn't just pro-Ashantism as Accra is a Ga area (another big tribe).

- Last week, a tortoise gave birth to a human baby. He said, "I saw it! With my own eyes!" Becky-the-British said, "With your own eyes or on a video?" "It saw a video that I saw with my own eyes!"

- In the Eastern region, there is a tree that bleeds if cut. Anyone who tries to cut it dies. It also does not show up in photos. Yesterday, it was in the headlines because it killed someone new. They call it the Witch Tree.

- In the southern region, there is a sword in the ground, only tip-deep. No one can pull it out, it's completely stuck and has been there for about 200 years.

- Unicorns. They totally exist.

- There's a 6 month old baby who lives submerged in a river. It doesn't drown but just stares up at anyone who comes near it.

Tomorrow, we are going to Cape Coast to see the slave castle. The latest Ghanaian treat obsession is "Pebbles," the gigantic M & M's ripoff. It's like a gumball made of chocolate, without the gum, with a groundnut in the middle. What's a groundnut, you ask? Nutty, like a peanut, not gross, like an almond.

Halloween here was extremely uneventful. They don't celebrate it. The grocery store that is frequented by foreigners had some decorations up and that was all there was to be said for that. I celebrated privately by watching two Simpsons Treehouse of Horrors then listening to Orson Welles' 1938 radio adaptation of "Dracula."

Ghana's economy and a request for help

2007-11-01T02:30:00.000+09:30

Working in Ghana is much, much different than working in the US. The economy is so much slower here that everything goes more slowly. I go out with the marketing pair about half the week. We do work half the time, and the other half, they give me tours of Accra and neighboring cities and explain the Ghanaian culture. Tribes are still exceedingly important; everyone you see on the street claims one tribe or another and they said they can tell who belongs to what based on the person's face! Today, we went to a Teshie area on the outskirts of Accra, near the beach on the southern coast; it is severely economically depressed. The people want to work but there is no work. Though I still consider China to be the most economically diverse place I've ever been, Ghana is definitely second. In China, there are small chances for migrants to escape from poverty. In Ghana, there is almost nothing. There is education, of course, and school is free for kids ages 1-10 but after that, they have to pay $100/term for even the government schools. Additionally, the schools don't have computers and from afar it looks like the kids are sitting on the floor in giant rooms. The country is never going to rise up if its youth can't join the technological revolution.

The marketing guys are keen to make as much money as they can, so they also sell advertising for a couple of newspapers and are starting a tour business. I have been wondering for the last two weeks why they take me on these little trips everyday and today I found out. I'm effectively acting as their consultant in all aspects of the business-- destinations, website and what appeals to foreigners... all of which they really need help with and I'll be doing more formally now that I know what's going on. They are currently operating in terms of what is interesting to Ghanaians: industrial areas, big trucks and old train tunnels. If I'm keen on what happens, I may become the US director/marketing/representative/PR/whatever. This seems like a reasonable addition to my plans upon return so it might happen. I don't know how I've already gotten sucked into something when I've only been here for two weeks, but that's ok. I'm still riding high on the fact that I can speak English to almost every single person I see on the street.

The Ghanaian economy is very strange. The politicians here are so crooked that almost any money the government gets goes straight into their pockets, yet they still get elected because the others are the same. The rich people are those who have been able to go abroad to make some money and come back to Ghana to live. You can get a home here that would cost $1 or $2 million in southern California/Phoenix area for $40-50,000. Real estate is location, location, location, of course, but Accra is prime real estate in Ghana; it's the capital city. Expensive items like homes and refrigerators are significantly less than the United States but basic consumer goods are up to eight times more! I am shocked every time I go to the grocery store. Shampoo I get at home for $0.97 is $6.50 here. Ghana revalued its currency starting July 1, so what was formerly 10,000 is now 1 and the effect has been an increase in prices of everyday items. The government continues to deny that anything of the sort has happened but if Ghana had a CPI, I think it would have gone up about 50% in the last six months alone. I don't know how normal families are managing.

Which brings me to my next point-- I was talking to Deborah, the woman who works at the house, yesterday. Mary (owner of the house) does not like for her to talk to me or Marie, so we never talk if Mary is home. Which is almost always because she is scared to go out. Mary is the kind of person who goes to church three times a week and watches Christian television for four hours a day while screaming at her maid and denying her food for taking a rest after eight straight hours of labor.

Information I found out yesterday: Deborah's mother died of malaria six years ago. People here either don't take malaria seriously or don't have the money to afford the drugs (like $5). Deborah has a business degree but can't find a better job than working as a maid because the Ghanaian economy has so much structural unemployment. Her only source of income is the $40/months she makes from Mary at this job where her only time off is 9pm Tuesdays till 9pm Wednesdays. She's saving to get a laptop and to take a computer class because no one wants to hire her without computer skills. SO, please ask your family and friends if they have an extra laptop around that no one uses!! I know some of you do because there are so many computers in the US. Even if it's from 1997, that's ok; all the computers here are from the mid-90s. Or if you want to contribute to sending her through the computer class, that would be great. If I am able to find her a laptop before I leave, I'll just teach her (if we can get away from Mary) but if not, she'll have to take the class because it's more cost effective than coming to the internet cafe and teaching herself (it is $0.60/hour here).

Mafia, AIDS, wedding, reggae

2007-10-29T00:40:00.000+09:30

On Friday, I got a ride home from two coworkers after talking with one of them about how the African people are still economic slaves. He is very black power/African power kind of guy, of the Ga tribe (second biggest after the Ashanti). We were also talking a lot about HIV/AIDS in Africa-- everyone talks about it here, it is a really big deal. I was talking to one of my coworkers who used to work in an orphanage in Ethiopia. She had all of the 162 children tested for HIV earlier this year; 70 of them tested positive. In the general population of Ghana it is not as common but they treat the people who have it very differently, they are effectively outcasts.

We were stuck in traffic in the slums where all the Muslims from the North reside and run their scams and centralize their burglary (at least, that's what they said). One of their friends ran up and they were all slamming each other and whatnot, very friendly-like and I found out afterwards that he is the head of the Accra mafia. They got to know him because they are the ones who put together publicity events for Vibe and they need him for their security. The police here are extremely corrupt and ineffective; whenever there is a private event, private security is hired. They had security guards for the wedding reception at the house on Saturday.

There was a benefit concert with John Legend and reggae star Luciano, from Jamaica, on Saturday. I didn't go, but Luciano came to the studio on Friday with his whole reggaed-out crew. They were all wearing dreadlocks, tie-dye, Bob Marley, weed leaf parphernalia and greeted you with an explosive, "Rastafaaaaaaaaaaarrr!!" I have no idea who he is but it was fun anyway, he was quite nice and the rest of the staff was all in a tizzy about his appearance, including the CEO, which was great because then he was very happy for the rest of the day and chatted with everyone. Usually he is very stone-faced and silent.

The wedding reception was very nice. The bride spent the night at the house so we saw her get ready in the morning. I also saw them preparing some of the food. There were ten or so people behind the house beating out fufu (popular Ghanaian dish) with giant sticks in a bucket and cooking rice, fried chicken, fried fish (whole fish), spaghetti and blood stew over fires. The wedding was all purple, so the two flower girls looked very cute. About 200 people came back from the church for the reception. The women were all decked out in African garb, it was awesome. They looked so good. The bride was wearing the "traditional" white dress and the groom was in a fancy suit with a violet tie and handkerchief. The reception was less crazy than I anticipated; I helped to serve food to the lines of people who filed past. There was music and some dancing but mostly men danced and women watched. I guess Ghanaian women also find the men here a little overwhelming. By the end of the night (actually 6:30pm), the hiphop group who had performed two songs earlier started breakdancing on the porch; they were really good. Marie (also staying at the house) and I were the only white people at the wedding; the children (and some men) thought we were pretty interesting, especially once the digital cameras came out. Yesterday was the first day I invented my fictional fiancee. Everyone wanted us to take photos of the wedding because no one else had a digital camera and a lot of people wanted to have their picture taken with us on the real photographer's "old" style film camera. The bride and groom also wanted to have their photos taken with us, even though we didn't know them at all until the day of the wedding.

"Obroni! Obroni!" I have a lot of photos but I can't put them online because the computer situation here is so iffy... I think I'm going to have to wait until I get home for everything, which sucks because the blog is going to be so much less interesting now!

A lot of random cultural information

2007-10-25T02:10:00.000+09:30

Trotros are the mini-buses/vans that run on fixed routes around Ghana. Two guys will decide to get a van and hop on a route; one will drive and one will "conduct," meaning take the money and open and close the door, look out for passengers, yell the route out the window over and over (mine sounds like "Say-say-say-say-say-circle" and "dzorwulu") and tell the driver when to stop (when a passenger says "bus stop"). A tro carries about fifteen passengers and they wait until they're full to leave. It doesn't take very long, fifteen minutes at most. I am usually the only white person in the car though there are quite a few in Accra (at least, relative to Sivakasi). My journey to work costs $0.23 and the journey home costs $0.32; it's about 3 or 4 miles. It takes a long time, though, usually about an hour because the traffic is so bad. I have no idea why the cost is different because the route is usually the same. Yesterday morning I got lost because the tro decided we weren't picking up another passengers and kicked us into another tro which was on a different route and dropped us off at a different part of the central terminal (Circle) than usual so I had to walk around for half an hour before I knew where I was. Normally, I walk about half a mile from Circle to the office. Doesn't seem too far but it's quite humid here and it's along one of the busiest roads/trafficky times in town so I feel all dirty by the time I get there because the Sahara blows around a little bit and it's sandy and the cars and tros spew all the exhaust.

Speaking of white people, they call us "obrunis." Many Ghanaians feel compelled to display their astute powers of observation by saying "obruni" or "white lady" as I walk by. Yes, I am. Very good. Actually, it is only men or children who do this. When it is children, it's great because they want to chat or will act coy. When it's men, they either think it's funny, which is harmless enough, or want to get into a conversation about where you're from and when are you leaving and how they will visit you in the US. Oh, and are you married? Ghanaians are extremely keen to come to the US; almost everyone you meet has a friend or family member or both in the US. So, all of the above is leading me to actually believe traveling as a woman brings its own special set of difficulties that men never encounter. I like meeting Ghanaians but the ones who initiate conversations most often are men who see white skin as a ticket to another country. I'm really unclear as to why they want to go somewhere else. There's some sort of utopic vision of what the US is like and I think a lot of them must be disappointed when they actually get there. There are signs all over the place advertising some sort of US visa lottery; they're already queuing for the 2009 pull. I've already met a lot of people who are separates from their spouses not because of disagreements, but because one of them is in Europe or North America. Seems perfectly normal and fine to them.

Ghanaians have a reputation for being extremely friendly and it is true to some extent. If they are eating and you walk up, they always say, "You are welcome [to share]," or upon arrival at the house "Welcome!" You always receive or give things with your right hand, never your left (the whole toilet thing again). There are women balancing goods on their head to sell all over the place. Anything you can imagine-- watermelon, water satchels, shoes, food.. it's not only women, too, often it is young girls (9-14ish). They sweat then come up to the cars/tros while they wait at the light. Handwashing rules here; I haven't seen a washing machine or laundromat yet. Additionally, I take my shower from a bucket that is filled at the tap in the bathroom and stand in the tub. It's actually pretty ok and conserves a lot of water. The most common local language is called "Twi" and another is called "Ga" and that's all I know so far.

There is one guy at work who I have really interesting conversations with. My new routine is to arrive at 9am, discuss Ghanaian politics with him between 9:30 and 11, at which point he begs off and says, "I have to go to town now to make some money off politicians!" I'm not sure what he's really doing but I hope it's not under-the-table advertising at the station. He's really smart and a business-minded Jehovah's Witness. He said he finds it shocking that his friends from the UK don't believe in god. He always wants to talk about China with me. A lot of the goods here come direct from Chinese cast-offs and even have characters printed on them (pens, crackers, cookies, etc). I hope he is successful but there's so much that just doesn't make it through the culture barrier for some reason. Ex., he told me his friend went to purchase from an American company but was told upon arrival that their factory is in China. Expensive mistake, how could that happen..
He told me today that a lot of the clothes and shoes and computers and all sorts of goods that come into Ghana to be sold are secondhand from the UK. They're sold at "obroni-woawu" markets which translates as "dead white man" market! I thought that was hilarious.
The biggest 2008 presidential election issues here are the economy and the energy crisis. Earlier this year, the lights flickered incessantly for months, apparently. Things are good now, for the most part. Also learned that the presidential candidates always pick a running mate from the north because then he will be Muslim and they can also get the northern Muslim vote. Here in Accra/the south, most people are Christian.

There are about 80 billion internet cafes in Accra but our office only has one internet connection, and it's dial-up. So if someone is on, no one else can be on. But usually, no one is on. It's a really mysterious way of operating.

All aboard... the Night Train!

2007-10-23T01:18:00.000+09:30

I am now the sole conveyor of 1950s and 60s soul music to the people of Ghana, every Sunday from 6 to 9pm. Initially, they suggested weekdays 9am-12pm but I'm not even sure I have enough with me for a weekly 3-hour so now I am on Sundays and I am very happy about it. Commercial radio in Ghana is so superior to American, it's not even funny. What I am doing here is positively unheard of in the ClearChannel dominated US market. This is going to be a bit difficult for me, given that it's not my specialty and there is no effectively no internet at the station so I can't do any research or download more music. I have already been missing my records, but now I really miss my records, and am kicking myself for not having the complete Fire/Fury Records Story with me (aka, the best boxset ever). Nonetheless, what an awesome job! On the plus side, I can now play everything I overplayed on my old show because they've never had it from me here. In Providence, I could practically hear the programming board moaning, "Fingertips, Part 2, AGAIN?! Seriously?" every three months or so.

I think they were a little shocked when I brought my suggestions to the table ("I'd like to program a 1960s soul show and a one-time special feature show, post-extensive audio editing learning, about the influence of slave music on today's popular music" [what I mean by this, for example, is like Kanye West's "Gold Digger" song-- in it, he samples a song from the 1950s that was lifted from a 1920s bluesman who adapted it from a song that has its origins in the 1850s). My boss says, "Wow.. well... that's certainly different. Yes, let me think about this.. uh.. ok." As said the boss in China... and India... I think we stream online so you can listen if you figure out your time difference. vibefm.com.gh. I won't be talking, so don't get your hopes up... I know that is what most people like to hear when they listen to me but I am more concerned about the content than hearing myself babble, so this is ideal for me all around!

The power went out for about 20 minutes this morning and we had dead air for the whole time. There is only one tech person who works there but things get done so much more quickly than anything ever happened at BSR. On top of that, the CEO about chewed his head off. It's remarkable what being paid will do towards people's consciences and sense of duty.

My life here is pretty much unrecognizable other than radio. I eat three square meals a day, feel accomplished if I am still awake at 9:30pm and get up at 6:45am. I'm fully engaged in the drifter lifestyle... I just do what they tell me and watch until I grasp the appropriate social behavior, unless it comes to something I really hate (i.e., drinking Coke, sounding like a MTV VJ, celebrating corporate television) and no longer find it strange to see a guy peeing into the drain water in direct view of 800 people which is being used 200m down to wash another family's clothes (Ghana), or a mother holding her baby up to poop onto the sidewalk (China).

Africa is reality TV crazy, for real. My host mother watches Big Brother Africa for hours on end; she has one TV set to Big Brother and another one, right next to it, for the Christian channel (shows range from Joyce Mayer, ever-present American Christian fleecer, to gospel choirs). The Ghanaian was just kicked out of the Big Brother house and as it turns out, he is the one who was at the airport that everyone started screaming for when I was sitting there for 2 hours waiting for my ride to arrive, wondering who the hell it was. So, I saw myself on Big Brother last night because they showed his homecoming, which means I was briefly seen looking bored and angry by the whole continent.

This weekend there is a wedding reception at the house! Excellent. I've started to figure out the tros and the money (move the decimal four places to the left to get the new value), so I am feeling somewhat less frustrated than when I arrived. I had a nice discussion with a co-worker today about China and the US. He really loves the US.

Ghana: Land of Toast

2007-10-20T01:26:00.000+09:30

Two days of travel from India to Ghana and then no one picked me up at the airport. And I had a wicked sick bacterial eyelid skin infection which spread to the rest of my head, underneath my hair, en route. So awesome. I slept on the floor of the Dubai airport for 3 hours then got on an 8-hour flight to Accra and had to figure out how to call someone at the office and ask where the hell they were. Of course, Ghana was the only country for which I didn't write down the contact phone numbers. I was ready to just fall on the ground and let everyone leaving the airport trample over me at that point. I was really nice and dirty for all of it, too, because the first leg of the trip was a 7-hour car ride through the dusty roads of India from Sivakasi to Thiravanathapuram. Dubai was like a return to modernity with all of its shops and people, really quite a shock. No wonder they call it the crossroads, though... I brushed my teeth in the bathroom between a Chinese chick decked out in booty shorts/Louis Vuitton everything and a woman in a black burqa.

Ghana is much cooler than India, so far. I'm wearing a sleeveless dress that goes down to my knees and feel practically naked compared to the Indian attire. Even better, EVERYONE speaks English.

I had my first day of work today at the radio station-- Vibe FM. It reminds me of WJLB in Detroit circa 2000. They blast what's airing in the office 24/7, so I always feel like I'm back at a Pioneer cross country sleepover watching the girls dance the Britney Spears "Crazy" video dance. Other than popular 1999 rap, they play Donna Summer ripoffs. The Marvin Gaye tune that came around 9am was my one beacon of light. They tried to get me to read the entertainment news but typically-- "Slow down. Be more emphatic." I hope to have a chat about my skills and what I can bring to the station with the supervisor tomorrow, because I am well aware my strength does not lie in bringing the people of Africa their hourly Britney Spears custody battle update. I really hope to convince the programming director that I have enough knowledge about 1960s soul to host a weekly hourlong program during my time here. I don't really care if it's at 3am.

For the radio geeks: the equipment they use is so surprising. There is no mixing board, there is one dial-up internet connection that can only be used by one computer at a time, there are no record or cassette players. Automation comes from WINDOWS MEDIA PLAYER or QuickTime. They don't use ProTools, or even Audacity, to edit anything.

The host family I'm staying with is actually just one woman. She lives in a big house and has two maids and a personal driver. She also has deep purple velvet couches and a lot of Jesus art. The House houses here are surrounded by high walls, I always feel like they're preparing for a coup when I see another one. I was reading a bit about the history of Ghana today. It is one of the most politically stable nations in Africa. And then I found out that the latest political upheaval was seven years ago! Ages... I eat on the front porch, looking at the wall and the garden. I haven't eaten much Ghanaian food because it almost all involves meat. Breakfast is the best because she serves the best toast I've ever had in my life. Lunch is thin, sweet pancakes that I take to work.

Ghana revalued its currency in July so there are new notes and old notes floating around. If it were only new, it would be quite easy for me as the value is almost exactly the same as American dollars. The old notes are about c10,000=$1, though, which makes it very confusing, particularly when you get change in new and old currency.

There are a lot of Chinese restaurants here.

Ghana's most common sign is "PLEASE DO NOT URINATE HERE." I've already seen about ten guys letting loose on the sides of the road, or into the drainage ditch, or into the grass...

Transport is done via trotros, privately owned vans that go along fixed routes. They're relatively cheap, it costs me about $0.35 to get to work. There's a driver and a conductor, a guy who leans out the window saying the route and doing that route's hand motion. I don't have the routes down at all yet and still find it very confusing. I get out at Circle, which is a main exchange area. There are about 3-400 tros waiting there at any time. I considered it a mystery of India that people knew which bus was going where and when and that's now carrying over to Ghana in terms of the tros.

Photos soonish..

End of India

2007-10-15T20:06:00.000+09:30

I stumbled upon the Muslim neighborhood yesterday. Ramadan just ended so there were green and white flags everywhere. I got even more stares and laughs than in most areas but still plenty of "Hi!"s. Other than that, it was a very uneventful last weekend in India aside from the fact that Laura and I went swimming on Saturday at the Bell Hotel pool for Rs. 50, and greatly impressed five 11-year old boys with our handstand and underwater somersault abilities, and that it rained on Sunday. That was very exciting and made me very happy because it was cloudy all day and the rain cooled things off for almost 36 hours. So happy that I had an ice cream cone and visited with the neighbor's little boy afterwards.

Kindly do not use the swimming pool during your menstrual period.

Today is my last full day in India and therefore time for broad generalizations. Indians, as a whole, are the most generous, polite, helpful and friendliest people I've ever met. And the women are the most subservient, which is really what it was most difficult for me to grasp and adjust to. Women's #3 accessory here (after bangles and gold earrings) is a child on their hip. I, and the other foreigner women I live with, receive behavioral byes almost every hour of the day. The most notable to me have been:
-clothing
-bicycling alone at any hour of the day
-coming home at 10pm
-speaking freely at work
-not adding "sir" to the end of every sentence
-lounging in shorts and tank tops in the privacy of our home

My only other great impression is in regards to the spirituality of the Indians. There are many religions here. Hindu is the most prominent; there are Hindu temples of every size in every town. I live in a Christian area and there are also a lot of Muslims who became more visible this last week since the end of Ramadan and eid-Al-fitr. No matter what the religion is, its followers believe wholeheartedly. There are a lot of religious zealots in the US, and a lot of people who think of themselves as religious but I have yet to meet or hear of anyone there, outside of perhaps the Mormons, the Quakers and Flanders', who even come remotely close to the Indians' dedication to their religions. In my own host family, they wake up between 3 and 5am to pray before starting the day. (We blew each other's minds when Shakena asked me what time I get up at home. They get up before I go to bed).

In short, do you ever: drink alcohol? smoke? listen to the devil's music? wear short pants? wear shirts without sleeves? engage in pre-marital kissing? have close friends of the opposite sex? do drugs? find yourself out after dark as a female? befriend anyone who engages in these activities? You're a dirty sinner who doesn't respect your parents. [Please note this is my own to-be humorous assessment. Sivakasians would never be in-your-face about religion.]

I start two days of travel tomorrow at 7:30am. 7-hour drive to Trivandrum, pay for and pick up my airline ticket, go to the airport, fly to Dubai, 7-hour layover from 12:30am to 7:30am then an 8-hour flight to Accra, Ghana.

Amma adjusts Laura's sari last night:

Completely unobjective

2007-10-12T21:03:00.000+09:30

Today, I am very angry at many things but mostly at how they refuse to let us write about "controversial" subjects-- i.e., anything that will attract the attention of the government, i.e., anything that matters. Sivakasi is the former child labor capital of the world and while great hurrah is made about the decrease in child labor since the 1980s (true), there are still many in the town, working at tiny fireworks factories for Rs. 5 or 10 a day ($0.12 to $0.25).

Earlier this afternoon, Laura and I played Token White People at the local orphanage for the mentally disabled kids. As it was explained to us, it is National Breadgiving Day so the local Rotary club was giving bread to the children and we were photographed handing it to them. Basically, I have no idea what was going on but, as usual, the kids were all awesome.

Also, I think that guy from the Libertines' new band sucks.

More cowbell

2007-10-11T22:00:00.000+09:30

One of the good things about being an adult is that you have plenty of experience in knowing when you are going to throw up and can give yourself ample time to get to an appropriate vomiting location. I only threw up once in my childhood-era-of-being-able-to-talk age and that was all over my parents' comforter.

Additionally, the only way to make a fever even more awesome is to have a fever in 90-degree weather during a power outage (meaning no ceiling fan) without a CVS within 8,000 miles. Oh, unless you also have sheets like this:

in which case you can start to imagine the little creatures coming alive and dancing on your body while you sleep. Actually, just kidding, it wasn't the fever, I knew that was happening a good four days before I even started to feel sick.

So, in short, I spent Wednesday barfing once in the morning, then sleeping 18 hours, eating a banana and a half and two chipotis.

Sneak preview

2007-10-09T21:13:00.000+09:30

Because the magazine is not online and I'm sick of working on this, you're now privy to a sneak preview of next month's cover story. I am writing more about the business side of things and Malte is writing more about the humanitarian aspects of the company.

“Business with social responsibility”
“Making money to make sense for the society”

Tiramangalam-- When Teddy Exports began with these two slogans in 1990, it was a five-employee company producing timber products out of a mud hut in a small village about one hour away from Sivakasi. By 1991, the company had already turned enough of a profit to begin the Teddy Trust, a humanitarian non-profit organization and by 1993, had moved to their current spacious campus. From the beginning, the company’s mission was not just to turn a profit, but also to provide a socially responsible entrepreneurial solution to regional problems. This unusually progressive attitude has resulted in high revenues for the whole of the company’s existence. Now a major exporter, Teddy Exports employs over five hundred people and does millions of dollars worth of business each year. The socially conscious aspect of the company is what draws in many of its business partners from outside India. Teddy Exports’ first client was The Body Shop, a Western chain store which carries various high-end bath and body products in fifty-five countries throughout the world. The Body Shop is still the company’s biggest client, though they now also provides screen-printed cloth bags, textiles, wooden toys and furniture to about nine other international companies.

Though the Body Shop’s original order was only for rolling wooden massagers, demand for Teddy Exports’ goods has grown steadily since its inception. Pleased with the results of the massagers, the Body Shop began requesting more and more products, requiring Teddy Exports to outsource to local tailors and printers. However, it soon became clear that it would be more cost effective to vertically integrate and hire tradesmen for use within the company. Practical business moves with great respect to morality and humanity is what has made Teddy Exports successful. Head products manager, Baskar, has been employed at Teddy Exports since the beginning and feels confident in relaying that their “success [is] due to the quality and dedication of the employees.” Teddy Exports’ leadership has managed to successfully combine social awareness with a self-sustainable business; a rare tale in today’s money-hungry world.

Working conditions at Teddy Exports are tops in the region. Employees receive medical care, free primary school for their children, on-site child care, high quality and safe working conditions, pension plans, subsidized lunch and tea at the company canteen, three-month maternity leave, annual excursions and, perhaps most importantly, fair wages. Minimum wage at Teddy Exports is Rs. 3,000 per month. In speaking with them, it becomes clear that employee satisfaction is extremely high. “Working here, I can support myself; no one else has to take care of me,” said seamstress Naga Rathinam, who has been with the company for eight years. “I like this job because it provides me with continuous living,” says another quality control worker. “I have worked here for the last three years. My standard of living remains the same as long as I am here.”

In addition to its humanitarian efforts, Teddy Exports also is also an environmentally conscious organization. Its timber products are all made from a sustainable and controlled local resource, mostly Acacia Nilotica wood, which is also used for firewood by the locals. Though constantly replenishing the wood source raises the cost of operations, both the factory manager and the head products manager agree that the cost is well worth the increased social benefit.

Although it may seem as though the company is more concerned with philanthropy than sound business practices, profits have not suffered. Teddy Exports maintains a strong commitment to quality products and impeccable customer service as their business model maintains that fairly treated workers and a valued community are assets which feed directly back into the business. Prices are internationally competitive and the array of products grows every year. Today, their most popular product is screen-printed tote bags; upwards of ten thousand are produced in a single day.

Teddy Exports’ high standards have not gone unnoticed by the international community. In 1999, the business won the World Aware small business award just one year after founder Amanda Murphy was made a Member of the British Empire (MBE), a royal honor. In a country that is often more concerned with just making ends meet than providing extraneous benefits to employees, Teddy Exports has set a high standard for the future.

I think it's too wordy. Writing simply about something I have had to do research about is not my forte.

Bike accident, the effects of fair trade, playing cricket, elephant, waterfalls

2007-10-08T21:04:00.000+09:30

Today, I was in a T-bone bicycle accident. Turned right out of the street the house is on and an old guy on a bike with his friend on the back were coming right towards me and I was already too far out to stop and he didn't swerve so they ran right into me and we all fell down. Nothing too bad happened (scraped elbow) and it was probably my fault for not ringing my bell when I turned. The bikes made quite a noise, though, because they're huge and heavy and may have been made in 1944. The most difficult part was getting out from under two bikes while wearing such a long skirt. I listened to Bike Talk today (BSR's Car Talk variation) and was reminded of how rare and dangerous it is to bicycle in America. In both China and India, bikes are way more common than cars (but no one wears helmets).

On Friday, we went to Teddy Exports, a company outside of Madurai, to meet with the head products manager and get shown the grounds. Malte and I are writing the November issue cover story on the company. They manufacture those wooden massage things that the Body Shop carries, along with a lot of tote bags and some wooden furniture. Teddy Exports is unique in the fact that they pay fair wages (in terms of amount and equality between the sexes), employ about 500 people, are environmentally aware and friendly, provide schooling for their children, provide special schooling for special needs kids, do not utilize child labor, provide a safe working environment, medical care for workers' families, HIV/AIDS prevention and awareness training, have established a trust to give even more back to the community, employ mentally and physically handicapped people and run a clinic in town which keeps tabs on all the local prostitutes (weekly checks). We visited the factories and the school. All the workers I spoke with were very happy with their job. The women all wear the same uniforms: beautiful pink-patterned saris. The schoolchildren were endlessly charming. Every time we entered a new classroom, they all stood up and did their little hello thing then recited a long rhyme in Tamil. They were very happy to see us and some of the older kids could talk with us. When we left, they all clamored around to shake our hands. People here don't shake hands so the kids think they're quite novel/western/cool and sophisticated when they do it with us.

Wheelchair bicycle parked outside a factory:

The 6-year olds:

One of the factories (quality control area):

Saturday was the office cricket game. Cricket is immensely popular here. It is vaguely like baseball in that there is a batter and a pitcher (bowler) and you run if you get a hit but other than that, no similarities. We played behind a local secondary school. The kids go to school on Saturday, so all the boys gathered to watch the spectacle of women playing cricket. Or foreigners. Or foreign women. I enjoyed it, aside from the relentless sun that hit hard during fielding. I was very bad at bowling (pitching); I throw like a girl now. Shame. I was ok at batting. I could hear my dad's voice from like 14 years ago, pitching to me in the backyard-- "Keep Your Eye On The Ball." Cricket bats are quite a bit wider and heavier than baseball bats but it still worked. My team lost by about 80 points. When I was not batting or fielding, I explored the village of abandoned houses that was near by. There were about 50 of them. They used to house small fireworks factories or house fireworks factory workers, I'm not clear which, but the company lost money and the owners stopped paying and employing, so it all went downhill and everyone moved and the garbage pickers came around to get what was salvageable from the homes which includes the piping and roofs, apparently. Just like Detroit copper pickers.

This is all that's left now.

I'm playing cricket.

On Sunday, we went to a remote, small river in the mountains and swam. The bus went through all sorts of small villages. When we got there, there were three men bathing in their underwear and drinking beer. They moved upriver quickly; it was easy to embarrass them because, as everyone knows, western girls have no shame. We swam in long pants or skirts and T-shirts and sat on the rocks and let the white water hit us. Natural jacuzzi. I got cold for the first time in two months. After the river, we went back down a ways and swam in the dam, which was 132' deep. I tried not to think about that part; deep water is scary, what with its crocodiles and humpback whales and everything. After the river, we got back on the bus to go into Kerala (different state). The border guards checked the bus' pass and we got off and trekked through the woods to a waterfall. It was completely excellent. I've never seen a waterfall before, let alone swam in one. Waterfalls were the main reason that West Virginia is my #1 Want To Visit state but now I've been to one in Kerala which is a little better! I still feel so clean from it even though I discovered about a cup and a half's worth of sand in my underwear once we were back on the bus. And a leech on my calf. It was still little so I retained almost all of my blood. The water comes down so hard on your shoulders!

In the waterfall

Swimming in the dam:

Mountain-y.

The bus

On the way there, the bus was cut off by an elephant turning a corner. A guy was on its back and it had a lot of hay in its mouth.

The excellent news of the day is that my passport came back with the Ghanaian visa! I had to send away to Delhi for it.

I have one week left in Sivakasi.

The exchange (India)

2007-10-04T22:10:00.000+09:30

We have a new designer in the office. Typical to Indian management, she has zero experience in what she was hired for and a strong accent that makes it difficult for us westerners to understand her. She got the job without receiving an explanation of what her duties would be and was shocked to find that the majority of the office is foreign. What we need is a graphic designer who can do the layout and format of the magazine but she is a fashion designer (or rather, the person who chooses the fabrics and the stitch type, etc) and has no experience with InDesign. She has been very shy for the last two days but decided for some reason today that I was unscary enough to chat with. We had an awesome conversation. She's really cool even though we live extremely different lives. She graduated from college a few years ago and has no interest in an arranged marriage, so has been living at home with her parents while her older brother got a job as an electrician in Madurai, the nearest city. As far as I can tell, she spends the majority of her time alone, as her parents don't get back from their shop until 11pm, watching television and movies. The options here for women are so limited, both in terms of employment and recreation, it's scary.

I have no idea what she is going to do in the future and I don't think she does, either. My guess is that she will be forced into an arranged marriage sometime in the next five years unless she strikes out to a city like Chennai (Madras) or Mumbai (Bombay) on her own and against her parents' wishes. Once the marriage happens, the wife will spend the rest of her life cooking, cleaning and babies. This is sometimes still the case in the US but the difference there is that it is not the requirement. In the towns and villages here, and even in the cities to some extent, it is extremely weird for young people to live with friends or on their own. The family is quite strong here, even more so than in China. We had a bit of a slow cultural exchange this morning as she said "I know nothing about your culture."

She wanted to know my favorite Indian/Bollywood actor. I couldn't name a single one and she was shocked. She said, "I like one of your actors. Arnold." And I said, "Oh, did you know he is a politician now?" Blank look. "Works for the government?" No, did not know. We talked about the giant Hindu temple in Madurai I went to a few weeks ago and she named the king it was built by. Each detail depicts a different aspect of Indian life. She was shocked again when I had no idea who the king was (ca. 1650).

Here, marriages are set up by parents. Advertisements looking for brides or grooms are online and in print but the majority are set up via village networks-- aunt's cousin's friend's daughter with qualities x, y and z, etc. If a married couple has a real problem, it is worked out by each set of parents. There is beginning to be a backlash against the old ways... many of the young people I have met, especially the women, have voiced their desire against having an arranged marriage, preferring to be single forever than married to someone they don't know, or only know vaguely. The only common career option for women seems to be to become a teacher.

She said her father is very strict and would never let her ride a bike and that the Indian man in the office who was hired two weeks ago warned her that the "foreign women are very bold." I'm sure this is a more polite rendering of his actual opinion. She takes the bus to work. I asked her if she told her parents that most of the people she works with are foreign and she said, "Yes, I told them and their eyes went like this!" and mimed shock with her own. Hopefully, she will be allowed to stay. We are quite bold when compared to the Indian ladies in the office and, in reality, they don't even know the half of it in regards to our lives at home. Here, we wear pants and voice story ideas and let them know if something has gone wrong and ride bicycles to work and take breaks when it is convenient and don't go to church and probably a whole slew of other shocking behaviors that I haven't realized are out of the norm yet and that is enough.

She wanted to know about the US. I said that it is quite normal for a couple to live together before they are married, for friends to live with each other, or for someone to live alone. That if a married couple has a problem, they would be angry if their parents got involved; usually they go to a therapist, a doctor who they pay, to help them with their problems. Explaining things out like this made it sound really wacky, particularly given the context and the society here. Also, that women can do whatever they want, pretty much any time; parents don't treat daughters much different from sons. The fact that about half of marriages end in divorce and families will often end up spread very far away from each other was the most surprising and unfathomable to her.

"Photo please?" The kids are usually screaming with excitement but get very somber for the photos, as all Indians do.

No rabies

2007-10-03T14:58:00.000+09:30

Now that I've sufficiently given everyone a heart attack (sorry; I didn't know it was so scary!) and learned that you actually need a series of like 15 shots to the stomach to combat rabies, I'll explain what I actually did on the weekend.

Examined this torn down Hindu temple near the house:

Took a picture of this tiny lizard on the wall:

Played badminton again. Women were playing this time! It was much hotter in the gym because all the window shades were closed.

Biked around Sivakasi and attempted to find somewhere to buy toilet paper. Was presented with tissue paper and packing tape. No...

Downtown:

Found this tall thing:

Hindu:

Spied on the family chatting with the neighbors in Tamil:

And sat on the roof, looking at the stars and listening to Orson Welles and the Mercury Theater's adaptation of "The War of the Worlds" again and tried to calculate where the sound waves are now, 69 years after the first broadcast (460,241,385 miles, past Jupiter and on their way to Saturn if I did it right.. probably not because I only used the speed of sound at sea level). It made me happy to think about my own radio show flying farther and farther away.

Rabies

2007-10-02T15:20:00.000+09:30

The weekend was relatively uneventful until we went to a girl's home who we met on the visit to the women's college. She fed us a lot of lunch and we chatted about arranged marriages and how she definitely does not want to be married. She showed us a bunch of family photos and I asked about a picture of two men that looked like it was from a 1970s cop movie. She said, "Oh, that is the photo they showed my sister when she was to be married. It's the first time she saw her husband."

We took a rickshaw home and the other two wanted to stop for coffee. Being that I don't drink coffee, I begged off and walked home. I cut through the dirt area that cuts off a longer corner, going by four or five homes. There were a bunch of people and kids gathered outside and a dog. A few days ago, I had heard a dog growling at me while "Photo please?"ing four kids but he seemed to be in the house so I didn't do anything about it. Yesterday, he was outside. He is blond and medium-sized. He saw me coming and started hobbling on three legs. My heart started beating faster. "Don't look in his eyes. Don't look in his eyes. Sign of aggression. Don't look." Inevitable, I want to know what's going on because I could feel him beaming his "What the hell are you, whitey?" at me. I looked down into his eyes and he was already baring his teeth. "Oh shit oh shit." I looked back up rapidly but it was too late. He had already decided he really hated me and BIT MY LEG. I screamed and one of the men yelled at the dog and he let go, then hit him. It wasn't as bad as it could have been but my leg was bleeding in three places. My fear of dogs was thus renewed severely and painfully. I limped away as quickly as possible, back to the house, where they all saw my bleeding leg. I told him what happened and he said we should probably go to the hospital to get a rabies shot. Visions of myself foaming from the mouth with a rotting brain quickly sprang to mind.

We got on the motorcycle, since it was faster than ordering a rickshaw and drove the three miles or so to the hospital. It was really small, two floors and about 50 people in the waiting room. The family father explained the situation to the receptionist in rapid Tamil while everyone else stared at the bleeding foreigner. Despite the large number of patients, I still got into the doctor in less than half an hour. The doctor spoke English, albeit heavily accented, just like most people. I assume no one else has had a rabies shot that's reading this, so I will tell you that it comes out of a freaking GIGANTIC needle!! On the plus side, no foaming from the mouth or extreme insanity yet. I made it home in time for tea.

Yesterday was the yearly statewide striking day in support of a deeper canal between Tamil Nadu and Sri Lanka. If it happens, there will be much freer trade and an improved economy for both the state and Sri Lanka. [I'm sure this next part is terribly paraphrased but you get the gist]. When they began construction on the project, they hit an underground stone bridge which is apparently the path a Hindu god took to the island to find a monkey. Very holy. Now, some people are up in arms about the canal because it will destroy this special underwater path while the rest of the state wants the increased trade. All the shops on the street, offices and schools were closed. The hardcore supporters of the canal were on a hunger strike till 6pm. Today is a national holiday, Gandhi's birthday, but everything is open.

ps. just kidding about the rabies. i almost got bitten by that mean dog, but i didn't. had to spice things up a little bit.

Badminton as liberation

2007-09-28T17:07:00.000+09:30

Last night, I, and the three other women I live with, went to play badminton with Pabbu from the office at the local gym. First, he took us to his parents' house where his mother fed us Indian deserts (unidentifiable fruity pastries) and mashed apples mixed with milk and water. The home was quite tall as the family is relatively well off. They're built that way so that all the hot air goes near the ceiling, making it much cooler than most homes. The gym is a large building with four badminton courts and a small gym with old but still often used equipment. Kind of spooky, like the place a school dance would be held during which all the kids are killed or scarred for life when the ghost of a former student wreaks revenge. I'd never thought of badminton as a particularly liberating (or even particularly interesting) sport but, last night, I definitely did. It was a bit of freedom in this place where all we can do is go to work and back home at night. It would be weird to go for a run here, especially for a woman. Whenever one of us is out "late" (9pm) the host family worries and will sit on the front step of their house, waiting. Despite having to wear pants and a loose T-shirt in the 85-degree building, it was still nice and fun. We were the only women there. The men didn't seem to think it too odd that we were there but I think they would have if we had been Indian. As in China, foreigners here get a sort of "by" to vaguely strange behavior. We left at 10pm to the anxious thought of "Ah, we should not be out this late!"

I've been thinking about the purpose of this trip the last few days because there's been nothing to do in the office. First, the internet was out. Now, I am lethargic, especially about work. I remember saying very vehemently before I left that my main goals were to learn and to make friends. I was reading this op-ed by Danielle Trussoni in the New York Times. She writes quite often about her trip to Vietnam, even though it was years ago. I don't have such a personal connection to any of the places I have been, or am going to, but it makes me wonder what effect the trip will have on me in the years to come, particularly because China and India are such evolving nations and both have a lot of controversy surrounding them. The subjects are endless.

Photo please?

2007-09-27T19:38:00.000+09:30

Yesterday, we took a visit to the printer to see how the October issue is coming along. It was about 110 degrees in there. Looks pretty good, this guy is working on it and the coloring.

Took a rickshaw there, it's the easiest way to get anywhere that's not in biking distance. I took a minute's worth of video on the way.

They also print a lot of fireworks boxes, especially for Standard which is the biggest producer in town. Who doesn't want demented Santa fireworks?

Yesterday was Laura's birthday, so Jeryn and Annie got some fireworks and we set them off in a field near the house. The host mother bought a cake and we ate it with our right hands. Finally, everyone (the family and us four) sat down together -- but only briefly. Better than nothing. Sivakasi's main industry is fireworks and printing so there are fireworks almost every night (testers).

It's been feeling quite hot lately even though the weather has been the same as always. It's perfectly clear during the day and cloudy at night so the stars are never out. The night clouds are always really high in the atmosphere and kind of tiled; it creates a violet dome over Sivakasi.

The kids here are so funny. One little girl in the neighborhood either has foreigner-radar or has learned our schedule because she will come running from up to a block away, screaming in high-pitched little girl, "Photo please? Photo please?" then strike a model pose. She's the one on the far right in the first photo; the others are the giggle gang who live in the house behind. I think they are interested in the instant photo gratification; I haven't seen anyone else with a digital camera here besides us. All the kids say the same thing, "Hi! Hi! Photo please?" And if they are gutsy, add "Pen?" The third photo is the next door neighbor's little boy. He's too young to talk but we took about twenty photos of him last night and by the end, he thought the flash was HILARIOUS.

I forgot an important part of local women's fashion. They all wear beautiful jasmine flowers in their hair! Literally, at least 80% of the women you see will have the flowers. Today, we got some, too.

Bats, burqas, Bollywood and cricket

2007-09-25T22:47:00.000+09:30

I was lying on the bed last night, reading, when a large blur flew through my peripheral vision. I looked up, praying it was a humongous butterfly, but no, it was a small BAT. A bat came into the house through the open window behind me. Obviously, I screamed like a girl and ran into the other room and shut the door. A braver soul than I went out to investigate and found it had already flown out the opposite open window. Huge crisis averted.

Cricket is huge in India. Last night, India beat their biggest rival, Pakistan, in the finals of the world championships (I think?) and the neighborhood went nuts and horns were honking even more than usual. People set off fireworks (fireworks is Sivakasi's biggest industry so they were close at hand) and I had no idea what was going on because we have no TV.

I've been talking to some of my friends about the plight of Indian women. I think the country is in a strange stage of transition. Bollywood billboards will show women wearing shorts and tank tops but a woman on the street, at least in this area, would NEVER wear that. Maybe in Delhi. But no one seems terribly offended to see it on the advertisements. I think the conservative dress is part tradition and part religion. This area of India is culturally conservative and it is now easy for me to see how an even greater extreme like the burqa could come to be the norm. I don't find the concept of burqas so odd or repressive anymore. I found out from my friend that some women are so staunch about remaining completely covered at all times that some burqas have slits in the front for sex.

Male dress in India is an awesome time warp. Most of the young men dress like they're in 1971 America with bellish bottoms and a short-sleeved, loose but not too loose, patterned button-down shirt. Older men (if they are thin) usually wear a loose shirt with what westerners would qualify as a skirt but is actually a "dhoti." They have slits in the front and are folded halfway up then tied in a loose front knot that they constantly tie, untie and otherwise fiddle with.

Barbershop

Despite dowrys being officially illegal, arranged marriages and dowrys are still commonplace. In the household where I live, the mother and father were married at the respective ages of 19 and 21. The first daughter was born a year later.

Speaking of Bollywood, I saw my first Bollywood movie on the bus over the weekend. It was like the Dukes of Hazzard TV show combined with a bad kung fu flick + a musical + the opening scene of a 1970s porno (the part where they show the "plot").

On the move

2007-09-24T21:30:00.000+09:30

On Friday, I went on seven buses to the southwestern coast of India, in the state of Kerala, not too far from Sri Lanka. It took nine hours to get there but the travel doesn't really bother me because it's so interesting to watch what's going by. The buses passed through about 800 million small towns and villages on the way, including one at the very top of a mountain. It was a really bumpy journey up the mountain and there aren't any guardrails. It's normal for it to take forever to get somewhere here even if the towns aren't that far apart from each other as the crow flies because of mountains and a lack of roads/highway system. The railway system is extensive but not very direct between small towns. It made it much clearer what people mean when they say that India is a developing nation and what, exactly, Third World means. I passed through towns where the families had two walls and no roofs and their home was one room. The other walls would be pieces of tarp. Some of the houses were made out of sticks and some of them had collapsed on one side. Some of the homes were gigantic, had a car and three motorbikes parked outside, and overlooked beautiful valleys. We passed people bathing and washing their clothes in waterfalls and rivers. It didn't scream poverty to me because no one seemed unhappy but I thought back to the US and just how far "ahead" of this kind of disparity we are. I was looking at CNN's obesity map of the United States and half of the states have a population of >25% obese. The rest are at 20-24%, save Colorado which is 15-19%-- all up from >10% in 1986. There is easy access to good food, hospitals, prescription drugs, roads and fresh water in the US so now we're ruining our health in the other direction. And obsessing over the psychology of our actions while we do it.

On a similar note, I've been thinking about the difficulty I had booking a flight out of here to Ghana. The problem was that the airlines and travel agents both needed me to pay by cash via demand draft (similar to COD), or to send it by courier to their offices seven hours away. I could only pay with a credit card if I paid in person and online booking was not possible. The lack of a comprehensive credit system here was very difficult for me to comprehend because America's is so advanced that it's unusual for someone to pay cash unless the purchase is less than $10. I'd say about 80% of the sales at the bookstore I worked at last year were credit. In India, this is unfathomable. On the bus, fruit and nut merchants would come up to the windows to sell their wares while it was stopped and I was thinking about how little they must make and what their lifetime income would be compared to the average American. The vendors will never have the chance to make that much money. However, they will also never have the chance to accrue the thousands of dollars of consumer debt that some of my friends face.

Mountain shop:

Rice paddies:

Saw quite a few child workers during the trip. This kid was selling cotton candy, he's not even that young. Some of them, especially girls, are like six:

The beach/town is called Varkala. Small hotels and shops are on top of a cliff overlooking the Indian Ocean. The shops had every sort of item a tourist might be interested in: small figurines, candleholders, loads of fabrics, what we think of as Indian clothes (which are not what they actually wear) and shoes. There were some jewelry shops run by Tibetans and Nepalese. I met a guy from Bhutan. The other good thing was the restaurants. They were pretty cheap and served western, Chinese and Indian food. And it was more ok for women to drink alcohol and smoke there, because it is so touristy, so I had three drinks in two days but still managed to shock an Indian man despite the environment. I ordered Chinese food on Friday night because I miss it and was expecting chopsticks for some reason but the dish came with a fork! So, I used a fork for the first time in 2 1/2 months. On Saturday, I had western and it made me a little sick. The same thing happened the two times I had western food in China. I think it's my body not being used to it, not the quality of the food.

Ganesh and Jesus on the bus:

View from the bus:

There are two beaches; one to the north where most of the Indians go, and one to the south where most of the foreigners go so the women can wear bikinis and the men can wear trunks. Indian swimwear is T-shirt and knee-length shorts, regardless of sex. The area and ocean are really beautiful; just like a postcard with palm trees everywhere and waves that break far from the shore. I don't know how I ended up in a tropical paradise, it's never been my wish! But I enjoyed it anyway. I got a nice and awkward sunglasses sunburn, so I look like a pink raccoon right now.

Stray dogs all over Varkala, too. They're really tame and have a defeated attitude; not all excitable and jump-y like escaped dogs in America. The sand underneath the top layer was black.

As you can see, the beach was super beautiful and easy to enjoy. The undercurrent is really strong, stronger than anything I've ever experienced before. As long as you don't go out too far (like no more than 20-30 feet from shore), it's ok, you catch the next wave in, but it is a little scary at the beginning; I just kept thinking back to the guy from my high school who died in the Mexican undertow. Beach regulation and lifeguarding are not nearly as extensive here as they are in the Sttaes. The beach was fun and good until Saturday night. I went down the stairs from the cliff to sit on the beach and look at the nighttime ocean but there was an overpowering stench of poo and dead. I kept going, just to investigate, and found one of the hotels was dumping raw sewage straight into the sand, right where I had been laying earlier in the day! Completely disgusting.

Indian Ocean as the next Lake Erie:

I was talking to a guy from Germany on Saturday at the beach. He was born in 1988 in East Germany and said that, generally, that side of the country is still economically underdeveloped and depressed. The young people leave as soon as they can because there's nothing to do and, culturally, there is nothing. The west is much more modern and still widely preferred.

I'm writing this in the midst of one of the numerous power outages that happen everyday. It's not particularly inconvenient because the computers are on a different power circuit and almost never go off but the lights and fans go off about eight times a day for anywhere from five seconds to twenty minutes each time.

The host family serves coconut chutney quite often. It's a sort of coconut sauce to go with dosai or flat pancake or whatever. They get the coconuts from the palm tree behind their house. The coconut man comes and climbs up the tree and knocks them off! That's his title and his job. Awesome.

Coconut shells behind the restaurant:

Lunch off a banana leaf:

दय तो दय इंडिया

2007-09-20T16:54:00.000+09:30

I haven't been writing as much as I was while in China because most of my days are the same.

4:30-6:30am wake up to the noise of people sweeping cement outside, or watering plants, or the bicycle man selling something and yelling the same thing over and over as he rides by the houses
7:55am wake up for real and get dressed
8am breakfast downstairs of dosai or yet-unidentified brown flakes in goat's or coconut milk laced with sugar. and a banana.
8:45am bike or walk to work. Say "Hi" to about 20 people on the way.
9am to 1pm work, or pretend to work. This involves researching, thinking and messing around on the internet. And emailing people at home.
1pm go home for lunch
1:30pm eat lunch, usually some kind of very thin, flat, round bread or rice with chutney or mashed beet stuff or mashed cauliflower stuff, mashed potato stuff or mashed spinach stuff, all with other stuff mixed in. I think of it as red, bright yellow, lighter yellow and green. Also, grapes.
1:50pm go upstairs and sleep till the cleaning lady comes and knocks on the door. Madly throw a T-shirt on over tank top and a long skirt on over shorts so as to avoid embarrassing her. I'm sure she can hear me thrashing about. Sleep when she's done sweeping around. She really does come everyday, I don't know why.
3pm to 7pm same work as morning. Wonder why no one else seems to mind the air conditioner being off. Sweat.
7pm bike home and attempt to avoid potholes and not fall off the road when there is no traffic coming because it's so dark without another vehicle's headlights
7:30pm home for dinner which is similar to lunch but a different dish. With a banana. And tea with sugar afterwards.
8pm to 9pm sit on the roof with roommates while they secretly smoke. Can only be done in the dark.
9pm to 11pm shower if the water isn't out for the day (usually not), read if the electricity isn't out (usually isn't at night and usually only out for a few minutes at a time during the day) or chat or whatever

So, overall, it's really not such an exciting existence. We can't go out at night. I see the house and the office and it's the same everyday.

Along the roads, there are sandpiles everywhere. Seems like there's a new one everyday. Sometimes they are for construction... sometimes they seem to be for nothing. This morning, one of the stray dogs was sleeping in one. There are a lot of strays here; about 4000. They survive by foraging from the trash that's all around the sides of the roads.

Here's a shoe repairman. His shop is wherever he sits but he's usually in this spot. A little ways down from him is the bike repairman.

This is a road off of a main road. One paved strip in the middle and two dirt strips on each side.

I've been doing some conversions ever since I found out there are 3.78 liters in a gallon. Gas in China is only slightly cheaper than it is in Michigan right now; it was 4.50RMB/liter when I left, equating to around $2.45/gallon. India is significantly cheaper, converting to about $0.42/gallon.

Dongyue Taoist Temple

2007-09-19T15:54:00.000+09:30

It turns out I didn't lose the Dongyue Taoist temple in Beijing pictures, after all.

Early 20th century:

One of the god halls, made out of wood. They look the same today:

One of the pictures I took; this guy is a representation of evil:

Original urn placed in front of a hall to burn incense:

Post-Cultural Revolution, pre-1990s restoration:

Today:

For Ann Arborites, even though I'm sure everyone else knew before I did: Shaky Jake died.

Madurai

2007-09-17T15:20:00.001+09:30

On Saturday, we went to Madurai, a city about an hour from Sivakasi. We took the train there for 39 rupees, total, which is about $0.30 each. It would be like going from Providence to Boston or Ann Arbor to Toledo for thirty cents.

We visited a giant Hindu temple and went to some of the shops. The temple is extremely ornate, especially on the outside. Everyone has to take their shoes off to go in. There are statues of the gods inside, including some of cows. I saw someone taking a picture of one of the cow statues and all the Hindus around got really huffy-- no photos of them, including live cows. I'm not sure why, I don't think Christians would be offended if someone came into a church and took a picture of Jesus on the cross? At any rate, I won't be taking any pictures of that. Some of the gods are built into the wall and some are in their own miniature temples and some are in the middle of the floor. I know next to nothing about Hinduism but it was interesting anyway.

I got a skirt to my ankles so at least I have one appropriate item now. All the skirts I brought are only to mid-calf which is too revealing. We ate at a local restaurant in Madurai for lunch. It involved the usual rice and sauces but they gave it to us on a tray; everyone else ate off of a banana leaf.

While we were in one of the shops, a brass band paraded by and everyone ran out to look. They were leading a wedding; the couple was behind, sitting in a convertible.

When we got back to Sivakasi, there were a bunch of fires. I guess it was trash day; everyone was burning their trash. I guess they don't have trash pickup here, at all. I guess I guess I guess-- generally I have no idea what's going on, ever!

People remain really friendly. I walked to the store about 5 minutes away on Sunday and I think word must have gotten around because on the way back, at least 20 kids yelled "Hi!" out of their windows.

Madurai:

Temple exterior (one tower, there were some more):

Salesgirls who said "Take our picture?" ... a common request:

Hollywood Professional Diploma in 3D Modeling

Ox cart:

I've had a few questions about the weather here. In short, it's very reliable. The next four days forecast:
High: 86, Low: 76-77. Scattered T-storms.

I think the rainy season is October, so it's coming shortly.

Neighborhood pictures

2007-09-14T19:42:00.000+09:30

This is the street I live on:

This is where I live:

This is where I sleep:

This is the view from the lower porch (not the roof):

This is my Very Heavy Bike:

Christianity in Sivakasi and a visit to the women's college

2007-09-13T22:06:00.000+09:30

When we got home from work last night, it was already dark and the sounds of many voices were drifting through the streets of the NGO colony (the neighborhood). Apparently a different area family hosts a prayer meeting once a week. There is a large Christian population in Sivakasi. The second and third biggest religions are Buddhism and Hindu. They sang for a long time. The family I am with is also deeply religious. I was wrong before. The father's job is making Bible covers but those are his sewing machines in their living room. He makes them out of very nice, soft felt and velvet with a printed pattern then zips them over gold-paged Bibles written in Tamil (the local language). He seems very proud of his work. The family is nice as can be and very generous even if communication between us is a little difficult. After dinner, I went on the roof to look at the stars and listen to the Indian Christian songs but a bat had another idea and kept dive-bombing me so I had to go inside.

The life here is so simple. There seems to be very little drama within the family; people work hard and make do with what they have and, above all, don't complain. If you don't know what you don't have, then you can't. Advertisements are not at every turn here. All the material goods that people in America lust after-- ipods, digital cameras, computers, other latest gadgets, designer/brand name clothes, fancy shoes, comforters, blah blah etc -- nothing here. I haven't seen anyone with a cell phone on the street though the people in the office do have them. As far as tech gear, the family has a small television and a landline telephone. The women have about four everyday dresses each.

On the flipside of that, I have yet to see a bookstore, a record store, or a fire truck. But, it's only been five days.

Young kids, especially girls, are really excited to see a white woman. These are some schoolkids who were screaming, "Hi!! Hi!!!! Hiiiii!" when I walked to work this morning

There's a church near the house. It has a bell that plays once an hour but it's electric and sounds like a synthesizer.

Today, I went to the local women's college with the family's middle daughter. She's third year but only seventeen so I don't really know what "college" means here. We went in a rickshaw in the morning. The campus is beautiful but very different from America! We saw three peacocks just kind of hanging out in trees or in the bushes (separately). It was "Fine Arts Day" and I, and three other of the writers, were taken all around campus. We saw folk dances which involved balancing a big thing on top of your head and wiggling. It was amazing. The crowd was most impressed with the dancers who lied on their stomachs, or cut a carrot out of another girl's mouth with a knife while wearing a blindfold, or picked a napkin up off the floor with their teeth, all while dancing and balancing the colorful, shiny cone. We met faculty (history, art, English, gym) and met A LOT of students, saw the classrooms and the playing fields and saw the artwork of the girls (drawings and sculptures and floor art sand). We saw some skits early in the day. One of them was in support of traditional Indian values and portrayed an Indian girl who got a job in America. Her friend from India came to visit. The friend from India watched the Americanized girl smoke, drink, dance at a "discotheque" with men and, finally, witnessed a school shooting. The Indian sufficiently shamed the other one into going home. It was... weird.

The floor art sand room's theme was "War and Peace". Most of the subjects of the floorsands was the violence between India and Pakistan in the north. At the end, a group accosted us, seemingly solely in honor our being there, to encourage world peace and goodwill. The president of the student association, who got a job in California next year, was wearing a crown and carrying the Indian flag. The rest of them had signs like a picket-line, but everyone was all smiles. The school didn't even know we were coming but we attracted quite a lot of attention from the students. The girls were ecstatic we were there and would shout hello from fifty feet away and come out of classrooms to ask us "What is your name? Where are you from? How long are you in Sivakasi?" or crowd into the doorways if we were going around looking at the art. Anytime we walked somewhere new, we were surrounded by a group of 20 girls to greet us. It was kind of like being a zoo animal because they would be in a big circle with us in the middle. Conversation was slow so there were always times when they were just looking and giggling! I think we made Shakeena (the daughter) famous.

Peace parade

Crowded into the doorway to watch us:

Folk dancers

The flight stuff is giving me such a headache. Who would have guessed it's so difficult to book a 3-continent flight? I have spent my whole time in the office since I got here, pretty much, trying to figure out the cheapest way to do this. As of now, I'm going through Dubai in the United Arab Emirates, arriving at 12:15am and then onto Accra at 7:30am. And thus will be my 7-hour stint in the Middle East, assuming the woman on the phone at Emirates has truly extended me the kindness of not paying until I pick up the ticket in Trivandrum, which is 7 hours away from Sivakasi and where I'm flying out of. For some reason, e-tickets into Africa are not allowed for American passport holders coming from India and thus I have to pick up and pay for the ticket in person. As an added bonus, I need to have my outgoing flight from Ghana booked in order to get my visa into that country. Follow all that?

More photos from today

Also, I made it possible to comment without registering an account. I didn't know you could do that or else I would have done it earlier. Sooo, if you have something to say publicly to me you can do it anonymously now.

Beijing

2007-09-11T22:18:00.001+09:30

Early in the week, I went to the Dongyue Taoist Temple which was fantastic. I learned a lot more about Taoism. I got some photos but they seem to have been lost somewhere along the line. It was quite large with various halls honoring each god; there were about 300 different ones. A hall is more like a room. Each had a wooden depiction of the god and some disciples and evilers. People could buy small red wooden things to put in front of certain gods which they felt they would like to be looked upon favorably by, or put money directly into a box. There were about a million (literally) of the red blocks hanging from the god of the gods temple in the middle. In the back was a room with photos of the temple during its decline during the Cultural Revolution. It wasn't until the 1990s that it was restored.

The Forbidden City is mindblowing. I didn't really understand the concept of royalty, but I think I do a little bit now. The sheer size and intricacy on every single aspect of the City is unfathomable. Everywhere you look is a new, tiny detail. To top it off, the Forbidden City was only used during two dynasties (the last two-- Ming and Qing). Directly north of the city is a Buddhist Temple on a hill in a park which provides a beautiful view and a direct look at the haze that permeates Beijing. The air quality in Beijing is like LA on double its worst day, pretty much everyday. Most of the tourists are Chinese and I caught a few of them taking my picture. While I was there, the entire western side of the city was shut down in an extremely orderly and quick fashion by the PLA. They herded everyone to the east. The Chinese asked no questions but I said what's going on... one of them acquiesced to tell me that "Someone important is coming to visit" but I couldn't get any more information than that. So, I only saw half of it but it still took four hours.

This is only the second front courtyard:

Overlooking the Forbidden City from a Buddhist Temple on a big hill directly north of it. Nice'n'hazy:

Looking at the temple from the FC:

"Large Stone Carving" -- it's a ramp the emperor walked up when he traveled. He only walked out of the exact center of the Forbidden City. This thing was huge and had a sign saying it was made in northern China, then dragged miles and miles during the winter along an ice road to be installed in the Forbidden City.

Where the emperors sat to perform a ceremony of some sort that I can't remember. Three soldiers guarded the room out of the picture. It smelled like a carpet store:

Continuing northward, towards most of the modern city:

On Thursday, I went to an astronomy observatory. Most of the instruments are from the 1400s.

On Friday, I hiked six miles on the Great Wall. It went from Jinshanling in inner Mongolia to Simatai in Beijing Province. It took four hours to get there! It was the most beautiful scenery I have ever seen. The Wall goes up and down the mountains forever, it's extremely steep in some parts. On the Mongolia side, there were endless numbers of Mongolian peasant women who would follow you. They ask where you are from, tell you about themselves and point out their homes from the Wall (far below) and their corn fields, talk about their families and then try to sell you a T-shirt or postcards. Every single person I saw had one of these women attached to them, they were the hardest workers I have ever seen and must be related to mountain goats because they have zero trouble with the most difficult parts of the wall.

One of the first ones to attach to me:

I went home and slept for six hours, then went to the airport at 6am and flew to Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. Connected to Chennai.

India

2007-09-11T14:36:00.000+09:30

India seems more developed to me than China. I am so relieved to be out of the range of Chinese censorship. Shanghai takes all my least favorite aspects of Western culture and obsesses over them while the government represses all of the best-- freedom of speech, religion and press. Beijing is slightly better but going to the country as a lifelong American feels infinitely oppressive. Things are more lax than they used to be there, but it's just so strange to not be able to talk about some things, or to not be able to publish some things, or not be able to safely write a song about some things. Examples: none of the young people know about Tiannamen Square 1989. When Beijing took half of its cars off the road to test the effect on air quality for the Olympics next year, the results were not announced. This was the only way you knew it was not good news.

I am in Sivakasi, Tamil Nadu, India. Tamil Nadu is the southeasternmost state. I really, really like it. Sivakasi is a relatively small town of 100,000 or so people. I am working for the only English-language publication in the town, a monthly magazine. Sivakasi is the publishing capital of India and former child labor capital of the world.

After I left the Great Wall on Friday night, I went home and slept for six hours and attempted to spend the rest of my Chinese money. I left for the airport at 6:10am and flew to Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, then to Chennai, India. I had one of the best experiences of my life on the flight from Malaysia to India. After 2 1/2 months in cities of more than 15 million people, the sky over the ocean made me cry with its beauty. I have never seen anything like it; it sounds cliche but it seemed close enough to touch and made of velvet. I have never seen the night sky in such an open space until now. The stars went all the way down to the horizon and the Milky Way was clearly visible. In China, it was a good night if five stars were visible.

A guy from the office picked me up at the airport around 10:30pm and dropped me off at a hotel where I spent the night. The ride there was taken in an Indian brand of car that looks like a 1948 Cadillac; the kind Hank Williams died in. Really fantastic. Modern looking cars are kind of rare. In town, cars are kind of rare in general.

View from the backseat:

Indian beds have no blankets or cover sheets; you just sleep on top with the ceiling fan whirring as fast as it can go. It is hot and humid, you sweat all night, but it's not THAT bad. Windows are generally open, with bars across them if it's a hotel or fancy decorative concrete if it's a home. The bugs here aren't too bad so far, I've only got about five bites. Bugs and the occasional lizard just kind of wander in and out of the building at their leisure. The horn honking and traffic here is much worse than in China. Honking your horn is a part of driving; drivers are just letting everyone know their exact whereabouts. They probably honk about 10 times a minute but I don't find it annoying, it's pretty necessary because there are no lanes but a lot of types of vehicles-- trucks, autos, rickshaws, bikes, motorcycles.. anyway, I woke up a few times to the horns, starting around 5:30, then finally succumbed at 9 and stumbled towards the bathroom, still half-asleep. I slept with the bathroom door closed because that was how I found it, and when I opened it, a flock of pigeons and I scared the living daylights out of each other. They flew out the barred window and I took my shower/bath out of a bucket. It's actually pretty easy and reminds me of when I was like four and being bathed by someone else because you use a big cup-like thing to pour water over yourself.

We took a train 8 hours south from Chennai to Madurai. It was interesting to watch the scenery for the first four hours, but exceedingly boring after that since it was about my 28th hour of travel over the two-day period. After that was a 2-hour car ride (also in Indian Cadillac) to Sivakasi. The autos have no seatbelts and the drivers are keen on passing straight into oncoming traffic. The horn honks and the high beams go on-off-on-off-on-off. They turn their brights on when there are other cars around and use the lowbeams when there is no traffic.

Most people speak at least some English here (remnants of British colonialism) but the preferred language is Tamil. However, the accents are so different that the man who picked me up at the airport and I found it quite difficult to understand each other. I am used to deciphering a Chinese accent and he is more used to British. Almost everyone can read English but speaking is rarer. There is MUCH less staring than in China so far and people are far friendlier. I went on a tour of the town last night. The women and little girls find me infinitely interesting and will wave 20 times in a row, especially from buses and say, "HIIII!!! HELLO!! HIIII!!!" I haven't gotten any Indian clothes yet so part of this might be because my calves are showing in the skirts I brought.

I am staying with a family. Their house is very clean. There is a father, a mother and three daughters aged 20, 14 and 11, I think. The father prints Bible covers for the local church. He leaves at 4am everyday to do this. I think the mother must be a seamstress because there are four sewing machines in their front room. They are middle class and the oldest daughter goes to the local women's college. The family is Christian and have Jesus stickers all over the house. One on each door and some on the cabinets. A couple of them are like the sparkle-glitter kind you would get out of a vending machine at a bowling alley. I am living with three other women in the upstairs part of the house. One is from Switzerland, one from Germany and one from Nashville. The homes in the neighborhood all look out over each other; we can sit on the roof at two different levels and look at the stars. It's utterly fantastic. The one from Nashville is heavily involved in the music industry. It's weird because we kind of do the same thing and both for no reason at all... in short, try to get publicity for bands. She is more methodical about it than I am; actually befriending A&R people and mailing stuff out and has worked for record companies and BMI. I find it half-interesting and half disgusting to hear her talk. I guess that's my feeling about the music industry in general.

I feel a little weird about staying with the family because they practically wait on us. They cook three meals a day (we go home for two hours at lunch, from 1 to 3) and the oldest daughter serves, a little like a waiter in a restaurant. The food is fantastic and practically everyone here is vegetarian. The restaurants along the side of the road say "Non-veg" if they serve meat because that is the oddity, not the other way around! I never know what I am eating but it's all been good and usually yellow or brown. One popular south Indian dish is called "dosai" which is a huge flat piece of thin breadlike stuff that you dump a couple of sauces onto, one tomato-y and one coconut-y and spread it around, then bread into pieces to eat. Aside from the good-tastingness of the food, eating in India is vaguely like my biggest hypochondriac nightmare come true. Everyone eats with their hands (harder than it sounds), for every meal and doesn't wash them first. No silverware at all. Restaurants and kitchens have a sink nearby where you rinse off at at the end. The fact that you must eat with your right hand (left is reserved for the bathroom) makes it even harder for me; I'm so messy! (i am left handed)

I think I will get sick soon. I really hate being sick, with a severe passion ... the only bright side of it is the end when I feel invincible because of the raised white blood cell count. For about three days after I'm sick, I feel invincible and touch anything and everything I want! And then rub my eyes or scratch my ear, and I can't get sick because I was just sick.

I ride a bike to work. It is the heaviest bike I have ever met.

Kuala Lumpur

2007-09-08T17:42:00.000+09:30

I have about four hours to kill at the Kuala Lumpur, Malayasia airport until I get my connecting flight to Chennai, India. These very nice Malaysians have free internet access at their unbusy airport. I've never been to a country like this before, it seems like their only source of income is tourism and fancy prints on silk. Most of the people here are Muslim with head coverings and whatnot. They're looking at me a little funny but I think I dressed conservatively enough in a t-shirt and longish skirt so it might just be because my shirt is black and my skirt is brown.

On the plane here, they had Islam prayer pamphlets for free-- just like traveling in America! Hah

The sights of Beijing were super. In the last week, I hiked six miles along the Great Wall, went to the Forbidden City, an observatory from the 1400s (space geek) and a Taoist temple. I will write more about Beijing when I have the photos online since it's more interesting to have visuals.

Dangerous blues

2007-09-04T22:02:00.000+09:30

I started taking my anti-malarial pills for India and Ghana on Saturday. One of the side effects is supposedly crazy dreams and mild hallucinations. When I woke up this morning, there was a tiny gremlin sitting on the dresser. This should be an interesting few months.

I went to Tiannamen Square today and all I could think about was blood on the ground. The Forbidden City is at the northernmost end of the square. It is where the emperors lived and now the entrance is marked by a humongous portrait of Mao.

I have been watching this video of Lou Reed a lot, like three times a day. At first, I thought it was poorly filmed and far inferior to the album version but now I think it's completely brilliant and superior in all possible ways.

In Beijing

2007-09-01T19:10:00.000+09:30

I'm in Beijing and I already like it 80 times better than Shanghai. The train got in at 6:30am and I took the subway to the hostel without too much trouble aside from the fact that my bag is supremely heavy!! I am on the free internet they have here; I got in about 8am. The subway here is really primitive, they use paper tickets which you give to a woman before you go down the stairs; there are no turnstiles.

Above Qianmen subway station; honoring workers

I slept from 9am to 1pm because I wasn't able to sleep much on the train despite being in a bed. The train last night was pretty interesting. I couldn't see anything out the window because it was dark but I was in a sleeper cabin with four beds and three other people who were all Chinese. Two women and a 12-year old boy who found me very interesting! He spoke a little bit of English, just what he had learned at school-- more than my Chinese so that's how we communicated. He asked, "Do you have friend in Beijing?" and I said, "One." He wrote, "I am your friend?" and gave me two rocks. I gave him a Singles pin and a BSR sticker and showed him a video of the What Cheer? Brigade which he thought was hilarious. He wants me to call and email them.

My friend, Jinhua/English name Jerry

When I woke up this afternoon, I went walking around the area. The hostel is near some hutongs, which are the backstreets/lanes with all sorts of hidden enclaves, just the sort of scene that you think of when you think of China. Some people called "Helloooo!" so I would say "Nihao!" One older guy knew a bit more English though and said "Where are you from?" I said, "United States" and he said, "Ahh. A long time ago, I fought for China with North Korea." We were both smiling; he only had one tooth. I was amazed to meet him, especially on a random walk my first day in Beijing. I wasn't sure what to say so said, "Really? Wow.. well, we are friends now." He liked that and told his friends what I said and said, "Yes! Friends."

Other than the hutongs, the area is a little touristy but the commercialism here doesn't even vaguely approach Shanghai. In the tourist areas of Shanghai, it is always "Hello, lady? Bag? Watch? Bag? Watch? Bag?" in rapid succession. Here, it is "Hello, sir. Take a look. Come in and take a look." As soon as you do, they pick up the most expensive item within arms length to show you. Shake your head and the next thing that appears is the tackiest item in the shop.

Many of the stores around here carry reproduced 1960s and 70s propaganda posters of Mao and Stalin. At first, I was a little taken aback by the overt communism (the antithesis to the 'Vote or Die' T-shirts?) but I think it's actually capitalism-ization of Communism in progress. Weird..

The nearest subway station to hear is the southernmost end of Tiannamen Square, which is very close to where Chairman Mao's body is on display. When I first got to China, I had no idea Mao would still be everywhere. I think it is mostly state pushed. My friend Leo told me people or our generation have very few opinions about him-- they don't think about him; it is relevant to their parents, not them. This makes a little bit of sense to me if compared to America... most of the people I know my age could care less about Nixon (who is actually very well regarded here as he was the first American president to acknowledge the "new" Chinese government in 1972 with a visit, 23 years after the Communists came to power) but Nixon also did not cause the deaths of 30 million of his countrymen. At the same time, Leo wanted to know what Americans think of Mao and was truly shocked when I said scary.

MSG, puppies, coke nails and going to Beijing

2007-08-30T15:34:00.000+09:30

Today will be my last day at work here. The usual group went to lunch at Bo Cheng Small Kitchen (where we always go) and I learned about the horrors of MSG (monosodium glutamate) and how it is in almost every single food in China... GREAT. Now I've been fiendishly reading about it on wikipedia and getting really disturbed... it's in almost everything in America, too. Gross.

Then we visited with the cutest puppy in the world who lives in that block's cigarette store.

Fluff.

This is Fox, he is the tech guy. He doesn't like to have his picture taken. Many of the men in China have long pinky nails like he has. For the first 3 weeks, I thought the coke nails of the 1980s had become some kind of weird male fashion trend here 20 years later, but it actually just signifies that they don't do manual labor.

Tomorrow night, I'm taking the overnight sleeper train to Beijing and will arrive around 7am there... which is 7pm Friday night for most of you... I'm staying at a hostel near Qianmen. Plans include getting my Ghanaian visa, visiting the Great Wall and the Forbidden City, going to two or three shows, possibly seeing Mao's body (they have him on display just like Lenin) and going to Taoist temples. Then to India on the 8th. I don't know what my internet access is going to be like in Beijing so this might not get updated again till the 10th or 11th.

Blood moon

2007-08-29T18:46:00.000+09:30

I obviously did not take this photo; I don't have a camera that fancy!

The majority of China had a lunar eclipse yesterday. I went to pick up my complementary mooncakes at the St. Regis Hotel. A classy joint full of white people-- men who golfed during the day and small children wearing polo shirts. China has some sort of weird inferiority complex; I think this must be one of the only countries in the world where foreigners are treated better than natives. I can go anywhere I want, aside from some back lanes where I obviously don't "belong" without questioning but anyone who looks Asian will be questioned by the guards who are at the entrance to all apartment complexes, office buildings and the like. And they're probably tracking them on the street cameras, too. Then again, someone at the Intelligence Ministry is probably reading this sentence, sooo... yeah.

Anyway, mooncakes are for the mid-Autumn festival which is in honor of the events of 1949. People visit places of national pride and celebrate. Mooncakes sound much better than they are... when I first heard about them, I was expecting something like cupcakes. Instead, mooncakes are small pastries with the density of bricks and filled with such delights as red bean paste, egg yolk and a single almond, and sesame seed paste. MMMMMMMM. Each filling has a meaning and tradition I don't know about and are presented to friends, neighbors and business associates. Actually, they're not THAT bad but cupcakes rule way harder even if they don't have the history of mooncakes.

So, I picked up my free mooncakes (retail value=138RMB) in their fancy box with a traditional Chinese countryside scene on it and walked two miles home under the blood moon and heat lightning.

Look at some pictures

2007-08-28T16:52:00.000+09:30

Last night, I was at work till 7 trying to finish the propaganda art article so didn't get home till 8:30. The design team was still here when I left. Worlds was on TV when I got home and it was fantastic to watch track without Carol Lewis screaming into the microphone. They showed the ENTIRE men's 10K and kept the clock running until well after the Ethiopians won.

We have an editorial meeting tomorrow and somehow I am ending up in the October magazine, in which the majority of work will be done when I'm already in Beijing and India, more than the last two months combined. Sure.. my thrilling topics include Reality TV shopping and reality TV in taxis, the buskers, and some other stuff I don't remember and Local Talk on a particular street. I went there this morning to do the research for it and LUCKY ME, it was rightnearreallycloseto............. :

This was probably my last visit with it so I stayed as long as I could bear the heat.

Some photos of typical Shanghai stuff... this is an attempt to explain why "megastores" like Wal-Mart do not turn a profit in China. They can get everything they need right down the street and all the stores are next door to each other. There's no waiting in line unless it's a very busy time and if you need something special like a bike, you can buy it from your local bike repairman; there's one who sets up shop in the middle of the sidewalk about once every five blocks. The prices are usually less than Wal-Mart.

Tea shop:

Next to a shop of random stuff:

Next to food:

Which is next to fruit:

and like that.

I hung out with John this morning and gave him the Rolling Stone Jilane sent me, he was very happy and was more interested in the ads than the content. He wanted to know what Coke Zero was and why they don't have it in China, and how much hemp shoes cost and how much a laptop costs. Then there was a photo of Hendrix burning his guitar at Woodstock and he was really into that but said he had never seen the video of it.

Riding the subway on Sunday. Most of it is underground but some parts of Line 4 and 3 aren't:

Calligraphy display near home. Newspapers for the public to read are also posted here everyday:

Subs singer:

Dinner last night. Does it look oily? Because it is! Handpulled noodles from a street vendor; 4RMB=$0.57.

Front of Jing'an su:

Dazibao. Very lucky to have seen this; very rare. Secret photography is my new specialty... These are public denunciations of friends, neighbors and family as rightists during the Cultural Revolution. The pieces of paper were posted in a public area then people wrote and wrote. You can see the emotion.

Subs and double translating

2007-08-27T18:28:00.000+09:30

On Saturday, I attempted to watch my friend Anna at the World T&F Championships on TV but the Chinese preferred to show endless pingpong and badminton sooo I sat around till nighttime then went to see a Beijing band called Subs at 4Live with Lorenza. The music was ok but the stage presence was quite good; the singer is like Karen O of the Yeah Yeah Yeah's twin sister and she's got all those moves, too.

On Sunday, I rode the subway all around town till I almost fainted; right around hour 4...

This is my last week at Talk and I'm very busy trying to finish the assignments they want me to do for the October issue before I leave plus trying to my own stuff and Maggie wants me to edit some English she translated. I see now that the articles in Chinese are MUCH more propaganda-y than what they print in English. This is before my editing because the underlying message is clearer this way; it took me about an hour and a half to fluent-Englishize it:

"Chen Zhigang, a Chinese-American, works in the fur and wool business in New York. He owns a variety of shops in which to sell the high quality furs and wools. Mrs. Chen is the chief engineer of a manufacturing plant which transforms the furs for use in automobiles. She is also the owner of Zhongkai Estate.

Years ago, I heard that people could see how they spent their time.

When I met Mr. and Mrs. Chen at the City Lights Centre of Zhongkai, those words came to mind immediately. The clock moved quickly while they shared their wise words and their movements indicated times passed. The couple chatted casually and held hands as they left for the gym in their workout clothes.

Mr. Chen is ever the businessman in a red-striped T-shirt; he moves gently and gracefully. Mrs. Chen embodies a scholar; she is meek and refined in clean and fitted light gray shorts. Mr. Chen smiles and says, “We are an old couple who are back on vacation to visit. We just hope that we can have a relaxing time.”

Although they are over sixty years old, they are still lively and in high spirits. One cannot help but imagine how romantic the couple must have been in their youth. Old memories stir a bright smile on Mrs. Chen’s face.

About forty years ago, when they were both students at Shanghai Light Industries College, Mr. Chen was the chairman of the Student Union. He gave a speech to welcome new students and saw a cute girl in the audience staring at him. The meeting may have been destiny’s pull, for the chairman gazed back at the smart and graceful girl and after graduation, they were married.

Even now, the two remain a perfect couple with excellent temperament for each other. Time continues to pass but does little to cool the the love and affection between them.

In the first twenty years of their lives, they studied at school, met each other, and supported each other in all endeavors. Over their next twenty years together, they were both employed by large local enterprises. The Chens devoted the prime years of their lives to China. At the time, people were supposed to live their lives simply, but a shedding of the old ways occurred when they were about forty years old. Mrs. Chen was able to go abroad to study in the United States and she was soon followed by Mr. Chen. There, they started a business from scratch and within a decade, their business was worldwide.

When the Chens got New York the first time, there were many business opportunities but none of them quite appealed to the couple. Chinese businesses there prospered but nearly all of them were restaurants, supermarkets and similar types of manual work. The Chens knew this was not the sort of work for them as they were already almost fifty years old. Instead, they used their courage and experience to tap into a potential market.

They took aim at the high-end wool market. The hardest part, initially, was finding the correct marketing outlet, comparing the supplies of goods and locating prospective buyers. To combat these difficulties, Mr. and Mrs. Chen opened up their own business in order to meet the demands of the high quality wool market.

After 9/11, many shops on 7th Street in New York closed because the location is quite close to where the World Trade Towers stood. Smartly, the Chens took this chance to expand their business and confidence in the local market recovered rapidly. Business kept improving and they began to not only manufacture wool but also furs. When fur manufacturing first began in China, many of New York’s fur tradesmen were supercilious towards Chinese fur production. However, the Chens have now taken the upperhand as their shops are all over the high-end shopping malls of New York, Connecticut, Virginia and Maryland.

Some people say they were just lucky but nowadays lucky people also need a clear mind and courage aside from basic opportunities to get ahead in the world.

The Chens often suggest that Chinese producers sell their product in the U.S. but many are hesitant due to the import tax the U.S. inflicts upon Chinese products. At their urging, many producers visited the U.S. to assess the business environment but quickly withdrew their plans.

Is there anything to be afraid of? Mr. Chen still remembers the hard work they did at the beginning. Looking back over the last decade, that time seems to be just a drop in the bucket compared to everything that has happened since.

Time has treated them well not only physically but has also widened their world perspective and given them a special sort of spiritual richness.

The house that Mr. Chen bought for about $1 million USD over ten years ago when they first came to New York is already worth $4 million now. Mr. Chen thinks the current Shanghai is just like New York was then.

Time makes people sensible. Mr. Chen smiles as he says, “Eyes on the prize for the long run but ideas must change with the times. I hope Shanghainese can soon live as well as the people who are abroad.”

Now, Mr. and Mrs. Chen are usually quite relaxed when they come to China. They settle down in a delicately designed apartment in Zhongkai. In Shanghai, the first thing they do is go to the Town God’s Temple for a small steamed bun, then it’s off to the Nanjing Barbershop for physical rejuvenation. They also enjoy the quiet community center and friendly atmosphere of the local gym. Their activities bring to mind the Chinese poem by Tao Yuanming which says people should enjoy a leisurable life and ought not be bothered by that which doesn’t concern them.

Despite their success, Mr. and Mrs. Chen still remain busy with their business. They have led the fast-paced and aggressive life of the American business world for many years but their hearts remain full with Chinese wisdom: high ideals and a soft pace of life. These two styles combine within their hearts to create a beautiful and happy life."

Look... babies in drawers at the nursery:

Life and times at the propaganda museum

2007-08-23T16:48:00.000+09:30

I am growing obsessed with tense in my writing. "Is everything in the same tense? Does this make sense? NO!! This is present, not past!" There is very little editing at the magazine so I want to make sure everything is perfect. There's no spell check on the computer so I catch typos by eye.

Yesterday, I left work early to interview the man who runs the propaganda poster art museum. He invited me to come back this morning to hear the lecture he was scheduled to give to the American Women's Club of Shanghai. Both experiences were very good and I hope to sell the article to a publication in the United States. My editor thinks I am writing it for here but I don't think it will get printed here so I'm just putting whatever I want into it. He emailed me yesterday and said, “You sure have a knack for picking the borderline subjects!” or something like that. That's me, always rocking the boat... I don't really think so but I guess my interests do extend beyond wondering what the next soft opening of a club is so we can party and get booze for free. The owner of the publication liked the busker piece enough to print it, so I am lucky in that regard as it's not their typical fare. This is a “high class” joint.

The American Women's Club of Shanghai was exactly what I was expecting it would be. Women in their 40s, 50s, 60s and occasionally 30s, mostly from the midwest, doing woman-y things. They were all very nice and I received an invitation to join. I don't think so though I do enjoy the domesticier side of life on occasion. My ambition at age 11 was to be a 1950s housewife. (Un?)coincidentally, 70% of the club is from Michigan. I haven't had so much midwestern hospitality or heard so much English in one spot in a long time, it was totally overwhelming! "So, how long have you been here? What are you doing? Where do you live? Are you here with your spouse? No? Alone! My goodness, well, we do have a few career girls in the club so please join! We do all sorts of things around Shanghai."

I've been listening to a live Breeders song for the last four days. KIM DEAL RULES

Not much to say

2007-08-22T15:43:00.000+09:30

My friend, Mike, works at a hospital in Shanghai. Last week, he was in the nursery. This little girl was abandoned, most likely because she IS a girl. This practice is still common in China though I think less common than it used to be... Newborn boys are often referred to as "big happiness" while girls are only "small happiness." Maggie's father left their family when she was one for no reason other than the fact that the only child they would have was her, a girl.

The best part of traveling is the opportunities to interact with people you'd never meet otherwise. Lorenza, Lilly and I went for dinner last night at a Japanese restaurant in Xintiandi (touristy area built in 1930s). Lorenza is from Italy and wanted to discuss American politics. I am not a big fan of politics but it was an interesting conversation nonetheless because she has such a vast knowledge about America already. To hear her talk, it sounds like the developed world is extremely interested in the US but mostly on a superficial level (movies, TV, culture, etc.) and most of the people who say "America sucks" are doing so out of ignorance. This particularly won me over, as I feel that most Americans who say "Towelheads" or "Muslim people are terrorists" and the like are also doing so out of ignorance. She wanted to hear our take on whether Obama or Clinton would win the Democratic primary and wanted the whole concept of primaries explained because in Italy, the parties just choose their candidates and put them up for the general election without prior fanfare. Their voter turnout is quite high and she was flabbergasted at the exceedingly low turnout we have in America because she feels it is the greatest democracy in the world.
Lorenza was there when Hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans and got a direct taste of the state of race relations in America today. She said she was very surprised because she thought all that was over in the States. This led directly into education and right back into just who, exactly, doesn't vote and why. The other thing that shocked her about America was the Second Amendment and how prevalent guns are.. all I could do was recite the historical background and why the minimal language of it makes it so easily quotable for rightists and thus will probably never change. Our last topic was health care: why so many are uninsured, why the government doesn't provide health care, lobbyists, drug companies, why Bill Clinton was elected and his attemps at health care reform and why they failed...

The thing I always hate discussing politics is not the actual content but the fact that everyone thinks they know better than the person next to them. Sentences are cut off and ears shut rapidly. It's hardly worth having a conversation when someone is not listening, only mouthing off about what they're SO SURE they know, or doing it for so long and so loudly that no one else can get a word in edgewise.

I had cucumber sushi and learned from the menu that it exists due to folklore about a Japanese sea monster who loved cucumbers.

Speaking of race, these dolls are in many of the "kitschy" shops here. They seem rather offensive to me but maybe they hold a purpose I don't know about.

Have I mentioned I'm really looking forward to Beijing? I was reading about it in the guidebook and they have EIGHT Taoist temples there. I still have not been able to find one in Shanghai. I'm almost to the point where I'm tempted to say Taoist when someone asks me my religion.. I think I already live in the Taoist fashion. It's not a religion where you have to worship idols or have to go to a temple.. balance in life and meditation before decision are more important; a sort of "laissez-faire" approach to life.. things will happen as they happen and their effect on the individual is what they make of it. It's a more peaceful way of living.

Sunset over Pudong after work yesterday

Dining in China and the rise of punk

2007-08-20T15:57:00.000+09:30

I spent the majority of the weekend sitting by the river.

On Saturday night, I met Maggie for dinner at a Japanese restaurant and on Sunday to the dumpling place with Lily, Lorenza (awesome new Italian who has spent the last month traveling through India). With Maggie, we had green noodles with a small amount of cheese and red hot sauce, some kind of flattened egg pizza with hot green leaves in the middle and vegetable salad. Eating salad with chopsticks was weird.

On Sunday, Lorenza and I went to the English language bookstore where I bought the longest book I could think of since I've already read the five I brought, two for work and some of them twice. So... I will be tackling War and Peace at some point in the next few months.. I also bought A Tale of Two Cities and The War of the Worlds.

At dinner that night, we got vegetable dumplings, flat doughy egg pizza-like thing and green stalks with tiny mushrooms. The dumpling place specializes in Northern Chinese food. I think the Chinese food in America is more like Cantonese (southern; nearer Hong Kong).

Dining in China is quite different than in America. You order a few dishes then everyone puts a little from each on their own small plate. It's odd if you each order one thing each for yourself. Chopsticks for everything and it's rude if you put the food right from the communal plate into your mouth; set it down on your mini-plate first. Green tea at almost every meal; water is expensive and difficult to come by at restaurants and bars. Most people on the street eat watermelons when they're thirsty because it's cheaper than bottled water and safer than tap water. Restaurants are SERVICE affairs, as it's expected they will be quick with your food. They bring each dish out as it's done and you start eating as soon as it gets there even if not everybody has their food yet. Spilling, slurping, putting your face down by the plate and elbows on the table are not a big deal. I've realized my American manners are a bit out the window because whenever someone new comes I wonder why they're being so timid. When the meal is over, you raise your hand, snap or signal to the waiter or waitress to bring the check and they don't think you're a pariah. If you are dining alone or with only one or two other people, you're expected to pay before the food is served. Lastly, no tipping. We tipped the first time we went out and they thought it was hilarious!

At "alldays," the convenience store that's everywhere. Most of the goods are packaged like at a 7-11 but in the front, they unfailingly have corn on the cob in a slowcooker and the Shanghai eggs (in the back of this photo):

Marshmallows are sold in an orderly fashion:

After dinner on Saturday, I went back to 4Live to see the 1234fest preview show. Brain Failure was down from Beijing. I think they are the Chinese band with the greatest potential to hit abroad that I've seen so far. They were a bit like Social Distortion and had all the stage moves down. They must be the most popular rock band in China because the crowd was nuts and it was super hot inside. It was 60RMB for four bands (=$8.40).

Brain Failure:

Going to a show in China is a different experience because the songs are introduced in Chinese and banter with the crowd is in Chinese, so everyone will cheer and I stand there wondering what the hell just happened. In other ways, it is exactly the same. The young women are at the very front of the stage in a single row trying to rock out and catch the eye of one of the band members while avoiding getting hit by the young men behind them who start slamming into each other at the first sign of a chord combined with a drumbeat. Mosh pits are a little different here, though.. one of the features is what I call the "Ring-Around-The-Rosy Of Death." Hold hands and spin around within a huge group of people as fast as possible.

I actually liked the first band better than Brain Failure because the singer thought he was the son of Iggy Pop and the grandchild of James Dean and the guitarist obviously liked Joe Strummer.

I found this bike of cute animals walking to the metro station. She's selling them. At the top are crickets and in the little cages are everything fuzzy. Chicks, ducklings, guinea pigs and bunnies. FUZZY

I really enjoyed the river ... and then I noticed there are cameras. Like, I'm just trying to sit on the wall and think about white dolphins and listen to some 1938 Orson Welles radio drama... ok?! They're everywhere if you look (lower lefthand corner).

A typhoon [hurricane] hit Taiwan over the weekend. It was pretty windy here but I've had worse in Providence. Stole this photo of Sepat coming into Taiwan:

Early Saturday morning, around 5:30am, there was someone on the other side of the river who exchanged waves with me. On the way to work today, I passed an old, toothless woman and smiled and she smiled back and said, "Hello" and I said, "Nihao" and these both made me really happy!

Kevin Sullivan and how publishing works in China

2007-08-17T15:09:00.000+09:30

I was walking in search of the English language bookstore yesterday and happened upon this:

Kevin Sullivan (best Canadian distance runner, trained in Ann Arbor for a long time and went to U of Mich. for the un-running knowledgable) is famous here?! No...

Big scandal in the office today: all the doors are locked and we have to use ID cards because two "suspicious" characters have been walking around the reception area and the bottom floor but have not gone upstairs. "They are maybe stealing something from the company!" says Denmark, the fun receptionist.

In China, publishers apply for approval from the government. I'm sure most of the approvals are a result of guanxi (Party connections). Once approved, publishers can produce as many publications as they want or can afford to. Our publisher is Ismay, and they publish the magazine I work for and a Chinese language newspaper. They're trying to launch another newspaper right now, too. If foreign publications want to sell in China, it's much easier and faster for them to partner with an already-approved Chinese publisher. This is what Rolling Stone tried to do in 2005 but were shut down after the first issue hit the stands. The "backlash" must have been too strong because even when a publisher is approved, each individual issue must also be approved. The next month's issue of our magazine is submitted to the "Publishing Bureau" on the 20th of the month. We get it back within a few days and are made aware of anything that needs to be pulled (this is what happened to my book review on "Madame Chiang Kai-shek"). Most of the censorship is an exercise in predicting what won't make it through and changing it in advance. This happened to my busker piece. Busking is technically illegal here and the first thing I submitted, I was informed, did not put enough (or any) of a "this is a bad thing to do. Don't support it." spin on the practice. No reasons are ever given for official censorship.

I think I have some graphic design friends... speaking of our publisher, they are looking to hire a foreign designer for both graphic and product design. So, if any of you artist types want to come to Shanghai, here's a chance!

Things I suck at

2007-08-16T18:11:00.000+09:30

American chains in Shanghai in order of prevalence:
1. KFC
2. Pizza Hut
3. Starbucks
4. McDonald's
5. Wal-Mart
6. Burger King

One thing I definitely don't miss is driving on a highway and getting off at an exit in one state then driving another four hours to finding the exact same strip.

China is the secret master of:
1. umbrellas
2. Fudgsicles- best ever and only $0.16 or $0.32.

Shanghai is the flattest place I've ever been. This includes Ohio.

There's a course at my sports high school called "Humanities." It encompasses the history of the world with a focus on art. I avoided it and said, "Ah, too hard!" and now I keep getting assigned to write articles about art museum exhibitions. So, I madly wikipedia the different periods in an effort to sound like I know what I'm talking about. Romanticism? Enlightenment? What... ? I write things like, "Beautiful and muted, the piece features soft edges and a man biting a baby."

Last night I lay on the wall by the river and looked at the seven visible stars and thought about when my astronomer dream fell to the wayside. It was right around the time we were expected to know fractions in 4th grade... 5/8!?!? And I only have a 1/3 cup?! Way too hard. Really, though, I didn't understand fractions until college and I don't think I could cross multiply or divide them with each other right now if my life depended on it. Decimals are, and always will be, where it's at. Yes, I, too, am surprised that I got an economics degree.

I now love instant powdered instant soup. I discovered it yesterday. Just add hot water and stir a little bit and it's so good and only 5.20RMB=less than $1. You know, 5.2/7.

Fake blindness and famous track star

2007-08-15T16:08:00.000+09:30

As far as I can tell, the two most famous people in China are Yao Ming (NBA player) and Liu Xiang, the 110m hurdler who stole the gold in Athens. Liu Xiang, especially, is everywhere. The pressure is really on him to repeat in Beijing and I hope he does because I think he will feel great shame otherwise... the Chinese athletes are really under a lot of pressure for 2008!

I am attempting to write a profile on a local blind busker for Talk. Maggie and I hunted for them last night for hours but only found two which sucked because usually I see at least four or five if I'm walking around for that long. I think our mistake was that we went to People's Square which is the busiest metro station in Shanghai and thus has the most security kicking people out who obstruct traffic. Things aren't going very well for the article because the buskers are almost all from out of town and speak poor Mandarin but rich dialect so she can't understand what they're saying. We did interview one couple, usual suspects with the woman leading the blind man around by the arm but the longer we spoke, the greater the crowd was that gathered to wonder why the hell we were talking to these two, and the more apparent it became that the guy wasn't actually blind... he had his hat pulled way down below his eyes but kept lifting his head for "no reason" (to look at me). They're from Anhui Province which is a little west of here but wouldn't give their name or anything really all that interesting. I don't know if I'm going to be able to do this because of the language problems and everyone being so suspicious and Maggie thinking I'm crazy for wanting to do it in the first place.

This is what it looks like when you hit the Great Firewall. And you think, "Gee, that's funny, I was just on that website [wikipedia, livejournal, lotsofnoise, gmail, flickr] yesterday, where could it have gone...! If it's something which has become sensitive in the last two days, then it's just a completely blank page that comes up really quickly and you feel guilty for even googling or baiduing it.

Near where I live on Back Wanhangdu Lu:

Shanghai steamed dumplings mmmmm this is pretty modern and heavy duty, most of them are a little smaller and just wood like you see underneath:

Noise Propaganda + Olympic Food River

2007-08-14T14:55:00.000+09:30

Big Brother continues to dominate with facial recognization on-the-street capabilities and high-tech enforcement of the one child policy

It was a music-filled weekend.. I found some more shows to go to. The nice thing about shows in China is that it's expected that the bands share the drumkit, so that takes away most of the set up and break down time. Carsick Cars and Snapline came down from Beijing to play so I interviewed them both, plus Muscle Snog, a local noise band. Carsick Cars was set to open for Sonic Youth in Beijing in April but were pulled from the bill by the government at the last minute so didn't get to play. Sonic Youth is taking them on a small European tour at the end of the month, which is an excellent consolation prize because it is so hard to get out of the country. CC is in the same spirit as SY and the Velvet Underground.. they actually closed with "All Tomorrow's Parties," sung in a Chinese accent. About half of CC's songs are in English, the other half are in Chinese. Snapline is a step back in time to 1970s RISD... they sound and move just like the Talking Heads! Awesome.

The thing about young men I meet here is that they almost always have some "crappy" low-paying for US, mid-paying for China, job but have a graduate degree in nuclear physics or mathematics or astrophysics or some other super smart thing I don't even know the name of. This is the case for Snapline's singer, who moves like Mick Jagger bred with Brian Eno but has the brain of Albert Einstein's son.

Speaking of men, I got asked out on a date just walking down the street by a Nigerian who is here studying Mandarin. When he told me where he was from, the very first thing I thought of was that he probably wanted me to send $1000 to receive up to $1 million in return (ye olde Nigerian internet business scam)... I couldn't help it. Bad.

Carsick Cars at 4Live Bar

Muscle Snog at 4Live Bar

Saturday day, Snapline and Carsick Cars were doing an in-store at some sort of artsy T-shirt co-op type shop, so I went to that, as well. It seems to only rain here on the weekend, and only when I'm trying to go somewhere new so that I'm bound to get lost and unable to pull out the map without making it a huge production of finding an awning and setting down the umbrella and wringing out my invariably-soaking-wet-dress-despite-the-beautiful-umbrella. I interviewed both of the bands at this show because I couldn't find them after the one at the bar. This one was pretty good because they all spoke English well but it's a little hard to interview 8 people at once, plus I don't have much interview experience, so I'm afraid some of the band members left feeling neglected and I came off as super nervously giggly.

Snapline at ENO

Saturday night, I went to see Boojii, the other band of one of the members of Muscle Snog. They were playing at a really chill Red Fez-like place. [Red Fez is a restaurant/bar in Providence that has red lighting and monkey fez and serves only dishes involving cheese]. The good part was the venue, the bad part was the fact that the DJ would play for an hour in between bands. The first DJ was ok and played the Supremes but the second one played 80s Chinese pop. I got there at 10:30 but Boojii wasn't on until 12 so I wandered down the street and found a park where I solidified my reputation as Creepy Foreigner being that I was the only one there who wasn't part of a young couple Almost Making Out on the benches or rocks by the water, nor was I a middle aged man sitting with other middle aged men. I sat on the rocks by a beautiful pond for a long time, then walked through the woods a little bit and again appreciated how much safer the streets (and woods) are in China. A man came up behind me, then swerved his head to continue staring as he passed so I said, "Nihao." Usually this is enough to make them embarrassed and look away but this guy was enthralled and started babbling really fast in Chinese. I said, "Ah, no, sorry I don't speak Chinese," so he started drawing characters on the palm of his hand-- this somehow makes it clearer when you don't know what a word means if you know even a little bit of Chinese. There must be some sort of methodology to the character system to make this help but I have no clue what it is. I went back to the bar where a sign had appeared on the door that said, "Surprise Guest: BANANA MONKEYS" -- local band very much sounding like a mix between the Strokes and Interpol. Didn't end up staying for Boojii because I couldn't take the 80s pop anymore and it was so smoky that my eyes were stinging.

Banana Monkeys

On Sunday, I went to the propaganda poster art museum. It features the propaganda posters produced by the Communist Party from 1949 to 1979 in a large room in the basement of an apartment building. It's a bit difficult to find but really no secret because it's in all the guide books. It was very interesting to read the translations of what the posters said. They were very anti-American, especially in the 1950s and 1960s, and pro-spread of Communism. Many of the slogans were supportive of the Viet Cong, the Cuban Revolution, Korean communism, communism in Africa and the Soviets. The posters refer to Americans as imperialists and featured strong-looking Chinese ("When the Army and the People join together, they are unstoppable") rooting out hidden Kuomintang and Americans. The Americans were always portrayed much like the Japanese were portrayed in World War II-era America propaganda posters-- green-tinged, small, sickly and evil looking.

Unfailingly, the posters revered Chairman Mao. Even the explanatory signs did not fault him aside from referring to the "mistake of the Culture Revolution." I don't know much about Mao but I understand a little better after having read the Madame Chiang Kai-shek book and visited the museum. It's clear to me that most of the people here don't care much for politics, perhaps even less so than in the US-- it's just not something that effects them. Based on the little I know, I don't think Mao was an evil man... he wanted the best for the people but as they say, "The road to hell is paved with good intentions." There were also two posters that supported the black rights movement and anti-Vietnam War demonstrations in America-- I think not for any true ideological reasons but just because anything to upset American society was valued. "Firmly support US black people's justice struggle" and "Firmly support US people against US imperialism invading Vietnam," both from 1966. The only visitors to the museum were white, no Chinese.

The majority of China's population is not too interested in the Olympics. They see it as something for people with money and not for them, like much of what is advertised and on the news in China. They don't believe it will bring any benefits for them. Maggie thinks it's bad for China to have the Olympics, she feels they are not ready as a society, cost is too great and it will make China look bad. On CCTV9 yesterday, they said that China will be fully industrialized by 2010 but I feel this is a load of crap.. the cities will be but the countryside is still very different from the cities, especially economically. Read some more about it... The writing's a bit trite but whatever, it's ESPN. The pollution was really bad in Shanghai over the weekend. The new flat is on the 14th floor, so we were right in the midst of it. Beijing is taking 1.3 million cars off the road for a few days this week to see what will happen to the air quality, testing for next year.

Part cloud, part smog

I've mentioned before how Taiwan is a sensitive issue here. I also want to say that if Taiwan seems like a sensitive issue, then Tibet is something NOT TO BE DISCUSSED. The only time Tibet has been on the news has been to show people looking really happy and celebrating Tibetan-style. Culture is ok, politics is not. Four Canadians were deported last week for protesting China's claim over Tibet, IN TIBET. This didn't make the news here, I found out on the internet.

This is what I had for dinner on Saturday. Kimuchi & seaweed vegetable noodles at Ajisen Ramen (Shanghai Chinese/Japanese mix chain). Good but a bit spicy for my tastes. Chopsticks are used with everything, I don't consider using a fork, even at home.. the trip is an exercise in different eating styles because here is all chopsticks and in Ghana it is impolite to use your left hand to eat ("left hand reserved for toilet" says the lore). I'm left-handed...

Last night, I sat on the communal sitting area for our building (right by the river). I listened to Marissa Nadler and Hank Williams and Auto de Fa and Mattie May Thomas and watched the trash float by. About twice an hour, I would hear the splash of something else being thrown in from the other side. Very polluted river; I think it's a tributary of the Huangpi, the main river cutting Shanghai in half. I was out there so long that the tide went back out, so I saw the same trash going the other way, then three barges and a tugboat went by. I sit on the wall, usually until the guards come and make hand motions mimicking me falling into the river which translates as, "Get the hell off the wall, you crazy laowei [foreigner]!" Actually, they are very nice.

Police Brutality in North Providence

2007-08-13T13:24:00.000+09:30

This is my "travel blog" but I feel I have to say something about this... my friend Alex Svoboda, one of the nicest and most caring people I know, was the victim of police brutality in North Providence over the weekend. There was a peaceful protest against labor practices for a supply company in New York and a local restaurant which used them-- Jacky's Galaxie. The North Providence police apparently decided to make an example of Alex. She was beaten and her left leg broke. She needs three surgeries to repair the damage. Really looks like someone who needs to be restrained, huh?...

I am so angry and disgusted..

Race and parks

2007-08-10T14:13:00.000+09:30

I saw a woman wearing a T-shirt today that said: "Black girls: cool and simple." It's always questionable as to whether the bearer of an English item knows what it actually means but race is a different animal here, to be sure. In western China, there are different Chinese who actually look more like Pakistani or other Middle Eastern but here in the east, nearly everyone is Han ("traditional" Chinese-looking). The homogeneity of the population makes it easy for broad generalizations of other races to be accepted as fact. Despite terrorism having not hit China, "brown" people are shied away from. Indians, especially, are thought of as being "a bit off" and people are a little taken aback when I tell them I am going to India next. Even Maggie, yesterday, said, "Do you like Indian?" I said, "Indian food, you mean?" and she said, "No, people." I was like, "Uh.. I guess so?" What's not to like? Such a strange question! Being that almost everyone will be of one race each place I'm going has made me grasp just how strange the US is in the world. There really is no other place with such diversity of race and culture.

Shanghai is the land of awesome umbrellas. I never put much thought into umbrellas, other than that I want a small one but here I see a new one everyday that I like. Even these are kind of boring but I bought one last week that's supremely excellent.

I've been enjoying the parks lately. My new flat is right next to a beautiful park called Zhongshan [zjong-shaan] and I also go to one near work called Jing'an. Parks here are amazing, way better than anywhere I've ever been in the States. My favorite aspect of Zhongshan is that no motorized vehicles or bicycles are allowed, so I can walk almost all the way to the metro stop without fear of getting run over. In China, you don't just look left and right when you cross a street, you also must look back, ahead, every possible diagonal, up and down. And even then, you will come close to getting hit. Zhongshan is part beauty, part amusement rides for kids.

There's an overhead track that goes around a small area of the park. You pedal in this little thing and get a bird's eye view of the goings-on:

In the mornings and in the evenings, retired people meet at various open spaces and dance:

Read this critique of one of the restaurants that woman I wrote an article on founded:

"I had the meatloaf in City Diner last night. Maybe it was just me but portion size seemed obscene!

Do Americans really eat like this? Or maybe City Diner is just going overboard to show how American they are?

I walked in feeling really hungry but I still couldn't finish the plate. I probably managed three quarters, if that. The experience was painful. I was determined to be all American and finish the thing. It started hurting but I carried on. Eventually though I reached a point where I thought I was going to throw up if I ate another mouthful. Throwing up at the table is not part of US dining etiquite, right?"

True true to the max... I haven't had American food since I got here. I saw some photos from the subway flooding debacle in NYC on the internet and realized how fat Americans are.. it was shocking because I haven't seen a scene like that since I left. Literally 85% of the people in the photo were obese (Brooklyn). There are some fat people in China, but I have not seen a single person who is obese. The American lifestyle is really conducive to being overweight and I think the biggest problem is the normal portion size.

Politics at the Carrefour (grocery store). This sign means, "Taiwan is right here. PART OF CHINA."

Eggs are super popular. I don't think I've seen a dish yet that doesn't involve egg.

What I would be doing anyway

2007-08-09T16:01:00.000+09:30

Today, I found out we have a website. So, you can read some of my stuff if you are so inclined...

http://talkmagazines.cn/htm/shanghai/stories/article2.html
http://talkmagazines.cn/htm/shanghai/stories/article10.html

There was more but that's all that's online.

Today is the 62nd anniversary of the atomic bomb on Nagasaki. During the move on Monday, Leo was telling me how much some of the Chinese youth still hate the Japanese... last month, five of them saw a car parked on the street and beat it to pieces just because it was a Japanese brand. World War II here is called "The War Against Japanese Aggression."

My days lately have consisted of quickly churning out pieces I don't care much about then obsessively researching Chinese music. There's a strong link between Chinese and German bands and there is a lot of superb noise. Tomorrow night, I'm going to see Carsick Cars, a group that is going on a European tour with Sonic Youth at the end of the month. Myspace is my best research friend but I'm in an office where other people are doing "real" work, the computers are from 1997 and the headphone jack doesn't work... so I can't play the music. I download it first, then listen to it on mp3 player so I have to pass by any bands who don't have at least one downloadable mp3 which is, obviously, a really lame filter system but it's all I have to go on from here.

Olympic fever is heightening here as they're less than a year away from launch. All the news remains positive (as is all news regarding anything to do with China): buildings and stadiums are completed, children dance and draw, tourists gather, anti-spitting campaign gearing up, plans to kick the beggars out of the city (this is seen as a positive), yet "strangely" no word on decreases in pollution... I really feel bad for the marathoners, I think a lot of them are going to get sick.

Summer of Distrust

2007-08-08T15:34:00.000+09:30

My very excellent friend Jilane sent me a package full of things I vaguely mentioned.. including a fine washables bag (AWESOME). I spent last night reading the 40th Anniversary Rolling Stone issue that she sent then sitting on our indoor porch listening to the Charlatans and "Strawberry Fields Forever." Rolling Stone is still capable of interesting music and period journalism-- who'd have thought? I liked David Fricke's article on Detroit the best though I felt I could have wrote it... learned the most about LA and London 1967. Pete Townsend comes across like a jerk, and how keen of them to mention the Detroit riot but not the tensions in LA at the time. I was really keen to know more about the history of the Charlatans, though, I have liked them a lot for about a year but didn't know anything about them. Reading it made me miss being somewhere where people might know what I'm talking about. I wanted to say to my roommate, "Wow, did you know Jimi Hendrix opened for the Monkees?" or "What's this about the president of Czech. being elected because of the Velvet Underground? I don't get it." but promptly realized no one gave a sh*t... I'm going to give it to John when I'm done because I think he'll like it and learn a lot and Rolling Stone isn't allowed in China.

I proposed to going to the beach this weekend to Maggie at lunch today and it came across as a completely foreign concept. If we go, this should be interesting... another foreign concept: shower curtains or doors... the water just runs straight to the floor if you move at all. There's also a drain on the floor.

I've been thinking about this list for a long time and want to share it.
Things for which I have little to no use or tolerance for:
1. hair dryers
2. blenders
3. nail clippers
4. cigars
5. musicals

I moved closer to work on Monday. The new place is really nice but I feel dirty living there because it's right next to the slums (and my roommates are really messy). I may as well be in Rising Sun Mills (luxury condo developer who displaced a lot of folks in Providence). Views from the new flat:

Huangpi River which divides the east side of the city from the west

Yesterday was the clearest day we've had since I got here but you can still see some little puffs of pollution in the sky

Mmmmmmm, instant starch

Mmmmmmm, instant chrysanthemum beverage

It's difficult to take photos here because the people in the shops and streets always think you're:

1) setting up another shop and using their pricing information
2) from the government
3) some sort of weird spy

Or, at least, that's what I've deduced they think. Even when I am photographing for the magazine I work for, I'm often turned away so I've learned to not ask first and just start snapping as fast as possible before they kick me out. I try to explain that it's free advertising to be in the magazine but I'm still met with suspicion and "Did boss tell you to come? Does boss know you are here? Stop writing down prices."

The press conference yesterday was in regards to the 42nd Street musical coming to the Shanghai stage. It was very strange because everything was said in Chinese, people clapped, then everything was said in English and the same people clapped. The two companies who made it happen spent an hour patting each other on the back and saying the same thing: "We are very happy to have made this happen. We hope to bring more American musicals to China. The Chinese people are wonderful audiences. Thank you, other partner." Clap clap clap.

I love Helmets

2007-08-07T13:34:00.000+09:30

Some westernly placed folks were going to Zapata's last night so I went along being that they host free margaritas for women between 10pm and 12am on Mondays. I had about 8 and wasn't even remotely buzzed so of course, I was getting what I paid for... limey flavored slush with a hint of tequila. Sophisticate.

I'm going to a press conference about a musical or something this afternoon. Enthralling.

Yesterday, I saw someone almost die. It was a terrible accident. A man was riding along on his motorcycle in the designated two-wheeled vehicle lane and a little divider thing came up that divides the cars from the two-wheeled and he ran straight into it and smacked right into the pavement (without a helmet, of course). The motorcycle fell onto his leg and he was out for a few seconds then tried to stagger up and pick up his bike because he knew more traffic was coming. He almost fell over again and no one was helping him!! I couldn't believe it, particularly because we were right in front of the police HQ. I didn't know what to do because I knew I would just confuse the situation with my lack of Chinese speaking. Finally, a man holding a little girl went over to him so I left but it was a really sick noise and I was really worried!

So, here's a photo of a guy in one of those equestrian helmets they rarely wear. My new photo taking tactic is to pretend like I'm taking the photo of something behind the person but actually just am interested in them. This one has Jing'an Temple in the background.

Karaoke castle.. they love karaoke. A lot.

My pipedream to be the Alan Lomax of China continues. I came upon this fellow on my way home from the North Korean film. In the middle of it, someone tells him I'm filming and I think he gets fancy then; they both thought it was very funny. He is blind and the best one I've found so far.

Torturing Nurse and North Korea

2007-08-06T14:08:00.000+09:30

After work on Friday, I went to dinner with Maggie and Bonnie. Bonnie also works in the office as part of the Chinese sales team. She's a Shanghai native and I could tell! She speaks very quickly and gets excited and laughs easily. She moved back in with her parents because it is easier for them to cook/eat that way; she didn't like going home and cooking for herself when she lived alone. We took the bus (this is a big deal for me, it is impossible to take the bus somewhere if you only speak English) to a Chinese/Japanese restaurant and I had cold green tea noodles. ... which ended up being noodles in cold green tea. It was... ok. I'm not a fan of cold soup. After dinner, I left them and finally found Live Bar. It's actually a great venue, like a mix of Redrum and AS220 (for those in Providence) or if the Lager House had a 3-story ceiling and art behind the stage (for those in Detroit). I walked into the very small place first, just like last time, to see if I had been right and it was full of drunk middle aged Chinese singing karaoke. They really wanted me to stay and pulled on my arm but I begged off. "Ah, no.. no.. xiexie.. no.. xiexie.. zaijian." [no no thanks no thanks bye ... see how smart i sound?]

The band at Live Bar on Friday was from Japan, called Ghod. They were.. not that great. The band that opened for them was really terrible, like a Korn/Limp Bizkit ripoff singing in Mandarin. The crowd on Friday was like 85-15 women, I was shocked.

Saturday was fantastic. They host a series there called NoiShanghai once a month and it features all sorts of noise bands. Two were Chinese (Torturing Nurse and Lolita Vibrator Torture) and one from Italy (with a long Italian name I will never remember). Torturing Nurse was absolutely amazing; the best performance I've seen in a long time, probably since last October... I thought it was very inspiring.

Torturing Nurse

Took some video but it is hard to see what's going on:

Group from Italy

I met a Canadian documentaryist (?) who filled me in a bit on Shanghai. Whenever I travel and go to music shows, I meet a lot of Canadians. SXSW was the same way! Canada must secretly have excellent taste in music.

This is the door to a karaoke place. They really love Santa here. Nearly all doors to homes or Chinesey businesses have adornments on the outside that were put up during the New Year so as to bring wealth and luck and whatnot. I'm not sure if they know what Santa's all about or if they just think he looks happy and cool and lucky:

On Sunday, I went to a free screening of a documentary made by two UK filmmakers about an American named Dresnok who lives in North Korea. He defected from the US Army during the Korean War, walked to the other side, and has lived there ever since. I thought it was extremely interesting and well done. I want to go to North Korea now (it is open to tourists, which I didn't know until a few months ago) but it is rather expensive and there seems to be a slight danger of being kidnapped to breed non-Korean looking spies. There were four soldiers who defected in all. They were used extensively in propaganda films and posters by the North Koreans up through the 1980s. He said it was difficult for them upon first arriving because it was SO different from America; like nothing they had ever known. The Koreans were brought up to hate Americans thoroughly and addressed them as "American bastards." Initially, they broadcasted messages via loudspeaker over the DMZ (demilitarized zone in between the two) to the America soldiers: "Come to North Korea, join us. We are treated extremely well and have all the food, girls and cigarettes we want. Life is wonderful here." The film also speculates that the North Korean government kidnapped wives for them from Japan, Indonesia and Romania. The interviews with Dresnok were the most interesting parts aside from wide shots of North Korean fanaticism. He said that one can get used to living anywhere, it is just the adjustment period that varies. I think this is true.

The filmmakers were there and said it has been very difficult to get distribution in America because the film didn't portray the soldiers as traitors well enough. They also said that whenever they leave, the North Koreans view the footage they took and confiscate it if it's something they don't like. They have enough connections now that this doesn't happen very often. Learned: a treaty was never signed between North and South Korea. They just split off and ceased fighting. The DMZ remains "the scariest place in the world," to quote Bill Clinton. North Korean diplomats are only allowed to travel within a 25-mile radius from their embassy in the United States. I actually wish I had brought Maggie with me because it would have been interesting to hear what she thought of the film.. we don't really talk about serious subjects but it is obvious to me that our political upbringing is quite different. She's nearly fluent in English but didn't know the meaning of the word "mayor" nor really grasped my explanation.

Here are the filmmakers speaking about the process:

The longer I am here, the more I wish I spoke at least one Asiatic language. It's very limiting to only speak one language.

Afternoon storm rolling in

2007-08-03T18:54:00.000+09:30

Really dark!

The exchange

2007-08-02T15:13:00.000+09:30

I am the happiest I've been since I got here. Yesterday, I bought a new yellow dress and it's awesome. I talked to my grandparents on the phone yesterday for my Grandma's birthday. I haven't gotten lost in a long time and I had a very interesting dinner last night. I feel I understand more about China everyday. I'm moving to a flat closer to work on Monday and I'm writing three articles I'm very interested in (which may or may not be published): one on Chinese punk, another on a busker and one about Zhou Chunxiu, the Chinese marathoner who won London this year.

Dinner last night was at a hot pot place with some Chinese people from the placement agency. I had a long conversation with a guy named John (that's his English name. Many Chinese people choose English names in addition to their given names and end up with "funny" names often-- Cup, Batman, etc.). It started when he asked me what I do for a hobby and I said I really like music, that my favorite band is Nirvana and he liked them too. His knowledge on Kurt Cobain was interestingly spotty... "stomach problems, sick, suicide, Nevermind.." He said his favorite album was Nevermind and he didn't like Unplugged very much but then said, "Do you know that song 'Where Did You Sleep Last Night'?" I said, "Yes, of course, I quite like it. Do you know its origins?" And he said, "I know it is very old. I heard the old version once and it was much slower and deeper." I said, "Yes, that was Leadbelly." Then he started singing it Leadbelly style to me! It was so surreal to sit in the middle of the Chinese hot pot restaurant listening to this young Chinese man who's spent his whole life in Shanghai singing a 1930s delta blues song. He said he felt very strongly about the end of the song when Kurt Cobain sighs and opens his eyes then wails. This is what I like about China-- people speak very plainly about these sorts of things.

He played guitar in a band and was very interested to know what was the most popular music in America. Maggie is also usually interested to know what is popular in America, and how much things cost there (cigarettes, clothes, particular brands). He suggested Green Day and I said Maroon 5 but beyond that I didn't know what to say besides Christina Aguilera and solo pop artists. I tried to explain why I think rock is a little better in China (in some ways) and why it is very difficult for American and British bands to make any money. "Hiphop is more popular than rock," I said. This brought him onto the plight of blacks in America-- "It's much better now for them, yes? They have many opportunities now that there is the NBA and Michael Jordan." I said, "Uh.. well, things are a better for them than 50 years ago but it it is still more difficult for blacks than for whites to succeed. There are opportunities for everyone but it is hard for many blacks and Hispanics. The average income for blacks is much lower than whites and the crime rate is much higher." He was very surprised at this and I struggled to put the socioeconomic situation of race relations in America into a few sentences.

We discussed censorship on CCTV9 (the English language channel. The government runs every channel on TV, there is no private television media as far as I can tell). He said CCTV9 [Central China Television] is full of rubbish, completely useless. He felt very strongly about this and I was surprised he told me.　I wouldn't go that far but it does only air positive news, or news of no consequence. He said Chinese language CCTV is the same way and I replied that though all television is private in America, we're not without our own propaganda especially now with the stratospheric rise of Rupert Murdoch's media empire. Private individuals like Murdoch and Ted Turner dictate what the average American knows if they don't care to dig any deeper than TV.. which most of them don't.

I feel much safer in Shanghai than in America and asked him if there is much crime here-- he said no. It really is difficult to assess because the news outlets are not allowed to air it, nor are they allowed access to the statistics, I'm sure. A taxi driver was murdered in his neighborhood earlier this year because the fare didn't have any money to pay but this was not on news; people find out about these things from word of mouth alone. This morning on the way to work, a car almost hit a bike and the driver and biker got into a huge argument. I stuck around to watch even though I didn't know what they were saying, like any Chinese worth his salt would. I would never do this in America as my immediate thought is that someone's going to pull a gun so get the hell away and around the corner as soon as possible! They were really screaming and eventually two random women stepped in to make peace so that neither of them would lose face.

Back to John: "Do the American people like your president?" More complicated questions! I found that I was the one saying "It's complicated" a lot... which is just what Chinese people often say to Westerners who don't understand a certain aspect of the culture. I said people in the south and midwest tend to like him, and people on the coasts tend to not like him. He found this geographic split baffling. "Why!?" "Well, uh... people in rural areas are often Republican, and President Bush is Republican. People in cities, many of which are on the coasts, are mostly Democrats." This didn't help at all... "Why are people in rural areas Republican? Why do cities support Democrats?" Uh... I babbled a little about small vs. big business, morality, religion, defense/offense and Iraq. "What do you think about the war in Iraq?" I hemmed and hawed while he thought we should not be there at all.

One of the other women at the table had an older sister. This is super rare. The one child policy is still in existence and going full force. When she was born, the government withheld her family's income for five years. I tried to ask her how they lived but all I could understand was that her parents had to go outside of the city to find work in addition to their regular jobs. Black market work, maybe.. I'm not sure.

Shanghai is the rising middle class heaven. My Chinese friends are all a part of this group.. they have ｓｏｍｅ　disposable income in China, but they would be poor with the same salary in America. There are professional recyclers here (the bike carts with incessant bell ringing) because the money they get for the scrap they pick up is more than they would make at another job. Shanghai is definitely the most economically diverse city I've ever been in. I would say the gap between the rich and the poor is wide, but the ever-larger middle class must mean that the gap is lessening... ? Unless the poor are getting poorer at their expense. Hard to tell; very different economic environment and history than what I know best.

The People's Liberation Army [PLA] (Chinese army) is celebrating its 80th anniversary this week with "Peace Mission 2007" -- joint training with Russia. Seems the world is going backward rather than forward and isn't that a bit scary.. Russia and the UK at diplomatic ends, Russia and China joining forces.. it's like the beginning of the Cold War all over again because I can't imagine these sorts of actions are going to go terribly far without panicking the free world.

On a lighter note, the hot pot restaurant was very near The Statue so I went to sit there a spell after work and before dinner. The park is dominated by old men and women fanning themselves in the heat and walking around and around the sidewalk path. My presence obviously caused quite the stir in their daily routine; one thin old man stared at me for at least 10 minutes straight and another slightly younger guy in boxers and a wifebeater kept passing by, then came back pushing his friend in a wheelchair and whispered in his ear; they both laughed and giggled as they passed me, then turned around and did it again. I am so interesting and funny, I know! Just kidding, a young foreign woman is obviously not the usual park patron but that's ok, I didn't mind at all.

People's Square at rush hour

Rebel rebel

2007-08-01T16:01:00.000+09:30

Walling in the slums

Might read: "Renamed 800000 times through various political upheavals. Guess what happened in 1949."

There are some benefits to censorship but I prefer freedom of press. Creativitity is automatically stifled in such an environment. There is a process of self-censorship before the government gets involved in anything you do.

The August issue of Talk is out today. There is no online edition or else I would link to what I have written but I'm in it a few times:

One page featuring the "Thumb Plaza" shopping center. Happy that the thing I found most exciting about the whole place, a finely and fully refurbished Victrola, best I've ever seen, made it in.

An article on a local restauranteur, a Chinese-American woman transplanted from LA/the world of consulting. Ended up pretty bad because I don't care at all about food and found it boring though the woman was nice.

"Ten Things You Didn't Know About Avril Lavigne" -- yes, I really wrote this. She's coming to Shanghai and the creepy expats of the area are pumped. Includes obscure reference to The Sights [Detroit garage rock band].

"Year of Yes" book review.

Next month should be better.

Pictures

2007-07-31T18:17:00.000+09:30

I drew this exact thing approximately 800 times in middle school and here it is, come to "life" in a Shanghaiese French expensive knickknack store. We are obviously both great artists:

Last night I got a massage for 50RMB (=$7). Massage is a job for the blind here and there are massage joints on nearly every block. It is considered less of a luxury and more of a necessity in order to keep your body in balance (you know, yin and yang). I went with the hope that it would actually bring me back to balance but so far I am still lopsided by about 3cm.

Doll on a stand for sale at a metro station shop. I think it's Saddam Hussein, don't you?

Ministry of Truth

2007-07-30T15:29:00.000+09:30

Another weekend. I went to "JZ" on Friday night with Maggie, lunch with flatmates on Saturday to a Turkish/Uighur restaurant (happy, have wanted to try Uighur) and searched (in vain and in the rain without an umbrella) for the Taoist Temple of the Town Gods on Sunday afternoon, the thing I have wanted to do most since I arrived. I did stumble upon a small Buddhist temple on Bangfang lu instead, so went in and burned some incense for the gods and spent some time looking and kneeling. Though similar, I prefer Taoism to Buddhism.

Excellent veggie dumplings Sunday lunch

On Friday, Maggie and I left work early after the whole office (about 80 folks) celebrated the July birthdays with fancy cake and peaches. We walked around West Nanjing lu and went into the fanciest mall I've ever been in.. .they had every single designer I've ever heard of and a bunch I hadn't. I now love Anna Sui. A lot. Possibly more than Anthropologie. Yes, I know I am a hypocrite when it comes to these two stores.

Then there was the Hello Kitty store. Nothing but, including four shelves of this formidable army:

JZ was a jazz club with a Latin band and a lot of fat Italians and Germans smoking cigars and wagging their butts in my face. I had a margarita. JZ is very near The Best Statue Of My Life so Maggie took my picture with it and told me it is a musician-- figures. The photo of me with The Statue was the highlight of my week for sure.

Have you ever had the feeling in conversation that you are constantly talking past each other instead of at? I said to Michelle yesterday, "There's not very many Americans here. I've only seen, like, five, not counting the flat." Meaning: "Americans don't come here or cross my path much, every white person I see is Russian, French, British or Canadian." And she says, "For real? You need to go out more [to the clubs]!"

I had my palm read on Saturday. I will have a long life and die healthy (meaning of an accident or murder). I will marry once and have one child and cheat on my husband once. I will kill one person with intent and that may bring about my own death.

I hate to go on and on about the heat but it is so hot that even the locals are complaining. "If you haven't noticed (perhaps you are a human ice cube?) it's hot out. Really hot. Today's forecast features a 36C high, which is 97F to the Americans in the audience, plus another 10-13 degrees for the heat index. Yesterday the mercury hit 39.6C, making it the hottest Shanghai day in 63 years. The city's Labor and Social Security Bureau is requiring employers to provide a 10-yuan daily bonus to all employees who work outdoors, a 'heat allowance' for these sweltering, heat-stroke-inducing and extra-liquid-requiring days." And thus the working masses of Shanghai rejoice at an extra $1.42.

My Mandarin is getting better without studying at all. At this rate, I'll be able to speak a coherent sentence by the time I'm 83. I heard some people speaking Japanese and knew immediately it was not Chinese. I can pick some words out on the street. Now I know:

nihao=hello
xiexie=thanks
waiguoren=foreign devil
laowei=foreigner
ma=mom
ma=horse
lu=road
xi=west
nigga nigga (they say this all the time. awkward for english speakers)=sure, sure

I'm feeling a bit funny about this blog.. watching the news here, or anywhere, really, you know you're only viewing what they want to be shown and with the wider and wider audience I seem to be getting on this, it's like my own personal propaganda machine.. I am only telling you what I want to relay, which are not always what I consider to be the most important or interesting things that are happening to me, just the safest. Propaganda For All.

What do I look like?

2007-07-27T14:18:00.000+09:30

I feel so lucky to have the opportunity to go to all these places. The more I think about it, the awesomer it is. Though day-to-day life isn't always too exciting (sitting at a computer in an office, often doing nothing...this is why the blog gets updated so often), the general experiences are. The days go by slowly but the weeks go by quickly.

I had a conversation with Gaelle earlier in the week about how we have no idea what the standard of beauty is here. Obviously, pale is in but other than that, it is very difficult to discern who would be considered pretty/handsome and who would not, or what the Chinese people think of our looks. The people in the advertisements and on TV are ok but I see people I consider more attractive on the metro everyday. China is also at an interesting crossroads in terms of body shape. I think only in the last few years has thin started to be in for young women-- prior to that, they were still at the stage where the heavier you were, the richer and less likely to die. I was worried that when I came here I would feel like a gigantic cow but it's been ok. I am generally bigger than most but not obviously so. Somehow this has had the effect of making me feel thinner than I usually do at home. Pleasantly disorienting...

Yesterday, I attempted to go to a mooncake tasting party at the fanciest hotel in Shanghai for work but, as usual, I couldn't find it. I wandered up and down a road by Lujiazui for an hour then went home. Being in Lujiazui (where the Oriental Pearl Tower and two biggest skyscrapers in Shanghai are) for such a long time made me really appreciate how not touristy my neighborhood is!

Looking for the hotel entrance, wandering up and down this street forever:

Turtles for sale on the sidewalk; Jing'an Temple

Whenever there is an auto accident, fight, someone gets pulled over by the cops or other disagreement, a big and interested crowd gathers to watch. More honest than Americans, who just slow down to cause a traffic jam or another accident. There is a car accident on the other side of this group. This is the only photo I have taken in public that people haven't stared at me for taking.

Chinese tourist driven consumerism at its overtly obvious best: Super Brand Mall

Hooters Shanghai: emphasis on big smiles, not big boobs. Seriously.

Sunset over Lujiazui:

As an aside, I think I've done a good job of putting my foot in my mouth with/embarrassing one specific person.. depressing.

Really hot return of violent dreams: just like the Oscars, but with Beer. Dress code: Funky Hat

2007-07-26T16:06:00.000+09:30

From Shanghai Daily:

"Temperatures may reach 39 degrees Celsius this weekend as the ongoing heat wave will likely continue until the end of the month, the Shanghai Meteorological Bureau forecast today.

Today's high will be 37 degrees and overnight the mercury may dip to 29 degrees, the bureau said.

A sub-tropical high pressure system is responsible for the heat wave that will keep temperatures around 37 degrees until the end of this month.

The bureau said it will not rain this week."

ooh, down to 29 at night, brr... not.

shanghaiist says:
(i don't believe in wind chill or heat index BUT because i know some of my friends are ardent followers)
"Thirty-six degrees outside but, according to our weather page, it feels like 44 (that's 111 degrees for the Americans out there). And we'd say that sounds about right. Just miserable."

I am excited to be going to India during the second month of their first female president's term. I finally booked my flight successfully yesterday; I will be flying from Beijing to Malaysia to Chennai on September 8th. This route is much longer (and cheaper) than a direct flight but it's just as well because if the plane goes down, it won't be in Afghanistan or Kazakhstan, where everyone loves American women.

I had a dream two nights ago that the director here was kidnapped by a rebel group. They proceeded to slit her throat in front of me and it was gushing blood everywhere.

The last few days at work have been spent editing the approved versions of the magazines, including "translating" the Listings pages from "Chinglish" to English. Pre-edited examples in all their curious-spacing and -capitalization glory:

Men's shopping night and modeling to showcase
Don't forget to buy something that you think she would love. Think about what she wears already.Now, we provide the modeling to showcase the lingerie that you wanna buy for her, whether it will be for herself or "her man". Lingerie & Me 6253 3076

Mythology(ies) of my neighbour-Independent short-films showing
A series of mostly French independent short-films.A series of these different films has been built up in order to reach a wider audience.These films all share a certain freedom of speech. They are testimonies of the filmmakers' special look at the world. English substitles. 6:30pm. 6F, Alliance Française de Shanghai. 6357 5388

Popcorn Party
No Explanation Needed Here. It's a Party and There's Popcorn. Zapata's 6474 6628

August Babies
Complimentary bottle of Champagne for BIRTHDAY BABY before midnight.(ID will be needed to prove).Free entry for people in dress code before midnight, Dress code: Funky Hat. RMB150 after midnight including 1 standard drink. Attica, www.attica-shanghai.com 6373 3588

Adidas Master Class launch party-Street Hop class
Fall/Winter 07 Adidas brings you the hottest street hop class with their master instructors. Members who attend it will get gifts&products provided by Adidas. Book your tickets now! iDancing 1:30pm-2:30pm www.idancing.cn 6271 4952

Goes To Hollywood
Hit songs from Hit Movies with Art-6 live on stage. Just like the Oscars, but with Beer. Malone's 6247 2400

Dice queen

2007-07-25T13:21:00.000+09:30

Last night, I went out with Michelle, Mike, Gail and a new kid, Jason. I knew I would just freak out again if I stayed home so I decided to go. Mike is a high strung, funny 20 year old from California. Jason only 17, from Long Island so he got pretty drunk even off the weak drinks that grace open bars. I haven't hung out with someone that young in a long time! They're both Chinese Americans and can speak some Mandarin. Makes it much easier to go out. Gail is 26, from France, very nice and sweet. We went for dinner at a dumpling place (18RMB each=$2.75) then to some bar called "Windows." Pretty standard fare: loud, popular music (Lil Jon, Will Smith, things I didn't recognize) and the dice game from Pirates of the Caribbean (apparently) movie. All the Western bars here have the dice game.. it wasn't crowded because it was Tuesday but there was a 30 kuai open bar (=$4.50) all night. So, we played the dice game and the loser had to answer a question truthfully... which quickly degenerated into dropped jaws when my turns came around. Mike goes, "She is, like, the coolest person EVER." Ah.. I don't know about that.

Yeah, right. Signs limiting the age of purchase of alcohol/cigs to minors are starting to crop up but no one ever checks or pays attention. My 13 year old cousin would be able to come to the bars here easily.

We left at 1, took a taxi home with 4 of us squished into the back for about 5 miles (40RMB=$6.50). I sat on the porch awhile when we got home and everyone else went to bed.

I almost hurled on the metro this morning.

Look at this picture I took last week of a girl eating corn:

I think corn is like candy here but not very popular. All the corn cobs at the grocery store look seriously anemic-- nothing like the hearty sweet corn of the great Midwest! There's also some kind of frozen corn on the cob treat that's stuffed in with all the ice cream cases that I haven't been brave or interested enough to try yet.

I lost my wedding ring! Shit!! It's for when I go to India and Ghana, to fend off marriage proposals. I think I will just tell them my fictitious husband and I are Buddhist and don't want to support the diamond slave trade.

Random

2007-07-24T16:58:00.000+09:30

There is a roller rink in Shanghai, somewhere. Unfortunately, from what I can tell, all they host are disco nights called "Shanghai Roller Revival". DAMN. I can stomach Blondie, which is on their list, but not Donna Summer.

I may have mentioned this before, but about 0.00001% of Shanghai's huge two/three-wheeled vehicle (bicycles, carts, motorbikes, scooters, motorcycles) population wears a helmet. Those I've seen that do are usually men in their 60s wearing black women's equestrian helmets. Speaking of the older generation, there's a certain class of women who dress and wear their hair like it's 1954 middle America. They are generally very gruff and unsmiling but sure as hell know their way around the AquaNet.

I've officially been censored and it's the very first article I wrote here. Awesome... not really. The August magazine was submitted to the "publishing bureau" for approval over the weekend. My book review and author interview for Madame Chiang Kai-shek did not get through. My guess is because it mentioned Taiwan (a province/territory of mainland China according to China, they REALLY do not like it when other countries acknowledge Taiwan as a separate state) and pre-WWII ruling government Nationalists (defeated in post-WWII civil war by Mao/Communists). World War II politics are certainly alive and well in modern day China.

Gratuitous photo of the day... I don't know if you can see, but this guy is holding a bell in his right hand. All of the junk bikecarts like this ride around very slowly dinging their handbell INCESSANTLY. They get off occasionally to dig through piles of trash.. they collect cardboard and bottles and other little random things. I'm really unclear as to what they're doing because they ring it even when no one is in the vicinity.. such as the deserted street behind our flat. I took it on the way to the metro this morning. This is the point of the walk where I think, "thank god, it's almost time to descend into the air conditioning."

No smoking at work=sad cigarette (except in the hot stairways and in your office with the door shut):

Hey kids.. ride the TELETUBBY FROM HELLLLLL

Partying with money

2007-07-23T15:44:00.000+09:30

More eventful than last weekend's sickfest, anyway. On Friday, I attempted to go to that Guangzhou folk performance at "Live Bar" but when I got there, it was a tiny room with a bar. One woman was talking alone on her cell phone in the dark. She looked very surprised to see me and I didn't have the Chinese skills to even say, "Music?" nor did she have any English so we just kind of looked at each other and said, "oh oh sorry sorry." Then I went home. Sucks as I was looking forward to that show for the last 3 weeks! The good thing of the evening was that the bar was in a somewhat far off neighborhood and I could hear the difference in the dialect of the people on the street-- they were speaking Shanghaiese as opposed to straight Mandarin. It's much faster and more mumbly, everything runs together.

Marilyn Manson graffiti on the way there?

On Saturday, I met Maggie at 5 and we went to dinner with one of her Chinese-only speaking friends at a Hong Kong chain near People's Square. After dinner, we walked around window shopping and sat outside the Coffee Bean for awhile then went into a mall for shopping-shopping. Generally, I despise shopping, especially at a mall (walking!) but this was ok because it was new and different. The shopping malls of America all have the same stores so if you've seen one, you've seen them all but the stores here are new to me so it was more interesting. I didn't buy anything but Maggie got a top for "jam" as she says-- meaning gym. Very confusing for me at the beginning! "Jam? What jam? Is that a club?" "Yes, a club." Then we walked some more and sat inside KFC to cool off where it was revealed to me that the other great mystery about me is my hair. Every Chinese person I meet who can speak English thinks I have Asian in me somewhere because of my hair! Ha... cool.

After the mall we went to an event for work, a party at the Royal Meridien hotel near all the flashing, shiny lights of Nanjing Lu. The party was certainly interesting and we were mightily underdressed and overly sweaty by then. Story of my life. It was on the 65th floor, so the view was beautiful. It was an event for the young and fabulous, total jetsetting crowd. When we got there, the promoter, whose English was a little iffy, said, "The theme tonight is James Bond. The party is for men; we offer them free drinks, cigars and women." What? Free women? Because of the "James Bond" theme, there were leggy French chicks playing "Bond Girls" in tight black dresses all over the place. Maggie said, "It's all foreigners!" and it was... the only Chinese were the magazine/promotions people!

We met two guys from the UK, one who trades securities in the Chinese market and a headhunter who looked like a young Michael J. Fox with nice eyes. He was 33 and went to Cambridge U., lived in Hong Kong for 6 years and Shanghai for 5. I was a bit taken aback by his profession and thought he might be lying just to have fun but upon detailed questioning (How do you get recruited for something like that? was one), he didn't hesitate at all with his in-depth answers so I think he really was a murderer. Or at least, a former murderer. He sold his company in January so perhaps not anymore. On the way out, there were some Middle Eastern men coming in and they STARED at me for a good long time, it was very creepy. Even Maggie said, "Why are they looking at you so much?" I took a taxi home and didn't get cheated on the fare-- lucky! 30RMB.

Oh, so fabulous

James Bond + girls

Maggie and me at the party

Shanghai from above

On Sunday, I went to Shiji Park but didn't go inside because it was 10RMB entrance fee! Lame. I came home and sat on the porch for 5 hours, from 6 to 11. Didn't realize it was so long but oh well. Though I think Michelle was wondering what the hell I was doing out there. She was in the room fiendishly reading Harry Potter. It was storming by 8 so my clothes were blowing crazily in the wind.

Shiji Park

Storm rolling in at 6:50pm

Last week, there was heat lightning.

______________________

Now, some other odds and ends that I've been meaning to mention...

There are fewer beggars here than NYC, Detroit or Ann Arbor. While the homeless in the States tend to be people with either mental problems or severe substance abusers (crackheads of Detroit), there are pretty much only 4 types of beggars here: children, the disabled, the elderly and blind musicians. It makes it much harder to ignore them, as there's no mental exercise to make you feel like they put themselves into that position. Last week on the subway, a very dirty/smelly boy of about 12 walked on his knees from person to person then bowed down in front of them at least 5 times before moving on to the next. I also saw a kid with a severely burned head begging. It's far more personal as they go directly from person to person. The elderly beggars tend to stay on the steps of the subway entrances and shake the change cups to attract your attention while the musicians either stay in one spot all day or are led around by a woman to the doors of shops where they might get some money. Enlightening article on child beggars in China.

Speaking of the subway, at the newer stations there are two tiers of doors that must be opened/shut before the cars move. There are the doors on the subway cars themselves, and doors on the platform. The platform doors are supposedly to prevent suicide/homicide, which I am in huge favor of as my newest revived fear is being pushed into the tracks. However, last week the news filtered down that a man got caught between the two doors, the clearance official didn't notice and he was dragged to his death underneath the car as it began to move. Now I'm a bit torn as to the existence of the double doors. At any rate, duly noted: don't smash onto the train! It's not worth it!!

Call me on the phone and talk to tomorrow (12 hours later here). Dial: 00 86 21 5089 4056. Buy a phone card. Please!

Love and Communication

2007-07-20T15:57:00.000+09:30

Last night, I went to the French Concession for an art gallery opening. They had mostly oil paintings and it was pretty small but the real reason I am glad I went is because while I walked 20 minutes in the wrong direction, "Love and Communication" by Cat Power came into my head so I decided to listen to it on the ipod. Previously, I had only heard the acoustic version and thought that was the only one there is, but apparently it is on "The Greatest" which is the version I happened upon on the ipod. At first, I wasn't sure if I liked it or not but then I listened another eight times and now I am obsessed with it. In the background, there are murderous violins and it fit exceedingly well into the streets of the French Concession area of Shanghai. I felt like I had stepped back into 1890 and that Jack the Ripper was around the corner. This feeling of death in a humid environment was compounded when I happened upon this statue in a small park on the way back to the subway:

I don't know who this is but I stood and stared at it for at least 10 minutes. I love it. I have never felt so strongly about a statue in my entire life. It is extremely inspiring and creepy. This is the best statue of my life, by far. I am 95% positive I will never come upon another statue that I feel even remotely as strongly about. The French Concession is marked by a neverending canopy of trees I've never seen before and a gigantic mansion. The mansion is the first house I've seen in Shanghai. The French Concession is my new favorite area of town and it seems haunted. Or, at least it does when you are listening to a lonely murderous ballad and can't speak to anyone around you.

indie film and food

2007-07-20T13:44:00.000+09:30

Last night, I went to the first meeting of the Shanghai Independent Film Association. It was on the third floor of a warehouse behind a lane and I am shocked I was able to find it, especially given that the directions were extremely vague: “30m into the lane then turn right. Go left after 10m and up to the 3rd floor.” Oh, of course. By 30m, I think they actually meant 300m because it was at least 200! Being the only white person in an area usually makes it a little bit easier to find where you are going. Even though I don’t speak a lick of Chinese, the locals almost always know where I am trying to go and keep pointing me in the right direction, even for something “underground” like this. It was very hot as there was no AC so I left after an hour and 15 minutes… the DVDs were skipping in the computer because of the heat so that made it even less enjoyable. What we were able to see, though, was pretty cool. The best, I thought, came from a young French guy who transposed a drunk Asian woman in sepia tone talking about worrying about other people onto a carefree little girl in a lane and other images of Shanghai. There was one from a student in Beijing that featured a traditional Chinese family all living together and the mother-in-law shaming the wife into suicide despite her son being the one that was unemployed. It was darkly humorous. The venue was obviously also an independent theater of some sort and had all sorts of props everywhere.

When I got home, a bunch of British people were there and they all went out in search of a KFC. When Michelle and Reagan got back, I had a nice chat with Reagan about the differences in American and Canadian health care and schools. He wanted to talk about the insanity over sports in American high schools. He also said he thinks hockey is more popular with girls in Ontario than guys, who prefer American football.

Today, Maggie and some of the other office workers took me out to lunch at a Chinese place down the street. I know there is great interest from those of you who know me well in what I am eating here. WELL, FYI: I had rice mixed with eggs for 8RMB (=$1.15; much better than the 36RMB the sandwich delivery place costs!), which came with a little saucer of tomato soup with onions and garlic, a dish of something I couldn't identify and iced tea in a juicebox. Generally, anything I can identify as not having meat in it is what I get, regardless of other ingredients. This is not a big deal to me so I hope it is not to you, either.

Anyway, it was fun and I quite like our receptionist. She and Maggie were the only ones who could speak English, the smart IT guy and another woman I don't know also came. Only a little awkward being that they all blathered away in Chinese while I had little idea what was going on, but for the most part it seemed they were making fun of the IT guy... easy enough! Haha.

Everyone here also thinks it is crazy that I'm going on this long trip around the world but with more of a twinge of jealousy, I think... very, very few Chinese are able to travel outside the country due to its high expense. Estimated average daily income is around 40RMB, so it is even less of a possibility for the average Chinese than the average American to do something like this. The other main reaction I get here is, “You don't eat meat? Even chicken? What about beef? AND no fish?! Wow.”

I finally have plans, as tonight I'm going to a gallery opening for work (free cocktails!), a Chinese folk show tomorrow night and out with Maggie to a jazz club on Saturday night. Don't know much about jazz (compared to other genres, anyway), but why not.. certainly better than seeing a DJ.

New busker, Jing'an Temple, guitar. Some guys selling bootlegs thought it was very funny I was bothering to take video of this fella:

Blind busker, fireworks, a star and sun

2007-07-18T13:50:00.000+09:30

I ran into another busker yesterday, this one was a blind old man at the metro station I leave work from, Jing 'an Temple.

Around 8:30 last night, some folks behind us started setting off fireworks. I'm not sure why they were doing it but it felt like a late 4th of July for me! There were quite a few for about 30 minutes. I had a nice view from our kitchen. As soon as they stopped, you could hear all the car alarms going off within a 2-block radius and all the barking dogs that got freaked out.

I saw a star last night! I forgot to miss them till I saw it and remembered they are there.

The difference between the heat here and the heat at home is that the temperature spread over the whole day is usually no more than 5-10 degrees, so even at night it's quite warm. Today is probably the hottest it's been since I got here because it's 95 and sunny; this is the first time it's been sunny for more than 15 minutes. Pant.

Trying to cool off in the creek garden outside the Shanghai Police HQ (near my office)

Wal-Mart, eating dog, skin tone, my own room and other personal rantings

2007-07-17T16:15:00.000+09:30

Feeling much better today as opposed to yesterday when I felt like I had the beginnings of consumption. I went for a walk last night in a big circle around Wal-Mart thinking, “I'll walk around a big block,” conveniently forgetting Chinese cities are not exactly designed in “blocks” but in ring roads. I was walking near the ... interstate. Highway, I guess.

Then I went into Wal-Mart to take some photos. It's about 3 blocks from the flat. The grocery stores are actually remarkably similar to home but with way more meat and way less packaging. Also, there are fewer conveyor belts at checkout lines. Also, they looked at me as though I had a third eye when I tried to pay with a credit card last week. The cashier had to run over to customer service to run it through because I was 30 kuai short in cash and didn't have the language skills to tell her to just take some things off the bill. But, generally, I only take photos of things that stand out to me, not things that are familiar.

Phone booths everywhere that don't take coins. I think you have to buy a card from a street vendor.

Well then.

Dried eels? Dried fish? I'm not sure, but they had little beady eyes.

Meaty.

The rumors are true: they do eat dog. It's on a lot of menus. The only pet dogs I've seen are very small, annoying and not meaty but that might be a function of being in the city. I don't really find this any more disturbing than eating regular meat, though... they are all animals, what's the difference? It's so much more likely that a dog will kill you than a cow!

I was reading yesterday about the strange crossroads that desirable skin tone is at in Shanghai. Westerners go to tanning salons and Chinese women carry umbrellas to stay white, though some teenagers are starting to tan. The lengths to stay white go beyond the umbrellas, though, as some people even buy skin bleaching products. Then today, I saw a woman with extremely white skin today on the way to work, I think she bleached it. It was kind of freaky—in the same way it is freaky when you see the orange cats who've obviously used self-tanner spray, or the ones who are baked after the tanning bed. Either way, gross!

The “older” woman moved out of the flat and into the Sheraton Hotel nearby. I think she didn’t like the noise of Michelle and Reagan coming in at 5am/felt awkward about living there in the first place. Nothing like paying twice for your residence... weird. So, I’ve moved into her room and now we've all got our own. It was so roomy and not-wakey up last night/this morning. Listening to the utter vapidness of the conversation last night makes me wonder... one snippet: "I wouldn't mind getting herpes. It isn't THAT bad. I mean, it doesn't kill you or anything." Then they watched an hour's worth of Lisa Lampanelli, the vulgar comic, on youtube followed by Perez Hilton's appearance on The View.

I feel like such a blob sitting at a computer all day, trying to think of things to fill the time. I write my articles and then I am done.. it was the same way when I was writing papers. The thing that has been challenging for me in terms of the writing is to not make it too academic, especially when I was writing the review for a book on Chiang Kai-shek’s wife. Also, the length of the pieces...in academic writing, my goal was to write for as long as possible on some minor detail that no one would really care about to fill the space. The magazine is the exact opposite as there is limited space for what you want to write. Speaking of which, I knew my antiquated style of hittng the space bar twice after a period would come back to haunt me, and it has here by using up another precious character subconsciously.

Today it's back up to 93 after some reprieve last week. Today I finally figured out how the coins work. There's a half yuan piece and 1/10 yuan pieces. The subway was super crowded. Found an English channel on the television. I watched the news last night and found out about the Chinese ban on American poultry due to traces of salmonella found on chicken-- ha ha, such an obvious political move in the face of America's ban on Chinese fish imports which I think of itself was politically based anyway. Michelle's father is in the meat business and she told me all raw chicken has salmonella. No idea.

Finally, a photo into a lane. I thought I was being smooth by not looking when I took it but the little boy obviously sees me. Oh, well.

Getting sick, better and not getting lost

2007-07-16T16:34:00.000+09:30

I spent the majority of this weekend hiding in the flat and reading with occasional forays onto the porch in an effort to not get really sick. I bought some medicine at the store using supreme guesswork which actually seems to be pretty good.

Hiding worked till Saturday night when I found out about 20 Westerners were going to a lounge on the Bund. The Bund is a busy nighttime strip across the river from Pudong with a lot of danceclubs and neon lights and whatnot. I thought I should give it a try and not write them off as doing what I thought they were doing. It was actually more chill than I anticipated, I was encouraged by free drinks for women. I had red, then I had blue. It was a hookah bar (very good for cold) with live salsa music in Chinese followed by the skinniest belly dancer I've ever seen-- you could see her organs when she moved. I left while everyone was playing dice, somehow under the guise of "I don't gamble" despite the fact they weren't gambling. My flatmates were out till 6am as they all went to a dance club afterwards... definitely not my bag.

Dancers to salsa:

In the cab, Attn drunks-going-home:

There was only a slight panic in the evening when I realized I had neither my map ("I can walk") or my phrasebook ("I can ask directions") because I had switched purses.

The Office, as viewed from my half-cube on 3 1/2 /F:

You probably didn't know this about me

2007-07-13T13:08:00.000+09:30

Last night, I suffered a massive nosebleed. Though not nearly as epic as the Hotel Bleed of '97, this one started gushing like a fountain as soon as I got out of the shower, sufficiently disgusting my roommate. I blame the pollution as opposed to my somewhat chronic history of head orifice bleeding.

Pollution may also be to blame for my current affliction: a cold. I hesitantly/secretly/embarrassingly pride myself on being able to pinpoint the near exact moment I allowed the offending virus into my body. In this case, it was one of the following four times:

1. Last week, roommate Michelle was sick for two days. Number of surfaces we both touch in the apartment is high being that we share a bathroom.
2. Two days ago, I held onto a pole on the metro in many different positions (for me), then touched my nose.
3. Also two days ago, on a different metro ride, it was very crowded and one man coughed directly into my breathing area. I didn't hold my breath because I figured the germs had already hit my lips.
4. Co-worker Maggie told me yesterday that many foreigners get sick from the pollution in Shanghai.

Speaking of Maggie, we went out to dinner last night to a restaurant near the Jing 'an Temple metro stop (our stop for work). It was nice and I love making local friends as opposed to Western friends! She is taking the TOEFL this weekend and wants to go to grad school in Canada then remain there permanently. She's very friendly to me and that makes me happy and surprised.

Plus, one mystery solved: Sidewalks of Pain are guiding lanes for blind people! I haven't noticed a lot of blind people but maybe that's just because they're not carrying canes. I've also stopped thinking everyone I see is single just because they're not wearing wedding rings.

Today, I'm interviewing an American-Chinese chef for the "Culinary Comforts" section of the magazine. This weekend, I get to review a book that one of Josh Kilmer-Purcell's friends wrote... such a circular group of memoirists!

Funny aside: here, "comrade" is now slang for gay.

Commuting and the arts

2007-07-12T13:21:00.000+09:30

Commuting in Shanghai is like being part of a school of fish. If you're watching from afar or see them on the Discovery Channel, you think they're not touching each other and all move as one but in reality, the new foreign ones are thinking, "I can smell five different people's sweat and see the pores on this guy's neck really well and something is touching my ass. I hope it's a bag and not a hand."

Actually, I feel I'm well in the swing of commuting and walking in the traffic now. It's much more dangerous than New York because there are so many more types of transportation on the street! Autos, motorbikes, motorcycles, bikes, buses, electric trolley buses and walkers.

Last night I went to a film showing of a French film with Spanish subtitles shown by a Japanese artist in her studio/living space. Now I feel a bit more at home, as I was the only one who showed up--typical. We didn't bother watching the film but I had a nice chat with the artist and her friend, who was also Japanese/a print designer. We talked about the differences between Japanese and Chinese society, the art and music scene in Shanghai and the Cultural Revolution and its effect on art in China. She runs a teahouse/meeting place there during the day so maybe I will go back sometime.

On the way there, I found an abandoned building. It was only closed with wire gates so it was easy to take a photo.

There was an ad for a record store at the Shanxi Rd metro station. They gave equal prominence to Bumble Bee Slim and Tampa Red as to Zeppelin and the Stones! Smart.

Early into this morning's Baby Convention outside the flat. Most of the adults are grandparents. Families seem to be much closer here as I see almost solely grandparents taking care of kids during the day. The lense was foggy from the sudden change from the AC to outside:

Who wants cigarettes?

2007-07-11T17:15:00.012+09:30

A pack of cigs here is about 6.50Y... $0.95. No tax.

Every day on my walk to work, I go by a couple of Buddhist monks walking the other direction. They're always in their robes and have their heads shaved in the certain way.

On the subway, there are flat screen TVs which display advertisements and the latest push towards physical fitness-- ballroom dancing. All the children must do it in school and apparently they are also encouraging the adults by showing demonstrations both on the metro and on the platforms.

Frustrated by your inability to determine the sex of a baby? Fear not and come to China, where children under age 1 get specific haircuts based on their gender. Boys receive a circle on the front of their heads while girls' is at the back. Creates a bit of a funny effect!

2007-07-10T18:03:00.000+09:30

Images from yesterday:

This is how the drinking water arrives

Fish for sale outside a lane store

The watermelons here are quite small, like big melons, but the cucumbers are GIGANTIC

Today, walking through the lane, I saw a woman emptying a chamber pot into the public bathroom. There are public WCs on many corners and the ones in the lanes are often utilized that way.

Walkin' down the street mid-afternoon, pre-rush hour

2007-07-09T16:19:00.000+09:30

I've got quite a lot to say about recent impressions but don't want to risk getting in trouble, so I won't now. I've become a bit paranoid and also slightly hypochondriac. Current ailments include: scoliosis, heat rash, germy hands.

Classified ad in City Weekend:
Need a big strong black guy to attend 7.19 to 7.23 (4 days) Chinajoy videogames expo (one of the biggest video games expo in the world) in shanghai. We want bring audience an exotic feeling on exhibition. So wat u will do is just show ur cool face there to look like a killer. Contact Emily: 1363 661 5407.

NO TRUMPETS

I went to the Shanghai Zendai MOMA then the Shanghai Sex Museum on Saturday. The MOMA was more subversive than I thought they would be allowed to be and the sex museum was hilarious. And intersting. There was an aquarium attached, so I went to that too. The sex museum had signs in English but the aquarium did not.

"...the widows who were not able to remarry always needed it"

"He was not able to keep this part of his body under control":

Caught in 1834, still bummed:

The Epic Battle of the Tiny Ships Versus The Giant Crabs:

More photos

On, a personal note, I think I'm one day closer to death with the travel than I would have been otherwise because of the 12 hours I lost coming here-- I'm continuing westward and so never gain them back.

Our final new person in the flat arrived yesterday. She is older, and from the UK. I'm quite glad she is not another 18-20 year old. Michelle and Reagan found her ancient but I am relieved as her goals for the trip are probably not for this to be a prolonged vacation as it seems to be for the other two. Though she is a bit strange and dragged the land telephone into her room within 2 seconds of arriving.

My speaking voice is a strange mix suddenly. Michelle is from Chicago so we speak nasal midwestern to each other but Reagan is from Kitchener, so I slip into the Canadian accent with him quite easily and not on purpose. My boss is Australian and I know a couple of Brits so my English vocabulary is upped.

I went to the Lotus Supermarket again yesterday and they were playing the Jackson 5 amongst all the various activities in the front.

I am a bit troubled by the Chinese insinuations that everything Western is superior. Consumerism is spreading rapidly here and there is loads of crap to buy in the streets and even more in secret warehouses if you follow the hawkers. Oh, THINGS and STUFF, I am a bit more of a hippie than I originally thought. The average Chinese income in 2004 was $2950; I feel very rich here, so I guess it is easy to preach from where I stand. I think it is quite a bit more difficult to jump classes here.

Suspicious photography

2007-07-06T14:12:00.000+09:30

Yesterday I went "reporting" on the Thumb Plaza commercial center. I'm writing up 10 features on various stores there. The interesting part of it for me was the hesitancy and suspicion on behalf of the store workers as to why I was standing there writing and why I wanted to take photos, that's why half of the ones here are blurry and not centered-- avoid more weariness when I didn't have a "real" excuse this time.

Video of Chinese busker

These folks were extremely excited to have their photo taken! I think they thought it was to be in the "Out & About" section of the magazine

This is an undercover photo of one of the alleys near the office:

Santa Monica Track Club and Oregon shirt in Shanghai:

Nicest Victrola I've ever seen:

Homes near the office:

A building by my home subway stop, I think it is a theater or opera house:

Jing' an Temple, the area I work in. This is the temple, now conveniently commercialized with shops on the bottom floor.

Street workers are everywhere, they've all got natural brooms like this and wear those uniforms, or bright orange ones:

All construction sites have bamboo scaffolding. There seems to be very few safety precautions here, in general. The taxis don't have seatbelts and I saw a man hanging over a bridge to paint a sign without any restraints.

The aforementioned Sidewalks of Pain. The middle is where it hurts.

Yeah, for real.

Today at work, one of the people in the cubes below's cell phone started ringing and the ringtone was a little child singing the intro to Queen "We Will Rock You"!

Then I walked 5 miles.

2007-07-05T19:03:00.000+09:30

I've gotten lost about 4 times so far today. I try to keep a positive attitude about everything, including being lost, because, really, what else would I be doing? Getting to work on time? Not sweating out a liter and a half?

In the end, I've walked about 5 miles and it's only 3:30pm, still plenty of time to get lost on the way home! For the first two hours, it's ok, kind of cool-- exploring the city without meaning to, seeing beautiful dresses. By the third hour, though, you're extremely sweaty and then I was getting sick of everyone looking at me, then looking about a foot lower than my head... I'm sorry, I had to wear a tank top, it is so hot. I can't help it! And getting bonked in the head by the ladies' umbrellas as two directions try to squeeze by the motorbikes/bicycles parked on the sidewalk. Speaking of sidewalk, all the sidewalks here are made the same way: flat bricks on both sides of a lane of bumpy bricks. The bumpy bricks are really painful to walk on, I don't understand their purpose. Drainage? They're not raised higher than the smooth ones, though. I think only Tamsen and Frank and Ciara know my true level of hatred of walking--seeing so many bikes on the streets here only compounds my frustration about it while I'm busy walking 8 blocks in the wrong direction. Actually, I wouldn't mind being lost at all if I were biking. It would be so much faster and breezier and not-walkie. One of the many thoughts that hit me while walking today was that if they had a critical mass here, it would be freaking CRITICAL-- I see at least 3000 bikes a day.

Also, I get heat rash on my legs! Vaguely itchy, vaguely burny. And now sunburnt shoulders/arms.

On the plus side, I had an hour long conversation with a French pastry chef who thought I ws someone important and gave me every kind of bread imaginable to bring back to the office for sharing. Yea, for perks and not having to buy any food today. That was the whole reason I was out-- doing the piece on the Thumb Plaza commercial center.

I feel more settled now, generally. Last night my roommate went out with some other Americans to celebrate the 4th. They sent to a bar called "I <3 America" and it was all westerners, apparently. I almost went but now I'm glad I didn't! She said, "Oh yeah, I drank all this Grey Goose!" Also, yesterday she said, "Yeah, I'm teaching the kids left and right really well because, like, when the driver we had drove us here from Beijing he would go right every time we said left!"

If you comment, I won't be able to see it until September.. so I'm not intentionally being rude if anyone is. I can't read the blog, it doesn't get through the government firewall, but the page to post from does.