Pronounced: ài guó
Literally: love country
Means: patriotic; patriotism

This guy found our blog… I guess he liked it, but I have no idea what he wrote, or what language it is:
“Zródło: chinahopelive.net. Na zdjęciach ochotnicy olimpijscy, Ptasie Gniazdo

Autorzy Jessica i Joel to Kanadyjczycy, którzy uczą angielskiego w Chinach. Kochają język, żarcie i ludzi. Bawią się jak nigdy dotąd w czym nie są wyjątkiem. Jeśli komus jest dobrze w Chinach to właśnie obcokrajowcom. Dlatego po przyjacielsku na amerykańsko-chińskim blogu Foolsmountain postanowili wytłumaczyć Chińczykom co ich wkurzyło w czasie igrzysk. Tu link do artykułu pod którym się podpisuję obiema rękami. Polecam też dyskusję poniżej.”

Just saw a China-related Post Secret (I swear it’s not ours! ;) ):

It says:
“I’m an American. I want to be a Chinese. I haven’t told my Chinese friends, but I feel they all know… …but I will never be Chinese enough”

It’s written in traditional (more complicated) characters, not the simplified characters we use on the Mainland. That means the person probably lives in Taiwan or Hong Kong.

Jessica and I will never “become Chinese” (whatever that means). First, it’s virtually impossible to truly/fully become some other kind of person, culturally speaking, especially for adults. Second, even if it were possible, Chinese culture wouldn’t let us. Unlike “Canadian,” “Chinese” is not just a national and cultural category; it’s also racial category, and the line between insider and outsider is well-defined, constantly reinforced, and passionately defended, especially on the Mainland. That may change in the future (all cultures are always changing), but probably not anytime soon. Third, even if it were possible and Chinese culture would let us, we wouldn’t want to.

Our long-term goal is to be able to function naturally in Mandarin in Chinese cultural contexts, communicating and relating clearly and authentically. That means staying true to who we are, but being able to express that clearly and appropriately within Chinese cultural contexts.

P.S. — This post also went up on Fool’s Mountain.

P.P.S — Post Secret (parents: not necessarily safe for kids) is a voyeuristic symptom of modern societies’ increasing relational alienation, in which people anonymously write on postcards what they’re afraid to tell each other in real life. It’s interesting, but then you have ask yourself why…

P.P.P.S — ha, was that a little too cynical? ;)

As if the stuff dug up by reporters wasn’t enough, now computer geeks, who probably couldn’t care less about gymnastics but love playing cyber kungfu, have dug up some rather embarrassing evidence regarding a certain particularly tiny Chinese gold medalist’s age. Erased data, cached pages, the whole deal: “I have received several comments to the effect of “Who cares how old she is?”. In response: certainly not me. This blog is about govrnment censrship and state sponsored fraud.”

The “Iron Hammer” Lang Ping led the Chinese women’s volleyball team to gold medal victory over the U.S. at the 1984 Los Angeles Olympics. Then she left China, and twenty-four years later she led the American women’s volley team as their coach to a 3-2 win over the Chinese team in Beijing. Here’s an interview.

“Our goals in sport competition in China emphasize victories while defeats are unacceptable. This creates excessive nervousness. But American culture puts the emphasis on participation and whether you have done your best. If you perform up to your ability and potential, then you are the winner and you will be recognized. You do not have to back yourself into a corner. They can deal with the game outcomes more easily; if they lose, they will just move on and try again.”

We took the super-fast train to Beijing (30 minutes) yesterday to run around and see as much Olympic stuff as we could. Here are some photos. Click them to see bigger sizes.

Seeing Beijing was fun, getting there was convenient, and meeting Olympic athletes was awesome, but honestly most of the Olympic stuff was disappointing. It’s all big and grand and everything, but lacking in the tourist-friendly department (and conspicuously lacking in tourists). It’s like it wasn’t designed with regular people using it in mind; it just needs to look good on TV.

The volunteers were cute though. Full points to them for enthusiasm and staying power.

(not so) Tourist Friendly
Sorry, but that’s how it is.

The Olympic Green is supposed to be Olympic tourist central, but no one, including us, can figure out how to actually get in. Even the volunteers at the information booths by the main security checkpoints don’t know. Conclusion: the people in charge don’t want us to get in.

I thought the Olympic areas would be crowded, but the long, wide, tree-lined boulevard leading toward the stadiums was like a desert: no shops, snack stalls, or displays (other than flowers and some weird jello-block things), and just a token sprinkling of people. This is as close as we got to the famous stadiums without game tickets or day passes to the Olympic Green:

On this sidewalk you could buy super-expensive event tickets from scalpers (standard price was 10x the printed price) and bootleg (China-priced) Olympic souvenirs, as opposed to the official souvenirs that sell at American prices. I got two t-shirts for less than $4 — the People’s Olympic souvenirs.

Scalpers

Laws work differently in China. Sometimes the laws matter. A lot of laws are just there to make things look good on paper, and sound good in foreign press conferences. For example, you may have heard that China was “cracking down” on ticket scalpers. These photos are from a subway exit walking distance from the Bird’s Nest and Water Cube stadiums. The English portion on the sign says they “should” be punished, and boy do they look scared.

The Olympic sport of Bargaining
Natalie and I convinced Joel and Rob to take a detour into fake-goods central (aka the Silk Market) because my bag was breaking. It’s four or five floors (I forget) crammed full of little booths selling fake name brand everything to tourists. Vendors call out “Gucci! Prada! Hey lady, I give you good price. My friend, you want to buy some bags?” There are no price tags; if bargaining were a sport, this place would host the Olympics and the Chinese would win the gold medal in every category. We heard so many tourists getting slaughtered (宰/zǎi） on prices as we walked by. However, Natalie is an Olympic level bargainer in her own right and experienced at handling the competitive atmosphere of the Silk Market. It was my first time there, so I just followed her cues.

We located the bag I wanted, and then set about the bargaining process. We had another advantage in that Natalie bought the same bag two years ago and paid 150 kuai ($21 USD) for it, so we knew that we didn’t want to pay more than 100 kuai (and hoped we could get it for even less). Given the abundance of tourists willing to get slaughtered, the vendors were throwing out extremely inflated prices.

The starting price for the bag I wanted (at several different booths) ranged from 400-600 kuai ($58-88 USD)!!! Our opening price was 50 kuai ($7.50), along with a spiel about how this was an old bag from three years ago and should now be extremely discounted. It took about thirty minutes…the lowest we could get anyone to go was 100 kuai. It pays to speak Chinese…usually as soon as you start speaking, the price will be slashed by at least 50%, because they know that you won’t be “had” quite as easily as all the tourists.

Natalie and I were wearing these little jelly bracelets in the Olympic colors (a set of five) for which I had paid 2 kuai per set ($.30)…and these attracted the attention of all the young sales ladies. They were (I’m not even exaggerating) literally trying to take the bracelets off of our arms. Apparently those kind of bracelets are a big higher priced in Beijing…8 kuai per one colored bracelet, rather than 2 kuai for a whole set. These came in handy when we finally located a shop keeper that was willing to bargain. Natalie opened (using English) with the spiel about already having the same bag and not wanting to pay more than 50 kuai. Then, in the grand tradition of bargaining, the shopkeeper must protest the impossibility of such a price. Next, I spoke in Chinese…at which point, the lady immediately dropped the price from over 300 kuai down to as she put it, “80 or 100.” I think she meant to say 100, but as soon as that 80 was out of her mouth, we pounced on it…and said “oh, you said 80!” So she couldn’t go back on that price. Even though I’d pretty much already decided to get it at 80, I　thought I’d just see if she’d go any lower than that. So I offered 70…which she wouldn’t take. Until, that is, she noticed my beautiful Olympic colored jelly bracelets. She started asking me where I had gotten them and asking me to give one of them to her. At which point, seeing my chance, I said “70 kuai…and I’ll give you the bracelets!” Her eyes widened, and she said “All of them?……DONE!” I took the bracelets off, she rapidly shoved them on her wrist and began admiring them as she wrapped up my bag. She was pretty happy about it all, and was the envy of the other two girls in her booth, who immediately began begging Natalie to give them her bracelets. So, I think we may have just gotten the gold medal in that particular match…a final price of 70 kuai ($10 USD) for my very own fake (but very good quality) Giorgio Armani bag.

Meeting Olympic Athletes! (Woowoo!)
While we were off bargaining, Joel and Rob were off stalking Olympic athletes…it was full of athletes when we were there! They must have bused them all in from the Olympic village or something. It was cool to have so many nationalities all in one place. We saw some extremely tall Germans signing autographs…I’m assuming they were basketball players. In one booth, a couple of Swedes were trying on underwear over their underwear, and the shop girl was hiding on the other side of the display dying from laughter.

I (Joel) chatted with a two Canadian athletes and their coaches (totally should have taken a photo!). One American athlete — I forget her name but we’ve seen her face in the news — walked past me and a friend with this frizzled look on her face: “This place is insane!” The sellers were a little aggressive and grabby sometimes, but most were polite and (understandably) in really good moods.

Tiananmen

Tiananmen square was crowded with Olympic displays but Mao’s mausoleum was closed, which I thought was kind of odd, since it’s apparently a super-popular domestic tourist attraction. Didn’t stop people from trying to sell us cheesy Mao trinkets, like wrist watches where his upraised hand tell the time. Totally should have bought one! One day I want to go through the mausoleum to see people’s reactions.

Kevin German of Wandering Light is running around Beijing taking some interesting photos.

Pronounced: xiāng qīn
Means: an arranged interview to evaluate a suggested future spouse; a blind date (often arranged by one’s family members)

Photos from this weekend: what’s left of the hutongs, the marriage market, inside a shuttered 100-year-old church building, the headless statue museum-restaurant (the 70′s were rough), and some neighbourhood shots. I didn’t take half these photos. Click them to see a bigger size.

Tianjin’s Marriage Market
I have to do an article on this marriage market! It’s just too awesome, and the people — hordes of parents and grandparents trying to arrange blind dates for their unmarried children — are super friendly and talkative. Some translations of the banners and signs that were hung around:

• “Hand-in-Hand Marriage Introductions” (手牵手婚介) — a banner on a matchmaking company’s booth
• “Help each other attack marriage” (互助征婚). “Attack” as in “tackle the problem”… I think… maybe “help each other request marriage”… I don’t know.
• “Matrimony Information Exchange Station” (婚姻信息交流站) — includes a “Man department” (男区) and a “Woman department” (女区).

Many people advertise their child’s stats right on their shirt. The man in red has a daughter, the man in blue has a son:

People also advertise from their bike baskets, or hang their child’s stats on lines in the “Matrimony Info Exchange Station.” Jessica interprets some details on an eligible bachelor for Nadina:

These two guys are perusing in the woman department:

Inside the crumbling “Purple Bamboo Forest” church
We finally got inside the long-shuttered Zǐzhúlín jiàotáng (紫竹林教堂) (photo gallery); workers were inside when we arrived. Neither the workers nor the residents knew what was to become of it.

Headless statue museum-restaurant
Finally returned to the headless statue restaurant — I don’t know what its real name is. It’s a museum-restaurant hybrid, full of “cultural relics,” which in this case means old statues, most of which were decapitated during the Cultural Revolution. I asked one of the attendants why they had no heads, just to see how she’d respond. She tactfully replied that there were some political movements in which people removed the heads. Points for being straight with the foreigner.

Nanshi during the Olympics
Since we were already in the area showing Nadina the town on a Saturday bike tour, we pedaled through what’s left of Nanshi, the hutongs that they kicked everyone out of for the Olympics.

They didn’t have time to flatten it completely before the Games, so they’ve built a massive wall around it. If you were looking at it, you’d just assume that behind the conspicuously high, long, connected billboards was a regular construction site. You can freely go in, but finding entrance points was a little tricky.

Inside was like a ghost town, only more depressing because there were more people still there than I expected. A few squatter’s shacks have been set up, some with brightly coloured flags flying from the roof, and there were still small children running around playing, so I wonder if some families are refusing to leave. There was still, to my surprise, remnants of one of the larger street markets selling vegetables. The key maker (photo) was still there, although the bathhouse (photo) across the street from him is nothing but the front wall. The tea house (photo) is gone. The vendor who originally helped me find Mr. Wu on my first return trip was still there in the same place with her cart, but she said she’s already moved out and just comes in to do business (I have no idea why). Two-thirds of Mr. Wu’s building is demolished. Mostly only some of the larger apartment buildings remain untoppled.

Scavengers were picking through the vast lots of rubble; one guy had a metal detector. The wall curved out of sight; it looked bigger from the inside.

Other places
We biked all over. There were lots of swimmers in the river (I want to swim so bad, but I would need a really good excuse to justify exposing myself to that “water”). The “Tianjin Incident” church (building) still isn’t open for viewing; the church (people) meet next door in a metal shed that’s decorated with spray-painted angels and Santa Claus with his sleigh and reindeer. I don’t know what that’s about, and I’m afraid to find out.

I had to walk to borrow a bike for this trip; it was a gorgeous afternoon so here’s some photos from our neighbourhood:
The three-wheel truck is called a “three horse” (三马 / sān mǎ). This one is parked at a neighbouring stairwell. On nice days, people often take their birds to the park, put them in trees or on that grass, and sit and watch them.

Pronounced: pài chū suǒ
Means: local police station