IKEA

Posted on December 5, 2011 | 1 Comment

Yesterday  I broke my own rule: I went to Ikea on a Sunday. I beat Jeff at monopoly at brunch, and we had some significant victory conditions on the line – if he won, home for a hangover nap; if i won we’d go get ourselves a Christmas tree. Last year Jeff surprised me when I came home one night to a decorated Ikea tree – it was the best thing to happen all season, and it’s presence alone made our (loud, frustrating, freezing) apartment a little more tolerable. But somehow in the past 11 months, we seem to have misplaced that fake little tree. So off we went for tree #2.

Ikeas all over the world are pretty chaotic, set up as dizzying labyrinths of everything you could possibly want in any size apartment or house. The maze-like design just makes it worse – you MUST navigate through sofas and bureaus and bathroom fixtures even if all you want is a mixing bowl.

So please, just imagine this average-Ikea chaos and multiply it by mobs of pushing, line cutting, frantic Chinese people. Then double that because it’s the weekend and entire families make a day of this place. With regards to Ikea I don’t even feel bad generalizing – in Chengdu the customers are nuts. It might be something in the soft serve, because I swear everyone in there is brandishing at least 2 cones.

My desire for to set up our apartment for Christmas outweighed my fear of an Ikea Sunday. Besides, the Christmas decorations are situated right before the check-out lines, so I figured we could enter through the exit and avoid most of the madness.

But then Jeff decided we should plunge deeper into the beast, to look for “inspiration” for our guest room – a room that’s drabness really bothers Jeff  for some reason when he’s getting dressed in there every morning.

Where my protests failed to deter him, the sheer directional flow of people did. It became clear by the first frames-and-flowers section that we WOULD be trampled by shopping carts if we continued. So we retreated, only to end up in one of the 20 checkout lines that don’t resemble lines as much as packs of people trying to defeat the purpose of a line. A cart full of Christmas spirit helped me stay calm, but I got nervous when Jeff almost came to blows with a little old lady who decided she could start putting her stuff, and her body, on our cart. Personal space in Chengdu: unlikely. Personal space at Ikea: no freaking way.

After 30 minutes defending our rightful order, we could see the hazy, smoggy light on the other side of the Ikea doors. We escaped but not without first trying to capture the craziness in a several bad Iphone photos. I think you may have to see to believe.

I won’t be going back anytime soon, but I must say the prize was worth the price – wine + Christmas decorating REMAIN the best way to spend a Sunday evening, no matter what side of the world you’re on.

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beating the block.

Posted on November 25, 2011 | Leave a comment
I’ve been suffering from a bad case of blog block, a condition that just gets worse because the longer I go without writing the less blog-worthy what’s happening around me starts to feel, as though my return to the blog world must cover something truly epic. But wise people have told me this is an endless conundrum, the only way to break the block is to blog. About how much bitter mellon costs these days or the sparkling new 711 that opened up near my office, if I must. Luckily, last weekend gave me enough to work with.
November’s a special time for ex-pats in Chengdu, as with the end of fall come two of the biggest ex-pat-oriented events of the year – the Christmas Bazaar and the Marine Ball. Last year I heard about the Christmas Bazaar in retrospect and felt mighty disappointed I hadn’t heard in time about a Christmas fair in a land with very little Christmas spirit; it may have helped my dawning winter blues to mingle with like-minded ex-pats, Christmas goodies, Santa Claus, etc.
This year we were more prepared. The strangest thing about the Bazaar was how it made me remember that we’re not just 1 or 2 ex-pats floating in a Chengdu sea of Chinese, but one of (on last count) +11,000. An ex-pat community so large includes all the stereotypes  you’d expect in any social community – it’s hard to believe that the waspy lady swathed in pearls that I spoke to has also eaten at a hot pot restaurant or used a squat toilet. But she probably has.

bros at the wine table. duh.

Although I have an imported boyfriend and the majority of my close friends are foreigners, my daily life does not include large gatherings of ex-pats or environments reminiscent of home. The Marine Ball was quite clearly set up to bring a little taste of America to Chengdu, as I assume marine balls around the world do for whatever marines are stationed there. Everyone looked dapper, there were special guests (like the Secretary of Agriculture), I ate a lot of smoked salmon and drank a lot of American wine. This was clearly an evening guests anticipated – a great excuse to get dolled up, have a tailor turn out a flashy bow tie for your husband in the same hue as your ball gown, etc. It was a particular privilege to briefly meet the Consul General and observe the dignified yet accessible way he and his lovely wife interacted with the guests, and enjoyed themselves on the dance floor. It was all fun. Until a female party goer decided mounting the VIP table for an unrequested table dance was a good idea and in the blink of an eye all remaining VIP guests had made a swift, diplomatic exit. At least she wasn’t American.
Worth mentioning are the 2 very Chinese encounters that sandwiched my serious concentration of ex-pat time this weekend, encounters that highlight some of the (countless) social contrasts in the worlds between which we are balancing.
Our ayi was over cleaning while Jeff and I got ready for the Marine Ball, so naturally she started “oo”ing and “ahh”ing as she watched our transformation from sweatpants to better than sweatpants. She kept repeating something else to me in between little fits of laughter as I got ready to leave. Finally I figured out what she was so hysterically telling me: [Abridged English Translation] “You have no chest !!!” Yes. It happened.
Then I was whisked away to a ball where no matter what anyone thought of your appearance, affinity for table dancing, or overindulgence in alcohol, such opinions would never be voiced out loud. Not socially “Appropriate.”
Monday night – after my weekend of ex-pat smiles – Jeff and I had a long overdue dinner with our Chinese best friends. There, over egg battered crab legs and abalone (harvested from the outrageous aquariums on the first floor of the restaurant) my friend Jenny put her hand on my stomach and said “Bigger than before!” Also happened. Also can’t think of any previous context in my life when a comment like that would not end my conversation, or friendship.

In case you feel like ordering Alligator.

So yes, in a 48 hour period two of the most important Chinese people in my life called me boobless and fat. And somehow I’m not that offended, or particularly concerned, because life here tends to boost an ego more often than hurt it. I’m OK.
The point is no matter how foreign friendly my weekend may have been, this is still China. And that’s something no amount of Christmas cheer, American patriotism, or homemade-Apple-Fritters-California-Pinot-Smoked-Salmon-Buttered-Foccacia-Bread can make me forget.

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hong kong.

Posted on September 9, 2011 | Leave a comment

A necessary visa run gave me the chance to escape the mainland for a few days and get a taste of Hong Kong for the first time. Leading up to this adventure, I’ve heard a lot about Hong Kong; varying levels of enthusiasm, awe, and even some disappointment. I wasn’t sure what to expect.

view from the top.

My 48 hours there certainly weren’t enough to draw any conclusions about this thriving metropolis, so close yet so far from the China I’ve experienced for the past year. There are definitely similarities to the mainland, but it is – on first impression- a different world.  There are foreigners everywhere. I ate veal meatballs and fresh mozzarella. I found fresh-baked lemon poppyseed muffins and green olive and crushed almond tapenade. I marveled at the immaculate public bathrooms. The cashier at Pret A Manger gave me a free latte because I was just so grateful for the warm carrot muffin he sold me. Starbucks made me the iced soy chai latte I haven’t had in a year (hasn’t made it to the mainland quite yet). The woman across the table from me openly said a prayer before eating her sausage roll. It was a trip.

prosciutto and wild figs. yes please.

Poppyseed muffins and prosciutto aside, I also attribute my positive impressions of HK to my hosts – family friends who live and work in Hong Kong. They were amazing and I was very lucky to stay in their gorgeous apartment at mid-level rather than spending an arm and a leg on a shoebox of a hotel room. They also gave me great HK advice, delicious meals, and adorable kids to hang out with, which was a nice bonus.

victoria peak. with a light saber.

Finally, HK rocked because I had the privilege of attending the first annual China Wine Awards, where I spent my Thursday tasting glass after glass of entrants from across the world. The Awards were organized by Kelly England of Kelly England publishing, the leading independent publishing house in HK and a generally gorgeous / super sweet person. The Awards are the first of their kind – catering specifically to the Chinese palate, focusing on what the Chinese consumer and major wine buyers across China actually want in a bottle. I’ve also gotten used to attending events in Chengdu for which my expectations are high, and misguided. This was not the case for the CWA, which I think speaks to the way things work in HK, and also to the organizers of this particular event. The entire day was meticulously planned and everything was considered. I drank well, ate well,  and met a lot of interesting people.

wine!

It’s strange returning to Chengdu with the acquired awareness of all that Hong Kong is. The city, it’s inhabitants and lifestyle, blend Eastern culture with Westernized notions of time, manners, openness, efficiency, not to mention Hong Kong exudes a genuinely globalized, cosmopolitan feel that I haven’t found elsewhere in China. It’s pretty ideal transition point between life in the West and the East; a place to dip your toes before jumping into the deep end. Unprepared and unaware, we did a cannonball into the frontier of mainland China a year ago, which doesn’t stop sounding crazy whenever I answer that frequently-asked-question “What are you doing here? Why Chengdu?”

For the record – still figuring out the right answer to that question :)

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*mis.type.

Posted on September 6, 2011 | Leave a comment

This is now 2 posts in a row on awkward moments. Really, it’s been a life trend. Like that time my boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend moved in as my sub-letter, by chance. Can’t make that stuff up.  A side effect of this predisposition for awkwardness is the frequency with which I sent text messages (or emails, with attachments) to the wrong recipient. I won’t sully this blog with all the times this has mortified me, but I got an amusing response last night when I accidentally sent the message “Cocktail waiting for you!” to the Chinese coordinator at the school I’ve worked at instead of my friend, who I actually had a cocktail waiting for. Response: “I am so sorry Clara, I just read your message now But I can’t understand the sentence “Cocktail waiting for you!” Do you mean you want me to join in the cocktail party or do you mean something else? I am sorry for my narrow knowledge… Are you available now? Can you explain it to me? Where are the cocktails?”

photo montage: What Surrounds my Bike At an Intersection

Puppy in a basket:

The cost effective way to move your shit:

McDonalds Delivary:

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gaffe!

Posted on August 22, 2011 | Leave a comment

I received a lesson in humility yesterday (after watching gaffe-prone Biden deliver a pretty gaffe-free speech, but more on that later) while sitting on my stoop with Jeff and a few friends enjoying some sunday afternoon beers.

One of the best things about our new apartment complex is the huge courtyard around which the buildings are set. It is one of the larger patches of grass I’ve seen in Chengdu (other than some amazing parks) and is kept perfectly landscaped and unusually green. In other words, we finally have a lovely spot to sit outside right on our doorstep. It’s nice.

A middle-aged chinese man walked by us with a beautiful golden retriever and an equally beautiful husky (unusual sight, most Chinese prefer small dogs). Said husky decided to do his business on the stone pathway directly in front of where we were sitting, so he got started, right as I was thinking how lovely the afternoon was. In alcohol induced irritation and disgust I declared “That man BETTER pick up that dog’s shit or I am going to ….” (fill in the blank). I said this because I frequently watch people watch their dogs (or kids, which is certainly worse) go to the bathroom on our communal property (and every street / sidewalk, ever) and not do anything about it. It’s gross. Unfortunately, this particular man turned around and said “I can understand what you’re saying. I’m from Texas, and I always clean up after my dogs. So, are you still going to kick my ass?”

Foot In Mouth.

Being called out in this way has surprisingly never happened to me before, and was a useful lesson for someone who has gotten quite comfortable complaining in English about what is going on around me. It doesn’t matter that I had a point (my friend accurately pointed out that although he said he “always” cleaned up after his dogs, he was carrying no bag and in fact asked me to hold their leashes while he went to retrieve some newspaper), it mattered that my response was belligerent BECAUSE I did not expect it to be understood. Bad move! At a time where every Chinese kid learns English in school, and in a city that is rapidly developing and increasing it’s numbers of foreigners and elsewhere-born Chinese, it’s good to realize that I’m not always safe talking smack in English. I was obviously mortified and spent the next 10 minutes oogling over his dogs and being overly enthusiastic in my conversation with him so as to reverse the embarrassing damage I had done. He was a pretty nice guy, and probably a good neighbor to not have offended/threatened on first impression. I’m pretty sure I successfully redeemed and explained myself,  but I still blush just thinking about it. I’m awkward, what else is new.

our sacred lawn.

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