It's great to see you're still in the bars

Goddamnit I know. I'm the bloody JD Salinger of blogging. It's been forever. And there are no pictures. "Why no pictures? Where are the posts? What have you been doing over there that is keeping you from posting?" Well, I've been having a helluva a lot of fun. Let's examine the fun in greater detail shall we?

What does one do for fun in Zhuhai specifically (and, one assumes, in China in general)? The short, simple, and safe answer is that DVDs are cheap and plentiful. With Netflix in the USA, I probably watched more in terms esoterica, but here volume of consumption is the name of the game. One DVD can contain several movies or a season of a TV show. For less than $4 US, you can own every violent de Niro movie; the first 6 seasons of 24; a collection of eight "post-apocalypse" films; every Bond film EVER; every Wesley Snipes movie that you've never heard of; or a lot of dirty movies (or so I'm told). You can find pretty much anything if you know where to look - including some fairly esoteric, artsy films. I always try to talk myself out of renting/buying the interesting German film, simply because I know that I'm usually looking for something a little more escapist (or short, like a TV show). Anyway, volume, as I said, is key. I have a friend who will tear through a whole season of a TV series in a day; it took him about a week to watch all five seasons of The Wire. I don't watch TV like that, but I understand the sentiment.

What else does one do for fun in China? Bars, clubs, and BBQ (pronounced "bee-bee-cue" or just plain ol' "barbecue," if you're talking to an English speaker). The word bar is misleading, relative to what you would think of as a bar in a western country. You won't really find the dark, quiet dive bar that you like going to on a Tuesday night to watch a Celtics game. Aside from some hotel joints and Irish pubs (both of which are fairly expensive), bars here are essentially limited Karaoke places, Western bars (usually expensive and filled with rambunctious Aussies) and the outdoor establishments found on Walking Street in Gongbei (adjacent to the Macau border).

Karaoke is everything you've seen on TV: small, dimly lit room; terrible songs played at maximum volume; couches; bar girls; and lots of people saying "cheers" every five minutes. Western songs are often renditions reworked by a Chinese artist, so the pacing of the song is completely off. Every karaoke place has "Hotel California." If you come to China and go to a karaoke place with any Chinese people, they will ask you - nay, make you sing this song. In the words of the Dude, I hate the &%#@ing Eagles man, so this is an especially painful but expected part of ingratiating yourself with the locals. I don't do karaoke much, so let's move on, shall we?

Walking Street (a.k.a. Lianhua Lu, a.k.a. Lotus Lane, a.k.a. Ji Lu) in Gongbei is a special type of attraction. To start, I should note that almost no locals go there because it is a place featuring, shall we say, lots of women of ill repute. However, to dub it a trashy Red Light District isn't really a fair appraisal of the place. Walking Street proper is several hundred yards of open air bars, surrounded on both sides by clothing stores, restaurants, electronics stores, and the like. Lots of Taiwanese, Macanese, Japanese, Southeast Asians, and a smattering of gringos go to this area because there's lots of shopping, relatively cheap drinks, and ladies of the night. My favorite thing about Walking Street is the people watching, specifically watching the prostitutes scatter into the stores when a police van comes by to do a sweep. You see a van coming, and all of a sudden the go-go boots, small skirts, and clown makeup disappear. Also, when you're sitting at a bar on Walking Street, beggars, shoe shiners, and small song-singing children will come up and try to separate you from some of your money. Shoe shine (a really good one) is about 4RMB; having a little child sing you a song is usually 1 or 2 RMB; and beggars are annoying and persistent.

The most cruelly hilarious type of beggars are women with a child in their arms to elicit sympathy; now before you think I'm some sort of heartless monster, I should tell you that that child is not their child. It is a rented child. I don't know how they arrange it, but it is possible for women to rent a child for a few hours to boost their begging cachet. I know, I know, it's still very sad. Downright heart breaking. But it's China - you just have to laugh at the seemingly bizarre things that you are powerless to change. Also, our friends Luke (an American) and Ricky (from Cameroon) love telling the women that they want to eat their baby in Chinese. Why say something so horrible and wrong? Because it will make the women leave you the hell alone. It's a big game: you sit, have a few drinks, b.s. with the bartenders (these 20-something girls have taught me more Chinese than anyone), play liar's dice, laugh at the prostitutes, talk with the random foreigners, get your shoes shined, and tell the beggars to leave you the hell alone. I know it sounds very debauched and wrong, but that's just the game and that's just how it is. In my first days in China, an Aussie friend here gave me some solid advice that (to borrow a line from The Great Gatsby) I've been turning over in my mind ever since: "China's got 5000 years of culture. America's got 200 and Australia even less. Don't think you're going to go about changing the Chinese, because really it's you that had better go about changing a bit." Sage advice for living here, having fun, staying safe, and staying true to yourself, and, ultimately, for reading this blog as well.

Where was I before I started getting all philosophical...right, Walking Street. You meet all kinds of interesting folks down on Walking Street, and most of them are just doing what you're doing. I always go to Walking Street with a group of people and usually with Liz, so the prostitutes leave me/us alone. However, if you're alone or in a group of only men, the prostitutes, called ji (pronounced "gee," Chinese for chicken), will approach you, hand you a small piece of paper with their phone number on it, and get uncomfortably close to you. One time we were there in the afternoon talking to a Chinese-American guy who was sitting alone, waiting for his wife to come out of a foot massage parlor. He made a bet with his wife that in the time it took for her to get a foot massage that he could collect over 20 slips of paper, meaning that he would be approached by more than 20 ji. He easily had 30 when his wife returned, so I guess he "won" the bet. His prize was that his wife underestimated how enterprising ji can be.

Walking Street is also good because it is not loud, pretty safe, and an inexpensive staging area for doing something else in Gongbei. One thing you can do in Gongbei is underground go-karting. I've only done it once and it was fun...I mean, who wouldn't want to go to a go-karting place that also has a bar, right? Actually, me. I wouldn't want to do that. However, I did it once a bunch of friends, but thankfully there was no one else in the place because there was a raging typhoon outside. I don't want to say any more about the state of the go-karting place because I want my parents to be able to sleep soundly at night...suffice it to say that the cars are fast (and very stable) and so is the track.

Another fun but expensive thing to do is to go to Bar Street. Bar Street, which is very close to Walking Street, is a beautiful, tree-lined avenue with hotels, restaurants, and bars/nightclubs throughout. The two clubs I frequent - called Bar 88 and MTC - are very different from each other but they both serve alcohol in the same way: by the bottle. At bars/nightclubs, you (and presumably 3 or 4 friends, unless you are some sort of blistering, wealthy drunk) split a bottle of liquor (all the popular brands of vodka, gin, whiskey, and scotch), which the servers will mix with a mixer of your choice in a big jug (carafe? pitcher?) filled with some ice. My favorite is Jack Daniels and green tea (and somewhere my mother is shaking her head and saying "no no no, that is sooooo wrong"), which, if mixed correctly, is not too strong and doesn't make you feel like some sort of boozed up mess. Once you have said alcoholic concoction (or a glass of wine or a beer), you and everyone in your party will start playing liar's dice or, my favorite, rock-paper-scissors. Yes rock-paper-scissors. It sounds so stupid, but I swear that getting a group of 10 people to play rock-paper-scissors is one of the more enriching and entertaining ways to kill a few hours. You get to know everyone without talking a lot (important if your Chinese is as bad as mine), people from other tables come over and start playing, and you don't have to try and yell over the VERY LOUD music (more on that in a minute). It's a helluva lot of fun if you have any competitiveness to you at all and I think I'm going to bring it back to the US.

So about the two clubs and their really loud music: the music ranges from American and Chinese hiphop, pop, and techno to revved up versions of songs that you never thought could or should be revved up. Most notable is "Happy Birthday to You." Think of the most annoying, bubblegummy techno crap that you can and then put someone with a vaguely German accent singing "Happy Birthday to You" over it. Now imagine, if you will, that you're in Bar 88 - a big nightclub that looks somewhat nautical, but also like it was designed by someone that's seen Fritz Lang's Metropolis a few too many times - and "Happy Birthday to You" comes on. For some reason, the bartenders start handing out sparklers to people, and not like the cute little sparklers you got on the 4th of July when you were 11 years old. Big sparklers. The size of Bill Clinton's cigar. Massive. Now imagine that you're, say, six feet four inches tall and surrounded by a throng of listing, possibly very intoxicated Chinese people who are all about a foot shorter than you. When said Chinese people hear "Happy Birthday to You" and get sparklers, they go bonkers and you cover your eyes because those damn sparklers are right at eye level. I mean, the whole thing is really hilarious and, white-hot magnesium aside, a lot of safe fun. The bartenders juggle flaming bottles. People come up and "cheers" you constantly. There's a million tv screens, all playing concert footage of some random American hiphop, R&B, or pop concert (i.e. Ja-Rule, Usher, Beyonce) without the sound on. And no one - and I mean NO ONE - can dance. I don't know if it's endemic to 20-something Chinese people or what, but NO ONE can dance. I mean, I can't dance, but they really really really can't dance. I've only been to a handful of clubs in the USA, but I seem to remember being very intimidated by everyone else's ability to dance. Here, I'm bloody Fred Astaire and they're Elaine from Seinfeld. Amazing.

Anyway, Bar 88 is loud, crazy, and fun. MTC is smaller and somewhat more low key. Still loud, but you can still talk to your friends, play the aforementioned games, and gawk at the impish stage dancers and their sequined dresses. MTC has a much more modern feel and generally a place that I prefer, inasmuch as I go to Bar Street. As a rule I only go to Bar Street if someone else is paying or if someone else drags me there. For me, the clubs are too much spectacle and not enough camaraderie, but that's just, like, my opinion, man.

Almost every night in Gongbei (or anywhere else) ends as every night should: with pieces of meat on a stick, grilled to perfection. I cannot overstate my love for the BBQs. They're everywhere in Zhuhai and they're open very very late. You can get pork, chicken, beef, grilled vegetables, fish, fish/pork/chicken balls, Chinese hotdogs (similar to American ones, except slightly sweet and smaller), fried tofu, and more. My favorites are the grilled eggplant (cooked in tinfoil with about 25 cloves' worth of diced garlic), giant oysters (also cooked with a mountain of garlic), any green vegetable, and the guilty indulgence of a hotdog. Liz really likes these things that are like slender green onions, skewered through the ends and coated in some sort of magical brown sauce (not soy - I'm not a moron). BBQs are not like hotdog stands or lunch carts in the States; rather, you go to a BBQ, pick out what you want from a table of meat and produce, sit down at a table, and then a waitress will bring you your cooked food and whatever you want to drink. They're always on sidewalks, always have people at them, and are always a good idea. I've only been here a couple months and am still getting through the "I miss this from America, I miss that from America" stage, so I'm not to the point where I think "man, I'll really miss this thing or that thing about China when I return to America." That being said, I can say unequivocally that I will miss BBQ when I go back to the States. Oh my god, I will miss it. One of my least favorite things about having to teach (or do anything) at 8am is that I probably won't have the opportunity to have BBQ at 2am the night before, regardless of whether or not I have been drinking. In America when you've been out all night, you either make some cheese fries or a grilled cheese at your house, maybe order a pizza, or get a sober buddy to drive you to IHOP or some trash like Taco Bell. Here, it's BBQ. Oh my god, I love BBQ. I have to teach all day tomorrow and Sunday, and I am dying on the inside just thinking about how I probably won't have BBQ for a few days. Shed a tear for me won't you?

In closing, I would like to say that I'm not hitting the bottle really hard or anything. Most nights here are just nice and quiet - hang out at home, eat some dinner, watch a movie, hang out with friends, go out to a restaurant, doddle around on the internet, etc. If one chooses to go out, the late nights are just more of a lifestyle necessity: we teach nights quite frequently, so if we want to go down to Gongbei, etc., we usually don't get started until after 10pm. Before we left, I joked with Liz that we were going to be like NBA players, who never hit the nightclubs or restaurants post-game until 11pm simply because their job keeps them late. Same thing with all the Broadway types I used to work with back home. We aren't crazy and, much like the States, still keep it pretty low key; however, sometimes you just have to play rock-paper-scissors, sing some songs, crack some jokes, and see the sunrise.

Friends, food, and New Year's

Here's a laundry list of things that have been keeping me (us) happy and entertained for the last few weeks.

Firstly, we purchased the seasons 1-18 of The Simpsons on DVD for about $4 US. I have been watching The Simpsons since it first aired. My wonderful and incredibly rational parents never seemed to have a problem with the occasionally foul mouthed program, so I just sort of ran with it for - gulp - almost two decades. I watched it when it was the smartest comedy on TV in the mid-90s (and I didn't get half the jokes); when the celebrities ruefully dominated and centered the show to the point of stagnation; when the show hit its absolute nadir in 2002 with the "screaming caterpillar" episode; and when it came back a year or two ago, a Lazarus of sorts, with rediscovered wit and a heightened randomness I took to be a tacit hat-tip to erratic plot arks of Family Guy. I've spent more time watching and quoting the show than one man should, but never in all my years have I owned even a single episode. Always subject to the whims of syndication, I could never simply throw on a DVD or a tape and watch whatever I wanted. That all changed last week, and, friends, I simply couldn't be happier.

We went to Dim Sum a few weeks back with some of Liz's students - pretty good time all around. Dim Sum is one of my favorites, and has been ever since I first had it with my parents. Essentially course after course of appetizers, Dim Sum is Cantonese brunch. Dumplings, noodles, congee (a.k.a. jook, a.k.a. rice porridge, a.k.a. delicious), egg rolls, steamed vegetables, Chinese pastries, and chicken feet magically appear on your table (after one of our nice putonghua-speaking accomplices do the ordering). I apologize for the photos: the light was terrible.



That same day, we went to a Hunanese restaurant in Gongbei with a couple friends, one of whom happens to be from Hunan and did a superb job ordering all the food. Hunan is widely known as both the birthplace of Mao Zedong (every Hunan restaurant is adorned with his picture, or, in some cases, a life-sized bronze statue) and as one of China's two spicy provinces (along with Sichuan). Our Hunanese friend ordered us a smattering of dishes ranging from savory-but-unspicy vegetables (for our fourth friend, a Canadian with a somewhat low tolerance of spice) to a sublimely, delicately spicy pot of beef, peppers, and julienned potatoes/root vegetables. There was also a fabulous dish of very spicy, thinly sliced potatoes that would have been the champion of the night, were it not for the beef dish. Our friend also attempted to order us donkey, as Liz and I have yet to try it; alas, we arrived at the restaurant towards the end of the night and they happened to be out of ass. Also unfortunate is that I did not bring a camera. I do not like to carry expensive camera equipment at night in Gongbei, an area infested with prostitutes, grifters, pickpockets, and other malcontents. Next time we go - which will be sooner rather than later - I will come back bearing photographic evidence. (Note: since then, I have discovered three Hunan restaurants near to my apartment; I shall go soon bearing a camera).

What else, what else, what else. Took these cool photos from the roof.



We went to Macau the week before Christmas. Let me just start of by saying that I would move to Macau in a heartbeat. I really like Zhuhai a lot, but there's just something about Macau that draws me in. Narrow streets. Everything in Portuguese. Vague, Las Vegasesque feel to the place. The utter mishmash of languages. The colonial history. I just love it. Senado Square is beautiful, if a little touristy; it reminds me of Puerto Rico. Fisherman's Wharf is totally touristy crap like you'd find in Vegas: they have a fake Roman Coliseum, a fake Middle Eastern locale, a fake Chinese temple, a fake volcano, fake colonial houses in the Portuguese architectural style, a fake African restaurant...it just goes on and on. I'm shocked they didn't have fake Pyramids or a fake Eiffel Tower. Nonetheless, it was very pleasant and not crowded, and they had a bakery where we could get donuts - yum!



Christmas Eve came and we cooked a big feast with our friend Luke from upstate: I did my mom's southern style sweet potatoes with brown sugar and pecan topping (walnuts substituted for pecans); southern style green beans; and a pan gravy. Liz did an incredible no-bake cheese cake. Our friend did a butterflied roast pork loin with apple stuffing, garlic mashed potatoes, and peas. Overall everything was delicious...there was a lot of the last minute preparation (roasting the loin and the garlic for the mashers, slapping together the gravy) made more difficult because we had to shuttle things here and there between three different cooking locations. No complaints, though: we had a nice, traditional, leisurely dinner that didn't involve eating with sticks and/or at a restaurant.

From Christmas in China 2008

We got a (fake) Christmas tree here too, with lots of ornaments, lights, and a star. It's about 5 feet tall, slightly haggard, but does the job.

From Christmas in China 2008

Feliz Navidad! Er... Sheng Dan Kuai Le!

Post-dinner, Christmas Eve was spent at our local western watering hole. It was a mess.

On Christmas day, Liz gave me an alarm clock (awesome), a sweater (awesome), and fuzzy slippers (awesome). I especially appreciated the gifts that would keep me warm. It doesn't really get below 50 degrees here, but it feels much colder for three reasons: one, my body has recalibrated somewhat to this climate, meaning that 50 degrees feels much cooler; two, none of the apartments have insulation and they are all made of pure concrete and steel, so our apartment is actually colder than the outdoors; three, we have no heat source of any kind, and I am not about to drop a bunch of money on a stupid heat fan. I don't want to give the wrong impression to my friends that happen to be living in such snow entrenched-climes as Chicago, New England, or the greater Northwest (yikes!), as the weather here is lovely and I haven't had to use a snow shovel or de-icer once, and would not under any circumstances consider donning a pair of gloves. However, much like how New England can feel absolutely miserable when it's only 75 degrees, Zhuhai feels positively icy at 10pm on a given winter night.

New Year's was a lovely if not debauched evening. We started off at the beautiful apartment of our Chinese friend, whom I shall call DD. A little background on our past relationship with DD is in order, I think. Liz and I first met her through our American friend Luke. Whenever she invites us over to her house or out for dinner, she always shows us or introduces us to incredible things that very likely we would have no way of finding or experiencing otherwise. Such past examples include: rollerbladers in nightclubs (the night we learned competitive rock-paper-scissors); doing shots of Chinese whiskey distilled with tiger bone (yes, tiger bone); homemade barbecue and Sichuan hotpot; and, on Christmas, a really elegant chain restaurant called "6000."

On New Year's, DD invited us over to make jiaozi (a.k.a. gyoza, a.k.a dumplings) with her family. Basically, one person (DD's sister, in this case) rolls out hundreds of pieces of dough into little coaster-sized jiaozi wrappers. Then, another person (me, Luke, Liz, DD, and DD's mother, in this case) puts about a tablespoon of jiaozi filling (usually some combination of ground pork, green vegetables, egg, mushrooms, etc.) in the middle, and then seals the whole thing up by folding, pressing, and crimping the edges together. Ultimately, the "perfect" jiaozi will take on a slight crescent shape, with expertly crimped undulations of dough running along the edge of the dumpling's concave side. For me, Liz, and Luke, the "perfect" jiaozi remained in the theoretical realm, as our attempts were usually uneven, partially full, and sort of ugly. Well, not exactly true: not to toot my own horn, but I got pretty decent at making them by the end of the night; in fact, I found the whole process very relaxing and therapeutic! In any case, the three Americans were no match for DD and her family - especially DD's mother. This woman was an absolute machine. I had to learn the folding techique from watching DD's sister, as her mother - who has made millions of jiaozi, I'm sure - was so fast and fluid with her movements, that I could not perceive the different steps. The effortless and knowing way DD's mother would seal those suckers up reminded me of watching my own mother make biscuits - just completely unconscious, like she could do it if struck blind.

After we had put together what seemed like a million dumplings, DD's mother and father commenced to cooking them - either by boiling or steaming them (not sure). The fully cooked ones rolled by me and my American counterparts we easily identifiable (lumpy) but still delicious. Thankfully we were permitted to eat ones rolled by defter hands.

Following dinner, DD, Liz, Luke, and I sat around drinking some good red wine and talking. DD, whose English is passable (and better than our Chinese), inevitably went over to a very dangerous closet in her apartment: the place where she keeps the booze. DD is a popular lady, and receives a lot of thank you gifts from friends and clients; in China, you express your thanks with expensive cigarettes or, for non smokers such as DD, alcohol. I already mentioned the tiger bone whiskey. She also has what must be a two-gallon bottle of Hennessy (Chinese people like cognac). But on this night, New Year's, she broke out one of the most astounding alcoholic beverages - perhaps tonic is the right word - that I've ever seen: deer penis whiskey. Strong stuff no doubt, and very expensive. DD convinced the four of us (not a difficult feat) to knock back a modest shot of the stuff, which didn't taste too bad. Then Luke and I knocked back two more, then the four of us finished the smallish bottle...and let me tell you...WHOA! Like nothing I ever felt. Not drunk in the least, but just...amped. Luke and I were talking a mile a minute, we both turned bright pink, and we both felt like we could throw a car. Seriously. This was the kind of thing you read about in regards to PCP, cocaine, and that lot (minus the turning pink, I assume), though I think it was probably more testosterone than anything else. Just awesome, wild stuff. If you're ever in China and someone offers you a bottle of deer penis whiskey, take it for the love of god!

With a gut full of jiaozi and the physical strength to punch through a wall, us Americans headed back to Luke's pad for a little while before going to a New Year's party at a night club. Some stuff happened. There was music, and a dance floor, and someone (not me) got sick all over someone else (also not me). We went home fairly early in the night. What else can you say? I stopped being excited about New Year's a while ago. It's a holiday for people that don't drink to get drunk, and for people that do drink to get very drunk. You have fun, stay safe, and move on. Happy New Year! Xin Nian Kuai Le!

On New Year's Day, we went out for the first time to what is now my favorite breakfast spot: a new Hong Kong restaurant just north of the Jusco. Unfortunately, the restaurant was packed, so we were "forced" to go get our hair washed at the salon next door. "Hair washed?" you say. "What the hell?" Before you judge, you should know that getting your hair washed involves laying down, getting a full head, neck, and hand massage, and, if you want, an ear cleaning and a brush and blow dry (Liz got princess curls). It's like heaven. In the States I always hated getting my hair washed at a salon because it was usually done by some bitchy woman from Revere that talked to her friend about last night's episode of "Dancing with the Stars" while she pulled out wads of my hair. Here, it's awesome and cheap. Just heaven.

After the wash, we were able to land a table at the Hong Kong restaurant. We got three bowls of congee and three orders of rice, green vegetables, and beef cooked in individual clay pots. Really amazing food when you're trying to ward off deer penis whiskey's residual demons. The entire menu at this restaurant is in Chinese, so in subsequent visits we just have to hope our knowledge of Chinese characters will get us through. We went this morning and ended up with congee (again) and a pork chop sandwich, which is roughly what we thought we were getting!