Website & Writing
Copyright protected Piper Selden
All rights reserved.
Copyright protected Piper Selden
All rights reserved.
Arrival:
"Getting ready for the Olympics," said Dr. Cheng. Of course, the Olympics! Will China be ready by 2008? I wonder. More importantly, is the world ready for China?
So many things I imagined during the months and weeks leading up to my tour of China, pearl of the east. I thought the trip would provide an excellent opportunity to do character and place sketches for my writing. In addition, I love to travel and experience new things. Years back, I traveled to Hong Kong--independent, cosmopolitan, and somewhat westernized. Somewhere over the Pacific Ocean, sandwiched in a tight middle seat on Japan Airlines, I wondered how similar or different Hong Kong would be to mainland China.
I arrived in China late at night, alone and a full day before the rest of the tour group was scheduled to arrive. The airport was typical, like any large international city--large steel supports, expansive glass windows, and miles of cold white linoleum. Signs were multilingual, printed in Chinese and Japanese characters, as well as German, French, English, and Hindi.
I moved through the confusion, hordes of other travelers from arriving flights, rushing en masse to the agricultural and customs checks. In one hand I clutched my rolling bag, filled with everything (I hoped) I would need for a month in China: clothes for hot and cool weather, a small water-purification system, guidebooks, language books, and six boxes of Pepto-Bismol tablets. In the other hand, I held a "cheat sheet," a small piece of paper with neatly written Chinese characters, which would tell a cab driver to take me to Beida--Peking University.
I marched with sleepless stupor and blind confidence toward the long lines of tired travelers, all waiting for the blessed stamp of approval to enter China "officially." Five minutes into my wait I turned my head and spotted a familiar face-my philosophy professor, Dr. Cheng.
The professor hailed a cab, so I folded my cheat sheet and put it into my purse.
"What was that?" Dr. Cheng asked.
"Directions to the campus," I answered.
"May I see?"
I took out the paper and handed it to him.
"Hmmm... It's a good thing you ran into me," he said. "Where did you get the directions?"
"From your secretary," I answered.
"Hmmm..." he repeated, his voice trailing off. He handed the paper back and faced forward in the cab.
Hmmm.... ??? What did he mean? Hmmm.... ??? Were the directions wrong? From the front seat Dr. Cheng chuckled and chatted up the driver
My fuzzy brained kicked around "what if" scenarios. What if I hadn't met up with the professor? I pictured myself stranded on the other side of Beijing--alone, lost, and sleep deprived in the blanket of big city night, bravely clutching a piece of paper with bad directions to my breast.
Heart pounding, I turned the "what if" scenario into a "what's the worst that could happen" game and relaxed. I had everything I needed: a Fodor's guide and credit cards. What more could a girl ask for? Aside from a good set of directions.
During the forty-five minute ride, Dr. Cheng gave me a verbal layout of Beijing, a city of concentric circles one within the next, much like a giant Chinese bull's eye. I was surprised at the number of people up and at work, dozens of new high-rise buildings flickered with blue-white construction blowtorches like fireflies in the black of night. I checked my watch, realizing I had forgotten to change the time.
"What time is it now?" I asked.
"2:30am, local China time."
The vinyl seating creaked as Dr. Cheng turned to face me. "You know, China has only one time zone? From Beijing to Kahar, thousands of miles and only one zone. The country still follows the Emperor's time zone, even today. Dr. Cheng turned forward again, said something to the cab driver. He pointed out the window and swept his arm back and forth in a wide arch.
"All new," he said, addressing the windshield. "All this, new for the Olympics."
I yawned and looked out into the night sky. The freeway was packed with cars, taxis, and buses, honking and making rapid lane changes. For the moment, I was happy to sit back and listen to the hum of the taxi's tires on the new blacktop freeway. I closed my eyes. Heading west toward Peking University, my home for the next two weeks, I realized I had forgotten to pack something. As I drifted off to sleep, I wondered what type of underwear I might find in Beijing.
The rest of the group hit the ground running and I was glad that I decided to come to China a day early. I felt rested and in good spirits.
Breakfast was 10 RNB--Western-style, mostly. We had eggs, scrambled, rice, small links that looked like Vienna sausages, stir-fried cabbages of different types, tofu, an assortment of cooked vegetables, a "congee of the day" (a type of rice soup), and a basket of rolls and pastries. They also served tea and coffee.
Coffee. Really? Ugh... Am I a coffee snob? Apparently so.
The coffee in Beijing was a weaker version of tea, so I stuck to the tea. Breakfast tea came in black or green and I switched depending primarily on my mood--black or green.
At home I drink hearty cups of French-pressed sludge every morning, something between European and Turkish style. I'm talking strong stuff here, nothing namby-pamby. My rule of thumb is to drink opaque coffee, not watery or weak. It's not good to see through your morning beverage, but when in Rome...
Later that morning, after the last of our group had swept the sleep from their
jetlagged eyes, we walked to the Philosophy Department. Dr. Cheng took us on short tour of the campus. Faustina and Patti came too. Faustina checked things out with the rest of us because she was also new to the surroundings. Patti, it seemed by her sullen expression, came because she had to.
Beida, the campus, is a fairly large walled community in the North Western part of Beijing. We visited the library where Mao Zedong was once a librarian. It was tough to imagine him in that role:
"Excuse me. May I see your library card? Oh, it appears you have an overdue library book: Karl Marx's Communist Manifesto? I'm afraid that'll be a fine of 10 RNB and two days in jail. Please remove your red star. What a disgrace! -- Next?"
The library, I was disappointed to discover, was off limits to us. ARG! We visited Triangle Corner next, the site where students rallied for the June 4th march on Tiananmen Square. The protests of 1989 turned into a massacre after the Chinese army opened fire on the crowd, killing several hundred people. Who knows how many others were detained and imprisoned?
Students at the Triangle handed out pamphlets in English and Chinese. A thin-framed young man approached me and looked me square in the eye. "Don't forget Tiananmen!" he said, pressing a leaflet into my hand. His English, like Faustina's, was carefully articulated and clear. His eyes searched mine, asking for a personal pledge. "No. I won't forget," I told him honestly. "Tiananmen won't be forgotten."
Honestly, who of a certain age can forget the famous photo of the unknown rebel who stood his ground before an advancing row of military tanks?
The student at Beida smiled at me, and then turned to someone else. He said something in Chinese and distributed another pamphlet. He had a huge stack in both hands and another large stack at his feet. I thought about my promise not to forget the tragedy of Tiananmen Square.
I do hope the world doesn't forget--that time and commerce won't erase an ugly past. Then again, people who live in glass countries... shouldn't throw stones.
"Getting ready for the Olympics," said Dr. Cheng. Of course, the Olympics! Will China be ready by 2008? I wonder. More importantly, is the world ready for China?
So many things I imagined during the months and weeks leading up to my tour of China, pearl of the east. I thought the trip would provide an excellent opportunity to do character and place sketches for my writing. In addition, I love to travel and experience new things. Years back, I traveled to Hong Kong--independent, cosmopolitan, and somewhat westernized. Somewhere over the Pacific Ocean, sandwiched in a tight middle seat on Japan Airlines, I wondered how similar or different Hong Kong would be to mainland China.
I arrived in China late at night, alone and a full day before the rest of the tour group was scheduled to arrive. The airport was typical, like any large international city--large steel supports, expansive glass windows, and miles of cold white linoleum. Signs were multilingual, printed in Chinese and Japanese characters, as well as German, French, English, and Hindi.
I moved through the confusion, hordes of other travelers from arriving flights, rushing en masse to the agricultural and customs checks. In one hand I clutched my rolling bag, filled with everything (I hoped) I would need for a month in China: clothes for hot and cool weather, a small water-purification system, guidebooks, language books, and six boxes of Pepto-Bismol tablets. In the other hand, I held a "cheat sheet," a small piece of paper with neatly written Chinese characters, which would tell a cab driver to take me to Beida--Peking University.
I marched with sleepless stupor and blind confidence toward the long lines of tired travelers, all waiting for the blessed stamp of approval to enter China "officially." Five minutes into my wait I turned my head and spotted a familiar face-my philosophy professor, Dr. Cheng.
The professor hailed a cab, so I folded my cheat sheet and put it into my purse.
"What was that?" Dr. Cheng asked.
"Directions to the campus," I answered.
"May I see?"
I took out the paper and handed it to him.
"Hmmm... It's a good thing you ran into me," he said. "Where did you get the directions?"
"From your secretary," I answered.
"Hmmm..." he repeated, his voice trailing off. He handed the paper back and faced forward in the cab.
Hmmm.... ??? What did he mean? Hmmm.... ??? Were the directions wrong? From the front seat Dr. Cheng chuckled and chatted up the driver
My fuzzy brained kicked around "what if" scenarios. What if I hadn't met up with the professor? I pictured myself stranded on the other side of Beijing--alone, lost, and sleep deprived in the blanket of big city night, bravely clutching a piece of paper with bad directions to my breast.
Heart pounding, I turned the "what if" scenario into a "what's the worst that could happen" game and relaxed. I had everything I needed: a Fodor's guide and credit cards. What more could a girl ask for? Aside from a good set of directions.
During the forty-five minute ride, Dr. Cheng gave me a verbal layout of Beijing, a city of concentric circles one within the next, much like a giant Chinese bull's eye. I was surprised at the number of people up and at work, dozens of new high-rise buildings flickered with blue-white construction blowtorches like fireflies in the black of night. I checked my watch, realizing I had forgotten to change the time.
"What time is it now?" I asked.
"2:30am, local China time."
The vinyl seating creaked as Dr. Cheng turned to face me. "You know, China has only one time zone? From Beijing to Kahar, thousands of miles and only one zone. The country still follows the Emperor's time zone, even today. Dr. Cheng turned forward again, said something to the cab driver. He pointed out the window and swept his arm back and forth in a wide arch.
"All new," he said, addressing the windshield. "All this, new for the Olympics."
I yawned and looked out into the night sky. The freeway was packed with cars, taxis, and buses, honking and making rapid lane changes. For the moment, I was happy to sit back and listen to the hum of the taxi's tires on the new blacktop freeway. I closed my eyes. Heading west toward Peking University, my home for the next two weeks, I realized I had forgotten to pack something. As I drifted off to sleep, I wondered what type of underwear I might find in Beijing.
***
Beida is also known as Peking University. I moved into the dorm room a day before the others arrived and forced myself to wake at dawn to counter jetlag. Dressing, sans undergarments, I decided to take a quick walk around the area.
The campus itself was a flurry of activity--students, mostly Chinese, streamed along paths and walkways. I saw a few Western faces but most were Chinese, looking at me with either curious fascination or total indifference, nothing in between.
The group was housed together in Dorm #9. Basic accommodation, but everything seemed backward. The hall lights were on in the morning and off at night when needed most. The light switches went up for "off" and down for "on." A combination of restless sleep and curiosity about this interesting new country kept my nerves buzzing like a constant IV drip of espresso.
I met Professor Cheng and a student helper who identified herself to me with a Western name, Faustina. It was a curious choice for a name so I asked her about it. "French is my second major," she explained. "The English language is my first." Faustina was a striking woman, about 5'8" tall with a sharp-looking haircut, trendy clothing, and carefully articulated language skills. She laughed easily and I was glad to make her acquaintance.
We had lunch at the large cafeteria a few buildings away from our dorm. Inside, I ordered by the "point and shoot" method: look, point, and hope for the best. I pulled a laminated card out of my wallet and handed it to the lunch lady. The woman read the card, flipped it over a few times, and wrinkled her nose. She shrugged her shoulders.
I had the card prepared ahead of time; it explained my oddball vegetarian diet in several languages, including English, French, German, Spanish, Hindi, Thai, Japanese, and both Mandarin and Cantonese. When I travel, I cling to this card like a life-preserver. Much more important than simple driving directions, I hoped the card would serve me well in China. The lunch lady's look was not encouraging, however. But she nodded and slopped something onto my silver cafeteria tray. No smile.
We collected our dishes and paid with small plastic coupons in the amounts of 2, 1, and .50 RNB. The currency of China is colorful and sports a nice photo of Mao on one side. He looks both serious and determined. Mao money.
The RNB is also called "yuan" or "quai" (the slang-equivalent to American "bucks"). I ate a wonderful lunch (thankfully vegetarian) of eggs in tangy tomato sauce--spicy yet mellow; it was delicious. Faustina told me that the dish was quite popular and that I would find it most places in China. She wrote its name, along with the Chinese characters, into my notebook. That plus rice should get me through China if all else fails.
Later, Faustina and I explored the campus, trying different treats along the way. It was a blatant disregard of my maxim not to eat food from street vendors. But I didn't care, the food on campus was oily and delicious. If this was a typical sample of Chinese food, I would have to diet after my trip.
The campus itself was a flurry of activity--students, mostly Chinese, streamed along paths and walkways. I saw a few Western faces but most were Chinese, looking at me with either curious fascination or total indifference, nothing in between.
The group was housed together in Dorm #9. Basic accommodation, but everything seemed backward. The hall lights were on in the morning and off at night when needed most. The light switches went up for "off" and down for "on." A combination of restless sleep and curiosity about this interesting new country kept my nerves buzzing like a constant IV drip of espresso.
I met Professor Cheng and a student helper who identified herself to me with a Western name, Faustina. It was a curious choice for a name so I asked her about it. "French is my second major," she explained. "The English language is my first." Faustina was a striking woman, about 5'8" tall with a sharp-looking haircut, trendy clothing, and carefully articulated language skills. She laughed easily and I was glad to make her acquaintance.
We had lunch at the large cafeteria a few buildings away from our dorm. Inside, I ordered by the "point and shoot" method: look, point, and hope for the best. I pulled a laminated card out of my wallet and handed it to the lunch lady. The woman read the card, flipped it over a few times, and wrinkled her nose. She shrugged her shoulders.
I had the card prepared ahead of time; it explained my oddball vegetarian diet in several languages, including English, French, German, Spanish, Hindi, Thai, Japanese, and both Mandarin and Cantonese. When I travel, I cling to this card like a life-preserver. Much more important than simple driving directions, I hoped the card would serve me well in China. The lunch lady's look was not encouraging, however. But she nodded and slopped something onto my silver cafeteria tray. No smile.
We collected our dishes and paid with small plastic coupons in the amounts of 2, 1, and .50 RNB. The currency of China is colorful and sports a nice photo of Mao on one side. He looks both serious and determined. Mao money.
The RNB is also called "yuan" or "quai" (the slang-equivalent to American "bucks"). I ate a wonderful lunch (thankfully vegetarian) of eggs in tangy tomato sauce--spicy yet mellow; it was delicious. Faustina told me that the dish was quite popular and that I would find it most places in China. She wrote its name, along with the Chinese characters, into my notebook. That plus rice should get me through China if all else fails.
Later, Faustina and I explored the campus, trying different treats along the way. It was a blatant disregard of my maxim not to eat food from street vendors. But I didn't care, the food on campus was oily and delicious. If this was a typical sample of Chinese food, I would have to diet after my trip.
***
Dr. Cheng introduced me to another student helper, Patti, and asked the three of us gals to meet the rest of the students at the airport. Luck would have it that I knew a few of the students on the tour, including at least one person from both of the two major groups, each arriving on separate airlines.
We returned to the Beijing airport with a driver and waited for the students. One group was delayed, making a return to campus out of the question. Our long wait spanned the dinner hour and Professor Cheng picked up the tab for a quick bite. I laughed out loud as I placed my order at the only food vendor, Kentucky Fried Chicken! Being a vegie, I don't frequent KFC at home, much less in a foreign country; but, I found something on the menu. I enjoyed an egg tart (a sweet custard-filled tasty), corn relish salad, and a hot cup of coffee. I laughed again. I couldn't believe that my first dinner in China wasn't even Chinese.
We returned to the Beijing airport with a driver and waited for the students. One group was delayed, making a return to campus out of the question. Our long wait spanned the dinner hour and Professor Cheng picked up the tab for a quick bite. I laughed out loud as I placed my order at the only food vendor, Kentucky Fried Chicken! Being a vegie, I don't frequent KFC at home, much less in a foreign country; but, I found something on the menu. I enjoyed an egg tart (a sweet custard-filled tasty), corn relish salad, and a hot cup of coffee. I laughed again. I couldn't believe that my first dinner in China wasn't even Chinese.
***
The rest of the group hit the ground running and I was glad that I decided to come to China a day early. I felt rested and in good spirits.
Breakfast was 10 RNB--Western-style, mostly. We had eggs, scrambled, rice, small links that looked like Vienna sausages, stir-fried cabbages of different types, tofu, an assortment of cooked vegetables, a "congee of the day" (a type of rice soup), and a basket of rolls and pastries. They also served tea and coffee.
Coffee. Really? Ugh... Am I a coffee snob? Apparently so.
The coffee in Beijing was a weaker version of tea, so I stuck to the tea. Breakfast tea came in black or green and I switched depending primarily on my mood--black or green.
At home I drink hearty cups of French-pressed sludge every morning, something between European and Turkish style. I'm talking strong stuff here, nothing namby-pamby. My rule of thumb is to drink opaque coffee, not watery or weak. It's not good to see through your morning beverage, but when in Rome...
Later that morning, after the last of our group had swept the sleep from their
jetlagged eyes, we walked to the Philosophy Department. Dr. Cheng took us on short tour of the campus. Faustina and Patti came too. Faustina checked things out with the rest of us because she was also new to the surroundings. Patti, it seemed by her sullen expression, came because she had to.
Beida, the campus, is a fairly large walled community in the North Western part of Beijing. We visited the library where Mao Zedong was once a librarian. It was tough to imagine him in that role:
"Excuse me. May I see your library card? Oh, it appears you have an overdue library book: Karl Marx's Communist Manifesto? I'm afraid that'll be a fine of 10 RNB and two days in jail. Please remove your red star. What a disgrace! -- Next?"
The library, I was disappointed to discover, was off limits to us. ARG! We visited Triangle Corner next, the site where students rallied for the June 4th march on Tiananmen Square. The protests of 1989 turned into a massacre after the Chinese army opened fire on the crowd, killing several hundred people. Who knows how many others were detained and imprisoned?
Students at the Triangle handed out pamphlets in English and Chinese. A thin-framed young man approached me and looked me square in the eye. "Don't forget Tiananmen!" he said, pressing a leaflet into my hand. His English, like Faustina's, was carefully articulated and clear. His eyes searched mine, asking for a personal pledge. "No. I won't forget," I told him honestly. "Tiananmen won't be forgotten."
Honestly, who of a certain age can forget the famous photo of the unknown rebel who stood his ground before an advancing row of military tanks?
The student at Beida smiled at me, and then turned to someone else. He said something in Chinese and distributed another pamphlet. He had a huge stack in both hands and another large stack at his feet. I thought about my promise not to forget the tragedy of Tiananmen Square.
I do hope the world doesn't forget--that time and commerce won't erase an ugly past. Then again, people who live in glass countries... shouldn't throw stones.
***
Excerpt taken from "Red Lotus Reflections", 2007.
Piper is not currently under representation, but looking. If you are interested in her writing, please contact via email
Excerpt taken from "Red Lotus Reflections", 2007.
Piper is not currently under representation, but looking. If you are interested in her writing, please contact via email
Travelogue: China 2007
