Wanshang Huaniao Market

When we travel, we want to see something different, something out of the ordinary. The Wanshang Huaniao Market, otherwise known as the Flower and Bird Market in Shanghai, is a place many of us would not recognize. The interior of the market are multiple stalls of plants and animals, of every variety. Entering the market is to be faced with a cacophony of crickets chirping mixed with bird song. It is amazing to think that some crickets can cost up to $1000; such an animal would need to fetch my slippers and bring the mail in each day. The smell of animals is persistent, although not as unpleasant as you might first expect. Yet, the market, I suspect, is disconcerting for many Westerners. It is not difficult to find a small bird or animal who has succumbed to the eat or dehydration. Nevertheless, the uniqueness and variety intrigues the visitor. There are small fishes of multiple designs and colors; variously sized crickets, from nearly microscopic to as big as a child’s hand; kittens and puppies in very small cages; and, birds too numerous to count. While I am not given to buy many souvenirs, where else can you buy small porcelain dishes used for feeding and watering one’s pet cricket? 

My Breakfast with Mel

Meals are particularly good times for discovery and traveling, domestically or internationally. It is an event that affords many opportunities to learn about food, culture, and ourselves. Melanie and I embarked on a tour of food places in the old neighborhood near the Xintiandi subway stop the morning after my flight from Newark to Shanghai. She proposed that we have a breakfast of street food in the traditional places, where there are no menus and very few people speak English. It was a particularly sweltering morning, with high humidity and 90 degrees (F) at 9AM. Combined, our knowledge of Mandarin was limited, with my vocabulary primarily limited to two words (“hello” and “thank you”). Nevertheless, we a good attitude we ventured to the street.

Our first stop was a popular place on Jiang Road where there was an assortment of fried dough with various fillings and toppings. The fillings remained a mystery until we started eating, and sometimes remained a mystery even after that. The food, already prepared, remained surprisingly hot atop what appeared to be homemade stoves constructed of barrels. Our methodology in ordering food was to point to items that looked good and indicate, with hand gestures, how many we wanted. We picked out enough that, under normal circumstances, would have been enough for A big breakfast. The woman serving us named a price, and I was both surprised and impressed when Melanie correctly understood that the cost was 13¥ (about $1.91).

We took our fried bounty to the second adjacent storefront where there are about four or five small tables with stools. Mel wondered, given the handbook we ordered, if we were supposed to sit in the seating area. All the other people sitting there were eating congee (rice porridge). Nevertheless, it was unlikely that anyone would ask us to leave. I surmised that they thought I didn’t know what I was doing, which is completely correct.

One of the fried dumplings was filled with pork (I think) and was delicious; another I enjoyed was a fried bread, not dissimilar from naan, but not as sweet. There was not anything to drink, so after we finished we went down the street for bottle of water at a tobacco and drink shop.

Our second destination was a narrow storefront on Hefei Road, where a woman made a pancake that was like a crepe. Using a round flattop grill, similar to one used in a crêperie, the woman took batter and spread it thin across the skillet with a wooden wedge tool that appeared to be homemade. It was about the size of her fist with a handle and a thin blade. As the pancake cooked, she cracked an egg on top, spread it across, added some assorted greens and a little bit of chili sauce for heat. Before folding it over, she took some prices of, what appeared to be, fried dough, place carefully across the crepe. This gave the pancake a texture, without adding any discernible flavor.

We walked along more of the streets, exploring shops, grocery stores, and a traditional medicine shop. On some of the more remote streets, there were communal washing machines and people playing cards. Old women swept the sidewalks with long straw brooms. Most of us have this image of a quickly modernizing China, which is completely true. Yet, many would be surprised that the several lilongs continue to have communal toilets. 

Our final stop, for breakfast anyway, was a small pastry shop on Huaihai Road that served a tasty curry turnover. By this time, however, we were both full. The heat of the day was beginning to have an effect and we retired to a coffee shop for drinks and air conditioning.

Walking in Ordos

We checked into the hotel in Ordos late at night following a long day. After spending an afternoon in the desert, I was tired, hot, sweaty and my skin was oily with residual sunscreen. Not able to figure out the password to the wifi, I made the trip back to the front desk to ask for help. The elevator stopped on the sixth floor where a party was in full swing. Several young people crowded onto the elevator backing me into a corner. Four young women, recognizing me as a westerner, crowded around.  They threw one young woman with glasses in front of me and during the ride she grew increasingly comfortable leaning against me. I was not feeling my freshest, and did not relish the opportunity to have someone overly close or taking photographs, especially without a shower. Inevitably, as the door closed, the young woman’s friends began to take pictures with their smart phones.

New apartment flats in the center of Ordos

It is not uncommon for people in China to request westerners to pose for photos or to take a picture as secretly as possible. This is especially true for people with blond hair or blue eyes. The practice happens more frequently outside of Beijing and Shanghai. In Inner Mongolia, I have had many such encounters. Most of the time I am happy to oblige; but on occasion, when one is not at their best, I am less enthused about participating in the practice. I faced my encounter on the elevator with a certain amount of resignation.

In part I was surprised about the number of people in the hotel because Ordos is famously known as a “ghost city.” A city of a little over half a million people, Ordos is a remarkably small city by Chinese standards. The bus ride into the city center took us through the district that looked to be a ghost district. Many high-rise buildings were clearly empty, and awaiting tenants. The center of the city was more lively and busy.

On my early morning walk the following day, I was interested to observe the city and the ghost city phenomenon. It was a pleasant morning, but my phone warned that the weather was cloudy and “unhealthy for sensitive groups.” To be sure, there was a thin fog that hovered over the city, probably from the coal industry that has fueled the economic boom of the region.

It was shortly after 6am when I started my walk from the hotel. Despite the early hour, there were several workers assiduously sweeping the streets with long straw brooms. It was very quiet, as opposed to the previous evening, the only the loud sound was of older men clearing their throats and spitting. I was continuing to feel like an outsider. A man drove by on his moped and nearly fell off as he continued to stare at me while driving.

I stopped for a few minutes at a park near the main police station. I began thinking about had little wildlife I had seen in Inner Mongolia.  The most common bird, by far, was sparrows and I remembered the fate of these birds during the Great Leap Forward in the late 1950s. In an attempt to modernize the country, from 1958 to 1962, the government called on citizens to attack the “four pests”: rats, flies, mosquitoes and sparrows. The sparrows were targeted because they ate grains especially rice. So many sparrows were killed it resulted in an ecological disaster because the birds ate a large number of insects as well.  

In the park there was a bridge that crossed a small creek on bridges that highlighted a pride in the community. A group of women, who were exercising in the park, formed a double circle. Most wore white pants, pink tops, and white gloves while stepping in place to do exercises coordinated to Chinese pop music. As I sat on a bench and surreptitiously watched the exercise, I noticed a woman in the distance doing the same exercises some fifty yards away. I made up stories in my mind that she might have been disowned from the group because of some indiscreet gossip or other communal infraction.  Meanwhile, some men and teenagers played basketball and badminton closer to the building.

Women (and a few men) exercising 

As I walked back to the hotel, to make sure I had breakfast before the bus left, I decided that Ordos had a façade of development that did not benefit everyone in the city yet. Lavish hotels and restaurants along the main thoroughfares hid more modest apartments in the center of most blocks. It is an area poised for a great future, or precariously clung to the hope that foreign visitors and deeper investments might bring prosperity for all. I found it difficult to believe that many international visitors would stay at the Meet You Hotel, which to me sounded more like a place for a liaison than an accommodation for tourists. My tour booked rooms at a very nice high-rise hotel, but just two blocks away was a small dwelling that used a blanket as a door with a hot plate and kettle just outside.

Walking in the Mongolian Grasslands

After spending a day in the Xilamuren Grassland, I awoke early to a contemplative walk before most others were stirring. The day before had been so busy that it is difficult to comprehend where I was exactly: the grasslands of Inner Mongolia. It was both exotic and normal. Not understanding the language and the barrage of different cultural symbols and traditions meant that I was fully aware of a very different place. Yet, there a sense of a normality as well.

Horses on the road

Shortly after leaving our camping site and began walking on the road, I happened upon seventeen horses, including several foals, meandering down the road toward me. Although most of the horses were on the opposite side of the road, I had some trepidation. I started to slow my pace, anticipating being in close contact with unfamiliar and legendarily semi-wild horses, a man on a dirt bike appears from nowhere and began to usher the horse with whistles, voice commands, and intimidation into an adjacent field. He had a pole, about the size of a long broomstick, that caught the horses on the back of their knees and cajoled the most obstinate into the prescribed behavior. The herd were soon in the field across the road; the man on the dirt bike disappeared, after he returned from the direction he came, without ever making eye contact.

Xilamuren Temple in the early morning mist

As I turned back for my return trip, the sun had risen higher in the sky and I cast a long shadow on the road. More local people have begun their diurnal activities. I saw my first car of the day, followed by two more, during the one-kilometer walk back to Mongolian Holy Land camp. In many ways, it is a walk like any other. People, everywhere, had routines. The landscape and fauna appear similar, but there are differences: the water bugs are larger than they would be in North America; the grass a little finer. As I entered the camp I meet two young Chinese women walking out. They were singing along to a song on their smart phone. I exchanged Ni-hao with one while to other surreptitiously snapped a picture of me.

Meeting A Chinese Police Officer

At a roadside rest stop on the Jingzang Highway, between Hohhot and Baotao, a police officer stood guard near the entrance to the toilets. As I approached the entrance with several Chinese travelers, it was clear the police officer had singled me out with a smile. I returned his smile and said “Ni-hao.” The officer straightened a little and gave me a salute as I walked by. 

Translating English (part 2)

It is easy to have a little fun with funny English translations in China. The so-called Chinglish is a source of amusement for many, including a couple of websites. But one does have to admit that if it was Americans translating English into Chinese, the results would be horrendous. Nevertheless, some translations are minor simple minor mistakes, perhaps even typographical errors. For example, on a tourist map of Beijing near Tian’anmen Square that told the observer: “You Are Her.”

Some translations made me scratch my head in confusion. My favorite was at the Quanfu Temple, which is constructed of wood and has incense regularly burning. A sign reminds the visitor: “Careless is a big fear to fire protection.” Fair enough.

On the highway to Huangzhou, the toll plazas are manned by young people. I read the sign below and then noticed that the attendant was looking slightly upward, off into space, with his hand raised in a wave at a 90-degree angle, with a bizarre (and somewhat creepy) smile. The sign over the tollbooth read: “The Youth Civilization Serve You With Smiling.”