Spring Brings New Life
I’ve finally settled back into the grinding routine of daily classes. No more exotic adventures for a while. However, with the weather slowly warming up, I’ve been able to force myself outside more often and enjoy the oddities. It sort of gets the mind working again and makes me notice the little things that were probably there all winter, but was too distracted to notice.
Since Sunday was a beautiful, if slightly chilly, spring day, I decided to go fetch my bicycle. I had moved to my new apartment in December and, since I’m too wimpy to think about riding a bike in twenty degree weather, had forgotten all about it. My friends were unanimous in the belief that it would no longer be where I left it. I was fairly confident it would. I knew that unused bikes tended to end up behind several rows of those which saw more action. A thief would have to cut my lock and then carry the bike over several other rows, all in front of a 24 hour guard shack. I figured that put my chances at about 50%.
When I had left the foreigner’s dorm, they had just started remodeling one wing of the building. As it turned out, it had been sold and turned into a Regal 8. The renovations happened to include a repainting of the exterior, under which my bike sat. It may be that my bike was less appealing to thieves because of its new appearance. It took me a few minutes to realize that the worldwide pigeon convention had not been held above my bike, but that it was simply covered with white paint splatter. It definitely knocked down the resale value but, for me, that’s probably a good thing.
While I had been pondering the odds of my still owning a bike, I had begun to regret my earlier choice of a lock. Granted, it was a half-inch steel cable but I had seen some very impressive bolt cutters wielded by even 80 year old women. Even though the faux bird shit camouflage gave me some advantage, I headed for the street of bicycle shops to correct my error. I now feel practically invulnerable to bike thieves. Not only do I own a solid steel lock, but even the woman at the used bicycle shop (who displayed numerous used bikes with questionable pedigrees) turned her nose up and asked me why my bike was so disgusting. It was music to my ears.
A friend of mine recently purchased a used bike after hers was totaled in a two bicycle accident. She owned it for exactly one week before it went in search of a new owner. Apparently the bicycle reclamation market had seen an off week and the prices were unusually high, as demand was higher than supply. She decided to buy a new bike for 350 kuai vs. paying 300 for a used one. Just one more sign of living in a foreign culture is that she is now trying to determine the best way to make her bike look old; distressed, as she called it. I don’t think she really appreciated my paint splatter suggestion.
It was a nice day and I was tickled pink to have my bike, so I took off for the back alleys that I had missed so much. Actually, I hadn’t realized that I had missed them until I was back in them, lost as could be. Traveling the same main streets every day had me feeling jaded. I forgot how exciting it is just to take off and explore. I listened to a sales pitch for a silver tea pot that could double as a hash pipe. My gasping, “out of bicycle shape” appearance made me the target for numerous “male energy pill” vendors. I spent hours visiting places that you would never take a cab to (mainly because you never even knew they were there) and would never walk to. I read an article the other day about an entrepreneur that has a chain of bicycle rental shops here in Beijing. He hasn’t broken even in years. I just realized that he targets locals, who probably own more bikes per capita than anywhere in the world. He should target tourists. There is absolutely no better way to see a place than by bike. I can’t wait for my posterior to get properly callused again (sorry for the visual.)
As I rode, I came across a guy wearing an impressive, biker-gang type, denim jacket. The back panel would automatically make you think of turning left across the median and into a pond just to avoid the rider. It had a fearsome skull with a bloody dagger protruding from the top of it. Hopefully, before you made the suicidal turn, you would look more closely and notice that the banner above read “Cream Soda.”
People are obsessed with things foreign, even if they don’t understand them. After all of the examples that I’ve seen, I’m convinced that tens of thousands of Americans permanently sport a tattoo of a Chinese character which has a meaning nothing close to what they believe, whether it be from ignorance, bad advice or even malicious advice. I haven’t seen English tattoos on Chinese people, but many of them will wear practically anything with English words on it. For a brief moment I thought that I could make a fortune by producing clothing with any random words emblazoned across the chest, back or even the ass. Then I realized that it is already being done, complete with misspellings. This is yet another category for me to start documenting. My new camera may be getting a workout. Just a quick word of advice: don’t get a Chinese tattoo before you talk to me (that is, if you trust me!)
I was going to go on to a few other subjects, now that topics are once again popping up faster than I can deal with them. Instead, I think I’ll just save a few for later and provide some of pictures that I’ve been promising. These are all from Patong, Thailand. Apparently I have some weird fascination with strange signs. I'm thinking about getting some help. I hope you’ll enjoy and check back next week.
These shrines are everywhere!
You can imagine my relief.
Only in Thailand is this not false advertising.
Even Ronnie adapts to the local culture.
