The Dumb Laowai

I never gave much thought to dying before I moved to China. It’s not that I’m obsessed with the subject now either; it’s just that the increased number of opportunities for death do make one wonder on occasion. Last night it was an end-loader barreling down the wrong side of the street as I was stepping off the curb.

This morning I realized that, barring a similar but more unfortunate occurrence, I already know the cause of my death. Her name is LD (Little Dictator for you new-comers.) I’m still not sure of the specifics but, as far as I tell, either she will induce a massive coronary in one of her attempts to “help” me or I will snap and kill her first, resulting in a bullet to the back of the head in a field somewhere.

The other day was a close-run thing with the coronary option. As I sat, cramming Chinese characters and grammar into my aching skull, preparing for that morning’s final exam, LD decided that it was critical for us to review the terms of my apartment lease. That’s a tough transition to make and I sat there stunned for a while. When I finally shook my head and got the gears unstuck she had been going on for some time. This demanded firm and definitive action. “Honey, can we do this another time?”  I won’t tell you her response. Come to think of it, you wouldn’t understand it anyway. Let’s just say that aspersions were cast upon every aspect of my life before she stomped off.  

The week before, LD had decided to clean my desk, considering my numerous requests not to as slovenliness. One of the results was that thousands of business-card sized, vocabulary flash cards that had been neatly sorted by class and chapter ended up in a shoe box, in no particular order. I was still defending my life with witty comebacks I should have used that morning, when  I sat down for the final exam in my Comprehensive Chinese course and discovered that I had not found all of the cards after all. I couldn’t read half of the first section.

A grueling two hours later I emerged from the exam with homicidal thoughts foremost in my mind and, before I even had a chance to cool down, it started pouring rain. It didn’t help the mood, but I’m used to it and always prepared. Almost always. Sometime in the previous 24 hours, LD had decided that the proper place for my umbrella was in the closet, not in my backpack. When I finally sat down to meditate, one look was all it took to wipe the smile off the bartender’s face. He let me drink and drip in peace. Wise man.

My meditation technique worked once more and LD was saved by the fact that several hours seeking inner peace resulted in me being asleep before she got home.

Dim Sum

The government has been using their neighborhood grannies (officially licensed nosy neighbors) to distribute handbooks listing the various activities that will be frowned upon during the Olympics. These range from no dumping of garbage in the gutter to no skate-boarding in the streets. The fines for some activities show an interesting set of priorities. I really do like living here, so I’ll refrain from further comment.

Attacking athletes, referees or any staff member -- 500RMB maximum;
Throwing things into the stadium -- 500RMB maximum;
Sticking up posters in public places or giving out flyers without permission -- 10,000RMB maximum;
Organizing people to stick up posters or give out flyers -- 500,000RMB maximum.


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Possible topics for the next blog include "You Might Be A Laowai If..", "The 'Bad China Day'" and "LD - Disciple of the Devil?" I'm torn, so if you have a preference, please let me know.

Surviving Beijing with your wallet intact can be a hell of a challenge at times. Modern stores and restaurants generally have printed pricing that is non-negotiable, so don’t bother trying. However, many people believe in a floating price structure, especially for foreigners. You will usually be considered to be both rich and naïve, a perfect subject for plucking. It’s not too hard to keep this to a minimum, though.

Taxis

Starting at the airport, you need to religiously avoid anyone who offers you a ride without using a meter. You’ll be offered a ride into town for a “discounted” rate of 5-600 yuan, even though the metered rate should run around 100. Just stick to the taxi line and avoid all touts (a tout is a person offering you a service, but you need to follow them elsewhere.)

In town you will frequently be approached by individuals offering you a ride in their personal car. They are referred to as “black” taxis/cars. I use them frequently, but only when I know what the metered rate should be. Since you don’t have a clue, there is no way for you to know how much you are being fleeced for. You don’t even know if the guy is otherwise honest or if he even has insurance. Just stay away!

Touts

Touts don’t just offer taxi service. They’re the front men (women) for every kind of scam known to man. If someone walks up to you on the street and offers you anything, just keep going. It might be CD/DVDs, lady-bars, or even tea. Just keep going.

The most skilled touts work in the Wangfujing area. This is a wide, auto-free street approximately two miles east of the Forbidden City, dedicated to shopping, ranging from luxury goods to cheesy, tourist knick-knacks. You will be walking along when, suddenly, you are approached by one or two young people speaking English, usually very well. Your best bet is to simply keep walking, not even acknowledging their presence. I know it sounds rude, but how often do you really worry about the feelings of a thief? Basically, that is exactly what they are, just a little more polished.

Should you foolishly stop and begin to speak with them, they will invariably claim to be students either looking to practice their English, in which case you will be invited for a meal or a cup of tea, or promoting an exhibition of paintings, either theirs’ or their master’s. In the first case, after receiving a pot of tea, you will be presented with a bill ranging from US$100-200. It goes downhill from there. In the second case, you will get the high-pressure pitch to buy artwork at ridiculously inflated prices, sometimes with a bit of physical intimidation.

I go to Wangfujing about once a month, usually to hit the foreign language bookstore, so I’ve been approached dozens of times. I’ve even thought of having a t-shirt made that says “I hate tea and I don’t like art!” To the extremely persistent ones, I’ll just utter a few nonsense words in German. That usually takes care of them. So does violently coughing in their faces. But really, it’s just easier to keep walking.


Dickering

The other time to keep walking is when you’re in one of the large shopping malls. I call them malls, but they’re actually just large buildings with hundreds of small booths, usually 6-8 feet square. Keep in mind that 99% of the products are counterfeit. The prices should be dirt cheap, usually 20-30% of the original asking price and sometimes less.

The stall owners will negotiate hard, but there is a sure fire way to come out on top. Start your offer at 10% of the asking price. If they don’t accept it (and they probably won’t) just walk away. Do not budge on the price. If they let you go, great! You’ve just established what’s unacceptable. Every fourth stall will have the same products, bought from the same sources, so you simply offer the next guy 15%, maybe 20% if you really don’t like dickering. Again, don’t budge. If they let you walk, adjust your offer the next time. When someone finally agrees, you know that you got a good price. You may want to do this at stalls in different rows so that the sellers don’t witness what you do before or afterwards.

By the way, make sure to try on everything before buying. I now own three pairs of slacks that are about 3 sizes smaller than noted on the label.

Singing

I’m ashamed to admit that I have been to a karaoke club. LD insisted that we go one night. It was two hours of torture, us sitting alone in a small room and singing bad songs. However, there is another side to it. It is usually an all-male activity, at least until a lineup of hostesses are presented for your selection. After you have selected your new companions, drinking games are in order, conducted in various states of undress.

I’m told that the pricing structures can be somewhat complicated and the bill is often padded substantially. When you object, as you are certain to do, several large “customer service representatives” will arrive and explain to you the wisdom of simply paying. I would recommend avoiding these places unless you are taken by a Chinese acquaintance.

Misc. Drinking

Yes, I know that you know how to drink, but I really need to give you a couple of pointers.

If you drink mixed drinks, ask for a shot of the alcohol first. You can either drink it straight or add it to your mixer, but you need to sip it first. The amount of counterfeit alcohol here is astounding, but an old pro such as yourself should be able to tell the difference by sipping it. The counterfeit stuff can very quickly destroy your liver and, unfortunately, the toxins are not flushed from your system for several days. The concentration can build up over this time and have disastrous consequences. Just play it safe.


Not all of the counterfeits are this easy to spot!

Secondly, although you should try baijiu, I’d recommend that you avoid Er Guo Tou, which usually comes in small, green bottles. It tastes like turpentine, knocks you on your ass and makes you wish you could fast-forward through the next day.

Lastly, should you find yourself with a group of Chinese who keep shouting Gambei! (roughly, bottoms up), be careful. Once they start with that nonsense, they’re not likely to stop until they can no longer pronounce the word. I found myself at a beer festival once and everyone wanted to drink with me. I didn’t notice until much later in the evening that everyone who toasted me with Gambei! had a partial glass and mine was full. Unless you’re using the small, 4oz. glasses that are common here, just think of Gambei as cheers, not bottoms up.

Other than that, have a great time in China and enjoy the Olympics!

The Dumb Laowai
 

If you’re an organized traveler, you’ve already done your research in preparation for coming to Beijing.  But even then, you’re only going to be prepared for the big stuff and, as we all know, the devil is in the details. It’s the little stuff that gets you. That’s where I come in. Here’s just a few pointers from a guy who had to learn the hard way.

There is no shortage of guidebooks promising to make your trip to China safer and more enjoyable. Forget them. You’re coming to Beijing and you don’t need a $30 book that tells you all about everywhere else. The best combination of reference sources is a small Mandarin phrase book and, for those of you who want to explore the city, The Insider’s Guide to Beijing, available locally.

Phrase books like to show the Pinyin phrases. That is the phrase written in the western alphabet. Forget about it! Many letters are not pronounced the same and, unless you’ve spent months working on your tonal pronunciations, no one is going to understand you anyway. Make sure your phrase book has the Chinese characters for each phrase so you can show it to the person . Trust me on this. It’s easier to simply admit that you can’t speak Mandarin than to try and mangle your way through it. Otherwise you’re likely to tell someone that you’d like to kiss them when all you wanted to do was ask a question.

Now you’re out and about, exploring Beijing and probably lost. That’s when you find the coolest places, but that’s beside the point. You should have gotten a business card from the front counter of your hotel so you could show it to the taxi driver. At least then you’d know that you could get back eventually. As a matter of fact, get a business card everywhere you go. Just don’t forget to write down what place the card is from, otherwise they all start to look the same. You probably don’t want to take the wife out to dinner and end up at that massage parlor you and the guys found the night before.  For those general areas you found while lost, should you want to return simply take a picture of a street sign. The larger ones on main streets show multiple street names and the driver will know exactly where it is.

The key to enjoying your explorations will be a well-provisioned backpack. In August there are only two types of weather; hot as hell with no breeze or raining like crazy, and you can never be sure which one it is going to be from hour to hour. A towel and a small umbrella can be handy in either case.

As you’re walking along, fascinated by the sights, do not (DO NOT) buy food from a street vendor. I’ll be the first to admit that some of it is delicious, but there is some risk involved. I keep doing it but, as a result, I tend to spend a lot of time at home, reading a book in the comfort of my bathroom.

Should this problem strike you, or even if you’re perfectly healthy, at some point you will need to avail yourself of public facilities. You’re in luck - Beijing has more of them than anywhere in the world, ranging from large, permanent buildings to small, portable units that are ½ convenience store and ½ bathroom. What they all have in common, though, is a complete lack of toilet paper. That’s what those little travel packs of  tissue are for. Make sure to stick a few in your bag ahead of time. They are like most things in life: you see them everywhere, right up until the moment you really need them. Having to yell out “A little help here!” is always embarrassing, but here it would be pointless as well.

Unless you are on a severe diet, you are going to want to eat, and this is a great city to do it in. As a public service, I provide you with the following two characters: 成都, which is the name of Chengdu, a city in Sichuan province. It sometimes seems that half of the restaurants in town have these characters on their sign. It’s kind of them to warn us. They mean that the fare served within will scorch your insides, from entrance to exit. It’s also entirely possible to find yourself munching on curdled duck’s blood and deep-fried bees. Don’t pretend you weren’t warned.

So you’ve found yourself a nice, little, non-Chengdu restaurant and you’re ready to pig out.  Wait just a minute. Before you sit down, pull out your phrasebook and show the word for menu to the hostess. You need to verify that there are pictures on it. Relying on them is still a risky proposition: everything is cut up into very small pieces, so visual identification is a crapshoot at best, but it’s your best bet. Saying Kung Pao Chicken will get you nothing but a stare, so don’t even try to use your vast knowledge of restaurant Chinese; it’s not the same.

Now for my best piece of advice, aside from the toilet tissues. Reach into your backpack and pull out that little baggie containing your fork. Doesn’t sound very adventurous, does it? Feel free to use the chopsticks then. It’s just that there are certain foods which are practically impossible to eat with them. However, should you feel obliged to prove your skills, be sure to also pull out that bib you were smart enough to pack. If you really want to use chopsticks, I’d suggest that you bring your own. Every place provides them, but many types are very awkward to use. Plastic and even metal ones can provide many moments of hilarity, as their smooth texture prevents you from getting a single scrap of food anywhere near your mouth.

When ordering, remember that you are getting what’s in the picture, or at least a close facsimile. You’ll notice that there is no rice in the picture. It might seem strange to us but, yes, you do need to order the rice separately; one order per person, as it comes in small, personal-sized bowls.

I almost forgot! If you’re allergic to peanuts, sell your tickets and stay home. Everything you can possibly imagine is made using peanut oil at some point. It’s just not possible to avoid, and forget about asking. Any type of substitution request will cause the chef to do his imitation of computer overload, complete with smoke coming out his ears. Once he snaps out of it, he will prepare the dish exactly the way he’s done it a thousand times before. If it is supposed to have onions, it’s going to have onions, regardless of any silly ideas you may have.   

Should you find yourself wanting to try the local breakfast offerings, and I suggest you do, just keep in mind that many places will not have beverages available. Even if you see a cooler full of drinks, they may be off-limits. This is because many breakfast operations are independent of the restaurant itself. The people simply rent the room and tables for the morning. The drinks belong to the restaurant and can not be touched. They may even be under lock and key. Just remember to bring your own.

Next week: yet a few more things to avoid.  
 

Although I love China on most days, there are still things that I miss: relaxing with the Sunday paper, driving and barbeque to name a few. But lately I find myself missing something totally unexpected; a dozen. ‘A dozen what?’ I hear you ask. Not a dozen of anything in particular, just a dozen of anything. I miss the concept of a dozen. There is no such thing in China.

This first came to mind while eating my favorite breakfast of baozi, small, steamed buns stuffed with a pork mixture. Wherever you go, the standard order is ten. You don’t even have an opportunity to say how many you want. You want to eat baozi? You’re getting ten. And every single time I feel slightly cheated. I keep looking at the waiter to see if he’s chewing anything.

Lately it’s become even more irritating. With food costs continuing to rise, the standard Chinese reaction has not been to increase prices but, rather, to reduce portions. My baozi keep shrinking. I’m no longer satisfied with an order of baozi. Just sell me a dozen and I’ll be the happiest customer you’ve seen all week. But no, I’m forced to order another batch, which is too much. (Just as an aside, putting the rest in your backpack is a really bad idea, should you ever be tempted to do so. Trust me!)

Everything here comes in packs of ten including roses and eggs. It makes me want to go out and buy a dozen golf balls, followed by a dozen oysters and a dozen donuts. Hell, I want a baker’s dozen come to think of it. There’s a concept they’ll never understand.

However, all of these little inconveniences and irritants are nothing compared to the outrageous violation of my drinking rights. There is no such thing as a twelve-pack of beer and, naturally following, not even a six-pack! Oh, the humanity!

I consider the twelve-pack as one of the greatest inventions of all time. Think about it. You never need spend a moment thinking about how many beers you need. Granted, you need to decide between six and twelve, but that’s just a primitive, gut decision: big vs. small. A cave man could do it. It requires next to no thought at all. In China you are required to plan out your entire drinking evening, down to the very last beer.

You find yourself standing at the beer shelf (few places have coolers) muttering. Hmmm. It’s six o’clock. There’s a good movie on at eight, so that’s about three hours. Four beers ought to do it. Once home, you discover that the late movie is pretty good as well, or perhaps a friend stops by and your entire beer plan has been torpedoed. How convenient, the twelve-pack. I just never thought of it as an anger-prevention device before.

The reason this planning is essential is that since, like most people, I make grocery (beer) runs on foot or on bicycle, there is no really convenient method of transport, which is exacerbated by the lack of a handy twelve-pack container. You must buy single bottles and carry them either in a microscopically thin plastic bag or in your backpack. Neither is a good way to avoid occasional breakage and at least 50% of the time you end up spraying half of your living room with beer. I used to pretend that I had just won the World Series but that got a little old.
Not only does the lack of respect for the dozen leave you hungry, sober and sometimes drenched, it also makes you feel as if you’ve been ripped off, almost as if you had paid full retail at Costco. Everything is cheaper by the dozen. Everyone outside of China knows that. They even named a couple of mediocre movies after the idea. I am fully aware that I only pay 50 cents for a 21oz. bottle of beer and hardly have the right to complain, but if I want to buy twelve I should get some kind of deal, right?

I tried explaining this concept to someone once, and only once. He pulled out his calculator to prove to me that 12 bottles at 3 Yuan apiece truly does come to 36 Yuan. It was like explaining calculus to an 8 year-old. I bought five bottles and left.

Two hours later I was back for more.

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Dim Sum

How is it that tofu (slipperier than Jell-O, but without the taste) was invented by a culture which uses nothing but chopsticks, making it virtually impossible to eat?

Chinese online job listing sites can be interesting. One asks the job-seeker to list his/her hobbies. Available options include drinking, sumo wrestling, tea ceremony, karaoke, gambling and business. The same site also asks for astrological sign and blood type.

I’ve often mentioned the prevalence of knock-off products here, but this one has to be my all-time favorite (so far.)

Sooner or later practically every Caucasian in Beijing, and especially students, will be asked if they would like an acting job, for no other reason than that they are not Chinese. There’s no flattery involved. You could speak some unheard of and dying, mountain dialect of Albanian and it wouldn’t matter; they’re going to dub over your voice anyway. As long as you fit the particular stereotype and can actually move your lips, you’re an actor. It would make an L.A. waiter have a foot-stomping hissy-fit.

There are numerous talent scouts running around town, ready to pounce on unsuspecting foreigners and the standard victim’s reaction is something like “Hmmm. I always wanted to be in the movies: big money, lots of women (or men). Always wanted to say ‘We’ll do lunch’”. “Yeah, sure!” And before you have a chance to ask about a single detail, you’re whisked off to a hole-in-the-wall photo studio for a few pictures and a curt “We’ll let you know.” Five minutes later you’ve been dropped at the nearest bus stop and while trying to read the schedule find yourself wondering “What the hell just happened?” Like all great con games, it all depends on keeping you off-kilter and slightly confused.

As both a want-to-be actor and a gullible laowai (foreigner), you’re a cheap commodity whose time is worth nothing. Even if you should get the chance to ask the simplest question, either no one knows or it’s not important. Of course even the talent scouts aren’t always told the pertinent details. Either that or they’re just not very bright, which would explain my first photo shoot. Granted, I may not understand all of the nuances of the Chinese marketplace as well as they do, but I think it is probably a universally bad idea to consider a 48 year old fat guy as your spokesman for hiking gear. That was an hour I’ll never get back, two if you consider how long I took to figure out which bus to get on.

A year went by and, sure as hell, I fell for it again. Sam (I’m getting the hang of this Chinese thing now and I’m pretty sure that’s not what his parents named him) whisked me straight from class to the same photo studio once again. Apparently I wasn’t convincing as an excitable sports fan, even though I went through two photo shoots a month apart. Something about resembling a rabid dog. They just don’t understand American sports.

I’d made up my mind to forget the whole film-star dream when, two months later Sam called me up and said he had a job for me the next evening, although he couldn’t say how long it would take or how much it paid. I said that I might be available, depending on the details. Big mistake. I was just asking for him to lie to me, something for which he needed no encouragement.

Assured that the pay was 400 Yuan ($56) and would only take two hours, I hopped in his car and headed across town to a deserted office building. The elevator button for the 14th floor was dead so we got off on 13 and walked up. I wish I was superstitious and had read something into that. We walked into the office to find seven people sitting around, drinking tea, snacking and smoking. Although I’m sure they meant it as an honor, they really didn’t need to wait for me to arrive before doing a damn thing to prepare. Another hour I’ll never see again.

For an hour I stood around drinking tea and shooting the breeze with another scout, who had brought a Chinese girl I would be working with. Together we watched the crew turn the waiting room into a medical lab, finished off with three large mazes on top of the table and a container full of white laboratory mice. What the hell?

In the finest theatrical tradition, no one ever gave me a straight answer but this is what I pieced together. It was to be a sales presentation in the form of an interview with a respected scientist (yours truly) about some new medication that would make mice smarter and run faster. I’m fairly sure that it has other applications, but you can never tell. What I failed to anticipate was that I would spend the next three hours handling mice who would rather be left alone.

I put mice in jars. I held them up for the camera. I caught them when they escaped and the entire female staff ran shrieking from the office. I put them in the maze and took them out again. I even had to stop a few of them from cheating. I was handed a large and very sharp hypodermic needle and told to pretend to give them shots while holding them by the scruff of the neck. I had sweat running out of every pore in my body because of the lights and I had to hold a pissed-off mouse while trying not to jab either of us, preferably while avoiding being bitten. We did this dozens of times.

I was able to vent a little during the “interview” portions of the program. I was simply supposed to talk for X amount of time while looking serious. We did this dozens of times as well, ranging from 4 seconds to 1 minute. After a couple of experiments, it was obvious that no one spoke a word of English, so I expounded on the various, painful things I would do to Sam when we were done. I talked about getting drunk afterwards. I talked about taking the winning mouse out with me and buying him a beer and a shot. I think I even promised to get him laid. I really hope that film is seen by someone who lip-reads English.

I was drenched when we finally finished. Between shots the crew would run up and start fanning me to prevent heat stroke. When I took off my rubber gloves my hands looked like those of a 90 year old who lives in a Jacuzzi. I was so thirsty that I had three beers in me before I realized how hard they were going to hit me. I didn’t even slow down.

It was when we left that I realized Sam was not just a talent scout. He wasn’t even really an agent. PIMP! That says it all. He insisted on paying me outside and I realized that no one else had even mentioned money. They paid Sam and he paid me later. For all I know, he made twice as much as I did, and while I was sweating and fearing rabies he was in another room playing chess.

I think Sam is in for some last-minute renegotiations when I get my block-busting lead in a hemorrhoid commercial.