雍和宫: Yonghegong

雍和宫: Yonghegong, 28ºC, hazy

This afternoon, I visited the Lama Temple, a famous Buddhist temple in Chaoyang District. A classmate had recommended a visit to this revered site, and I thought it would make for an interesting midweek excursion. Not wanting my first impressions to be tarnished by looking up this temple before I left, I set out for the underground blind to its history, but open to its every facet.

I was not disappointed. The grandeur of the long path and two ornate arches that precede reaching the first temple within this site were a precursor to even more impressive elements. Little did I expect to find the tallest Buddha in the world (as recorded in the Guinness Book of Records!). Nor did I expect 雍和宫 Yonghegong to span five different courtyards, each flanked on each side by temples and smaller prayer rooms. 300 years of history both surrounded and impressed me. But the peaceful escape from the verve of Beijing life left the most lasting impression.

The tallest Buddha statue in the World

孔子: A Confucian Society

UIBE, 27ºC, hazy

Today, conversation with my language partner turned to Chinese thinkers. Last year, I studied the works of some Chinese philosophers, from 老子 Laozi’s Daodejing and 孔子 Confucius’ Analects to the more abstract work of 庄子 Zhuangzi and the military writings of 孙子 Sun Tzu. Although my language partner was doing most of the talking, it was really quite exciting to be addressing these works in Chinese.

For the most part, we reflected on the influence on Confucius on China’s modern day 社会 society and the 思想 mindset of the Chinese people. Confucius put individual benevolence and virtue at the core of his philosophy. He extended this idea to governance in Analects II, 1: “To govern by virtue, let us compare it to the North Star: it stays in its place, while the myriad stars wait upon it.” One reading of this can be that governance should be uncompromising, just as the North Star. Other stars (perhaps other country’s or other governments) will adjust accordingly. Considering in Chinese, China is 中国, literally “middle country”, it seems that as far back as 500BC China has considered itself as the heartbeat of this world.

Interestingly, Confucius never spoke of a rule of law; he proposed a rule of man. This is not only reflected in the historically strong ties between families from generation to generation, but it is also manifested in the current lack of rule of law in the country. Perhaps the entrenchment of Confucian philosophy in the minds of the Chinese people and the ideals, philosophical ones at least, of the Chinese government is proving a stumbling block to the introduction of a fair, effective and respected rule of law.

交通堵塞: Rush Hour 3

UIBE, 31ºC, sunny

Traffic jams are one of Beijing’s biggest daily problems. Many people opt for bicycles since cars are relatively expensive. However, during rush hour, traffic often grinds to a halt. Public transport is heavily subsidised, a trip on the underground costing just 20p and a bus ticket setting you back a whole 4p. If London public transport were so cheap, there would probably be no need for the congestion charge. Yet Beijing suffers from another problem – its infrastructure cannot cope with so many cars and so many people.

In a bid to reduce air pollution in the build up to the Olympics, the government implemented traffic calming system which only allowed certain number plates to drive on certain days of the week (e.g. if your number plate ends with a 2, you can only drive on a Monday, Wednesday and Friday). The system stayed. It so happens that I saw a reference to this in China Daily the other day. There was little headline squeezed into the small print at bottom left-hand corner of page 2 with a brief description: “Car plate ban to change”. The news item explained that the Monday car ban on number plates ending in 0 and 5 would be changed to affect number plates ending in 1 and 6, effective from next Monday. There was hardly a moment’s notice given to this piece of news, but if you miss it, the fine is sure to be severe.

Another article in the paper explained that Beijing’s disobedient drivers had taken to using, and subsequently blocking, express bus lanes. Where buses on these routes would expect to take just two minutes to hop from stop to stop, it now takes as long as 40 minutes at the height of rush hour due to the impatience of the Beijing driver.

How can Beijing address this problem? Public transport is already very cheap. Perhaps they should consult Jackie Chan.

潘家园: Pan Jia Yuan

潘家园 Pan Jia Yuan, 29ºC, hazy

This weekend, we were asked to go to one of two markets to observe bartering in the flesh and to perhaps partake in some bartering ourselves. I elected to go to 潘家园 Pan Jia Yuan, a weekend antique market. The biggest market in Beijing, 潘家园 boasts a wide range of goods from jade necklaces and Beijing opera masks to Chinese books and antique furniture. Not only does it have a vibrant and energetic atmosphere, but this market is also characterised by its mainly Chinese audience. 潘家园 contrasts with the Silk Market very well; there are very few 外国人 foreigners, so the market has a much more authentic feel about it.

As I wondered between rows of stalls, one lady caught my eye. She was perched on one of the tiny stools all the stalls seem to have (hardly a foot off the ground), and through the lens of a magnifying glass was examining some jade items. The 老板 shopkeeper looked nervous as she scrutinised every piece that caught her eye, checking for the slightest of impurities. They say jade is good for your 精神 energy and has health benefits, but impure jade does nothing for you. I did take a close look at a few jade necklaces and ornaments myself, but I cannot say I could separate the pure from the not so pure…

Beyond the clientele of this market being different to that of the Silk Market, the nature of the 老板 shopkeepers was too. In short, they were not incredibly pushy. In complete contrast to the Silk Market vendors who grab every 外国人’s arm as they pass by, the shopkeepers in Pan Jia Yuan simply sat in their seats, lazing around waiting for a customer to approach. It made for a refreshing change, and a relatively calm and stress-free visit to the market.

长城: The Greatest wall of them all

慕田峪 Mutianyu, 34ºC, hazy

Some say they can see it from space. A classmate disappointed my today by explaining that this was a misnomer. However, our trip to 慕田峪 Mutianyu, one of the steeper parts of the Great Wall was far from disappointing. After a two hour bus ride out there, we made the hike up the hillside to reach the wall itself. Vast. Expansive. Long. Great. It was everything I remembered from visiting 八达岭 Badaling, a different section of the wall, in 2006. Yet, this time, I pondered what its real purpose had been, whether it had succeeded in that, and whether it was an exploit worth the human lives it must have cost.

Built in the 5^th century BC and maintained until the 16^th century, the Great Wall was originally built to protect the northern borders of the Chinese Empire from aggressive nomadic tribes. It spans some 5,500 miles from Shanhaiguan in the East to Lop Nur in the West. Some estimate that as many as 3.5 million people were involved in the Great Wall over the years. The Ming Wall, one of the most treacherous sections, is said to have cost one life for every foot of its construction. Whatever the true cost, this monstrous construction is sure to have cost tens of thousands of lives, and while it may have guarded against small uprisings in the north, it was not enough to stop the Mongols hordes from reaching and razing Beijing in 1215.

Now, the Great Wall stands as one of the most incredible feats of mankind. It is a construction of which China can be proud, and at which the world can marvel.

书法: A written art

UIBE, 28ºC, hazy

Every Friday afternoon, a number of activities are on offer. Some learn Kung Fu, some tie Chinese knots, some learn calligraphy. As someone who greatly values good handwriting (I think it tells you a lot about a person), I naturally took up the latter of these activities. When you see Chinese calligraphy lining the wall of a restaurant, or being sold at a stall in the street, it looks impressive and effortless. When you sit down at a table with ink, writing brush and paper, you start to wonder how they do it.

Our teacher first showed us how to write a single horizontal stroke. You start just inside the left hand end of the stroke, brush slightly to the left, and then glide back to the right. You must maintain a steady pressure as your brush stroke moves to the right, and to finish the stroke you must round off the stroke to the inside, cutting ever so slightly back to the left. Painstaking.

Some thirty horizontal strokes later, we tried some vertical strokes, following the same principle. And then we were afforded the chance to write our first character: 中. By this point, my hand was already aching from my attempts to keep my brush stroke both steady and constant; my head was fuzzy from the intense concentration the activity demanded. As I struggled to craft those effortless brush strokes, the teacher came by. She muttered some advice, and with a graceful flick of the wrist showed me what I should do better: keep the brush vertical, don’t press too hard during the stroke, close of the stroke more tidily. I tried. But, as you can see below, my efforts did not emulate those of a 师傅 master, more those of a complete novice, searching for that je ne sais quoi.

谁是我爱人: Chinese dating

UIBE, 32ºC, sunny

UIBE, the university campus where I am based, is overflowing with couples. They hold hands, they eat ice cream, they do what you would expect of couples. And more.

University rules forbid male students entering female dorms and vice versa. Sharing a cramped room with at least two other people is a limiting factor on any privacy you might seek anyway. So rather ironically, the any personal time one can spend with a love interest is in public.

My language partner explained that at high school, dating is forbidden by the teachers. There are girls’ tables and boys’ tables, a safe distant apart from one another. Once, two of her classmates were caught writing messages to one another in class. They were sent to speak with the Headmaster and were consequently punished.

At university, professors don’t have such stringent rules. How can they be so controlling? Couples will very openly embrace in public, and perhaps be little more intimate too. Having travelled a good amount around East Asia before, the last thing I expected was levels of public affection of which the French would be proud. Whether this is a recent phenomenon, or whether this has been the case for some time, I am not sure. That couples are so open surprises me nonetheless.

外号: What’s in a name?

UIBE, 30ºC, Sunny

My language partner calls her mum 猪头 “pig head”. She thinks it is cute; her mum was born in the year of the pig…

We learnt in class today that before the 改革开放 reforms of Deng Xiaoping in the 1980s that liberalised trade in China, there used to be one phrase by which everyone could be addressed: 同志 Comrade. Men, women, the young and old, everyone used to be a 同志. In recent times, this phrase, 同志, has come to mean homosexual, a far cry away from the comrade status it once engendered. Of course, this a meaning that the current generation of Chinese youth understand, but from time to time you still hear the odd 老人 older person speak of their 同志.

Much has changed in the last 30 years. Now we have 先生Sir, 女士Madam, 小姐 Miss and, even, 哥们儿 Bro. It is quite incredible to witness the product of a transformed society, the result of China’s economic opening. So many Western habits, brands and phrases have been imported, and yet everything still feels very distinctly Chinese.

讲价：A new type of bargaining

秀水街 Silk Market, 29ºC, hazy

In class today, we learnt a good deal of new vocabulary linked to 讲价 bargaining. I was confident that phrases such as 我是穷学生 “I am just a poor student”, 我买不起 “I can’t afford that”, and 开玩笑 “you have got to be joking” would make a good complement to my physical gesturing. To put this to the test, I returned to the Silk Market with my roommate.

Beforehand, we had both agreed that we would try to buy some shoes, so we first walked through the shoe stalls on the lower level of the market. The basement is a very noisy and hectic part of the silk market; every five metres another 老板 vendor grabs your hand. “You want some shoes?” 不要 “No,” I lied to avoid being dragged into bartering. I was going to barter on my own terms.

Jason and I decided on a stall: we approached and picked out the Pumas we had been eyeing from a distance. The lady sent a runner to fetch our sizes. It took almost ten minutes, surprisingly inefficient for a market where vendors tend to be very keen to sell their goods. In the interim, Jason and I discussed what price we would look to start at, and what our upper limit would be… in French. 你们是法国人吗？”Are you both French?” the shopkeeper probed. 是啊 “Yes.” It was easier. After our long wait, we were taken aback when she started at 300RMB for each pair of shoes. After a lot of complaining (and after walking away three times), we managed to negotiate a more modest 65RMB each.

Buoyed by our ability to pay just 20% of the original price, I wandered into a different stall when a pair of brown leather slip-ons caught my eye. I enquired about the price. 对白来说人要1650块钱，可是因为你好像中国人要800块钱. “For foreigners, 1650RMB; as you look Chinese, I’ll give you 800RMB.” I scoffed. 开玩笑！I told him I could maybe pay 150RMB. His look was incredulous, and he waved me away. I can only assume he would have lost money on them (they were the best-made shoe I had seen around all the stalls, and I dared to believe that the material felt genuine).

I tried a new approach picking out a not so nice pair of shoes. 这双要多少钱 “How about this pair of shoes?” “500”. “200”. “300”. “$30”. Done. I had heard that vendors are willing to take Dollars, and you can often undercut the price if you throw some Dollars into the fray. These shoes essentially cost just over 200RMB. Here comes the killer punch, though.

“You meant this pair, right?” I gestured to the first pair I had picked out. Not only did this pair look much nicer, both the material and the finish were superior. 你开玩笑 “You have got to be kidding!” I wasn’t. Usually it is the customer who is 上当了fooled by the shopkeeper. On this occasion, I might well have bucked the trend.

中国学生: Great Expectations

UIBE, 28ºC, hazy

China is a populous country. Everyone knows it. It is China’s booming population that the rest of the world fears. However, beneath the surface, there are some not so happy truths about how the average student gets by. In this very revealing article, the most surprising elements of graduate life my language partner has shared with me are corroborated on a scale I could hardly have imagined before arriving in Beijing just two weeks ago.

Rapid economic growth opens up opportunities, encourages innovation and increases expectations. The upcoming generation of educated Chinese face rising living costs and low salaries, the product of a surge in graduate students. This, in turn, is dashing high expectations. This have given rise to the “ant tribe”, a term for the hordes of students who have flocked to the city hoping to obtain top degrees and so on to top jobs. More often than not, these students are cooped up like hens in a pen, between three and five sharing a single room. After graduating, these students are now accustomed to their cramped living conditions. The job market is so saturated, unemployment is common. As a result, employers can maintain artificially low salaries. The graduates can do very little. Imagine a tadpole fending for itself in the middle of Lake Superior.

One must logically ask where this excess supply goes. Qualified people who are willing and able will follow the jobs they seek. There are already more than 40 million 华侨 overseas Chinese dotted around the globe – expect more to come.

鸭肉饭馆: Duck, Duck, Goose

全聚德 Quanjude, Hepingmen, 34ºC, hazy

Beijing is well-known for its rich local cuisine that spans from 馄饨 wontons and 饺子 dumplings to 酥鱼 braised fish and 腰肉 duck. I had the great fortune this morning of waking up to a text from a good friend inviting me to one of Beijing’s most famous duck restaurants, Quanjude, that evening. Of course, I was delighted to take him up on the offer, and that evening, I made the trip across the city to join him and some friends at this revered restaurant.

There were a number of distinguishing elements to this meal. First of all, we had the luxury of eating in out own private room. We were waited on by five 服务员 waitresses no less. Then there was the musician playing the 古筝 Guzheng, a traditional Chinese instrument akin to the Korea gayageum. And we were also treated to a spectacular mask-changing show (pictured below), in which a man danced to Chinese music and changed his mask with a flick of his cloak. Beyond the wonderful setting we enjoyed, the duck was delicious too! It was both crisp and tender, a perfect combination.

天安门和故宫: Beyond a Forbidden Square

Tiananmen Square & the Forbidden City, 31ºC, sunny

Today, we embarked on our first weekend excursion of the programme. Under the dazzling rays of the bright morning sun, we took a coach to the heart of Beijing – 天安门广场 Tiananmen Square. I had been once before, and I instantly recalled the vast, seemingly endless space. This time, there was not a four-hour long queue of Chinese tourists eager to view Mao Zedong’s remains for all of two minutes. However, the relative emptiness of the square on this Saturday morning emphasised something far greater to me. My head was filled with images of June 5^th 1989, over 100,000 protesters, dozens of tanks, and, of course, tank man himself. As I watched young children chasing each other around the square, I wondered if they would ever understand how close China came to changing forever at that very square. No matter how history is taught in China, the world will not forget that day.

After a photo opportunity, our tour guide led us past the famous portrait of Mao and into the 故宫 Forbidden City. This enclosed “city” includes some 980 buildings and 8707 rooms. Its size is unfathomable, and its architecture constant. A classmate commented, “It looks like a 1950s construction with a borrowed history.” This may seem rather extreme, but reconstruction (that might be considered maintenance in China…) has made the red pillars of each temple look relatively modern and every ornament seems to belie the city’s 600 year history. As we had discussed in class earlier in the week, China is both 古老 ancient and 现代化 modern: the Forbidden City embodies this in its fresh look and indisputable history.

三里屯: World Cup fever takes over

Sanlitun, 27ºC, sunny

Last Sunday, on the Beijing underground, I had my first encounter with a Chinese beggar: blind, a man was being led through the train carriage while playing a bamboo flute. This evening, I ventured with some classmates to the bar area of 三里屯 Sanlitun to watch USA v Slovenia in the 世界杯 World Cup. It is perhaps with some irony that in this vibrant and effervescent district there were a lot of people in the same situation: some were blind, others limbless, the one constant was that they were helpless. 外国人 Foreigners swarmed all over, hardly taking time to notice these people squatted on street corners, or even lying down at being unable to support their own bodies – the whole place was buzzing about one thing: the match.

Others were shadowed by World Cup fever too. A mother and her 5-year-old daughter were trying to sell balloons to the tourist mob. My heart jumped a few paces when I saw the mother motion to her child to go around the block in the opposite direction and to meet on the other side. If any mother asked the same of her child in either England of the US, would this not be child neglect?

A man was collecting glass bottles, searching dustbins, looking under chairs and tables, even loitering near people who had almost finished their beers so he could claim the bottles. Presumably he receives money in exchange for handing in recyclable glass bottles. As he peered over at our table, a couple of us finished our bottles and gave them to him.

On a night of great excitement, it seemed very easy, dare I say the norm, to overlook this less pleasant side of Beijing. But it is very real, and disturbingly normal, to see a handicapped person on the street. Any street, in fact.

The score was 2-2, by the way.

跟当地人踢足球: Football with the locals

UIBE, 21ºC, scattered showers

There is a World Cup going on right now. You can hardly miss it. Everywhere I walk on the UIBE campus, I see football shirts – France, England, Germany and South Korea to name but a few. Although China is not involved, Beijing is still buzzing with World Cup fever.

This afternoon, four of us went out to the football turf to have a knock around. However, the gate was locked. There were three Chinese students who had also come out to play football. Together, we manage to find a small opening in the fencing large enough to slip through. After some introductions in our basic Chinese, we started a small match of 当地人 locals vs 外国人 foreigners. Half an hour later, the gates to the field were open, and a steady stream of students was pouring into the stadium. We added numbers to our game, and suddenly had an 8 v 8 match.

I started to pick up on the “football-speak”. 来的 – “man on / look out”. 好的 – “nice / good”. 漂亮 – “beautiful / well-played”. Although these phrases are relatively simple, I still didn’t quite understand the phrase “pass it”. Each time a player wanted the ball, they seemed either to groan or to clap twice in quick succession. In no other country have I seen this before.

The game really livened up when an enthusiastic goalkeeper sporting a bright orange top joined in. He wore padded shorts, and brand new gloves. He barked orders at everyone as though he were a Wall Street trader, except he emanated a joy akin to that of a child who got everything she wanted from Santa last Christmas. I couldn’t understand a word he said, yet I knew when he wanted me to push wide and when he wanted me to pass it back to him. Such is the nature of the beautiful game.

中国饭: Chinese Food

Nick and I eating 酸辣汤 Suanlatang, a sour and spicy soup - this soup appeared in our Chinese textbook all the time last year... Nice to try the real thing!

多少孩子: How many children?

UIBE, 29ºC, thunderstorms

My meeting with my language partner today was particularly interesting. At each language partner meeting, I glean a great deal about Chinese life and culture. At the same time, I tell 李钱 my language partner about the equivalent situation in both the US and the UK. 李钱 has never left China before, and so by our cultural exchange through conversation, I share details of other cultures while 李钱 she helps my Chinese progress.

Today’s theme prompted a discussion about family, and led to the politically controversial 计划生育政策 one-child policy. Having heard about this policy, and having met very few Chinese people with siblings (those all being from wealthy background), I made the mistake of assuming that this policy meant that families could only have one child, otherwise they would face fines or other castigatory measures. Wrong.

李钱 explained how there are a number of exceptions. For one, rural couples are exempt. So are ethnic minorities and parents who have no siblings themselves. That being said, those who live in large cosmopolitan cities are likely to be subject to this policy. It turns out that couples and families who fall within the jurisdiction of the 计划生育政策 one child policy sometimes find ways to circumnavigate the rules: children born in Hong Kong, Tibet or Macau do not counts as your “one child”. Likewise, those born abroad in places like the US are excluded. This loophole had led to a good number of pregnant women flying to one of these places to give birth. 李钱 described these as “aeroplane babies”, a funny term, but one that rather succinctly describes the nature of the place of birth.

Of course, though this loophole may exist, this whole exploit costs far more than the mean income in China, and so only the well-off or the most determined can follow through with such a grand plan. Although Chinese officials claim that this policy has prevented some 250 million births, children, predominantly girls, are still regularly being put up for adoption – the one child policy still limits the average Chinese family.

语言誓约: The Language Pledge

UIBE, 35ºC, sunny

This morning, the first thing we did in class was sign our 语言誓约 Language Pledge. This pledge binds all students on this programme to speak in Chinese, and only Chinese henceforth. Beforehand, I approached this very positively, fully aware that only speaking in Chinese is the best and quite possibly the only way to become fluent in Chinese: cultural and linguistic immersion is paramount. However, little did I know the frustrations this would bring.

In between class, I would approach other students and realised that I faced a few problems. First, I didn’t know anyone’s Chinese name. Second, I didn’t know how to express in Chinese what I wanted to say! Picture a toddler trying to communicate something to his parents before he knows how to say it; he knows exactly what he wants to say, but cannot express it clearly enough for his parents to understand. That his parents don’t understand is hugely frustrating. I am that toddler.

上中文课 May the classes begin

UIBE, 32ºC, sunny

I woke up at 7am in time to grab a quick breakfast and to review my 汉字 characters before my first class of the programme. The first order of the day was a daily quiz - even though it was the first day, we hadn’t been let off the hook! 汪老师 Teacher Wang then introduced me and my fellow classmates to the course before diving straight into our grammar for the day. Our “big” lecture class of twelve students was then split into smaller classes of just four students. We had two separate fifty minute grammar and vocabulary drilling sessions. Our class day ended with a 一对一 one-to-one oral class. All throughout the morning, the emphasis was very much on speaking. This is a skill I know I can greatly improve, but my stamina for speaking Chinese was being tested to the full – I had never spoken so much Chinese in a single day, let alone a single morning!

Having seen more than four hours of preparation for class fly by throughout the day’s class, I realised that everyone’s Chinese improves on this course for good reason. At 3pm, I had my first scheduled meeting with my language partner. Cue one more hour of Chinese. Using as much of the grammar and vocabulary I had learned for the day, I spoke about my first impressions of Beijing, shared my thoughts on 中国海关 Chinese customs, and asked about the neighbourhood near the dorms. As time went by, and the given prompts started to dry up, every character I spoke became harder and harder to enunciate, every grammar structure became more and more cumbersome.

Beyond purely learning Chinese, this programme is also about cultural exchange. Although I was tiring from speaking so much Chinese, I did manage to enlighten 李钱 on university life in the US. She told me about life at UIBE, which is very different. From her own experience, I found out that she goes to bed before midnight and wakes up at 7am every day. Graduate students in the US would shudder at the thought of waking up so early. I was stunned that she shares a room with two others (despite being a graduate student!) and that every Friday and Saturday night, the electricity is cut off in her dorm at 11pm, forcing her to go to bed! She did tell me that some students seek out a KFC or McDonalds so they can study in the comfort of a lit space.

It is astonishing that students can live under such conditions, but 李钱 is clearly happy to be at UIBE and will certainly have great job prospects when she graduates from this well-reputed university. Imagine what life is like at some of China’s poorer and less-renowned universities.

北京地铁: Underground in Beijing

Silk Street, 28ºC, thunderstorms

My first Sunday in China brought our first real foray into the city. My destination: the Silk Market. Famous as a hotspot for cheap goods (some more fake than others…), I decided to test my bartering skills with my broken Chinese, although admittedly I did get a little help from my roommate on the programme who had joined me in this expedition. Having been to the Silk Market in 2006, I was aware of what to expect, but this time I had some Chinese under my belt.

I first set out to buy some shirts. Determined not to be dragged into bartering against my own will, I tried my utmost to avoid catching the eyes of any clothes seller, instead doing my best to view products in my periphery. As I expected, the moment I touched a shirt in a stall, the vendor was on to me.

“要多少点吗？” I asked how much one cost. She subtly passed the ball back into my court: “how much do you think?” I wanted a few shirts so I offered 100元 for three shirts (just under $15). She scoffed. “180.” “100,” I replied, still using Chinese. She mumbled something I didn’t understand, and then said in English, “You very handsome. 150 for you.” Determined, I stuck to Chinese. “100”. “120”. Done.

There were two notable things about the journey back to my dorm. First, the underground was unbelievably crowded: there was hardly space to move as though I were at the centre of a shoal of fish. It seemed uncanny that the trains be overflowing at 6pm on a Sunday evening. I later discovered that due to the Dragon Boat Festival holiday this week, China was at work on Sunday, making up for the day’s work lost during the holiday. That really seems to defeat the point, but it seems to be an acceptable way to run the holiday system here.

Second, there was a musician playing a bamboo flute on the underground. Blind, his bamboo flute brushed against the shoulders of the sweaty commuters. His dirt-ridden nails were long, his hair was unkempt. He wore a blue flat cap and was led by a short stern-looking lady. A putrid smell wafted through the car as he edged by.

This was my first sniff of the bottom end of China’s socioeconomic spectrum, the poverty that is often overlooked by China’s booming economy. Of course, many have spent their lifetimes trying to eradicate poverty in China, but this was my first taste of the reality that millions of Chinese people still face. I am sure there is more to come, but it certainly won’t get any better.

A glimpse of the overcrowded nature of the underground

Meeting my language partner: 李倩 (Li Qian)

UIBE, Beijing, 29 ºC, hazy

One of the great elements of the Duke Summer programme in Chinese is the language partner programme. Language partners are Chinese undergraduate students who meet with you four times per week to have conversations solely in Chinese on daily topics. Today, after our first breakfast in the UIBE canteen, a pretty gruelling placement test and a brief welcome ceremony, I had the pleasure of meeting my language partner for the first time. 李倩 is a corporate finance student from Central China. She has an older sister, which is pretty rare in China, and she used to play the piano. These are just a few details I managed to understand.

Although 李倩 soon found out that I have only taken one year of Chinese, she spoke at normal conversation speed, making it very hard for my to understand most of her words! I tried very hard to direct conversation to the topics I do understand as she gave me a tour of the UIBE campus (this is the host institution for the programme). We then set about buying a Chinese sim card for my phone before going to eat dinner in one of the university canteens. In the canteen, there was an array of dinner options from 面条 (noodles) and 饺子 (dumplings) to pancakes and 汤 (soup). I opted for noodles, and had my first negative interaction with a local vendor. The man cooling pancakes mumbled something to me and 李倩 explained on my behalf that I am an English foreign language student. His reply: 他是英国人, 我是法国人! (Essentially, if he’s English, then I’m French). That was a pretty startling response to hearing that I am from England, but will likely be the first of many instances where there is some confusion (and perhaps mockery in this case?) at my lack of Chinese fluency.

First impressions

Beijing airport, 25ºC, overcast

It really hit me that I was going to China when I set foot in the departure gate for my flight to Beijing. Virtually everyone who was crowded in the gate was chatting in Chinese; virtually everyone was Chinese. There were more people at the gate than seats, giving a very crowded feel: this is how I imagine China to be – crowded. On the flight, I had the pleasure of meeting two university students (from Hunan and Chongqing) who had just completed a year’s study in Strasbourg. Thus began a long conversation in French! One told me that her nickname was Zhuzi (bamboo!). They helped me with some Chinese phrases, and every time a stewardess passed by with drinks, I asked for something different (shui, pingguo zhi, cheng zhi).

On arrival, the whole body of passengers sprung to life, eager to be the first to get off the plane. As I made the long walk to immigration, I noticed a TV promoting the World Cup in South Africa – the first sign of something universal that bridges cultures. At the immigration desk, I was intrigued by the instant feedback display that allowed passengers to describe their level of satisfaction with the immigration officer. I had never passed through immigration so quickly, but held back my impulse to select “very satisfied”, wanting to acquaint myself with the culture before interacting with it.

I was met by a member of the Duke programme once I had passed through customs, and as I waited for a few other students to arrive, I observed the soft hum around one of the largest airports in the world. Airport employees were calmly directing passengers, moving trolleys and tending to flowers. Two policemen were patrolling side by side, their arms and legs moving in tandem, as though their training required it. Nothing seems so different thus far…

Welcome to my blog!

This summer, I am embarking on a special journey to learn the Chinese language, to engage with Chinese culture, and to explore the land of my ancestors. Through my writing, I hope to not only record my personal experiences; I hope to explore polemic issues in Chinese society, to better understand the East Asian mindset, and to paint a living picture of life in China.

My personal background gives me a unique perspective: adopted at birth, I was born and raised in the beautiful Yorkshire Dales in the north of England. Although I am ethnically Chinese, I have never questioned my British identity – indeed, I am one of the proudest Yorkshiremen you will ever encounter! My aims this summer are not about identity, more it is important to note at the outset of this blog my background and the influences on the perspectives I offer.

To put my summer in context, I have just completed my junior year (third year) at Yale University. Last September, I started Yale’s intensive beginner Chinese programme. Back in February, I was accepted into the Duke in China summer programme, a two-month course that serves as a continuation of my Chinese language study. One of the most appealing aspects of this programme was that students are required to complete assignments that force them to interact with people in the surrounding community (e.g. interviewing a man who is practicing Tai Chi in a park). Such interactions will give me an insight into how Chinese people think and what issues are pressing in their minds.

I invite you to share in my experiences, to offer your own comments, and to discuss the issues I raise.

Thanks!