Journey to the East

So, today is Mid-Autumn Festival. Plans for later aren’t exactly  clear yet, but I think that some friends and I will get together to have dinner, eat mooncakes and possibly climb Hero Mountain. The story of Mid-Autumn Festival is best summarized on Wikipedia, and I won’t try to do it justice since all of the details of the myth are pretty intricate. Basically, it involves a beautiful woman living on a palace on the moon with a magical rabbit who makes her immortality pills as she awaits the arrival of her lover. Pretty nuts, right? In any case… in the spirit of the holiday, I thought I’d post some pictures of the main attraction of the Mid-Autumn Festival: Mooncakes.

So, to wrap up my blogging on the trip to Xinjiang, I thought I would post the best of the rest of my photos from the trip. To enlarge a picture click on it, and click again on the picture in the screen that pops up. Enjoy!

A typical Uighur mid-day meal: Polou, cold vegetables and tea.

No experience in Xinjiang would be complete without eating. In fact, one of the greatest parts of heading waaaay out west is the food. So, I thought I’d give a quick look at Uighur food, and the cuisine of Xinjiang.

In general, Uighur food is much like the food of the rest of Central Asia (Afghani food is particularly similar, apparently). Thus, Xinjiang cuisine is renowned for its use of huge portions of lamb and beef. Particularly famous are its enormous, meaty, spicy kebabs. Unlike their eastern Chinese cousins, which are much smaller and meant to be eaten in large numbers, Xinjiang style kebabs are massive. Each would probably constitute a single serving’s worth of meat if assembled whole on a plate. These juicy cuts of lamb (and sometimes beef) are doused in chili, cumin, and an array of other spices, impaled on large (almost knife-like) metal skewers and roasted over a searing flame. They are absolutely delicious, and make for a great dinner and an even better late night snack. Breakfast also features heavy portions of meat, especially in the form of polou (or pilaf, as it is known in much of Central Asia), a bed of pan-cooked rice with shaved, stewed carrots, roasted onions, (occasionally) chopped dates and raisins, and (of course) a huge hunk of bone-in, roasted lamb. You have to be on top of your timing to get polou, though, as it is rarely found after 1PM local time. By noon, most restaurants have stopped serving it, or have sold out. Also, like many of the culinary traditions of Central Asia, bread plays an important role in Uighur cuisine. It’s a real treat to be walking around in Kashgar, in the Old City, in the early morning to smell the naan ovens firing. Some of them make regular flatbread, which is decorated with ornate spiraling patterns, making it both intricate and delicious. Others make the equally delicious samsa which are baked meat dumplings filled with big chunks of lamb. These are incredibly filling and are a wonderful morning snack.

However, centuries of interaction with East China has clearly influenced the cuisine of Xinjiang. Nowhere is this more apparent than in Xinjiang’s various noodle dishes. Handmade noodles crossed the Silk Road into the region from the East, and were quickly assimilated into the local diet. Now, anywhere in Xinjiang you find huge plates of steaming, stewy noodles. Often this is called laghman and is served with big chunks of meat in a sauce of tomatoes, carrots, onion, peppers, chickpeas, and spices (cinnamon, anise, etc.). The total effect is a hearty, aromatic, spicy and filling lunch.  Eating laghman is also a great visual experience, as all of the noodles are handmade. As you wait for your food, you can watch the kitchen staff pulling large strings of the noodle dough, stretching it again and again to make the long strands which you’ll eventually eat. The people who do this are pros, and there’s sort of an artistry about the whole process, which seems highly acrobatic. If nothing else, the freshness of the meal is incredible. Similarly, the tea culture of Xinjiang bears the mark of cultural fusion. Tea is an important beverage in this area as the halal dietary code of Islam forbids the consumption of alcohol. In the place of wine or beer, tea is often consumed. Here again, Xinjiang has fused the customs of East and Central Asia into something completely unique: traditional Xinjiang tea is served, like in China, without the addition of milk (as is the case in much of Central Asia, and especially India and Pakistan). However, unlike in China, Uighur tea is usually brewed with a blend of spices (the most bold flavor being that of cardamom), and thus have an incredible fragrance and delicately sweet flavor. In the afternoons, it’s nice to find some respite from the desert heat by climbing up to the balcony of a teahouse and having a bowl or two (yes, tea is served in small shallow bowls here) with some naan. From these high vantage points, one can sip tea and simply watch the world pass, which– in Kashgar– is an experience unto itself.

One other culinary advantage of Xinjiang’s arid climate is that dry weather allows for a really spectacular array of fresh fruits. Throughout China Xinjiang’s orchards are renowned for their apples, grapes, pears, dates and melons. On nearly any street in Kashgar’s Old City you’ll be able to reap the rewards of this, as everywhere vendors hawk dried fruit or fresh melons. Similarly, Xinjiang is abundant in nuts and almonds. The end result of all is of this is that Xinjiang has distinctly more dessert options than does Eastern China. These come in varied forms: Sesame hard candy made with local honey, peanut or almond brittle, chilled pressed dates in a sweet syrupy broth, fresh sliced melons, and –most importantly– home made ice-cream sweetened with honey and served by the spoonful into pint glasses. This frosty desert has the most wonderfully subtle and sweet flavor and is an amazing escape from the hot sun. Often, when walking in Kashgar, you’ll see dozens of men camped out under and awning in the shade, talking and enjoying a big cup of the stuff.

In all, eating in Xinjiang is a rich and incredible experience. Any description of it would be, however, incomplete without some visual aides. Here are some pictures:

Every kind of kebab imaginable is available at the Wuyi Night Market in Urumqi.

Xinjiang's famous lamb kebabs on the grill.

Kebabs are a popular nighttime snack. This stand was in the old town in Kashgar.

Naan flatbread: an absolute staple of Uighur food.

Making laghman, pulled noodles

Making Kebabs in Kashgar's Old City.

Late afternoon sunlight falls on Kashgar's Old Town.

When I decided to take a holiday in Xinjiang, Kashgar was always the one place in my mind which served as a final destination. As the cultural heart of Xinjiang it is a place that has long captured my imagination. Any trip to the province without going to see Kashgar would seem, in the end, to be somewhat incomplete. Thus, as we set out on the 24 hour train ride from Urumqi to Kashgar, I was incredibly excited. I will say this: the city is worth it. Worth the hype. Worth the distance. Worth the time. Worth the effort. There is, quite simply, no other place in the world quite like it.

Like much of Xinjiang, Kashgar bears the stamp of being a true border town. This is apparent everywhere: in the city’s architecture, religion, food, music, art, culture, daily rhythm, etc.. Kashgar looks and feels much like it neighbor cities, all of which are located in countries ending in “stan.” Where else could you find a place that can boast such strong flavors of  Central Asia (it was used as a stand-in for Kabul when filming the movie version of Khaled Hosseini’s The Kite Runner… and indeed, when you are here, you can almost imagine what it would be like to be in a peacetime Afghanistan) while still remaining within territorial China? This city is a world unto itself.

There is a certain romanticism hanging around Kashgar, especially in the Old Town, which surrounds the famous Id Kah Mosque, the city’s beating heart. Here the sense of community among Kashgar’s majority Uighur inhabitants feels very strong. There is a liveliness and a vibrancy reflected in the local culture absent just eastward in Urumqi. This catches a visitor up in the swirling atmosphere of a place that seems truly magical when first viewed with fresh eyes. Certain aspects of this romanticism strike you immediately.

The smell: the heavy odors of sewage, pollution, garbage, etc. that one finds in Ji’nan are almost entirely absent here. Instead, Kashgar is a place of much more delicate aromas: baking bread from the naan ovens all over the old town, charcoal and grilled meat, dried fruits and nuts, flowery tea, fresh-sliced melon, fresh market produce and the heavy smell of spices like cinnamon, cardamom, cumin, chillies, coriander and anise.

The sights are magnificent too. For instance, the architecture: graceful and delicate carved archways and woodwork that is almost Arabesque, slender twin spires of minarets which rise slightly above the slanting old rooftops rooftops, rounded domes of mosques (often times in Kashgar’s Old Town, one finds themselves lost and wandering amongst the buildings only to look up and see the crescent moon on the spire of a minaret and realize that you have stumbled on a small mosque), seemingly ageless oven fired brick homes the color of mud, wooden carvings on doors whose patterns almost match the complexity of the woven designs on the brightly colored carpets sold on the streets, brightly painted second floor balconies of teahouses.

Even such magnificent sights get lost amidst those that are happening in the streets, which are filled with a constant level of buzz. In the Old Town one often finds men pulling donkey carts. There are  barrage of people on scooters zipping down the narrow alleyways. Most of the things sold on the street (from ornate tea kettles and ceremonial knives to homemade ice cream and kebabs) are also produced there in the street as well. Thus, much of the Old Town’s industry is on immediate display. In front of music stores, men sit playing their instruments. The streets are crowded as food vendors push carts full of brightly colored fruit, green produce, baked bread or other sundries. Walking in the streets, one encounters women in brightly colored headscarves, men with long beards and traditional prayer hats, and children at play. You catch the gleam of copper from newly made pots and pans hanging in storefronts, or the absolutely brilliant array of color coming from a rug imported from Pakistan, Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, or even Iran.

The center of all of the action is the Id Kah Mosque, a spectacular building right in the center of the Old Town. The structure is built in the Arabic style and painted a beautiful and bright yellow with bright tiled flourishes. Every afternoon the square in front of the mosque is crowded. Merchants set up stalls along the side hoping to sell prayer hats, prayer beads, copies of the Qur’an, tailored shirts, guidebooks, maps, water and myriad other items to would be pilgrims and worshippers as they pass. At 5pm you can hear (as you can all over the city) the afternoon call to prayer, and the proclamation “Allahu Ackbar” (or “God is Great” in Arabic). Venture inside the mosque, and you’ll find it surprisingly verdant. The grounds in between the front entrance and the main prayer hall are filled with trees. I remember a lesson from my Intro to Classic Islam course at Davidson in which my professor explained that in Islam, all things in their natural state are believed to be submissive to Allah. He pointed out that this had an incredibly natural connotation: life, when in a purely harmonious state, is completely in line with the will of God. At the center of the mosque in Kashgar, with ample shade and calm, this idea feels almost tangible. The lushness of the interior, and its general removal from the hustle and bustle of the streets make this a particularly quiet and peaceful sanctuary. I can only imagine that those who come here seeking something of the divine must surely be able to find part of it. Around the mosque, much of the city turns. At night, people gather in the square in front of the Id Kah Mosque and it remains a lively and buzzing place. Want to see the heart of Kasghar? This is the place to do it.

Part of the charm of the Old City lies in its authenticity. Unlike the “Ancient City” model of development and tourism being put in to place in other cities in Eastern China (in which the core of an old city is preserved and filled with tacky souvenir shops and cafes aimed at tour groups, particularly foreigners), Kashgar’s Old Town is not set up for the benefit of tourists. There’s not the element of show or spectacle in the Old City here. Or at least not yet. By contrast, Kashgar is local. There is an incredibly strong sense of community in the Old Town, where the population is still predominantly Uighur (a Turkic minority community in China’s northwest, which is the majority population for Xinjiang and find the center of their traditional heartland in Kashgar). Everywhere one sees examples of how much the Old Town feels small-scale, and close knit. The men who gather at local ice-cream stands to sit in the shade, eat ice-cream, talk and watch the frenzied pace of Kashgar’s streets pass by them every afternoon are regulars and old friends.  All of Kashgar’s merchants are Uighurs, locals, and have often worked in their trade for several generations (one of the largest rug dealers in Kasghar is a father-son operation which has been in business for nearly 40 years). The expertise of these merchants is real, and their goods are authentic, unlike the tacky souvenir swag sold in other places. But the good are not meant for tourist consumption (or at least not all of them). The copper pots being made in storefronts, the fresh produce in the streets, the sliced melon and fresh baked naan are mostly consumed by the people who live and work in Kashgar.

We were fortunate enough in our time in Kashgar to feel the warmth of that community personally. As guests we were made to feel very welcome in most of the places we went in the Old Town. Once in wandering the streets, my friend Chris and I heard live music coming from a short distance away. After following our ears, we came to apartment block where the music was streaming out. Naturally, we were invited inside by one of the residents to find a four piece Uighur music ensemble. The player were all very insistent that we join them, sit with them, listen to them, and drink tea with them, and their children who were gathered on a rug playing and eating a picnic dinner. We stayed for maybe ten minutes, thanked them profusely, and quickly left, feeling like we had just experience a completely singular cultural experience. Similarly, one afternoon, on we decided to take in the streets of Kashgar from the upper floor balcony of one of Kashgar’s teahouses (because liquor is strictly prohibited at most establishments due to Islamic standards, much of the dining culture here centers around drinking tea). Upon our arrival we were greeted by a local man and his son, who had come to drink tea and enjoy a sunny afternoon. Upon seeing that we had purchased a Uighur-to-English phrasebook, our new friend took a good deal of interest in us, and asked us to sit and chat with him. Of course, we were asked to eat naan and drink tea as well, and the encounter turned into a very friendly conversation about life and customs in Kashgar. Further chat (in a combination of broken English, broken Uighur and broken Chinese) revealed that this man was a local Imam, and of some standing in the community. Again, we felt incredibly fortunate that a man of such local importance had reached out to us, a group of foreign strangers.

In this way, Kasghar feels different from Urumqi. If our presence in Urumqi’s neighborhoods was at first greeted with suspicion, in Kashgar we were met with openness. If looks we received in Urumqi suggested “What are you doing here?” in Kashgar, they suggested “Welcome friend! Have a seat!” The openness of the people and the culture in this town make it an easy place to feel at ease. While much of the “tourism” here may revolve around such simple activities as taking a walk and watching people work, it is easy to feel completely enthralled with such activity, and to feel that in doing so, you’re seeing something very real and very special.

Sadly, however that community is feeling the effects of development as well. While the core of the Old Town is well preserved, “modernization” is creeping in from the periphery. On the outskirts, Kashgar is evolving into a city of glittering multi-story shopping complexes and towering apartment blocs. It is in no way as close as Urumqi to losing that core of its true identity (and in some cases never will, as the Old City will inevitably be kept alive for the sake of tourism), but you can’t help feeling, as you walk in the streets in Kashgar, that what you see today may well be gone tomorrow. It’s yet another tale in the already thick anthology of communities which struggle between development and tradition. The city is a cultural wonder. I only hope it’s able to stick around.

As always, there are more photos from Kashgar than I know what to do with. Here are many of the best shots. Enjoy!

Welcome to Kashgar: A scene from the heart of the Old Town.

Streetside vendors like these ones selling fresh samsa (meat filled, baked dumplings) make Kashgar's Old Town an incredibly vibrant and interesting place.

Traditional multi-story architecture in Kashgar's Old City.

A major crossroads in the Old City.

Naan in Kashgar: The smell of baking bread was prominent in many areas of the Old City.

Traditional Uighur musical instruments for sale.

These presses are used for making the elaborate designs on naan. Even beyond being functional, they're actually quite colorful, and cool to look at.

Fresh, locally-grown watermelon, ready to be sliced (also, check out the size of that knife).

Uighur prayer hats for sale near the Id Kah Mosque.

A very tall minaret near the central square in the Old Town.

Dried fruit and almonds on sale at an open air market near the Id Kah mosque in Kashgar.

Traditional architecture in Kashgar's Old Town.

A typical sight in the streets in Kashgar: a donkey cart.

Kashgar's Id Kah Mosque: The spiritual and cultural heart of the city.

Locals gather outside the mosque before the 5PM call to prayer.

Seen from afar: the minarets of the Id Kah Mosque rise above the tree line.

Minaret at the Id Kah Mosque.

A shot from the interior of the mosque: These are the gates before the main prayer hall.

Inside the mosque everything seemed incredibly green and verdant.

Cooking up a local specialty: lamb kebabs.

Locals gather on the second story balcony of a teahouse to take in amazing views of Kashgar.

One of the very friendly locals we met at the teahouse was an Imam and his son.

A typical morning activity in Kashgar: Making naan.

Preparing the meat for lamb kebabs.

Kashgar city skyline.

An alleyway in the heart of Old Kashgar.

As seen in a Kashgar alleyway.

Late afternoon in Kashgar's Old Town.

Welcome to Urumqi

First on our tour of Xinjiang was the bustling provincial capital city of Urumqi. I’m probably not going to be able to say exactly what I want about Urumqi… its a complex place. In many senses, it is growing and bustling like its counterpart Chinese cities on the east coast. In another, completely different sense, Urumqi is infused with a strong flavor of central Asia. That much becomes apparent as soon as you arrive and see the multiplicity of culture which abounds in every place. The hallmarks of cultural fusion are everywhere: Street signs in both Chinese and Uighur (the language of Xinjiang’s local minority people), Arabian-style mosques standing next to very traditional Chinese-style buildings, the broad array of cuisine from local favorites to traditional eastern Chinese staples, the dizzying number of people from such incredibly different places (Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, Pakistan, Kirgystan, Mongolia, Russia, Tajikistan, Eastern China, etc.) who are out walking on the streets. The web of multiculturalism, when layered over Urumqi’s ancient history and recent surge in economic development, make it a place with a complex and fascinating identity… one which is hard to adequately summarize or describe.

Like many of Xinjiang’s cities, Urumqi has a pretty long history as an oasis town in the middle of the desert, making it a pivotal stop on the ancient Silk Road. However, the city has a tendency to be historically overshadowed by it’s western neighbor, Kashgar, which has long been the center of local Uighur culture, a major nexus of cultural exchange, and a strategically important city located on the edge of mountain passes. This is not to say that Urumqi should play second fiddle: it’s got a vibrant and cosmopolitan feel of it’s own these days. It is to say, however, that we knew fairly little about it when we arrived. We knew it was a big city, but what was there to do there? No clue. In a sense our time in Urumqi became very flexible. Some cities are like paint-by-number portraits: you know that there are certain things you’ll have to see when you stay there. Urumqi is more like a choose-your-own-adventure novel.

The attractions in this city aren’t so much buildings as they are neighborhoods. Whereas in other cities in China, tourism revolves around touring specific temples, mountains, nature preserves, or other areas of cultural or historical significance, Urumqi’s appeal comes in visiting whole areas to get a feel for it’s cultural uniqueness. There are no huge temples to tour in Urumqi. While there are plenty of mosques (Xinjiang’s majority religion is Islam), these are not frequently open for public visitation, and rather must be seen from the outside. To see the real attractions in Urumqi, one must head out the Uighur neighborhoods in the center of town. There, you can experience a bit of what has always made this area famous, trade.

Yes, the place to go in Urumqi is the Grand Bazaar, a network of outdoor markets and street vendors in Urumqi’s Uighur neighborhoods. Starting out in the midst of markets for fresh produce, baked goods, meat, and handicraft gives you an idea of how important market culture has always been in Xinjiang. Here you see a fairly real slice of Urumqi that is as it has been for a LONG time. While the outer parts of the city are being modernized at a fairly alarming rate, Urumqi’s Uighur neighborhoods still display a good deal of the kind of bazaar-culture that has driven the economy of this region for millennia.

The sights, sounds and smells of the bazaar are pretty cool: roasted meat, fresh baked bread, freshly sliced melons, spices, towering Arabic-style domes, the shouts of vendors, the insistent honk of car horns, women in headscarves and men in prayer hats. It’s an absolute attack on the senses. From these areas, its easy to wander off down any number of other, smaller streets. We spent most of the afternoon on our first day there winding our way down these backalleys, following the spires of minarets toward what we though would be interesting buildings. Inevitably, we found ourselves amidst the real neighborhoods of Urumqi, away from the bazaar. Here, I think we witnessed a very real culture. Children played in the streets, people gathered in front of mosques before prayer. This wasn’t a show. This was Urumqi without any tourist pretense.

Ending up in these neighborhoods wasn’t an entirely comfortable experience. They were for the most part, fairly poor. We were received with some pretty strange looks. There has been some recent tension in this city (I won’t recount the history of that particular incident here) and there is still a sense of unease that lingers over areas like this. The curiosity about our presence there was less hostile and more confused: Why would tourists want to come and see this part of the city? What was there to see? In the end, though, when we were able to engage these people in whatever limited conversation we could, the barriers were lowered slightly, and people were generally warm towards us. If there is suspicion in Urumqi, it melts away after a little bit of communication.

After a full day of wandering through it’s streets, I still don’t think that I can pretend to understand all of the undercurrents which are running through the city. However, I am a little closer to feeling what lies at its heart. While Urumqi, on it’s face, may be a very complicated place to navigate, it is one that I think is worth getting to know and understand.

In any case, here’s a glimpse of Urumqi in photos. More updates will come soon.

Urumqi's buzzing cultural heart: The Er Dao Qiao Bazaar.

The view at the center of Urumqi's lively Bazaar district.

Multi-lingual street signs in Xinjiang: The language written with Arabic script is Uighur.

Fresh watermelon for sale in Urumqi's Bazaar.

Freshly baked naan: the flatbread which is the staple food in Xinjiang.

Mosque domes peek out from down an alley in Urumqi.

Roast Chicken, anyone?

Melons are a local specialty in Xinjiang, and can be found in abundance just about everywhere.

Vendors with carts line the streets in Urumqi.

A mosque in the Er Dao Qiao Bazaar in Urumqi.

Unlike their counterparts in Eastern China, most of the mosques in Xinjiang, like this one, are built in a Middle Eastern architectural style.

Women's fashions on display in Urumqi.

... and in menswear: all the hottest styles from Pakistan (not kidding).

A typical storefront in Urumqi.

An ornate gate in front of a mosque in Urumqi.

A common sight in Urumqi's Uighur neighborhoods: minarets.

Inside of the Grand International Bazaar in Urumqi.

Dried fruit, another local specialty, is certainly available in Urumqi's Grand Bazaar.

Perhaps I spoke too soon about warm weather. Yesterday, temperatures in Ji’nan dropped suddenly and dramatically. And it snowed. So, now, not even a week after I boldly declared an end to winter, it’s winter again.  I suppose that March in Ji’nan will be no different from March in the Eastern US: In like a lion…

Unfortunately, this turn in the weather dampened one of the most interesting parts of Spring Festival: Lantern Festival, which marks the very last night of the holiday. True to its name, Lantern Festival features all kinds of illuminated display, the setting off of paper lanterns (you light them and the hot air propels them into the sky like otherworldly object, floating up towards some completely unknown end… I’ve seen lots of lanterns lit, but I’ve never seen one coming down from up high, so I can truly say that I have no idea where a lit lantern goes), and eating what I’ve just come to call Lantern Soup, known in Chinese as 汤圆, Tāngyuán, ( which is a dessert course consisting of small, sweet, round dumplings in a slightly sugary broth (kind of like gulab jamun, for those of your familiar with Indian food, but not as syrupy and  not fried).

Tāngyuán, a traditional Lantern Festival dessert (thanks to Google for the image).

Of course, yesterday’s weather conditions were not ideal for any of the traditional lantern festival celebrations: try setting off a lantern made of paper in a driving snow storm and heavy wind. The square was deserted, with would be revelers staying inside rather than trying to navigate the slippery, treacherous, tiled morass that QuanCheng Square becomes when a little moisture is added. Even the extravagant light displays at Baotu Springs (which are traditional for lantern festival and are kind of like those drive-through Winter-Wonderland/Christmas Light displays in the US) were closed down due to snow (a shame, because I’d really wanted to check them out… I’m hoping that maybe they’ll still be open for today).

This past weekend was also marked the end of the Fall Semester for Aston. Soon, I’ll have a new batch of classes with different students and different Chinese Teachers working alongside me. There will be new foreign teachers, too. Already many of the Aston employees who were only signed on to teach here for six months have moved out and headed for their various destinations away from Ji’nan. Simultaneously, new staff have started to arrive and so it feels as if we’re stuck in a very strange period of limbo in which we must all say goodbye to old friends while meeting lots of new people. In this sense it’s neither a beginning or an end. Rather, it’s both at once. I can only imagine what it must feel like to be a new arrival at this time, trying to meet everyone in a very new and different environment, only to realize that many of them are imminently leaving. A strange thought indeed.

The next couple of days will bring in lots of changes. I’ll have plenty to say about it, I’m sure. Also, be sure to check in, as I’ll FINALLY be putting up lots of photos from previous travels. Stay tuned…

A week ago, I was returning from Beijing where I went walking around on a frozen lake. My, how quickly things change. Winter weather came seemingly overnight in October (on Halloween weekend in fact), and it looks like it will go almost as quickly.

While we’re not quite into Spring yet, the weather has significantly warmed up over the past few days. No longer am I reading weather forecasts to find that Ji’nan will be facing temperatures below zero degrees Celcius (yeah, China’s on the metric system… it’s been a bit of an adjustment). Hopefully, we’ve seen the last of the snow and ice for the winter (though it’s still February, and I’ll kick myself if this turns out to be just a brief little warm snap). The signs of warm weather have been around. Sweaters and heavy winter clothes now populate the “ON SALE” rack in the local department stores; People are shedding their very long and heavy winter coats and I no longer have to wear a hat and gloves when walking outside; At local barbeque (烧烤, shāo kǎo) restaurants, outdoor seating has returned, and patrons now sit in the open air and engage in a favorite warm-weather past-time: eating grilled meat and drinking local draft beer from easily recognizable turquoise plastic kegs; the long absent pineapple and melon vendors have returned to their familiar corners; the square is bustling at night once again as its now warm enough after dark to resume the evening practice of kite flying, line-dancing, rollerblading, or badminton.

As always, I’m looking forward to the arrival of real Spring weather. The little taste that we’re having has been fantastic. On Monday and Tuesday of last week, there were two beautiful days where temperatures soared into the ’60s, and the sun shone in a sky that was a quite healthy shade of blue, not the pale wintry haze that passes for sunny days in early January. I knew I couldn’t spend the day indoors. Luckily, I own a bicycle. Off I rode, into the heart of downtown. I rode to the foot of Thousand Buddha Mountain, and from that high point looked out over the city. I rode down to Old Ji’nan, and in the sunlight and warm weather, strolled alongside one of the canals which runs out from one of the springs near the center of the city. That afternoon, the wind wasn’t biting or cold. Rather, for the first time in quite a while, it felt like a pleasant breeze: warm, slight, gentle. It was almost like an early spring day in North Carolina, which filled me with both excitement and nostalgia. In the coming days, the temperature is supposed to stay at this level of warmth. It’s quite clear, real Spring is not far away.

The third part of my photo entry on Spring Festival in Ji’nan. These photos were taken on the first day of the lunar New Year. The celebration begins!

A New Year comes to Ji'nan: Festive pinwheels turn in the shadow of the Blue Thing.

The first day of the Year of the Tiger brought a lot of excitement to heart of Ji’nan. As people crammed into buses and packed the streets with bikes and converged on QuanCheng Square, in the very heart of town, I grabbed my camera and went out to join them. Everywhere throughout the city, there was a great deal of energy. Firecrackers were STILL set off to ring in the Year of the Tiger. Kite fliers and food vendors crowded around the Blue Thing, vending their wares. Performers took center stage in the middle of the square, treating the audience to singing, dancing, opera and other merriment. Forget about 2010, it’s the Year of the Tiger that was being greeted in on February 14. Here are the best of the day’s photos:

A balloon vendor in the streets near QuanCheng Square on the first day of the Year of the Tiger. (This photo reminds me of e.e. cummings' poem "In Just").

More balloons, including tiger-shaped ones especially for this year.

The Blue Thing was the staging ground for a huge festival celebration. You can see it here from afar.

Rows of vendors in QuanCheng Square. These stalls sold everything from food, to paper kites, to New Year's ornaments, to children's toys.

These delicious snacks are made of rice paper, stuffed with a rice and meat filling. They're not like anything that I've eaten before, so comparisons are not really adequate here. I'll just say this: the ones which have big pieces of roasted duck on the inside are incredible.

These long scrolls of calligraphy symbolize longevity and luck in the coming year. These particular scrolls stretched out to well over 20 feet.

Pinwheels: A popular New Year's souvenir.

The double fish is a symbol for Spring Festival that I've seen in a lot of places. They're intended to symbolize surplus and wealth.

A Lion Dance: A Northern Chinese Spring Festival tradition. The Lion Dance is actually very similar to its more famous Southern cousin, the Dragon Dance, which involves a LONG train of people making up the body of the dragon rather than two who make up the lion in the photos above. Like the Dragon Dance though, these events have become fixtures in Spring Festival celebrations. This one was put on, I think, to advertise for a store's Spring Festival sales.

The Lion Dance: Up close.

These guys are pounding some sort of rice paste together. I'm not really sure what it was being put into, but it looked like a pretty labor-intensive process.

More pinwheels. It seemed like everyone, especially kids, were buying these.

Candied fruits skewered on a stick, particularly hawthorne berries, are a winter treat in China called "糖葫芦“ or tánghúlu, literally meaning 'sugared gourd' because of their lumpy appearance. The ones which are made entirely of candied strawberries are especially good.

A red lantern serves as part of the New Year's decorations in QuanCheng Square.

These were an interesting sight: steamed sticky rice stuffed inside shells that looked like casings for ammunition.

A close up.

In a big display of New Year spirit, kites shaped like tigers went up all over the square by mid-afternoon.

Flower vendors on the sidewalks near QuanCheng Square.

More scenes of festivity from the square: Red lanterns were everywhere on the first day of Spring Festival.

After weeks of building anticipation, the day has arrived: Spring Festival has begun tonight! Welcome to the Year of the Tiger! I’ve just returned home from being out in downtown Ji’nan, seeing some of the celebration. Not that the celebration has by any means ended: It’s now quite late (after 1:30AM) and out my window, I can still hear the sounds of revelry– firecrackers, carhorns, happy voices, etc. . I’ve taken literally hundreds of photos from this afternoon onwards, and I will post them VERY soon, I promise. However my camera batteries are dead, and are currently recharging, so it’ll have to wait for tomorrow. I did, however, want to share some moments from tonight before I forget them. It has been quite a night.

The West has any number of significant holidays. None of them, however, are really equivalent to Spring Festival. On paper, one would say that Spring Festival is China’s Christmas. And as a definition of function, I suppose that would be correct. Both are the major gift-giving holiday of the year. Both have an extensive shopping season. From a commercial standpoint, it makes sense to equate the two. In practice, however, the two couldn’t seem more different. It’s hard to explain exactly what Spring Festival is. Of course, it’s a New Year’s celebration, and in that sense, there are elements that resonate with western New Year’s Eve: staying up until midnight to welcome in the coming year, traditions which center around getting a new start with a clean slate (the west has resolutions for the new year; China has a complete sweeping out of the house to literally start the year out clean).

But Spring Festival is more than just New Year’s Eve with a Chinese twist. There’s a strong family element here, too. Everyone goes home. My Chinese language teacher, Hao Nan told me that she and her mother would be  working very hard throughout today to prepare for the HUGE meal they would be having with her entire extended family (does this sound familiar to anyone who has climbed out of bed at some early hour to put a Thanksgiving turkey in the oven? I would think so). Tonight, almost everyone seemed to be gathering with family. Restaurants posted notices that they were closed so that the owners could go home (either within Ji’nan, or back to their hometowns in other places); After the holiday, the signs announced, the stores would reopen. So, like Thanksgiving in the US, this is a time for loved ones to come together.

All of these elements blend together to create an enormous event. The excitement surrounding today was palpable, and immediately upon walking outside it was noticeable. Shortly after 2PM I started making my way towards downtown to take in some of the festival atmosphere during the daylight. The streets were remarkably empty… and yet, there was an electricity everywhere. Something was getting ready to happen.  That something mostly manifested itself in the occasional setting off of fireworks. Even during the daylight fireworks had begun. In the streets, people were getting a head start on welcoming in the New Year by setting off Chinese firecrackers or (in one case) throwing Cherry bombs into a little pond, and watching the cascading water from the ensuing blasts. Near Ji’nan’s “Korea Town” section (basically just one large underground market), I witnessed daylight fireworks which launched plumes of colored smoke (red, yellow, teal, purple, green, etc.), before bursting into light in the middle of the air and raining confetti down on the street. I had never seen anything quite like this before, and I couldn’t help but be amazed by how unique and beautiful I thought they were.

By 6:00PM, some of my friends and I had converged on the square to meet up for the night. Our timing was perfect. At about that time, as dark was beginning to fall all around the city, the celebration began. Suddenly, fireworks started to appear in the sky. They were at first sporadic, and spaced out. A loud boom would cause us all to jerk our heads in all directions, searching for the source of the commotion, only to be turned around moments later by the rapid fire rattle of firecrackers. At first, we stood in the center of the largely empty square, wildly flashing our cameras, wheeling about in all directions, trying to catch whatever brief glimpse of pyrotechnics we were able to. Gradually the explosions intensified. By 7:00, the slow trickle of explosions had grown to a constant din. Bursts of light now came at random intervals from all directions. I’m going to have a hard time describing how these looked without pictures, but I’ll try. Even though we couldn’t get up close to these, they were remarkable from a distance: big, bright balls of red, green, and yellow light. Some burst out into spiral disks. Some spun like windmills. Others bloomed like flowers, bursting out sideways and pink like the open petals of waterlilies. Some sparkled and crackled as they burst. Other merely expanded to larger and larger orbs of spectacularly colored light.

Unlike on the 4th of July in the US, there isn’t any large, centralized, city-sponsored display (at least not in Ji’nan). Rather, every neighborhood, every family has their own stash of fireworks which they set off on New Year’s Eve. Earlier in the day, I had asked a guard near the Big Blue Thing where the best place in the city to view fireworks was. He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t really know,” he said, “I’m not sure that there is one.” I now understood the guard’s answer: Where was the best place to view the fireworks? Everywhere. Wherever there are people.

The fireworks would grow more and more steady throughout the night. We broke from the action and parted ways briefly to eat dinner (my friend Dave and I went to a “Buddhist” Restuarant which specializes in vegetarian food, to eat some traditional New Year staples… mainly dumplings). On the way, we decided that to fully participate in welcoming in the New Year, we would have to buy some of our own fireworks, and fortunately stumbled upon a stand just outside the restaurant. Stomachs full of food, and arms full of fireworks, we made our way to a nearby park. As far as I can tell, there is no restriction on setting off fireworks in public places in China. Or at least not on the eve of Spring Festival. We found a clearing in the park, and set up shop, going about the serious business of deciding which fireworks to light first and which to save for the finale.  Finally, at around 9:00, we got down to business and let them fly. It was much fun to watch as they shot up from the ground and burst in the air, and I’m glad to think that we got to add our own part to this celebration.

As the hour neared 10:oo, and there seemed to be a lull in the action as families took to their homes to enjoy meals, celebrate inside, and watch the annual gala on Chinese TV (think Chinese style-Dick Clark’s New Year’s Eve Program), we decided to go have a drink, warm up, and wait for midnight, at which point we were told by some who had some more experience in China, things would really get going. I found this hard to believe. After all, we had just been seeing fireworks coming from every corner of the city. How could it get more lively? I had no idea what was to come. We decided at 11:45 to go back out and see what was going on. Our timing was perfect, and we emerged just as the fireworks reached a frenzied peak.

I have never lived in an active warzone. I imagine it must be something like midnight on Lunar New Year in China. As we walked outside, the noise was deafening. The light was blinding. The firecrackers and fireworks were everywhere now. They came from all directions. On every street corner people lit firecrackers, and twirled sparklers as in the sky fireworks lit up everything into an incredible, colorful blaze. Burst of light shot out from rooftops, from in between buildings, from sidewalks, from alleyways, from above, from the side, from everywhere. These fireworks were noticeably taller, bigger and brighter than before. I suppose I should not be surprised at the elaborate nature of Chinese fireworks. After all, China invented gunpowder, and so naturally, they’ve had quite a lot of experience crafting light and explosion into works of beauty. These fireworks, however, were exceptionally beautiful. They exploded in bursts of gold and blue and were shaped like chrysanthemums. They crackled with gold and white, like the fluff of a dandelion. They streaked out from a brilliant white in the center to red and green at the ends, which seemed at some times to resemble poinsettias. They were simply amazing.

After all of this, I headed home, where I am now. I’ll try to post some pictures soon. I hope that they are even slightly representative of what I’ve seen tonight. Tomorrow will bring more celebration. There’s a big pavillion set up in the square. I intend to go check it out. I’ll report more on it tomorrow. For now let me wish all of you a happy New Year, and say, as many Chinese friends have to me recently: 心想事成! (May your wishes come true!)

It's holiday season: A Spring Festival store display near Jing An Temple in Shanghai.

Tonight, the countdown to the new year began here in Jinan. Most of you who are reading this are undoubtably under the impression that the new year began over a month ago. You would be right. Unless you lived in China. January 1 may mark the start of a new calendar year, but the Lunar New Year, or Spring Festival (chūnjié 春节) as it’s more commonly known over here, is the only new year which seems to matter much over here (in fact, one of my Chinese co-workers even jokingly referred to Spring Festival as the “real New Year,” which I guess I can’t really argue with given that from a Chinese view, it’s true). Chinese celebrations of the start of Western New Year’s are fairly low key. Though we saw many people celebrating the start of the New Year in January by going out to dinner, or having a small get together with friends, the reveling all seemed pretty small scale. I won’t say that we were alone in ringing in 2010, but it felt like it meant more to my foreign friends and I than it did to most of the other people we encountered that night.

Not so with the Spring Festival season, which began tonight, as part of a celebration called Little Spring Festival (xiǎonián, 小年). This is the day which begins the greater “New Year Season.” Every action taken to night begins a period of building excitement for the coming of the Year of the Tiger (which is incidentally the same sign as my birth year). For instance, I’m told that tonight you’re supposed to sweep out your house to clear away the dust and dirt of the old year. You’re also supposed to eat dumplings for reasons that are less apparent to me. Families have begun to hang New Years couplets on their door frames to invite good luck in the coming year (we’ve got to get ourselves some of these, actually as we’re about the only apartment in our building without any on our door).

The holiday spirit is certainly in the air. The big day itself won’t come for about another week (February 13), but the countdown has begun. This would be comparable to the Advent season for the church calendar in western cultures, except it has none of the somber characteristics. Preparation for the New Year has been more or less under way since Christmas (the transition is more or less seamless, as you can run one big gift-giving commercial holiday into another… even though Christmas isn’t a HUGE holiday over here, it’s marketable enough that Spring Festival can emerge from it as a consumer holiday). According to Wikipedia, the annual movement of people in an attempt to get home for the holiday season in China (called Chunyun, 春运, quite literally “Spring Festival Transportation”) is the largest migration in the world (one article for the Independent in London claimed that the migration encompassed, in total, 2 billion people). Understandably, our plans to travel to Haerbin, (a city in the north know for it’s Ice Festival) over the holiday have been compromised a bit by this fact (we’re still not sure what we’re going to do instead).

The shift into high gear for the New Year season has been noticeable. Everything seems to have adopted a red and gold New Year’s trim, from the advertisements on billboards, to the doors of peoples houses, and the decor at McDonald’s. Stores are putting up HUGE advertisements and displays around their entrances, and running all kinds of crazy sales to get people to buy some last minute New Year’s gifts. Street vendors with carts full of New Year’s items (paper lanterns, couplets, fireworks, incense, red enevelopes) have sprung up in lots of places around the city, including just down the street from my apartment. Dumpling restaurants are becoming considerably more packed as people clamor to eat traditional holiday food. Even sales of báijiǔ (白酒), a strong, and decidedly unpleasant Chinese spirit made from distilled sorghum, seemed to have increased or at least to more prominent displays at the front of grocery stores in anticipation of New Year revelry.

Tonight, as I walked in the streets on the way to dinner after work, Ji’nan was buzzing. Everywhere, people were setting off LOUD firecrackers. Every few minutes, fireworks would burst into the sky from somewhere just up ahead. People in Quancheng square were lighting the traditional paper lanterns that float skyward, raised by hot air, into the night. After a retreat during colder weather, lots of kite flyers were back out for the holiday, and what seemed like a larger than unusual number of food vendors lined the streets near the square. At the dumpling restaurant, every table was packed, and the din of noisy conversation reached a dull roar. The interior was steamy, so much so that it fogged up the windows. When we arrived we were told there were no tables available without a wait, and there would be no dumplings available for at least half an hour. As we rode back on the bus towards hone after dinner, I noticed lots of apartments with newly hung and lit latnerns, and many which had hung Christmas lights on the trees for the event. The effect is pervasive, inescapable: the holidays have arrived in full force.

Naturally, the assumption among most Chinese people we meet is that we’ll go home for the holiday. Like many Chinese holidays, Spring Festival is, after all, centered around being with your family. I explain that I simply can’t because of time and money constraints, which people understand. There does, however, seem to be a hint of sympathy extended when I admit that my own loved ones will be far away for this most important season. It’s strange, but the wistfulness I felt at Christmas and Thanksgiving about being away from home is somewhat compounded by this. Even though this event is completely foreign to me, in the midst of this out pouring of celebration and togetherness, my thoughts often turn to my own home. I hope that those of you who are reading this, regardless or where you are, find yourself in good health and in good company. 新年快乐! (Xīnnián kuàilè! or  ”Happy New Year!)

Hopefully, I’ll be able to get some more and better pictures of New Year celebrations as they unfold. Meanwhile, stay tuned. The holidays are upon us, and there’ll be much, much more to say as the day itself draws near.