Journey to the East

A little over a week ago, I climbed Ji’nan’s “Hero Mountain” on a particularly warm and sunny spring afternoon. Hero Mountain is an important historical and cultural spot for the city of Ji’nan. Essentially, it’s the site where a major battle (either of the 1912 Revolution or in the Sino-Japanese War, or possibly both) occurred. The men that died there have posthumously been declared martyrs for China’s freedom, and thus the hill, which serves as their final resting place, is a monument to that idea. It’s dotted with little cemeteries and memorials and is a very important part of the city of Ji’nan from a symbolic point of view: it’s Ji’nan’s legacy in the struggle for modern China.

Aside from all of these things, it’s also a pleasant place to go for a hike. As my friends and I climbed the mountain (which isn’t really that strenuous of an activity; it only takes about 20 minutes to get to the top and another 20 to 30 to hike around the top to all of the little shrines and overlooks) we took in some really great view of the skyline of our fair city. Plopped down right on the southern edge of the city, the mountain provides some pretty stunning views of downtown and greater Ji’nan. As we sat and rested at one of the mountain’s overlook points, we were able to see our apartments, our schools, the city’s stadiums and major highways, and way off in the distance, the bridge that passes over the rail-yard near our home.  It was a very cool sight. Some views are impossible to capture using a camera… unless you happen to have an excellent panoramic-shot feature. Luckily for me, my friend Dave does, and allowed me to shoot some pictures with it. Also, he was kind enough to share them, and one that he took, with me. They’re really too cool to not share with you guys too.

So, here’s the view from Hero Mountain:

Cherry blossoms overlook the city of Ji'nan from the top of Hero Mountain.

As seen from Hero Mountain: Ji'nan's City Skyline.

So the winter fades: flowers in bloom on the cherry tree outside my apartment

All of my life, I have lived in a temperate climate. Even if my college years were spent in a place where winter felt comparatively mild, I still expected the change of seasons and always felt a kind of relief at the end of the winter months. Thus, it is with much thanks that I bid farewell to winter in Ji’nan. It did not go quietly. Rather, winter hung around much like a lingering illness. In fact, in Eastern China (which is by no means as cold as Manchuria to the north, but nonetheless cold enough: The average low in January and February is somewhere around -4 or -5 degrees Celcius), winter is more or less legendary. In fact, there’s an incredibly famous essay called, “济南的冬天” (”Jǐ’nán de dōngtiān,” or “Winter in Ji’nan”) by the master writer Lao She (老舍). It should come as no surprise then, that winter seemed to go on forever. Every time the temperature peaked, I would cross my fingers hoping that spring had finally arrived. I remember– on multiple occasions– thinking, “This is it. We’re out of the woods. From now on it will be warm.” Each time I was disappointed as Ji’nan plunged back into cold weather.

The weather, at the very bitter end of winter, became nothing short of confusing. Of course, you’ve all heard about the wild dust and sand storms as a winter’s worth of dried grass and dirt swept off the plains of Mongolia and descended into Eastern China. Even more confusing, however, was the constant up and down swing of the thermometer as the March weather struggled with its own severe bipolarity. Would it be warm at last? Who could say? Just last week I awoke at 8:30 AM to what appeared to be a furious snowstorm. My roommate Chris had nudged me awake, imploring me to “Get a look at this.” And look I did: as I peered outside, the snow flakes fell heavy, large and fast outside my window. All I could think was “Not again.”  By noon, the sun had come out and the temperature had climbed to nearly 65 degrees. Any trace of the snow from the early morning had vanished.

At long last, in the final week of March winter’s back was broken. After a solid week of temperatures above 50 degrees, it is safe to say that spring is here. And so, the longest and coldest winter of my life is over, giving way to a warm spring breeze and the promise of a new season. While riding my bike last Wednesday, I noticed something odd… a smell. At first, it was something I couldn’t place. Amidst the swarming, complicated bouqet that is modern China (and this merits an entry all of it’s own because the smell of China is completely unique: mixed hints of wok oil, car exhaust, garbage, incense, smoke from kebab restaurants, etc.) drifted a soft, fragile and delicate new fragrance. This smell was clean, fresh, pretty, and new. I looked upward and found its source: flowers. Now, in this city which is made of so much concrete and pavement and metal and glass that it’s sometimes easy to forget the natural world, cherry blossoms are bursting forth everywhere. As I approached the square, I could see that almost overnight, the willow trees and sprouted new leaves. They too were fragile, tender and green. We are in a season of great change. The vulnerability of early spring, the newness of the season, will not last long here (Spring is reported to be the shortest time of year here, lasting only 3-7 weeks), but it is welcome all the same.

The signs of change are suddenly easy to see. The crystalline flowers of ice that populated our winter landscape have made way for snowy white blossoms of another kind on the trees throughout the city. The sky has slipped into an ever-s0-more-subtly-dark shade of blue, strengthening from it’s pale winter haze. Jay-like birds have come swarming back outside our apartment. After the hardest of winters, life has returned to Ji’nan.

More of the cherry tree outside of my apartment on DiKou Lu.

Fishing in the canal at QuanCheng Square.

A kite-flier enjoying warm weather near the Blue Thing.

Spring weather brings out all types of people to the square. Each practicing their own hobbies, like calligraphy.

The willow trees at the square had just sprouted leaves.

Doves perched in QuanCheng Square.

People flocked to the square with the arrival of warm weather.

The city, too, has showed new vitality. Suddenly, Ji’nan is the city of my first memories from August again. All of the places we used to go during the last warm days of fall have opened their doors: The “pool” in Old Ji’nan where locals go to eat, drink beer and swim; the 0utdoor cafe called “Luna” along the side of the springs by the canal; the barbeque restaurant next to our apartment; the outdoor seating at WeiWei’s (last Sunday we triumphantly set up the metal tables that had been in WeiWei’s back room since late October and ate at them outside in front of his restaurant). People have returned to the square at night to congregate and exercise. During the day, there are more bikers, kite-fliers, fishermen, painters, musicians and calligraphers near the Blue Thing than there have been in months. Warm weather has brought a return to the Ji’nan that I was first introduced to these many months ago.

Flowers in QuanCheng Square.

At the close of the day on Wednesday, I was drawn toward an old favorite spot: Black Tiger Springs. This public park in the heart of Ji’nan is one of the most beautiful places in the city. I had not been in since late fall (maybe October). In the cold weather, it is robbed of most of its beauty, and it is far to cold to sit and admire the lazy willow trees that line it’s banks, or gaze at the tiny percolations that bubble up from the natural aquifer that feeds the spring from below. It was a fitting way to end the first real day of spring, the first night where I could walk outside without shivers.  It’s clear: Winter is finally, finally over.

Sunset at Black Tiger Springs.

Water bubbles up from the source at Black Tiger Springs.

Bubbles from the springs.

Roof ornaments at sunset.

Black Tiger Springs at sunset.

A shot of Black Tiger Springs from on top of a nearby bridge .

A sign of Spring's arrival: Dogwood Blossoms.

Spring seems to have finally arrived in Ji’nan. On Monday, a day marked by warm temperatures, blue skies and abundant sunshine, it seemed silly to be inside. I hopped on my bike and took off, heading in no particular direction. Almost instinctively, I headed towards Old Ji’nan, the well preserved core of the city not far from the center square. This mostly residential area is pretty tucked away. Down its narrow, winding cobblestone alleys you can find some of the city’s best kept secrets: local watering holes, nice little shrines, pleasantly sloping rooftops, excellent grilled meat vendors, etc. There, you can see life unfolding much as you imagine it would have 50 years ago, if not longer. On Monday afternoon it was pleasantly sunsplashed and bustling as the residents went out to do laundry, enjoy a beer by the side of one of the neighborhood’s many spring, or just simply enjoy a walk on a spring afternoon. Every time I venture into this part of the city, I find myself seeing or experiencing something which I would have never previously known about, or anticipated. Monday was no exception. Here are some of the highlights:

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A typical alley in Old Ji'nan

Private homes like this one still make up most of Old Ji'nan.

Down a back-alley in Old Ji'nan: A public well.

Sometimes, the fascinating thing about being in Old Ji'nan are the very small details. Case in point: ornate roof tiles.

A map which lays out the networks of alleys and paths at the heart of the Old City.

A common sight in the old neighborhood: A wall mural intended to bestow good fortune upon the household.

New Year's couplets on the door of an old house. These will be displayed all year long.

One of Ji'nan's major tourist attractions, the "72 Beautiful Springs." This is a good spot for dining outdoors when the weather warms up. Nothing beats BBQ by the canal.

Reflections: Old Ji'nan.

Nestled in the center of Old Ji'nan: A decorative arch for a local temple.

The entrance to a shrine to the local god in the heart of Old Ji'nan.

Incense sticks at the local god temple.

In Old Ji'nan: a surprise around every corner.

Warm weather seems to be here to stay at last (expect another entry about that soon). Yesterday, I went with friends and hiked Hero Mountain (one of the high hills that rim the Eastern end of the city), taking in the city in spring from another vantage point: one in the heights. It’s good to, at long last, get outdoors for a while without feeling like you’ll soon freeze up.

Stay tuned, there’ll be more to come shortly.

Beijing, where the sandstorm was the heaviest. Ji'nan looked a little like this, too.

I have moments where I feel like I’ve finally absolutely gotten the hang of living in Ji’nan, and that I pretty well am prepared for most things that life over here could throw at me. I almost always immediately find out how wrong I am. In fact, it seems like these are the times when Ji’nan throws me the strangest of twists. Take Saturday for example, when I experienced the strangest weather phenomenon I have ever encountered: A sandstorm.

At this point, I should say that sandstorms are not a historical oddity in China. In fact, they’re something of a given. Eastern China has often felt the effects of being very close to some very large deserts. Strong winds often carry dust from the deserts of Inner Mongolia (or places further afield) right into Beijing. In fact, historically, this kind of thing is almost expected. It’s sort of the natural consequence of living near what is actually a very arid region. I should also note that in recent years these storms had become larger in scale because of the expansion of cities, which causes desertification to occur at a faster rate. In any case, despite the fact that I had read much about the fact that these sandstorms are real and do occur, I had relegated them to the very back of my mind.

When I woke up Saturday morning at 6:30 and began getting ready to head into school, a sandstorm was the last thing that I was expected. In fact, judging by the warm looking, softly glowing light that was streaming in through my bedroom window curtains, I thought that it might be a sunny day. When I got outside it became very obvious that it was not. At first, I was still too locked in the early drowsy-ness of waking up to notice much. As I wheeled my bike out of the front door, the first things that caught my attention were the cars parked immediately outside. They were all covered in a fine layer of a fine orange dust. They were flecked with specks of dirt that look strangely reminiscent of the way a car looks after it has gone through a rainstorm, and it stands studded with little beads of water. Confused, I looked up, and that’s when I noticed the sky.

Like many cities of its size in this country, Ji’nan has days where there’s a lot of haze and smog. Mostly, it’s not so bad, but there are days when the air feels particularly thick. Even the haziest of days could not have prepared me for the skies on Saturday. The entire sky was tinted a glowing orange. The air seemed almost solid, gritty even. Indeed, there was an almost apocalyptic quality about it, as if there was an imminent and impeding doom coming (For those of you who’ve seen the original Star Wars: remember the scene on Luke Skywalker’s home planet, in which there is an enormous sandstorm? It looked exactly like that). Visibility was almost non-existant. I could see perhaps as far as fifty feet in front of me in clear focus. Everything else became lost in a cloudy, dense, orange abyss. As I rode my bike into work, I immediately cast off the lingering sleepiness of the early morning, knowing that even the slightest inattention on my part could put me directly in the path of an accident. Riding along, I noticed a slightly gritty feeling in my teeth, and I immediately understood: some grains of sand had managed to fly right into my mouth.

As I rode up onto the suspension bridge that passes over Ji’nan’s railyard (and which lies in the middle of my route to work), the scale of the storm became very apparent. Usually, from the high vantage point of the bridge, you can look out and see most of downtown Ji’nan. High-rise buildings in downtown, and the mountains which ring the city are usually visible. As I rode into work Saturday, I couldn’t even see the arches of the bridge in front of me until I was nearly upon them. Forget looking out over the sides to see any of the city, it just wasn’t there.

Finally, after a tense 1o minutes or so on my bike, I finally reached the McDonald’s down the street from school where I always have a cup of coffee with my co-workers before going in to school on weekend mornings. I saw one of them sitting at table just inside the door, having similarly just finished his own trek into work via motorbike. He looked equally astonished. After cracking some very lame joke about whether or not I had just ridden through the set of a disaster movie, we both concluded that this was, undoubtably, the strangest weather either of us had ever experienced.

As you may recall, last week I played Ultimate Frisbee in the heart of Ji’nan at QuanCheng Square. Last Tuesday afternoon, I played a game or two of frisbee with 7 of my coworkers. Quite the curiosity, we drew a large crowd.  Lots of people with very professional looking cameras all wanted to get a snapshot of our game, and later of us posing with an elderly gentleman who had wandered over to welcome us to China. At the time, we all joked that we’d probably end up on the front page of the newspaper the next day… and we were right.

I came into work on Friday night, and was immediately shown that we had been featured in not one, not two, but THREE of Ji’nan’s major newspapers. Each had a large picture of our group playing in the square (one was even in color!). Suddenly, it seems, we are all celebrities. During the Introductory Parents’ Meetings that we are required to give this weekend for new classes, I was recognized several times by the parents of my new students as “one of the ones we saw in the newspaper.” Ahhh fame…

While I’ve seen all three papers, I’ve yet to actually get my hands on a copy. If I can, I’ll try to scan one in. Needless to say, it’s been kind of a trip. More updates will come after the end of this weekend’s classes. Until then… stay tuned.

By now, 6 months into my time in Ji’nan, I feel as if I’ve gotten the hang of being in China. I often feel as if I’ve settled into a comfortable little groove. In fact, sometimes it’s easy to forget where I am. I mean this quite literally. I understand in my mind that I’m in Asia, but like everyone who does something for long enough, that fact doesn’t phase me nearly as much as it used to. This is not to suggest that I’m over China or that I’ve lost my sense of adventure about the place. However, it does suggest that I’ve finally in some sense internalized that I’m here. It no longer blows my mind to think that I’m halfway around the world.

Sometimes, however, I’m reminded of just how far I’ve come. Often these moments are subtle: I’ll be walking along a sidewalk in the morning on a Saturday before starting class, and I’ll remember, “Oh, right, I’m in China.” This seems absurd, but it really does happen. The suddenness of the revelation is not disorienting. Nor is it unpleasant. It’s almost something that causes you to grin a little and laugh at yourself for having realized it. As if you could have somehow forgotten.

Other times, though, the reminder that you are a visitor in a foreign country are much more jarring, and they come in a way that isn’t subtle at all. In these cases, no matter how much you may think that you’ve adjusted to being in China, you’re reminded that you still very much stick out. China, in other words, may not have adjusted to you. Yesterday was such an event.

At this point, I think I should say something about my weekly routine. I only teach three days a week. Upon hearing this, most people have the same reaction: “You mean you get four days off during the middle of the week? What do you do with all of that time?” Yes, I do have that much time off. Yes, I try to use it to the best of my ability. Often this involves trying to get out and see something of Ji’nan. Some days are more successful than others. Since I’ve gotten a bike, I’ve taken to going on fairly long bike rides (I looked at a map the other day, and figured out that often, I’ll ride my bike in excess of 10 miles in a single day. Sometimes it’s even closer to 20), and I’ve found that it’s a good way to see different parts of Ji’nan. Regardless, in my free-time, I like to get out of the house and do things. Yesterday was a perfect example. Along with some friends from work, I headed out to Quancheng Square to play Ultimate Frisbee.

Upon arriving at the square, we sought out an area in which to play. One of my colleagues is a pretty avid player, who was actually on her college team, and is fairly intense about the game, so it was interesting to see how we, as amateur players would take to the game. As it turns out, it hardly mattered. We all started to play, carving a small corner out of the square where we could throw without fear of hitting innocent bystanders. Naturally, we became the source of huge commotion. During the course of the game, I began to notice a crowd gathering, ringing the playing space. We had an audience. This is not entirely unfamiliar territory: often when I’ve been playing at the table tennis tables with my fellow Aston employees, I’ve drawn some attention. Nothing like this. This was beyond what ever could have imagined. All of a sudden, there were fifty people at least, all gathered close by, all watching intently.

We wrapped up a game (apparently, in frisbee you play first to 11 goals wins…. something that I was previously unaware of), and were in the middle of a water-break.Suddenly, things got very strange. From across the square, an elderly man approached, walking with a bicycle. At first, my reaction was to think: “Old man, you really don’t want to park your bike here… we’re about to play another game, and you’re going to be absolutely in the way.” And then, I looked more closely at the bike. I noticed that attached to the back of the bike was an enormous Chinese flag, and a HUGE banner full of characters that I wasn’t able to read from my distance. Something was afoot. Before I knew it the man was speaking almost incomprehensibly, and at us.

As luck would have it, a few of our Chinese friends had come to play with us and could understand. “He wants to say that you young foreigners are China’s good friends, because you have come to China,” one explained to me. “He’d like to invite you to take your picture with him.” I was lost for words. Invite me to take a picture with him? What was that supposed to mean? Not wanting to be rude, we all agreed, gathered around the man (who told us repeatedly that he was 88 years old) and produced a camera from my friend’s bag. At once, everyone who had been watching the frisbee match ran over to take their own shots (some with cell phones, some with small pocket sized cameras, and some with really large SLR cameras with enormous lenses). There had to have been at least 100 people there. They were all taking photos of us. It was all very strange.

We took one round of pictures, which seemed to last forever. When it concluded, we assumed that the “event” was over, and that our new friend would leave. Not so. He continued to grandstand, and make dramatic gestures. He officially welcomed us to China. He talked again about all of our roles as friends of China. He insisted that we take one of his business cards (which one side warned, “Don’t Drink and Drive!” in big red characters). He talked about his travels and how he went around riding his bike all over the country. And then he called for another round of photos. Again, we cautiously obliged. Now, though, many of were beginning to be a little weirded out about the whole process (including our Chinese friends, who had become visibly squirmy about the whole deal). This time the cameras that came out were ENORMOUS. Some looked like they belonged to professional photographers, perhaps even people who worked for newspapers. Many of us turned to one another and began to question, silently and out-loud: “What the hell is going on?”

The second round of photos lasted even longer. More and more people had come over, and were looking on. We thought that with more photos taken, the crowd would finally move on. But, we were wrong. The crowd wouldn’t disperse. The man wouldn’t leave. He wouldn’t stop talking. We had been hemmed in to a corner of the square, with a crowd forming a large semi-circle around us. I began to feel somewhat uncomfortable. Finally, following the lead of one of my Chinese friends, we all made to leave. There would be no second game of frisbee. There was simply no way to play amidst the crowd.

While we were walking away, I asked my friend: “What was that? Why was he so interested in us? Why was everyone following him?” The response came that he was one of many people designated to be an ambassador for the Shanghai World Expo, opening in May. His primary job was to ride forth on his bike, spreading the news and bearing goodwill (or something like that). Naturally, as foreigners, we were the type of people he was supposed to welcome. It seemed like a very strange business indeed.

And it was a very strange and sudden reminder. I had not really felt intensely foreign in a long time… not since my first few weeks here. I suppose that occasionally I would have moments where I was very conscious of that fact that I was not from China, but nothing as jarring as this. I look back now and laugh a little at how absurd the whole thing seemed from my perspective. Regardless, it’s something I’ll never forget: my moment as a global ambassador.

Like March in the United States, March in Ji’nan is a time of ups and downs as far as weather goes. Some days, it’s really still winter and the weather is cold and windy. Some days, the weather is much more mild, and you almost feel the onset of spring when you walk out the door. Today was one of those days. The sun was out. The breeze was mild and warming rather than being a strong and icy current of wind. The high temperatures peaked at about 60 degrees Fahrenheit. It was one of the best days we’ve had here in a while. So, what did we do? We played ping-pong, of course.

My friends and I have become something like regulars at ping-pong, or table tennis as my British co-workers tend to refer to it. There’s a public park not far from Hero Mountain (one of the major networks of hills in the center of town which is surrounded by a public park) which has about 20 outdoor tables. During warm weather, my friends and I will go out and play there for a couple hours at least once a week. The park is usually pretty busy, and filled with people from all walks of life all coming to play ping-pong. Though many of the people who we see at the tables are clearly retirees who probably play about everyday, we’ve also seen lots of younger people and children out at these tables too.

It’s a very egalitarian setting. You’re likely to be asked by just about anyone to play, and most people that show up there seem to have a take-on-all-comers kind of attitude towards the game. It’s also a good place to get to chat with people, as they will inevitably wander over and seek out a match against the group of foreigners standing around. When this happens, we’re always happy to oblige and usually end up getting to chat a little with out newfound Chinese friends.

These are usually friendly games, and are pretty good areas for cultural exchange, too. I’ve found that sports are usually a good venue for cultural interaction, and while there are some notorious examples of times when international sports rivalries get to be too heated (e.g. England v. Argentina in soccer, Russia v. Czechoslovakia in water polo in the 1968 Olympic games, China v. Japan in anything at anytime) I think that friendly competition and mutual recreational past-times help to break down cultural barriers. Is this not what the Olympics are all about? My experiences at the ping-pong tables have, in these sense, been overwhelmingly positive. It’s a way for me to go out and meet and interact with Chinese people.

While the games may in fact be friendly, I should perhaps mention something about the skill level of the average player over here. Ping-pong is a serious past-time in China. I’ve been told by several Chinese people that I’ve met that this is China’s “National Ball Game” (which makes it, I guess, like baseball in America). While the game tends to be relegated to “basement game” status in the US, one thing is very clear about the sport here: it’s serious. In the individual world championships in 2005, 2007 and 2009 a Chinese competitor won in every category: Men’s and Women’s singles, doubles and Mixed doubles. This sport is not taken lightly.

Today, I was reminded of that quite clearly. How? When my two other friends and I arrived at the tables, we were met by a Chinese woman who wanted to play doubles with us. Fresh from having purchased a small lunch of egg-fried rice from the nearby “eat street” (literally a long alley lined with food vendors), my first priority was to have lunch. Little did I know, this would provoke quite a reaction from our new friend.

“Hey. Why you eating? Don’t eat that. You’ll get fat.”

I was astounded. Was she trash-talking?

“Hey. Eat faster! C’mon, faster!”

Yeah, yeah she was.

“Hey! You don’t need to eat! You’re already fat. C’mon, let’s go!”

I couldn’t believe this. I slowed down a little… and took my time, savoring my none-too-extravagant lunch, just to force her to wait. When I got done I found, to my distinct pleasure, that this woman was going to be my doubles partner. And, shockingly, she was incredibly intense about ping-pong. Playing doubles ping-pong Chinese-style usually means that you end up having to alternate hits. You basically return the shot from the person diagonally across the table from you. If you hit out of turn, you lose the point. This is both occasionally confusing and sometimes a little difficult to keep up (it involves a lot of coordination and communication and knowing when to get out the way). My new partner was not very impressed with my skills.

“What was that? Why didn’t you hit that? Were you asleep?” she asked, as I missed a return on a shot that was not only on the opposite side of the table– far out of my reach– but which she was clearly in the way of, because she hadn’t moved an inch. This continued for nearly the whole time we played (probably about two hours on the whole). Eventually we switched partners, but the smack-talking never ceased from this woman. Which just goes to show, I guess, that smack-talk is a universal language. All in all it was a very bizarre afternoon.

Meanwhile, the new semester continues to roll on in. We’re heading into week two of classes, and all of our new foreign teachers have arrived. Stay tuned for more on that later!

Before.

After.

Tonight, I did what, admittedly, I should have done quite a long time ago. I got my hair cut. It was the first one I’d had since August, and I suppose I was overdue. There are many reasons for my reluctance to get my hair cut over here. One is the issue of translation. Even now, I still lack the kind of Chinese vocabulary that one needs to be able to ensure that you’ll get a decent-looking haircut. Reliance on hand gestures and broken Mandarin seemed like a surefire recipe for a disastrously bad haircut. I rationalized that I’d be better off not getting my haircut because of this.

Secondly, there’s the matter of the guys holding the scissors and doing the actual cutting. Even if I could work out what it was that I wanted in a haircut, and get that point across in Chinese, there was no certainty that the stylist/barber/whatever would be able to deliver the goods. As a friend of mine pointed out, a westerner’s hair is likely to be much different than that of the usual customer in a Chinese barbershop/hairdresser (this is to say that my hair is softer and wavier than that of the average Chinese male), and thus might present some issues for anyone trying to cut it. Would they know how to handle hair like mine?

And last, I was a little scared by the hairstyles I’ve seen being sported by a lot of Chinese men of my age. There seem to be only two real options for hair style among Chinese men. Option 1: The Crewcut. My former Chinese teacher, Winter, once informed me that most Chinese men (himself included) believed that the crewcut was the best possible haircut that you could ever get… as if God himself (and by this I mean the God typically conceived of in the western popular imagination, the one depicted in Michelangelo’s frescoes on the ceilings of the Sistine Chapel) one day decided:

“You know, this whole long white hair and beard thing is SO 1500s. What I need is a new, hip look. What I need is a crew cut.”

Needless to say, the look doesn’t flatter me. Or at least not the current me. I suppose I had a really similar haircut when I was about 7. Not something I’d care to revisit, personally . The other option is similarly distinctive and unpalatable: REALLY HUGE feathered and dyed hair, or hair cut at very crazy and sharp diagonals and uneven length. This is a look sported by a lot of hip looking young Chinese men. In the end, they all look sort of like they just stepped out of an ’80s rock video. Again, not flattering.

Thus, for obvious reasons, I was a little afraid of the barber shop. Necessary precautions were taken before taking the plunge and getting a trim. First, I brought back-up: a friend of mine who could stand around and observe, making sure that the guy cutting my hair wasn’t doing anything too drastic, or that couldn’t easily be undone. Additionally, I thought long and hard about how I was going to say what I wanted him to do: “A little shorter, all over,” I decided, would be a safe set of instructions. In the end things worked out, and my much less unkempt-looking appearance is a testament to that.

More updates will come soon, so stay tuned.

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.