Get Busy Living

There’s far less smoking in Beijing than I expected. That said, theair’s so thick with carcinogens that perhaps people find it unnecessary. And everyone says that things have got better in the last few years – back then, smoking was probably a health fad, the filter on the cigarette would at least get rid of the worst of thesmog. I’m having such a good time here, I love it so much, but I can’t help thinking that I should probably discount my happiness bythe two-three months this place could take off my lifespan. I think I’m kidding but I’m not entirely sure.

Aside from breathing, the scariest thing about China is crossing roads. In Israel you live permanently frightened of the taxi drivers, in Cape Town the barging minivans, in Oxford the pandemics of cyclists. In Beijing you have swarms of taxis, crazy driving, endless bicycles, and roads eight-lanes wide. It is genuinely an achievement to make it across the street in one piece, which does give each day a sense of purpose I suppose.

I asked a taxi driver once why they never give way for pedestrians here. “There’s just too many,” he said, “if I ever let one pass then the rest would go too and I’d never get any work done.” I can’t help thinking it's a sub-optimal equilibrium, but I didn't know how to explain that to him in Mandarin.

Any day you eat a good meal for half a dollar is a good day

So every day in Beijing is a very good day. The food at Beida is so heavily subsidised that I don’t think I really ‘pay’ for anything in a meaningful sense, I make a symbolic contribution then eat like a parasite. It’s strange how happy the food here makes me; I spend most afternoons thinking about how good my lunch was, and most of the morning getting excited in advance. It’s the simple things.

Beijing Vegetarianism is easier than I’d been told. The vegetarian food is awesome, actually, it’s just the concept of vegetarianism that’s a little bit alien (e.g. you can’t expect anyone to use separate spatulas when serving). Anyway, at the dining halls you just point at things a lot and shout “Vegetarian! Vegetarian!,” then nod away vigorously when they offer you something you like. People think you’re weird but you still get to eat well. And it’s not like the carnivore foreigners do much better. How could they possibly know the vocabulary for all the different kinds of food here? At least if you came to England you would only need the words “meat” and “potato” and you could pretty much order like a local. At Beida, the two most popular dishes for Westerners are “That one, that one!” and “No no no, the one behind….”

Of the endless quirks of the human mind, I think the one I find hardest is the constant bias towards going with what you know. The biggest challenge when ordering my lunch is to get something I haven’t tried before, in a place I haven’t been yet. It’s incredibly sad that my default impulse is to go to the dining hall I first came to and order things I’ve already had there. I’m really trying to push myself, I told myself I’m never allowed to get the same thing twice if there’s any other option. I’ve been keeping to it pretty well, and hopefully now it’s written down I’ll stick with it even better.

It strikes me that the way I pick my lunch is a lot like the way I picked my Beijing work. A lot of people ask me how I got here and seem to want an answer involving some kind of active, carefully-planned decision. I think the best description is that I stood in a good place and shouted “China! China!” until someone very kindly offered me something I liked. A lot of good things come around that way.

English Corner

Late on Friday evening I went to Renmin University's famous English Corner, bringing more than a hundred people together to practice their language skills. On arrival I saw an American standing on a wall, as if it were Hyde Park Corner, with a group of 20 or so Chinese listening attentively. I wasn't sure whether I was meant to get up somewhere else and start storytelling, too, but later I found out he was there to evangelise. I'm all in favour of freedom of religion, but still it felt strange to see someone preaching at what is basically a language group. He was trying to show them the meaning of life; they were just wondering what the word "life" means.

Anyway, the circle I was standing in slowly grew bigger and we talked about questions from "how do Jewish people celebrate Hannuka" to "who do you think is responsible for climate change?" (their idea, not mine, I promise. The consensus, if you're interested, is that Western countries must ensure the developing world is not stymied by new arrangements). Soon we had a huge circle having a conversation-slash-Q&A. I tried to keep everything fair and make sure everyone got a chance to speak, not because I care much about English teaching but because I really hate people who dominate conversations.

One girl, when it came to her turn, just skipped whatever the topic was then and told me (in English) "I love you". Which was nice, I suppose. I guess I should have got her number but, hey, we were chilling with 20+ strangers so it probably would have been awkward. Every so often a new cocky boy would crash the circle and come up to me saying "you are handsome!" or something like it. After the first time I realised this was meant to be a jovial conversation-starter but I do insist that, in any culture, it's weird to tell a stranger they are handsome in the middle of a dark park.

Yes, if I hadn't mentioned, the group meets outdoors even in deepest winter. As a result, I was incredibly cold the entire time and I bounced around like a popcorn kernel. So began the undoubtedly oddest part of the evening. I was in the middle of the circle by this point so that everyone could hear me ok, and one of the girls said I should dance for them/to keep warm. At first I thought they meant 'traditional English dancing' but, no, what they wanted was for me to show them my best moves. I had the impression some of these people had never seen Western dancing live; I think some had never been to a club, or maybe even to a school disco (though I'm not sure, that could be completely wrong).

After much peer pressure, and because hey why not?, I agreed to dance for the assembled crowd. Somebody got out their phone and started playing a ballad, so I had to explain that to dance you need a song with a beat. Soon, in the middle of English Corner, I was doing my best to bring a touch of the club scene to a Beijing park. The response was ridiculous, I got rampant applause and awestruck gazes (I wish I was kidding), and various people asked me for lessons. I don't even think they were making fun of me. There's something strange about compliments: even if you know they're unmerited the most simple little compliments make you feel inordinately, inexplicably warm inside. Which is surely a good thing to remember.

The Cold

I feel sure that writing "Beijing is cold" could never adequately
convey how immensely, intensely numbing it is. Perhaps the only way
to describe it is that being here feels like being slapped in the face
continuously by a scaly fish, it's that kind of icy, stinging feeling.
Protecting yourself, problematically, is like trying to water-proof
an ark: if you leave even the faintest chink then you're seriously
going to regret it.

Absolutely the only redeeming feature of the cold is that, for the
first time in about two years, I have not seen a single girl walking
around outdoors in just leggings. Though on second thoughts, that
alone probably does make it worth it. If any girls are reading this:
it's nothing personal (obviously) but please, please stop going out
like that. Anyone who makes it look good is very exceptional, and
would look even better in something else. Sorry but I do feel
strongly about this. If the fashion hasn't disappeared by the time I
come back then I will either cry indefinitely or go live with the
Inuit.

Baby Steps

So, I'm here in Beijing now. Apologies that I've kept in touch so
poorly, and sorry in advance for the rest of the break. I hope these
little posts can somehow evoke the time I spend here. The good news
is that I'm doing really well. It's all been such a wonderful
adventure; I can't explain how happy I am each morning to know another day is starting.

That said, and unsurprisingly, it's a difficult place for me to be.
In my life generally I am seriously dependent on being independent,
and so stumbling around here being perpetually lost for words is
rather crushing. I keep needing help with the most basic things, like
ordering tickets for the theatre, or getting a new ID card. In short,
I feel like a child again (do kids go to the theatre much? But you
get what I mean). The plus side is that I get to enjoy those little
victories of childhood again, the ones that are so hard to replicate
in ordinary adult life, like the inordinate pride you feel as a kid
when you make your first small steps.

I think this might be the greatest thing about travelling, the way it
lengthens your life. I know people always say "I can't believe it's
been a week, it feels like almost a year" but really, really, this
last week-and-a-half have been longer and fuller than anything else I
can remember. I think the fact of being surrounded by a language I so
inadequately comprehend is what tips the balance, it keeps every
moment so vivid and difficult that I've had to stop taking life, just
the being alive of it, for granted. I want to bring that attitude
back with me but I don't yet know how.