Deformity Man

In modern parlance, the Western world refers to a person who has a physical or mental limitation as disabled. In less politically correct times when secretaries were called secretaries, disabled people were called handicapped. In China, this is taken one step further. Bathroom stalls reserved for disabled persons have the words "Deformity Man" prominently emblazoned on them. These are of particular use to me as they are often the only Western style toilet option available amidst a sea of fetid trenches, holes, or other open pits in which to deposit waste. I enjoy squatting during emergencies, but when I have enough time I prefer to take a seat.

Many Chinese men are uncomfortable with their buttocks making contact with the potentially hazardous seating surface of a Western toilet, so their allegiance lies squarely with the squat toilet. In a five star Shangri La hotel in Inner Mongolia, footprints were clearly visible on the toilet seat. On another occasion, there were several men waiting around all but one stall in a public bathroom. I went to investigate why this singular outlet was being ignored. I opened the door to find out it was a Western toilet. To my surprise everybody was content to wait for one of the squat toilets to become free, even though an alternative was available to them.

*****

"As easy as lifting one's finger. Be civilized." ~ A message displayed on top of a urinal recommending the user to flush it after use.

The Manchurian Incident

The largest city in northeastern China is Shenyang. On September 18, 1931 a small segment of a rail line operated by the Japanese was blown up nearby. The damage was so limited that a train successfully crossed the tracks afterwards on the same day. The site was of little importance to either Japan or China. Nevertheless, the Japanese used the "Manchurian Incident" as a pretext for invasion. They had named the place Liutiao Bridge, even though it was flat land, so that it seemed to be of more strategic significance then it actually was. The 9.18 Museum in Shenyang explains the details of the plot and displays reminders of the atrocities committed by Japanese troops. 

The generally accepted version of the event is that the Japanese placed explosives near to both the train tracks and to a Chinese regiment. When the dynamite exploded it would do little damage to the rail line, but alarm the Chinese soldiers stationed nearby. The Chinese troops would then run out to the tracks. At this moment Japanese soldiers would appear and spot the Chinese, surmise that they must have bombed the tracks, and retaliate in full force. Using heavy artillery that they had smuggled in beforehand, the Japanese made quick work of the Chinese regiment. After meeting little military resistance from the locals in the region, the Japanese consolidated control of the northeastern states within five months of the incident.

*****

"And therefore those skilled in war bring the enemy to the field of battle and are not brought there by him." ~ Sun Tzu, The Art of War

Sichuan Earthquake

A devasting earthquake hit the province of Sichuan on May 12, 2008. The initial 7.9 magnitude quake lasted two minutes, followed by hundreds of major aftershocks. It claimed 70,000 lives, with a further 20,000 victims missing. The disaster rocked not only the region but the whole nation. Apart from the northernmost provinces, all other parts of China physically felt the tremors. The country quickly mobilized to rescue any survivors and then rebuild the affected areas. The most severely hit area was Beichuan.

An off duty Spanish journalist and I made the journey to the epicenter of the quake. The actual town of Beichuan is fenced off and deserted. We transferred from bus to smaller bus until we finally reached the closest settlement to it. The roads in the region had been remade at an astonishingly rapid pace thanks to large infusions of capital by the government. Many of the neighbouring towns had also been reconstructed, but there was little greenery in the neighbourhoods. With gardens full of rubble rather than grass, the vegetation had not caught up with the concrete foundations of the new homes.

We entered one of the few restaurants in the settlement. As neither of us could speak Chinese, we drew the animals we would like to eat for lunch. My artistic skills evaporated under the spotlight of several chuckling townsfolk, but they got the gist of it. After lunch, the restaurant staff corralled a local who dropped us off at Beichuan. Despite the hardship and loss, the people were friendlier and more helpful than most others I encounter on my travels.

Beichuan was still buried under debris, landslides having swept away many buildings and leaving others partially submerged in dirt. Temporary accommodation had been set up several kilometers away in the settlement that we had first arrived at, while a new city was being constructed in another location. Located at the base of a valley, the former site was deemed too dangerous for future inhabitation. There are plans to convert it into a memorial park. A stone marker with the date of the earthquake etched on it has been erected on a nearby ridge overlooking the valley, and that is as close as we ventured.

*****

"We shall draw from the heart of suffering itself the means of inspiration and survival." ~ Sir Winston Churchill

Hakka Tulou: Roundhouses

Perfectly circular like the face of an overweight child who has visited McDonald's a few too many times, roundhouses are unique forms of housing complexes found in rural areas of Fujian. The most famous and well preserved fortified dwellings are to be found in Yongding County, home of the Hakka people. The dramatically large earthen structures are called tulou, with some rising five stories high and holding upwards of 80 households.

Built from the 12th century onwards, the strongholds provide security for the whole community. The stone foundation, high walls, and granite framed gates made it hard for attackers to enter the compound without incurring heavy casualties. The house within a house concept also exists. Smaller structures are built inside the protective walls of the roundhouse in concentric circles.

There is a central courtyard where gatherings for events like marriages and festivals can take place. Wells, temples, storehouses, and other facilities are also shared by all the inhabitants. Livestock relax on the ground floor, while people go about their daily business. Rickety staircases lead from one level to the next and the wooden floorboards of the corridors creak underfoot.

*****

"Nor need we power or splendour, wide hall or lordly dome; the good, the true, the tender, these form the wealth of home." ~ Sarah J. Hale

Heavy Dew in Gulang Yu

Xiamen is much like any other prosperous large coastal city in China with decent beaches, a bustling pedestrian shopping area, and delicious seafood. What sets it apart is the delightful island of Gulang Yu. The 2 square kilometer isle is a short ferry ride from the mainland, and an even shorter private speed boat ride away from the harbour. Colonial buildings, pedestrian walkways along the shoreline, and a dearth of vehicles apart from the occasional golf cart transporting sedentary Chinese tourists, makes Gulang Yu a relaxing haven even when it is crawling with these aforementioned tourists. I visited during October holidays, when the whole nation of 1.6 billion goes on vacation en masse.

A torrential midday downpour quickly dispersed the crowds, groups of them huddling wherever they found shelter from the deluge. Water cascaded down the narrow stairways of the island, forming temporary waterfalls. When the rains subsided, they all congregated at the ferry terminal hoping to get back to the city of Xiamen as quickly as possible.

Like a scene from an apocalyptic movie , thousands of souls crowded against the gates, clamouring to escape the calamity of being drenched by rain water. I selflessly changed course and went for a coffee instead, waiting several hours for the rest of the crowd to be evacuated safely before leaving the island myself.

*****

"Into each life some rain must fall." ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Xinjiang: The New Frontier

I had a flight to catch to Urumqi, the capital of Xinjiang. China's largest province has seen ethnic tensions rise in recent years. Bordering Russia, Mongolia, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, Afghanistan, Pakistan and India, a third of China's oil reserves are to be found in this volatile region. The "New Territory" is inhabited by a hodgepodge of ethnic groups including Uyghurs, Kazakhs, Mongols, Tajiks, and Kyrgyz. This has been augmented by a massive influx of Han Chinese in recent years. The Uyghur are still the major ethnic group in the Xinjiang autonoumous region, but will be soon overtaken by the Han population that is the majority in most other Chinese provinces. Uyghurs can generally be distinguished from Han Chinese by their olive skin, sharper features, and ability to grow hair on their faces.

I hurriedly packed and had breakfast with my landlady. "Beijing is safety, Xinjiang is not safety!" she warned as I headed out the door. At Beijing's Nanyuan Airport a small child poked me to see if I was real. On the flight, the same toddler was sitting behind me. She had finished delousing me by the time we arrived in Urumqi. I followed the signs for "distant range arrivals" and picked up my luggage. I decided to immediately head to Turpan, where I was scheduled to rendezvous with my friend Preston the following day. At the bus station I discovered that all buses for Turpan had already left, so I shared a taxi with three chain smoking men to my destination.

*****

"You are not Uyghur???" ~ Question asked in English to me by a shocked Uyghur taxi driver after I did not understand his original query posed to me in the Uyghur tongue.   

Atmosphere

I stretched my arms and breathed a sigh of relief, having just launched the biggest project of the year at work. I shut down my computer, switched off the lights, and locked the doors. I was about to embark on my grand voyage through China the very next day. Several meters away from my office stands the recently opened World Trade Center Phase 3 tower. I walked into the gleaming new lobby. Eighty floors later I was in the highest bar in Beijing. The aptly named Atmosphere provides a panoramic view of the city, from the modern skyscrapers of downtown to the sprawling structures of an imperial capital.

I was meeting up with my friends in Beijing, some of whom would have left the country by the time I returned from my trip. Coincidentally, we bumped into the CEO of my company and several other higher ups. An office ARNABabe who was at my table spotted them. The two groups awkwardly combined, as I introduced my colleagues to my friends - my onetime Irish roommate, a scintillating Malaysian diplomat, a Nokia employee, a couple of ABC's (American Born Chinese), and a tousle haired iPhone application developer. After having a few drinks and reminiscing about our past escapades, we parted ways.

*****

“Don't be dismayed at goodbyes, a farewell is necessary before you can meet again and meeting again, after moments or lifetimes, is certain for those who are friends.” ~ Richard Bach

A Civilized Urinating

In China, an urinal primarily functions as an ashtray for the masses. Cigarette butts fill the urinal while the actual urine collects in a pool on the ground below it. These streams then form into tributaries of the Yellow River. Authorities have tried to reduce the popularity of this floor-peeing phenomenon by displaying instructions above urinals notifying potty patrons on correct usage of the facilities:

 "Thinking of making things easy for other before urinating"

"It's civilized to get close to urinate"

"You can enjoy the fresh air after finishing a civilized urinating"

"Closer, Easier"

Unfortunately, the clever signage has been unable to stem the tide of long distance urination. The motivational messages have met with little success. The urinal remains too close for comfort.

The Safety Notice for Passenger

China Rail High-Speed, abbreviated CRH, is the premiere rapid train service in the country. Operating since 2007, the CRH trains can go at speeds exceeding 230km/h. Between looking at the scenery outside, sleeping, eating, and watching the other passengers get into fights with each other over trivialities, I enjoy endless minutes of jocularity from reading the safety pamphlet available on board the trains:

1. It is forbidden to take with or consign the flammable, explosive, corrosive, posionous, radioactive, and other dangerous articles, including the forbidden knives.

2. The ticket checkage will be stopped before the train’s departure. Please pay attention to the stop time of checking, get on train or stand within safety line on platform for waiting before it.

3. Please stand the queue during get-on and get-off. When getting on after the get-off, please don’t crowd. It is forbidden to pass through under train, climb to roof, jumb off station, enter railway track, and so on. It is forbidden to follow the running train for get-on and get-off before stopping.

4. During the trip, don’t be crowded, lying on the door, and don’t pull (or push) the emergency brake valve handbrake handle, emergency brake button, and other safety facilities at random.

5. Smoking is forbidden at any position inside the train.

6. Under the conditions which may effect the safety of the train and the passengers, please follow the crew’s instruction, keep order, and help the elder, children, illness, disabled, pregnant, and others who need help, but don’t be urgent to take luggage. In case of emergency, please notice the crew in time.

7. In case of the get-off which is necessary during emergency, you can break the safety window by a special hammer for escape. If on Electric Multiple Unit, you can also push the emergency stopping button above the compartment end door.

Let The Bullets Fly

The shells ricocheted off the walls as the loud rat tat tat of heavy gun fire resonated all around me. I took my position, gripping the trigger of the sniper rifle firmly in my hand. I looked carefully through the scope, one eye closed, fingers steady, before squeezing down on the trigger. The bullet left the barrel at blazing speed. As it was my first time using a gun, the force of the kickback caught me by surprise. I paused to adjust my grip before emptying the remainder of my cartridge.

I put my glasses on to see if I had hit my target. I was at the China North International Shooting Range. The attendant beside me started giggling. The black and white rings on my target paper remained unscathed. I had completely missed. Usually these sheets of paper are given to participants as souvenirs, but mine was reused since it looked brand new. With steely resolve in my veins and eyeglasses back on my face, I switched to an AK-47 assault rifle and a Beretta handgun. I rarely missed the mark in the remaining sessions of target practice.

Half an hour before, I had been taken to an exhibition room displaying the various forms of pistols, rifles, shotguns, machine guns, grenades, rocket launchers, and flamethrowers I could try out at the shooting range. After selecting my arsenal, I had gotten into the back of a military vehicle that took me to the actual outdoor firing range. Located near Beijing on land formerly used for army barracks, the ballistic bullet park provides a controlled environment to try out the deadly devices. Starting from 10 RMB per bullet, prices rise steeply as the weapon of choice becomes exceedingly ridiculous. For instance, the child beside me in the shooting gallery was using a mortar to pound large holes into a mound of earth a hundred meters ahead of him.

*****

"If you make a gun, you are either going to sell it or you are going to use it. And if you're going to sell it, someone else is going to use it." ~ Arthur Boyd

My Name is Arnab

When an exiled hero returned home after many years having vanquished a demon king, his countrymen laid out rows and rows of lighted lamps ("deepavali") to welcome him back. Nowadays Deepavali, or Diwali in condensed form, marks the triumph of good over evil. Observed by many people in different parts of the world, the festival of light has transcended religious and national boundaries. Every year the Indian Embassy in China hosts a cultural event to celebrate Diwali.

This was my second Diwali in Beijing. I had met my good friend Swathish during the previous year's jamboree, so we commemorated our one year anniversary in style. After a brief speech by the Indian ambassador which I missed, Indian and Chinese performers sang and danced to both traditional and modern tunes. This was followed by a fireworks extravaganza and then dinner, which was the primary motivation for attendance for a large segment of the audience. Accompanied by an ARNABombshell and several other ARNABuddies, Swathish and I retraced our steps from the previous year. We concluded the evening with a nightcap at a lake side bar cosily located within nearby Ritan Park, the beats of Bollywood music still resonating in the background.

As I was leaving the embassy premises, I heard someone calling my name. "Arnab! Arnab! Arnab!". I saw an Indian lady I did not recognize rush towards me. I was unperturbed. A man of my immense dignity is accustomed to receiving outpourings of affection from random females. "Arnab! Arnab!". The woman continued past me to a child who had wandered on to the street. Now I was intrigued. She picked up the infant and let out a sigh of relief. "Arnaaaab". I was no longer the only Arnab in town! I looked at her and said "My name is Arnab". She gave me a look of disdain before walking back into the embassy with her son in tow.

*****

"Happy Diwali!"