Malibu

Ha. What a unique little town. This small scrap of land (27x1miles) is the home of some of the wealthiest people on earth.  It is really just a long strip of beach houses and expensive places running north up PCH (Hwy 1) from Santa Monica, past Zuma Beach where they filmed “Baywatch.”  The movies and folklore talk it up to be some glamorous retreat by the sea where you bump into celebrities at every turn.  This is not true.  What follows is a true and accurate report as seen through the eyes of a small town Southern man.

Malibu is a strange place.  The only real road as already mentioned above, is the Pacific Coast Highway.  It happens to be the most expensive road per mile to maintain in the USA. It is also usually packed with some kind of slow moving obstacles such as maniacal cyclists and/ or tourists, and really old people in fancy cars, plus the traffic of locals headed to the world famous beaches.  One wouldn’t put up with all this hassle if it weren’t for God’s beautiful handiwork in the combination of cliffs and ocean.  The views are pretty nice every day of the year and really gorgeous on the days that aren’t nice in other parts of America.  For example, I wore short sleeves and flip flops on Christmas day, New Year’s, Jan, Feb, and so on… and wore a light jacket in the evening and morning in June, July, Aug, I think you understand… It is PLEASANT.

What is so startling upon one’s first visit to Malibu is how it casually drips with money.  It is far less ostentatious than some Southern neighborhoods (think Mt. Brook, Eastchase, Buckhead), yet the parking lot of Malibu Country Mart is overflowing with luxury. There is almost always a half dozen Mercedes products, a few Range Rovers, BMWs, Audis, and a token Ferrari… usually red, just sitting there like a big Euro Motors dealership.  More amazing, no, no, brazen would be the choice word here, is that the boutique clothiers here get away with charging over $300 for pants, $700 for boots, or $895 for a new leather bag at Ralph Lauren of all places!  It is shocking, absurd, ridiculous, and laugh inducing, while at the same time a bit pitiful that some folks buy this stuff.

Ralph Lauren has capitalized on the notion that great showman P.T. Barnum once quipped, “There’s a sucker born every day!”  True words. Oh, so true.  I find this so amusing because I own clothes quite similar to the ‘vintage’ stuff being offered. But, I paid no more than $40 for any one garment or bag.  In fact, I have an Israeli surplus canvas bag that cost around twenty bucks, and well worn Carhartt pants that run in the neighborhood of $35 each.  It is a pity I can’t sell it all to Mr. Lauren!

:o)
Shalom

Chinese drivers are MORE PATIENT than You.

The powerful forces of Wuhan

Feb 2010

When you live in a city with 11 million Chinese people for two and a half years you appreciate what things you can control, and learn to patiently yield to the dominating monoliths that never make exceptions. Of these behemoths that cotton to neither rank, privilege, U.S. Passport, chauffer driven Audis, nor any other badge of prestige, traffic must be the biggest.  It is surreal to contemplate being an old Chinese man. I often sit back and wonder what it’s like to have lived through two world wars and the Depression as many of our grandparents’ older siblings did (Papah b. 1920 was the youngest of 10).  Having a paid for house and car, color TV, and some cash stuffed under the mattress or tidily growing at modest rates in CD’s was all they aspired to.  All that, plus having some healthy kids and grandkids, too.

But contrast Uncle Bubba, Papah’s older brother who was a Naval Academy grad and Alabama Supreme Court Justice with Zhou Laoshi, my Chinese tutor who is now sixty-five.  Zhou, a retired college professor who tutors foreigners to supplement his pension, was five when the war ended in China and Mao Zedong proclaimed a new China from the Gate of Heavenly Peace in Tiananmen Square.  Mao would provide little peace to the people other than a protection from the Japanese and other foreign invaders. 

Zhou’s apartment is similar to mine, which is similar to most of today’s Chinese middle class.  Approximately five hundred square feet, fourth floor up (no elevators) in a squat grey concrete building adjacent to another eighty or a hundred buildings of identical appearance, externally it looks rather dreary.  On the inside however, one finds the digital age has crept in.  There is a thirty-inch flat screen TV, DVD player, cordless phone, mini fridge, cell phone, and computer with internet access.  The only things lacking are finished floors, a water heater, five-gallon water dispenser, and toaster oven.  Zhou never had any of those things growing up and is not American, so why waste the money on frivolity?  He does have a piano that he plays on occasion (hate to be the worker who delivers those in China- no elevator, 4^th floor!) and has a grandson who drives a car.  I sometimes wonder what Zhou does with his money because there is no conspicuous consumption… younger Chinese should emulate this thrifty example!

Traffic. That is the name of the beast, that terrible behemoth… the unyielding force of Wuhan. I was told by a senior expat teacher that as recently as the early '90s Dida, our school, was on an unpaved and heavily rutted gravel road. It is now reached by turning off of the multi-lane roundabout, Lu Xiang and proceeding down a much-improved four-lane road.  One might expect such rapid change to keep up with the ever-worsening traffic.  It hasn’t.  I was also told in my first week to always lock my bike, and even then to be prepared to buy another.  I’m still on the first bike, and am told now that the bike thieves have switched to pinching electric scooters and motorbikes.  I can only guess that the Chinese phrase for grand theft auto will soon work its way into the lexicon.  Cars aren’t really the problem; neither are the taxis nor buses. None of these factors is bad by itself, but together they form a dense cloud, literally (bad pollution) and figuratively. Don’t forget Chinese haven’t yet abandoned their use of three-wheeled pick-up trucks, bicycles and other such slow moving vehicles.  The regular Monday through Friday rush hours always produce predictably awful traffic jams, but weekends can get much, much worse.

Just this past Saturday for example, Eliz and I were trying to get back to our apartments from downtown on the main thoroughfare, Wulou Lu.  It runs into Lu Xiang roundabout before continuing on towards Eliz’s school.  Our taxi made it halfway to Lu Xiang before encountering the worst traffic I’ve ever seen in my life.  About half a mile from the roundabout, our driver decided the left lane wasn’t moving fast enough, so he and numerous others began using the next available two lanes to the left on this six-lane road.  That’s right, we were barreling down towards what should have been oncoming traffic. But in typical “only in China” fashion, there were no cars coming toward us.  A torrential flood of traffic heading into a roundabout creates chaos; chaos with two lanes of contra-flow!  I felt the mind numbing power of it all when we were creeping past a police car; he in the far left lane, us to the left of him in the ‘right lane’ of the contra-flow.  The idea of anyone having control of this situation at that moment ceased to exist.  (Fade into the Pixies: “Where is my Mind?”)

After grinding through another quarter mile or so, our driver forced us out about two hundred yards shy of Lu Xiang.  To his defense, we had been idling for about five minutes and noticing a flock of pedestrians glide past much faster.  He didn’t even charge us, it was just shift change time and he was already running late.  So we walked on past the horde of immobile buses, taxis, Audis, Hondas, and Citroens.  We actually made pretty good time by hoofing it past two bus stops and were able to catch a mini-van ‘black taxi’ on the un-congested Carrefour side of Lu Xiang.  Still, it took forty-five minutes to cover what would normally take fifteen or even ten minutes in America.  It is experiences like this that make me immune to American, British or other trifling traffic delays.  We have real traffic jams in China. Americans outside of Boston, New York City, L.A. and the like have nothing to complain about!  

However, a “government solution” (hahaha) is hopefully in sight.  Last year, work began on Wuhan’s new metro system.  There will be a metro stop right behind the Ramada hotel on Lu Xiang as well as at Chicony department store, where our taxi ride began.  The authorities moved the finish line for construction from 2010 to 2012. Whenever it does open for service it won’t be a single day too early!!!

God Bless.

Welcome to China

                                                                                                                                    

 The art of Chinese banquet, luxuriant dining: spending money to impress people.


March 2010

So, I have been in China, Wuhan specifically, for about two and a half years now and read many books about business etiquette/ cross cultural relations/ et al, ad nauseum, and so on but will now add my own observations to the flood of ink that has been spilled by Westerners covering life in the Middle Kingdom.

When invited out to eat w/ a Chinese host it is universally understood they will pay… the “Dutch treat” is a new concept here and only catching on amongst young students who don’t have an income anyway.  Fine restaurants and even middling to not so fancy eateries all have what we would in the West call private dining rooms or over here are simply referred to as rooms.  They will invariably be on the second floor and be named after some Song or Ming poem or have a ridiculously long, however lucky number like 888 or 7777, anything except 4 which is a homophone for death (also never give a clock: ‘song zhong’ sounds like ‘carry to your death’ in Mandarin).  The guest of honor (you) will always be seated at the farthest side of the table facing the door.  I like to think of it like being a gunslinger in wild west times; you would never have your back to the door for safety.  Chinese food is not served individually, one entrée per person. No, all items are shared by placing the dishes on a lazy susan that spins in the middle of the table (8-10 persons per table).

For each place setting there is a rice bowl atop a small plate with a spoon for soups or eating finely cut dishes, a tea cup (no handle) and a 4-6 oz. cup for beverages and toasting (stemware style in fancier places), and of course chopsticks on the right hand side.  This 6-piece place setting sits atop a sort of place mat that is turned forty-five degrees so that one corner points towards the middle of the table and one corner hangs over into your lap. It is standard throughout China from Wuhan to Shanghai, Xi’an to Beijing. A wonderful thing about this style of dining and it’s accoutrements is comfort.  Wait staff will come around from time to time to add another dish or clear the bones from your plate along with any other trash you might have accumulated.  If it is a fancy meal, not at your average mom & pop diner, rice will be absent from the table. You may think, “What?!?  No rice? I thought all Asian, especially Chinese meals included rice!” Ah, so you would be mistaken.

In China, as well as many Eastern cultures, the food is not just for eating and the wine is not just for drinking.  Dining out is a status symbol and the dishes in front of you, especially shark fin soup or soft shell turtle are a conspicuous display of wealth.  LOOK! I can afford the outrageously priced delicacies! That is the message your host wishes to convey.  There will be a judicious amount of vegetable dishes, fish, and other more ‘normal’ food, of course. But the idea is not eating because you’re hungry; nay, it is to show off.  For the same reason the host may ask what you want to drink: beer, red wine, or bai jiu (Chinese liquor/ white lightning).  If you respond with “Sprite” he will be most disappointed, because in China the drinking is a deep rooted part of their culture. Interrupting the meal for a volley of toasts is par for the course.

It is expected that if you are a man, you will drink at least two or three 4 oz glasses of beer at the minimum before switching over to the lightweight stuff. Women and children are exempt from using alcohol and will invariably be drinking orange juice, Sprite, Coke, or water for these toasts.  Unlike western toasts, which can drone on for more than two or three minutes each, these are more of the ‘Big Fat Greek Wedding’ variety that involve little more than “Gan bei!” (lit. dry cup) or “Cheers!”.  The toasts may go on however long it takes to empty all the bottles at the table, so taking small sips is a good idea unless you think you can drink your host under the table.

Another fine point of etiquette in China, aside from waiting to eat and drink, is always leave some food in your bowl and some liquid in your glass.  This is vital to keep it from being refilled by an overzealous host as well as to show you have had your fill.  A clean plate will indicate that one is still hungry and wants more to eat.  This would be an insult at the worst and minor problem at the least.  Unless you are having lunch in a working class, greasy spoon type of place where you see other tables eating rice, DON’T ask for it.  At an elegant (by local standards) fancy restaurant asking for rice would be like telling your host “I am still hungry and none of this suits my taste, bring out the cheap filler.” The western equivalent for rice is potatoes or corn.  You would think it strange if a guest wanted French fries or mashed potatoes at every meal, right?  They have their place in the western menu as does rice in the east- not in fancy meals.

After all the bottles are empty, the fish has been picked clean, and folks are finished with the watermelon and sweet fried glutinous rice pastries, the host will ask almost rhetorically “Are you full?” to which you will most definitely say “Yes, I am very full. Thank you!”  If an older man he may say “What else would you like?” to which you can fill in any number of witty responses like “A million dollars.” or “Roll me out of here.” or “A Mercedes Benz.” hoping that he hasn’t understood you or knows English so well he can appreciate sarcastic humor. Then all will rise from the table, pocket the leftover tissue packs and go on the next part of the itinerary such as KTV (karaoke), another museum, or the local Tang Dynasty pagoda which was likely rebuilt in 1985 to attract tourist dollars after being destroyed by Red Guards during the revolution.         

Have a harmonious time!

Three pairs of Wranglers

I went nine years without a new pair of jeans. To be more specific, nine years without buying any blue jeans. My freshman year of college, September 2002, I bought two pairs of jeans at Old Navy on sale- 2 for $30. The impetus for that purchase was to spare my khakis from the grime of Bruno’s Supermarket where I was a bagger/ shopping cart wrangler.  I don’t think I ever wore anything but khaki pants to class. My philosophy has always been to dress for success, and denim seems to convey too casual an attitude for college classes.  Many of my friends would disagree on that point (and one actually gave me some second-hand jeans) but I digress.

Over the years, those Old Navy jeans got small holes around the pockets and tattered cuffs; they were disposed of and replaced by the much more durable legendary Carhartt pants.  I thought all was well in my fashion world interchanging khakis and Carhartts. Floating above the pop culture hubbub, disgusted with developing trends like the ‘slim fit’ and then the abominable ‘skinny leg,’ I thought I could happily live out my days secure in my aforementioned pant choices.  But having a wife will change your way of seeing things.

One sunny day, after an honest day's work in my beloved khakis, the Wife was running down a list of things to do. It was the usual: bank, Trader Joe’s, Joanne's Fabrics, chocolate shop, and Target for some odds and ends. Our shopping was uneventful till we reached the clothing section of Target. My precious bride asked if I would try on a few pair of jeans. No problem, I thought. The khakis I normally wear for work had developed some rips and I figured I was due for a new pair of pants. 

After trying on three pairs of Wranglers, I told her which I liked best and thought that would be the end of it. No, no, no… Wife insisted that we buy all of them and I should try on MORE JEANS. Apparently my legs look quite attractive in denim.  So four more tries and each one elicits enthusiastic approval. I said, “This is crazy, nobody needs more than two pair of jeans!” Lovely wife insisted I must have four pair… I whine and moan to no avail. I use my most cute and sad face that I usually reserve for requesting extra ammo at Christmas.  That doesn’t work either. Finally we come to an agreement. In exchange for scooping the cat box for a week, I may choose three pair of jeans and she will sweeten the deal by throwing in my choice of tee shirt. I pick out a black shirt with an old school Yellowstone Park logo. It is now a win-win!

At $19.99 each for my boot cut Wrangler jeans and $9.99 for the shirt, we are about $70 deep into a timeless, yet trendy new look for my wardrobe. I have since worn these to work and received positive feedback from colleagues young and old. I also wore them to church at Pepperdine in L.A. Nothing says “Born in the USA” quite like some good old fashioned blue jeans. I think I may get used to it.

God Bless.