Food, for those of you who are in the dark on this subject, is one of the best things on earth. We have all sorts of lovely things to enjoy while we are on this planet, but I'll wager you'll be missing out on life if you don't eat. But it's not just enough to eat, you have to live food. This doesn't mean gorge yourself at every while, although that may be called for on occasion. What's really important is that you seek out good food and when you find it, you make bloody well sure you've et it.
(If you happen to be one of the foolish one's who doubts the existence of such a verb as "et" please refer yourself to Dictionary.com and pay particular attention to the first definition of "et").
And so, after a while of speaking about such boring subjects as life and buses, I think it is about time I inform the world, and yourselves of course, about the sorts of foods I've been enjoying here. This is a monumental task which would force you all to quit reading long before it is accomplished, so today I shall only touch on one of the most common forms of dietary delight in which I indulge.
This particular food happens to be baozi (包子). If you are uncertain what baozi are, please think of those tasty little dumplings called jiaozi (if you are also uncertain what jiaozi are, think dumplings and don't get caught up in definitions). Baozi are like jiaozi in that they are pieces of dough wrapped around some sort of filling, usually meat. Baozi differ however from jiaozi in that they have a thicker bread shell and are usually bigger. I really enjoy both of these sorts of things (my brother might say this is my heritage coming out, all meat and bread).
But baozi must be good--or cheap--if they are to be eaten with any regularity. Enter my special baozi place. There is a small hole-in-the wall type restaurant, not far from where I am staying, which serves up the best baozi and jiaozi I have ever been privileged to eat. I don't think this place has a name, I refer to it as the baozi place as do many other people who eat there. From the Snickers brand basketball calenders on the wall to the grungy chopsticks they offer you, my baozi place is in keeping with everything you might expect of a local Chinese restaurant. It's got fake bamboo floors which have been so covered in grease, you actually have to look hard to realize they aren't real; it's got the back-room which really is nothing more than part of the main room cordoned off by a sliding glass door where the owner's family and close friends grind out the uncooked baozi and jiaozi. He even has a once-brightly colored New Year's poster with its red and gold figures.
The owner, himself, is as unique as his baozi are delicious. He is seen everyday standing outside the entrance to the place with his propane powered stove-top, steaming away a wonderful stack of the bamboo "pans" in which he cooks his delicacies. These bamboo "pans" look like old fashioned film canisters with one of their tops off. The baozi are placed inside these "pans" which are conveniently made so as to stack, and placed on an oven. I think he puts water in the "pans" below the baozi somewhere, but I'm not sure. So you can see the owner standing over his stove-top enveloped in a huge cloud of steam, slowly rotating in whole pagodas of cooking baozi. They smell delicious, like you'd imagine a picnic basket full of meat and chives to smell.
The man's menu is not large, consisting of no more than five or six items on a good day. My personal favorites are his soup-filled baozi and his chive and pork jiaozi. The soup-filled are amazing: somehow he has contrived to make this little pouches of dough hold a good-sized mouthful of soup and a sort of mini-meatball. When you eat one (you cannot simply take a bite, with these it is an all or nothing affair--either you eat the baozi or it eats you) the soup hits you first--some sort of vegetable base--and then comes the meatball... And of course baozi should only be consumed with a healthy dousing of vinegar to give them some zest. I never realized how much I like vinegar until now, but soaked in it, baozi take on a new, more fulfilling life.
The owner never says much more than a few words, sometimes not even this much--I take him to be what somebody at school once told me was a taciturn man. It wouldn't matter if he weren't so quiet though, for his Chinese is not of the common type; I not actually sure if it is Chinese at all. He gets by though, and I have a feeling he is making more money than most. I have never sat by myself at this place, but am always added to somebody else's table--something which in America seems unthinkable, but apparently doesn't bother people here. My apologies for intruding caused more weird looks than my actually presence in between Grandma Chen and her Grandson. It seems inevitable that this sort of communal table practice results in offers to teach me Chinese if I help them with their English. I have so far avoided this, mainly on the principle that I do not have enough time.
But I have almost forgotten the best part of my baozi place: his prices. The owner charges something around 50 cents for a bamboo "pan" of eight or more baozi. As you might have guessed this makes me a regular customer.
I almost dread going back to Duke and the expensive food there which would be sniffed at disdainfully by the street dogs who run wild in Kunming. So until I work up the courage to return,
Phil.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Street People
I was tempted to call this something like "Faces of Kunming" or "Personalities of Southern Yunnan" but not only would this have disappointed everyone, it would also have sounded terribly stodgy and academic--something which I already get my fill of everyday. However, the point was not to talk about the naming process, but about what I'm seeing here.
I'm sure there are as many colorful figures back home in the places I walk by everyday, only it seems that I notice them more here. It might also be that interesting characters actually are more plentiful in China--everything else is. Even in the small area which can with a little license be called my stomping grounds there are more people who deserve paragraphs than I can count. Here are a few of the people who've stuck in my mind. In lieu of pictures (I still haven't a camera) I'll have to tell you the best I can. Besides it seems like it would be rude to take a picture of these people outright, but to record my impressions of them here seems less rude for some reason.
Honey Guy. In this alley which I often frequent, there is a very nice old man who sells honey. He might be considered an anomaly in the fact that he still possesses teeth at his age, or in the fact that he still sells honey, but neither of these are the particular reasons for my including him here. What is really special about the Honey Guy, what really knocks you over and tells you "Here is a guy worth noticing" is his English. He is a genuine Kunming-er never fear, but he does have the most interesting approach to English I have yet encountered. His English consists of one word, not-surprisingly: honey, which he pronounces through an ever-present grin. His grin is also of some special note as it is one of those grandaddies of grins which consumes the man's entire face. As you walk along the street, you may be accosted by the Honey Man who will grin as if he has never been happier to see anybody on earth and say to you "Honeeeeeey" (he draws out the last syllable for about five times the length of the word). The more intelligent people understand this to be at once a greeting, an offer, a sale's pitch, and a compliment. I've never seen the Honey Guy wear anything but blue Mao-era slacks and shirt with a Irish-type hat. He always has a large basket strapped to his back with his jars of honey. The honey itself looks delicious, only he sells it by the quart so I have not yet had reason to purchase a quart of honey. Bread here is already sweet enough, as am I.
Stereotypical Old Chinese Man: I often see this fellow sitting on the sidewalk with his erhu. He is a master of the instrument. And on top of this he fits, almost to a tee, the stereotypical image of the Chinese-old-man-who-plays-an-instrument-on-top-of-a-mountain. He's got the long gray hair, the long fumanchu, the peaceful demeanor, and he even sits cross-legged. I'll often walk by and hear his music filling the alley. He is someone who the street musicians in America could learn a little from. He does not appear to be needy at all, and I have my private suspicions that he simply plays music on the street because he enjoys it, although because he is so good, his money bowl is never empty. The erhu music is incredibly smooth and liquid--I wish I could do it justice here, but I'm no musician and not much better at explaining music. If you nod your head at him, he bows back deeply, all-the-while sitting cross-legged and not missing a chord on his instrument. He always has a smile for those who pass, a man who could not epitomize more the word "content." It is surprising to me that he chooses such a crowded alley to play in, especially since with all the traffic it is often impossible to hear his music but faintly. However, it almost seems like a metaphor for the traditions of the old world fighting back against the new craze of modernization. And for those of you who will recognize it, here's a little quote: "His were the old ways." I can say nothing more to render this old gentleman for you.
Blind Singing Lady. I guess I'll keep the theme of musicians for a bit, although we are now traveling to the opposite end of the spectrum. Where the erhu musician embodied everything I've ever imagined a great musician to be, the Blind Singing Lady is what you would imagine the forever aspiring musician to be. I think she is blind, though I am not entirely sure. She sings like a man who has never been fond of singing, but does it out of necessity--she reminds me of some of the more elderly church-goers who sing because they must not because they wish to. I've still not been able to figure out which language she uses as her musical one, but I've been assuming Chinese since we are still in that locale. There is an overpass near the school I'm attending and she can be seen in the evenings, firmly planted on this overpass, bellowing out here tune. She has an expression of almost painful concentration on her face and sings like she had been told it was her official work in this world. I have a feeling she sings the same song forever, but it does not seem to have an end or a beginning. I wouldn't quite call it hollering nor quite bellowing, but somewhere in between. I admire her though, for of all the things which she might have done to try and convince the passers-by to drop a few coins in her pot, singing was the one which I would never have guessed. I'm never moved to pity her, she has far more courage than I, but I think her methods do work--she never has more nor less than a few coins in her pot. She is still savvy enough to remove the bulk of the money that is given her so people will think her more pitiable still. Wisdom and courage combined tend towards prosperity, I think.
There are many more people who I could ramble on about for quite some time, but this is enough for now. Hopefully this wasn't too boring for those of you who are more interested in action, adventure and humor--I'll be working on generating some of those stories in the near future.
Phil.
I'm sure there are as many colorful figures back home in the places I walk by everyday, only it seems that I notice them more here. It might also be that interesting characters actually are more plentiful in China--everything else is. Even in the small area which can with a little license be called my stomping grounds there are more people who deserve paragraphs than I can count. Here are a few of the people who've stuck in my mind. In lieu of pictures (I still haven't a camera) I'll have to tell you the best I can. Besides it seems like it would be rude to take a picture of these people outright, but to record my impressions of them here seems less rude for some reason.
Honey Guy. In this alley which I often frequent, there is a very nice old man who sells honey. He might be considered an anomaly in the fact that he still possesses teeth at his age, or in the fact that he still sells honey, but neither of these are the particular reasons for my including him here. What is really special about the Honey Guy, what really knocks you over and tells you "Here is a guy worth noticing" is his English. He is a genuine Kunming-er never fear, but he does have the most interesting approach to English I have yet encountered. His English consists of one word, not-surprisingly: honey, which he pronounces through an ever-present grin. His grin is also of some special note as it is one of those grandaddies of grins which consumes the man's entire face. As you walk along the street, you may be accosted by the Honey Man who will grin as if he has never been happier to see anybody on earth and say to you "Honeeeeeey" (he draws out the last syllable for about five times the length of the word). The more intelligent people understand this to be at once a greeting, an offer, a sale's pitch, and a compliment. I've never seen the Honey Guy wear anything but blue Mao-era slacks and shirt with a Irish-type hat. He always has a large basket strapped to his back with his jars of honey. The honey itself looks delicious, only he sells it by the quart so I have not yet had reason to purchase a quart of honey. Bread here is already sweet enough, as am I.
Stereotypical Old Chinese Man: I often see this fellow sitting on the sidewalk with his erhu. He is a master of the instrument. And on top of this he fits, almost to a tee, the stereotypical image of the Chinese-old-man-who-plays-an-instrument-on-top-of-a-mountain. He's got the long gray hair, the long fumanchu, the peaceful demeanor, and he even sits cross-legged. I'll often walk by and hear his music filling the alley. He is someone who the street musicians in America could learn a little from. He does not appear to be needy at all, and I have my private suspicions that he simply plays music on the street because he enjoys it, although because he is so good, his money bowl is never empty. The erhu music is incredibly smooth and liquid--I wish I could do it justice here, but I'm no musician and not much better at explaining music. If you nod your head at him, he bows back deeply, all-the-while sitting cross-legged and not missing a chord on his instrument. He always has a smile for those who pass, a man who could not epitomize more the word "content." It is surprising to me that he chooses such a crowded alley to play in, especially since with all the traffic it is often impossible to hear his music but faintly. However, it almost seems like a metaphor for the traditions of the old world fighting back against the new craze of modernization. And for those of you who will recognize it, here's a little quote: "His were the old ways." I can say nothing more to render this old gentleman for you.
Blind Singing Lady. I guess I'll keep the theme of musicians for a bit, although we are now traveling to the opposite end of the spectrum. Where the erhu musician embodied everything I've ever imagined a great musician to be, the Blind Singing Lady is what you would imagine the forever aspiring musician to be. I think she is blind, though I am not entirely sure. She sings like a man who has never been fond of singing, but does it out of necessity--she reminds me of some of the more elderly church-goers who sing because they must not because they wish to. I've still not been able to figure out which language she uses as her musical one, but I've been assuming Chinese since we are still in that locale. There is an overpass near the school I'm attending and she can be seen in the evenings, firmly planted on this overpass, bellowing out here tune. She has an expression of almost painful concentration on her face and sings like she had been told it was her official work in this world. I have a feeling she sings the same song forever, but it does not seem to have an end or a beginning. I wouldn't quite call it hollering nor quite bellowing, but somewhere in between. I admire her though, for of all the things which she might have done to try and convince the passers-by to drop a few coins in her pot, singing was the one which I would never have guessed. I'm never moved to pity her, she has far more courage than I, but I think her methods do work--she never has more nor less than a few coins in her pot. She is still savvy enough to remove the bulk of the money that is given her so people will think her more pitiable still. Wisdom and courage combined tend towards prosperity, I think.
There are many more people who I could ramble on about for quite some time, but this is enough for now. Hopefully this wasn't too boring for those of you who are more interested in action, adventure and humor--I'll be working on generating some of those stories in the near future.
Phil.
Monday, March 26, 2007
My Holy War with the Kunming Bus System
The Kunming bus system is the best bus system I have ever seen. While this is not making an extensive claim since I have not experienced too many mass transportation networks, it's still worth the words it takes to mention. Usually, using the buses I can make it to most anywhere I want within the confines of Kunming. And to tell the truth, it sounds like buses work like this throughout China, only I've been told taking a bus from Kunming to say Beijing is not a healthy activity--more than a week or two on a bus is good for no portion of your body, especially your buttocks. However if you manage to restrict your bus excursions to local places, your hind end shouldn't fall off or morph into any strange shapes.
But back to the city buses. As much as I love these, they aren't always the picture of modernization one would desire. For instance, I have had the privilege of riding the No. 1 bus. Unfortunately I made the foolish guess that the No. 1 bus would be something special because it was No. 1, afterall I'm no longer that young and "First the worst, second the best, third the nerd in the polka-dot dress" no longer applies. So No. 1 should be plenty nice. This was not the case. No. 1 bus apparently had been so named because it was the first bus the city of Kunming acquired (my guess is sometime back in the 18th century). This bus, while heavily used, did not exactly possess the power one might desire. Especially at those moments when we were attempting to go uphill, I felt that the bus's engine was something intended for use on a moped rather than a large bus. However, the bus did not break down, although it did exhale large amounts of black smoke and cough up some apparently unnecessary parts of its motor. So I guess I should not chastise it too harshly.
On the buses in Kunming they have an interesting tradition of exiting only through the back door. This may be the case with buses elsewhere, but again, I wouldn't know. The problem, as I see it though, with this exit-through-the-back system is that if the bus happens to be crowded (and it is a law of China that EVERYTHING is ALWAYS crowded) you will be hard pressed to get off at your stop before the driving decides to keep on going. I have learned though to emulate the locals in their solution to this problem; rudely push your way through the mass of bodies until somebody falls down and starts screaming, and then in the confusion, make a get-away out the front door (forbidden as that may be). This process almost always works, unless of course the driver is particularly savvy and decides to shut the door on you as you make your escape. I almost lost my backpack in this manner, but after a brutal pushing battle with the bus's doors, I emerged the victor. So courageous was this particular exploit, I believe I accrued no small amount of fame among the bus-riding culture. You may refer to me in the future as Phil Vanquisher of the Bus.
But even the Vanquisher of Buses finds there are things in this world which still can humble him. For I have recently been dealt a crushing defeat by the buses of Kunming, perhaps it was revenge, who knows? This most recent event had the elements of the mystical about it though, so I do not feel too bad about myself in my loss. I recently tried to ride a certain No. 5 bus in order to get to a climbing gym in Kunming. The directions on the gym's website said take No. 5 bus to such and such a stop and you will be in front of our doors, or something like that. The No. 5 bus however apparently only exists for very specific portions of reality. If that sounds somewhat metaphysical, it is meant to be. The thing is, the No. 5 bus is not purely real, it exists for about half the time and the rest of the time it tends to teleport, time travel and otherwise behave contrary to the laws of nature.
I discovered all this on my first attempt to ride the No. 5 bus. Generally riding a given bus is as easy as going down to the local bus stop and waiting for a bit. Sometimes this is complicated if the bus does not service that stop, but even then it's nothing more than a hop, skip and a jump to the next bus stop which it does service. Boarding the No. 5 bus takes a good deal more than this. What you must do first is make sure that you are right with your Maker. Next you have to guess at random which bus stop you shall first try. If you attempt to use any sort of logic or reasoning to figure out where the No. 5 bus might be, you will inevitably fail. Finally, you charge off like a crusading knight catch the bus at some point in mid-flight. I say this because it apparently is a part of the No. 5 bus's mystical nature that it does not actually stop at bus stops. Such a thing would be beneath the intensely magical spirit of this bus. Finally, if you are favored by fate that day, you find that the No. 5 bus will speed up and leave you in its tracks. I call this favored by fate, for it never fails that whatever bus is immediately behind the No. 5 bus will take you to exactly where you want to go.
If you don't believe me, if all of this sounds like something I made up to give you the excuse for a good story, be ashamed. Fie upon those who doubt Phil, Vanquisher of the Bus! And just to prove my own virtue, I will let you in to a little secret: I have been privileged enough to actually ride the No. 5 bus once. It took me to the opposite side of the city than that which I intended, but I felt honored simply to have boarded its sacred insides.
Till later then, see how many buses you can vanquish.
Phil.
But back to the city buses. As much as I love these, they aren't always the picture of modernization one would desire. For instance, I have had the privilege of riding the No. 1 bus. Unfortunately I made the foolish guess that the No. 1 bus would be something special because it was No. 1, afterall I'm no longer that young and "First the worst, second the best, third the nerd in the polka-dot dress" no longer applies. So No. 1 should be plenty nice. This was not the case. No. 1 bus apparently had been so named because it was the first bus the city of Kunming acquired (my guess is sometime back in the 18th century). This bus, while heavily used, did not exactly possess the power one might desire. Especially at those moments when we were attempting to go uphill, I felt that the bus's engine was something intended for use on a moped rather than a large bus. However, the bus did not break down, although it did exhale large amounts of black smoke and cough up some apparently unnecessary parts of its motor. So I guess I should not chastise it too harshly.
On the buses in Kunming they have an interesting tradition of exiting only through the back door. This may be the case with buses elsewhere, but again, I wouldn't know. The problem, as I see it though, with this exit-through-the-back system is that if the bus happens to be crowded (and it is a law of China that EVERYTHING is ALWAYS crowded) you will be hard pressed to get off at your stop before the driving decides to keep on going. I have learned though to emulate the locals in their solution to this problem; rudely push your way through the mass of bodies until somebody falls down and starts screaming, and then in the confusion, make a get-away out the front door (forbidden as that may be). This process almost always works, unless of course the driver is particularly savvy and decides to shut the door on you as you make your escape. I almost lost my backpack in this manner, but after a brutal pushing battle with the bus's doors, I emerged the victor. So courageous was this particular exploit, I believe I accrued no small amount of fame among the bus-riding culture. You may refer to me in the future as Phil Vanquisher of the Bus.
But even the Vanquisher of Buses finds there are things in this world which still can humble him. For I have recently been dealt a crushing defeat by the buses of Kunming, perhaps it was revenge, who knows? This most recent event had the elements of the mystical about it though, so I do not feel too bad about myself in my loss. I recently tried to ride a certain No. 5 bus in order to get to a climbing gym in Kunming. The directions on the gym's website said take No. 5 bus to such and such a stop and you will be in front of our doors, or something like that. The No. 5 bus however apparently only exists for very specific portions of reality. If that sounds somewhat metaphysical, it is meant to be. The thing is, the No. 5 bus is not purely real, it exists for about half the time and the rest of the time it tends to teleport, time travel and otherwise behave contrary to the laws of nature.
I discovered all this on my first attempt to ride the No. 5 bus. Generally riding a given bus is as easy as going down to the local bus stop and waiting for a bit. Sometimes this is complicated if the bus does not service that stop, but even then it's nothing more than a hop, skip and a jump to the next bus stop which it does service. Boarding the No. 5 bus takes a good deal more than this. What you must do first is make sure that you are right with your Maker. Next you have to guess at random which bus stop you shall first try. If you attempt to use any sort of logic or reasoning to figure out where the No. 5 bus might be, you will inevitably fail. Finally, you charge off like a crusading knight catch the bus at some point in mid-flight. I say this because it apparently is a part of the No. 5 bus's mystical nature that it does not actually stop at bus stops. Such a thing would be beneath the intensely magical spirit of this bus. Finally, if you are favored by fate that day, you find that the No. 5 bus will speed up and leave you in its tracks. I call this favored by fate, for it never fails that whatever bus is immediately behind the No. 5 bus will take you to exactly where you want to go.
If you don't believe me, if all of this sounds like something I made up to give you the excuse for a good story, be ashamed. Fie upon those who doubt Phil, Vanquisher of the Bus! And just to prove my own virtue, I will let you in to a little secret: I have been privileged enough to actually ride the No. 5 bus once. It took me to the opposite side of the city than that which I intended, but I felt honored simply to have boarded its sacred insides.
Till later then, see how many buses you can vanquish.
Phil.
Sunday, March 25, 2007
The Corn Cob Ice Cream Bar
Since I've been here, there are several things which I have not been able to get my hands on. A good steak, English books, breakfast foods in general, these sorts of things have apparently been declared "evil" by the Chinese government and so are not allowed within the sacred borders of the homeland. However, there are those brave souls who attempt to smuggle such contraband in, as well as the more enterprising people who attempt to badly copy these good old American values with whatever materials they have available to them here.
One of the most blatant examples of this is ice cream. The Chinese conception of ice cream is much more along the lines of what Americans call badly frozen yogurt, or more properly, total crap. However, in this dismal world where ice cream tastes bad, there still are some few points of light. Mostly these points of light consist of really cheaply made ice cream bars which one can buy from street vendors. I have no doubt that these ice cream bars are more chemical than ice cream, and the act of keeping them in a cooler is only a pretense. Such is their manufactured nature, I am convinced these ice cream bars retain their shape and temperature even after they have been consumed. And on the whole, most of these bars are pretty foul--soy seems to be a major ingredient, as well as various forms of other inedible vegetable material. For instance, one hugely popular ice cream bar is what I like to call "the Corn Bar." As you might have guessed the corn bar tastes like soy beans, but what is slightly more surprising is the corn bar's shape. It is indeed shaped like a corn cob. In America, such an ice cream bar would not make it out of the hippie food co-ops where it deserved to die anyways, but here, even children have been fooled into thinking it some form of ice cream. Sheer blasphemy!
But not all ice cream bars are bad. There are those few, those blessed few which bring back to me the wonderful taste of really fake ice cream. My personal favorite is the "Four Circle": a wonderful conception of the ice cream bar which involves no less than four layers of sugar! The Four Circles has an atmosphere, if you will, of chocolate, which is followed by a crust of vaguely coconut flavored ice cream which has been frozen into a state of paralysis. Further below there is the mantel of chocolate which finally encases the yellow custard ice cream core. In addition to all of this, some of these Four Circle bars (if you are lucky) have a chunk of chocolate floating around somewhere near the top. I say only some, for it seems that the machinery which makes the Four Circles tends to be rather spotty on its inclusion of the chocolate land mass.
Also on the list of good ice cream bars are such figures as "The Happy Guy" and "The Cake on a Stick." Both of these are good in their own ways, but cannot compare to Four Circles. But of course the real deciding factor for all of this is the price: one ice cream bar goes four something like 20 cents US. I love this country despite its corn cob ice cream bar.
Eat some real ice cream for me since I am stuck with Happy Guy and Four Circles.
Phil.
One of the most blatant examples of this is ice cream. The Chinese conception of ice cream is much more along the lines of what Americans call badly frozen yogurt, or more properly, total crap. However, in this dismal world where ice cream tastes bad, there still are some few points of light. Mostly these points of light consist of really cheaply made ice cream bars which one can buy from street vendors. I have no doubt that these ice cream bars are more chemical than ice cream, and the act of keeping them in a cooler is only a pretense. Such is their manufactured nature, I am convinced these ice cream bars retain their shape and temperature even after they have been consumed. And on the whole, most of these bars are pretty foul--soy seems to be a major ingredient, as well as various forms of other inedible vegetable material. For instance, one hugely popular ice cream bar is what I like to call "the Corn Bar." As you might have guessed the corn bar tastes like soy beans, but what is slightly more surprising is the corn bar's shape. It is indeed shaped like a corn cob. In America, such an ice cream bar would not make it out of the hippie food co-ops where it deserved to die anyways, but here, even children have been fooled into thinking it some form of ice cream. Sheer blasphemy!
But not all ice cream bars are bad. There are those few, those blessed few which bring back to me the wonderful taste of really fake ice cream. My personal favorite is the "Four Circle": a wonderful conception of the ice cream bar which involves no less than four layers of sugar! The Four Circles has an atmosphere, if you will, of chocolate, which is followed by a crust of vaguely coconut flavored ice cream which has been frozen into a state of paralysis. Further below there is the mantel of chocolate which finally encases the yellow custard ice cream core. In addition to all of this, some of these Four Circle bars (if you are lucky) have a chunk of chocolate floating around somewhere near the top. I say only some, for it seems that the machinery which makes the Four Circles tends to be rather spotty on its inclusion of the chocolate land mass.
Also on the list of good ice cream bars are such figures as "The Happy Guy" and "The Cake on a Stick." Both of these are good in their own ways, but cannot compare to Four Circles. But of course the real deciding factor for all of this is the price: one ice cream bar goes four something like 20 cents US. I love this country despite its corn cob ice cream bar.
Eat some real ice cream for me since I am stuck with Happy Guy and Four Circles.
Phil.
Friday, March 23, 2007
Marvelous Wonders of the Chinese People
Chinese are NOT the same as Americans. No matter what you say, I shall not believe you. First of all, in generally, I am beginning to think that Chinese are more well-balanced than Americans. This may or may not have something to do with all that crazy yin-yang stuff, but personally I think the issue goes much deeper into Chinese culture than that.
Take for instance how they ride bikes. I have seen more contortions of the human body than I ever imagined possible in an effort to fit multiple bodies on one bike. Generally there will be the one guy who is riding the bike (i.e. riding it like you would expect someone to ride a bike), in addition to this adventurous fellow there are usually two or three more people perched on the various pieces of bike which are not yet occupied. Favorite positions include: standing on the mud flap above the back tire, standing on either one of the pedals (this style can only be utilized going down hill), sitting on the handlebars between the first guy's arms, or crouching with one foot on the back end of the seat which is not covered by the first guy's posterior. Now I would be willing to wager most Americans simply incapable of this sort of action. We don't have the balance. When things really interesting though is when you see this sort of behavior on motorcycles and or cars. I am afraid that while I applaud the courage of these individuals, I also make somewhat scandalous judgments about their intelligence.
But the Chinese excellence of balance is only one of the many marvels of this people. In addition, we may also discuss that particularly intriguing aspect of the Chinese working-man's culture. If you spend much time in China at all, you should quickly notice that there are many people doing manual labor who should not be. Of course, if you spend more time in China you will quickly realize that these people actually should be doing manual labor and are only dressing like they shouldn't. Chinese manual labor fashion includes the following: for the male, he often wears a suit, usually of gray or dark blue pinstripe, most likely wool, often with two buttons and never more than three. Some of the more enterprising workers can be seen in double-breasted suits, with the occasional bow tie. For the female, working dress includes pretty much the exact same thing (afterall we must remember, China is a liberated communist county which does not acknowledge the difference between man and woman). I, who am normally a bad dresser in the relaxed environment of Washington, have been put to shame here. My flip-flops and Bellingham Park's and Rec. Department T-shirts do not stand up to the clothing of the most menial of laborers. Humbling indeed.
And finally we have one more wonderful aspect of Chinese culture: lawncare. Since the first day I arrived in Kunming, I have been startled by the greenness of certain patches of grass in the city. For the most part Kunming is a dry city, especially since right now is the waning period of the dry season and it has been quite some time since it rained. However there are still patches of grass, especially at the universities, which are greener than Ireland. I, being the naturally bright thinker I am, assumed they used water. This was somewhat of an understatement.
Traditionally, watering the lawn takes place by hooking a hose up to a sprinkler and letting it rip. China has different views on the subject. It seems that the use of a sprinkler in the mechanical sense is not balanced enough for this culture. Instead they choose to hire middle-aged men, dressed to the nines of course in suits, who squat with a fire house and personally ensure the drowning death of every square foot of greenery. While this method does indeed achieve the desired affect of conveying H2O to the roots of a plant, it goes somewhat beyond.
Considering though the long and venerable history of this nation, I would be the last one to accuse them of inefficiency.
As far as comments go, I am able once again to read my own thoughts since I figured out a way around the Great Firewall of China. So leave them in plenty you faithful few.
Phil.
Take for instance how they ride bikes. I have seen more contortions of the human body than I ever imagined possible in an effort to fit multiple bodies on one bike. Generally there will be the one guy who is riding the bike (i.e. riding it like you would expect someone to ride a bike), in addition to this adventurous fellow there are usually two or three more people perched on the various pieces of bike which are not yet occupied. Favorite positions include: standing on the mud flap above the back tire, standing on either one of the pedals (this style can only be utilized going down hill), sitting on the handlebars between the first guy's arms, or crouching with one foot on the back end of the seat which is not covered by the first guy's posterior. Now I would be willing to wager most Americans simply incapable of this sort of action. We don't have the balance. When things really interesting though is when you see this sort of behavior on motorcycles and or cars. I am afraid that while I applaud the courage of these individuals, I also make somewhat scandalous judgments about their intelligence.
But the Chinese excellence of balance is only one of the many marvels of this people. In addition, we may also discuss that particularly intriguing aspect of the Chinese working-man's culture. If you spend much time in China at all, you should quickly notice that there are many people doing manual labor who should not be. Of course, if you spend more time in China you will quickly realize that these people actually should be doing manual labor and are only dressing like they shouldn't. Chinese manual labor fashion includes the following: for the male, he often wears a suit, usually of gray or dark blue pinstripe, most likely wool, often with two buttons and never more than three. Some of the more enterprising workers can be seen in double-breasted suits, with the occasional bow tie. For the female, working dress includes pretty much the exact same thing (afterall we must remember, China is a liberated communist county which does not acknowledge the difference between man and woman). I, who am normally a bad dresser in the relaxed environment of Washington, have been put to shame here. My flip-flops and Bellingham Park's and Rec. Department T-shirts do not stand up to the clothing of the most menial of laborers. Humbling indeed.
And finally we have one more wonderful aspect of Chinese culture: lawncare. Since the first day I arrived in Kunming, I have been startled by the greenness of certain patches of grass in the city. For the most part Kunming is a dry city, especially since right now is the waning period of the dry season and it has been quite some time since it rained. However there are still patches of grass, especially at the universities, which are greener than Ireland. I, being the naturally bright thinker I am, assumed they used water. This was somewhat of an understatement.
Traditionally, watering the lawn takes place by hooking a hose up to a sprinkler and letting it rip. China has different views on the subject. It seems that the use of a sprinkler in the mechanical sense is not balanced enough for this culture. Instead they choose to hire middle-aged men, dressed to the nines of course in suits, who squat with a fire house and personally ensure the drowning death of every square foot of greenery. While this method does indeed achieve the desired affect of conveying H2O to the roots of a plant, it goes somewhat beyond.
Considering though the long and venerable history of this nation, I would be the last one to accuse them of inefficiency.
As far as comments go, I am able once again to read my own thoughts since I figured out a way around the Great Firewall of China. So leave them in plenty you faithful few.
Phil.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
