Killing Time

Yesterday I forgot to mention the sheer irony of a situation. I was sitting in the 3rd floor lounge of this youth hostel, waiting a half hour for them to book me into a room, staring off into space. In a side-room, a young man was teaching English to a bunch of Chinese students. He was talking about the idiom "killing time" and he explained it as: "when you can't do what you want to do, but you have to do something, you kill time. Most commonly, we fiddle with our cell phones." I thought, "This is brilliant. That's what I'm doing in Beijing. Killing time."

Last night I ventured across the street into a shopping mall (one of 5000 in Beijing) to sit down to a warm, Chinese fast food meal. Like your corner MacDonalds, Chinese fast-food reduces its menu to pictographs, the universal language. I ordered something with rice and tofu in it, along with a salad and juice, for about $2.50. (Ouch...I'm going to have to get used to "real" prices for food.) Remembering my scorching episode with my previous chinese food restaurant, I crossed my fingers that "fast and cheap" also meant "less chili powder." And for the most part, it did.

It's strange how when chopsticks become your only utensil, very quickly you get very good at using them. Especially when the Chinese are sneaking looks at you to see you fumble. I saved face last night.

So today I killed time by sleeping in until 8 AM. I didn't have a watch so I guessed it was closer to 11 AM. In either case I missed the "American" breakfast served in the youth hostel's restaurant. Instead I had some nice bean and meat puffs and steamed milk.

Then I decided to walk to the Pearl Market (a good 2 miles away) since if I got lost, I knew to say "hong chow" and the taxi would take me there. I only go places where I can say the name in Chinese. I'm a horrible traveler.

Well, so I found the market just fine. An American passed me on the way there and asked me for the time. I didn't have a watch, and made a guess ("Noon?"...when it was more likely 10 AM). This has been irritating me. Not that I give time much serious thought. It's preposterous that I will leave Beijing at Noon on Wednesday and arrive in San Francisco 4 hours before Noon on Wednesday. Time is irrelevant. But, I thought I would like a watch.

So the Pearl Market (which sells much more than just pearls) is a 5 story Super-Sunday-Market. Right away I was greeted by thousands of watches of all names and styles. I wanted a ritzy Swiss watch, but I couldn't get one for under $10 (which was my goal). They were selling for more like $50. So I bargained with a few people until I found a decent sport watch "NIKE" brand, that I bargained down to $11 (the starting price was a ridiculous $30). I still felt chumped by the deal, nonetheless. The good deal was the two Red China era posters I bought for a buck each. Ah, it feels good to be a consumer of Chinese kitsch.

Some American Dad, who wore brand new athletic shoes on his feet, remarked, "The sweatshops are raking in the dough," in response to how much loot his family had acquired. I couldn't tell if he meant this as a dark joke or he was seriously concerned. In any case, I'm sure more than 60% of the things he bought in the past year were made in China, even if he bought them in the United States. The big deal these days is eBay and Internet Shopping. How do you suppose you can get a digital camera memory card for $20 on the internet, when in the store they cost $50? Well, check and see where it's being shipped from (probably Malaysia) and see where it was made (probably China). Even "Made in Singapore" t-shirts were most likely assembled in China and merely sorted in Singapore. It's tough to get around this overseas trade bonanza. The best thing would be to make everything yourself. Or maybe there's a local technician who can jerry-rig you an Mp3 player for a thousand bucks.

Well OK. So the rest of my day was spent lounging around the Temple of Heaven park, which was indeed heavenly and peaceful. I think the hefty $2 entrance fee keeps most miscreants at bay. I "played" at the newly built "Olympic Playground," which basically amounts to a bunch of oddly shaped bars and contraptions in which to exercise on. Some grandpas and grannies were doing chin-ups an dips on the bars, then stretching their legs like chewing gum. Some kids ran around, mocking the machinery, wondering "Hey, where's a park for kids?" I left after meekly attempting some chin-ups but finding my arms and shoulders terribly sore (and just plain weak from apathy).

Well, my new watch tells me I have 10 minutes left of internet time, so I best wrap this up. Tomorrow I embark on a pilgrimage back to the Holy Gates. Wish me luck.

One last thing, don't tell anyone, but today I had a startling thought: Beijing really isn't as bad as I thought it was. Strange how your mood and experience dictates your feelings about a place...