we are the dreamers of the dream

Who are these people?

For the past few days two tall, light-colored xifangren, have been walking through our streets. They are photographing strange things. He took a picture of our telephone, our stove, cabbages, and my neighbor making noodles. She buys pineapple on a stick and speaks putong hua, the language of the people, but cannot understand what I say to her.

We are staying at the home/studio of the environmental organization that we are volunteering with, and exploring the local environs. Inside we are surrounded by familiar English, computers, even granola, but once we emerge from a little gate to the south east of the house, we find ourselves in the outskirts of rural Beijing. Much different from the cosmopolitan bustle of Wudaokou, our new home is full of low houses, soft coal-burning stoves, tiny alleyways, and many many people.

Most stare. Some ask us questions.

Where are you from? What are you doing here?

Does it matter? Where are we from? I could say across the stream, in the grove, through the gate and into the large courtyard house just a few hundred meters away... But usually I say, Wo men dou shi Meigouren, we are both American. But I wonder what this means to the people who hear it. Does it mean we are rich? Does it make them think all foreigners are strange and wander around taking pictures of battered household items?

What are we doing? We are tasting. We are lapping up the flavor and texture of what it means to be in this city. It is busy, it is modern, growing, and established. The young generation knows what it means to blush and beam with the pride of becoming a vibrant and emerging global power. Hidden in the bricks of their narrow-laned hutong homes, in the shadows of their wrinkled hands, the older generation knows the weight and the cost of the morphological changes it takes to form such a nation--like a pheonix, of sorts.

What are we doing? We are dreaming. That is all we can do to envision the China that once was and the China that the world will see. We dream up our own interpretations of the village we visit, imagining the lives of the owners of our noodle shop. And I am sure they dream of us to... they must picture our country to be one of excess, eccentricity, and (I hope) good natured tall people. I'll ask them tomorrow.

Lingering Spice

My lips still tingle from the chili in the spice I added to the bowl of steaming hot noodles. The oil that oozes out of the la da seems to have numbed my lips even a half hour after finishing the bowl. This culinary delight once more reminds us of the adage "seek and ye shall find".

Having just moved out of Wudaokou we had no expectations of the place we would find. It was seemingly so far from the glitzy lights of the up and coming neighborhoods of Modern Beijing. Nestled in groves of perfectly spaced aspen or white birch (the kind of spacing that seems like an optical allusion when you look straight down the rows), we found ourselves in a traditional courtyard style house. The hallways, unlike the subsidized heat of the apartment complex, remain cold all the time—ushering you quickly into the respite of the few heated rooms. During any other season the pagoda in the center of the garden that the house surrounds would beckon all who see it to come and read, but now we only look on and shiver as we rush between warm spaces.

Seemingly cut off from the rest of Beijing we were uncertain of what we could find in the surrounding area. But a quick walk around the ramshackle neighborhood revealed just as much life as anywhere in Beijing. I can only imagine that the dusty and dirty alley ways of this neighborhood closer resemble the Beijing of 20, or even 10, years ago. Laundry lines and raw coal littering the walkways amidst streams of whitish colored liquids and other foreign substances.

As if seeking to inverse the previous experience of a hyper modern Beijing, this place oozed like an open sore. It was raw, and hard. The faces of those who live there bore more wrinkles. More soot, more dirt. We received stares, and bemusement. Not anger, or rejection, but an experience of being considered completely alien, completely foreign. It seemed they were stunned when we sat down for a bowl of noodles (the only thing on the non-existent menu).

It was, to me, a more authentic China. Perhaps that is my obligatory Western perspective. Always seeking to find the developing in developing countries. But, there was something magical about seeing the backlit dust of flour explode into the air as our proprietor stretched and twisted the fresh noodles. Something far more real than the fluorescent and plastic place we had formerly found ourselves in.

It was far less comfortable, but far more tasty.

The Streets of Beijing

It is impossible to predict the moment when you will realize you are somewhere foreign. Not simply different. But alien. Beijing, like most cities, can lull you into a sense of familiarity. A quality of almost-New York. Concrete imagery that seems so familiar despite the 7,000 miles of earth that separate the two capitalist outposts. New York's china town seems a portal to this place, whilst parts of ritzier Beijing lead you right down Fifth Ave.

Yet, there is a moment when it hits you. Perhaps it is crossing the street with a thousand jet-black haired Beijingers (with the occasional Korean's flare of purple), indifferent to the blaring horns of yellow -striped green taxis and looming buses. Perhaps the smell of street food is different. No longer saturated with the familiar tinges of cumin and paprika from the Halal carts, instead replaced with the distinct tangy spiciness of da la or the sizzle of jian bing crepes being poured onto a hot griddle.

Or, it could be the sense of fracture. Of explosive potential and incendiary like growth that fueled the transformation of a once developing nation into a capitalist power house. Where it's newly moneyed citizens gawk at diamonds and authentic Gucci in hyper-modern malls instead of their parents' street vendors who still pawn their Louie Vuetton and Channel down in the Hutongs.

It is hard to describe the experience of being in Beijing, especially during these times of economic uncertainty. As a Westerner who is only visiting here it looks to be an up and coming cultural playground not unlike New York. Yet, there is a hesitancy. Behind every gleaming building there is a ghetto of sorts being unbuilt brick by brick, bulldozer by bulldozer. On the half-finished tracks of a new subway, piles of trash emerge several stories high.

Despite its occasional urban similarities, we have arrived in a place thoroughly new. A city still seemingly in its infancy despite the paradoxical presence of the artifacts of an ancient empire. It is this mix that best captures the feeling here. It is something akin to the vendor's antiques, those trinkets that bear the bizarrely perfect patina of antiquity. It seems that Beijing is an ancient city still trying on the botoxed facade of somewhere far more modern. And while it succeeds in fooling most, we can look to the wrinkles and cracks to find a much more interesting place.

Beijing... the beginning

We are writing this post over a pot of oolong tea in the Bridge Cafe, a second-story haunt of China's brightest students and internationals. After a fairly painless flight of 13 hours and 25 minutes we have been soaking in the sights and sounds of one of China's biggest metropolises. This post is a brief reflection on our first experiences.

RAY: We are currently staying with our friend Ray in a warm, purple room on the sixth floor of XiWangZhuang neighborhood. Ray graduated from Wash U in May and is currently a Fulbright fellow studying the impact of high-efficiency stoves on health and the environment in rural China. He is intelligent, accommodating, and is introducing us to the Beijing environmental and music scenes. (Hoooray for Ray!)

FOOD: So far our expectations have been exceeded! There is a variety of inexpensive and delicious food. Our favorite activity: trying whatever street food we come across:) Some things that top the list include the 45cent jianbing, a crepe with egg, onion, leek, tangy and hot sauce folded together and ready in less than a minute, we also like sweet potato chips, and the comedy value of the sweet potato vending machine at the grocery store.

GOING PLACES: We have been pleasantly surprised that Beijing is much less polluted and crowded than we had anticipated. On the street there are many people walking, many riding bikes, many riding buses, and some in cars. Public transportation is phenomenal. For 20 cents we can ride the incredibly smooth subway anywhere in the city... a bus is even less.

The best part? Be prepared to hear many stories about Oliver and Kristyna riding bicycles around Beijing! Yes, today after visiting twelve bike shops in search of a frame loarge enough for Oli and haggling over prices we purchase two bikes, a pair of locks, two baskets, and bells for about 30 USD. We gots bikes!