Thursday, April 19, 2012

As a white guy from Detroit ...

I don't always listen to white guys from Detroit.  But when I do, I prefer Bob Seger.


Tuesday, April 17, 2012

On Losing Kidneys and Cameras in China


“A man who said he woke up in a local hotel to find his left kidney had been removed is now recovering in Machong People’s Hospital in the southern Pearl River Delta city.”

--China Daily, February 28, 2012

Thus began the article I was reading as my Air China flight approached Beijing International Airport.  It explained that a Mr. Shu from the Southwest China municipality of Chongqing had reported feeling a stomachache and finding 20,000 yuan ($3,200) in his pockets upon awakening in a small hotel.  He took a taxi to the hospital after finding a wound in his abdomen.  “Doctors were shocked to discover that Shu’s kidney had been removed and they immediately notified the police.”

I, too, was shocked—by the similarity of Mr. Shu’s story to an urban legend that has been circulating in the United States for more than 20 years.  According to the legend, a traveler in a city far from home accepts a drink from a stranger in a hotel bar, and wakes up hours later in a bathtub full of ice, one kidney short of a pair.  Notwithstanding the persistence of this story, there is no evidence that it ever really happened.  http://www.snopes.com/horrors/robbery/kidney.asp

Not surprisingly, China Daily reported that Mr. Shu’s story was greeted with skepticism:  “Insiders said Shu might have sold his left kidney after failing to find a job in the city.”  His father was quoted as saying:  “My son just told me he wanted to leave home for Guangdong to seek job opportunities, but he never said or hinted that he wanted to sell his kidney.”

I landed in Beijing feeling confident that I would probably return home with both my kidneys, unless I found it necessary to sell one.  The flight attendant had confirmed that I did not have to fill out the arrival card and clear immigration customs, since I was going to be boarding a connecting flight to Bangkok.  So all I had to do is get to my departure gate and find a cup of coffee to keep me awake for the three hours until the Bangkok flight.

The terminal was vast and seemed to be virtually empty.  I followed the arrows for transferring passengers, and eventually came to a security check I had to clear, even though I was already in a secure area.  This proved to be very simple, compared to the security checks in American airports I had endured in the past ten years—no removing of shoes and belt, no body scan. Then it was a long walk to the departure gate, and I was seeing a dearth of vendors.  Finally, as I neared the gate, I saw that sign known throughout the world:  Starbucks.  Not seeing any nearby alternative, I decided to suspend my boycott and ordered a “venti.”  I grabbed one of the handful of tables and nursed my coffee while listening to recorded American jazz standards until boarding time.

After two lazy weeks in Thailand, I caught an early morning flight from Bangkok to Guangzhou.   Although the flight was only two and a half hours, it included a full meal, as had even shorter domestic flights in Thailand.  Since my connecting flight was a domestic one, this time I did have to clear immigration and customs.  Doing that, getting to the domestic departure area, and again going through security consumed most of the two-hour layover.  This was followed by an uneventful 80-minute flight to Nanning.

Nanning may be one of the biggest cities you’ve never heard of.  The capital of the Guangxi Zhuang Autonomous Region, it is home to 2.5 million people, with another four million in the surrounding area.  My initial impression was not overwhelmingly favorable.  The whole area was shrouded in something resembling California tule fog, and would remain so for most of the week I spent there.  The drive from the airport quickly proceeded from semi-rural greenery to suburban sprawl.  The architecture was uninspired post-World War II Asian utilitarian, not so different from what one sees around Bangkok.   

Things began to look better as we entered the downtown area along the Yong River.  I checked in at the Yongjiang Hotel, which is considered five-star in China, but gets only four stars on western websites.  I found it an excellent value—for a little more than $60 a night, I got a spacious, comfortable room with a view of the river.

Once I was settled, my friend Ling took me to a nearby narrow side street lined on both sides with food stalls and hole-in-the wall restaurants.  We found a table at one of these establishments.  Ling ordered, and soon the table was covered with an array of dishes—fish, chicken, noodles, vegetables, etc.  They bore little resemblance to the Chinese food most Americans would be familiar with.  I won’t say they were better, but definitely more authentic.  Here I also found the first evidence that the use of napkins has not caught on in Nanning.  The stains on my shirts are not only souvenirs of my trip, but incriminating evidence of my lack of finesse with chopsticks.

The next morning (Wednesday), after a breakfast of noodles on the same street, we walked at least a mile to the Guangxi Provincial Museum.  This proved to be a reminder of the challenges of being a pedestrian in Asian cities.  Intersections are chaotic swirls of buses, trucks, cars, motorcycles, tuk-tuks, bicycles—and pedestrians.  On my first trip to China in 2001, I observed that traffic lights and stop signs were non-existent in many places.  In Nanning today, there are lights at the major intersections, and some of them have separate signals for bicycles as well as pedestrians.  The signals, though, are not always obeyed.  Although the major intersections have crosswalks, they are not the safe harbors an American expects, and one has to be constantly alert.  Somehow, though, everyone gets into the rhythm and avoids collisions. 

At the museum, we viewed fine collections of porcelain, ceramics, bronze, and various prehistoric artifacts.  After this immersion in southern Chinese history, we ventured back out into the modern metropolis.  Ling took me to an upscale department store featuring Italian designer clothes, as well as more modestly priced attire of Chinese origin.  Although she didn’t know it, Ling was following the lead of Bob, my farang host in Thailand, who was eager to show me the advanced state of consumerism in Chiang Mai.  In both cases, it was quickly apparent that in this global economy, most of the same stuff is for sale anywhere you go.  The other striking thing is the number of sales people standing around in the big Asian stores, always ready to assist a potential customer.  In the U.S., no store could afford to employ that many people, and I have to think the difference has to do with low wages.

We escaped the department store without buying anything and took a bus in the direction of the hotel, the first of numerous bus trips I was to take in the days to come.  Nanning buses are pretty much the same as city buses everywhere.  They are often crowded, but cheap at about 15 cents a ride.  On the other hand, they don’t have passes or transfers, so you have to pay on each bus you board.  But they do have wastebaskets, which struck me as a very good idea.

We got off the bus near Wanda Plaza, a couple of blocks from the hotel.  Wanda Plaza is a retail development whose upper floors are occupied by Walmart.  The first floor houses various small clothing and specialty stores, and on a subsequent visit I came upon a cosmetics booth blaring Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance.”  But on this occasion, lunch was on the agenda, and we walked to the adjoining development, Parkson Plaza, which offers various food options, including McDonalds and Pizza Hut.  We chose the latter.

This Pizza Hut is unlike any you are likely to find in the United States.  It’s a full service restaurant with a wine and beer list, with seating upstairs and down.  The multi-page menu lists numerous entrees, in addition to some distinctly Chinese pizzas.  Although they offer pepperoni, seafood topping like fried tilapia and octopus seem to be more popular.   The one we ordered came with sausage, mushrooms, and corn—and a crust containing a ring of turret-like pockets stuffed with shrimp.  The sound system was playing a pleasing mix of sixties bosa nova, followed by oldies like “Stranger on the Shore” by Acker Bilk.  The place is extremely popular, especially with students and families, and on Friday night there was a long line out the door.

On Thursday, we took a bus a several miles to South Lake Park, a beautiful expanse of greenery that stretches for two kilometers.  We walked paths through tropical foliage, and along the large lake.  Overlooking the park is Nanning’s financial district, a collection of gleaming office and residential towers.  The local Communist Party occupies one building with a prime view of the lake.

It was in this part of town that I noticed the local Porsche dealership, called “Beauty Motors” or some such thing.  Mercedes, BMWs and Audis could also be seen on the streets.  According to Ling, they cost twice as much in China as in Germany.  It seems clear that the German cars, like the Italian clothes, are prized status symbols of the Chinese 1%. 

We had another late lunch at an enormous restaurant that served tasty food.  But to me, the most memorable aspect of it was the men’s chorus, comprised of restaurant employees, that was rehearsing in the back of the room.  They ran through one long and rousing ditty several times, and I asked Ling if it was a popular song.  She smiled and said, “No, it’s a revolution song.” 

Ling had to work on Friday, and after breakfast I lounged around in the hotel lobby, reading and searching for an Internet connection.  The piped-in music featured a familiar tune—a lovely string rendition of “Amazing Grace.”  A few minutes later, a Chinese fellow approached me with a pamphlet in Chinese, with an image of a cross on the front. 

On Saturday afternoon, we took the No. 10 bus to the end of the line in the suburbs, where there is a large hillside park.  We took a tram to the top, where there was a big, elaborate Buddhist temple.  Throngs of worshipers were there, lighting incense and praying at each stop.  It was here that I saw a teenage Chinese girl in an American flag tee shirt, and another kid wearing a Union Jack shirt.  We walked down the hill, stopping at a peach grove where we joined more throngs photographing each other in front of the blooming peach trees.  At the bottom of the hill was another, much smaller Buddhist temple.  This one had a much different look, as it was in the classic Thai style.  With no other explanation, I assume it to be evidence of a local Thai community. 

Monday evening, after another walk in South Lake Park, we had dinner in a restaurant that specialized in the cuisine of a region near Shanghai.  I didn’t much care for the food—chunks of chicken that were mostly bone, and things like that.  But, once again, we had musical accompaniment, a duo performing folk music of the region—perhaps the worst folk music I have ever heard.  The man played a Chinese banjo, the woman a mandolin.  She sang in a screeching voice that sounded like an animal being tortured.  Ling was quick to admit that she didn’t like it, so I felt no need to pretend that I did.  After a while, the guy surprised me by playing a sample of “Red River Valley” on his banjo.  It may have been for my benefit, since I was the only Westerner in the mostly empty room.  Or maybe “Red River Valley” is another revolution song in China. 

After a week in Nanning, my impression was of a culture that is becoming more Western with modernization.  The Chinese, especially the younger generations, clearly find much of American and European culture appealing, especially consumer goods and music.  The result is a frequent feeling of familiarity in an unfamiliar setting.  China has become Westernized and corporatized, but with a distinctly Chinese twist—like those weird pizzas.

But while it is clear that the standard of living in China has vastly improved in recent years, income inequality is also apparent in this thoroughly capitalist state run by the Communist Party.  While the elite tool around in their German cars, many middle class Chinese have no cars and rely on buses and bicycles for transportation.  It may be that the pressures of this inequality led poor Mr. Shu to sell his kidney.

On Tuesday, I caught a late afternoon flight to Shanghai’s Hongqiao Airport.  Departure was delayed, and we touched down about 8:00.  I collected my bag and made my way outside to a long taxi queue, and prepared to wait.  I was amazed by the efficiency of the system—seemingly hundreds of taxis topped with bright emerald lights were lined up six abreast, and I found myself in one of them and on my way within five minutes. 

On my the last night of my first visit to Shanghai in the summer of 2001, I had ventured out alone and taken the Metro across town to the Peace Hotel to hear their venerable jazz band.  It was a memorable experience.  For a modest fee, you could request standards from a printed song list with somewhat mangled translations.  Thus, Tony Bennett’s signature song was rendered “My Heart Left San Francisco.”  I was on a budget, so I bided my time, and eventually someone else requested it.

This time, I stayed at the Bund Hotel, which is fairly close to what’s now known as the Fairmont Peace Hotel.  I had thought about paying a return visit.  But it was cold outside, it was getting late by the time I checked in, and the next day was going to be a very long one.  So I decided to stay in, raid the mini-bar—a luxury the Yongjiang didn’t provide—and call it a night.

The next day (Wednesday) I awoke in time to see CNN call the Illinois primary and hear the latest iteration of Willard Mitt Romney’s victory gibberish.  After partaking of the hotel’s buffet breakfast and packing, I had a decision to make:  I could walk a few blocks in one direction and pay a return visit to the excellent Shanghai Museum, or I could take a longer walk in the other direction for some sight-seeing. 

I opted for the latter and walked down Nanjing Road about 12 blocks to the Bund, the riverfront boulevard lined with stately early 20th Century European buildings looking out on the futuristic skyscrapers of Pudong across the river.  I walked along the elevated promenade, watching the cruise ships and coal barges on the river, and was reminded vaguely of past strolls along San Francisco’s Embarcadero. 

Then I did the most touristy thing of my entire trip:  I bought a combination ticket for the Tourist Tunnel to Pudong and the observation deck of the 87-story Jingmao Tower.  The Tourist Tunnel amounts to a slow-moving subway with a goofy light show, but view from the tower is spectacular.  Both are over-priced.  Next time I will take the Metro to Pudong, and look for a less expensive place to take in the view. 

I walked back to the hotel, where I had an over-priced pint of Carlsberg in the bar before heading for Pudong International Airport for the flight home.   The cabbie drove like a maniac, and got me there three and a half hours before the scheduled 8:25 departure, so I spent some time reviewing the photos I’d taken that afternoon.

My previous trip home from Shanghai had been on the longest day of my life, September 11, 2001.  Twenty minutes before our scheduled landing at SFO, the pilot announced, without further explanation, that the airport was closed and we would be landing in Vancouver.  It wasn’t until we were on Canadian soil that we learned the awful reason for the diversion, and two more days passed before I was able to get home.

Fortunately, this flight was uneventful except for a little turbulence.  Still, that Wednesday was 37 hours long.  I finally arrived home at about 8:00 pm, exhausted but not ready to sleep.  I decided to spend a little time editing my photos.  To my utter dismay, the camera I had borrowed from my sister was missing from my backpack.  My theory is that I lost it at some point in Pudong Airport, but lost and found reports filed with the airport and the airline haven’t borne fruit.  So now I owe my sister a new camera, and my precious photos of the trip are gone forever.

But at least I still have both my kidneys.

Saturday, April 7, 2012

ANGELS WIN PITCHERS' DUEL UNDER A FULL MOON


Under a full moon, the Angels won their season opener tonight, defeating the Kansas City Royals 5-0, scoring all their runs in the eighth inning to break open what had been a brilliant pitchers’ duel between Jered Weaver and Bruce Chen.   Weaver struck out 10 in eight innings, and allowed only four hits, while Chen allowed three hits in six shutout innings before being relieved by losing pitcher Aaron Crow. 

The only threat by the Royals came in the top of the seventh inning, when Jeff Francoeur hit a double to left field.  That threat ended just as quickly moments later when Weaver picked off Francoeur with a throw to second baseman Howie Kendrick.

With Crow pitching in the bottom of the eighth, Kendrys Morales, Mark Trumbo and Chris Iannetta hit successive singles off Crow to load the bases.  The Royals brought Greg Holland in to pitch, and Peter Bourjos promptly drove in the first run of the game with yet another single.  Erick Aybar cleared the bases with a triple down the right field line, and Torii Hunter drove in Aybar for the Angels’ final run.

It was a fast-paced game lasting only two hours and 22 minutes, an auspicious opener for the Angeles.  Before the game, a giant American flag was unfurled and a Stealth fighter flyover accompanied the signing of the National Anthem.  The game was followed by the traditional Friday night fireworks show, climaxing to the strains of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony.

For a baseball fan, the opening game is a rite of spring, an occasion for hope and new beginnings, and it was a thrill to be on hand for it.  It seems a fitting occasion to inaugurate this blog.  In the next few months, I’ll be sharing my observations on a number of topics, but plan to focus primarily on baseball and train travel.  Indeed, I am working on a plan to follow the Angels on the road via Amtrak.  This won’t be a typical baseball blog, so don’t look for sabermetric analysis here.  Expect subjective commentary about this fan’s experience.  I invite you to come along for the ride, and to comment on what you read here.