The DMZ

A fascinating part of the Korean psyche is the ongoing hope of reunification with the North. Across the city, reminders that unrest is part of the recent past remain. The Armistice Agreement was reached in July 1953 but this is only a tepid compromise. In the south the message seems to be--the war's not over until North and South are unified. It doesn't feel unsafe or sinister; there's an almost hopeful promise for the future. 

This manifests itself in various ways. Under the South Korean constitution, running of North Korea is technically still part of a united Korea. There are offices filled with civil services ready and waiting to run a united country. The BBC covered this in a fascinating article that can be read here. 

More immediately, on our tour of the Demilitarised Zone, a two km wide no-man's-land between North and South, a train station and tracks wait to connect the South to Pyongyang. Everything is modern albeit empty; it's like some eerie ghost town.

As part of our tour, we stopped several places in the DMZ including: a tour of one of the four tunnels built by the North Korean army to infiltrate the south;and the museum built to explore the history of the area. It's a bit unbelievable that the DMZ is a short 35-miles away from the busy Korean capital and it made our day's sights all the more concerning. 

We begun by donning hard hats and taking to the third tunnel, discovered in 1978. At just 52km from Seoul, it was considered the North's most viable threat to peace in the region. It is a true testament to human persistence--the depth and comprehensive length demonstrate North Korea's governmental attempt to destroy/infiltrate their neighbours.

From there, we walked around Imjingak Park with its panoramic views of  Freedom Bridge and the North. Miraculously, one good thing has come from this conflict. The DMZ has returned to a haven for natural habitat. Birds, water fowl, flora and fauna that haven't flourished in other parts of the country exist here. And so in a paradoxical way, the DMZ is actually kind of beautiful. 

Flags, barbed wire and strips of fabric in commemoration of lives lost, families separated, bring things back down to earth rather abruptly.

Dora Observatory, located close to the third tunnel, was our final stop. Here, from viewing binoculars that you plunk the 25 cent Korean equivalent into, North Korea lies in wait.

Little can be seen except for what the South has labelled 'Propaganda Village', a small town of low rise buildings, farmland, a statue of Kim Il-Seong and a flagpole.

The flagpole (not pictured), is a thing of legends. Apparently, the North and South are in competition for whose is bigger. Call it a flagpole pissing competition. The South had the taller one so, one night, under the cover of dark, the North extended their pole. And on and on.

Although we didn't make it as far, tours take people to Panmunjeom, also known as the Joint Security Area. Here, UN peacekeepers, South Korean and North Korean soldiers stand face-to-face, obviously wearing sunglasses at all times in order to avoid deadly eye contact. I mean this in no joking manner; soldiers avoid the confrontation of eye contact that could lead to a deadly flare up of feeling here at the border, rain or shine. 

Back in Seoul, military men in uniform, evacuation plan signs and fire extinguishers on the metro do more to remind everyone that the government is on guard.  This is all in conflict with the well-designed, polite, open-minded city that is the more immediate reality. The fear of destruction is real, the hope of reunification is there, but these ideas don't rule the day-to-day.

Falling in Love Again

Like any episode of love at first sight, it happened when I was least expecting it. I stepped off the plane and fell in love with Seoul. Maybe the love will burn out in a hot ball of flames but I don't care.  I'm only here for five days so I'm having a little holiday romance with the city itself.

It has coffee in spades, fabled Asian stationery shops dot the landscapes, there's walking and mountains that juxtapose the trendy bars and dessert cafes and, and, and. Every corner turns up something new: food, Korean BBQ, deep fried delights, check, check. Shopping: makeup street, Gangnam district, shoes(!), check, check, check. Culture: Royal Palace on one corner, old village on the next. Yes.

Again, there's a notable difference in levels of polite from China. Its neighbour, a short 1.5 hour flight from Shanghai, is a world away. People have been friendly and helpful. Yesterday's taxi driver apologized profusely for the traffic jam and as a peace offering for something deeply out of his control, offered us a stick of gum.

This is the Asia of my imagination.

Zhangjiajie

For the second part of China week we got back on the bus and made our way to Zhangjiajie National Park in Hunan Province. It's an area of outstanding natural beauty and as such, UNESCO had designated it as a world heritage site, a dangerous one at that:

Unfortunately it's no secret. Over the course of two days, we vied with over 20,000 Chinese tourists who snaked up, over and around the narrow paths climbing through the mountains at 2,000 meters. We fought pushing crowds with men carrying sedan chairs on their shoulders and kept on counting our 100-student group repeatedly.

We started with a boat ride:

Then we climbed thousands of stairs (no exaggeration) to make it to the viewpoint. For this leg of the trip, we had much of the mountain to ourselves. It turns out the laowai are the only crazy people who want to exert themselves on the way up. The rest of the hordes took buses, elevators and cable cars to the summit. Admittedly, the views were stunning.

Until we got to KFC at the top of a mountain and an hour-long queue for the Bailong Elevator, marketed as a glass elevator down 2,000 meters through the park's stunning scenery. What they don't tell you is that only the eight people in the immediate front get a view. The 35 other people who fit get a great view...of the back of everyone else's heads. That may have set me over the edge.

The rest of the tutor team still seemed in good spirits; but all teachers break on China Week trips and an impending breakdown was coming. Our last stop on the campaign trail took us to a 'scenic walk' down a narrow two-person path that ran immediately alongside a monorail track. We marched the kids down one way and back another--they tried to drop out, to fall, to use the toilet but as gatekeepers of the path, we trudged along with them in tow.

Jonathan, a teacher on the trip, had been hoarding a chocolate chip flapjack with zealous vigor.  He paused and unwrapped it in a kind of manic glee singing the praises of processed sugar.  And as he opened it, the structural weaknesses created from being crammed in a backpack for seven hours manifested themselves.  The flapjack flopped to the ground and in what can only be considered a toddleresque tantrum, Jonathan began screaming and swearing at the universe. He stomped the sugary goodness into the ground and threw the wrapper into the wind only to have it fly back in his face. We were beside ourselves in tears of exhausted laughter. Jonathan was done--he spoke very little the rest of the day.

Unfortunately that wasn't the end of the trip. In a top-5 China Day moment, we queued with our students to get on a bus. Only local tourists tried to push in; we got our British on--queue jumping is just not on. Unfortunately, in China, resistance is futile and the ensuing altercation involving a lot of pushing, shoving and a litany of curses that I couldn't understand.  I listened to the volley of abuse being hurtled at teachers and students alike whilst the kids, many whiter than white bread with Mandarin skills to rival any Chinese person, followed back and forth with their heads bobbing, mouths agape.  At one point, my Year 11 boys formed a human wall in front of me; as we ran for the bus pushing Chinese tourists out of the way, I vowed never to return to a national park.

But we made it back, all kids in tow, minus one flapjack. The rest of the trip was a flurry of restaurants serving meat dripped 'vegetarian' food and bus rides where the kids plugged into their conversations and music on headphones. I kissed Shanghai soil four days later thanking my lucky stars I was back in a city.

China Week--Yichang

In the second annual Jen goes on China week as part of a 100 student, 10 staff member tour, the Year 11 team wandered to the far regions of Yichang, home of the Yangtze River and Three Gorges Dam, then onto Zhangjiajie, home of the stunning landscapes made famous by Stephen Spielberg's film, Avatar.

On paper, this sounds like a marvelous opportunity. In reality, traveling to well-known Chinese tourism hotspots means there's never a peaceful moment, and that's not even considering the students.

There's pushing. And spitting. And queueing. And waiting. And watching the queueing not happening as people are pushing and spitting their way to the front of everything. In short, Chinese domestic tourism is a lot of hard work. In one short afternoon, it can make you question your faith in humanity.

After juggling 100 passports and checking in as many students, we sprinted through the airport for our miraculously on time flight. This was perhaps the highlight of the trip. We flew to Yichang (3 hours), got on a bus (3 more hours) and drove to this bridge area rest stop which was also kind of nice:

 The kids barbecued their own meat skewers; we prepared for food poisoning.

And then onto the hotel where we, again, had to check in 100 students and 100 passports into 50 rooms and make them be quiet. The hotel room stunk of years-old cigarettes and desperation. But the view the next morning was pretty nice:

After a breakfast of indecipherable pieces in the hotel's 'revolving restaurant', we took to the Yangtze for a three-river cruise.  The highlight:

Because of recent river disasters that shall not be spoken of, our school's administration demanded that students wear lifejackets at all times.  This presented several problems, namely in that 110 lifejackets were difficult to procure. This trauma was compounded with the fact that when the correct number were distributed we had to then, gasp, break them out of the plastic bags that housed them.

The views probably would have been lovely if not for the pollution or the myriad container ships that floated lazily past us on their way to their more western destinations.  Happily, I was able to put a face to the drawings my dad and I used to do growing up.  I suppose having a father who works in international logistics it would make sense why he had intimate knowledge of container ships...

After three hours of 'cruising' and a journey through a gargantuan lock (cue 8 million photos), we made for lunch and then a drive to the Three Gorges Dam, China's answer to the Hoover Dam and a lot less amusing.  There were no dam jokes, no dam guides, no dam anything. I remember touring the Hoover Dam in my teens and thinking it was pretty dam exciting.

I think the Three Gorges Dam should have been great considering it is the world's largest power station. It converts more kilotons of electricity than any other manmade facility. But if you're 15 and touring a Chinese facility by looking idly on at various gears and handles, I don't think you care. If you're in your 30s and following around a group of 15-year-olds who don't care, you too care neither.

I mean it's big: 

 But I found the signage funnier:

Perhaps the best part of our first full day was after all the touring. We took the kids to a mall. There was a Walmart that sold Spam that catered to the Chinese market:

And on the way home...dancing aunties! It's a nationwide trend for random gaggles of women to gather in communal space in towns and cities with their boom boxes in tow.  They gather to exercise and perform various dance moves in unison. In Yichang, they were extra entertaining because, to join this particular group, one had to be wearing the dancing auntie uniform: 

As a testament to how lovely our students were, they joined in at the back, in the middle, right next to these ladies. And they arm pumped and leg swung and got into the spirit of the dance.

In a brief moment of bliss, I was grateful for China Week. Brief, it was indeed brief.

On Long Distance

I am no stranger to the long distance relationship—the weepy, protracted airport farewells; the gnawing doubt about the next reunion; the learning to be just one in a space that once occupied two.

There are some days when the whirlwind of foreign adventure sweeps you off your feet and traipsing the city from dumplings to market to impromptu street parade makes the distance worthwhile.  Adventure often justifies the decision to pick up your life and pack your bags to a faraway foreign nation rendering you a phone call away from the people you love—friends, family, significant others alike. You almost forget the first few difficult weeks where you knew no one and were convinced that it was all a mistake.

At the end of the day, you are an independent human being. Long distance relationships/living provides a lot of time to be exactly who you are. Sex and the City coined the idea of ‘secret single behaviour’, those things you can only do when you’re home on your own, things that a significant other might not necessarily understand.

I’m not sure I have any overtly secret behaviours like Carrie, et al. but there are things that I love about living on my own.  A lazy cup of coffee whilst stretched diagonally across the bed, beans on toast as a classy meal because I just can’t be bothered to cook, leaving my shoes anywhere, everywhere.  And there’s a real joy in waking up at 5:45am and turning on all the lights and blasting my music instead of watching with increasing rage as Paul mini-snores under the covers until his 8:30am alarm goes off. It’s jealous quasi-rage but rage nonetheless.

But do not be mistaken. In my own far too proud independent feminist ways, I am hiding a tiny little empty space. I am not lying on the couch in a fug of depression sighing the days away.  But still. The tiny little empty space persists.

China sometimes takes this to a new level. Some days the Internet is great and you forget about the Great Firewall. But then there are some when you sit on a Skype line with a more-than-shitty Internet connection, voice that doesn’t project and a video screen that doesn’t work and you cry your whole way through a series of instant messages.

So for me, long distance is a fight against the tiny empty space. It’s about reconciling my need for adventure and my love for a renally challenged Anglo-Italian. Of course the girl who’s a flight risk falls for the medically grounded man boy. Of course.

The Tour of the Dumplings

On Lindsay's final full day in China, we decided some tasting was in order. Eating in China can be quite tricky as a vegetarian but we signed up for a walking tour with Untour, a small business run by American expats with an excellent command of Mandarin.

At 450RMB, the tour itself was a bit on the pricey side considering a plate of dumplings will cost you upwards of 10RMB. But the knowledge of the city, the local information and the dumpling making class at the end made it all worth it. Our guide was knowledgeable and even managed to have local shops cater to my vegetable eating ways. I'll be honest, most of the day was very veggie unfriendly but I have a soft spot for dumplings so that seemed kind of okay.

We started our tour at 10am in the dripping humid heat of the Former French Concession. From there, we meandered to dumpling stands, jianban (Chinese crepe-esque pancakes), Harbin dumpling houses and had a mid-tour stop for a coffee. We were already full at this point but opted to persevere--it seemed only kind, only economical.

Our next stop took us to Dongping Lu in the Former French Concession where we enrolled in a dumpling making class with a local, and very charming, Shanghainese chef:

 

 Finished product!

By 12:30 I was beyond full, a feeling that lasted the rest of the day. In an attempt to walk it all off, we made two more stops before finishing. The first was at a local wet market, an experience I always enjoy. We wandered through produce variable in colour, texture and size before stopping for the Chinese version of Portuguese egg tarts at Lillian Bakery, a Shanghai institution. As if we needed dessert. We waved a farewell to our tour guide and waddled slowly home in the heat and humidity feeling more than contented. It was definitely worth the money.

Besides the dumpling tour, Untour also offers a range of other culinary experiences. For a similar price, you can go on the Street Eats Breakfast Tour which caters to vegetarians or on the Shanghai Night Market tour which will take you on a journey to the dying Shanghai art of outdoor food markets. Two enthusiastic thumbs up.

Lost in Translation

Chinglish: one of the top ten things I'll miss about China when I, one day, leave.

In Chengdu airport...the disabled toilet:

In Chengdu's wide and narrow alleys:

 On the corner near our hostel:

 Right next to:

Mt. Emeishan: where do I even begin?

Warm prompts to stop the business. Yep, I think that sums it up exactly.