LVLY in 中国

Like most young nerds, I grew up surrounded with stacks of books varying in weight, size, and language, some with pictures and others none at all.  It didn’t matter if I can’t read or understand them, I just liked the idea of having them around.  As I got older, I made the amazing transition of reading Tagalog picture books to English children’s novels. I whittled down my collection to a handful that I cherished most: The Phantom Tollbooth, Watsons go to Birmingham, 1963, From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, The Cricket in Times Square.  In some way, they jumpstarted my American upbringing.  

Last week, I came across an incredible find: a copy of E.B. White’s Charlotte’s Web (夏洛的网) in Chinese at Wangfujing Bookstore (王府井书店).  Charlotte’s Web is one of the first English books I finished cover to cover, and it was simply serendipitous to find a Chinese copy in China. Perhaps it’s the universe conspiring, hinting that I should abandon the mound of nuclear policy readings I’ve assigned myself, take a couple steps back, and start with something simpler and sweeter. 

I think I’ll heed the stars.

drzzl:

Soul & RMB

I went to the National Museum of China today. 

I took a break from Beijing to explore Seoul.  
It was an incredible contrast of cityscapes. Beijing is still feeling its way through modernization with elaborate glass buildings sprouting next to crumbling hutongs, pollution ominously hovering over drab entertainment spaces, and bootleg vendors proudly selling goods right next to lavish expat malls. In Beijing, masses of people collide onto each other without any sort of grace (or manners).

 Seoul is a city of flashing lights with pop performances in every corner (the first place Drzz and I have ever seen a sexy lady do a body-roll while playing an electric violin. It was a bonding experience) and fiber optics running through its veins to provide its people universal wifi.  The air is cold, but crisp and fresh. Masses of people don’t quite collide because, well, there’s enough space for everyone.  The city’s brightness can compete with Times Square.  It obviously reaped a bountiful harvest of modernity.  Seoul is pretty dope.

 But at the end of an exciting and short excursion, I am happy to be back in Beijing. Ultimately,  I want to witness a city piece itself together — old glued to the new — rather than enjoy the comforts that I already have back home (US). 

The Beijing life is not as grandiose, but it’s a lot more adventurous. 

Wearing the hippest thing in Beijing.  Newly released from Singapore.

It’s a brave new world.

An eloquent blogpost from Drzzl.  

drzzl:

Takeover.

I’ve yet to fully unpack for Beijing, but I’ve already begun musing over which neighborhood I’d like to settle in when I vamoose to Washington DC in June. Coming across this NYTimes piece on shifting demographics in the capital, I was reminded of the guilt that comes with every trip. My past homes have been a tracklist of Gentrification’s Greatest Hits. From Oakland to Brooklyn to Harlem and back to Oakland, I’ve wrestled with self-conflict as a young(ish) professional(ish) moving into blocks I’m quite certain haven’t been the stomping grounds of too many Chinese American poet/designer/musicians before me. At least two buildings I’ve inhabited were probably crack dens before they were renovated for my roommates and I to paint the walls burgundy and hang paper lanterns. But really, where am I to go [back] to? My hometown Union City – once a community of farms that prided itself on its lush gladiola fields – is now a hall of mirrors for townhouse developments and stripmalls. And forget about going as far back as Hong Kong, where my family’s from. The city-state has been through so many generations of architectural plastic surgery my parents walk their childhood streets like they’re distant planets. As I anticipate several more dislocations in my foreseeable future, I’ve come to accept a continuing legacy as a shameless gentrifier. I’ll shoulder past some guilt to avoid Lovely having to walk through the hood, in her suit, every night. Besides, I can’t afford to live in DC’s Chinatown…rent’s too high in the apartments above Urban Outfitters.

Such issues are both familiar and foreign here in Beijing. The capital of a nation that once held its isolation with pride, this town that built the first barricades ever viewable from outer space is the same town that shot pellets in the air to artificially clear its smog when welcoming visitors for the 2008 Olympics. It has seen intrusion, occupation, destruction, colonization, and pillage.

Gentrification? Shoo, fly.

***

So this past week Lovely and I explored this forbidden city now lined with KFC’s and Starbucks. The neighborhood Houhai is considered a tourist attraction to the locals, but low-key enough to avoid being jarring during the daytime before the street vendors start selling laser pens and blasting Mariah Carey. It is the epitome of history coexisting with revamp. A grid of ancient hutong buildings, some remain unheated homes for families who make their livings selling smoked yams, while others have been gutted and transformed into cafés enticing expats with espresso and free wifi. Hidden in an alleyway we found No Name, a Yunnan restaurant with dim red lights and a creative assortment of dishes modernized, but not by a Western touch (probably not a new concept around these parts, but refreshing for an eater sickened by the viral sprouting of PF Chang). 

***

Wei Wei and Li Jianhong are a pair of noise experimentalists who operate under the moniker Mind Fiber. Like the town they dwell in, their sound is a rugged blend of the ages. Sampling from the pure nature that is so hard to find within the city limits, they take their findings back home to warp and distort on laptops and guitar pedals. When I first met Wei Wei at OneBeat this past fall, she sported thick golden shades and had her earbuds firmly planted into her ears. Once another musician asked her what she was listening to, grabbing a bud to take a listen for herself. Naturally, it was static.

I had spent my first few weeks here anticipating a meetup with the couple so we could finally get a more local feel of Beijing – so I was most overjoyed when we were led to Zajia Lab, a Daoist temple that was used as a factory for spare parts during the Cultural Revolution, and that now serves as a bar and experimental project space. An American jazz band leaked through the walls as I sipped my whisky toddy. So much history had to pass in order for this place to become a hub to showcase the new. On the cab ride back, the light atop the skyscraper we call home was like a neon Polaris guiding us past the street signs I’ve yet to know how to read. Perhaps it’s not so bad to be perpetually in migration. In the grand scheme of time, no matter where in the world we are, we’re always new here.