An entry by Josh......
December in Jinan is a month for the senses. Leaving for work in the morning, wrapped in scarf and mask, I open the door and suck in that first breath of outside air. It’s cold enough to shock the throat always makes me cough once or twice on the first breath. At about 7:30 the sky is blue overhead, but the sun is still not quite high enough to take the edge off. Pulling the bike out the door after me is always an angry little struggle. The bicycle is difficult to maneuver in close quarters and I still want to be in bed, so we don’t get along very well. It does wake me up, and gets the blood flowing.
The bike ride to work is mostly in the shade so it’s always quick and painful. Left out the main gate of Shanda Xinxiao. Right on Minziqian Lu. Stopping at traffic lights, I can hear the little breaths of winter wind wander down Quenchan road from the west. Soon the breeze finds me and searches for any little swath of exposed skin to chill. Only two more blocks until warmth and swarms of little Chinese kids who call me Mr. Josh.
Underneath most of what I smell on these rides is my wet breath in the mask, but over it sometimes I pick up the scent of a sweet potato vendor or hit the sour cloud of stench from a manhole. If I could perceive this world by smells, like a snake or a bear, this city would probably be the most fantastic place on earth. As a human being, most of the time it is just bewildering. There are pleasant smells, exotic but easily traced to their source: a street vendor selling noodles, a jaozi restaurant, or a Muslim barbecue. By far the majority are foul ones that seem to come from nowhere. Suddenly, I’ll just get broadsided by some queer odor and as much as I look around and investigate the source is always a mystery. I’m still not a big fan of how this city smells. Maybe I’ve been spoiled by how subtly sweet a pine forest in New Hampshire smells, or the dry purity of the air in the Sonoran. Here it just smells like people, over a billion people.
Finally arriving at work, I say good morning to the Chinese teachers, fill my tea bottle, do my thing for two hours, and go home. Same smells, still cold.
There’s something other than coal dust in the air these days in Jinan. Christmas is coming in the orient as well. Personally, I haven’t sorted out what I really feel about seeing a big old white Santa Claus face on the wall in a Chinese restaurant. It’s hard to get at the root of their enthusiasm for a holiday that is so western, so Christian. Santa Claus, holly, and ornaments are everywhere. In Carrefour, a supermarket owned by a French company, the cashiers all wear Santa Claus hats. I wonder if it is just the product of a company policy that was unchanged to fit non-western nations “From November 24-December 26 all Carrefour employees (everywhere!)wear red Santa Claus hats at all time, even if Christmas was illegal in your country up until the 1980’s.” Maybe the Chinese just dig jolly fat guys, Buddha did seem to catch on pretty fast here as well. The cynical Chinese nationalist would say that Western capitalists just want to import the idea of holiday shopping to make a buck selling presents and tinsel in the world’s largest almost free market. Who knows, but it is fun to hear Chinese try to sing English Christmas carols. It’s so well-intentioned but awful it warms the heart.
The bike ride to work is mostly in the shade so it’s always quick and painful. Left out the main gate of Shanda Xinxiao. Right on Minziqian Lu. Stopping at traffic lights, I can hear the little breaths of winter wind wander down Quenchan road from the west. Soon the breeze finds me and searches for any little swath of exposed skin to chill. Only two more blocks until warmth and swarms of little Chinese kids who call me Mr. Josh.
Underneath most of what I smell on these rides is my wet breath in the mask, but over it sometimes I pick up the scent of a sweet potato vendor or hit the sour cloud of stench from a manhole. If I could perceive this world by smells, like a snake or a bear, this city would probably be the most fantastic place on earth. As a human being, most of the time it is just bewildering. There are pleasant smells, exotic but easily traced to their source: a street vendor selling noodles, a jaozi restaurant, or a Muslim barbecue. By far the majority are foul ones that seem to come from nowhere. Suddenly, I’ll just get broadsided by some queer odor and as much as I look around and investigate the source is always a mystery. I’m still not a big fan of how this city smells. Maybe I’ve been spoiled by how subtly sweet a pine forest in New Hampshire smells, or the dry purity of the air in the Sonoran. Here it just smells like people, over a billion people.
Finally arriving at work, I say good morning to the Chinese teachers, fill my tea bottle, do my thing for two hours, and go home. Same smells, still cold.
There’s something other than coal dust in the air these days in Jinan. Christmas is coming in the orient as well. Personally, I haven’t sorted out what I really feel about seeing a big old white Santa Claus face on the wall in a Chinese restaurant. It’s hard to get at the root of their enthusiasm for a holiday that is so western, so Christian. Santa Claus, holly, and ornaments are everywhere. In Carrefour, a supermarket owned by a French company, the cashiers all wear Santa Claus hats. I wonder if it is just the product of a company policy that was unchanged to fit non-western nations “From November 24-December 26 all Carrefour employees (everywhere!)wear red Santa Claus hats at all time, even if Christmas was illegal in your country up until the 1980’s.” Maybe the Chinese just dig jolly fat guys, Buddha did seem to catch on pretty fast here as well. The cynical Chinese nationalist would say that Western capitalists just want to import the idea of holiday shopping to make a buck selling presents and tinsel in the world’s largest almost free market. Who knows, but it is fun to hear Chinese try to sing English Christmas carols. It’s so well-intentioned but awful it warms the heart.
posted by B | 9:29 PM
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