Below is the English edition (source) and the German is here: “Winternacht in den Ardennen“. The story is also available in this book of Christmas stories.

Merry Christmas!
Kai

A Truce in the Forest

It was Christmas Eve,
and the last, desperate German offensive of
World War II raged around our tiny cabin.
Suddenly, there was a knock on the door…

By Fritz Vincken

When we heard the knock on our door that Christmas Eve in 1944, neither Mother nor I had the slightest inkling of the quiet miracle that lay in store for us.

I was 12 then, and we were living in a small cottage in the Hürtgen Forest, near the German-Belgian border. Father had stayed at the cottage on hunting weekends before the war; when Allied bombers partly destroyed our hometown of Aachen, he sent us to live there. He had been ordered into the civil-defense fire guard in the border town of Monschau, four miles away.

“You’ll be safe in the woods,” he had told me. “Take care of Mother. Now you’re the man of the family.”

But, nine days before Christmas, Field Marshal von Rundstedt had launched the last, desperate German offensive of the war, and now, as I went to the door, the Battle of the Bulge was raging all around us. We heard the incessant booming of field guns; planes soared continuously overhead; at night, searchlights stabbed through the darkness. Thousands of Allied and German soldiers were fighting and dying nearby.

When that first knock came, Mother quickly blew out the candles; then, as I went to answer it, she stepped ahead of me and pushed open the door. Outside, like phantoms against the snowclad trees, stood two steel-helmeted men. One of them spoke to Mother in a language we did not understand, pointing to a third man lying in the snow. She realized before I did that these were American soldiers. Enemies!

Mother stood silent, motionless, her hand on my shoulder. They were armed and could have forced their entrance, yet they stood there and asked with their eyes. And the wounded man seemed more dead than alive. “Kommt rein,” Mother said finally. “Come in.” The soldiers carried their comrade inside and stretched him out on my bed.

None of them understood German. Mother tried French, and one of the soldiers could converse in that language. As Mother went to look after the wounded man, she said to me, “The fingers of those two are numb. Take off their jackets and boots, and bring in a bucket of snow.” Soon I was rubbing their blue feet with snow.

We learned that the stocky, dark- haired fellow was Jim; his friend, tall and slender, was Robin. Harry, the wounded one, was now sleeping on my bed, his face as white as the snow outside. They’d lost their battalion and had wandered in the forest for three days, looking for the Americans, hiding from the Germans. They hadn’t shaved, but still, without their heavy coats, they looked merely like big boys. And that was the way Mother began to treat them.

Now Mother said to me, “Go get Hermann. And bring six potatoes.”
This was a serious departure from our pre-Christmas plans. Hermann was the plump rooster(named after portly Hermann G ring, Hitler’s No. 2, for whom Mother had little affection) that we had been fattening for weeks in the hope that Father would be home for Christmas. But, some hours before, when it was obvious that Father would not make it, Mother had decided that Hermann should live a few more days, in case Father could get home for New Year’s. Now she had changed her mind again: Hermann would serve an immediate, pressing purpose.

While Jim and I helped with the cooking, Robin took care of Harry. He had a bullet through his upper leg, and had almost bled to death. Mother tore a bedsheet into long strips for bandages.

Soon, the tempting smell of roast chicken permeated our room. I was setting the table when once again there came a knock at the door.

Expecting to find more lost Americans, I opened the door without hesitation. There stood four soldiers, wearing uniforms quite familiar to me after five years of war. They were Wehrmacht¡ªGermans!
I was paralyzed with fear. Although still a child, I knew the harsh law: sheltering enemy soldiers constituted high treason. We could all be shot! Mother was frightened, too. Her face was white, but she stepped outside and said, quietly, “Fröhliche Weihnachten.” The soldiers wished her a Merry Christmas, too.

“We have lost our regiment and would like to wait for daylight,” explained the corporal. “Can we rest here?”
“Of course,” Mother replied, with a calmness born of panic. “You can also have a fine, warm meal and eat till the pot is empty.”
The Germans smiled as they sniffed the aroma through the half-open door. “But,” Mother added firmly, “we have three other guests, whom you may not consider friends.” Now her voice was suddenly sterner than I’d ever heard it before. “This is Christmas Eve, and there will be no shooting here.”

“Who’s inside?” the corporal demanded. “Amerikaner?”
Mother looked at each frost-chilled face. “Listen,” she said slowly. “You could be my sons, and so could those in there. A boy with a gunshot wound, fighting for his life. His two friends¡ªlost like you and just as hungry and exhausted as you are. This one night,” she turned to the corporal and raised her voice a little, “this Christmas night, let us forget about killing.”
The corporal stared at her. There were two or three endless seconds of silence. Then Mother put an end to indecision. “Enough talking!” she ordered and clapped her hands sharply. “Please put your weapons here on the woodpile¡ªand hurry up before the others eat the dinner!”
Dazedly, the four soldiers placed their arms on the pile of firewood just inside the door: three carbines, a light machine gun and two bazookas. Meanwhile, Mother was speaking French rapidly to Jim. He said something in English, and to my amazement I saw the American boys, too, turn their weapons over to Mother.

Now, as Germans and Americans tensely rubbed elbows in the small room, Mother was really on her mettle. Never losing her smile, she tried to find a seat for everyone. We had only three chairs, but Mother’s bed was big, and on it she placed two of the newcomers side by side with Jim and Robin.
Despite the strained atmosphere, Mother went right on preparing dinner. But Hermann wasn’t going to grow any bigger, and now there were four more mouths to feed. “Quick,” she whispered to me, “get more potatoes and some oats. These boys are hungry, and a starving man is an angry one.”

While foraging in the storage room, I heard Harry moan. When I returned, one of the Germans had put on his glasses to inspect the American’s wound. “Do you belong to the medical corps?” Mother asked him. “No,” he answered. “But I studied medicine at Heidelberg until a few months ago.” Thanks to the cold, he told the Americans in what sounded like fairly good English, Harry’s wound hadn’t become infected. “He is suffering from a severe loss of blood,” he explained to Mother. “What he needs is rest and nourishment.”

Relaxation was now beginning to replace suspicion. Even to me, all the soldiers looked very young as we sat there together. Heinz and Willi, both from Cologne, were 16. The German corporal, at 23, was the oldest of them all. From his food bag he drew out a bottle of red wine, and Heinz managed to find a loaf of rye bread. Mother cut that in small pieces to be served with the dinner; half the wine, however, she put away¡ª”for the wounded boy.”

Then Mother said grace. I noticed that there were tears in her eyes as she said the old, familiar words, “Komm, Herr Jesus. Be our guest.” And as I looked around the table, I saw tears, too, in the eyes of the battle-weary soldiers, boys again, some from America, some from Germany, all far from home.

Just before midnight, Mother went to the doorstep and asked us to join her to look up at the Star of Bethlehem. We all stood beside her except Harry, who was sleeping. For all of us during that moment of silence, looking at the brightest star in the heavens, the war was a distant, almost-forgotten thing.

Our private armistice continued next morning. Harry woke in the early hours, and swallowed some broth that Mother fed him. With the dawn, it was apparent that he was becoming stronger. Mother now made him an invigorating drink from our one egg, the rest of the corporal’s wine and some sugar. Everyone else had oatmeal. Afterward, two poles and Mother’s best tablecloth were fashioned into a stretcher for Harry.
The corporal then advised the Americans how to find their way back to their lines. Looking over Jim’s map, the corporal pointed out a stream. “Continue along this creek,” he said, “and you will find the 1st Army rebuilding its forces on its upper course.” The medical student relayed the information in English.

“Why don’t we head for Monschau?” Jim had the student ask. “Nein!” the corporal exclaimed. “We’ve retaken Monschau.”
Now Mother gave them all back their weapons. “Be careful, boys,” she said. “I want you to get home someday where you belong. God bless you all!” The German and American soldiers shook hands, and we watched them disappear in opposite directions.

When I returned inside, Mother had brought out the old family Bible. I glanced over her shoulder. The book was open to the Christmas story, the Birth in the Manger and how the Wise Men came from afar bearing their gifts. Her finger was tracing the last line from Matthew 2:12: “…they departed into their own country another way.”

Afterword

As an old man, the author, Fritz Vincken, tracked down one of the German soliders he had encountered that Christmas so many years ago. A pastor from South Carolina wrote a post that tells the afterword to this story:

In January of 1996, Fritz Vincken, a bakery owner from Honolulu, Hawaii, traveled to Frederick, MD, to meet Ralph Blank in the nursing home where he lived. It was not the first time the two had met, but they had not seen each other for more than 50 years. The first time they met was sixty-two years ago tonight, on Christmas Eve 1944. The circumstances of their introduction to each other constitute one of the great Christmas stories of all time…

“Your mother saved my life,” Ralph Blank said to Fritz Vincken, when they met again in 1996, and he showed him the compass that the German corporal had given him along with the directions back to the location of the Allied lines. “Now I can die in peace,” Vincken said. My mother’s courage won’t be forgotten and it shows what good will do.” And like the first Christmas story, it reminds us of the unexpected ways and places that God is present and at work in a fearful and threatening world.

And finally, here’s an interview with the since deceased Fritz Vincken. May that Christmas spirit live on.

LONDON

My first stop was to observe Max, James, Chloé, and Priyanka in their native habitat, the quaint island of Great Britain.

Hiking with James and Chloé in the hills of northern England. If you squint into the distance you may just spot King Arthur, or at least that's how I imagine it.

After living together for one year in Shanghai, Max could no longer stand my company and fled to London, where he’s flourishing in his role as a budding shipping tycoon. Shortly before I arrived he closed a 4am deal for shipping thousands of tons of iron ore, and my mind flashes to scenes of Wall Street and Jerry Maguire: “SHOW ME THE MONEY!!!!!!” And his Chinese continues to put mine to shame, even though he no longer lives surrounded by 1.3 billion native speakers.

My Petaluma childhood buddy Jacob was also coincidentally celebrating his 25th birthday in London over the weekend. It’s fun to see friends outside of a familiar context too. We went out to a hipster bar and bowling alley, where we Yanks showed the British how we roll.

I also visited Priyanka at the storied Cambridge University, even donning robes for a formal college dinner. Whereas Stanford dorms were so plain and bare to require manufactured themes (Cedro = “Ced-rodeo”), every day at Cambridge is Harry Potter day. Many students live in bona fide castles. The tradition was wonderful to experience but I wouldn’t want to live it. Between my hippie parents, bay area culture, and the tech industry, I’m naturally averse to cultures that are too formal or serious.

GERMANY

Karl and I!

Next stop was my German hometown of Hannover, where my best German friend since the 1st grade, Ole, just had a fiendishly cute baby with his lovely partner, Daniela. Needless to say, Karl, the 5-month old baby, was the primary attraction. It was also my first experience in a baby household, though it is now the age at which many of my friends are getting close. Gulp… I still plan to wait a while.

On the other end of the age spectrum, I’m blessed to have a physically and mentally fit grandmother of 88 years–she still rides a bike! We took long walks (Hannover is the greenest city in Germany), traveled to Hamburg to visit an art exhibit (or “culture” me as my grandmother would say), and revisited family history. It’s astonishing to consider the transformation the world has seen in her lifetime. Her father and upbringing was steeped in Prussian military tradition in a nationalistic Germany. Today, her two American grandchildren are most often found in China and South America.

Even my busy aunt and uncle managed to take time out of their busy lives an drive up from Frankfurt for the weekend with my two young cousins, Julia and Sofia. I’m grateful that my mother worked so hard to make Germany a second home for Maya and I by establishing such strong family ties.

It’d been 3.5 years since I’d last been to Germany, but I felt at home again, even thinking and dreaming in German. In fact, I’m jealous that Maya will soon spend a full year on a biodynamic farm there!

LEEDS AND GUILDFORD

A visit to Leeds in northern England was my chance to catch James and Chloé before they graduate and get the insider tour. My favorite evening was one at a local pub where we consumed fish and chips (better than expected!), Trivial Pursuit, and the magical sounds of Irish folk instruments.

James cooks a mean sheperd's pie

The final stop was Guildford (or Beacon Hill), James’ hometown to the southwest of London. His parents hosted eight of us for a succulent birthday dinner (James’ 24th) of roast Welsh lamb leg. Yum.

It was awesome to experience such a cross-section of England: from metropolis to city to university town to countryside, a trip to remember as well as to revisit my old German haunts.

At the Facebook Wall!

I also visited Facebook in the Silicon Valley. I’ve been a fanboy for some time, so it was a treat to visit with an all-star Chinese developer there. Here’s my pic at the physical “Facebook Wall.”

Other tech I had a chance to play with? Google’s Cr-48 laptop (cool, but still a prototype) and the Microsoft’s Kinect gaming system (awesome, with surely oodles of cool applications in the making).

Ah, family + friends, Mexican food, clean air, and cutting-edge tech… I’d like to live in the Silicon Valley again someday.

Fireworks and enthusiastic crowds at the opening ceremony of Expo 2010 Shanghai

Adam Minter (@adamminter) criticizes foreign correspondents for missing the story and point of Expo 2010. I largely agree and my commentary follows below. The Shanghai 2010 Expo ends today, October 31.

As an experienced international traveler, the Expo sucked for me (4 visits, mostly for events). I also thought the 2000 Expo in Hannover, Germany sucked (the architecture was less impressive and the U.S. didn’t even bother to participate). The Expo concept is irrelevant to many international travelers (more on this later).

But the Expo was not for me anyway. It was for the ~98% of Chinese who have never left China, and many of whom will never have the opportunity. That’s why I think China is one of the places where the Expo still works well (good luck to 2015 Milan, but I think Europe is a terrible place to hold an Expo, far too many have seen the ‘real’ deal of foreign nations). But I’m glad that hunger to discover the world exists here in China as strongly as anywhere else. Hopefully visitors learned new things about new countries, though I fear that much of the content in the pavilions was of mediocre quality at best. Still, I think many truly enjoyed it.

The China Pavilion, about 4x larger than any other. Grandiose, but a nice combination of modern lines & Chinese design

On the cynical side, the number of visitors I saw who waited in line for hours and then ran through the actual pavilion just to collect the stamps, does lead me to question ‘lemming-like behavior’ and whether they were just showing off for friends back home. But perhaps that reflects more upon the poor content of many of the pavilions than it does the visitors.

The World Fair (Expo) is a confusing and poorly conceived event (how many people remember 2008 Zaragoza, 2005 Aichi, or even 2000 Hannover, the last ‘major’ Expo? –yes, there are ‘major’ and ‘minor’ Expos, don’t ask). The Expo asks government bureaucrats to design Disneyland, around some weak theme, that most pavilions ignore anyway — ‘Better City, Better Life’? In the end, I’d say leave Disneyland to the pros, and it should arrive in Shanghai around 2013. I bet it’ll be received at least as well as the Expo and probably offer far more bang for the buck, for Chinese and foreigners alike. So my problem is with the Expo concept itself, rather than Shanghai’s execution, which was world-class.

England's "Seed Cathedral" - one of the few both visually stunning and conceptually engaging pavilions. It's a shame it'll be torn down tomorrow.

I’m extremely fortunate, even spoiled, to have had the opportunity to travel to around the world, which rather ruins the Expo for me. The countries aren’t exotic or magical, as they likely are to other less-traveled visitors. There’s very little in life that I’d wait in line for more than an hour for. I enjoyed the architecture and was impressed by the inside of the UK’s seed cathedral, but that was about it–most other attractions were lame and way too crowded, with overpriced food and drink. And I think that’s the viewpoint from which many foreign correspondents approached it. But that’s not the story for the overwhelming majority of Chinese.

Regarding foreign press, Expo disinterest is not limited to China. In fact, I think Shanghai’s Expo received far more press than previous Expos, as it should have. Still, I agree with Adam that there were many stories and angles that the foreign press missed here–certainly a far better tie-in than ‘dog ownership’!

James, Chloé, and I had a wonderful trip, filled with adventures and hazards. I found that our wonderful group dynamics persisted from last year, so were always in high spirits. James also published a riveting account at his new blog, www.jamespphoto.com, where his rockstar photography skills are on display.

We flew to Lanzhou, in central China, which is notorious for laying claim to the title of “world’s most populated city.” It has earned my vote. At one point the city decided to blast off the top of a mountain to create a breeze that would dissipate the heavy smog in the valley, but quickly discovered that it only added ungodly amounts of sediment to the air.

View Larger Map



We quickly exited Lanzhou, headed for Xiahe, which boasts the largest congregation of Tibetians outside of Tibet, including a monastery with 3000+ monks. We spent our first night outside of town in the sanke grasslands, with a semi-nomadic Tibetian family. Yaks, well suited for the freezing winter temperatures of the region, lounged in the compound. The next morning we were served fresh yak butter (has a blue cheese flavor to it), which we were admonished for spreading onto the bread (it’s supposed to go into the tea). I’m afraid Tibetian cuisine has a long way to go before it receives its first Michelin star.

The grasslands also offered our first taste of horse riding. To instigate a canter we had to rely upon the feisty little horse ridden by a Chinese friend who we met on the bus into town. Once he charged ahead, our rides all followed.

In Xiahe the next day, we explored the Tibetian monastery. In my previous experiences with Buddhist monks in Thailand I found them to be extraordinarily kind and open people. The Xiahe monks did not disappoint. We were invited for lunch and later on the three of us even watched the world cup (Germany vs. England) together with a Tibetian monk, who decided he supported the red team (England). James played ‘charades’ with one of the regally dressed head monks, who spoke only Tibetian, in which they were able to communicate that they were both fans of the Dalai Lama. There was none of the ‘holier than thou’ attitude that too often accompanies other religions.

From Xiahe we headed to Langmusi, a more remote Tibetian town, grasslands nestled in an idyllic valley of stone cliffs. Unfortunately we awoke the next morning to find the shops shuttered and military marching through town; upon further inquiry we discovered that riots had broken out, with territorial factions razing each other’s shops and homes (the village is on the border of Gansu and Sichuan provinces, it was not about Han Chinese vs. Tibetians as the riots were in 2008). Young men with guns dug entrenchments into the overlooking hills. More armed police and military rolled into town, until it built up to easily over a thousand troops. We took our cue to exit, leaving behind our shattered conceptions of the ‘peaceful’ Tibetan people.

We were able to salvage the journey to the remote grasslands by finding another village down the road, where we befriended a local school teacher, Bo Jia. That gave us a window into local life: perspectives on the Tibetian educational system and the relationship between the Chinese government and Tibetan people. Bo Jia was of a moderate persuasion. He disliked much of the heavy-handed policies of the Han majority (e.g., teachers are forbidden from wearing Tibetian prayer beads at school, although classes are taught in the Tibetan), but ultimately felt that it was more carrots (economic incentives, jobs) that drove assimilation than sticks (though that remains an option of last resort). Lastly, he never wanted the Chinese government to step back completely, because he feared that the Tibetians would descend into fierce fighting amongst themselves.

We had originally intended to set out hiking and camping through the rolling hills, but our plans were dashed by ferocious dogs, both wild and “domesticated.” ten minutes into our first day hike, we came upon a Tibetan nomad, with her two young children. We waved from afar, she approached us, and a dog came bounding over. Except that instead of a friendly golden retriever, this snarling beast was a cross between a wolf and a husky, with satanic glowing orange eyes. it growled, leaped, and bared its fangs. We stood our ground initially, but when it passed through the fence dividing the land, we couldn’t help but cower. It encircled us against the fence, Chloé nearly had a heart attack (I did too), but then the monster finally lost interest. All the while this nomad just watched, finally saying a mild word that had no effect. I don’t know what exactly we expected, but these dogs were definitely less “man’s best friend” and more for mauling yak rustlers. we found out later that Tibetians themselves carry strong thwacking sticks to fend off the out-of-control beasts, but despite that still had some nasty scars to show on their legs.

The trip to get to our next destination, Linxia, was the most hazardous ride of my life. a perfect storm of atrocious conditions, car, and driver. it was raining and foggy that night, with no reflectors on the side of the road. The car rattled like it was about to fall apart, the wheels were improperly aligned with a drift to the left, and the headlights were like flashlights on low battery. The driver was the worst of all: he appeared to have cataracts, would muttering incomprehensibly to himself, and kept drifting into the middle lane. In hindsight, we never should have stepped into that piece of shit car with that shit driver. I thank my lucky stars that we all survived.

Linxia is a center of Muslim culture in China, with a majority of the population belonging to the Hui minority. James and I attended services at a mosque (no girls allowed), my first experience in an Islamic area. And we sampled the local fare, roast lamb and sweet herbal tea, which rates far ahead of Tibetan in my book.

Our last stop was Huanghe Shilin. As one could conceivably guess from the name, the Yellow River Stone Forest, it’s a town along the famed Yellow River, surrounded by stone peaks and canyons. It’s a semi-desert climate so there’s little vegetation, but excellent sand dunes. Our favorite night was on a dune overlooking that town, underneath the stars, and leaping in the sand. Chloé, James, and I eagerly await for the day when dune-jumping is accepted into the Olympics — we have our synchronized jumping team, catchy jingle, and promotional photos set to go.

We also set out to explore the canyons, a day on which we rode 6 different types of transportation: bus, sheep skin raft (actually supported by the hollow, inflated, and sealed skin of a sheep), speedboat, cable ferry (attached to cables spanning the river, moves by positioning its rudders), sand kart, and horse. It was that latter that nearly led to our early demise. After our previous horse riding experience, we figured the challenge would be motivating a canter out of the listless tourist animals. Instead, the moment the handlers let go, our horses took off to the races. My horse pulled close to James’s, at which point his horse bit mine and then bucked. James was hanging on for dear life, a true English cowboy. At the same, Chloé had, to her great dismay, charged into the lead and out of control. My horse followed behind as we broke into a no-holds barred gallop. At first it was terrifying, the complete powerlessness, until an acceptance and exhilaration set in. that helped mask the fact that this ride had a not insignificant chance of snapping my spine; only the good die young? We found out afterwards that the horses were racing because it was the end of the day, so the end of the ride was dinnertime for them.

And that’s all I have to tell of the adventures and hazards of 8 days in Gansu.

March 26, 2010 –

Full disclosure: I am a Marketing Strategist at Cooltuan

Cooltuan (http://www.cooltuan.com), a group-buying website that offers huge daily discounts in Shanghai, China, launches today. Deals include 50-90% off popular movie tickets, cheesecake, teeth whitening, and spa treatments. Cooltuan will spread through China’s viral social media channels: social networks, microblogs, and online forums.

Cooltuan is a Chinese pioneer of the “daily deal” model, which has become a worldwide hit. The group-buying trend started with the popular website Groupon in the U.S., but has since spread to Europe, South America, and Asia, attracting millions of customers along the way.

The model is especially suited for China, where tuangou (group-buying) is almost a national past time. Consumers often ‘flash mob’ stores to secure the best bargains on everything from chicken feet and floor tiles to cars and wedding rings. Online forums are hotbeds for users who organize group-buys with classmates, colleagues, or friends.

A localized website like Cooltuan makes this popular Chinese activity that much easier. James Fang, Co-Founder and CEO, says, “Only by thinking locally can we make the Groupon model a great success in China.”

Cooltuan is the first group-buying site in Shanghai. It aims to jump out to an early lead in customers, deal-flow, and brand recognition in China’s largest shopping market. A few competitors have sprung up in Beijing, including meituan.com and ftuan.com, which all feature the Chinese tuan (group) in the name. The group-buying craze has hit China.

CONTACT

Kai Lukoff
Marketing Strategist
kai_l (*at*) cooltuan.com

###

But it’s almost more accurate to say that I work for a dynamic duo that incubates startups: Lucas and Markus, young American and Austrian entreprenuers, respectively. Their model is to run a website for a few months to test for traction. If it doesn’t take off, it’s off to the next one. Startups are generally launched under the larger Web2Asia umbrella, a larger company co-founded by Markus. One startup recently launched in China is called 88dishes, a localized edition of Mjam, a growing online restaurant-order service in Europe. So while BloggerInsight is a primary project, there’s always more on the burner.

True to internet form, the work environment is delightfully casual. The boss came in jeans and flip-flops on my first day and things start at a comfortable 9:30am. The office is called 88spaces, a “co-working space for hackers, techies, creatives, entrepreneurs and independents. A creative hub where you can work independently, together with other like minded people.” Plus, there’s a comfy Ikea sofa and an Xbox on the way. This job has me reaching for the internet startup Kool-Aid.

Finally, I’ve settled into a new apartment with two solid British friends, Max and Will. The apartment is comfy, but poorly insulated, so I dread the Shanghai winter. Despite the cold, I plan to spend a couple more years out in China… and so far so good!

Shanghai
My parents are not city people and had low expectations for Shanghai. Fortunately, we were able to exceed them. My father had imagined China as more of a police state (based on his travels to Russia, and other former Soviet-bloc nations), while my mother appreciated a window into my local life here:

• Dinner my Chinese friends, at which we introduced them to fortune cookies, which are never offered in Chinese Chinese restaurants.
• The $1 麻辣 (numbing spicy) soup restaurant I frequent.
• Neighborhood scenes of men strolling the streets in pajamas accompanied by the evening sounds of Chinese instruments.

We also checked out several Shanghai sights that I hadn’t made it to yet:

• The Urban Planning Museum, with a detailed model of the entire city
• The Shanghai Museum, with an outstanding collection of jade carvings
• And Suzhou, the nearby city of many gardens, in support of my father’s dream of constructing a Japanese rock garden in our backyard at home; he’s on a mission to survey all kinds of shrubs and boulders.

To the dismay of my mother, but in the Chinese spirit, much of our days revolved around food:

• We sampled a diverse range of Chinese food from Shanghai, Sichuan, Taiwan, Dongbei (Northeast), Canton, and Xinjiang; we ate our way through China.

Shanghai was a hit; my parents began to understand why I want to live here for at least a few more years.

Guilin
I’ve been disappointed in a few previous travels through China (see the “Rural China” entry), but the Guilin area was a stunner. It’s known for its soaring karst limestone peaks, which look like they were lifted from a Dr. Seuss book. The Chinese say Guilin 山水甲天下 (Guilin’s scenery is number one in the world!).

We escaped the crowds by staying tiny town of Xingping instead of the tourist traps of Guilin city or Yangshuo. Days were filled with leisurely bike rides through the countryside amongst citrus orchards, farmers employing water buffalo to plow their rice fields, and sleepy towns with residents peering out of their cool abodes with curiosity to inspect the passing foreigners. One evening at dusk we went out with a cormorant fisherman to see his flock of diving birds shoot below the water like feathered torpedoes to zero in on hapless fish. Similar to rural TaoYan, we were also able to convince a few rural families to cook for us. Chinese country food is the best: simple dishes with fresh vegetables and little oil or sketchy meat. It’s a shame that’s so hard to find in Shanghai.

Hong Kong
My first trip to Hong Kong was but a three-day affair consumed primarily by visa issues, a classic headache for young foreigners in China. While in Hong Kong, we stayed in a run-down labyrinth in Kowloon known as the ChungKing Mansions, also the setting for Wong Kar-wai’s Amélie-esque 1994 film, The Chungking Express. The upside to the sketchy surroundings was that I had a handful of futuristic-looking Hong Kong Dollars left over to gorge on the scrumptious, authentic Indian/Pakistani food joints found in the “Mansions.” In the end, the visa was successfully sorted (I’m in China as a German citizen) and Hong Kong makes it onto my “revisit in further detail” list.

Bali
We realized my mother’s lifelong dream of visiting Bali. The scenery was, like Guilin, criminally beautiful. The sub-tropical climate ensured lush forests and rice terraces brimming with water. One walk through a mountain range led us through fragrant coffee plantations, clove trees, pineapple plants, and other tropical flora and fauna. My favorite stretch of transportation was a one-day bike ride drifting down from one of the island’s tallest volcanoes. Along the way, we stopped off to peek in on scenes of local life, such as villagers preparing a ritual feast: butchering chickens, mashing chili peppers, and making banten, the daily offerings to Hindu gods. A few sunny days were also spent on the beach, including two scuba dives over the 130-meter wreck of a U.S. ship, torpedoed by the Japanese in WWII. While the fish and corals weren’t on par with Honduras or Thailand, it was the best wreck I’ve ever dove.

Bali also boasts the inviting islander mentality befitting of a vacation destination. Locals spent lazy hours on the porch stroking their cocks, preparing the birds for the evening fights held at local temples. Bali recalls a simpler, contented life that I could never live. China lacks Bali’s restfulness; it’s home instead to furnaces firing out relentless progress and pollution.

In Conclusion
It was an unforgettable family vacation. My parents my parents’ energy and openness to new experiences as they age astounds me! My sister is a riot as always. Definitely a memory to cherish, it had been too long apart. Next time in South America to visit Maya & the Incas!!!

Coming soon: my next post will be on my working life in Shanghai. As an aside, I’ll likely be back to the U.S. (Petaluma, CA bay area) in February—clear your calendars!

Frankly, I’d been disappointed in my previous travels in China. My travels had all, with the lone exception of Wuyishan (see earlier entry), been to major cities (Beijing, Shanghai, Nanjing, Hangzhou, and Guangzhou). I’m sick of sites that are so packed shoulder-to-shoulder, full of large tourist groups with flags and loudspeakers. Nor am I a fan of artificial nature (lakes, gardens, and concrete “rock” formations, “supplemented” by chirpy music emanating from speakers). Part of the problem is also that I cannot always appreciate the historical and cultural significance of sites, and the English explanations are poor.

But most Chinese and I also have different ideas about what makes for good travels. Even the tourist information center found it hysterical that we wanted to go to a rural place, one without too many people: “What is there to do there? Besides, that’s simply not safe, what will you eat?” Others advised us: “But that town is so small! Go to Yiwu, there are so many people there, even black ones!”

HuiHang GuDao（徽杭古道）
Fortunately, our trip started with a bang. That is, we played Mafia (called or hitman in Chinese) for several hours, with a wonderful group of five young Chinese professionals we met on the overnight train: Andrew, Helen, Eric, Sarah, and Constantine. They were kind enough to allow us to crash their hiking and camping expedition. Early the next morning, we stepped off the train to join our new friends on their adventure.

The HuiHang GuDao (the Anhui to Hangzhou Ancient Trail) is a path pioneered by a famous “Chinese capitalist-man” of yore to trade his tea. The trail wound through green mountains shrouded in mist, eventually arriving at a designated camping site where we pitched our tents. The evening was a lively one. We had a scrumptious meal, roasted bread over it, and sang songs around the campfire. For a short time, we also joined an adjacent party of university students who were roasting a goat on a spit. They also played “Truth or Dare,” though their game was tame by Western standards: dares included “Ask the foreigners to participate” and “Guy and girl must hug.”

It was two days of constant Chinese speaking practice, and our friends patiently tolerated our many mistakes. We discussed everything from Tang Dynasty poetry and Jared Diamond to US-China relations and dystopias. See photos.

Greetings from the YaoLin (瑶琳) Police Force
After parting with our friends, we headed off to a beautiful area of China (Tonglu County, in Zhejiang Province, southwest of Shanghai), determined to find another spot to hike and camp. Our first night upon arrival in YaoLin, however, we checked into a budget hotel. After wandering the tourist town and eating dinner, we returned to an uproar at the hotel. Apparently, foreigners are not permitted to stay at hotels in this town, a law which I erroneously thought had been abolished in China.

We paid a visit to the local police station to clarify our overnight accommodations. It took six sleepy police officers to enter our passport and visa information into the computer (“What month is July?”). After 1.5 hours, the police van drove us to a new hotel across the street from our original hotel, where we repeated the entering of passport/visa info routine for another hour. Four more policemen joined in on the “action”—perhaps this is how the government keeps the Chinese masses employed? Then the hotel boss joined us and distributed fancy cigarettes to all, a fitting China ending to the evening.

TaoYuan（桃源）
The next day, we took a gamble on a town at the end of the road. The tiny village of TaoYuan turned out to be a great find. There’s a meadow for camping, hiking in the hills, a babbling brook, and a nearby reservoir, good for fishing and pneumonia-inducing swimming. We also befriended some villagers who invited us for dinner. The dishes were local, vegetarian, and tasty: bracken and fresh garlic, bamboo, cabbage, green beans, and peanuts, all whipped up in a large wood-fire heated wok. We were invited to return anytime and plan to visit again soon.

In the evenings, my pyromaniac travel companion would light a healthy fire, over which I would roast a simple bread of flour, baking powder, and water. We topped it off with some honey that we had purchased in the village, fresh from the comb. It was a sweet trip. See photos.

CD Offer—Limited Time Only!
“Jimmy & Kai’s Excellent Adventure,” is yours for $19.99 plus tax. Tracks include:
• Stinky Shoes Blues
• Ain’t No Party Like a Roast Goat Party
• I Shot the Sheriff, but I did not Shoot no Jimmy
• Zhe ge Waga Baga of Mine, I’m Going to let it Shine
• Zhe ge Kending Keyi Chi
• The World’s Greatest
[Hiking/Roasting/Thwacking Stick]
Order in the next ten minutes and I’ll even throw in a free AutoRoaster 3000, which will simultaneously roast up to 3 breads over the fire (a $79 value).

[local /wp-content/uploads/2009/03/Team-ECK-Smaller.wmv]

The Cast of Characters
Emily is a cheery, clever girl from London, who will occasionally burst into song and produce photo slide shows. Luxembourg is home to Europe’s second largest petrol station and Chloé Kayser. While Emily and I are more organized than not, Chloé is off the charts, so served as the de facto trip mother. When Emily located her sleeping bag one freezing morning, I wondered why Chloé was so happy, to which she replied, “We’re a team. If one of us is cold, we’re all cold.” Our team bonded fast.

Thailand
In my mind, Thailand sets the platinum standard for tourism: friendly locals and superb food, sights, and weather, all at everyday low prices. Superior to China and all the countries I’ve explored in Europe (Germany, England, Italy, Spain) and South America (Mexico, Peru, Honduras). It’s one of the few places I’ve traveled without speaking a lick of the local language (together, English, German, Spanish, and Chinese cover a good swath), yet English was ubiquitous and decades ahead of that spoken in China.

Bangkok
Bangkok is just as advertised: colorful, bustling, and seductive (and yes, beware the ladyboys). My favorite experiences: wandering side streets in the old town, stopping every block for a new snack (who knew green mango and chili would be so tasty?) and visiting a silk-making home business. It was also in Bangkok that we became addicted to MSR (Mango Sticky Rice).

Chiang Mai, Thailand
Chiang Mai’s temples are a sight worth seeing. To explore, we rented electric scooters (I being a scooter veteran after Honduras last summer). Emily and Chloé were initially terrified, but quickly caught on. I expect them to join the Hell’s Angels biker gang soon. There was one dicey incident of involving a one-way street—is it my bloody fault that the Thais drive on the wrong side of the road? Yet aside from a few bugs in the mouth (yum!), we escaped unscathed.

Speaking of bugs in the mouth, I also foolhardily challenged Chloé to a bug-eating contest. Never ever challenge a half-Cambodian girl to a bug-eating contest, especially not with a mango sticky rice on the line. We both persevered through six varieties (a draw), the last and largest of which was particularly gruesome. Even Emily got into the act: as I sorted the bugs, she asked, “Are your hands clean?” “No.” “Well just kidding, I’m about to eat bugs.” Bugs aside, the deliciousness continued, at even lower prices (~$2 for a full meal of pad thai, panang curry, tom ka gai soup, and MSR!). As Emily said, traveling in Thailand is like being the banker in Monopoly.

Mae Salong, Thailand
As an off-the-beaten-path excursion, we headed to Mae Saelong, a small village in the mountains of northern Thailand settled by Thai hill tribes (minority groups) and former KMT families who fled China after losing the Chinese Civil War. It was a great to surprise the villagers with our Chinese and celebrate the Chinese New Year! If you ever make it to Mae Salong, I wholeheartedly recommend the Shin Sane Guesthouse.

Mekong River
We took a two-day boat down the Mekong River, a rite of passage for backpackers in Laos. The highlight was a boat crash. I looked up from my book to see our captain yelling hysterically in Laotian, before we promptly smashed into the riverbank (the rudder had broken). We fortuitously missed the rocks by a hair, so no serious damage was done aside from a nice jolt. We spent the night on a remote bit of the Mekong river, where Emily and Chloé nearly slept in the claustrophobic arrangement of heads squashed together in the narrow end of a tiny two-person tent. Like I said, our team bonded fast.

Luang Prabang, Laos
LP boasts innumerable temples and stunning surroundings. It was by far the most photogenic of our travel destinations. At one temple, we ambushed some Chinese tourists with our language skillz. When they overcame their initial shock, the tourists remarked that I was traveling with two beautiful girls (měinü, 美女), upon which Chloé, misunderstanding beautiful girl for American girl (měiguó, 美国), replied, “I’m not [beautiful], I’m from Luxembourg!”

Unfortunately, Chloé also had t
o leave Team ECK at this juncture, for an unanticipated return home—our trio was down to two. I considered showering once in a while, so as not to scare off the rest (and one remaining) of my travel companions.

Vientiane, Laos
The only destination I can’t recommend. The main attraction was some massive Socialist Realist concrete monument, which even the chipper guidebook couldn’t praise, except as an architectural train wreck. It’s a sleepy capital, with a few decent riverside eateries. It was also at an eco-lodge in this area that Emily discovered a massive spider in our room. She spent the night in terror, while I slept soundly.

On the whole, I found Laos less lovely than Thailand. The locals weren’t as friendly—one constantly felt as if one was being ripped off—prices were surprisingly higher, and the food was not as tasty. We did stay on the main tourist track though.

Ko Phi Phi, Thailand
The final week of our travels was spent on the beach, next to the island where the craptastic film, “The Beach,” was filmed. While scuba diving, we spied fascinating aquamarine life: leopard and black tip reef sharks, turtles, octopi, Moray eels, squids, sea snakes, starfish, boxfish, scorpion fish, lion fish, frog fish, tuna, painted spiny lobsters, and stingrays. My favorite was a peacock mantis shrimp:

Their two [claws] are employed with blinding quickness… about the acceleration of a .22 caliber bullet. Because they strike so rapidly… even if the initial strike misses the prey, the resulting shock wave can be enough to kill or stun the prey.
Some larger species of mantis shrimp are capable of breaking through aquarium glass with a single strike.

I also found my favorite beach in the world. This isolated cove boasted jungle behind and tide pools in front, with the most spectacular snorkeling I’ve ever experienced (schools of colorful fish feeding and hunting, plus deep, interlocking caves to explore). Each night was capped off with three sliced mangos, eaten under the stars, on a terrace overlooking the ocean. I miss Ko Phi Phi.

Our route: Shanghai – Guangzhou – Bangkok – Chiang Mai – Mae Salong – Mekong River – Luang Prabang – Vientianne – Bangkok – Ko Phi Phi – Bangkok – Guangzhou – Shanghai.

If Thailand is Jessica Alba—hot, delicious, and wildly popular—then China is a more enigmatic beauty—less universal in appeal and difficult to penetrate—and one that I still struggle to understand at times.

The trip was a tale of mistaken assumptions. Points 1 & 2 are clearly my own damn fault:

1. it is rural! (it was not)
2. the weather is warm! (it was not)
3. the people are warm! (unfortunately, several who we encountered were notably not)

We had one tourist trap encounter at a Wuyishan street-restaurant that served assorted vegetables and meats tossed together in a wok. For a tiny bowl that they whipped up–not nearly sufficient to feed two young strapping lads such as ourselves–we were quoted a price at least 3x too high. When we balked at the waitress, aiming to walk away without eating and without paying, we were accosted by the obstreperous manager. His swearing at us in Wuyishan dialect created quite a scene on the street, bringing “face” into play and rendering hopeless our efforts to reason through the situation. He proceeded to call the police.

“Showdown in Wuyishan” surely would have been fine drama, but I decided to cut it short at that point. We paid, and left with a few pitiful comebacks—weak because A) we didn’t understand his insults; and B) cursing is not classroom Chinese. My calculation was that Mr. Obstreperous had far better odds with the provincial police than two foreign devils, leaving us a 20% chance of paying plus a tour of the local police station, 70% of just having to pay up anyway, and a 10% chance of skipping off scot-free. In any case, there was a 100% chance of spending a minimum of 2 stressful hours sorting it out. We later found out that Wuyishan is infamous for such schemes to rip-off tourists.

Grandpa Kai also became thankful that Shanghai has reliable, required taxi meters. Bargaining fares in Wuyishan was a constant uphill battle, since we were clueless as to distances and appropriate prices. We also had the pleasure of a taxi driver who made side stops to pick up prostitutes and piss drunk girls (at midday, no less), and not-so-subtly urged us to take advantage of them. He blasted super-loud techno and was super-cool, and, to our great delight, was our driver a super-coincidental three times!

Yet Wuyishan also had its charm in people and places, lest you think it was all trouble. The highlight was a hike through the tea-cultivated mountains that serendipitously reached a picturesque monastery, where a Daoist monk offered us bitter Oolong tea (Wuyishan’s most famous product). Though this modern monk had a PDA device and a yin-yang adorned business card, the relative tranquility and stunning view made the long trek worthwhile.

Another fond memory is of a local restaurateur’s hysterics:

Jimmy: Can you catch fish in the river? (in Chinese, with English accent)
Restaurateur: [Hopping around on one leg, gesturing wildly] Ohhhh yahhh, you betcha!!! (in Chinese, with Fargo accent) They are EXTREMELY delicious!!! If you catch, we will devour them together!!! My precious… my precious… my precious is extremely delicious!!!

Unfortunately, all the fish we saw were in protected nature refuge upstream, so the only thing we came close to catching was pneumonia. I think the restaurateur had already devoured all the downstream fish.

Finally, along the lines of my last post, “Why Chinese is so Damn Hard,” we had a miscommunication over pork steak and bamboo rafts. The former is zhūpái (猪排), a term with which we were familiar. Unfamiliar, but very close in pronunciation, was the latter, zhúpái (竹排). Even worse, despite repeated requests for clarification, none of the locals explained zhūpái using the word “boat.” C’mon China: “Bamboo raft” is not an everyday vocab term for us stupid foreigners! Instead, we were left wondering why everyone was encouraging us to sit on a pork steak—a fitting reflection of our misunderstood, misunderstanding visit to Wuyishan, China.

Having never studied a day of Spanish, I could read a Spanish newspaper more easily than I could a Chinese newspaper after more than three years of studying Chinese.

I can confirm Moser’s thesis: Chinese is damn hard. Personally, my spoken is far ahead of my written, which suits me. In business or foreign policy, I might often speak Chinese, sometimes read, but rarely type, and almost never hand-write characters. My Chinese friends likewise painstakingly learned the latter (they had class six-days-a-week from 6am-10pm during junior and high school), but they seldomly hand-write nowadays: my Luxembourgian friend Chloe corrected my Chinese language partner Anna on the character for monkey the other day.

Classroom instruction is traditionally Chinese. I lucked out and have all cheerful teachers. Duan Laoshi makes us sing if we come late; you all missed a soulful rendering of “A Whole New World,” by yours truly when I overslept one morning. Yet even my engaging teachers are constrained by the system: the teacher talks and the students cower, hoping not to be called upon. I even fell into that trap myself for a while, but snapped out of it and am now that obnoxius kid who talks all the time. Average class size is about 20 students. Desks are aligned facing the teacher, not in a circle like at Stanford. It’s fine for reading and writing comprehension, but is no good for my spoken Chinese.

One textbook, used at the University of Leeds, offers an easy guide to the pronounciation of consonants:

It is an unaspirated voiceless bilabial plosive which is produced by pressing the lips together, keeping the breath in the mouth, and then opening the mouth to let the air out with a pop.

This is a voiceless labio-dental fricative which is produced by placing the lower lip against the upper teeth and releasing the breath with a friction.

Matt writes, “Simple really, even if some of these sound more complicated than yoga movements and could be mistaken for oral sex instructions.”

We all develop our coping strategies. Because of the tones, my friend Emily views it as a 3-d language when all we knew before was 2-d. At a 麻辣汤 (spicy soup) shop in Nanjing she once ordered a soup as “点点点点点 spicy,” 点 being Chinese for “a little bit.” In Chinese, however, this means “a little spice, a little more, a little more, a little more, and a little more… ” Your mouth burns as you eat your spicy soup, you laugh it off, and try again. My friend Henrik has a rule: if it’s over 10 strokes, don’t bother. I personally, when out and about, routinely keep short lists in my mind of words to look up when I get back. One early list was “Hard Dark Guess,” which is also what I will name my rock band when I’m reincarnated with rhythm one day. With English, German, Spanish, and Chinese, I don’t intend to attempt anymore languages in my life. Maintenance alone will be a tall order.

A Chinese-American friend of mine jokes with her boyfriend, “If you want me to convert to Judaism, you have to learn Chinese.” That’s committment–my father never even learned German.

Food in China
Like me, Chinese don’t eat to live; they live to eat. It’s easily the #1 topic of discussion in China.

Banquets
I was a bit fearful of the food upon first arriving, as most of my previous dining experience in China was with banquet food through FACES. I hate banquet food: you have no control over the dishes that appear and they try to impress with specialties, which are often bizarre bits of seafood or meat. One particular banquet featured ocean snails, Hakuna Matata-style grubs, roasted sparrows, tripe, and liver. Fortunately, simple food, like 鱼香茄子（fish-sauce eggplant, with ample MSG, of course) is much nicer. I still hate the breakfasts, but am contented with my daily oatmeal, yogurt, and banana.

A Personal Relationship
The Chinese are close to their food. Take this KFC ad: “Handsome Chinese youth stands in idyllic green pasture massaging a brown cow. In the next scene, he’s sitting in front of the pasture on a bale of hay, biting into a delicious beef-stuffed pancake, and grinning into the camera.” This would never fly in America! We try and distance meat as far away as possible from the animal—even our animal terms (cow, pig, etc.) are often distinct from meat terms (beef, pork, etc.), which is not the case in Chinese. A favorite Chinese eating tactic—which I have yet to become comfortable with—is to take a large piece of meat, fat, gristle, and bone into the mouth and suck the bone clean.

Chinglish
A classic Chinglish sign from my visit to Renmin University last fall: “The green grass is longing for your cherishing.”

Chinese “English” Names
How on earth are they chosen? I personally know a “Yummie” and “Lucky.” My friend Wang Xiaobin from Xinjiang told me he was given the name “Randy” because it is an English name for tall, handsome people, which is news to me (I’d love to get a hold of the book used in schools for choosing English names). This video by “Sexy Beijing” sums it all up. Sexy Beijing now runs a regular feature called, “Ask Smacker.” Props to Andrew Miller for turning me on [to this].

Menus
Menus are littered with atrocious translations. The winner though? Oriental Restaurant in Hangzhou, China, which proudly promotes its delicious “Homos with meat” (see picture). I believe they were going for “Hummus with meat.” Yum.

At the Club
Nonsensical English lyrics in Chinese songs: “1, 2… fuck you… 3,4… we want more… 7,8… too late.”

Miscellaneous

Skyscrapers
Have no floor 13 (unlucky in the West) and 14 (unlucky in China because “4” sounds like death), but they do have floors 4 and 24 for some reason, which my Shanghainese friend also does not understand.

Chinese (In)directness
On some matters, the Chinese are shockingly direct. Taxi cab drivers will ask you your age, your salary, and whether you prefer Asian or Caucasian girls. You don’t have to answer, but they will ask. On other matters, they are famously indirect. Because they strive for a “harmonious society,” conflicts are kept in the closet: they will walk circles around core disagreements. I find friendships with Chinese are also difficult to gauge—do they want to hang out, discuss personal matters, etc.?

The Haier Logo
This charming interracial, boylove logo (see picture) is plastered on all sorts of electronics. Sadly, Haier Electronics, one of the first Chinese brands to make it in the West, elected not to feature the same logo there. My friend Stefan has more on the matter.

Conclusion
China (中国，zhōnggúo), literally translated, means middle kingdom and China’s historical position was “you come to us.” The first Western missions to China were frustrated when His British Majesty’s Representatives refused to kowtow (touch one’s head to the ground) to the Chinese Emperor, unless the Chinese agreed that a Chinese official of equal rank would do the same for His Majesty were they to visit Britain. So in some ways, the US and China are similar: huge, patriotic nations where few speak foreign languages.

Before I talk Shanghai, a short aside on the political and economic situation in the US of A: I’m greatly cheered by the political turn of events. Evan Osnos of The New Yorker commented that Obama has restored a certain nobility to political involvement, and I have many close friends who worked day and night for Obama, among them Jacob Becklund and Michael Baer. The New York Times article, “300,000 Apply for 3,300 Obama Jobs,” says it all. Finally, check out the gem (below) about the departing administration, “Die Bush Krieger: Ende der Vorstellung,” which translates as, “The Bush Warriors: End of the Show.” It shows the cover of Der Spiegel magazine from 2002 (left), alongside the 2008 edition (right). Fitting. Credit to my friend Stefan Angrick.

The economic turn of events, however, is depressing. US consumer spending will probably not return to its pre-crash levels for another 10-20 years. Fortunately, China, with its massive rainy day fund of foreign exchange reserves, faces a much softer fall. The Economist Intelligence Unit predicts China’s GDP to grow by 7.5% for the next two years, as opposed to a contraction (negative growth) for the US, EU, and Japan.

Friends
The axis and allies constitute my two primary groups of friends. My German and Japanese friends, who I know through class, are kind, genuine people. When altogether we speak mainly Chinese together, though English is often resorted to. My British friends, from Leeds University, are a fun-loving lot who have well indoctrinated me with some of their British mannerisms, which they find well amusing. I too now fancy pub quizzes and proclaiming my indignation at the unruly queuing habits of the Chinese. My language partner, Anna, aims to learn German and is wonderfully independent, direct, and well-traveled for a Chinese girl. On the whole, a lovely group of friends, though, since they are mainly foreigners, I do not practice as much Chinese as I would like.

Work
One of my objectives was to obtain business experience while in China, and on that account I have done handsomely. I’m interning at a small consulting company called China Streetsmart, founded and directed by a Canadian of Chinese descent. This small shop (5 employees total) operates primarily on the “soft” side, advising Western executives on the cultural differences and peculiarities of doing business in China. Groups of executives, such as Irish manufacturers or Danish product sourcers, come to Shanghai and we tailor a program to suit their needs.

My main project is to design, implement, and analyze a survey on the opinions Chinese middle management on issues relevant to their Western bosses. For instance: if an employee cheats on his expense account, but complains that he was unfairly fired because the system is widely abused, who is more at fault: the company or the individual? Forty percent of Chinese answer that the company is more at fault, a number that we expect to be near zero when we run the question in the West. In this case, the data should inform Western executives on the need to create non-abusable compensation systems and how to address violations should they arise. This work also serves as a crash course on Chinese culture for me.

My boss is business personified. He is warm, social fellow, but always with an eye to the bottom-line. A former marketing man, he leverages an impressive rolodex to create value for our clients, who are looking to enter the market, but new to China. He has lively stories of his days managing sales and distribution for the beer companies Beck’s, Foster’s, and Lion Nathan’s in the early 90′s, when China was still akin to the Wild West. A good portion of the work is also networking, which has allowed me to attend a spicy bachelor charity auction and to lunch with the former Ambassador to Mongolia and Consul-General of Shanghai. I’m developing that all-important 关系 (guānxi), which is the rich Chinese term for connections.

All told, the position is a great introduction to the world of business, which is actually quite foreign to my family (primarily academics and social workers). If I can secure gainful employment, I will be the first in the family to work for a living–none of this educating or helping people mumbo jumbo. Then again, I may continue to be a student indefinitely, for the life suits me just fine.

One piece of my Stanford life I do miss (in addition to my lovely friends and daily sunshine), are the intellectually titillating discussions about all [academic] topics under the sun. The matter was hammered home by the stellar FACES conference last week (as an aside, what a phenomenal organization and group of future luminaries! I was fortunate to experience it as a delegate and officer, and I only wish I had of been involved earlier on in my Stanford career). There’s no lack of intelligence or interest here at JiaoTong University, it’s just that there’s no ready forum. To address the issue, I’m founding China EDG, the China Economics Discussion Group, which plans to hold weekly meetings. I’m counting on China EDG to reintroduce the meaty mindfood into my life.

Shanghai is supersized: at 20+ million inhabitants it’s China’s largest city (no small feat). Each year, an estimated 1 million additional migrant workers arrive. The city already boasts massive Western-style shopping malls, 6 stories tall, replete with the Rolexes, Armanis, Ferraris, and, most importantly, Cold Stones. Still, construction is booming. Every hour or so you hear what sounds like distant machine-gun fire; it turns out to be collapsing bamboo scaffolding after they finish with construction, which is what they use for all but the tallest buildings. I love the fella in the photo on the top left leaning on his shovel, seemingly saying, “Yeah, I single-handedly built this city. So what?”

The unfettered expansion has some nasty side effects. Pollution creates grey skies some days (though it’s just fog if you believe the authorities). Thankfully, I don’t feel it when I breathe, as I could in Beijing last fall. I just hope it isn’t silently ravaging my lungs when I jog or play fútbol. Mercifully, the XuJiaHui campus is an oasis of tranquility amidst this bustling city.

For this California boy, the biggest concern is the cold… brrrrr. My iGoogle homepage, which lists the temperature in Shanghai and Petaluma, is depressing—there’s routinely a 20° F differential. I’ve never before endured a cold winter: if I don’t survive, tell my sister that she can keep my room in the house for good. The saving grace is that, at the peak of the freeze in mid-Jan to mid-Feb, I’m fleeing for a one-month semester-break jaunt to tropical Thailand and Laos–scuba diving, turtles, and mermaids included. Hot.

Finally, I’ll leave you with the Chinese artist Yang Liu’s work on the differences between the East and West (click for link). Cliched, yes, but largely true.

Objectives:

1. Learn Mandarin
2. Make Chinese friends
3. Gain business experience
4. Explore Judaism, join a synagogue
5. Travel to rural China, Xi’an, and Southeast Asia
6. Become Tomáš Rosický, aka “The Little Mozart“

First Impressions:

I’m studying Mandarin at JiaoTong University, best known for producing Chinese President (1993-2003) Jiang Zemin and a worldwide ranking of Universities. So far, JiaoTong is a winner; I’m up at least 11 life points.

WARM Fuzzies:

• Socially Promiscuous Chinese (+4)
• I cannot sit down at the dining hall without being chatted up by a friendly Chinese. Yesterday, my red face–after having just played two hours of soccer–was of particular curiosity. Thus far, I’ve broken bread (or slurped noodles, rather) with a socioeconomically diverse (students, a professor, the dining hall manager), though all-male crowd. Almost all speak English that is eons better than my Chinese.

• The Penthouse (+4)
• A spacious, well-lit single. My digs are sweeter than the housing I had at Stanford. And tuition, room, board, and a small stipend are all paid for by my scholarship!

• Foreign Foreigners (+2)
• The JiaoTong international dormitories are dominated by Japanese and Koreans, though I’ve also cross-pollinated with Kazakhs, Mongolians, Saudis, Germans, Spaniards, and Brits. I have yet to meet another American!

• The Lunch/Dinner Chow (+2)
• A piping hot bowl of miàn (noodles made before my eyes) with a topping, such as egg-tomato, costs 4 Yuan (about 60 cents) in the dining hall.

• The Soccer Pitch (+2)
• A block from my dorm is the pitch where the magic happens. I may not be Tomáš Rosický yet, but I am one of the bigger and badder kids on block. Unfortunately for their bruised egos, many Chinese never saw this physical specimen coming.

• Studies (+2)
• I took a placement test and, like a good white boy, understood next to nothing. Classes begin on Monday, and I start out in Elementary Level IV, the highest level of elementary. I’m especially stoked about two of the elective options: Chinese Cooking and Business Chinese.

COLD Pricklies:

• Slow Internet (-2)
• Not glacial, just solidly sub-par. It’s like a car that tops out at 35 MPH, often breaks down, and explodes if you take it down certain streets.
  

• The Kitchen (-1)
• It has fridges, microwaves, and boiling water, but NO burners?!? How now am I to cook my way into ladies’ hearts, let alone satiate my own stomach?

• Chinese Breakfast (-1)
• Fried dough balls filled with bean paste don’t do it for me. Fortunately, this resourceful, strapping young lad obtained some hearty oats, milk, and bananas to satisfy his voracious morning appetite.

• My Neighbor, “The Nuclear Power Technology and Equipment Engineering Research Center” (-1)
• This charming, dilapidated facility across the street–conveniently nonexistent on the campus map–could be the reason my children are born with thripples.

First, I went camping with Maya and Jen Okwudili. We encountered a black bear and rattlesnake—Jen will probably never camp with us again. I also learned that my music tastes are “not hip,” because—among other offenses—I fail to understand the brilliance that is Radiohead.

Second, I invited friends up for wine tasting and the alcoholics responded in force. Fifteen of us sampled the fine pinot noir, zinfandel, mustard, and black boar sausage that Healdsburg has to offer. Arista winery was the unanimous favorite. Unfortunately, Nelson was not taken away in a police car this time.

Third, I toured the bay area (Stanford-Berkeley-San Francisco-Emeryville), crashing at friend’s places like a hobo. To Nelson, Jacob, and James—thanks for the couches! It’s exciting to see the next step for my post-college friends: Evan’s TFA classroom, Jacob’s Obama organizing, Ben’s med school dormitory, and James’s concert venue. For example, when I visited Evan -ahh excuse me- Mr. Perkiss, he was feverishly preparing an elaborate college theme for his class of twenty-four 5th graders.

Fourth, I visited Sagari in Houston, America’s 4th largest city. It was my first time in Texas (my first time in the middle region of our country, in fact). I must confess that my expectations were not too high, but they were far exceeded. The cultural offerings were terrific: I visited four museums, all for free (displaying Surrealist, Modern, Contemporary, and Ancient art). Even public transportation was cheap, convenient, and speedy.

But the uniquely Texan experiences were the highlight: BBQ, Rodeo, and, above all, the worship services at Prestonwood Baptist Church. The Sunday service on “Walking with God” at this megachurch (~6000 worshipers) was fascinating. It was a huge production, replete with a ~300 person choir, a small orchestra, and two huge screens. Though contrived at moments, it felt much more powerful than I’d anticipated—some in the audience certainly agreed with me: a number stepped forward to rededicate themselves to Jesus Christ that morning. While I didn’t take that step, it was a window into a world that I never see, and rarely hear of—and then primarily only disparagingly. Thank you Texas!

Finally, I visited the magnificent Chihuly glass-blowing exhibit at the deYoung Museum in SF with my mom and cousin, Ben. I couldn’t resist but include a plug and a photo.

The underwater life was spectacular. To help us appreciate it, the Lukoff-Harder team acquired an all-star free agent: Katie Freakin’ McLean, the Michael Phelps of Scuba diving partners. Katie, who studies biology at Lakehead University in Ontario, Canada, routinely found and identified fish us amateurs would have overlooked.

We saw lobsters, octupi, Moray eels, shrimp, turtles, and enough colorful Parrotfish to feed a small Japanese village. To my delight, the water was as warm as the kiddie pool, but for more sanitary reasons. Roatan was truly our Isla Bonita, a charming tropical escape. Down here all the fish is happy.

I had my brush with death when we rented mopeds. Hurtling along at up to 60 MPH along pockmarked streets was at once a harrowing and exhilarating experience. If you fell at that speed, the pavement would skin you alive. What Yamaha bike’s lack in safety, they make up for in fuel efficiency: 100 MPG. Of course, if you die, you use less gas too.

While cruising, at moderate speed, out of the island’s one town, Coxen Hole, I noticed a plastic blue ball rolling down a driveway and into my path… mental alarm bells started ringing. Sure enough, a small Honduran boy followed an instant later. I swerved to the right, since he was already far into the street, and narrowly avoided turning us both into road kill.

Finally, to protect my eyes from the many bugs, I had resorted to wearing my Scuba goggles (having lost my sunglasses earlier). This, I regret to inform you, did little for my sex appeal— a Garifuna village was rolling with laughter at my get-up.

Alas, all good things must come to an end, except for Pixar’s absurdly long string of quality movies. Fortunately, Josh and I ended our romantic tryst on an up note: his parental unit put us up in a nice hotel in downtown SF upon our return , which was 45.2 times more luxurious than our “hotel” the previous night in El Poy, Honduras. It was there, while watching the cooking channel, that I learned the three rules of grilling. They are also rules to live by: keep it clean, keep it hot, and keep it lubricated.

CLICK to check out my S. and C. America trip photo album!

At the jungle lodge here, we’ve twice rafted and once junge trekked. The rafting was billed as Class IV-V, which I was excited for never having rafted Class V’s before, but it was a bit disappointing. In terms of what I like to know about a river, the class ratings of difficulty are a crude metric: somewhat ambiguous (dependent upon water levels and assigned by river guides, not an intl organization) and invalid (a nice rapid, if it has a log at the bottom under which someone could get caught and drown, could go from a Class III to a Class IV). Unfortunately water level was low, the guides had assigned generous classes, and much of the classification was for technical danger, not huge waves.

That having been said, it was Josh’s first time, and it was still a rolling good adventure. My grandfather, a Second Lieutenant in WWII, pulled the same man out of the water twice during the war. And I had to do the same thing that day for the Honduran-born, British chap, Jamie, who was also in (and often out of) our boat. See the pictures at the bottom for the 2-meter drop we took. Our landing was less than a perfect 10.

For weeks, I have been congested. But in Copan and here in the jungles near La Ceiba, I’ve had fever and a vicious sore throat. Josh also suffers from a runaway nose; we sound our trumpets early and often. Fortunately, in our last day here, we appear to have turned a corner, which is crucial for our scuba-diving prospects in Roatan, our next destination. Finally, this will surely be the last entry for at least a week, as internet on Roatan is per Satellite only, so slow and expensive. Cheers.

We decided not trek the Inca trail, figuring that Machu Picchu was the true attraction and there were plenty of other places to hike at a much lower cost. Between the cab, train, and bus that we had to take at tourist prices, it was still plenty expensive. But can one really go to Peru without seeing Machu Picchu? I think not.

A group of four of us went: Josh and three Germans (Olaf, Peter, and myself), who we had met at Loki Hostel. Josh and I have been thrilled by the diversity of characters that we have come across in our travels. Many have more adventure in their pinkie then I will have in my entire life, and I would consider myself to be moderately adventurous amongst the crowd that I associate with in the US. Josh and I would do very well playing ¨Never have I ever¨ in the Loki Hostels, but staying there for too long would certainly make us go down quicker in the States. In the picture, the four of us ¨gather energy¨ from the astrological device the Incas fashioned to divine signals from the heavens.