Friday night marked the beginning of Spring Festival, the most important holiday of the year. Everyone in China celebrated (and continues to celebrate) as the lunar calendar turned over to the year of the Golden Pig. Spring Festival, which is referred to as Chinese New Year in the states, is a combination of Thanksgiving and New Years and is simply epic. It commences the world’s largest annual human migration, as over one billion people return home, stressing China’s infrastructure for over two weeks. On the night of Spring Festival, people eat only steamed dumplings in order to bring themselves wealth, as dumplings are shaped like the currency used before paper money. People also light fireworks, which is perhaps the most sensational part of Spring Festival. In the past decade in Beijing, fireworks have been outlawed because of a (reasonable) fear of widespread fires. However, last year signaled a change in the policy and rules have been even more relaxed this year. As a result, the days leading up to Spring Festival were loud, as fireworks were exploded throughout the city from when sun went down until about three in the morning.

On the Friday of Spring Festival, I woke up early and decided to find a park well south of Beijing’s subway system. During my wanderings, I encountered some guys setting off fireworks on the side of the road. These fireworks were dangerous – definitely not the kind you could buy in the US. They looked like a fuse attached to the tube of a toilet paper roll. When they lit the fuse, the bottom of the toilet paper roll exploded, sending the other half about thirty feet skyward, where it would explode. I asked them if I could watch, and they insisted that I light one, so I did. They lit me a cigarette, which they were using to set the fireworks off, and gave me one of the perilous toilet paper rolls. I set it down and used the cigarette to light the fuse, which burned extremely fast. I ran away and my firework exploded sideways, sending the other half into the street to explode near the undercarriage of a moving car. They thought this was hilarious and we began the "usual conversation" - I’m American. I’m in China studying Chinese at Jingjimaoyidaxue. Thank you, but I don’t think my Chinese is very good. Yes I’m not entirely white – my mother is Korean (this last part, which is a staple of any conversation I have with Chinese, isn’t true. I’m actually half-Japanese, but I don’t want to deal with Chinese prejudice against Japanese. Though it is relatively minor, I don’t want to encounter any potential problems. I also realized that I can’t say I’m half-Chinese, as it opens the door to a number of other questions that I can’t answer.)

This time, the conversation had a twist – one of the guys asked me if I had eaten. I said I had, but I was still hungry. He thought this was great and told me to follow him. I followed him into one of the foreboding and dirty alleys that open into the minor pedestrian streets. I then followed him into a smaller alley, and then an even smaller one, which turned out to be the courtyard of his family’s home. Everyone was sitting together in one room, surrounding a table filled with food. I sat across from the grisly, unshaven father, who was seated on a bed with his wife, who had curly hair that was dyed red. The family consisted of two sons and two daughters. I had already met the first son and the other son was at the computer, video-chatting on QQ, the most popular messaging service in China. The daughters, who looked like they were about my age, were ordered to bring me a clean bowl and rice. At first, they were confused by my presence, but as I explained they started shoveling food onto my plate. They were all very excited to have a guest, especially since I was American who could understand Chinese. At one point during my meal, they all insisted that I go to the computer, whereupon I provided the family video-evidence of my existence. On the screen were the astonished faces of the friends of the family, all of whom were video chatting. I greeted their gawking friends and then crafted an excuse for leaving, as I didn’t want to overstay my welcome.

I don’t want to further burden this post with the intricacies of the interaction, but it is important to note that this family was anything but rich. I think the son that I had met on the street was a Fuwuyuan, a service person whose job description (and relative pay) is not unlike a movie theatre cleaner in America. This family was definitely on the losing end of China’s growth – the lower end of the economic stratification that is developing. However, it is important to note that, despite their relative poverty, they had a computer with internet service.

After I left the family, I visited a park and then returned to my dorm. That night, at around midnight, some students and I went to the roof of the library to see the fireworks go off around the city. It was amazing – the countdown to midnight was accompanied with a crescendo of sound and light. By the time the clock struck, every apartment building was hosting its own fireworks show. The fireworks themselves were remarkable, as they were much larger than what can be bought in the US. However, what was most amazing was the effect of the ritual - rather than everyone going to one place for public fireworks, each family bought their own to set off at midnight. From our perspective - about 10 stories up and eye level with the explosions - the effect was incredible. Each dark alley and street was erupting, spewing sparks, bangs and flashes into the sky. We eventually gave up futile attempts to take pictures of the transient flashes of light and just appreciated the collective chaos, stopping occasionally to smile and wish each other 春节快了 - Happy New Year.

We stood awestruck for about an hour before the cachophany subsided. At that point, I took out my own personal stash and we went to the street to set them off.

The next day, I went to a few 庙会, or temple festivals. These week-long New Years festivals take place all throughout Beijing. So far, I've only attended two of them, but they're better explained with pictures than with words (especially my words, as evidenced by the previous paragraphs). So, here are some pictures of the festivals. Also included are pictures of my visit to the Yonghe Gong Tibetan Buddhist Lamasary, an analysis of Beijing's walls, and a sad clown:

The Tibetan Lamasary, which was constructed in the 18th century, is one of the few temples that survived the Cultural Revolution. The architecture and decorations are all very Chinese, but they still speak to the influence of Indian art and architecture. Also, all of the dieties, which I was not permitted to photograph, were strange - most were traditional Chinese symbols of power imposed on Indian figures. The result was a dragon with one thousand hands or a many-armed figure copulating with an eight-headed lion. The picture that began this post is of the gateway and this is the main prayer hall.












In Beijing, mostly south of the Forbidden City, are a number of walls that boast of Beijing's preemincence. Few ads decorate these walls, and they seem to be mostly government-sponsered propaganda.











However, behind all of these walls are dilapidated ruins, buildings destroyed by wrecking cranes and underuse. All of these areas will be developed into Western-style apartments and shopping malls, and one hopes that they are only destroying the Soviet-style block buildings rather than the few remaining traditional alleys (胡同) and homes that the Beijing government begrudgingly preserved.





This is the first festival I visited, Longtan Park. It is the largest festival and was extremely crowded. With the exception of the staged "cultural shows," there wasn't much to do except walk through the crowds and buy things.











This is the stage that hosted the cultural show. Not very exciting, but every minority got to show off its funny songs and dance. China has a particular way of dealing with its minorities, which will be addressed later.












Sad clown.



















This is the second festival I went to. It was at the oldest Taoist temple in Beijing - the White Cloud temple. People would wait for 40-50 minutes in order to touch the archway to the temple, which was supposed to bring good luck.















People also waited long in line to touch the symbols of the Chinese Zodiac, which was also supposed to bring luck.












The amount of incense burned was incredible. There were appointed incence handlers and the devoted would light their incense, say prayers, and hand their incense to a monk, who would throw them on a huge pyre. (I didn't feel right taking pictures of this ritual, so all that I photographed is the massive amounts of extinguished incense.) As a result of the incredible amount of incense expended, the temple had a very pleasant fragrance, and I enjoyed it much more than the usual scent of pollution.

Those are people swimming in February. They would flounder out to the ice, touch it, and swim back to pour warm water all over their bodies.

I haven’t written in a while because I haven’t been seeing much of Beijing. Most of my time has been spent studying in my room or fighting off various illnesses. However, last weekend, I decided I had to get out of my funk, so I got on the subway with somewhat vague intentions.

I found my way to the Dongyue Temple, a Taoist temple that managed to survive the Cultural Revolution. The architecture of the temple is traditionally Chinese, so it is very simple - essentially a series of courtyards. Surrounding each of the courtyards are small rooms that, at first glance, look like exhibits at the national history museum. Each of these rooms contain a number of statues of demons, Taoist deities, and people undergoing various tortures. Each room symbolizes a fate that could possibly befall you and the few Chinese present prayed at each of these rooms by lighting incense and bowing. It is not unlike devotionalism to saints prevalent in popular Catholicism.

When I visited, the temple was preparing for Spring Festival, the annual festival that marks the beginning of the new year in the Chinese lunar calendar. Spring Festival’s five days of family fun begins tomorrow, providing me both a break from school and a reason to go out. Beijing’s temples throw fairs that are very highly attended, so my next entry might be more exciting.

After seeing the temple, I again boarded the subway and, after some split decisions and aimless wandering through the streets, found myself at Hou Hai, which is the name for a lake surrounded by touristy sights, enormous bars, and parks. As I walked around the lake, I was provided with numerous opportunities to practice my Chinese as I was nearly continuously approached by bicycle-riding entrepreneurs who wanted me to ride in their bicycle’s carriage to one of Hou Hai’s tourist spots. After about two hours, I completed my lap around the lake and returned to my dorm.

That night and tonight, the first nights I haven't either been sick or busy, were spent going out and meeting people. Like most major cities, Beijing's options for nocturnal debauchery are numerous and varied. As per usual, I've been frequenting small and inexpensive music venues and hipster bars, however the club scene is incredible and somewhat surprising, as it entirely contradicts the stereotype of the hard-working Chinese with an 11o'clock curfew. Last night, I learned to play the Chinese dice drinking game, which earned me both some comfort (albeit chemically induced) with my Chinese as well as a Chinese "girlfriend", which means that some girl has my phone number and is bragging to her friends about how she's going to move to America.

“SARS” masks – Asians wear surgical masks in everyday life, a tendency that has become known in the states as wearing “SARS Masks.” The association between wearing surgical masks and SARS is entirely constructed by the media. When the SARS pandemic began, major television media outlets needed a depiction of the situation in Asia, so they dug into their archives to get videos of people wearing surgical masks while walking through the street. However, this is common practice in Asia for a few reasons:

1. The Dust Cloud – Every Spring in Beijing, there are terrible dust storms so people wear surgical masks to keep themselves from choking on the dust.
2. Pollution – Asia has terrible pollution and people don’t want to always be breathing it in.
3. Cosmetic – Asian women wear surgical masks more often than men. This is because the wind and weather is bad for their skin. In China, there is still an aesthetic of “the more milky white the better”, which is reflected by their commercials and print advertisements. This cosmetic aesthetic is complicated, as they want milky white, but not pale. This explains the popularity of red clothes, another stereotype of the Chinese. Indeed, Chinese people don’t like wearing red because they are communists. They like it because it brings out the color in their cheeks and lips.

I’m sick and I have been in bed all weekend, which is not much fun. I haven’t been talking much to people but instead have been watching bootlegged movies that I bought and trying to lie down.

---

This just in – In a somewhat miraculous turn of events, my health has improved. I was extremely ill, and as I was writing this post even thought that I ought to have taken more precautions against the bird flu.