Counterfeit

Son of a bitch.

It was shaping up to be a great day and then the night happened. That's not entirely fair, the night was mostly good but sometimes it takes one thing to put a damper on the entire proceedings.

We played games, had a few drinks, shot the breeze at the residence. Smiles abound. I'll admit I was getting restless as the clock inched closer to midnight because the goal was still to go out. The later it got the later I'd be out and about. Normally, this isn't a problem but I was not in the necessary dexterous shape to spend a second consecutive night carousing until 4 or 5 in the morning. You need training to go on a spree like that.

We made it to the First Floor at probably 12:15. When people in Canada go to the bar that late it makes me shake my head; last call comes at quarter to 2 and the bars close shortly after (some exceptions stay open a bit later). In Beijing, last call is more in the mind of the beholder; you are left to your own devices and limits.

Making it out, I felt better and was ready to have a fun time. Some decent music was playing and it takes me some time, and the right song, to get me moving. The First Floor serves Guinness on draft - 50 RMB (equivalent to 8 Canadian dollars) - and while it's slightly overpriced, I wanted the delicious dark beer to set my mood. I gave the bartender a 100 RMB bill. After a few moments he returned it to me.

"It's fake," he said.

I stared at him, dumbfounded, and scrambled through my wallet to find 50 RMB in smaller bills. Mulling this oddity over I sauntered back to the crew of colleagues that had gathered to dance, cheer, and chat.

The right song came on, causing me to momentarily forget about the counterfeit bill I was apparently peddling. "Don't Stop Me Now" by Queen is one of the best songs I've heard, it brings out the need to sing along and bounce that few others inspire in me. Forget the typical heavy bass dance songs popular in clubs, it's songs like this that really get me going. I am, apparently, a less than energetic person in the eyes of some of my colleagues. I noticed Anthony staring, jaw-dropped, as I bounded and smiled and jumped around like a spastic hyena.

The song ended and I tried to keep the groove in tact, but the beer was gone and the fake money was burning a hole in my pocket. The damndest thing is where I got the money: the bank. I didn't get it mixed in some change from a cabbie (they would never have a reason to give me 100 RMB as change anyway), or food, or anything else. I exchanged some Canadian money earlier in the day as I set up my bank account. I figured since it's a bank that I'd have nothing to worry about; apparently not.

I mentioned the conundrum to a colleague expecting to be greeted with shock and awe.

"Wow, your luck isn't very good this week," she said, referencing earlier in the week when I accidentally swallowed my fake tooth when taking a sip.

According to her, this thing happened last year to another colleague. The bank issued fake money and when she returned to the bank later, they refused to fix it. Makes sense, how could you prove that the bank gave it to you? They would probably look at you like you're trying to pull of some backward scam.

I had another 100 in my pocket and about 25 more in small bills that I intended for the cab later. I gave the 100 to another friend who proceeded to get me a second Guinness. She returned with the beer and my 100. Two counterfeits. I shook my head, graciously accepted her charity beer and stewed in my brewing anger. At this point I should have collected my losses, tucked my tail and return home to lick my wounds and vow to do better next time. Instead, I finished my drink and joined the crowd on its way to Kokomo, a rooftop dance bar down the street from the First Floor.

We danced, and crammed into the crowd near the DJ at the front of the dance floor. I got elbowed in the side, shoved a bit and was generally pressed between five bodies at once. In a different state of mind, and maybe without my heavy leather jacket, I would have been able to have fun. As it was I was mellow and the music and scene was anything but. My friends were all jovial and laughing and dancing, exactly how you should be at such a place of decadent excess, flashing lights and deafening bass. As Cee-Lo Green's catchy "Fuck You" faded, and the sing along ended, I lunged at the hole in the crowd to my right. Standing at the edge of the bar in the only place where I wasn't shoulder to shoulder with a bunch of other people I watched the sweating mass become a singular entity wishing I could merge back into it but my mind was set on dwelling on those rat bastards who gave me fake money. To the streets.

This was the course of some excitement, as I hadn't been left to my own devices to get home yet; I'd always been with others. I tried to take what looked like a shortcut through a shopping area that closes around midnight. A security guard stopped me. While I couldn't understand the words, I knew he wasn't letting me pass through that area. I considered for a moment the excitement that would follow if I were to run into the area and thought better of it. No need to be reckless.

A cab stopped for me and didn't unlock his doors. The cabbie rolled down the window and raised three fingers. After a few seconds of trying to communicate it was clear he wanted 30 RMB for the cab ride. This is absurd by Beijing standards. Even in heavy traffic, it usually costs less than 20 to get to Sanlitun (the district we were in) from our residence. I told him I would only give him 25 (still overpriced, but it was all I could muster). He acquiesced, unlocked the doors and let me in. He didn't set the meter. He ripped me off. But I got home and it wasn't that late, somewhere around 2 AM. Others started coming through the halls around 4 or 5 or maybe 6.

Now to find someone who can tell the counterfeit bills from the real ones and to find a way to fix it.

Grey skies and blue water

From my trip to the art district two weeks ago.

The sky was a haze of grey this morning. For the first time in a week or more the sky lacked any hue of the pure blue we had grown, perhaps foolishly, accustomed to. It felt clean and today felt musty.

Beijing is a city of excessive crowds. It's surprising, though, that I have yet to feel helpless (came close once or twice when trying to communicate with a late night cabbie, but we managed to see eye to eye). It's easy when you're surrounded with people who know the ropes and are willing to show them to you. After a time, though, there must be a point where it becomes a hassle. Possibly not, but I know that I don't want to constantly be in need of piggy backing in order to get where I want to go. In a city this large, where I can be anonymous, I will savour the occasional hour or two of solitude I can muster outside the confines of campus life.

For that's what it is; a campus. It's first year all over again in many respects, only I have an entire apartment to myself; a step up. The communal life is a great social experience. Being in such close confines we are forced to get to know one another quickly. I could slam and lock my door and be a hermit but that would be alienating and no fun.

Solitary time is rare, and that makes it all the more necessary to nab when you can. Saving sleep for the only time you are alone with your thoughts is a dangerous enterprise, you may lose yourself and find a day where up and down are interchangeable. Some may function well in that chaotic landscape of constant stimulation, not I.

I went swimming. We have a pool in our school. I have been planning to abuse its presence since I arrived nearly three weeks ago but have been lazy and/or otherwise preoccupied. In other words: I have not made time for it and instead have sat on my ass on the couch watching Supernatural and telling myself I would swim eventually.

The poolside and the pool itself were empty. I looked around for a lifeguard. I found him in the side office talking on his cell phone and lying down on a cot. He waved me to the pool assuring me it was fine. He got up, walked around the sidelines a bit as I started my laps. I am not a professional swimmer; I barely qualify as amateur it turns out. I was gassed after ten minutes. Four laps in, with several pauses to catch my breath, I looked up expecting to see the clock had gone half an hour. I had, indeed, been in the water ten minutes. Despite being the only one there, I knew I'd feel severe shame and embarrassment if I quit that soon. I pushed, got a second wind, and improved my times by the end.

I don't think the chlorine was especially good for my skinned foot. During the protest, when our school was closed, some teachers had a pick up game of soccer baseball. Something about that game brings out the competitive bull in me. I tried, and succeeded, in stretching a single into a double. I dove head first and the top of my foot skidded on the turf. Returning to the field after the inning I looked down to inspect a sharp pain and the skin on the top of my foot was gone in two places. It's healing thanks to the generous gift of polysporin and band aids from my colleagues.

It was much worse.

Shanghai in a week.

Helicopters make good alarm clocks

I woke up this morning to helicopters and shouting outside my window. The shouting, which grew all day long, was from a group of people in the streets of Beijing protesting the Japanese embassy due to the dispute over ownership of a group of uninhabited islands.

The street is closed to traffic and close to a thousand, if not more, protesters are marching down the street chanting loudly, in unison and in Mandarin.

As the early rumblings took shape this morning, I had to go to the police station to complete my application for a residency permit. Despite the large crowd, and the helicopters circling the sky, it didn't seem serious. When we returned, less than an hour later, the streets were mostly barricaded and our driver had to be creative; he drove through parking lots, alleys and side streets to get us back to campus.

All week, there have been crowds of people near the embassy. It's been growing slowly and today the marching began. We've heard stories of Japanese cars being turned over in random areas, though that has not been confirmed.

We received an email recommending that we stay on campus unless it is an absolute emergency. I went for lunch.

On our way to the restaurant in Solana -- a place seemingly untouched by the demonstrations, though a ghost town today -- we stopped at the bank next door. Standing on the steps outside the bank I watched as the clusters of people marched the street in both directions and in separate lanes. They continued to chant.

A Chinese man who spoke English approached us, seeing us as foreigners, inquired about our thoughts.

"What do you think of the protest?" he asked.

"Well," I started, knowing I needed to choose my words carefully. "As long as no one gets hurt."

"I think it's illegal," he said to me.

I asked him what the marching clusters were chanting.

"They're saying 'fuck Japan' and 'kill the Japanese,'" he said.

I turned around and saw someone walk into the protest crowd with a homemade sign with a rudimentary drawing of the Japanese flag and the words 'fuck Japan' written on it.

This is all happening on my doorstep. We live down the street from the Japanese embassy. The air is heavier today, it has substance and it's not the pollution. It's anger.

Returning from lunch, police in full riot gear had joined the march alongside the people in civilian clothes and the boys on roller blades carrying Chinese flags.

I've been told not to take pictures. Some stories are starting to filter into the media at Reuters and Yahoo so it is getting attention.

It is expected to grow each day. People are saying Tuesday is supposed to be critical mass as thousands of people are predicted to be flooding the streets on the anniversary of the first day of the Mukden Incident that led to Japanese occupation of parts of China.

The story is being written in the streets.

Buses in China and a whole district of art

The sun was shining a little too bright as I rolled out of bed Saturday morning. My first week of teaching in Beijing over, it was time to venture out a little further than the confines of my neighbourhood. I thought it might take some time to fully come around, but I promised Kyle I would meet him at noon.

Kyle and I graduated from journalism school together. He enrolled in education that next fall and, upon completing his degree, came to China in 2010. Knowing Kyle is in Beijing is a comforting notion; he's a familiar, friendly face in a sea of the unknown. I have met some wonderful new friends and colleagues, so this trepidation is quickly evaporating but getting in touch with Kyle was wonderful...especially since he knew where to take us.

We hopped on the bus, first time since arriving, and followed Kyle's lead. The stops are announced over the loudspeaker both in Mandarin and English. It is very English-friendly in my neck of the woods and in most of the areas I've gone to so far. Most menus at restaurants have both languages and usually pictures to accompany the food. It's easiest, at times, just to point at a picture of what you want to order.

The art district in Beijing contains more art galleries than you can count on your hands, and most of them are free. Many are designated by the art's country of origin: Mongolia, Hong Kong, etc. The galleries provide a nice respite from the incredible volume of noise that follows you outside. Beijing, in places, is a loud city. You can't walk more than 20 seconds without hearing a car horn. Once you enter these galleries, the volume level drops and you are left with time for quiet contemplation and beautiful paintings and sculptures from all over.

There was one exception. Gil, one of my fellow teachers who joined us, saw a poster for a gallery for 3D art. I had no understanding of what this would entail, but we went. This place was loud, but it was a happy and boisterous noise; relaxed and fun while the noise outside was usually accompanied with a certain level of stress. The 3D gallery, which was temporary as we arrived on its second-last day, was completely interactive. The paintings appeared to be jumping out of the wall providing visitors the opportunity to enter the art and become a part of the process. It was also the only gallery that allowed photographs, in fact it was encouraged.

Twas beauty killed the beast.

We wandered the streets of the art district for almost four hours checking out shops and more galleries (including one dedicated to North Korean propaganda posters). We had lunch at a cafe that served espresso, smoothies, sandwiches and familiar breakfasts like French toast. Kyle and I chatted about journalism and where our fellow classmates are now and the desire to write that still burns in both of us.

I bought two notebooks at a shop. They will be used.

So I live on the other side of the world now

My view. The turf was just replaced this year apparently.

I landed last night in Beijing. It was raining, which, according to my principal, is rare. He said it hadn't rained since he arrived several weeks ago and during his time here last year it was a similar thing. But here we were, walking around Beijing looking for a place to eat after brief tours of our apartments and facilities -- no time to get changed or cleaned up but hey, I don't mind being a sweatbag werewolf if I'm seeing a new place.

The living room. All those drawers remain empty.

Apparently, the rain kills traffic. The part of the city I'm in was dead quiet. It's not usually like this but the rarity of the rain and people's unwillingness to drive in it makes it seem like a sleepy town. After some wanderings and seeing most restaurants being closed for the night either from their regular hours ending or lack of business due to rain. We ended up in Nashville (on Lucky Street), a Western-styled pub with a five piece band (lead singer is from Malaysia, so I was told) that played strictly classic rock. They opened their set with a pretty sweet rendition of Another Brick in the Wall.

We toured around briefly, seeing the sights that will be much more vibrant in the dry days ahead. It's good to know I'm not going to be without access to precious coffee. There are plenty of cafes around to fill that void.

My apartment is pretty nice. It's got air conditioning, tons of closet and drawer space, and comfortable furniture; more than what I need.

The bedroom. It may take some time to get settled. I was up by 6:30.

As for the flight itself. I was stiff and sore and watched Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol before sleeping off and on. I had a meal advertised as pork and listened to comedy podcasts for the near 14-hour duration. No baggage lost and only slight nausea; I'll call this a win.