I've been in China for almost five years. That's a frightening fact in itself. Given that time period, it would be reasonable to expect some changes. Hype provided by both the Chinese government media as well as foreign media suggest that China's current mantra is change: Change for the millions seeking economic upward mobility; change for China's openness (or sometimes lack thereof) to the world; change for the business climate and all the infrastructure that underpins it.
These examples are quite easily seen. Entire neighborhoods are being leveled to make way for leviathans of infrastructure and compositions of sky-sculpture from the trendiest architecture firms. But, five years spent in China reveal that these changes are just more of the same. Perhaps there is a more subtle evolution happening behind the veil of smog and skyscraper-barnacled horizons. The scenery of construction hasn't changed much in five years--recently-built streets experience precious few months of harmony before they are torn up and rebuilt-- but how about the people? Are they also merely static noise--a chaos abstraction--in their hearts, or have they reached new equilibrium points in that time period?
That's not a question I'm not prepared to answer at the moment. I have to ponder more on some of the conversations I've been having with various Chinese.
What I am prepared to talk about are some of the habits and behaviors that I found so fascinating on arrival in China. Habits aren't easy to change--says the computer game addict--and yet I've seen them do so.
NB: I now live in Nanjing, a far more cosmopolitan city than either Lianyungang or Chongqing. Some changes in attitude and dress might be reflections of that quality.
I remember a blog post from my first year in China. I excoriated the fashion-sense to be seen on the streets, and affirmed a (Chinese-American) college classmate's joke about the main external difference between Japanese and Koreans, and Mainland Chinese being the lack of fashion sense demonstrated by the latter. Does this unkind joke still make sense? Not from my observations on the streets of Nanjing in 2010. Perhaps off-brand, quirky Chinese outlets are still selling clothing meant for Martian prostitutes (in 50's B-movies) in the hinterlands, but it is no longer often to be seen in the major cities. It seems the Chinese fashion scene has reached accordance with world fashion in general--even if quirky bits of Chinglish still proclaim themselves from the otherwise sensible clothes.
Spitting. What foreign observer doesn't like to comment on the state of China's saliva, and whether it currently patters down on sidewalks from Harbin to Kashgar? My own observation is that public spitting is still alive and well amongst the country-folk and older generations, but its frequency seems to have greatly decreased--at least here in Nanjing. I only hear the torturing of tonsils followed by a watery 'thwack' about once or twice a week. Public campaigns for 'civilized behaviors' seem to have had an impact.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Monday, October 4, 2010
Ashen Wisps of Hair
In any gathering of young Chinese you are likely to make a surprising observation: many of them, at the ancient ages of 17 or 21, have a significant frosting of white hairs radiating across an otherwise pitch-black scalp. Like the majestic silver-back gorillas, this fashion statement (intended or not) is not without its lining. But it does raise a mystery that I haven't answered to my satisfaction.
Is this a medical condition? Signs of bodily distress from all the pressure that young Chinese endure in the pursuit of good test scores, good college diploma, and a lucrative career? Deficiencies of an important nutrient? Evidence of the pod people? Shampoo chemicals run amok? A reaction to environmental hazards?
Or is this a fashion statement? Many young people--myself included--admire the Sephiroth look. That said, a few hoary strands do not make a pearly mane.
Is this a medical condition? Signs of bodily distress from all the pressure that young Chinese endure in the pursuit of good test scores, good college diploma, and a lucrative career? Deficiencies of an important nutrient? Evidence of the pod people? Shampoo chemicals run amok? A reaction to environmental hazards?
Or is this a fashion statement? Many young people--myself included--admire the Sephiroth look. That said, a few hoary strands do not make a pearly mane.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Wedding on a Budget?
I need some advice on how to conduct a wedding on a budget.
With a prospective move to US, visa/immigration costs for my fiancee, and costs of settling into our chosen destination (Seattle), the prospect of paying for two weddings (one in the US, one in China) has my financial future looking a bit grim. Furthermore, my Chinese in-laws have suggested that the Chinese wedding will cost about 50,000 yuan (about $8,000). While that's not an unreasonable cost for a wedding--a friend recently paid about 10k for her wedding, so she tells me--it may be unreasonable to expect that we can pay for one at that cost and still have money for another wedding. Not to mention, I'd like to keep some of my savings as a buffer/nest-egg for starting the next leg of life with all its various responsibilities and needs.
Unfortunately for me and my bride to be, we're up against a conception of honor, obligation and shame that permeates the bedrock of Chinese culture: "face". Face is the shame inflicted by the eyes of others--never the guilt one inflicts upon oneself--for not living or acting the socially accepted norm. Face is the obligation to succeed and become the envy of others. Face is being calm, collected when staring at calamity or injustice. All these and more. Face, as you might guess, insists that a wedding be a grand one, providing (among other things) a feast 30% more abundant in food than even the most gluttonous guests could possibly consume. While I've been hoping to plan simple and smart, spending at most a couple thousand per wedding, my fiancee's family has been thinking about the envy on their neighbors' faces.
Face has not always been unkind to me. Kiera's family perceived a great gain in face with their neighbors and friends for having caught themselves a foreigner as a future son-in-law. They are kind people, so I doubt they would have mistreated me in any case, but it certainly eased the acceptance of such an alien element into their lives. This conception of face is not without reason, but it does not fit well with an unconventional guy like me in an unconventional situation.
One bit of brightness, although it may sound crass in the extreme: the Chinese do have a tradition of wedding money given to the bride and groom. Some Chinese even manage to gain a net profit from their weddings. Alas, this does not solve my problem. Kiera's extended family and friends are not (by and large) well-to-do, upper-class or upper middle-class Chinese. Her father estimates we might get back about 20K RMB on an outlay of 50K. That still leaves about double the cost I was looking to pay on the Chinese half of my wedding.
Well, strategies for the weddings in general may have to be reformulated, and budget ideas may not translate well to the Chinese ceremony, but I'd nonetheless appreciate any ideas any one of you--out there in cyberspace--might have to share. Do keep in mind that although this blog gets re-posted on Facebook, as well as on Buzz and the blog at Blogspot itself, I'm not often able to get through the Chinese Great Firewall to check FB or Blogspot. Shoot me an email (to my Gmail account) or find me on Google Chat/AIM.
With a prospective move to US, visa/immigration costs for my fiancee, and costs of settling into our chosen destination (Seattle), the prospect of paying for two weddings (one in the US, one in China) has my financial future looking a bit grim. Furthermore, my Chinese in-laws have suggested that the Chinese wedding will cost about 50,000 yuan (about $8,000). While that's not an unreasonable cost for a wedding--a friend recently paid about 10k for her wedding, so she tells me--it may be unreasonable to expect that we can pay for one at that cost and still have money for another wedding. Not to mention, I'd like to keep some of my savings as a buffer/nest-egg for starting the next leg of life with all its various responsibilities and needs.
Unfortunately for me and my bride to be, we're up against a conception of honor, obligation and shame that permeates the bedrock of Chinese culture: "face". Face is the shame inflicted by the eyes of others--never the guilt one inflicts upon oneself--for not living or acting the socially accepted norm. Face is the obligation to succeed and become the envy of others. Face is being calm, collected when staring at calamity or injustice. All these and more. Face, as you might guess, insists that a wedding be a grand one, providing (among other things) a feast 30% more abundant in food than even the most gluttonous guests could possibly consume. While I've been hoping to plan simple and smart, spending at most a couple thousand per wedding, my fiancee's family has been thinking about the envy on their neighbors' faces.
Face has not always been unkind to me. Kiera's family perceived a great gain in face with their neighbors and friends for having caught themselves a foreigner as a future son-in-law. They are kind people, so I doubt they would have mistreated me in any case, but it certainly eased the acceptance of such an alien element into their lives. This conception of face is not without reason, but it does not fit well with an unconventional guy like me in an unconventional situation.
One bit of brightness, although it may sound crass in the extreme: the Chinese do have a tradition of wedding money given to the bride and groom. Some Chinese even manage to gain a net profit from their weddings. Alas, this does not solve my problem. Kiera's extended family and friends are not (by and large) well-to-do, upper-class or upper middle-class Chinese. Her father estimates we might get back about 20K RMB on an outlay of 50K. That still leaves about double the cost I was looking to pay on the Chinese half of my wedding.
Well, strategies for the weddings in general may have to be reformulated, and budget ideas may not translate well to the Chinese ceremony, but I'd nonetheless appreciate any ideas any one of you--out there in cyberspace--might have to share. Do keep in mind that although this blog gets re-posted on Facebook, as well as on Buzz and the blog at Blogspot itself, I'm not often able to get through the Chinese Great Firewall to check FB or Blogspot. Shoot me an email (to my Gmail account) or find me on Google Chat/AIM.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
This Island is... Diaoyutai or Senkaku?
Island disputes in the waters surrounding China seem to be all the rage of late. The Paracel, Spratly, and now the Senkaku/Diaoyutai island chains are being contested by the resource-hungry rising powers of East Asia. Will the world's next naval conflict be fought over these barely-emergent atolls and shoals? I'm beginning to worry that it might, and plan to be long gone from China when that does happen.
The surrounding fisheries might be reason enough to covet these islands--remote outcrops that support few if any humans, and in some cases only the odd goat or a few colonies of seabirds. But like many major conflicts in the world,the natural gas and/or oil below the seafloor seem to be the root of the problem. I doubt that China would see fit to attempt to claim the ENTIRE South China sea if not for the resources supposed to be down there, and I doubt the Chinese and Japanese would spend much time wrestling over the Diaoyu/Senkakus if not for the natural gas fields located squarely where Japan claims (and China disputes) the sea border between their two territories.
These disputes could be solved amicably through negotiations (China has certainly settled disputed borders with almost all of its other neighbors, excluding India), and many observers had thought that such a resolution was well on its way to reality--Japan and China had agreed to jointly exploit the gas reserves along their border. However, lately China has taken a bullying, sometimes petulant, approach. A zero-sum, winner takes all, Neocon approach to diplomacy seems to have taken root in Beijing. Why?
Is it that recent financial turmoil has given China's government a new confidence in its clout? Or, conversely, is this evidence of weakness: that China's central government is now beholden to the whims of a variety of special interest groups--populist, military, and industrial? Opaque in its methods and its considerations, it may be impossible to pinpoint a singular, main reason for the recent aggressiveness of China's foreign policy. Many possible culprits exist.
Chauvinist nationalism has been promoted among the populace to replace the defunct ideals of socialism (with or without Chinese characteristics); in recent years, China has reaped unpredictable dividends from this educational campaign. No longer do top leaders seem to have much leeway in negotiating foreign policy, particularly when it comes to territorial claims or protecting Chinese and Chinese interests overseas. Does it seem odd that an authoritarian government bows to populist pressure at all? Perhaps the politburo feels that giving in to populist pressure on foreign policy issues allows it to ignore demands for domestic reforms.
China's industrial/military complex--like in other major countries--seems to have grown in power and sway as well. Territorial claims (and bordering territories where China's cultural assimilation process is yet weak) certainly come under the remit of military concerns. Unfortunately, some of the top brass seem to have reached their melting points in these recent, relatively peaceful times. Several top generals have weighed in on a variety of border disputes, rarely with anything diplomatic to say, whether or not it aids China's foreign ministry. How much power do they exercise over China's leaders? Again, hard to say, but clearly the CCP can not rule without the aid of the military. As one of my Chinese friends put it: "The moment the army turns on the Communist Party, many of us would be happy to end one-party rule." Consequently, military aggressiveness, like populist chauvinism may be a force that cannot be contained, or as the Chinese might say, a tiger that must be ridden.
Last, industry may also play a large part in the unfolding drama of the barren islands. Steel price negotiations, revaluation of the yuan currency, and China's strategic loans to resource-rich countries have all shown the degree to which China's government and its business establishment have melded into one entity. Fossil fuels to be extracted so close and so cheaply could hardly fail to attract the interest of powerful bureaucrat-businessmen within the state-owned energy companies. I have read that Chinese negotiations to buyout Australian resource extraction company, Rio Tinto, were organized from the office of the premier, Wen Jiabao. Consequently, when Australian governmental and populist unease blocked the negotiations, anger reached to that very same lofty office in the official heirarchy. Retribution shortly followed. Is there a parallel to be seen?
While the Japanese have at last released the Chinese fishing trawler captain, the Chinese are now demanding an apology. An apology for a legal process and relatively quick release that would not have occurred had the shoe been on the other foot? This bodes badly for peace in the seas surrounding China, whether populism, militancy, industrial greed, or diplomatic overconfidence be the cause. I would wish to be neither fish nor trawler in those frought seas.
The surrounding fisheries might be reason enough to covet these islands--remote outcrops that support few if any humans, and in some cases only the odd goat or a few colonies of seabirds. But like many major conflicts in the world,the natural gas and/or oil below the seafloor seem to be the root of the problem. I doubt that China would see fit to attempt to claim the ENTIRE South China sea if not for the resources supposed to be down there, and I doubt the Chinese and Japanese would spend much time wrestling over the Diaoyu/Senkakus if not for the natural gas fields located squarely where Japan claims (and China disputes) the sea border between their two territories.
These disputes could be solved amicably through negotiations (China has certainly settled disputed borders with almost all of its other neighbors, excluding India), and many observers had thought that such a resolution was well on its way to reality--Japan and China had agreed to jointly exploit the gas reserves along their border. However, lately China has taken a bullying, sometimes petulant, approach. A zero-sum, winner takes all, Neocon approach to diplomacy seems to have taken root in Beijing. Why?
Is it that recent financial turmoil has given China's government a new confidence in its clout? Or, conversely, is this evidence of weakness: that China's central government is now beholden to the whims of a variety of special interest groups--populist, military, and industrial? Opaque in its methods and its considerations, it may be impossible to pinpoint a singular, main reason for the recent aggressiveness of China's foreign policy. Many possible culprits exist.
Chauvinist nationalism has been promoted among the populace to replace the defunct ideals of socialism (with or without Chinese characteristics); in recent years, China has reaped unpredictable dividends from this educational campaign. No longer do top leaders seem to have much leeway in negotiating foreign policy, particularly when it comes to territorial claims or protecting Chinese and Chinese interests overseas. Does it seem odd that an authoritarian government bows to populist pressure at all? Perhaps the politburo feels that giving in to populist pressure on foreign policy issues allows it to ignore demands for domestic reforms.
China's industrial/military complex--like in other major countries--seems to have grown in power and sway as well. Territorial claims (and bordering territories where China's cultural assimilation process is yet weak) certainly come under the remit of military concerns. Unfortunately, some of the top brass seem to have reached their melting points in these recent, relatively peaceful times. Several top generals have weighed in on a variety of border disputes, rarely with anything diplomatic to say, whether or not it aids China's foreign ministry. How much power do they exercise over China's leaders? Again, hard to say, but clearly the CCP can not rule without the aid of the military. As one of my Chinese friends put it: "The moment the army turns on the Communist Party, many of us would be happy to end one-party rule." Consequently, military aggressiveness, like populist chauvinism may be a force that cannot be contained, or as the Chinese might say, a tiger that must be ridden.
Last, industry may also play a large part in the unfolding drama of the barren islands. Steel price negotiations, revaluation of the yuan currency, and China's strategic loans to resource-rich countries have all shown the degree to which China's government and its business establishment have melded into one entity. Fossil fuels to be extracted so close and so cheaply could hardly fail to attract the interest of powerful bureaucrat-businessmen within the state-owned energy companies. I have read that Chinese negotiations to buyout Australian resource extraction company, Rio Tinto, were organized from the office of the premier, Wen Jiabao. Consequently, when Australian governmental and populist unease blocked the negotiations, anger reached to that very same lofty office in the official heirarchy. Retribution shortly followed. Is there a parallel to be seen?
While the Japanese have at last released the Chinese fishing trawler captain, the Chinese are now demanding an apology. An apology for a legal process and relatively quick release that would not have occurred had the shoe been on the other foot? This bodes badly for peace in the seas surrounding China, whether populism, militancy, industrial greed, or diplomatic overconfidence be the cause. I would wish to be neither fish nor trawler in those frought seas.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Concerns in a New Semester
A new semester and a new school. Both seem to be going well, thus far.
Pros: Motivated students well-qualified to take the IELTS exam; a computer with a printer (although the computer seems to be the exact same one I had about 10 years ago, back in the states); housing in a nice hi-rise condo in downtown Nanjing.
Cons: The campus is huge, and my oral English classes--and office--are on the exact opposite side of it from my IELTS writing classes; my direct boss (of the foreign study program) seems to be the penny-pinching, more concerned with cutting costs on foreign teacher maintenance than on taking care of those particular charges; my office is a barren shell of a room in a building where the paint flakes from the walls like a grove of birch trees.
Other current concerns:
> Starting the process to obtain a fiancee visa for my fiancee. The outright costs look to be about $1500, not including medical exams, translation fees and suchlike. Yikes.
> I wrote (or adapted) a few nursery rhymes for Kiera's kindergarten classes. One of the kid's parents happens to work in publishing. They have an idea to publish a book of English-language nursery rhymes adapted where necessary to make the language easier for 5-year old Chinese kids to learn. They want to hire me to write/re-write the nursery rhymes. This idea has a lot of profit potential, apparently. The parent/publisher gave Kiera a 500 yuan "Teacher's Day gift" on her phone--both a practicality for future business calls and a standard Chinese method for obtaining guanxi (influence) in order to reserve Kiera's (and my) services. The parent has also suggested that the book would include some mention of the school where Kiera works. Great advertising opportunity for the school--the boss is thrilled--and a great way for the publisher to work out any problems with Kiera's main employer before they develop.
> Preparing for and looking for a proper career-type job in the States. Seattle, specifically. In order for the Fiancee visa (and then Green Card) to be issued, I have to have an income of $10,000, then $17,000 a year in order to prove I can support my new bride. So, despite having saved up a small nest egg, the job issue is a crucial one. Great timing to be looking for a job, also, right? But despite all the doom and gloom in US news reports and the perceptions of the middle and lower classes, I have a lot of faith in the economy of my home country. Jobs do exist, for people with skills, talent, and the willingness to take on less-than-perfect work as a stepping stone. I believe that, and I hope my belief is not misplaced, because now all our plans are riding on it.
Pros: Motivated students well-qualified to take the IELTS exam; a computer with a printer (although the computer seems to be the exact same one I had about 10 years ago, back in the states); housing in a nice hi-rise condo in downtown Nanjing.
Cons: The campus is huge, and my oral English classes--and office--are on the exact opposite side of it from my IELTS writing classes; my direct boss (of the foreign study program) seems to be the penny-pinching, more concerned with cutting costs on foreign teacher maintenance than on taking care of those particular charges; my office is a barren shell of a room in a building where the paint flakes from the walls like a grove of birch trees.
Other current concerns:
> Starting the process to obtain a fiancee visa for my fiancee. The outright costs look to be about $1500, not including medical exams, translation fees and suchlike. Yikes.
> I wrote (or adapted) a few nursery rhymes for Kiera's kindergarten classes. One of the kid's parents happens to work in publishing. They have an idea to publish a book of English-language nursery rhymes adapted where necessary to make the language easier for 5-year old Chinese kids to learn. They want to hire me to write/re-write the nursery rhymes. This idea has a lot of profit potential, apparently. The parent/publisher gave Kiera a 500 yuan "Teacher's Day gift" on her phone--both a practicality for future business calls and a standard Chinese method for obtaining guanxi (influence) in order to reserve Kiera's (and my) services. The parent has also suggested that the book would include some mention of the school where Kiera works. Great advertising opportunity for the school--the boss is thrilled--and a great way for the publisher to work out any problems with Kiera's main employer before they develop.
> Preparing for and looking for a proper career-type job in the States. Seattle, specifically. In order for the Fiancee visa (and then Green Card) to be issued, I have to have an income of $10,000, then $17,000 a year in order to prove I can support my new bride. So, despite having saved up a small nest egg, the job issue is a crucial one. Great timing to be looking for a job, also, right? But despite all the doom and gloom in US news reports and the perceptions of the middle and lower classes, I have a lot of faith in the economy of my home country. Jobs do exist, for people with skills, talent, and the willingness to take on less-than-perfect work as a stepping stone. I believe that, and I hope my belief is not misplaced, because now all our plans are riding on it.
Friday, July 23, 2010
Problems, always problems
There's just no relenting by the forces of Murphy's Law. It turns out that the Foreign Affairs Officer at my previous school booked me for the wrong visa. This whole year I have been incorrectly and illegally working while on a 'student' residence permit. I have no idea how she even finagled this, but we're guessing she did so because the student residence permit might be cheaper, and she can just pocket the difference. Well, she seems to be out of town (or just not answering her phone, which would be just like her-eternal-laziness), and my visa runs out on the 31st of July. So even assuming that I don't get kicked out of China about one week from now, my travel plans for the month of August might have just gotten kicked in the teeth. I have to have my residence permit thing worked out so that I can take my passport with me while traveling in China (needed for checking in at almost all hotels and hostels--just the ones that aren't technically allowed to house foreigners will keep you off the books, and thus not need to see passports).
BAH!
BAH!
My Burmese Days (5): Pilgrims of the Golden Rock
My previous missive (over a month ago!) left us on the shoulder of a highway several hours north of Yangon. The time is about 3:00 AM. A large pig roots through darkness in the ditch below the highway. Several Burmese are seated with us on flimsy plastic stools. My plan is to flag down a bus heading to Kyaiktiyo (pronounced: jike-tee-o), the place of the holy, golden rock poised at the brink of a mountaintop. The fellows seated nearby have other suggestions. A pickup--much like the "jeepneys" of the Philippines--hurtles from the dark, and in we jump. Cold wind whistles through the interstice of our clothing, and we huddle with little old ladies, their baskets of fresh-picked roses ( the fragrance a presence as well), and a rack of gas tanks warning us not to smoke. An old woman sat smoking towards the back, sandals hanging off into oblivion. Forty minutes on, Kiera and I are passed on to another pickup like batons in a relay race. And we do race on, the dawn sneaking towards us as we do. Our new coach is laden with sugarcane, and my knees are scrunched up at eye level in order to accommodate it. Kiera is none too happy, either. A fourteen hour bus ride and then this? And I do not even know if this will be our final truck in the journey towards the golden rock. It isn't.
Day 8
Passed on again, an ancient lady--squished against Kiera--belches constantly and the surreal, serene pre-dawn blue infiltrates our muddle. No one speaks a word of English. Minority women, most likely Mon or Karen chatter on in their own languages, and the need for a bathroom break makes itself known at this least convenient of moments. I can't find the correct translation in my guidebook, and my garbled Burmese enlightens no one. We arrive in the village of Kinpu around 9 or 10 AM.
Kinpu is a quiet village resting at the base of the mountain ridge where the golden rock, Kyaiktiyo, perches. Jungle canopy shades the motley wooden assortment. The town is named for a arboreal seed pod that yields the natural shampoo that helps keep many a Burmese coiffure glossy and black. Oddly enough, the subject of hair brings us back to the object of our quest: Kyaiktiyo.
The golden rock was not always golden, one must guess, and neither did it always perch precariously on its aerie, gazing at the distant sea. The perfect balance of this cottage-sized rock upon the edge of the abyss is aided by the presence of one of Buddha's hairs somewhere beneath its bulk. And how did this wondrous rock get to where it is now? It was floated there, of course, on a flying ship captained by an alchemist prince of yore, from its origins in the depths of the ocean. No one seems to know exactly why the stone was brought from seabed to mountaintop, the logic lost to the mists of time. Now an object of pilgrimage, we see how the animist traditions live on within the folds of Burmese Buddhist tradition. Worshipers of the rock ascend the mountain and daub it in eternal layers of gold leaf, and where is Buddha to be found in all this fuss?
Regardless of the compromised theology behind it, I respected Kyaiktiyo. First, like all good pilgrimages, sweat and tears and a bit of sacrifice had brought us here. Fears and a little bit of fury. Through an all-night odyssey of cramped conveyances and a final, steep ascent, we had moved towards this lodestone. I'm still not sure if this stop on our journey through Myanmar felt predestined for Kiera, but for me it did. Ten years previous, I had sat in a Barnes & Noble bookstore, absorbed by photography and a description of Kyaiktiyo. Buddhist I may not be, but this had been an actual pilgrimage for me.
Marbled paving, heated by the afternoon sun and slick with the wax left by evening pilgrims, caps the final few hundred meters of ridge approaching the rock itself. Young monks in crimson robes stand beside us on the quieter, inland side of the plaza. Lands disputed by minority militias race away towards the Thai border. A helipad plasters a knob of ground closer below us. Tourists gravitate to the seaward side and its golden glint. A small pagoda rides the back of the rock like a barnacle on the shell of a sea turtle. Men are allowed across a short bridge that guards the rock itself. There they prostrate and wrestle little square tabs of sticky gold leaf onto the available surface of the Kyaiktiyo. Wisps of fugitive gold leaf flutter in the turbulent winds that wash across the face of the rock, and off into the abyss beyond it. Semi-detached bits curl in the wind like the fluff of a newborn chick. The hair and clothes of the pilgrims is speckled with wealth.
A mere hop away, a terrace projects. Women are allowed to worship the rock from there, or from a desk that extends down the cliff face beneath the rock. God forbid the men behind and above should accidentally shift the rock with all their fervent daubing, down upon the bent heads of the women worshiping below.
I cross the bridge and tamp down some gold. On closer inspection, the surface within range of pilgrims' hands bulges and undulates with accumulation. The brilliance of the gold here is blackened with the grime of a million imploring fingers and the natural shampoo of a million bowed heads.
Day 9
Down the coast to Mawlamyine (Ma-lee-myen) where George Orwell was once stationed. We're in the long, thin tentacle of Myanmar that gropes its way south between Thailand and the Andaman Sea. Much of this region is off-limits to tourism, particularly in the mountainous territory inland. Bombings and incidents between the national army and armed minority militias are not unknown in these parts. That said, the trip is uneventful. A thousand palm trees nod assent in the drowsy tropical breeze. Kiera has never been to the ocean, and we hoped to find a beach where she can make that acquaintance. What we found, however, were reedy mudflats and a romantic city sleeping by the sea.
Approaching Mawlamyine, a great bridge crosses the mouth of the Salween River (now called the Thanlwin). Both north and south of the river, a ridge accompanies the highway and backdrops the city. Spines of numerous golden paya erupt from its backbone. The bridge crosses above Shampoo Island, so called due to the hair-washing rites that ancient royalty took part in. The city itself is decaying grandeur: teal mosques and high-peaked temples of teak are lost among ravenous, long-limbed banyans.
Arriving hungry, we set out to find what seafood delicacies were to be found. What we found, however, was a local marriage ceremony for a young ethnic Indian couple. Two of the guests (a Burmese and his ethnic Chinese wife) invited us upstairs from our chosen restaurant where we supped on caramel ice cream and met the happy couple. This was probably about the thousandth happy accident I've experienced while traveling. My advice? Forget cast-iron plans and let the accidents happen. Given the language gap, we could have easily refused to be beckoned upstairs.
Day 8
Passed on again, an ancient lady--squished against Kiera--belches constantly and the surreal, serene pre-dawn blue infiltrates our muddle. No one speaks a word of English. Minority women, most likely Mon or Karen chatter on in their own languages, and the need for a bathroom break makes itself known at this least convenient of moments. I can't find the correct translation in my guidebook, and my garbled Burmese enlightens no one. We arrive in the village of Kinpu around 9 or 10 AM.
Kinpu is a quiet village resting at the base of the mountain ridge where the golden rock, Kyaiktiyo, perches. Jungle canopy shades the motley wooden assortment. The town is named for a arboreal seed pod that yields the natural shampoo that helps keep many a Burmese coiffure glossy and black. Oddly enough, the subject of hair brings us back to the object of our quest: Kyaiktiyo.
The golden rock was not always golden, one must guess, and neither did it always perch precariously on its aerie, gazing at the distant sea. The perfect balance of this cottage-sized rock upon the edge of the abyss is aided by the presence of one of Buddha's hairs somewhere beneath its bulk. And how did this wondrous rock get to where it is now? It was floated there, of course, on a flying ship captained by an alchemist prince of yore, from its origins in the depths of the ocean. No one seems to know exactly why the stone was brought from seabed to mountaintop, the logic lost to the mists of time. Now an object of pilgrimage, we see how the animist traditions live on within the folds of Burmese Buddhist tradition. Worshipers of the rock ascend the mountain and daub it in eternal layers of gold leaf, and where is Buddha to be found in all this fuss?
Regardless of the compromised theology behind it, I respected Kyaiktiyo. First, like all good pilgrimages, sweat and tears and a bit of sacrifice had brought us here. Fears and a little bit of fury. Through an all-night odyssey of cramped conveyances and a final, steep ascent, we had moved towards this lodestone. I'm still not sure if this stop on our journey through Myanmar felt predestined for Kiera, but for me it did. Ten years previous, I had sat in a Barnes & Noble bookstore, absorbed by photography and a description of Kyaiktiyo. Buddhist I may not be, but this had been an actual pilgrimage for me.
Marbled paving, heated by the afternoon sun and slick with the wax left by evening pilgrims, caps the final few hundred meters of ridge approaching the rock itself. Young monks in crimson robes stand beside us on the quieter, inland side of the plaza. Lands disputed by minority militias race away towards the Thai border. A helipad plasters a knob of ground closer below us. Tourists gravitate to the seaward side and its golden glint. A small pagoda rides the back of the rock like a barnacle on the shell of a sea turtle. Men are allowed across a short bridge that guards the rock itself. There they prostrate and wrestle little square tabs of sticky gold leaf onto the available surface of the Kyaiktiyo. Wisps of fugitive gold leaf flutter in the turbulent winds that wash across the face of the rock, and off into the abyss beyond it. Semi-detached bits curl in the wind like the fluff of a newborn chick. The hair and clothes of the pilgrims is speckled with wealth.
A mere hop away, a terrace projects. Women are allowed to worship the rock from there, or from a desk that extends down the cliff face beneath the rock. God forbid the men behind and above should accidentally shift the rock with all their fervent daubing, down upon the bent heads of the women worshiping below.
I cross the bridge and tamp down some gold. On closer inspection, the surface within range of pilgrims' hands bulges and undulates with accumulation. The brilliance of the gold here is blackened with the grime of a million imploring fingers and the natural shampoo of a million bowed heads.
Day 9
Down the coast to Mawlamyine (Ma-lee-myen) where George Orwell was once stationed. We're in the long, thin tentacle of Myanmar that gropes its way south between Thailand and the Andaman Sea. Much of this region is off-limits to tourism, particularly in the mountainous territory inland. Bombings and incidents between the national army and armed minority militias are not unknown in these parts. That said, the trip is uneventful. A thousand palm trees nod assent in the drowsy tropical breeze. Kiera has never been to the ocean, and we hoped to find a beach where she can make that acquaintance. What we found, however, were reedy mudflats and a romantic city sleeping by the sea.
Approaching Mawlamyine, a great bridge crosses the mouth of the Salween River (now called the Thanlwin). Both north and south of the river, a ridge accompanies the highway and backdrops the city. Spines of numerous golden paya erupt from its backbone. The bridge crosses above Shampoo Island, so called due to the hair-washing rites that ancient royalty took part in. The city itself is decaying grandeur: teal mosques and high-peaked temples of teak are lost among ravenous, long-limbed banyans.
Arriving hungry, we set out to find what seafood delicacies were to be found. What we found, however, was a local marriage ceremony for a young ethnic Indian couple. Two of the guests (a Burmese and his ethnic Chinese wife) invited us upstairs from our chosen restaurant where we supped on caramel ice cream and met the happy couple. This was probably about the thousandth happy accident I've experienced while traveling. My advice? Forget cast-iron plans and let the accidents happen. Given the language gap, we could have easily refused to be beckoned upstairs.
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