Notes From Xi'an 西安随感

10/10. In that greyish space in the top left of the picture you should be able to see three of the tallest buildings in the ming de men area. Not today. 11/10. That was yesterday. My zest for life took another battering this morning after waking to the sound of a good old-fashioned downpour adding itself to the already incomprehensibly gloomy mix. "Yes, we can."

13/10. "Oh yes, we can!"

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Part I.

Before I take a summer sabbatical from life in Xi’an, and from checking into the world wide web, I will throw out a thought on Xi’an that has been nagging at me for a while.

The system here in China where cities are tiered in terms of their level of economic development has never been one I have liked. I have always felt that this system of stratification has sounded insulting, with the comparison it unnaturally makes between first, second, and third tier cities. (And, yes I do understand the reasoning behind the classifications.) Cities such as Xi’an, that are not first tier, are by categorisation inferior.

Xi’an was, in my opinion, always more than just an adjunct to those Chinese metropolises out East; it was a city with its own nature, its own identity and its own pace of life. Classifying Xi’an as second tier was always to say that it wasn’t quite what it could be, that it lacked something, the special something that would make it first tier.

Which, based on certain criteria, was greater economic development, with high levels of investment, a modern transport infrastructure, and so-called improved standards of living. But, in many ways Xi’an didn’t lack anything, it wasn’t nearly or not nearly something else, it was what it was and it was different to those first tier cities, and from my perspective better for it.

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[updated Jan. 2012] Reading and listening to so many negative, one-sided, manipulative, smug and condescending voices on things China recently (and they were just my own!), I feel like simply writing a brief note reminding myself of why I like living in Xi’an.

First and foremost, I like the people that surround me on a day-to-day basis, the Xi’anese. They are a matter-of-fact bunch, a straightforward lot, and a generally supportive and friendly collection of people. I generalise on the basis of the impressions that have been planted within me during the last three [5] years. I like Xi’an, I like the people and I like living here. [although there is too much traffic now and too many shopping malls] We of course must take into account the fact I am a Laowai (老外) and thus I am treated, generally, with a slightly friendlier and more helpful hand than some members of the Chinese community might experience. Though, this may also depend on the extent of each individual Laowai’s forbearance in the face of things China and Chinese. (more…)

We are gathered here today to mark the passing of James. D. Lloyd (aka. Jimmy-Lad or 罗玄德) into the afterlife. This is not though the afterlife that some of you maybe thinking of. No, this is not a pathway towards the showering light of heaven but a passing, from the light to the dark, from the glowing streets of Xi’an to the darkest depths of Bolton, England. This is the after-Xi’an-life. After four years in this little planetary oasis of peace and tranquillity, James and his ever present companion 朱宇 (aka. Flora or Big F), have decided to head towards the fresh green pastures of northern England.

James will be missed by all those who have walked Side-by-Side with him over these last few years. There were those students at Aston English School who were delighted to find playground capers had made their way into the classroom. As well as those who initially had faces of sadness, who only wanted to learn vocabulary and grammar the way they knew best, by having it beaten and drilled remorselessly into them, but who were later surprised to realise they were actually learning English and that it was exciting and fun doing so. Even if some did find themselves unwittingly saddled with the names of Bolton FC players, none more afflicted than a 10 year old boy I discovered one day with the name Jussi Jaaskelainen, after the great Bolton shot stopper. (more…)

Xi’an, Xi’an, Xi’an!

I liked it when I first arrived and I like it now. We can complain about this and that, I probably do, I certainly have, but I enjoy living here. I read somewhere recently someone bemoaning the lack of running opportunities here in Xi’an, or more specifically, the negatives about actually putting foot to tarmac in this fair city. They are, for sure, not far wrong in their appraisal; however, air pollution or not, regular bike riding and somewhat irregular running have allowed me to run up the 4 flights of stairs to my flat without a breath out of place and that’s not something I’ve always been able to do. I will now of course, after making such a statement, contract one horrible lung infection or other but hey ho! It is, a little, like riding these motorbike taxis here; I like them, I like it, it feels great but it could of course be the death of me. I will live that chance, so to speak. ps. If you’ve never hung out or been for a run at Shi Da’s campus/running track, it comes recommended. (more…)

Xi’an. Modern City, city of the ancients, city of technology, science and education, city of a city wall, city of the Buddha’s finger, city of Emperors, city of conquest, city of contradiction.

An ancient city of culture without culture, a contemporary culture sublimating a culture, a city finding balance in a future culture. The bright lights of a night city pagoda’s entertainment mall, wide freeways and san lun ches (三轮车s). Warmth, hospitality, overpricing, free drinks, lao wai (老外), differences and not a few similarities. Simplicity, clarity, haziness and pollution. Sixty in a class, extra curricula classes, never enough classes, I like my classes, I like my classmates, I like my school, I like my country. My country likes me.

River people, widowed people, homeless people, newly-housed people, proud people, loud people, peaceful people, people of a time, people of a place. Xi’an’s people. Silent people, singing people, walled-in people, self-determined people, educated people, un-educated people, realistic people, hopeful people. Different people.

Free will, no will. Expansion, development, disrepair, has been repaired, still needs to be repaired. Newly built, not really built, needs to be rebuilt. Does matter, doesn’t matter. What matters? Food matters. This food, that food, what food, whose food? Our food. Have much, don’t have much, don’t want much, want what I haven’t got, got what I haven’t got. Warriors, borrowers, investors, debtors, jokers, jesters, trustees, trust hers, trust whose? Winning smiles, legs for miles, public trials and McDonalds selling  freedom fries.

Working life, lived life, living life, life of the past, life of the present, I like life. Xi’an’s life. Xi’an’s people. Zhong Lou, Nan Da Jie, Xiao Zhai, Bai Hui, Gao Xin, Chang’ An Lu. Happy people, sad people, living people. Xi’an’s people. We are those people.

The week that was, began when I was woken by an incoming text message to my girlfriends phone, while she still lay sleeping. The message from a friend of hers relayed the news that we should be careful of fellow bus passengers armed with needles, needles that carry a deadly strain of some unpleasant and potentially life threatening virus. The post-conversation, with my then awoken girlfriend, turned to talk of safety, bomb threats, Xin Jiang people, H1N1 flu and the general worries of modern life in China.

It was too much for me, I got up, went for breakfast at the Xin Jiang restaurant down stairs, took a rush hour bus into town and then took one straight back, attempted to hurdle the fence into the quarantined Art School, though failing due to a somewhat large security cordon, rather than any lack of hurdling prowess on my part. I then returned home to begin my week as if nothing had happened by going to work.

 Ok, I didn’t do any of the above but for quite different reasons. I didn’t eat at the Xin Jiang restaurant because that is something never done, a matter of principal rather than taste, based on the fact that the pick pockets on my street are all from the Xin Jiang community and well known by the restauranters.  (For those that may worry about the racism in such a statement, there is none to be found, it is based on 3 years of living on Yang Jia Cun and observing the proficiency they have in their chosen field). Secondly, I didn’t take the buses as it was most unnecessary at such an unearthly hour, though later in the week I did. Thirdly, I didn’t hurdle the Art School gate but did discover later in the week that the Art School had been quarantined and consequently the Art School Café closed. At which point, a friend and I headed back to Sculpting in Time Cafe, where we were greeted by a local friend of mine telling us to be careful, as there were people on buses carrying deadly needles dipped in poison. The week seemed to be ending as it had begun.

 As it was, the rain also continued falling most of the week but by the week end my girlfriend and I found ourselves in the pleasant garden surrounds of Qing Long Temple and not beneath the dark urban skies of down town Xi’an. Gardens in the rain are always calming peaceful places, they are even more so in China when the usual masses refuse to go out.

With the issues of the week still circling in my head I did comment, as we rode the 19 bus from Shi Da University to the temple, that there didn’t seem many people on the bus. My girlfriend pointed out however, in her matter-of-obvious fact manner, that it is the weekend (stupid!) and no matter where you are and what’s going on, people don’t rush out of bed and onto the buses at the weekend, especially when it’s raining. The old 221 back to the Bell Tower  was reassuringly packed. All well there then.

What is it that makes people so self-concerned and so blinkered to the consequences of their actions? I don’t know but check out any road junction here in Xi’an and you’ll see the consequences. I have arrived back in Xi’an to discover that the road maintenance work on Chang An Nan Lu has nearly been completed. There is however a small stretch that remains without road markings and that includes a small side road junction with traffic lights still not turned on, the road at this point has space for about six lanes. I was stuck in an almighty traffic jam this week realising that though we were in the third (outside) lane going south, the three lanes further over were also going south, to put it another way all six lanes of traffic were going in the same direction! I thought for a second whether there was anywhere the oncoming traffic may have been re-routed to but realised there wasn’t, simply the cars behind had grown impatient and dived for the space to their left.

Now we were waiting as all six lanes of traffic funnelled back into one lane. The oncoming traffic was obviously causing a blockhead further down the road but because they in turn had become frustrated, buses and lorries had crossed over and were heading north on our side of the road. The situation then being: six lanes of traffic heading south, being met at some point by three lanes heading north, correctly on their side of the road, and two lanes of traffic heading north on our side of the road. This left one lane for all of our six lanes to funnel back into.

Needless to say, a journey that at that time of the day usually takes about one minute, took close to forty-five minutes. A couple of days later I was at the same junction on my bike and was faced with vehicles that were pointing as if to every point on a compass, in a vehicular state not dissimilar to one of Mr. Pollock’s most random of paintings. I actually tried to help out a bit, holding back a line of traffic for a minute to let two buses that were sitting perpendicular to a line of traffic pass through. However, no sooner had they moved out the way when three cars appeared on the wrong side of the road facing the line now freed by the departed buses, freedom was here a fleeting thing and only felt, not actually realized. I cycled off down the road.

I will finish this note with the observation that this kind of thing is not uncommon on the roads here, not always on this scale but scale is itself relative to circumstance- meaning: road junctions here are often a baffling, exceptionally frustrating, crazy mess of the most incomprehensible congestion, whether made of many or just a few vehicles. However, the majority involved do tend to stay remarkably calm and that I suppose, amongst the things that aren’t, is to their credit.

A return to Xi’an fraught with expectations and fear…, well may be I exaggerate a little, it was though a little intriguing to see how I was to find life here, having spent the longest period away for a few years. Being transported from down town London, by way of cars, aeroplanes, transit trains and buses, to the less salubrious environment of Yang Jia Cun, where I have lived for nearly 3 years (see below), was a little of a shock. Being surrounded again by the Chinese and particularly the street traders of the Cun didn’t sit so surely with my recently modelled arrogance and city street bravado of central London life: “ What am I doing here?”  I thought to myself.

However, within about a day the joys of life in Xi’an sunk in or at least some of the joys that I recognise did. The two most important being the openness with which the Chinese communicate with one another and that the reality of life for so many here quashes any pretension I had for an ambitious path within the school of bravado and arrogance- though of course some friends may disagree on that point!

So, whether it is observing a couple crouched at the roads edge chatting, workers animatedly passing the day together, pedestrians on the street spotting a friend or a brother in arms and sharing their delight in short sharp bursts of conversation and laughter, Xi’an is an uplifting place to be within. Secondly, having been amongst the metropolitan elite of London and the home county bourgeoisie of Surrey for a couple of months and having consumed a little of that finer air, I was momentarily somewhat laid off balance by the ‘in your face’ squalor of some parts of this fair city, that I now dwell within.

However, it does not take long for this very reality and the awareness of my own good fortune within this society to stop that arrogance dead in its tracks and immediately replace it with, if not a quite debilitating humility, certainly something of the sort. I am back in Xi’an, it may not be forever but while I am here I am probably learning more than I am aware of and certainly more than I can, at present, fully articulate.   

I woke slowly and with sleep still in my eyes peered out through our new ‘dust-net’. I was soon aware that an inch-thick layer of lunar-like dust had again settled and completely covered the bedroom. I carefully rose from the bed, shaking a thin layer of dust from my hair, that troublingly had managed to find a path inside the net. My girlfriend still lay sleeping peacefully.

I padded through into the living room, creating a clearing trail of footprints as I went. I quickly realized, as I slipped headlong into a three foot high pile of dust, that I had left the window open overnight. We recently however had a nifty new particle-vacuum installed, patented here in Xi’an’s very own High Tech Zone. It is positioned beneath the air-conditioner on the wall. I placed the blue mask that came with it over my mouth and turned it on.

It is a quite wonderful contraption, quietly going about its duties, or rather its single duty: the silent and speedy removal of these pesky white particles as I watch. I am not entirely sure how it works, though water has something to do with it, but it does remarkably manage to distinguish the dust from all the other bits and pieces scattered around the house. Within moments it had syphoned the house clear. I had not enquired, nor had I wished to, about where all this stuff goes to. I did hear, though, that it is trucked up to Taiyuan in Shanxi and loaded onto transporter spacecraft and exported to the moon. All part of China’s New Greener Earth space programme. But, I am not sure.

I was no sooner out of the flat and off to work when I found myself falling footlong into a huge hole in the road: “That wasn’t there yesterday,” I had thought to myself as I descended into the pit. Upon landing and while scrambling to my feet I had looked up to see a couple of friendly Chinese faces peering down at me, they muttered the comforting words “Lao Wai” (foreigner) before continuing on their way.

Once I had clambered out and continued on, I happily consoled myself with the fact that this huge hole outside my home was probably part of Xi’an’s subway construction process, now, so I am also told, visible from space. I hope that in time I may well be allowed a more sedate way of descending into the same place, an electric escalator carrying me from the entrance of my apartment to the underground platform below.

This thought made me think of those moving walkway things that you get in airports, so good for a bit of induced urgency and the correlating sense of being important: “I am a world traveler with countries to go and people to see”. I like those things. To think we could have one here on Yang Jia Cun was quite a great thought and left me feeling rather positive about the day ahead.

When I got to the crossroads, and after looking left and right, I calmly approached the mass of entwined vehicles in front of me. Nonchalantly, I clambered over the bonnet of the first car, squeezed agilely in front of a bus, stepped over the rear saddle of an electric moped, which was sandwiched between two taxis, apologizing as I did so, ducked under an open lorry door and made it to the other side of the road. I turned momentarily to observe again the interwoven pattern of vehicles at the junction of my road, before continuing on my way to work.

I was planning to write a note here not just about Xi’an but more importantly about the Xi’anese, as it is really the life of the people here that makes it a great place to live. I will however begin with a less than glorious portrayal of a Xi’anese person I came across during the first few months of being here. At the time, it was a little frustrating, verging on amazing but was subsequently quite amusing. Consequently, the story has stuck with me.

I was with my girlfriend lost in one of these vast furniture warehouses they have here in Xi’an. For those that do not know that here in China if you wish to buy a light or an oven or some paint or a valve or a sink or a sofa, you do not just go down to your local shop or even local multi-store. Here, you end up either on a street full of 50 lights shops or within a huge mall full of 50 light shops. This often means that, even if you were excited about buying the light in the first place you certainly aren’t in the end, though, it may still look all right back at home.

To continue, my girlfriend and I found ourselves lost, somehow, traversing the staff stairwell, up and down and a little in confusion, until we stumbled into the bright light of what was a supermarket full of your everyday necessities, quite normal. That was, until a hand roughly rested on my shoulder which I turned to round to find belonged to a young security guard who was looking angrily at the two of us and shouting something, something that at that point for me was utterly incomprehensible. Although, even with the hindsight of understanding, I would still look upon his words as incomprehensible. He was telling us that we could not enter the supermarket from that particular entrance, as it was for the staff only. We explained that we were lost and had stumbled unwittingly upon it. He repeated that we could not enter the supermarket that way.

We then pointed out that we understood that but that we were now in the supermarket, with all the other people and we wouldn’t do it again. He repeated his words. I, now a little annoyed, explained to him, as clearly as an annoyed lao3 wai4 (foreigner) can with very little Chinese, that we are now in the supermarket, it is no longer important how we got there and that we would endeavour to leave through the appropriate exit. He responded with the words: “You cannot come into the supermarket this way”. This was now becoming an issue and we were quickly becoming the centre of attention. So, to appease all, I punched him flat on the ground…No I didn’t. I, listening to my girlfriend – who I must say had of course born the brunt of his frustration and was becoming a little embarrassed by all the fuss – respectfully retreated back the way we had come, while muttering this and that about the Chinese under my breath as I did so.

It has just struck me that although I am often critical of the western media being particularly negative, when I am faced here with giving an example of life and the people in Xi’an I too have chosen a less than glorious example. I like the people here and very much enjoy living amongst them but it is interesting that my mind first moved to a negative, though amusing, portrayal of a Xi’anese person and, what at the time was, a frustrating experience. I will correct that in future notes. We cannot after all have the Chinese being tagged on a whim by a western mind now can we?