The Wandering Monkey

BELOW ARE BLOG ENTRIES GOING BACK TO EVEN BEFORE I ARRIVED IN SHANGHAI, LISTED MOST RECENT FIRST.

(Blog entry from old notes written on paper)
Shanghai, Day 13
I sit at a restaurant, enjoying a meal to myself. I've come from swimming at my Mandarin tutor's apartment complex. I think of my friends back 'home', wherever that may be.

Last night I went out with my former host, Ping, and three women from her office. They all speak near-perfect English, to my surprise. Afterwards, we head out to Xing Tian Di (shing tee-ahn dee), which is a very interesting area. Literally, it means "New Sky Ground", or "New World". I believe the first Chinese Communist Party meeting was there, and today it is a major bar and restaurant area frequented by expats.

I think it is part of the French Concession, so the architecture is very Western. There are cobblestone walkways in the pedestrian-only street. Shops, restaurants and bars line either side. In any given bar you may find a common Shanghai phenomenon - Phillipine bands playing covers of American songs. Everything can be heard from Led Zeppelin's "Whole Lotta Love", "It's My Life" by Bon Joni (one someone like that), Janis Joplin, and Joan Jet's "I Love Rock and Roll."

I started dancing with Ping's friends during a band break, and a cute little thing came up to me and started dancing with me. I'm still very hesitant to get involved with anyone out here, for several reasons. Shanghainese women, it is said, often have well-formed agendas. This can be as simple as attraction (which is of course fine!), but it can also include pursuit of wealthy men, seeking a foriegn visa through marriage, or simply looking to be paid for their consortianship. You got to watch out. Of course, people are people. You'd probably find the same thing in L.A. or New York.

In other news, my dance partner arrives on Sunday. I think I will have a small housewarming party when she arrives. So far no one has seen me dance. They have all just been taking my word for it!

(Blog entry from old notes written on paper)
Shanghai, End of Week One
In my time so far I have met about 20 people, lived in two different apartments, gone swimming in two luxury complex pools, taken the cabs, busses, and subways, purchased a cell phone, and adjusted to life as a laowai (foreigner) faster than I had ever expected.

I have met natives and expats alike. Among the expats, there have been scholars, businessmen, dorky know-it-alls, lecherous slimy guys, teachers, and players. All expats are here for some reason, whether fleeing another life, tranferred by a job, or simply seeking opportunity and excitement.

The women situaton here is auspicious. The cost of living and eating varies from sub-welfare to super-premium. And everywhere you go, from restaurants to bars to just walking on the street, you are given special treatment for being white. Perhaps 'being Western' would be a better way to express it, but ABC's here have a different experience than those who can be spotted as Western from 200 yards away.

But is it good. Though I am tired, I feel no sense of longing to be anywhere other than where I am.

(Blog entry from old notes written on paper)
Shanghai, Day 2

It's hot and humid, like August in Chicago. The neighborhoods in Shanghai are not like one would expect in America. In this area there are row after row of six-story buildings with green-painted concrete exteriors. In certain areas building have been patch-repaired with concrete and don't match their original color. The exterior walls of the top floors are grey-tinged with air pollution dust. Laundry hangs from nearly every balcony, and external air conditioners can likewise be seen. On the ground, people lounge about on steps and on lawnchairs between buildings.

Inside any of these buildings it is actually quite nice. Were it not for the odd appliances and wall power sockets, you would not know the difference.

As I walk outside, most everyone looks, the old people especially. I always feel more confident when I have a Mandarin speaker with me, just in case someone tries to say something to me.

Yesterday my host Rob and I took a cab to meet my #2 host Kenny. We found his place, which had a guitar and drumset. In the apartment, right there in the middle of the afternoon Kenny and his drummer Bing jammed while we all drank beer and sang along to: Sweet Child of Mine, Your Moma Don't Dance and your Daddy Don't Rock & Roll, and others. Afterwards, we all head out for lunch, except for Rob who had to work on his thesis.

We ate at a local Chinese restaurant (they are all technically Chinese, but hey...). We had some beers then went back to Kenny's place. We watched episodes I and II of Band of Brothers. Then we played a racing game and a cool guitar came on his PS2.

After this it was about 8pm, and I asked Kenny if it was OK to take a quick 15 minute nap before we headed out on the town. Two hours later I woke up and I knew I was in for the night -- jet lag.

And so now I wake up and begin Day 2.

(Blog entry from old notes written on paper)
August 19, 2003. Flying over Kamchatka.
Flying in a plane's not like driving. On the plus, I can watch movies and sleep. On the downside, I can't get out of the car to rest or look at something interesting. One thing I miss is being able to e-mail. I'm in a communication black hole. I can't call or e-mail or anything.

Five hours to go. I hope a movie starts soon. I am a person who needs constant distraction and stimulus. When I was in China the first time, it was like overload. But after a few days I got used to it and every minute required my constant attention. When I got back, I went through stimulus withdrawl. Every moment in San Jose I was just looking around, looking around and trying to pick up on the action and energy that just wasn't there.

(Blog Entry from old notes written on paper)
August 19, 2003. On the plane to Beijing.
Once I am onboard, I feel much better. I called my mom in the last five minutes before boarding. I was terrified. At points, I thought I would cry. I had a sudden impulse to turn around.` There are a lot of Americans on the plane. So far it does not seem very "China". But I am not afraid anymore.

These choices are so hard sometimes. You feel like no matter what you choose, you will go through regret. It seems unfair. How can you feel regret if you leave AND if you stay? ONE of these decisions should be right, and if you pick the right one there should be no regret. But that's not how it works with me.

Every step, every jump in this journey over the last several months has been punctuated by a long period of travel. First, from San Francisco to San Diego - such a painful departure. But driving on the road for 10 hours washes you free of the previous place.

And then, San Diego to Phoenix, where I joined my cousin. Alike in geneology and family culture, unlike in other ways. But Phoenix was too hot, perhaps. One day I decided I would leave. The next afternoon I was gone; free-spirited and adventuring...?

No. Actually, the first day out of Phoenix was a drive through depression. All day I could do nothing else but recall the failure, mistakes, and cruelties of my life. Nothing comforted me. Nothing could please me.

On the second day, that cloud had lifted, and I drove into San Jose to retrieve my Grandfather's liquor cabinet and my Grandma's paintings. Then, to receive a final farewell, warning, and berating from an old friend.

From San Jose, with all my worldly possessions in my car, I drove two days to Montana. Again, it washed off the memories and residues, and I arrived at a new temporary life. During my stay in Montana, I was inspired to properly finish the work at my old client. And, I went back to San Jose to spend two weeks in seclusion, doing nothing more than focusing on work.

After the work was done, I spent the last week hammering out every possible detail for my trip to Shanghai. I was comforted by the presence of my friend Steve, who was navigating a difficult spot in his own journey. I like to thing my presence - though it must have been a burden at times - helped him somehow. Imported momentum and energy, perhaps.

The hardest part was the final night's dinner with a very dear friend of mine. I was prepared to leave, but on the last day, you get to thinking. What if? Why am I leaving? What if I turn left instead of right? Is there a potential for something great right here? That thought kept me up for hours as I tried to sleep on my last night. Is my mind just playing tricks on me?`

The morning was brief, tense, and difficult. Steve was up hours after I was. "How are you doing?" he asked, inquiring to my state of mind. It was the first time I recall him actually asking about anything like that.

"Dude, I'm stressed," I said flatly, without hesitation. "I'm really scared."

"I'm sure it will be easier than you think," he said calmly.

***

So now I'm on the plane and mind mind is awash in San Jose, for a third time, with different people. We're flying just south of Alaska right now.

Every jump hurts. Every reloation. The first half of travelling is always pain and processing. That reaches its zenith, and the rest of the time is freedom. Eventually, your mind is clear and ready to take on the new temporary life.

(Blog Entry from old notes written on paper)
August 19, 2003. San Francisco International Airport. Day of departure.

I have to be honest, I'm feeling very concerned as I finish preparations for Shanghai. I'm leaving so much behind in the Bay Area. It was probably not such a good idea to visit with everyone again at the last minute. I'm having doubts as to this whole adventure. I'm thinking perhaps it is a mistake or a waste of time.

I'm concerned. I'm not feeling excited or enthusiastic. I should be, shouldn't I? Seeing my friend last night has made me wonder. `

Part of it is I'm just tired out from preparing and not looking forward to the plane ride. I Imagine I'll rest most of the first day I'm there. Thank God I've got friends to stay with; this would never work without that.

I have to finish preparations. I can write more on the plane.