Beijing!
Perhaps I've seen too many Cold-War era movies, but there's something slightly perfect about flying into a Communist country when it's dark, covered in fog, and the giant, glistening modern airport is completely empty.
Of course, the fog turns out to be smog, the passport clerks don't send me any menacing looks, and capitalism is taking over, but it was nice and creepy for a minute there. Oh! I thought. I'm going to be inspected! And for a second I was slightly thrilled and then I became not a menacing underworld intelligence figure, but, rather, a dopey white tourist.
I'm in Beijing, which, coming in from the airport appeared as a series of spectral high rises, enormous western hotel chains, apparating through smothering white smoke and a faint tar-like smell in the air and the car. It was only about 8:30pm here so people were about on bicycles, waiting for buses, going out. Two women picked us up from the airport and we had a good conversation about the Olympics.
I was in a van with my Mom and two more people on our tour whom we met. They are retired, middle-aged, from Maryland, and very very nice. They have also done all the reading. THEY HAVE DONE ALL THE READING. WAS THERE READING?
It's time for me to fess up. This "trip" my Mom found is a Harvard Alumni Association trip. So, not only will my compatriots be twice my age, but they'll also be a little bit, eh, como se dice, Harvard? East-coasty? Nothing wrong with it, it's just a very distinctive attitude occasionally.
And, yeah yeah, don't judge a book yadda yadda, but I'm slightly uncomfortable with the situation. Hip Young Beijing Residents! Take me to a party!
Maybe this will be good for me. Expand my vocabulary. Get me back into the habit of utilizing an academic language I've, how shall I put it, finally "unpacked."
Pack up, biotches! We're wearing tweed! We're citing sources! And we're not sorry we did all the reading!
Tomorrow we go to the Forbidden City. Our hotel overlooks it. It's the hotel where Nixon stayed. I've always felt close with Nixon, ever since I drew a poster of his internal organs for 7th grade science. Now, proof. Nixon and I are destined to be together, separated only by the frustrating element of time.
The above paragraph leads me to believe I should get some sleep. I watched "The Day After Tomorrow" on the plane over from Tokyo and forsook sleep in order to look at the sunset out the window (and Mt. FUJI! It was gorgeous) and contemplate the bravery of Dennis Quaid in the face of sudden climate change.
All right. Until tomorrow. How are things?
Of course, the fog turns out to be smog, the passport clerks don't send me any menacing looks, and capitalism is taking over, but it was nice and creepy for a minute there. Oh! I thought. I'm going to be inspected! And for a second I was slightly thrilled and then I became not a menacing underworld intelligence figure, but, rather, a dopey white tourist.
I'm in Beijing, which, coming in from the airport appeared as a series of spectral high rises, enormous western hotel chains, apparating through smothering white smoke and a faint tar-like smell in the air and the car. It was only about 8:30pm here so people were about on bicycles, waiting for buses, going out. Two women picked us up from the airport and we had a good conversation about the Olympics.
I was in a van with my Mom and two more people on our tour whom we met. They are retired, middle-aged, from Maryland, and very very nice. They have also done all the reading. THEY HAVE DONE ALL THE READING. WAS THERE READING?
It's time for me to fess up. This "trip" my Mom found is a Harvard Alumni Association trip. So, not only will my compatriots be twice my age, but they'll also be a little bit, eh, como se dice, Harvard? East-coasty? Nothing wrong with it, it's just a very distinctive attitude occasionally.
And, yeah yeah, don't judge a book yadda yadda, but I'm slightly uncomfortable with the situation. Hip Young Beijing Residents! Take me to a party!
Maybe this will be good for me. Expand my vocabulary. Get me back into the habit of utilizing an academic language I've, how shall I put it, finally "unpacked."
Pack up, biotches! We're wearing tweed! We're citing sources! And we're not sorry we did all the reading!
Tomorrow we go to the Forbidden City. Our hotel overlooks it. It's the hotel where Nixon stayed. I've always felt close with Nixon, ever since I drew a poster of his internal organs for 7th grade science. Now, proof. Nixon and I are destined to be together, separated only by the frustrating element of time.
The above paragraph leads me to believe I should get some sleep. I watched "The Day After Tomorrow" on the plane over from Tokyo and forsook sleep in order to look at the sunset out the window (and Mt. FUJI! It was gorgeous) and contemplate the bravery of Dennis Quaid in the face of sudden climate change.
All right. Until tomorrow. How are things?
posted by The Gadabout at 10:04 PM
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