tbaroundtheworld

My embarrassingly shopworn passport now sports 22 exit stamps from China. How it got to the state of smeary red blotches and woefully dog-eared corners is a long tale. The details of this story are not only an accumulation of the miles, the hours, the lounges, hotels, delays, conversations, food, weariness, energy and awe, but more importantly they manifest themselves in the changes to me, the person. Travel apparently does that - it changes you at a cellular level, sparking hosts of tiny mutations that either make you an addict, or a hater. Or probably a little of each. I find myself looking ahead and realizing that the end to this phase of my professional life looming. Still cloaked in a bit of indecision it will come sometime in the next 6 months when I put the grand in-country Asian experiment behind me and return to how I supported this work during 2006, 2007 and 2008 – namely working from my home office in New Mexico and showing the flag on business trips. The early chapters of t...

The fireworks associated with Chinese New Year get so bad that any sane person is forced to leave. I had to chuckle the other day when Ctrip, my favorite on-line Chinese travel agency posted a cartoon on their website depicting a woman realizing that she needed to escape the country, but lacked travel reservations. There was an article in China Daily yesterday talking about the incredible rise this year in fireworks related injuries in Beijing, as the holiday approaches. Not surprising when the size of the products you can buy here rivals anything you would see in a professional show in the US. Most nights this week I sat and ate dinner watching the bursts just below the level of my apartment. When you consider that the average retail product here could more than likely shoot down an airplane, you might find it interesting to know that someone was setting them off at the end of the Dalian Airport runway yesterday afternoon while I was waiting for a flight. I was watching a Hainan Airli...

Sometimes I find myself saying, “This is China.” Usually it’s in response to someone describing yet another weird event or circumstance that one would never find anywhere else. Yesterday turned out to be “This is China” day, with one thing after another forcing that phrase to the center of my mind. Chinese New Year is this weekend and like last year I’m on the road to get away from the holiday. Last year it was a romantic encounter in Barcelona, this year it’s a romantic encounter in the comfort of my own home. Traveling this time of year here can be maddening – it’s called the biggest migration in the human experience and I suppose that’s true with 65 million people on the move. Thankfully only 20% of those are using the airports. A key part of the holiday is the delivery of the “Hong Bao” or “Red Envelope” to the people who work for you. In my case, that’s limited to my driver Jiang. Deciding on how much to give is a challenge because it’s said if you give too much, they lose respect...

I spend a lot of time on the weekends riding my bicycle. Not only for the exercise, but to get out of the city and to be where real people live. At the very beginning of my assignment I went far out into the countryside with my driver heading to a temple that he wanted to visit. We drove down dirt roads between lines of small mountains, covered in the bare trees of the season. The roads were lined with villages sleepy in early winter’s grip, preparing for the long cold and dark season ahead. I’d not seen places like this in my life and I stared out the window as we drove past in a mix of awe and sadness for the lives of these people. I don’t think I can even imagine what it must be like to be born in such a place, not knowing what lies just beyond the ridgeline. A world of lights and sounds impossible to know. I thought hours of driving had brought me to the real China, far beyond the influence of the cities where I spent my time. I figured it took all those miles to move from one real...

Tonight is Xiao Nian, the night of the Kitchen God. As the legend goes, the Man that became the God was a wealthy farmer whose eye was caught by a beautiful concubine. He turned his back on his wife and family and let his farms and orchards fall into disarray. His wife finally left him and once his wealth was gone, so did his paramour. He was reduced to wandering the countryside begging for handouts. One cold night, close to death he stumbled up to a doorway and collapsed on the stoop. A woman inside opened the door and taking pity on him brought him into the kitchen and made a bed for him by the hearth. The warmth of the fire revived him and he slept peacefully through the night for the first time in many years. He awoke the next morning and found the kitchen empty. Casting off his blankets, he went to the window and looked outside to see if his benefactor might be working in the garden. She was an old woman, bent over the winter vegetables, picking a few to make a hearty meal for her...