THE WEIRD CHINESE

SPA was the only place
I wanted to go anyways!

I have never been to Asia before, so I was particularly acute to some things that jumped at me as something very weird. As soon as we boarded our China bound train it was clear to me that the Chinese are very hungry people. In our 4 person train compartment our Chinese neighbors took a break from eating only when they were deep asleep, which was from about 9pm to 5am (not exactly my schedule). In the morning, that is before sunrise, we were woken up by the sucking sound of the instant noodles being inhaled by our new friends accompanied by a mortal stench of garlic coming from the hallway, where others were shoving in their breakfast favorites. I am not being mean or condescending when I use such strong verbs as “shove” when I describe these eating habits. In China (at least in Beijing) people are always in a rush and they do not appear to let themselves enjoy eating. They eat not to be hungry and do it as quickly as they can. When it comes to noodles, they “inhale” those suckers very noisily in order to cool them down that way. Why not let them cool in a bowl and then eat normally and without the annoying noises?! Oh, and the spitting….! I have never heard so much and so frequently people want to spit stuff out their mouths. Everyone does it from grown men to young children and women. I don’t know if there are sick all the time or just want to attract attention, but it sound and looks so awful that it is extremely difficult to ignore. I am not judging. I guess “it is not good, it is not bad, it is just different”, but way too different for me…

Emi's beard was the #1 attraction on the Great Wall.

As soon we got off the train in Beijing we were reminded that China is a super over populated giant and the land of competition where only the fittest survive.  The Chinese seem to not see/not care what so ever whether there is something or someone in front of them. Whatever that is that is in front of them is in their way, therefore needs to be moved, pushed or removed out of the way. You pretty much have to walk and do things at the speed of the people around you, unless you want to be run over. When people run into you (they do it all the time) they don’t even look at you, let alone say “I am sorry” or something along these lines. The Chinese will always try to push you out of their way to get into a train car, cut you in line to get into a bus, sneak money to a cashier at a grocery store to get the shopping done faster and so on. It is really, really annoying at first, but then, once you learn that there is no such thing as politely letting someone go first, you realize that you just have to make your way through and you start acting the way the Chinese do and everything starts working out for you.

The Red Hat tour group.

Once we have finally settled in and made our rounds in town plazas, markets and walking streets, I have notices a couple of other interesting things. Most of the younger Beijingers are very fashionable and seem to be a little too obsessed with appearance. Fashion I like very much, and it was a breath of fresh air for me to see some interesting clothing on people after months and months that we have spent in south America and Russia. Nonetheless, men’s fashion seemed a little over done for my taste. Besides the latest fashion in their clothing they are absolutely obsessed with their hair. Oh, you should see those hairdos! That is right, they are not just haircuts, but daily styled hairdos with gel, hair spray and whatever else other hair products. The actual haircuts are really quite good and elaborate the opposite of what you might get at a US Hair Cuttery. But it is not the haircuts, but the amount of attention that they received every time those gentlemen left their house that amazed me.

The obligatory "Fire Spirit".

Those guys would also sneak “check up” stares every time they passed a mirror, adjusting the do with their female-like manicured fingers. This is something that I have never seen anywhere else before. Many of the Chinese (and Asians in general, as I have discovered later) keep their finger nails long. Supposedly, it is a sign of a class demonstrating that you are not a peasant who works in the fields. I am sure there is a reason for this and it must be an important one. Nonetheless, I could not (and still can’t) hide my disgust when I see those male hands with long thick fingernails.  I have no idea why it makes me feel this way, because I have nothing against long finger nails on women. Why does it make a difference to me I have no idea, but it does. Personally, I think all of those guys should relax about their hair a little bit, cut their fingernails and they’d be a lot more attractive, even though they are not much of my style.

LA GUERRA CONTINUA...

Viet Cong (www.barbaragluck.com)

En las peleas de pareja se dice que los problemas se arreglan “de las puertas para adentro”; en los juegos de naipes, “los de afuera son de palo”; y un consejo de padre diría “mejor no te metas”; sin embargo estas frases o refranes no parecen haber sido traducidos al ingles, ruso, chino, ni mucho menos al vietnamita. Cuando en 1964 las diferencias políticas entre Vietnam del Sur y Vietnam del Norte eran insostenibles, ambos no dudaron un momento en recibir apoyo bélico desde sus pares capitalistas y comunistas respectivamente, transformando el enfrentamiento en una incansable guerra de más de 10 años, donde el numero de víctimas la convirtieron en la más sangrienta después de la Segunda Guerra Mundial. Un enfrentamiento que ni siquiera las reglas de Derecho Internacional lo consideraron como lo que fue, ya que Estados Unidos no entro en conflicto contra ninguna nación, debido a que no solo Vietnam del Norte no era un país en sí, sino que tampoco hubo declaración ni invasión alguna que Vietnam del Sur y su gobierno no hayan solicitado. Es por esto que al escribir guerra de Vietnam, debemos hacerlo en letra minúscula ya que no hubo declaración alguna por ninguna de las partes. De todas formas no creo que esto último hubiese cambiado mucho la historia. Una vez vi una foto del presidente Roosevelt mientras firmaba la declaración contra Alemania en la Segunda Guerra Mundial, posando y sonriendo con todos los que lo rodeaban… poco serio no?

Ciudad Imperial en Hue

Desde que dejamos el norte del país de a poco nos fuimos empapando mas y mas de este conflicto del  cual, debido a la libertad de prensa aprovechada ante la no declaración de guerra, se saben muchas más cosas de las cuales los gobiernos hubiesen querido. Una guerra con cualidades completamente diferentes a todas las anteriores. Una de las características principales que marcaron los ataques estadounidenses eran los bombardeos aéreos donde en más de una ocasión (y esto reconocido tiempo después por soldados americanos), el objetivo era disparar a “todo aquello que se mueva”. Así fue que al recorrer la Ciudad Imperial en Hue, antigua capital y línea divisoria entre el norte y el sur, solo pudimos contemplar una parte de esta ya que la gran mayoría fue destruida ante los incontables bombardeos. Una verdadera pena ya que con lo poco que queda en pie, se puede adivinar una arquitectura única y muy vietnamita que en pocos lugares puede ser contemplada. Lo mismo sucede en Hoi An y las ruinas de My Son, donde de los más de 70 templos y torres de más de 1000 años de antigüedad que se encontraban en el lugar, tan solo quedan unos 10 en pie, destruidos también por bombas lanzadas desde los B-52.

Bombardero B-52 (www.jkvshimself.com)

Uno de los más feroces ataques fue la operación Rolling Thunder aunque la posterior campaña Linebaker (155.548 toneladas de bombas en 41.000 misiones aéreas), lanzada personalmente por el presidente Nixon donde el objetivo era localizar y destruir no solo asentamientos militares, sino todo aquello que facilitara el abastecimiento y logística de Vietnam del Norte, fue una de las más feroces y desesperadas salidas ante la inminente derrota. Puertos, instalaciones petrolíferas, aeródromos, muelles, y casi la totalidad de vías férreas fueron destruidas, como así también toda industria existente que significara abastecimiento de suministros y materiales. Incluso escuelas y hospitales fueron bombardeados, y aldeas enteras borradas del mapa. “La aldea ya no existe, fue destruida por los estadounidenses, reconstruida y después destruida nuevamente por ellos. Después de esto se le llamo zona de fuego libre. Dijeron que, con la aldea muerta, ya no había razón para que nadie fuese allí, ni siquiera para visitar la tumba de nuestros antepasados” (palabras de un aldeano reporteado durante la guerra).

Torturas (www.gordspoetryfactory.blogspot.com)

El motivo principal del constante uso de aviones y ataques aéreos, fue que Vietnam del Norte combatía bajo las reglas del movimiento guerrillero del Viet Cong, obligando a los americanos a salir de las tradicionales líneas de frente y tener que buscar al enemigo quien se encontraba replegado y preparado para las emboscadas en las selvas tanto de Vietnam, como de Laos y Camboya. Es por esto que ante la incertidumbre de saber con cuánta gente contaba el norte y nunca tener la certeza de ser emboscados y derrotados fácilmente, preferían el bombardeo aéreo a todo lo que se moviese o a cualquier lugar que supusiera un escondite para la guerrilla; uno de ellos fueron los templos de My Son. Por otra parte el Viet Cong llevaría adelante una estrategia que jamás antes se había puesto en práctica, y era la de esperar, sin atacar, sin realizar movimiento alguno, solo esconderse en alguno de los cientos de túneles subterráneos y en las selvas y esperar, provocando un nerviosismo y un miedo general en los frentes enemigos, que muchas veces se traducían en errores y ataques desesperados con la consecuente pérdida de muchos hombres. Incluso luego de finalizada la guerra se supo que más de un asentamiento estadounidense se encontraba sobre túneles del Viet Cong y nunca lo supieron.

My Son

Muchas laderas de las montañas en la zona central de Vietnam se encuentran tapizadas de tumbas. Lapidas de piedra que se suceden una a otra, donde los muertos no son soldados, sino civiles, los cuales si tenían suerte morían por un bombardeo o en medio de un enfrentamiento, aunque los menos afortunados fallecían luego de largas horas de tortura donde intentaban sacar información acerca de la ubicación del enemigo. Muchas fotos en Hue, mostraban tanques arrastrando gente desnuda de las piernas o un grupo de personas con las cabezas tapadas con trapos y ahogándose con el agua que les echaban sobre estas. Las torturas eran cosas de todos los días y los ataques en zonas no delimitadas hacían de tranquilos pueblos un verdadero campo de batalla.

Agente Naranja (www.armytimes.com)

Cuando llegamos a Saigón, sabíamos que nos íbamos a encontrar con lo más duro de la guerra, pero nunca con algo tan escalofriante y atroz: el Agente Naranja. Caminando los estrechos callejones de la zona más antigua de la ciudad comenzamos a ver gente discapacitada y con malformaciones andando por las calles. Algunos mendigando, otros vendiendo libros y los más osados andando en moto a pesar de no tener ninguna de las dos pernas. Ciertos rostros eran algo similar a la idea que tenemos de un mutante. Narices gigantes que ocupaban más de media cara y con los orificios de lado, ojos que parecían chorreados y grandes inflamaciones como pelotas en las frentes y cabezas, orejas del tamaño de una moneda y dientes que crecían sin dirección alguna. Sobre una tabla con ruedas algunos andan sin piernas y un solo brazo, y otros con las extremidades retorcidas como rama de enredadera, con granos en la cara del tamaño de uvas o canicas. No teníamos en claro el porqué de toda esta gente, hasta que al segundo día de estar en la ciudad nos dirigimos al Museo de Remanentes de Guerra.

Victimas (www.forum.goregrish.com)

Al llegar al segundo piso, luego de ver aviones, tanques, helicópteros y armas, nos encontramos con algo que no esperábamos ver. Tras el vidriado de las paredes de la sala se observaban personas limpiándose las lagrimas de los ojos con las manos, mientras leían aterrorizados carteles que se encontraban en las paredes y observaban fotos que no eran del tiempo de la guerra, sino actuales. Dichas imágenes mostraban las más terribles malformaciones de seres humanos que sin siquiera haber vivido durante esos años, hoy sufren las consecuencias de una guerra que parece no tener fin.

Victimas (www.forum.goregrish.com)

Rompiendo tratados de guerra y leyes internacionales, el ejército estadounidense utilizo durante incontables ataques uno de los agentes químicos mas fuertes existentes en el planeta; el Agente Naranja. La selva era muy hostil para quienes no estaban acostumbrados a permanecer en ellas durante tanto tiempo, y a su vez hacia casi imposible localizar al Viet Cong replegado entre la densa vegetación que cubre gran parte de la península. Por otro lado el tránsito de la ruta Ho Chi Minh representaba una amenaza ante los americanos, quienes nunca pudieron cortarla por completo. Esta ruta transitaba gran parte sobre la frontera con Laos (incluso sobre territorio extranjero), y se movía siempre entre la espesa selva donde el Viet Cong era imbatible e ilocalizable. Suministros, refuerzos y tropas enteras transitaban de norte a sur por este sendero que se transformaría en una de las claves de la victoria norvietnamita. La única salida que vieron los americanos ante este terreno que se les hacia tan hostil, fue lanzar toneladas y toneladas del Agente Naranja desde aviones, un químico tan potente que destruía toda vegetación que tocaba, transformando selvas enteras en cementerios de arboles; las tierras fértiles de los valles en tierras toxicas e inutilizables; y centenares de ríos en canales que no transportaban más que veneno puro.  Pero los aldeanos no lo sabían. Seguían consumiendo de esa agua, cosechando y comiendo de su arroz y vegetales que crecían en esos campos y hasta a veces mojándose con esa lluvia de químicos que llegaba desde el cielo. Solo unos pocos cercanos a grandes ciudades tenían la información de no consumir ni agua ni cultivos de sus tierras, pero el hambre llegaba rápido, y la destrucción de caminos y fabricas hacia que rápidamente se vean desabastecidos; obligados a comer lo que tenían a su alcance. Incluso sus animales, como cerdos, gallinas y vacas, bebían esa agua y comían de ese pasto, por lo que cualquier tipo de alimento era veneno en sí mismo.

Civiles escapando (www.vintage-everyday.blogspot.com)

Las fotos retrataban gente de todas las edades; ancianos, adultos, niños y bebes con malformaciones inexplicables. Me fue imposible retener las lágrimas al leer una carta enviada por una adolescente victima del Agente Naranja al Presidente Barak Obama, reclamándole ayuda y algún tipo de contemplación para las miles de personas en Vietnam que sufren estas esquirlas tan profundas que el tiempo no sabe curar. Sus vidas se ven resumidas a la existencia absurda donde nada de lo que desean puede ser realizado. El gobierno les recomienda no estudiar, su cuerpo les imposibilita realizar actividades laborales, se les hace muy difícil hacer amigos y casi imposible encontrar pareja; sabiendo que tampoco procrear es posible para ellos, ya que sus hijos saldrán con mayores malformaciones que las de ellos mismos. Un Agente Naranja que causo y sigue causando victimas no solo en los habitantes de Vietnam del Norte, el enemigo, sino también en Vietnam del Sur, Laos y Camboya.

Caida de Saigon (www.pictureshistory.blogspot.com)

Hoy en día miles de campos siguen siendo inutilizados y los análisis de agua de los ríos siguen dando como resultado la contaminación con agentes químicos que la hacen imbebible. Cientos de niños siguen naciendo con malformaciones sin que ninguno de los responsables tome cartas en el asunto. El país entero fue devastado, la mayor parte de sus puertos destruidos, sus rutas destrozadas y fabricas demolidas por una guerra absurda como todas. Tan absurda como las palabras del general Cao Van Vien, quien firmo la orden de resistir con la frase “defender hasta la muerte, hasta el final, la porción de tierra que nos queda”, desertando horas después y huyendo del país mientras sus soldados morían sin sentido. Tan absurda que la entrada de los tanques en el Palacio de la Independencia tomo por sorpresa a los periodistas quienes no estaban en el lugar, por lo que fue repetida horas más tardes, solo para las fotos, rompiendo los mismos enrejados que habían traspasado horas atrás. Sin embargo, la sonrisa del vietnamita es algo que no pudieron borrar de sus rostros. Gente amable, gente sufrida pero con esperanzas, gente que nos sonrió y ayudó durante todo el camino; ofreciéndonos su hospitalidad y no guardando rencores ante exponer un pasaporte americano. Un país que de a poco supo levantarse y hacerle frente a esta guerra que no tiene fin; esta Guerra que aun continúa. 

Recomiendo cliquear en el link que aparece en el texto, o aquí, para leer la carta enviada al Presidente Barak Obama. Esta en ingles pero cualquier traductor puede realizar una traducción bastante cercana a la realidad.

A WEEK IN HUTONGS

Beijing'sTiananmen Square.  

As soon as we crossed the Chinese border, we knew that we were in a country with tremendous population. Every little bit of land, and all the way to the rail ways was taken up by some sort of crops growing everywhere. China met us with sunny skies, warm breeze and hundreds of Chinese coming and going at the main train station square. Arriving to Beijing from Ulan Bator was like making a leap of a couple of decades. Beijing, in contrast with Ulan-Bator, is a very modern, developed and organized city which offers all of the modern comforts without losing its historic flavor. It is enormous and it seems that there is no end to this concrete jungle, however, we did not feel this, even though we stayed in one of the central districts of the Chinese capital. Our Chinese home ended up being a hutong apartment of a Portuguese-Canadian.

Being Chinese.

Chris met us at the Jishuitan station. We did not have the exact address and Chris insisted on us calling him when we were at the station. Of course, we did not have a phone and this was our first country where neither of us spoke a word of the local language. Taking turns we stopped a number of pedestrians pointing at their cell phones. Finally one young girl responded in English offering to borrow her iphone (everyone has an iphone and a professional photo camera on them at all times in Beijing). Three minutes later a guy in shades and a black leather jacket greeted us with a sudden “que pasa?!”. We were taken a back for a second but recovered immediately remembering that the guy was half Portuguese. He didn’t really speak Spanish, but he liked to try. We followed him into a narrow alley, then another one, and another one slowly realizing why Chris insisted on meeting us without giving us the exact address. There was no way in the world that we would have found our way in a maze of those hutons.

Old time hutongs.

A huton is a historical district where people live in traditional houses which had sprouted chaotically in no organized manner, and which keep on expanding forming labyrinth-like shantytown with no central sewage system. Why would I care about sewage? Well, I really don’t unless it complicates my life in a very direct way. Chris’s hutong, just like any other hutong, does not have private bathrooms, which means that every time your body is ready to discard its byproducts you get to go to one of the community outhouse and share this special private time with about 4-9 neighbors happily chatting about the latest rumors, smoking, or playing games on their iphones. Oh no! There are no individual stalls or any sort of devisors between the actual toilets, so you just make your bottom comfortable in a squat position right next to your new Chinese friends.

Besides the minor bathroom time inconvenience Chris’s place was just perfect for our needs. It was right in the center of all of the main attractions of the city and only 3 minutes away from a metro stop.

Inside the Forbidden City.

Since Beijing was a huge city and our only stop in China we decided to spend at least a week there to visit its sights and try to feel through what it is like to live in this gigantic Chinese metropolis. During the day we went about town discovering its treasures like (The Temple of Heaven, the Olympic Village, the Forbidden City and such) and at night, when Chris was back from his lessons (he is an educator of some sort), we all went out for a taste of Beijing in one of its many restaurants. Sometimes they were actual restaurants where we drank obligatory rice wine shots (Chris strongly believes it the disinfecting qualities of alcohol) and ate elaborate dishes with weird tastes. Other times they were just street stalls which magically produced tables and chairs and fed us its kebobs made of unknown substances. Food was always very interesting, however not always agreeable with my stomach. Whether it was the abundance of oil which is used for preparation of practically everything, or the strange herbs that I have never tasted before, but more than once I had bathroom (hutong style, of course!) consequences after those wonderful dinners.

Beijing Night Market.

One time Chris also took us to a local food market and showed us how negotiating is done in Mandarin. After 5 years in Beijing Chris spoke Chinese Mandarin pretty much like a local and knew all ins and outs of the city and its Beijing urban culture. As it turned out, it was pretty important to have someone local, or at least Chinese-speaking to guide us around and bargain down the prices. The locals are quite opportunistic and will rip you off if you are not paying attention or not familiar with their prices. The cabs are absolutely ridiculous. First they do everything possible to not understand where you want to go even if your destination is 10 blocks away and you are pointing at the exact address on a map written in Mandarin, then they refuse to use the meter, and when you finally manage to negotiate the right price and the cab begins moving you realize that the driver is somehow unfamiliar with the area and insists on taking you to your destination taking a detour of at least 30 minutes. 

A rare clear sky sunset in  Beijing.

Luckily, we only had to use a taxi 2 times, one when we were off to the train station on our way to Hong Kong, and the other when we went to meet with Diego, my friend’s cousin.  I have never met Diego, and did not even know that my friend Manuel de Rivera had a cousin who not only lived in Beijing, but also worked there as a reporter for one of the Spanish TV channels. As it goes with the Spaniards, after a quick introduction over the phone we were invited to a dinner and a party with a flamenco singer performance at one of the bars frequented by Beijing expats. Diego turned out to be very charming and welcoming somehow making me feel as if I were at some bar in Madrid, surrounded by Spaniards drinking wine, smoking cigarettes and chattering over the crying sounds of flamenco. Diego told us that there were expats in Beijing of all sorts and that no matter what people did they found a way to make a good living there. The city seemed booming with everything, from commerce to fashion, and from international work to construction industry.

At the Temple of Heaven.

Beijing was bustling and hustling no matter where we went. It also seemed to be flooded with tourist groups, especially Chinese ones. Mid fall is the “golden time to visit Beijing”, as we have discovered later, and many Chinese take their short vacation during that perfect time of year to visit the nation’s capital. Apparently, they don’t like to travel individually, and together in an organized group it also tends to be cheaper. As their vacations are short, the tours are usually short as well, but they are as condensed with activities as can possibly be. A typical tour of Beijing would be one or two days with visits to the Forbidden City, The Temple of Heaven, some parks, the Olympic village the Great Wall and, of course, a dinner of the famous Beijing duck. In size, the Chinese groups could only compare with Russian speaking groups. I was very surprised to hear as much Russian in Beijing as I did. It appeared that Beijing was one of the new hot destinations for vacationing Russians, whom I could identify anywhere, whether I heard them speaking Russian or not. No group was without a typical middle age woman of about 100 kg, wearing a see through shirt, large sun glasses with sparkles and an awful haircut. There was always a man in his 40s with very pale skin beige color shorts, back socks and sandals, tugging behind himself an identical copy of a son. And, of course, no tour could go without a group of 3-4 bolding men in their 30s-40s with beer bellies, cigarettes in their mouths and terrible smell of sweat floating behind them like an invisible cape of people repellent. We spent a week visiting all of these places and it still felt rushed,  especially because I were constantly forced o fight for space with the never ending tour groups.

The Spectacular Bird's Nest.

One afternoon, returning from another museum we found ourselves in a beautifully groomed park which was full of people. There were some obvious tourists, but the majority were locals who were intensely involved in activities. It seemed that that park was a meeting place for people to practice their hobbies and socialize. There was a terrace for card players and Chinese chess lovers, there was an “exercise station” with different cardio machines (with free access), there were open spaces full of older people practicing Chinese gymnastics (very weird looking set of activities when you swing of arms and hit yourself on different parts of your body), there were others who stood in circles and played hacky-sac with a mysterious device which had feathers and flied like a badminton shuttlecock  (which they were ridiculously good at).  

A woman in a Bejing hutong.

All of this business was very different and terribly exciting, but the most impressive of all activities was opera singing. I know, it is weird to be polishing your arias of Aida in a public park, but that is what they do in Beijing. First, we thought that we did, in fact, stumble upon a group of professional opera singers practicing their singing in the park just for the hell of it, but then we realized that there were many of those groups, each with an accordion player, and some competing with each other (let’s sing our loudest to outsing those around that bench right next us). It was amazing how good some of those singers were, and they were just amateurs, who came to the park to hand out and sing. In fact, if you knew the songs and were willing to sing, you could spend a day doing progressive singing floating from one group to another. We found the group whose singing we liked the most and spent almost two hours sitting on the grass, enjoying their musical vibrations. 

The Great Wall at Badaling.

Another popular activity which we absolutely could not skip in Beijing was hiking around the Great Wall. From the pictures I have seen of the Great Wall I have always pictured it very serene, mysterious and empty. This, naturally, was not what we saw in reality. It was overflowing with tourist groups (the Chinese ones insisting on taking a photos with us every 2 steps), the entrance was almost barricaded with endless shops and kiosks selling horrendous memorabilia, and it was terribly hot under a blazing October sun. In other words, it was a “Historical Disney World”. Nonetheless, we were determined not to get disappointed by any of that. When you go to the Great Wall, you are actually allowed only to a certain closed off part of it which you can march through back and forth all day if you want to. We discovered that one complete walk through, with its gigantic stares taking you up and down and up and down the wavy pattern of the Wall, was enough to tire you out. It is a mystery to me why they built that Wall almost zigzagging and not just straight across the mountains. To me, the straight wall would have been just as good of a protection against the Mongols, who were constantly trying to get that northern chunk of China for themselves. The Mongols eventually got the Chinese anyways, and the Wall just stayed there as an amazing 3000 kilometer monument of human obsession with territorialism.

These are the best street snack!

After the Great Wall and all of the other attractions that we have seen in Beijing we needed some time to digest it, as well as prepare our nest move. We spent the last couple of days buying tickets, packing and reading about our next destination - Hong Kong. An overnight train took us from the Northern Capital (which is the lateral translation of Beijing) to the city of Shenzhen, a border city and another huge Chinese industrial metropolis.