Yang Zi Jie On Yang Zi Jiang (Or, Neil's Trip Up The Yangtze)

Part 2: Gorge-ous
(Sorry, Couldn't Resist!)

The Three Gorges are hailed as one of the most beautiful scenic stretches in all of China. This, of course, was before they had to go and muck things up with a mega-dam. Now that the water has risen to absurd heights, the iconic scenery has been radically altered forever. All melodrama aside, it is still quite a sight, as the gorges provide a constant reminder of just how tiny we are on our silly little cruise ships.

Formed long, long, long ago (starting roughly 20 million years ago when the Himalayas were a submerged part of an ocean linked to the Mediterranean Sea), the Three Gorges are the geological product of erosion at the hands of the Yangtze River (or, "Yangzi", for all you pinyin loyalists), which roughly a third of China's population relies on for its resources. Originating in the high Tibetan plateau (about 2.5 miles above sea level), the icy mountain freshwater of the Yangtze begins its 3,900 mile journey downstream through Chongqing, then Hubei, onto the Eastern plains and out past Shanghai into the East China Sea. By comparison, the distance from coast-to-coast in the United States is only about 3,000 miles. It is the third longest river in the world, after the Nile and Amazon, barely beating the mighty Mississippi by a mere 70 miles. Coincidentally, the ancient Chinese and the Native Americans both referred to their respective waterways simply as "big river." Creativity in naming was likely not the strong point of ancient peoples, as they had bigger issues to worry about, like hunting and gathering.

When I was a young schoolboy, I often found myself stumped whenever we got that rare chance to touch upon China in geography or history class, which was usually at the very end of the year when there was absolutely nothing else about America, Europe, Africa, Antarctica, our teacher's summer plans, or the cleaning of the closets and cupboards that we could study. I couldn't understand why the textbooks referred to the river as "Yangtze" when, growing up, I always heard it referred to as Chang Jiang ("long river") by my parents. For anyone else still bitter about those bumbled pop quiz questions that you just couldn't argue your way around with the stupid, culturally-ignorant teacher, here's the reason why: in the Sui Dynasty, the tributary of the river near Shanghai was called the Yangzi. When the foreign devils began their exploration on how to best exploit the country after the Opium War spread China's legs for the influx, they took this as the name of the entire river. And the name stuck. So, it is technically correct to call it either Yangzi Jiang or Chang Jiang, as I tried so desperately to explain to numerous idiots from 3rd to 8th grade.

The length of river covered on our cruise between Yichang and Chongqing is only 660 km (about 400 miles), which is about the same as a round-trip from Boston to New York. But without all the pesky deer that like to lurk in plain sight on the middle of the highway; all the deer on this stretch are hidden high in the hills where they can't fuck up your day. Bear, rabbits, boar and monkeys also roam the area, although populations have been seriously depleted by a number of mostly man-made causes (see: the dam). Monkeys were once so populous in the gorges that their cries haunted ancient poets and boatmen. Now, with barely any left to bring the ruckus, the government has actually installed speakers in some areas to spew out monkey howls to appease tourists confused by the gap between reality and romance. Even the lowly rats got the shit end of the stick. 600 tons (600!) of poison were brought in to kill the rats as villagers disassembled their villages, in order to prevent the same rats from bringing their filth uphill.

The aquatic residents of the area have had even worse luck. Giant sturgeon - 1,000 lb prehistoric monsters literally dammed out of their spawning areas upriver - have seen their numbers drastically drop since construction of the dam was complete. The finless porpoise and Yangtze alligators are also quickly disappearing without enough to eat. Most depressing of all: the Baiji River Dolphin, which recently was pretty much confirmed to be extinct (but maybe not?). Al Gore needs to make a trip to China very soon.

The only fauna I spied from my cabin balcony were the rare camouflaged chicken and a handful of sheep grazing along the hillsides, teetering precariously close to the edges. Seeing the clumsy fuzzballs take a nosedive into the rapids would have provided a bucketfull of laughs for me, but I was thwarted by the continued peace and tranquility.

Decadently Peaceful

On Day 4, in the early hours of the morning, we passed into the first of the three gorges: Xiling Gorge. Known affectionately as the "Gateway To Hell", this historically dangerous leg of the river was the bane of ancient boatmen and villagers alike, due to the pre-dam ferocity of the rapids, the outrageous wind funnel created at the mouth and ass of the gorge, the frequent mudslides, hidden rocks below the water and whirlpools. Now that the river has been tamed by the dam, the most apparent natural rabble-rouser was the wind.

I rose before sunrise and sat reclined on an armchair in the ship's main ballroom, hot coffee in hand and the day's headlines streaming before me on CNN. The night's silence still hung in the air and the only sounds I could hear were the lapping of waves against the side of the boat and the dull hiss of the brewing grounds. It was one of the most unforgettably peaceful moments I've ever had. As other dedicated travelers crept out of bed to take in the pre-breakfast scenery, dawn began its slow routine of filling the sky with light. Through the mist, we saw Xiling in the distance. I'm sure the first impression of the gorge before the dam must have been phenomenal, the sight of this massive mountain of stone sliced in two by the rushing waters. Even today, with the disappearance of about 100 meters worth of gorge, it is humbling.

Puuuurty

I didn't want to miss out on the fantastic photo-ops, so I ran back to my cabin, threw on my jacket and made my way to the upper deck. There's good reason why this is still called the Gateway To Hell. As soon as I hit the open air, a gust of wind nearly toppled me over, making quick work of me just as it had done to all the plastic chairs that lay about the deck like pitiful dominoes. Other guests soon felt the wrath of the winds, and as I gripped the railings, positioned in a half-squat for balance, I had myself a quiet chuckle as I watched each successive shipmate get tossed around like a ragdoll as they emerged from the lower levels. It is always satisfying to watch someone lose a hat to Mother Nature.

He Was Blown Over Seconds Later

My Handsome Looks Were Blown Away With The Wind

In the morning haze, the gorges gave off a slightly purplish glow against the powder blue sky. The water shimmered under the rays of the emerging sun. Wind gusts aside, it was glorious.



As my hands and balls slowly began to lose feeling in the frigid cold, I returned to the cozy warmth of the ship's central heating. After a relaxing breakfast with the Aussies and Americans, it was time for poetry class!

For centuries, the Yangtze River has been a source of both wonder and pain for the Chinese people. Though it is the life-giving vein that powers China's Southern half, it also has a nasty penchant for flooding and wiping out humans. *Cue "Circle of Life"* To artists and other creative types, the river has also provided plenty of inspirational fodder. On this bright morning, our river guide, Campbell, treated us to a quick lecture on his favorite pieces of ancient Chinese poetry inspired by the Yangtze.

From 298 BC until 1949, over 2,300 recorded poems have been written about the river and the Three Gorges. The most famous ancient poets that favored this subject were Li Bai (or, Li Po, 701-762 AD) and Du Fu, a third of whose repertoire was comprised of Three Gorge/Yangtze subject matter. Remember the aforementioned fake monkey-speakers that were installed to quell any potential poetry-loving tourist revolts? Well, you can blame Li Bai for that. His 759 AD poem 早发白帝城 ("Early Departure from White Emperor Town," if my classical Chinese remains true...), was written about Qutang Gorge, which was supposedly filled with the nightly haunting howls of monkey screams that caused Li Bai to shit his pants and find solace in his favorite travel mate: a wine bottle.

His most well-known poem, 静夜思 ("Thoughts of a Quiet Night"), memorized and recited by poor Chinese kids across the globe, recounts the hopeless solitude and homesick yearnings that many lonely travelers feel, especially on the Yangtze:

"Before the bed, bright moonlight,
frost on the ground.
I raise my head to gaze upon the moon,
then, missing my hometown, I lower my head."

Reading the poem for the first time in years, I couldn't help but feel a slight heaviness in my heart. Though I was having a decent time, I didn't realize how much I would have delighted in a travel companion or the warmth of my relatives. How fitting that these ancient words of loneliness and homesickness should be presented to me on my own solo excursion during the time of year when I should have been celebrating the New Year with my family. On the very same river that had originally inspired the great poet. Miserable Li Bai and myself would have had much to discuss over a bottle or two of wine, but I'd have been better off seeking solace in other company: common belief says that the poor lush tried to touch the moon's reflection in the river and drowned to death in a drunken stupor.

For the duration of our quick lesson, the themes of haunting darkness, solitude, yearning for home and other generally uncomfortable motifs were piled on. Aside from a surprising bit of enlightened beauty from the Chairman himself (he famously swam across the river in 1956), Yangtze poetry is overwhelmingly depressing. The Americans were not impressed and griped about it for the remainder of the trip, exhibiting clear evidence that the beauty of Chinese poetry really gets lost in translation. The French dame was enthralled, engaging me in an afternoon chat about the subject matter, mostly because we were somewhat kindred spirits in our pursuit of travel opportunities and the baffled confusion we feel when surrounded by people without any urges to see the world.

After class, in the peace and quiet of my cabin, the works we had just seen inspired a flurry of melodramatic journal writing. The final poem, one of Campbell's favorites, really moved me. Appropriately translated as "When I Get Depressed"...

"I get silent and I stare at nothing all day long,
Or I lie down and read the ancient masters who move me
to even greater depths of melancholy,
and then, refreshed, and knowing I am not alone,
I get up and join the world again."

My classical Chinese professor would probably have a heart attack trying to grade Campbell's self-translation, but the meaning was clear for me. I put my journal down and went for a much-needed cup of coffee.

After my little fit of personal enlightenment via poetry, it was back to the business of travel. Over the course of the morning, we had passed through the entirety of Xiling Gorge and were about to enter the second, Wu Gorge. Our ship docked in Wushan town and we swiftly disembarked, boarding a smaller tourist ferry. Praise Jesus it was low season, because I can imagine this place getting packed to the gills with local red-hatted tourist groups polluting the amazing scenery (and river) with their numbers, like termites burrowing their way through the pillars of an ancient cathedral. Our ferry was spacious by comparison, with a wide upper deck ideal for quiet contemplation and picture snapping.


In Chinese, Wu Gorge ("Wushan") roughly translates to "Witch Mountain" or "Magic Mountain," depending on which tour guide happens to be confusing you with their personal interpretation of nomenclature. I can tell you that there was no magical mischief going on that particular day, but an old hermit warlock could have conducted a quick sacrifice to the heavens for good weather: for the first (and only) time on our cruise, the sun came out in full force, flooding the gorge with an abundance of contrasting shadows that added to the depth and grandeur of the vista. In the afternoon light, it would be our closest peek at the beauty of the gorges. Sailing up a narrow tributary, the Daning River, we began our excursion into the Lesser Three Gorges.

Neil. Not Jumping.

Aboard the ferry, the foreigners huddled together in the top deck seating room. We were all excited at the afternoon ahead. The Brits, God save them, did not display much enthusiasm, but giving them the benefit of the doubt, I'm sure they were eager to see it all. The woman, our dear friend Rose, inexplicably spent what would be the entire tour sitting alone, next to the fat Singaporean kids playing on their PSPs, without joining her fiancee, her face cemented in an indifferent scowl that cried out "uptight bitch" (I later found out she was actually sick - bad, judgmental Neil!). The Frenchies, on the other hand, had already secured their place on the outdoor terrace, glued to the rails like kids at a zoo leaning precariously into the tiger pit. I plopped down with the Americans, explaining some basic Chinese history and cultural matters, while the Australians camped in the seats behind us. With the warm sun heating the room, it was sure to be a cozy trip. And then, tap-tap-tap, the ferry guide turned on her microphone and put an end to any dreams of a relaxing cruise.

"GOOD AFTERNOON EVERYONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WELCOME TO THE LESSER THREE GORGES PORTION OF THE YANGTZE RIVER THREE GORGES SCENIC AREA OF THE GLORIOUS PEOPLE'S REPUBLIC OF CHINA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! HAPPY NEW YEAR OF THE OX!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I WISH YOU ALL A PROSPEROUS, HEALTHY, HAPPY, LOVING, SUPER, STUPENDOUS, AWESOME YEAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

You get the point. She was almost screaming into the mic at a volume that literally made my head ache. The American woman had her hands over her ears and was crouched over in the airplane-crash "Brace, Brace!" position. As we frantically grabbed our pressure points to reduce brain swelling (as taught on the cruise ship by the ship's doctor), it became overwhelming. I entertained a fleeting thought of tossing her into the river to rid us of her noise, but for the sake of the few Chinese-speaking travelers on the boat, I had to stifle my selfish desires and let her do her job. Instead, I bucked up and went to the outdoor deck for the remainder of the tour, where there were thankfully no speakers to harm us with her din. It was the right choice.

JUMP! Little Three Gorges

Outside, the only sounds were lapping waves, the muted rumble of the ferry's engine, and the quiet chatter of the other souls braving the wind, all reverbing off the gorge walls. In this narrow stretch, the mountains seemed higher, jutting straight out of the water and towering above us. From this distance, we could actually see the relocated hillside villages, even getting close enough to wave at some local residents as we passed by. Likewise, the proximity also illustrated the natural impact of the rising water even better.

Along the way, the river was peppered with little bumps of land peeking through the surface of the water like they were gasping for air. These were actually hilltops before the dam. As in, these were the tops of mountains before the water rose 100 meters. We'd been inundated with this info since day 1, but seeing it in person was still shocking. Long ago, water levels in some bends of the river were only 1 to 2 meters deep. Now, a giant water sign demarcating the maximum water level announces to all a mind-boggling 175 meters.



Though the scenery was impressive, my main concern on this leg of the tour was the famed hanging coffins of the Ba tribe. The Ba people, one of the earliest groups to inhabit the area and shorthand namesake of nearby Chongqing, laid their dead to rest in the most awesome fashion. Using wooden coffins containing said deceased family member, the Ba would somehow find a way to swing the box down the cliff face - which at that time was over 300 meters from the ground - lodging it in a convenient nook for all eternity. They believed that the ridiculous height placement would aid the dead on their trip to heaven. This was over 2,000 years ago during the Warring States Period, a little before the time of Christ, as proven by carbon dating of bronze artifacts found within one coffin. Scientists still haven't figured out how they did it, as no tangible evidence remains.

The Center Thingy

Thus it was, at the end of the upstream leg, we rounded the bend and saw our fist coffin. Without much imagination or childish awe, you would be forgiven if disappointment was your first reaction. First, the water level is not nearly as low as it was when the Ba risked their lives to complete these ancient feats. Nor is there much left of the coffins. In most cases, it is simply a pile of long, dark hardwood planks. Nevertheless, it did the trick. This type of mysterious anthro-archeological stuff really gets me off.

It's that dark little bit in the middle. OooOOoOOhh~

As we neared the end of the scenic area, the ferry made a U-turn and we headed back to our ship. Since I had spent the past 2 hours taking pictures of almost every inch of the scenery, I could relax and take in the exact same sights we had just passed. I had a long talk with one of the Frenchies, the large older woman, about our experiences in Asia, love of Japanese/Chinese opera, and general attitude about exploration and travel. She was a dream to converse with, as many of our feelings and odd sense of humor were the same. Fear not, there will be no little Neils running around Paris in a couple months; there were no uncomfortable sparks between us, just genuine appreciation to have found another like-minded soul in the most random of places on a river in central China.

Back inside, I returned to my seat near the American couple. The sun had warmed the cushion to a suitably toasty degree and I relaxed in the rays of the setting sun. The cacophony from the speakers had apparently been silenced at some time prior to me return, so the time was ripe to enjoy each other's company. The Brits were also smart enough to return to the warm confines of the indoor area, so I took my cue and offered them some of the dried mangoes I had been enjoying. Nothing can break down the defense of a fat British bird better than the sight of dehydrated fruit, it seems. Once I had conquered her, Alaister and Rose were not far behind.

Ice broken, I learned that they were coworkers at a university in nearby Suzhou. Had the single woman been a little more svelte, perhaps we could have started a torrid affair aboard our cruise ship. Alas, she was quite gross and I settled with exchanging a few pleasantries. Alaister was much more animated, though poor Rose remained an ice queen. She also looked about 10 years older than the young chap, so I really don't know how that love connection came to fruition. She was no Victoria Beckham, so it remains a mystery.

We chatted about the Olympics (both Beijing and London) and the World Expo (and when it stopped being called the World's Fair), our experiences in China, and where I got those damn delicious mangoes. I felt a sick sense of satisfaction from the whole deal, drawing out a few polite laughs and dry jokes from the stuffy lot. A room filled with British, Americans, Frenchies and Australians might not sound like a pleasant gathering, but on this little excursion, it was fine by me.


Back aboard the boat, it was time to relax for the remainder of the afternoon and evening. The next, and final, full day aboard the Victoria Star would include an excursion to my personal anticipatory highlight of the trip: the foreboding ghost city of Fengdu, a place all Chinese souls must go after death to be judged. Think of it as a traditional Chinese version of Purgatory. With over 20 hours to go until descending into the netherworld, we enjoyed the penultimate day with some high-stakes excitement: mahjong.

Now, as most proper Chinese know how to play mahjong, tutorials are unnecessary. However, this being a foreigner-centric cruise package, a quick class on the basics of the game was arranged by our river guide, Campbell. We'd been gearing up for the class since receiving the day's itinerary the night before. While my basic knowledge of the game is truly that, basic, it was more of a novel experience for the other English-speaking members of the group. Too ashamed to admit it, I just wanted a brief refresher.

Buckled down in pairs before a glorious automatic mahjong table - the kind that shuffles and arranges the tiles for you - the Aussie couple, American couple, my large Frenchie girlfriend and the Brits tried their very best to grasp the rules. After the first second, it was apparent that hearts, spades, clubs and diamonds are clearly the way to go. Sure enough, counting bamboo sticks and circles was fairly straightforward, but expecting a group of foreigners to immediately learn and recognize the characters for the numbers 1 through 10 was like teaching a one-day rocket science course to a turtle. I sat back, enjoying a cup of wine and a nice chuckle, trying my best to be constructive and mediate when heated arguments began over why bamboo and circles can't combine or what the purpose of the Four Winds was all about.

As they fumbled with the tiles, a group of observers began to form at the door. When Chinese hear the click-clack of shuffling mahjong tiles, it's like sharks smelling blood. You could see the dollar signs in their eyes, an innocent flock of ignorant foreign money just waiting to be ravaged by superior Chinese skills. When they realized just how abysmal these beginners were, many got bored and left. When there's no fun in the hunt, what's the point? One lagged behind. A little old lady, mumbling to herself in Cantonese, strategic "aiya"s and pained "eeeeeehhhhh"s spurting forth whenever a tactless move was made. At one point, I giggled at something she said in Cantonese and, recognizing my skillz, she took her cue to strike up a conversation.

Hobbling over, she started talking to me about how to get in on the game. I told her that they were learning, best not to interrupt with her prowess. She laughed, patted my cheek and called me a "handsome boy." I missed the familiarity of my family's tongue, so I tried my best to talk to her with my piss-poor broken Cantonese. It was tough, especially for the poor old bat, because God knows what I was saying. I sure didn't. She asked me what I did for a living (danger), how much money I made each month (danger!) and whether I had a girlfriend or not (DANGER!). Before I could answer the last one, she whipped out her iPhone and started sliding and tapping away, shuffling through pictures of her son's recent wedding and unveiling a picture of her single daughter, making sure to tell me just how much money each child was earning. Holding the phone to my face, I mustered a very lackluster "wow, so pretty" to this beast before my eyes. The old lady was beaming at me, waiting to catch the sparks in my eyes, making it even more difficult to bear lying to such a sweet old thing. It was obvious why her daughter was still unmarried... The Aussies were chuckling behind her back, telling me to go for it, ever the comedians.

The Aussies

Before I was forced into an arranged marriage with this woman's family, she asked my age. 27. "Oh, too young! My daughter is almost 32! Too bad..." Bullet dodged, I took a swig of my wine and thanked my lucky stars for five-year age differences. We talked a little longer and then she announced that she had to take her leave and find her husband. I wished her well and got my head back into the game, just in time to see the Brits seize victory.

The Yanks

Later in the lounge, my old friend shuffled over to ask me if I wanted to play mahjong with her and her pals. For big money. I told her I was a crap player and offered up the Aussie couple, who had won the second round of play earlier that day. She scoffed and said that they might as well give her their money before wasting time in a game. She had her sights locked on me. Apparently she hadn't given up on my son-in-law prospects just yet. I stood firm, though, not wanting to endure any more daughter-talk, especially while losing money. I tried to push the Aussies on her again, but to no avail. Sighing again, she asked me where they were from. I told her "Au Zhou" (which means Australia in Mandarin).

"Oh, 'au zhou', I've been there before. Germany, Italy, France!"

I assure you, she wasn't retarded. She was confusing "au zhou" with "ou zhou," which, as you guessed, is Europe. And so it went, back and forth, "au", "ou", "au", "ou", until finally I got so frustrated I drew a crude map in my notebook and tapped my pen so hard onto that continent Down Under than I broke through the paper. She still looked puzzled, so the Aussie dad chuckled and told me to just draw a kangaroo. Har har har. But lo and behold, as soon as she heard "kangaroo," she yelled out "dai shu!", the Chinese for kangaroo (literally "bag mouse," as in, "giant mouse with a bag on it").

"Ohhhhh, 'AU zhou' (duh, as if I were the idiot here). Yeah, I've been there too! We make a point to leave HK and travel every year!"

And then, tip-toeing close to my ear, she whispered, "My husband has a LOT of money!"

For a split second, I entertained the idea of committing to a betrothal with a sea monster for the sake of her parents' riches, but good sense got the best of me and I smiled at her as she hobbled off to find her rich hubby. No amount of money is worth that ungodly fate.

Up next: Chinese Purgatory...

Yang Zi Jie On Yang Zi Jiang (Or, Neil's Trip Up The Yangtze)

Part 1: Floating Upstream

The thought of being alone in central China for eight days had me nervous before the excursion even started. I was convinced it would be lonely, though the romantic ideals associated with solo travel enticed me. A solitary man on an adventure into the wilds of China with nothing but a backpack, his own wits, and a Ziploc bag full of digestive biscuits. If I had a whip and a gun, it would have been the total package. I figured I'd also get a little bored without any company, so I brought my journal and books and lots of snacks that might come in handy if I found myself in a situation where I needed to barter for my life with mountain tribes people.

On the day of departure, I had a flight scheduled from Shanghai to Wuhan. At 10 PM. Earlier that morning, there was some confusion with CTrip, my preferred ticket booking agency: they said my original flight was delayed to 11:30PM, which was already bad enough, and then they called a second time to say that they flight was canceled altogether, so they would switch me to another airline. Suspicious but with no other option, I agreed to this unconventional set up. I knew something like this would happen. It's China!

That evening before I left my apartment, I had a nagging feeling that I should go to the airport early. Thank you, Mr. Gut. When I got there, the new airline told me that they had no record of my ticket and that switching airlines wasn't even possible. Great. I asked when the next flight to Wuhan was. With an expression that was clearly designed to challenge my resolve, she told me that the last flight of the night was departing in 30 minutes and I had a mere 10 minutes to go through security. So I quickly bought a new ticket, ran to the gate in a cold sweat and hopped on the flight. For all that drama, I arrived in Wuhan an hour earlier than expected.

Driving through the city at night, it was apparent that the people in that part of China don't know how to drive. Even worse than Shanghai drivers. Why? They don't use lanes. There were about 3 or 4 cars trying to drive side-by-side on a two lane street, like Mario Kart battle mode, but without all the fun turtle shells or Princess Toadstool. And lots of dogs running across the road. And people. One lady was just standing in the middle of the street. It would have been so satisfying to run her over, thus teaching her a lasting lesson in traffic safety. As my taxi slammed on the breaks, barely inches from her brittle, breakable legs, she just gazed through us as if we had interrupted her midnight stroll. I tell you, it just gets better and better in this country.

The next day, I woke up early and caught a taxi to the bus station. I had a sufficient amount of rest, having politely declined the well-priced whores that my taxi driver offered me the night before. In the daylight, Wuhan wasn't much to look at. There are some famous sites (it's also the home of Mulan!) but nothing I haven't seen before, just like every other mid-level city in China. The people were very friendly, I have to say: as soon as my taxi stopped at the bus station, there were about three or four homeless beggars that crowded against the car window just to greet me with outstretched hands. From whatever else I could gather in the short time I was present, they were not as harsh as Northerners, not as snide as the people along the coast. But aside from that, not much. Put it this way: the city was so much fun, I didn't even have time to take pictures.

I had to get to the port city of Yichang before 5pm, and the bus ride was supposedly 5-6 hours. So I bought my ticket, grabbed lunch, then hopped on the next bus out of town. On the way, I shit you not, we encountered not one, but TWO cars who were driving against traffic. On the highway! It was like all of a sudden, here's a car driving straight towards us, our bus frantically swerving to get out of the way in time. Who knows what these country rednecks were thinking.

Luckily, we got to Yichang safely (early again!) at 3pm, but I still had to get to the ship port. The area was deserted, in anticipation for Chinese New Year, no doubt. I had to wander around for a while, waiting for a taxi to save me from this seemingly abandoned burg. I thought the port was within walking distance, but as it turned out, it was about 30 minutes away. By car. Yikes. Fortunately I found a taxi without wasting too much time meandering around aimlessly. The driver wanted to charge a higher rate than what I had found in my research, but I didn't care. Can't be picky in times as desperate as these. Plus, his breath was so bad that I didn't want him to open his mouth to talk too much, otherwise I would have suffocated before we got to the ship.

As the cab pulled up to the concrete dock, the ship was already abuzz with workers preparing for the cruise. Steam was billowing from below the deck, chefs were carrying crates of food into the kitchen, workers were banging and buffing the ship to (hopefully) ensure safety. I tumbled onto the dock, trying not to fall over as I climbed the stairs to board. After checking-in, I went to go see my cabin.

The Lone Explorer

The ship was gorgeous. On the outside, nothing special. But the conditions in my room were better than a hotel. Super clean bed linen, dark hardwood walls, a flatscreen TV with CNN, central heating, an all-white bathroom (so clean you could take a bath, a rarity in China!), and a private balcony to sit outside and watch the passing scenery. The dining area looked like a grand banquet hall. We even had a library, lounge and a huge bar on the top deck. I was really impressed. As long as I wasn't paired with a stranger who would share the room, it would be perfect. Looking out my window, the slopes of the valley were covered in green vegetation and yellow stone and dirt. The water had a greenish-blue tint (the Chinese color "qing") and mist covered everything. I lamented that this would have been amazing to be able to share with someone close to me.

My Cabin (L-R): My bed, TV and dresser; both beds; bathroom

In truth, it was the loneliest Chinese New Year I've ever had, my first away from home in 27 years. Ironically, it was also the most un-Chinese Chinese New Year I've ever experienced, and I was in China! To make matters worse, on this biggest feast day of the Chinese year, dinner wasn't even included that night and I had to pay out of pocket for some overpriced crap: a bowl of noodles. The gods were somehow playing a cruel joke on me. Some Australians at the table next to me were seated close to each other and enjoying a round of boisterous laughs. Sitting alone at my big table, I felt like a chump, a total failure of extroversion, envious that these complete foreigners were having the good time that I should have been sharing with my own family.

At the other table beside me sat three British people, the complete opposites of the Aussies. One fat bird and a young-ish looking couple who were newly engaged. All seated one chair apart from the other, looking ever so cold and uppity in typically repressed English fashion. The large single woman addressed the younger lass as "Rose," which caused me to nearly choke on my noodle. Fearing the worst, I closed my eyes and waited to hear the bloke's name. Alaister. Phew, it would have been over for me if he was named Jack.

Luckily, the ship was not completely devoid of the good stuff. I sucked down a satisfying Illy coffee at the bar, my first hit of the day. Then, without much else to do, returned to my cabin and fell asleep to Obama on CNN. That handsome bugger.

In the middle of the night, I was awoken to the sounds of warfare. The crew were lighting fireworks on dry land, which was right near my window. I imagine this is what Iraq is like, but without all the death and danger. I didn't really sleep at all, but at least no one had arrived to take the other bed. Happy New Year!

Day 3 was the first actual day of real travel on my trip. At breakfast (great spread...they even had real bacon!), I met the table group with whom I would share my meals with for the entire trip. I was lucky. Of the foreigners on the boat, there was a Singaporean tour group, a Hong Kong group, 3 stuffy Brits, 2 Frenchies, a fat white dude with a young Shanghainese lady, 4 Aussies and 3 Americans (including me). There were about 30 local Chinese, but they kept their distance, thank God. Of the entire foreigner group, I was seated with the Aussie family and the 2 Americans. The Aussies were from Sydney: a son and his fiancee who live in Guangzhou, and his parents in China for a visit. The Americans were from Kansas City, but living and teaching at university in Xi'an. They were a great group. The Aussies had a son named Neil who couldn't make it on the trip, so they said they'd adopt me. Not a bad arrangement, as it would turn out. They ended up being my company and travel companions for the duration of the cruise.

Table #2: The Americans and Aussies

Our first stop was the Three Gorges Dam. Now, before I ever had any idea of modern China or even knew what the Three Gorges were, I heard about this dam. I think it was high school. All the environmentalists in the US were going crazy about it because it was supposed to be entirely evil and wrong. The effects on the environment, the shift in nature's flow, the displacement of villagers, the destruction of history. Lots of stuff to consider. So seeing the actual thing was a bit of a let down. It didn't look like a huge, evil man-made horror. In fact, it was one of the most boring and ugly "monuments" I've ever seen. Just a plain 2km long dam. Covered in the normal polluted haze and the foggy humidity, it was a bland and tasteless sight. Like most "modern" things in China, it's just a big ugly hunk of cement and shortsighted designing. The Hoover Dam is far prettier.

The Three Gorges Dam: Underwhelming, Eh?

The Model Is More Impressive

The statistics, nevertheless, are impressive. Enough to make a civil engineer cream themselves, but to an ordinary guy like me, it was just a dam. The idea was actually concocted in 1919 by Sun Yatsen and received subsequent support from Mao. In 1992, the project was officially started. Ground was broken in '94 and, almost ten years later in 2003, the first phase was completed with the creation of a massive reservoir. The dam itself was finished in 2006 at a 25 billion USD price tag. And it was below budget. This year, the complete filling of the reservoir was a clear sign of just how much the dam has affected the landscape. The water all along the river has risen an additional 100m (about 330 feet), making the current level of most areas about 175m deep. To get an idea of how deep that is, the Great Pyramid and the dome at St. Peters are only 140 m high.

It is proudly the largest hydro-electric power station in the world, pumping clean energy all over the country. The government touts it as a godsend for safety and protection against flooding, which the river is notoriously guilty of doing. The statistic is that, over 100 years, about 1 million people have been killed by flooding. So, according to the comrades, this dam is protecting about 15 million residents who make home downstream below the dam. What they fail to mention is that, should the dam ever break, the town of Yichang will be completely destroyed by the rushing river in less than 1 hour, killing all inhabitants, including my friendly taxi driver with the halitosis. The total aftermath of a potential dam break would result in about 10 million people drowning in a flood, if no action is taken to rescue them.

JUMP! Three Gorges Dam

The current toll on human life is no less severe. Since the water has risen about 100 meters, all of the villages and settlements had to either be relocated higher up the mountains or its residents simply forced to move to other cities. Villages that had been around for centuries - relics, temples, family tombs - everything either moved or drowned in the rising water. The total statistic is 1.3 million people had to move. That's equal to the ENTIRE state population of Maine, New Hampshire or Hawaii, OR the entire city population of San Antonio, San Diego or Dallas. Take your pick. But wait, there's more fun in store: with projected water erosion that will put the current villages uphill at risk, many will have to relocate yet again, pushing the total up to a whopping 4 million displaced souls.

Along the route, we'd be reminded of these drastic changes, so I won't continue boring you here. Of the pros and cons regarding this project, it seems like the bad overwhelmingly outweighs the good. Time will tell.

No Suicides Please

Back on the boat, we continued our journey. The first big obstacle would be crossing the dam. From where we were to where we wanted to be, there was a difference of 115 meters. UP. So we had to rely on the gigantic lock system - bigger than the Panama Canal locks - that the dam uses to slowly transport cruise ships and cargo vessels up along the height of the dam. 20 meters per lock, five locks total, 3 hours of life spent climbing the Yangtze. In 2014, a ship elevator will reduce the trip to only 40 minutes, but the ships must weigh less than 3,000 tons. So unfortunately, you'd only be able to transport about 600 adult elephants or 15 blue whales in that lift. Sorry.

Three Gorges Dam Ship Lock

Entering The Lock

Long Way Down

Don't Bump Your Head

80m Tall

Tight Quarters

The lock trek went by quicker than expected. It was quite a marvel that we passed through in the scheduled three hours. With four massive ships precariously squeezed into each segment, the water-stained lock walls bore down on us in a claustrophobic huddle. As each lock filled and the ships rose to match the water level of the next lock, the groaning and bellowing of the ships were disturbingly eerie and disconcerting, like some long-dormant beast emerging from its murky lair. Or, for those without overactive imaginations, the simple result of creaking metal and changing water pressure. Those of us on the outdoor deck quietly waited, opting for silence in the presence of such deep trembling.

JUMP! Three Gorges Dam Ship Lock

Top of the Lock

One by one at a steady pace, until at last the end was in sight. As the sun set over the distant mountains, we emerged from the fifth and final lock, finally headed upstream on the Yangtze River to the famed Three Gorges.

Leaving The 5th Lock

Onto The Three Gorges


Next episode: Into the gorges...

The Office: Holiday Special

(Or, The Company Christmas Party)

Of all the topics that I imagined would be the first from my blog series from home, this was the last. Tonight, I went to a Christmas party/dinner with my dad's coworkers at a local steakhouse. As these things usually go, it involves a bunch of coworkers, the majority of whom could care less about the other and just want to get the goddamned thing over with (please pass the wine), a few set meal options to aid in efficiency, some corny games and lots of awkwardness. Whether I'm in China or America, I swear situations like this simply follow me.

As we Yeungs are prone to doing, my father and I arrived fashionably early. Of the 40 expected guests, only a small crew of 5 ladies were seated in the upstairs group room. I don't know what's been put in America's water, but for many American white ladies over the age of 50, something awful happens to them after that special time known as menopause. They shrink to toad-like dwarf size, asses ballooning out in all directions, creating a weird human blob in the shape of a pear. With a short, dyke-y hairstyle, lots of makeup, and bad perfume. There must be a secret manufacturing plant for these lasses somewhere in the Midwest, the heart of obese housewife hell. Five such examples of this species were already knocking back martinis when we walked in. I could immediately sense my dad's inherent Chinese awkwardness in social settings click on to alert mode, immediately adopting the nervous loud-talk to make it seem like he was happy to see these people, while at the same time frantically screening the area for a separate table to claim so that we wouldn't have to sit with them all evening. After the required pleasantries of "Hello, nice to meet you" and "Really?! THIS is your son!? I don't believe it, he's so white and you're so yellow!" we retreated to our table and started drinking.

As the rest of the employees arrived, I realized that I was in an episode of The Office. Albeit a less enjoyable one for lack of any Pam doppelgangers. First of all, the place was packed with Phyllises. Tall ones, short ones, ones with hats. Fat ones, fatter ones, a heffer in a moo-moo covering her enormously large ass. These ho-hum broads would benefit from sprucing up a bit to emulate their queen, Phyllis, who is, believe it or not, far better put together. Oh the horror.

To serve as the peanut butter to the tubby, fem-jelly of this suburban PB&J nightmare, the dudes were no less interesting. To be fair, all of these folk were polite and nice. But something about seeing a bunch of fat, balding white men with faint strains of rosacea and nauseating neck ties just rubs me the wrong way. By all accounts, wearing a tie that depicts each of the Twelve Days of Christmas should be reason enough for execution. Call these the Bob Vances of the bunch, but just not as interesting. After having my poor hand mangled by a steady stream of these chuckling behemoths, I was momentarily thankful to work in an environment where the majority of the male employees are the same size as yours truly. If I see one more Christmas-themed tie wrapped around another ham-neck, I may snap.

During the evening's quiz game (oh, fun!), the MC showed pictures of famous pop culture celebrities who "resembled" one of the colleagues in attendance. The bald white dude with the pointy nose? Dick Cheney. The fat bald guy with big eyes? Homer Simpson. And what about the token black guy in attendance, the only person of color for miles around (my dad not included)? He's gotta be the dude on 24! I'm sure he didn't feel awkward at all... At one point, the MC noted that a certain audience member looked like George Washington, which is all fine and dandy except for the fact that she's a woman. So, so flattering.

No amount of wine could have prepared me for the Michael Scott Award for Awkward Social Antics winner. Sitting at our table (Dick Cheney's wife), this overweight little creature could only be described as a typical Boston-area working class white lady who thinks she's down but really doesn't have a clue. I don't know how else to put it, because at certain points, I swore she was some distant relative on my mom's side. You know which one: the aunt that introduces me as her "Oriental nephew."

Upon hearing that I was in town on vacation from China (and repeatedly insisting that I could not possibly be my dad's son for lack of resemblance), she happily told the table that she spoke some Chinese.

Me: "Oh really?!"
Her: "Yes!" *smiles* "Shay-shay!"
Me, pausing: "Oh, xie xie! That's great!" *trying not to roll eyes at this retarded wombat*
Her, reaching into the cobwebbed recesses: "What else? Oh, and ah-wheez!"

I looked at my dad, he looked at me, we didn't have a fucking clue what she was trying to say.

Her, again and again: "Ah-wheez!"
Me: "Erm...."
Her: "You know, 'ah-wheez' is how the Chinese say 'Louise'. You know the Chinese can't pronounce 'L's, so that's why they say 'ah-wheez'!"

At this point, I almost fainted. Was she seriously telling us what "Chinese people say"? Did I miss something in my upbringing, during my collegiate training, and in China? And she didn't stop there.

Her: "Oh yeah, back then, everyone knew I spoke Chinese. So whenever one of those Chinese ladies called [our company], they'd hand me the phone to talk to 'em!"

And then, Lord help me, she said in the chinkiest accent you can imagine, eyes squinted, head bobbing up and down like a Hollywood coolie or rickshaw man, "Ah-so, mee-sa liking ask'a qwestion ah la wah so ching chong chang" or some other fucking bullshit, with the straightest face possible as if she really knew what she was talking about. As the table went silent and my neighbors' jaws dropped, I turned to my dad and said "I need another drink." Behind me I heard another, "Ah-so!"

Having received a valuable lesson in how to speak Chinese, we were rewarded with coffee and dessert. As soon as the last bite was swallowed, my dad and I swiftly made our way to the door. Although I was happy to share a meal with the token brother, our current vice president, and one of the most ignorant people I've ever had the fortune of meeting, I just wanted to escape this suburban corporate Twilight Zone. My dad was happy and proud to show me off to his cronies and I was happy to be put on show-and-tell, but one more tutorial from that idiot would have made me lose my dinner all over her face.

The Battle Rages On

(Or, The Continuing Competition For Silliest Name In The Land)

Now that the Beijing Olympics are thankfully relegated to the history books and the painful memories associated with those weeks of fierce competition have been neatly filed away in the far recesses of your mind, allow me to drag it all back for just one moment. I will not stand idly by and let complacency get the best of you. Why? Because the Chinese never rest.

Despite winning all those golds, they are too proud to admit that losing the total medal count to the USA will forever be a splinter in their big stinky paw. Just as the US government would rightly have you believe, the treacherous Chinese are currently continuing efforts to plot their glorious uprising to take over the world and crush democracy with poorly chosen monikers. You saw what they did at the Opening Ceremony; now imagine all that manpower armed with bad names instead of drumsticks. I pray for my unborn children.

During this sensitive time, it is vital to educate yourself and know all you can about this threat. It's time to enter the mind of the Yellow Peril. Thus I submit to you, the 2008 name audit. By studying their names, you can learn all you need to know about them.

First, we have the clever ones who have chosen the names of America's own, a diabolical tactic to appropriate our cherished heroes. We've got some television stars (Scofield, Locke, Simpson), some film icons (Bourne, Rocky (and his Viagra-loving pal, Rocky Dong - ha!), Neo) and actual real-life heroes (Kobe). American institutions aren't even safe (Yahoo, Google, Disney, Navy).

Names Stolen From Your Beloved Bald TV Stars

They also get mythical, pillaging not only Roman and Norse legends, but also Tolkien: Triton, Thor, Elven

Dipping into the eternal battle between good and evil, we come upon some Judeo-Christian imagery (you will note that now we have TWO fallen angels at the company...):
Sunday and Moses vs. Lucifre and Daemon

Next, the ones that fly under the radar with names of seemingly innocuous random objects:
String, Bottle, Wine, Stone, Coin, Jet, Orange, Jar, Shoulder, Blazer, Jam, Echo, Cherry

Digging deeper, we find the ones who lure you with the sweet stuff, like strangers in a big white van:
Sugar, Candy, Cookie, Vanilla, Cheer, Dreamy (a dude), Smile, Magic, Semon (we've got TWO, but the winner is surnamed Wang...)

Moving on, we come to the nature lovers:
Cloud(y), Leaf, Snow, Ocean, Alps, Fjord, and the sickeningly saccharine, Summer Sun

Close behind, we have everyone's favorite - the people that insist on naming themselves after animals. This never gets old: Lion, Tiger, Pony, Phoenix, Fish, Fly

Delving into more mundane subject matter, we've got some adjectives (Real, Ready, Brisk), verbs (Freed, Tear), a gerund (Wondering) and two creative adverbs (Gayly, Radly). Most curiously, one wonders if "Gayly" is merely happy or fancies a nice buggering every now and again...

Speaking of buggering, consider these lovely gems:
Blondie Poon, Lolita, Titi, Action, Dicky Huang

As we come to the end of the audit, I present those villians who deserved special recognition with their very own categories:

The Return of Scooby Doo Award: Rorry
Bodega Beauty Award: Yolanda
Son Of Pika Award: Kaka Chu (but is he advocating the futbol player or poop?)
Inexplicable Choice Award: John Son (that is his first name...no relation at all to his Chinese characters)

And finally, we end with the most dangerous of the bunch, the ones who defy categorization and logic, though not to be confused with the ones using pirated versions of Microsoft Office with broken spellcheck (Jewerl, Sily, Rechal, Belive, Kidy, Likeit). Clearly, these names must be some sort of secret code used to communicate confidential Communist messages. To dismiss them as gibberish would be foolish. Never underestimate the enemy, especially an adversary with such creative nomenclature as this:

Tant, Smoll, Grissom, Soff, Turble, Phoonsure, Kubbc, Robbiet, Vosing, Hutter, Hinate, Ficom, Jeery, Clize, Linkevinse, Sunbow, Hud Woo, Jackiet, Risehong, Vigoss, QQ Ding, Zakbo, Jocose, Chitty, Madoka, Kama, Elliv, Conrite, Aquila, Cret, Feinny, Jarry, Yearnwade, Panny, Shaha, Crice, Sinba, Givty, Newjie, Kelpy, KingSea, Rabe, Famy

Luckily, there is hope. A mole has infiltrated their ranks, and in a bit of cross-straits confusion, one of China's own - Xu Hai - has changed his English name to "Hayes Hsu," clearly using the Taiwanese Romanization conventions for his surname. This brave soul has some hard espionage duties ahead, most dauntingly, against the leader of this Chinese Bad Name force, the most fearsome of all, the man so bold in his national pride that he named himself after the motherland:

China Wang

I can't make this stuff up, people. As a vigilant patriot, I implore you: do not let the Chinese win this battle. Do your part to help Uncle Sam. Pick an equally ridiculous Chinese name for yourself, like Courageous Dragon, Big Mountain or Friendly Barbarian. You could even get some random Chinese characters tattooed on that strapping red neck of yours. Please don't underestimate what they can do, for as you have seen, with every passing year, these mind-boggling names just keep coming. Until 2009...

November 5th, 2008 (Shanghai time)

(Or, Yes. We. Did.)

We did it. After eight years of mind-numbing bullshit, we finally have a new leader. It is a truly historic day that I'll never forget.

Growing up, my memories of presidential elections drew exclusively from the fact that they were so close to home: first with Michael Dukakis, a former Massachusetts governor, in '88; then Paul Tsongas, a senator from my hometown, Lowell, in '92. That year, Clinton defeated Tsongas in the primary and went on to become President. So aside from assuming that all presidents had to somehow originate from my home state (foreshadowing unsuccessful runs by Kerry and Romney), politics were not a priority in my life. This trend would continue into adolescence.

As the Clinton years went on, I began to develop a better idea of the importance of the position of President of the United States. Despite my admitted lack of deep political knowledge, I tried my best to at least maintain a basic grasp on the situation. Playing saxophone, good. Sex with interns, bad. Compared to Bush Sr. and the Gulf War, impeachment hearings for a paltry semen stain seemed silly to me. I couldn't see what the fuss was about. I suppose hindsight really puts things into perspective. None of this was more apparent than in 2000, the year I cast my first ballot.

Now, we all remember that year with mixed grief, disbelief and anger. In my dorm room at UMass, just as we began celebrating Gore's "victory" with skunked beer spilling on ruled notebooks, what would become one of the worst presidencies in American history had begun. It's a little unnecessary to rehash the details of the past two terms. The entire world is painfully aware of those realities. In retrospect, I find it interesting that my formative adult years are inextricably bound to that presidency. Pretty much all of our lives were influenced by it. So for me, this current election was - and probably will remain - the most important in my lifetime.

In the days and months leading up to Election Day '08, it felt like the most excruciating countdown to the most uncertain decision at the most unstable time ever. Lofty. Even though the general mood in the final days was positive, everyone knew that we couldn't rest until it was official. We had all been fucked at the last minute before, mind you. For me, this felt like the final inning of Game 7 in a Red Sox/Yankees playoff series that we were *just* about to win, with me hanging off the edge of my seat, knees shaking my ankles into the floor, mouth agape and eyes glued to a TV screen. Maybe it's this Boston mindset ingrained in my psyche, but I just can't rest easy until the outcome has been confirmed by at least ten separate media sources, a victory parade has been scheduled and a trophy or speech has been given before a crowd of cheering onlookers.


Bright and early on the morning of November 5th (i.e. late Tuesday night in the US), over a hundred compatriots and I played hooky from work and set up camp at a local American bar, fueled with heaping breakfast plates ("Breakfast with Barack" har har), free flow caffeine (sorry, ran out of coffee, only have Coke), and enough Chinese "Obama 奥巴马 2008" swag to make a killing on eBay years from now. The energy was high, though that nagging uncertainty still overshadowed my mood.

Affirmative Action Wet Dream

Viv and Neil: Obama's Biggest Campaign Contributors

The crowd was a big old mix of Americans, who would summarily hoot and holler their hometown allegiance whenever CNN announced their state's winner. While mostly white, there was also a healthy dose of black folk, some ABCs, and an Indian dude. Even a few witless Republicans somehow managed to wander in thinking it was just an "American" gathering, not an explicit "Obama" gathering, the idiots.

Malone's First Floor

Ebony and Ivory! Perfect Harmony Starts Now

This Kid Loves Obama
(and, on a side note, boogers too. I saw him eat like 10 in the span of a minute!)

A British NPR writer was also in the ranks, searching for any hometown Chinese that could help shed some light on the local opinion regarding the election. According to her count, she could only find two; though her local photographer pals were the only Chinese I saw. However, in preparation for her piece, she did manage to interview some locals and was happily surprised to see that the seemingly innate prejudice that Chinese have against blacks didn't rear its ugly head this time around. In fact, about 70% of Chinese polled (according to a totally scientific survey, mind you) supported Obama, reflecting the overwhelming global opinion. In my personal conversations with Shanghainese friends, their view has also been refreshingly enlightened. Although siding with Obama because McCain looks "old" and "evil" probably isn't the most educated of judgments.

The Friendly Local Photogs

Watching CNN, I felt like we had tuned in to the wrong channel. At points it felt like Monday Night Football, with the booming music, swooshing sound effects, and overblown anchorperson shouting. I was half expecting a CGI football to go flying past Wolf Blitzer's grizzled head, hitting Anderson Cooper in his pretty face. Then the very next minute, like New Year's Eve in Times Square, with the ominous CNN PROJECTION (TM) graphics counting down the seconds until the next batch of states were announced. I got a few laughs from the scant coverage of the Republican base in Phoenix, especially their frenzied boys choir performance. Wow, they sure bring out the heavy hitters. My personal favorite bit came during the insanely hallucinogenic hologram segments. If you haven't seen it yet, CNN basically beamed in anchors from different cities via freaky 2-D hologram, Star Wars style. Like Leia in A New Hope, even Black Eyed Peas frontpea, Will.I.Am, made a quick cameo.

"Help me O-ba-Ma Kenobi, you're my only hope!"
(Certainly I couldn't think that I was the only one that thought of this within the first 2 seconds of seeing this awesome advance in technology?)

At the start of the coverage, I expected a nailbiter. However as each hour passed and state after state proved their ability to vote for the right guy, the possibility of a landslide had me secretly grinning like a fool. But I didn't want to jinx anything, so the anxiety and nervous shaking continued.

At noon, about 11PM US time, CNN's hyperactive "Breaking News" animation flashed across the screen for the first time.

Barack Obama Elected President

The room exploded in celebration. As Stevie Wonder blasted through the speakers, it was pretty much official. Seeing the screaming (and crying) crowds in Grant Park, Kenya, and before my eyes in Shanghai, I too was moved to tears. We finally did it, together, and it felt so damn good.

Pure Joy

Watching Obama's amazing speech in Chicago, before a crowd so massive that you'd think Lollapalooza was back in town, I couldn't help chuckle to myself at the sight of all those white people nodding their heads and shouting out "Yes we can" in response to Obama, gospel church style. In addition to hope, he's also going to inject the country with soul ~Mmm-hmm, das righ'~ Needless to say, the speech was moving and emotional to watch, but seeing Oprah leaning on that fat white dude just pushed me over the edge. Hand me more tissues...

Although it's going to be a rough start, I believe Obama can bring the change he's promised. Hopefully he doesn't get as much criticism as Taiwan's Ma Ying-jeou, who not only shares an alma mater with Obama, but also has the astronomically unfair expectation to clean up eight years worth of accumulated shit in a very short span of time. [Editor's note: they are both also dashingly handsome and quite eloquent too.] In the very least, we'll be able to reclaim a more positive image in the global community, which is something every expat American can be thankful for. Though I will truly miss the inspired comedic soundbites that spew forth from Bush's retarded mouth, it is time for a change. My dear friend, Jigga, summed it up best by saying:

"Rosa Parks sat so Martin Luther King could walk.
Martin Luther King walked so Obama could run.
Obama's running so we all can fly."

I've never felt this proud to be an American. I have a feeling I'll be telling my grandchildren about this monumental day: the day a black man, nee, a fellow halfie, became President of the United States of America.

The Ego Has Landed (Or, Kanye West Is Coming "Home")

Jesus didn't walk last night, but we had a great time all the same. On the final stop of his Chinese mainland trek, Kanye West played a modest (see: short) set that kept the crowd on its toes, which is a feat in itself considering most Chinese audiences often resemble the pile of stinky, dead fish on the melting ice chips at your nearest Carrefour. Unfortunately, he left the mega-LCD screen and spaceship back in the States, making this billing as a Glow In The Dark show a bit of a misleading misnomer. However, from start to finish, the energy was high and the setlist was tight. In the 4 years since I last saw the man, he has really come a long way.

Mr. West, the college dropout who eventually re-registered (late, mind you) and finally graduated, was not the first performer I would have thought of had you asked me "Who do you think will come to China next?" He's just too hip and cutting edge and, after Bjork, I assumed we were done for. I would have thought someone safer and more boring, maybe another stint by the Black Eyed Peas. So after his initial date was scrapped and then rescheduled in order to fit in a gig in Beijing, a hefty 380 RMB per ticket (for the "cheap" seats!) was shelled forth in anticipation for one of the best hip hop artists alive.

Remarkably, We Each Paid 380 RMB To See This Man.

News of Kanye's impending arrival got me crazy excited in all the right places. As most of us would learn, this was a "homecoming" of sorts, according to the overexited Chinese press. You see, back in 1987, Kanye's mom Donda (R.I.P.) took a Fulbright teaching position in Nanjing, site of the eponymous massacre north of Shanghai, and brought her then ten-year old son with her. His Mandarin apparently got fluent enough to "translate menus" at restaurants. Hrm... Oddly, he didn't utter a word of Chinese during the entire show, so maybe he forgot it all during his 21 year absence from the mainland. His beloved mother, the unfortunate victim of a botched plastic surgery procedure, got a proper shout out though, via his heart-wrenching tribute, "Hey Mama," which gets my vote for the Best Momma Ode By A Rapper Award (suck it, Tupac).

Although no one would ever accuse Kanye of being the greatest rapper alive, his lyrics are thought-provoking, oftentimes hilarious, and don't need to resort to the typical violence-drugs-and-bitches sludge that clogs other rap catalogs. His long list of collaborations is equally inspired, reading more like a fantasy dream team of duets plucked from my iPod playlist. Jay-Z. Mos Def. Common. Lauryn Hill. Lil' Wayne. Chris Martin. Daft Punk. Lupe Fiasco. Adam Levine. Even John Mayer isn't safe from Kanye's greedy clutches. At one point during the set, the band launched into a familiar tune (Journey's "Don't Stop Believing"); familiar to soft-rock radio stations, not stadium rap concerts. Yet they managed to pull it off effortlessly. Kanye's self-appointed status as "genius" is starting to make sense to me now.

The show thumped to a start with strains of "Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger" - a track Kanye is slowly but surely usurping from Daft Punk - then morphed into "Good Morning," the first track off his latest album, Graduation. Controlling the crowd with his rhymes, Kanye blazed through hits like "All Falls Down" and "Good Life" (with laughably out-of-place show opener, Vanness Wu of LA Boyz and F4 fame) without a word of nihaoxiexie filler in between. Although the show wasn't a sell-out, the people in attendance were fully capable of going nuts. The suckers with expensive 1000 RMB-plus seats managed to partially recoup their money, filling out the front of the floor section, as if we were at an actual general admission concert. Whether because of the high expat percentage or simply because he was that amazing, the audience was fun and rowdy, something you don't see very often around here. Even though he skipped "Jesus Walks" and "New Workout Plan," the energy was palpable, making the vibe more like a sweaty club show than a gaping indoor arena.

From the swaggering "Gold Digger" to the anthemic "Touch The Sky," Kanye's ability to keep both the energy and the spirit positive is one of the reasons I like him so much. His music makes you feel good without dumbing down the message. Even when the subject matter gets heavy, there is always an addictive beat to back it up and make that head nod. On those more foreboding tracks - most notably "Diamonds From Sierra Leone" (my personal favorite) - he exhibited a passionate intensity that I usually only see at rock concerts, with lighting production to match. Trent Reznor would be proud.

Flashing. Liiights Lights Lights Lights~

Much to the delight of the Brits in attendance, Kanye whipped out his verse from Estelle's "American Boy," the huge UK (nee, "you, K") summer hit. Proving just how painfully hip he is, the bloke drops some "rubbish", namechecks my favourite superjuice Ribena, and knows the proper use of the term "wag." I'm convinced that Estelle was hiding somewhere backstage singing her choruses, but it could have also been a prerecorded loop. Part of me secretly hoped that her fellow countryman, Chris Martin, would magically appear for "Homecoming," during which I would have willingly shit my pants in excitement, but I assume he was stuck back in merry old England with Estelle.

Mr. West

Unfortunately for me, my dreams of hearing the new tracks from the soon-to-be-crowned break-up masterpiece, 808s & Heartbreak, were dashed. All we got was a verse from "Love Lockdown," which, without the aid of Kanye's new best friend, the auto-tuner, sounded a little out of place plopped at the butt end of "Touch the Sky." The Singaporeans should consider themselves lucky, as they not only got "Lockdown" but also "Heartless." I wait patiently for that album to drop on November 25th. In any case, it is just a minor quibble in an otherwise strong set. Speaking of "strong" (oh ho, ho, what a segue!)...

Still on a high from "Diamonds," "American Boy," and "Flashing Lights," Kanye finished me off with the explosive "Stronger," which is the closest I've ever come to the pure ecstasy of live Daft Punk. Although some complained of poor speaker quality, that percussion hit me in all my sweet spots and I was as happy as a rapper swimming in a pool of gold necklaces, booty sweat and big titties.

As the show came to a close, Kanye stood at the center of the stage illuminated by a megawatt flood light, arm in the air saluting a rabid crowd. And just as suddenly as he had entered, Yeezy bounded off the stage and the house lights flickered to life. Touch the sky, Shanghai.




Kanye West "Glow In The Dark" Setlist
(more or less -- if you were in attendance and have a more complete list, let me know...)

"Good Morning"
"I Wonder"
"Heard 'Em Say"
"Through the Wire"
"Champion"
"Get 'Em High"
"Diamonds from Sierra Leone"
"Can't Tell Me Nothing"
"Flashing Lights"
"Gold Digger"
"Good Life"
"Hey Mama"
"Don't Stop Believing" (Journey Cover)
"Stronger"
"Homecoming"
"Touch the Sky" ("Love Lockdown" verse only)

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