Subtitled: Bai Yun Shan or Bust!
The activity for today is participation in the Annual Retired Persons Hike to the Top of Bai Yun Shan (White Cloud Mountain, for you English-only speakers). Known as The Lungs of Guangzhou for its clear mountain air, this towering tropical peak of 300 meters also lends its name to the nearby Baiyun International Airport (IATA/FAA: CAN).
Admission to the park, normally about 75 cents, is free to all retired Guangzhouians proudly wearing their Official Orange 2010 Hike to the Top of Bay Yun Shan T-Shirt. For us furriners, sans T-shirt, but over age 60, half-price. Like I said earlier, being an old fart has its privileges. The largest expense for the day will be 2 people X 2 buses X out and back X 2 yuan (about 25 cents) per bus: that’s $4.69 total for those who can’t do the math. But I don’t even get a damn T-Shirt.
We leave the apartment at a bracing 6:30 AM (mercifully cool at this hour).
By 7:30 AM, we join the growing throngs of retirees at the entrance to the park. Lizzie suggests, “Let’s find our Team!” “Team? Como say yama, Team?” Or, “WTF, Team?”
And this brings us to one of the most fascinating unsolved mysteries of the Chinese people: the Chinese belong to a Team, like the Hispanics of LA belong to a gang. Instead of tats-n-colors, the Chinese rally around a red (of course) flag with their Team characters emblazoned in yellow. Imagine my pride and suppressed giggles as we joyously and proudly sauntered up to the flag that reads “Long Dong Team!” — and the vibes of “ahhhhhhh, comfort” just rolling off Lizzie.
Oh, Lord, I feel so like, totally BELONGING, ya know?
Just like LA, once you become a Team Member, you can never unbelong. (You didn’t know that Hotel California was really the Team Theme Song of the LA Chinese Tong?)
Now, you may wonder why I call this a “fascinating unsolved mystery.” That is because I’m truly not sure whether this “team belongingness” is a lingering artifact of Mao’s Communism, or whether it is an inherent part of thousands of years of Chinese culture. No Chinese in his right mind would ever think of asking the Team Leader for forgiveness after-the-fact. Common sense, and protocol, dictates, without exception, first, you ask for permission from the Team Leader. Then any issue of forgiveness becomes a non-issue.
The one fact that I think argues against this being related to Mao’s Communism is simply that that era only lasted 30 years, and I don’t think that’s enough time to truly cause a “cultural revolution.” After all, it took the bloody British 150 years of Indian domination to produce a continent of WOGS who can only say, “Yes, Sahib!” and “Yes, Effendi!” So, I’d bet my money on 5000 years of Warlords and Serfs (sounds like a good name for a role playing game!).
In the Beta-Blockers DO Have Their Limits Department: did I tell you the story of my last visit to China? I asked Lizzie to ask the snack-bar clerk at the Sheraton for two bottles of apple juice. A 300-word discussion ensued. Lizzie turns to me and explains, “She says one bottle of apple juice costs 35 yuan.” Well, if I had wanted to know the fucking price of the fucking apple juice, I would have asked, “What is the fucking price for a fucking bottle of fucking apple juice?” But, I don’t give a shit, nor do I give a rat’s ass in hell, what the fucking apple juice costs, I’m dying of fucking thirst, and want two fucking bottles of fucking apple juice so I can drink the fucking apple juice before I fucking pass out and fucking die!
(Be patient — this story has relevance.)
While I had earlier made a secret commitment to use the chopsticks, I had the great inner wisdom to refrain from any similar commitment regarding walking to the top of Bay Yun Shan. I’ll go as far as I can go within “reasonable pain” (for which I expect outstanding gains) parameters, and then we’ll walk back down. If anybody is watching (which of course they are — it’s hard to miss the “towering height” of the furriner). “A man’s got to know his limitations!” — thank you Clint Eastwood.
Nor do I recall mentioning the Temples of Beijing, which directed worship not toward any kinds of deities, but to practical things like food and sex. Thus, these temples came with such charming English names as: Temple of Abundant Harvests, and Temple of Copious Orgasms, etc. I think this is what happens when an essentially poetic name for a temple is translated literally.
So, it came as no surprise that we were guided by our Team, not to “The Main Hiking Trail to the Top of the Mountain,” but to the “Walk of Enhanced Digestion” — complete with healthful-living reminders emblazoned on those typical “self guided tour signs” every 100 yards or so — in Chinese and English, but of course!
If Hollywood’s Finest can make a million bucks throwing things out of time sequence, then I reserve the same right: Before we left on this adventure, Lizzie was explaining the bus route, proudly pointing out that, unlike the bus that we took to the computer store, which made some 26 stops, this bus would only make 7 stops. Or was it 8 stops? Now let’s review each stop, and keep a running tally to see if it is 7 or 8 … this is a real kicker: the round-eye furriner teaches Chinese culture to the Chinese — 7 stops, 8 stops, cha bu duo! Well, it turns out that it was actually 9 stops (do you feel the earth shifting beneath your feet?), but the extra stop was recently added to the bus route. I would have settled for, “We will take two buses for a short trip to the mountain.”
The night before, Lizzie disappeared for more than 1 hour. Upon her return, I foolishly asked, “Gee, where’d you go?” Now, I would have been delighted and fully satisfied with a reply of “Out.” Followed by, “What’d you do?”, “Nothing.” ’cause I’m basically a who/me/what/piss kinda guy (and a where/out/what/nothing kinda guy). What I got, of course, was a cobblestone by cobblestone report of a 1-hour walking tour of 87% of the entire Long Dong District.
But, ya know, that’s just too simple for a people who have no words for “yes” or “no.” Now you’re beginning to see, huh? Ask a Chinese girl, “Wanna fuck?” and, with no words for saying “yes” or “no,” you are gonna get one of those charming 300-word dissertations, that still don’t answer the fookin’ question! Imagine yourself as a Foxconn manager, trying to get a Team of 100,000 Workers to assemble a million iPhones in the One True Apple Way, without ever using a “yes” or a “no.” It’s a wonder the Foxconn managers haven’t all committed seppuku by now.
To make a long story short, I managed to make it up 600 feet out of the total of 1000 feet of elevation gain, over a path length of about 2 km (6000 feet), in 1.5 hours. That’d be about a 10% grade, with no ease-up. I was satisfied, but to convince Lizzie of my need for frequent stops, I had to confess to excruciating pains in my feet or legs, or both. This is the sort of “face losing” that can’t be recouped in 1000 reincarnations. On the way down, I suggested that we enthusiastically tell the oncoming hikers, “beautiful view at the top!” Sadly, humor gets you no face in China.
So we get back to the entrance area, looking a little deserted without all those red Team flags, and stop for some calories at a blessedly air-conditioned restaurant. In my reduced state of awareness, I foolishly ask, “Ask them if they have fried rice.” Oooooooops. 300-words later comes the non-answer: “He says they use sticky rice.” “Sticky rice, non-sticky rice, Ubangi wild rice, perfumed Bangkok bar girl rice, aromatic Basmati rice, tasteless American crack-whore rice, pre-digested rice, genetically modified rice — I don’t give a flying fuck!” — I secretly think, but do not say. Instead, I politely ask, “But, can they serve me a bowl of fried rice?” And because the Cantonese of Guangzhou have a restaurant custom of sipping tea for a hour or so, then chatting for another hour or so, and then asking to see the menu … I qualify my request, “…and can they please serve us very quickly?”
Ha! you might very well have thought that yourself, but would any of you have dared to comment?
In the Some Things Are Just Universal Department: I’m thinking, even with no face, I _am_ in a parking lot with 5000 unescorted women! But, Lizzie explains, “Oh, they’re all married, but in China, the men do not like to participate in these kinds of activities.” “…in China,” huh. hmmmmmmmmmm You might very well think that, but I couldn’t possibly comment.
