distant ruminations

Just across the road from our gate was a row of brick shacks. In the middle of the shacks was a shed my school used for storage- mostly unneeded desks and chairs, but also the occasional spare air conditioner or fridge, bits of old computer, and the school Santana were stored there. About a month, maybe six weeks ago, our friendly neighbourhood shantytown and the school’s little storage shed were knocked down, then workers came and started digging trenches and a truck with a big tank and a sucking machine came and worked it’s magic on the sewer pipes. I assumed they were fixing the sewers, a task I believe was last done around about the time the Ming Dynasty fell, judging by the state of our road. I was wrong. Just before the May Day holiday the workers started laying foundations.

The workers seemed to have taken the seven days of May Day off, but since then things have been happening. A bunch of building materials were delivered- white-painted steel (I assume) beams and big, ummmmm….. pieces of wall? as well as, of course, the usual cement and sand and other bits and pieces. The pieces of wall are a bit odd looking- kind of sandwiches of polystyrene between two steel sheets. I assume they’re pieces of wall, because it looks like they’re meant to insulate what will be the inside from what will still be the outside.

So since then the workers have been bolting the steel beams into a framework. Yes, bolting. Then once they’re done bolting, they go and weld the beams together, which makes me feel a little better about this odd new structure appearing over the road. But what strikes me as a little odd- and bear in mind that the only thing I know about construction is that it happens to buildings before people move in, because if nobody takes that important little “construction step”, there won’t be a building to move in to- is that they don’t bother to remove the paint from the beams before they weld them together. So the welded beams now have big black patches of scorched paint around the welds.

So far they’ve only been putting up the framework and these pieces of wall are still sitting around piled up waiting to be walls. But first the workers put up the framework for what looked like a one-storey row of shacks. Then yesterday they started laying plates of some kind of floor on top and bolting and then welding the framework for a second storey on top. They’re still working on that second storey today.

The other odd thing is that they’ve layed new, and kinda nice looking paving around our new kitset shantytown. Considering our road was paved (and lit, but that’s a different story) only a couple of years ago and it’s already showing serious signs of having the roadbed eroded out from under the paving stones (which is why I first thought they were fixing the sewers), I wish the best of luck to the newly paved area.

And on the other side of the kitset shantytown they’re building is a big old, ’50s-era apartment block in a fairly poor state of repair. I think most of the building is used as a guesthouse/hostel/dosshouse for the various people passing through on whatever kind of oil-related business, study or professional development they do around here, but some of the building seems to be more permanently inhabited. Other parts of it seem to have been abandoned a long time ago. The workers on our kitset shantytown construction site knocked a hole in the wall of that building and seem to have requisitioned an apartment. I hope it was an abandoned or otherwise empty apartment they took. It’s kinda funny to walk past this construction site and see, in the wall of the apartment block behind the site, a roughly door-shaped hole and workers flopped on the floor relaxing.

It’ll be interesting to see what our kitset shantytown will turn into. Whatever it’s supposed to be, it certainly is not what I expected to see when they started tearing down the old shacks.

My uncle visited on the weekend.

Well, I’ve always had this kind of policy of using nicknames and initials to refer to other people on this blog. For example, instead of writing my wife’s name, I just call her lzh. So in keeping with that, I’ll just call my uncle Shushu. That is, after all, the title I would use to address him if our family were Chinese.

So, Shushu visited this weekend. This is a big deal. Firstly, Shushu moved to England a couple of years before I was born, so I didn’t see him often when I was growing up. Secondly, in the seven and a half years I’ve been in China, none of my relatives has come to visit me. Thirdly, until Saturday evening, I was the only member of the Waugh family lzh [haha! her blog is friends only!] had ever met. I’ll let her tell a little from her point of view (quoted from her friends-only blog):

“我 们在一起3年多了，å?¯æ˜¯é™¤äº†ä»–，我还没è§?过waugh家æ—?其他的æˆ?员，æ¯?次被朋å?‹é—®èµ·æ˜¯å?¦è§?过他的家人，我都觉得ä¸?好æ„?æ€?。毕竟我们已ç»?结婚，å?´ä»Žæ²¡è§?过 公婆，在中国这ç§?事情是从æ?¥éƒ½ä¸?会有的。那天他告诉我，å?”å?”è¦?æ?¥çœ‹æˆ‘们，我兴奋æž?了，但是转而å?ˆå¹³é?™äº†ï¼Œå› ä¸ºæˆ‘怕希望å?˜æˆ?失望.”

[my shitty translation]

“We’ve been together for over 3 years, but apart from him [me], I haven’t met any other members of the Waugh family, and every time friends ask me if I’ve met his family, I feel a little embarassed.  After all, we’re already married, but I’ve never seen my parents in law, in China this kind of thing would never happen. The day he told me Shushu was coming to see us, I was really excited, but I calmed down again, because I was scared  my hope would turn to disappointment.”

[Note: My father went to Singapore, and was talking about coming to Beijing to visit, since he’d already be half way here, but in the end that fell through, hence her fear hope would turn to disappointment]

Anyway, hope was satisfied. 8:30 Saturday evening we took the bus down to Beitiaping Zhuang to try and catch the last bus out to the airport. The last airport bus through Beitiaping Zhuang leaves Gongzhufen (Princess’ Tomb. At least, I think that’s where the airport bus leaves from) at 9pm. As it turns out, we managed to get the second to last bus, but that’s even better, because it meant we had stacks of breathing room and there was no chance we’d wind up having to persuade a taxi driver to take us out to the airport. So we got to the airport at 9:30, wandered down to domestic arrivals, and checked the arrivals board…..

……uh oh. Couldn’t see his flight. MU586 just wasn’t there, and no flight from Shanghai that arrived at anything close to the time he told us he’d arrive was on the board. The last flight in, according to the board, arrived at about 10:30, almost an hour before Shushu’s flight was due. Then I thought, well, according to the Beijing Airport website, MU586 originates in Los Angeles and stops in Shanghai en route to Beijing. So I wandered down to international arrivals to see if it was listed there. MU586…. STA 00:05, almost an hour after Shushu said it’d arrive, but wait, ETA 22:31….. what? do planes actually arrive early? have I been transported to some alternate universe? and wait…. it’s coming from Osaka?! We checked at the information desk, and they confirmed that MU586 does indeed stop in Shanghai on its way to Beijing, so we settled in for the wait.

Well, the confusion was cleared up. Shushu arrived and called me (good idea, swapping cellphone numbers before he’d even left England). I said, “Where are you? I can’t figure out whether your flight is coming through international or domestic!”

“Domestic, I assume. Oh wait, there’s a big VW in the middle of the arrival hall”

“I see it. We’re walking there now.”

I used to hate cellphones. Now I see how useful they are.

So lzh and I started walking towards the Passat on display in the middle of the arrival hall, and there was Shushu walking towards us.

So we got a taxi and took him to the hotel just around the corner from our place, and got him checked in despite some minor confusion over dates- lzh had booked him a room saying he’d arrive late on the 12th, but because we’d arrived after midnight, the clock had already ticked over to the 13th. But nevermind, he got his room, we chatted for a bit, then lzh and I left him so we could try and get enough sleep to act as his tour guide on Sunday.

As it turns out, we did no tour guiding. We went to the hotel to pick him up, then because it was a bright, sunny day simply drenched with UV, we brought him back to our apartment to get my spare hat. Then lzh decided that it was close to midday, so she might as well get some meat and veges and cook us lunch. So Shushu and I sat down and chatted while lzh went off to get food, then came back and cooked up Shushu’s first ever (I presume) home-cooked northern Chinese banquet. He seemed pretty happy with the meal, which is good. Then we sat around chatting and before we realised it was already six in the evening.

Damn.

Anyway, the point of him coming to Beijing, he insisted, was not to go sightseeing but to see us, so it didn’t really matter that he didn’t get to see anything more than our  messy apartment.

But one thing was important: A DVD. I didn’t make it to my brother’s wedding two years ago because I didn’t have the money, but Shushu was there and had made a short DVD of the festivities. He’d left the DVD in the hotel, so we went back there, taking a short detour so he could see our cultural revolution buildings and a little more of urban Beijing.

So Shushu got his laptop set up and we watched the DVD he’d made. He apologised in advance, because at the time he made the film, he had no idea he’d be coming to China, so it was a bit more focussed on him meeting up with the other Waugh’s than on my brother’s wedding, but there really was no need for such an apology. It was great to sit there seeing my family in their natural habitat (or at least just up the road from where they live). I saw parents, brothers, a sister, uncles, aunts, cousins and grandparents I haven’t seen in literally years. I saw cousins and my sister in law who I’ve never met. It actually left me feeling a little homesick and missing my family. Those who know me know how big an admission that is. But something about seeing Mum and Dad and the family and old family friends hanging out at an old family friends’ bach (less a bach, more a small mansion. Very nice place) hanging out in the sun and racing up and down Waikanae beach with Kapiti Island in the background…….

A bach, for you non-Kiwis (how did you manage to build up so much bad karma to have been born outside Godzone?) is a small holiday home, traditionally little more than a shack hastily slapped together and continually patched up. These days, some houses whose owners call baches are looking decidedly luxurious. Small extra linguistic note: In Otago and Southland provinces the word ‘crib’ is used instead of ‘bach’. Oh, and ‘bach’ is pronounced something like ‘batch’. Apparently it’s derived from ‘bachelor’, as in the first baches were shacks knocked together by working bachelors as shelter from the job and the elements. Later on, such buildings were used by families as holiday homes. At least, that’s what I heard….

Anyway, it was great to catch up with Shushu. Last time I saw him and his wife, they had no children and we were in Gisborne (home of Clan Waugh) for my aunt’s wedding. That was over ten years ago. I’d just finished my first year at university, if I remember rightly. It was great just sitting here chatting with him. I learned a lot about the family history. Apparently my mum was really beautiful when she was young. I’ve seen photos of her in her younger days, but the old black and white photos don’t really do her justice. Dad and Shushu had one thing in common with me and my Da Didi (the one whose wedding we watched on DVD): Everybody always used to think Dad was the youngest and Shushu the oldest. Actually, seeing the two brothers sitting next to each other on the film, you couldn’t possibly tell who was older and who younger. They had one thing that was completely the opposite from me and my brother: When they were young, apparently Dad was really handsome and all the girls were chasing him. Nuh. The girls always ignored me and went after my brother.

But actually, I think the most important thing was that lzh finally got to meet another Waugh. I don’t really want to explain that. I can’t think how to express that clearly myself, and although she did a brilliant job of it on her blog, I can’t really find any quote that would be appropriate here. So if you’re one of her friends, go to her blog and read. If not, tough.

But lzh’s impressions of my family, from meeting Shushu and from watching the DVD of Da Didi’s wedding, are interesting, and may perhaps provide a few hints to that last paragraph:

Describing Shushu:

“è·Ÿä»–è?Šå¤©ï¼Œä»Žä»–现在的相貌看，我觉得他年轻的时候也一定很帅。”

“Chatting with him, from his appearance now, I think he must’ve been really handsome when he was young.”

My parents:

“我公公长得特别精神，年轻时也是帅å°?伙一个，我婆婆也颇有领导的风范，å?¬å?”å?”说她年轻的时候长得特别漂亮，现在也能看出æ?¥ã€‚”

“My father in law looks especially gentle, he was a good-looking guy in his younger days, my mother in law also has quite a an air of leadership about here, Shushu told me when she was young she was really beautiful, and I can  still see she must’ve been.”

On seeing the whole family:

“ä¸?知é?“为什么，看到他们之å?Žï¼Œæˆ‘觉得自己更幸ç¦?了，选择了è€?公，因为他出生在一个幸ç¦?，和è°?的大家æ—?。当然还有一个原因，他有一å?Šçš„爱尔兰血统，è?ªæ˜Žï¼Œå–„良，å?¬è¯´é‚£æ˜¯ä¸€ä¸ªå¾ˆå?—欢迎的民æ—?”

“I don’t know why, after seeing them, I feel even more fortunate to have chosen this husband, because he was born into a fortunate, harmonious big family. Of course there’s another reason: He’s half Irish, intelligent, kind-hearted, and I’ve heard that’s an ethnicity that has been very welcomed [accepted? appreciated? damn, I’m a terrible translator, there seems to be a lot more meaning in the original than I can fit into English]”

Well, I don’t want to get into racial stereotyping, but when I read that comment about being half Irish and whenever I hear lzh saw similar such things, a certain Celtic pride bubbles up in my veins….. I should point out, however, that it’s Mum’s family, the Daly’s, who bring the Irish blood, and that the Waugh’s hail from Scotland. Still, there were a few Daly’s present at my brother’s wedding and Shushu took great pains to assure lzh that Scots-Irish is the best possible mix Europe has to offer.

On the possibility of my parents visiting in November:

“希望他们今年11月份真的能过æ?¥çœ‹æˆ‘们，我期待ingç?€ã€‚还有我们漂亮的音ä¹?家妹妹，也希望她能过æ?¥çŽ©ï¼Œé‚£æ ·æˆ‘å?¯ä»¥å¸¦å¥¹ä¸€èµ·åŽ»shopping，她一定会喜欢，哈哈ï¼?”

“I hope they  can come and see us in November, I’m lookç?€ing forward to it [why did she have to go mixing Chinese and English grammar? grrr…..] And our beautiful musician sister, I hope she can come here to play, that way I can go out 购物 (shopping [mixing languages again. grrr….]) with her, I’m sure she’ll like it, haha!”

Well, our beautiful musician sister has occasionally made noises about coming to visit, and I’d really like her to come to Beijing too. Not to go shopping with her, but to go to some bar and listen to some good music with her.

Actually, one thing I really appreciate about lzh, and one thing came through in her original blog post, is that she already sees herself as part of the Clan Waugh and New Zealand as her second home, even though she’d never even met another Waugh until Saturday night and the closest she’s gotten to New Zealand is the Kiwi Club held at the New Zealand Embassy on the last Friday of every month. She talks about going back to New Zealand to visit the family. Watching that DVD last night (and we watched it a second time when we got home, and we’ll show it to her family next time we go to Yanqing), once she’d been told who was who, she was talking about them as if she knew them personally, and not just from pictures, a video, and the descriptions my uncle and I provided.

So, Shushu, I know you’ll be reading this when you get back to England: It was really good to see you and hang out and chat. Both lzh and I had a great time this weekend. Next time you’re in China, you’re more than welcome to visit us again (but I’d be even better if you brought your wife and kids next time. I would like to meet my cousins), and we may well take up your offer of a place to crash if when we get to the UK.

And the rest of you: My uncle builds spaceships. How cool is that? My uncle builds spaceships!

Thinking about how to write that post about ghosts had me thinking I’d have to include some horribly cliched phrase along the lines of “If walls could talk….” then what? They’d have some bloody interesting stories to tell? They’d have some just plain bloody stories to tell? Anyway, the post was bad enough as it was, but at least I managed to avoid “If walls could talk….”

Moving on: One thing about China that always fascinated me was all those little glimpses of history, ancient and modern, that litter the place. Sometimes it seems you can’t move without bumping into some story just aching to be told. These are stories big and small, about revolutions and societal upheavals and movements and about ordinary local people in their ordinary local lives. Sometimes it’s not so much a glimpse of history as a bloody great big pink neon sign screaming at you: Look at me! The”cultural revolution buildings” just up the road should perhaps be placed in the bloody great big pink neon sign category. I still can’t, and won’t attempt to, explain what I experienced there last night, but my first reaction was that we’d stumbled onto the anniversary of something significant. A particularly horrific struggle session? Who knows. If walls could talk, in this case I think the story would be terrifyingly brutal.

But even in China’s most torn down, rebuilt and thoroughly covered over places, there is still some tantalising little hint at what was. Sometimes it survives only in place names. Sometimes the place names are blindingly obvious: Changsha’s Nanmenkou (South Gate), Taiyuan’s Dananmen (Big South Gate), Yanqing’s Dong Guan (East Gate/Pass) or all of the many xxmen that scattered throughout Beijing are a few examples. Some of the place names offer less obvious, and therefore more tantalising clues: In Beijing there are Gongzhufen (Princess’ Tomb) and Bawangfen (Eight Kings’ Tombs), for example. I’m not so familiar with Gongzhufen, but I have spent a lot of time around Bawangfen, and yet I’ve seen no hint of the tombs the name refers to. A big coal-fired power station, some old, run-down apartment blocks, and the fancy, modern tower blocks of Soho, Sunshine 100, Blue Castle, Huamao Zhongxin (China Central Place?) and so on, yes. Tombs, no. Just north of there is Hong Miao (Red Temple). I haven’t spent so much time around Hong Miao, but I’ve passed through there on many occasions, and although the Red Temple referred to may be there, I’ve seen no sign of it. The same goes for the temple to Guanyin which I assume once stood at Guanyin Miao, a tiny little enclave of rundown apartment blocks tucked in between the northeastern side of BeiGongDa and the Fourth Ring Road which seems to have been erased from my map (the ultimate indignity!).

And then there’s Jiulongshan (Nine Dragon Hill), about one kilometre south of Bawangfen, which has neither dragons nor hills, so far as I’ve seen. And I used to pass through there very, very often. I once asked my boss about Jiulongshan. He explained that Beijing was on an alluvial plain built up by silt washed down from the mountains to the north and west and that quite possibly there was once a hill at Jiulongshan, but it was eroded away until it merged with the plain. Whether it ever had any dragons is a whole other question.

I always used to compare Jiulongshan with Hong Kong’s Kowloon (note: Kowloon is ä¹?é¾™ in Chinese, meaning Nine Dragons, the same Nine Dragons as in Jiulongshan/ä¹?龙山). Kowloon does at least manage a few hills, and yet doesn’t bother to advertise them in its place name. Jiulongshan may once have had a hill or two, but all trace of said hill has long since been washed away, and yet Jiulongshan still boasts of its hill in its place name.

Changsha’s Tianxin Gongyuan (天心公园/”Heavenly Heart Park”) always fascinated me with its last remaining slice of the old city wall and views over the town, the Xiang River and Orange Island/橘å­?æ´², Yuelu Shan sitting in the distance looking back at the city. I once asked my Waiban to explain the name of the park, but it seems he couldn’t understand the question no matter how clearly I tried to formulate it. Either that or he just plain had no idea how to answer or why I’d even ask such a question. I do remember him telling how the corner which the road took around Tianxin Gongyuan was called “Red Corner” because some rebellious and defeated general was strapped to the front of a cannon, which was then fired, scattering the general over a wide area. That’s all of that story I can remember, though, and I don’t know what, if any, connection it may have with Tianxin Gongyuan.

Another one I always wondered about was Xiaoxitian (å°?西天/ “Little Western Sky”), between Xinjiekou Huokou and Tieshizifen here in Beijing. Is this some reference to Heaven? And how did this area get its name?

Or Tieshizifen: é“?石å­?å?Ÿ/Iron Lion Tomb. Bob Marley’s resting place? No, something tells me he’s buried somewhere else. Still, once again, I’ve seen plenty of iron, but no iron lions or tombs on the numerous occasions I’ve passed through there.

Of course, me being me, none of this fascination with China’s place names got me motivated enoughto actually do any research or study into the history of these areas. But still, this fascination remains, and it’s one of the things that keeps me constantly intrigued with this place.

And of course, one could say exactly the same kinds of things about any other country in the world. The place names of Southland and Otago betray those two province’s Scottish heritage. Dunedin was built to be the Edinburgh of the South, indeed, it’s layout closely matches Edinburgh’s (and it should be noted Dunedin is the Gaelic name for Edinburgh), and the street and place names hark back to Edinburgh in particular. And New Zealand’s Maori place names are just as fascinating as China’s place names: take Te Whanga-nui-a-Tara/The Great Harbour of Tara (Wellington Harbour), Te Wai Pounamu/The Greenstone Waters (South Island) or Te Ika a Maui/The Fish of Maui (North Island) as examples. But still, there’s something about China’s place names that has me hooked.

[note: Any corrections of my translations are most welcome]