I think I found a place!

Master bedroom in a sweet pad that faces an interior courtyard off of a two-lane street (i.e. quiet!!). The bathroom is huge and has a glassed-in shower. There's a nice big living room with new white floors and a kitchen with modern fixtures. Hollah!

The other two guys are twenty-something architects, one American, one Italian. I'm still looking at one-bedrooms in case it doesn't work out, but I'm hopeful. It ain't cheap, but the same amount of money for a single only gets me an old building, possibly with a five-story walk up, shabby furniture and a bathroom without a shower, i.e. when you wanna wash yourself the whole bathroom gets wet. 

The people who are about to move out are also a bunch of architects (apparently there are a lot of those in Beijing). The girl who is currently in the master bedroom painted one wall lime green with a white stencil of a buck. It's funky cool. That bunch of architects is actually just moving to a different unit in the same complex and my prospective roommates are already talking about big summer BBQs in the courtyard, which sounds awesome to little old friendless me: Architects! Accept me as one of your own!

Cross your fingers for me!

Beijing, Day 6

It's Saturday. I moved on Monday morning and this is the first time I've had to catch my breath. All week it was get up, work, go to sleep. Today I ran around looking at apartments, which is also stressful, but not quite as rapid-fire as the office. For every single lunch and dinner this week our sales manager paraded me around to meet all her big clients, which means I think I've eaten in just about every luxury hotel in town. Every meal was huge. The other night I had a 118-kuai burger, the patty was wagyu beef ground shortrib. Good Lord. Afterward I came home and looked at myself naked in the mirror (big mistake), looked like the alien life form was ready to burst forth.

Work is really busy but I don't feel overwhelmed, or perhaps each day I feel a little bit less overwhelmed. I used to really bitch in Shanghai because our office wouldn't buy paper towels for the bathroom. In my new office we have to bring our own coffee and toilet paper. No joke. Everyone keeps their own role at their desk. Whatever.  A couple years ago I would've been shocked (shocked!), now I just kind of roll my eyes and carry on grumbling.

Apartment hunting in Beijing is depressing. You get way less bang for your buck than in Shanghai. I'm determined to live within biking distance from work and work is really central which means I'll pay fatty stacks just to get something shoebox-sized that doesn't have a totally grotty kitchen or a bathroom that looks like a set piece from one of the Saw movies.

Since today is my first free time, it's also been my first time to feel homesick. Change is tough. Everything was such a whirlwind before leaving I never really thought about missing Shanghai. I have such great friends down there. Goodbyes were relatively easy because almost everyone said "oh I'll definitely be up to Beijing in the next six months," but for the few who - bless them - told me I'd have to pay them to visit Beijing, and maybe not even then (one of my self-employed consultant friends simply refuses to take work up here). I'll miss my life in Shanghai. I'll miss my neighborhood, and my friends and my Chinese teacher and my ayi and Sundays in the French Concession and TV nights at my wonderful, cozy, spacious apartment where I lived with my best friends. I walked past a movie theater today and felt like crying because I never go to movies without James. He's in Halong Bay right now with my BFF Jess. It was supposed to be the three of us this summer. Oh well. I'm not too cut up about that. I try not to be.

But don't worry about me, loyal readers! (Read: Dad and Aunt Sue). I've already met a lot of nice people, friends of friends, and everyone is kind and helpful. I've already found things I like about Beijing. The people are friendlier than in Shanghai, there's a different energy up here, a lot of art going on and it'll be an adventure getting to know it all. Now I'm off to dinner with my favorite monied Chinese nationalist. She always has great stories.

Goodbye Shanghai

My company didn't want to pay to have my belongings shipped to Beijing so instead we agreed that the four of us flying up (I'm the only permanent post) would just check all of my earthly possessions and everyone else would go carry on. Today I broke down and bought an extra box to ship. In it I've packed a juicer, hiking boots, a massive pink cosplay wig, two bags of Yunnan-roasted coffee, my copy of North Korean monster film Pulgasari and my Chinese homework, plus some clothes and books. Necessities, all. 

Packing is exhausting. I came to Shanghai with two huge bags. Two months ago, I sent my little brother back to the States with two even huger bags and I've already packed three sizable bags for Beijing. Now my apartment is fairly empty and if someone asked me to make an itemized list of what's in these bags, I wonder if I could remember even a quarter of it. I don't think I'd be that sad if one or two didn't make it to their final destination. I guess I don't care that much about most of my stuff, but it's comforting most of it is coming north with me. I'm still probably going to have to buy a new comforter and some dishes and a coffee pot. On a somewhat related note, I sent these shoes home with my brother. By my count, they've crossed the Pacific Ocean at least four times. I will also be hand carrying a tube of Mao-Era propaganda posters I bought at the Shanghai Propaganda Museum to Beijing, then I will hand carry them to Taiwan in July when I visit James and he will hand carry them back to the good old USA. Those are definitely some of my most precious possessions. Just a moment ago James walked over and put my ceramic sunflower seed (from Ai Weiwei's project) on the coffee table and reminded me not to forget it. To celebrate the demolition of his Shanghai studio, Ai Weiwei (who was barred from coming down from Beijing for the event) had folks feed everyone who showed up river crabs and gave away art books and seeds, Jess went and brought me back a seed.

Last night my editorial team here had a big night at our favorite wine bar. Right as we sat down, my photographer nudged me and pointed out that one of my subjects from my very first cover story was also in the bar. I said hi to the guy, turns out he too is moving up to Beijing this week, to launch a startup. People are always leaving Shanghai. It's just that kind of city. 

I managed not to get too emotional saying goodbye to everyone, because I knew if I did I'd probably be a big blubbery mess. Our photographer put together a compilation of photos he's amassed over the last two years of all of us on the job. They're wonderful. It was the best send off gift. If I muster the patience, I may try to post some of the photos here later.

I've had a great two years. I had a job that I loved and I got to work with a team of fun people that I genuinely liked. Other people in our company have mentioned how often they hear laughing from the editorial department. I'm sure we have the loudest office, and also the most fun one. I feel like my adult life really got started in Shanghai. I will remember this as a happy stretch where I grew a lot and wrote a lot and saw a lot and did it all in very fine company.  

Big News

I got called up north. I've dashed my carefree summer non-plans to go become the chief editor of That's Beijing. You'd be surprised (or maybe you wouldn't) how many Anna Wintour jokes I've received since the news became public, which was only very, very recently. I've also heard Beijing traffic horror stories that make Los Angeles sound down right suburban.

I haven't blogged any in the past couple weeks as all of this was finalized. It's been my preoccupation of late, but I couldn't say anything until all was decided so I haven't said anything at all.

This time next week I'll be waking up my first morning in Beijing. I've given away most the things I'm not taking. My flight is purchased. I've said a lot of goodbyes. It's a bit easier since a lot of people are in Beijing now and again so we don't have to act like it's quite so final. I've also been in the awkward situation of telling people in my outer circle of friends that I don't have time to grab a drink after work this week since I'd rather spend time with the people who matter before we're separated (obviously I didn't add the last part). 

Last night I had a dream I found an extra large duffle bag (something I need in real life) and that as I cleaned my room I kept pulling old food from out beneath my bed. I pulled out two old roast turkeys coated in moldy white film and as I took them out to the dumpster in the hall I kept passing people who'd already left Shanghai.

Up until early this month the idea of living in Beijing never seriously crossed my mind. Strange times. Although I think my friends in America are less surprised this time around as every time I say "Oh I'll probably/definitely be back in America by _____" I wind up pushing it back. They're used to it now.

Happy Birthday, Richard Adams

Every day I get the Writer's Almanac in my inbox. Honestly, usually I can't be bothered to finish reading the poems they send and I hurriedly skim the newsletter that follows, but I'm glad I didn't miss this item: 

Today is the birthday of the novelist Richard Adams, born in Wash Common, England (1920). He was working as a civil servant, and he had two young daughters, for whom he often made up stories. They were preparing for a long car trip when one of the girls told him he had to make up a new story, a long one that would last the whole journey. He began to spin a yarn about a band of rabbits escaping the destruction of their warren. There was Fiver, a weakling and a prophet; along with Hazel and Bigwig, inspired by two soldiers Adams had known during the war.

The story lasted the trip and more, and when it was done, Adams' daughter Juliet said, "You ought to write it down, Daddy. It's too good to waste." He did, taking nearly two years, and it was rejected by many publishers as too grown-up for kids and too simple for adults. A small publisher finally accepted it, but only printed a small initial run and couldn't afford to pay Adams any advance. After notable positive reviews, sales took off and within a couple of years, Watership Down (1972) had sold more than a million copies.

On my dad's recommendation, I read Watership Down in 1997, on the two-week trip my family took to adopt my oldest little brother, Billy. I'm overdue to reread it. I remember being very emotionally invested in those poor little rabbits. I'd never heard the story behind the book, so what an interesting little surprise.

It's good to be good to people

We have a great cleaning lady at work. She always says good morning, she's mindful of whose coffee cups belong to whom, she tells me what fruits to avoid in the afternoon for the sake of my Qi, and she loves to tell me and my co-worker that we're beautiful. Who wouldn't love that?

The other day, while I was out of the office, she teared up while showing a letter she'd written to one of my fellow editors. It was addressed to our company's previous landlord, who was apparently very kind to our cleaning lady. Then, still feeling emotional, she told my co-worker that people always ask why she spends so much time chatting with the editorial department. She told her it's because we always look her in the eye when we speak to her and she can tell by that how we feel about her. She said she knows her job isn't regarded as important, but she appreciates the respect we give her.

My co-worker gave her a pat on the back, feeling awkward and embarrassed, because it's not as if this is something intentional on our parts. If I had to guess, there are probably two reasons our department stands out in the eyes of our cleaning lady. (We're the only department that's majority Western.) Culturally, eye contact is more important to us when addressing people. And we have different feelings about relationships and power distance. We have much less of a problem telling the boss when we think he's wrong, and we also probably are more inclined to chat with the cleaning lady. 

I've seen (not regularly, but sometimes) Chinese people treat service staff in a manner that to me seems appalling and dehumanizing, behavior like snapping one's fingers at a waiter in a restaurant and not looking at them or saying "please" or "thank you." And it took me awhile to adjust to the fact it's acceptable and expected to address your cleaning lady as "ayi" (aunty) and your cab driver as "shifu" (skilled worker). Here on the mainland, we're supposed to address waiters as "fuwuyuan" (service person) because "xiaojie" (miss) is a euphemism for prostitute in the south. I still slip up and call a waitress "xiaojie" sometimes (which is acceptable in Taiwan). It just feels strange reducing someone to their labor. I had an equally hard time in Taiwan where everyone addressed the school managers as "zhuren" (manager). I wasn't expected to do this since I was a foreigner. What's more disconcerting to me is when the Chinese editors who have to deal with our censors address them as "laoshi" (teacher), which is a form of respect for older, educated folks. 

Of course I prefer my own culture because it's mine. But that's not to say everyone else is wrong, or that the other departments in our company are wrong for not taking more time out of the day for our cleaning lady - she doesn't expect it, but she appreciates it. 

It's easy to lose your manners in Shanghai. There are low expectations for showing consideration to strangers. Sometimes it drives me nuts. There's a checker at the corner grocery who seems to make a point of ringing up the items and then chucking them away from your open plastic bag, just to make the point that she isn't going to bag your groceries for you. Fine. But just because there's a low bar where social expectations are concerned, doesn't mean my personal bar has to sink too. Since my co-worker told me about her conversation with our cleaning lady, I've tried to be more intentional about looking people in the eye and smiling and almost always that friendliness is reciprocated. It's so much better to concentrate on conveying good feelings to others than to dwell on frustration. I'll try to remember that.

Dining by Madame Chiang's old haunt

Last night James and I had dinner at a Mexican place that shares a patio with this place.

Now it's an upscale eatery, but it used to be home to the mighty Soong family, big-time power brokers during China's brief and tumultuous Nationalist era. Soong Ching-Ling married Sun Yat-sen and later Soong May-Ling married Chiang Kai-shek. I'm presently reading this biography of Madame Chiang.

I started reading it about a year ago and put it down because the part about her formative years is slow. I'm glad I wasn't born into a richy-rich Chinese family around the end of the 19th century. After returning to Shanghai from studying in America, prior to her marriage, May-Ling spent a lot of time writing to American friends about how bored she was because her family wouldn't allow her to take a proper job. Without anything to occupy her time, whenever she got sick she thought she was REALLY sick and was very dramatic about it.

I've just got to the part where she marries Chiang. I never knew much about their marriage. In Taiwan sometimes you'll see postcards on sale venerating their great love story. I've also heard people remark that Madame Chiang was the most power-hungry of the Soong sissies.

Turns out, the wedding was a very calculated move on the part of the Soongs and Chiang. He also had to cast off his village wife, Jennie, before he could marry May-Ling. He sent Jennie to America, promising that it was only a political move of short duration and that he'd come get her in 5 years or so. But then he was quoted in the New York Times explaining that Jennie was just a concubine he'd set free. 

Hannah Pakula made a Freedom of Information Act request and dug up documents indicating the US government did its best to make sure Jennie didn't publish her memoir because it would reflect poorly on Chiang's government (our allies). Threatened with lawsuits, Jennie destroyed all but one of the copie. She died in 1971. The book finally made it out in the 1990s, Chiang Kai-sheks' Secret Past: The Memoir of his Second Wife.

I learned all this in a lengthy footnote in Pakula's book (after all, the book is about May-Ling, but it must be disappointing to drop that kind of lengthily-researched bombshell in a footer). I'm adding Jennie's book to my to-read list. There are actually 84 books on my to-read list. I just got a Goodreads account. Oh man, it's a great way to track and fuel a reading addiction.

Anyways, as we walked past Sasha's last night, I got really excited, "That's where the Soong family used to live! I'm reading about May-Ling now and this makes it all the more REAL!"

James: "The who?"

Me: "The Soong sisters! You know, the ones that married Sun Yat-sen and Chiang Kai-shek."

James: So, Madame Chiang used to live in Sasha's...

It's common knowledge that Sasha's is the old Soong house, it's even printed in the front of their menus, but somehow it escaped me until recently that Sasha's was known for more than anything than overpriced cocktails and a great patio. Last night we had Mexican food in a second-floor dining room. I  got to eat fajitas and watch the Soong house, wondering if May-Ling ever sat by one of the windows I could see, writing about how bored she was, waiting for her life to start - unaware that she would shortly become one of the most important women in modern Chinese history.