Living next to the Russian Embassy

My apartment complex is adjacent to the Russian Embassy. It's a giant, barbwire-encircled compound and I can see an Orthodox steeple peeking above the fence directly across from my building. 

Pros: 

My street is extremely, blissfully quiet at night and is always guarded by at least half a dozen boyish-looking PLA troops.

The PLA troops live across from the embassy. I can see where they hang their laundry and some mornings I can hear them shouting in formation. It's not loud or often enough to be annoying and it's kind of a fun reminder that I'm in the capital.

Plenty of opportunity to gawk at Russian diplomats. Some of them like motorcycles and have skinny, beautiful blonde wives who look like models. Maybe because they are models. Or maybe because the Russian look is really popular right now and a lot of models look like Russians. That's one of those chicken or the egg things. 

There are enough Russians living near here to warrant not one but two small Russian groceries on the street. I never thought it was possible to live this close to a steady supply of sliced bread and salami and still be in China.

Cons: 

My local grocery lady is always telling me the price in Russian and then looking at me like I'm completely stupid when I'm all "什么?" I want to say "hey, not 100% of the white folks on this street is from up north." But cab drivers are always mistaking me for Russian too, so I don't say anything. 

Meichang 3

Oopsies. So I have my blog set up so that I can write an email and it will automatically post to my blog. I also frequently email myself interview notes, and it appears I accidentally posted my interview notes to my blog. 

Nothing to see here folks, move along...

26!

Tuesday was my birthday, the third I've celebrated in China. I have fond memories of all three. Each exemplifies a different period of my expatriate journey: When I turned 24, I'd been in Shanghai six months, I'd just finished my first cover story and my chief editor (whom I now count as a dear friend) took me out for dinner and drinks in the French Concession. It was a little triumph, I was finally being welcomed into the fold after several lonely months in the vaguely-defined and poorly-funded world of "web editing" (I was promoted to the magazine soon after). When I turned 25, my roommates threw a house party, which was big and loud, I worried the neighbors would complain. After 18 months, I was in my element. Now, at 26, I've only been in Beijing three months but I slipped into a community easily this time. Partly because this isn't my first rodeo, partly because I got lucky with cool roommates. I hadn't planned on anything special, but Brando rallied a handful of people for dinner at a hutong restaurant. We ate Yunnan food, drank Belgian beer and a bunch of architects sang "Tanti auguri a Te," which was very sweet.

It was at about 13, half my life ago now, that I decided what kind of person I would be. When I was 11 and made my first trip to Asia, for Billy's adoption, I promised myself I would one day live in this part of the world, and over the next few years the idea cemented itself and I decided writing and traveling were the most important things. I never came up with goals like "win a Pulitzer by age XX," my thinking was more along the lines of "if I can make enough money and spend this much time writing and live in such-and-such a place that would be really, really cool." My 13-year-old self would be happy with how things turned out so far.

That said, I have so much to learn. Like expats my age across industries in China, I haven't had much mentorship. Responsibility comes quickly, and there's very little guidance to go with it. Four years out of college, I'm anxious and eager to keep learning. I don't know if or when that will happen in an academic setting, but my goal for the next year is to read widely and deeply. My work commitment ends in November. Then, I'll begin traveling and I plan on instituting some sort of organized approach to working my way through the Western canon. Or parts of it. I'll pick and choose and inject a bunch of modern lit too, it won't be all dead European men. I'm looking forward to having time off to experiment with my writing outside of a work setting. Basically, I'm going to slide into my late twenties with a massive downsizing in responsibility, I'll just coast on in...

American Magic

We had a barbecue this weekend. There were about 20 people in attendance including myself, my roommates, a Greek-Chinese translator, a Spanish-Chinese translator and then mostly Italian architects. My contributions to the meal were two bottles of rum and a vanilla cake made from a box, so it was kind of embarrassing when all the Europeans started gushing about how delicious the cake was (don't thank me, thank Betty Crocker, guys!). 

As I explained this box-cake thing to my Italian roommate he said the other day he was quite surprised to find our other roommate (also American, not much of a cook) whipping up pancakes in the kitchen, but then he learned that you could buy this box from the import grocer and just add water. 

"If you'd been born in America, you too would also already know this magic," I explained. 

Why I don't do "wellness"

Yesterday I went to a massage center. It's a potential client so I was offered a free massage, which is always great, but on my way out the marketing woman watched me walk down the hall and told me she could tell by the way I walked my spine wasn't straight. This is a fact I already know. Two years ago when I did my health check for my China work visa they told me I had "minor scoliosis," which sounds really scary until I realized it was just a small curve in the spine, and doesn't everyone have a messed up back? I get lower back pain when I stand in one place doing dishes too long, but - again - everybody has back pain. 

Now this lady is telling me I walk leaning to one side, and here I was operating under the delusion I have pretty good posture. Actually quite often civilians - i.e. people who don't work at massage centers - tell me I have good posture.  Now I imagine myself listing to one side like a sinking ship. She recommended I come back to see the chiropractor and get treatment, which sounds like more time and money than I want to spend on what may or may not be the reason my lower back hurts when I do dishes. I prefer ignorance about my ailments. 

Pro Tip: They did tell me that one of my vertebrae sticks out because I have computer neck. So, if you're like me and spend all day staring at one, take time to tilt your head all the way back and stretch out your neck muscles. This is supposed to help.

A day in the lunch

Today I had a drippy caesar salad for lunch. I ate it with my headphones in, listening to a podcast where a few Beijing foreign correspondents analyzed the recent floods, but not before I got up from my chair to lust over the brownies behind the glass counter.

Since I didn't succumb to said brownies, I finished lunch and walked across the street to an import grocer where I pondered bars of dark chocolate (finally settling on the cheaper one), then briefly considered buying more instant coffee (decided against), picked up an apple, considered buying soy milk (decided against), picked up a pouch of pumpkin seeds and almonds and also bought a baking tray. After purchasing all of these things, I waited in line for my official receipt (gotta collect 'em for my taxes) and only after this a man approached me, "Do you speak English?"

"Yes."

I find that more frequently now when American strangers (and now a British one) approach me they ask this question, which is a bit silly because here I am, buying expensive groceries by myself, clearly to arrive at this juncture in the world, I probably had to learn English first, regardless of my country of origin. Still, I guess it's kind of nice in a politically correct, self-effacing way - as if we're far enough removed from British Imperialism and American super power that there might actually be unaccompanied white ladies shopping for fruit and nuts in central Beijing who don't speak English. Granted, while it might not be impossible to find said lady, it would be pretty, pretty hard.

Anyways, after an extremely long pause, this guy told me that he'd noticed me at lunch and only came over to the grocer to approach me, which could be kind of creepy, since he obviously waited until I decided on cheap chocolate, passed on instant coffee, picked up an apple, passed on soy milk, bought a baking tray, paid, got my fancy receipt AND THEN said hello. But I chose to feel flattered, he didn't seem like a bad sort, but then I've learned not to trust my first impressions.

It's strange to think about being watched in public and what people might surmise from one's shopping habits. I'm just glad he didn't catch me yesterday when I stopped at a convenience store on my way home and inhaled an entire sleeve of oreos.

Two Down

I have been in Beijing two months and completed two issues. A good friend from Shanghai was in town last week and we spent this weekend at the Shangri-La, thanks to a voucher I snagged at a media event. She left for Kunming this afternoon. I was sad to say goodbye because it was a little bit like saying bye to Shanghai and my life there again. But then, almost all of my closest friends there have moved on, they're traveling or headed back to grad school. Then there's me, up here in Beijing.

My move to Beijing was similar to my move to Shanghai in that both times I was transitioning to a place where I knew almost no one, but the similarities end there. 

Shanghai was much lonelier. I hit it off with my roommate, Chef Mike, right away, but he worked six days a week and was usually coming home as I was falling asleep. My roommates here keep regular business hours, plus there's two of them, and they have a group of friends who live in our compound, so I've walked into a little community. Of course it's not like Shanghai, where James and Sam and Jess really were like a little family, but I'm happy I decided not to live alone. In addition to the roommate situation, knowing people in Shanghai has opened doors here and fairly often people from Shanghai are up on business, so my social situation benefits from that.

Shanghai was also tougher because my loneliness was exacerbated by a lot of big questions - I didn't know how long I would be there, or if I would get used to my job, or when I would find a solid group of friends or when I would see James and if he was going to move there. 

I didn't know if I would succeed in Shanghai, but I did, and that's how I got moved up here. It's nice to have the confidence that instills. I'm happy to have graduated from the "no real work experience" phase of my life.

Here in Beijing, I know exactly how long I'll be here, I know what I want to do next and I have a pretty good idea of the next time I'll see James. That makes it easier to enjoy my solitude. I consume a lot of media. I'm reading a lot and listening to more new music than I have in recent years. I'm also plowing through podcasts, lots of NPR and China commentary. I'm cooking and exercising. I haven't done any creative writing, my job still doesn't grant me the excess brain energy for that, but it's good to have the concentrated time to engage my interests.

There are still plenty of times where being here falls short of fun. The less busy I am, the more I miss people. When I returned to Beijing from Taipei a few weeks ago, I got the exact same feeling as two years ago when I was returning to Shanghai from my Hong Kong visa run. 99% of the return legs I've taken in my life have been to go back to some place that is more or less home. Usually, even if it's been a great vacation or whatever, these flights at least offer the anticipation of being greeted by the creature comforts and people that lend life a sense of grounding. So there's this strange empty feeling about returning to a place that lacks that. 

When I think about the differences between these two transitions, I feel happy about how much I've grown in the last two years. And it's nice to remember that whenever things are hard here, they're never as hard as they were before.