wanderings

My First Dead Body

2008-04-24T08:36:00.000-07:00

I saw my first dead body last week. He was a victim of a plane crash in the eastern Congolese town of Goma. I don't know if he was on the plane or in the busy market it crashed into. I don't know his name or how old he was. The hospital worker unzipped the body bag and I just started taking pictures. It wasn't until he had unzipped a few more bags that the smell hit me and I realized what I was shooting. I stopped for a few seconds to process everything and then kept shooting.

Later I was at an internet cafe sending my photos to the Associated Press and to the European Pressphoto Agency. A woman stood out in the in the middle of the road, hands raised to the rain, wailing at the heavens. I felt mildly nauseous as I sent my photos.

Grief outside the morgue at Heal Africa Hospital in Goma.

Tears for the victims.

There are four hospitals in Goma, all over-crowded due to the armed conflict in eastern Congo. Hospitals keep tight security to avoid being swamped by patients.

Remembering Genocide

2008-04-11T01:17:00.000-07:00

At the Red Cross trauma center during the commemoration ceremony in Nyamata, near Kigali.

The skulls and bones didn't really get to me. Neither did the clothes of the 600 people who were killed here at the church in Nyamata, just outside of Kigali, 14 years ago. It was the screaming that finally got to me.

All through the commemoration ceremony Red Cross volunteers were busy carrying people, mostly women, to a trauma treatment center they had set up not 200 meters from where President Kagame was giving his speech. First you'd hear screams coming from somewhere off to the right, then to the left, then from behind in a chain reaction of grief and mourning. In the trauma center dozens of women lay around the ground, in tents and on stretchers. The worst cases were reliving the horrors of the past, fighting the volunteers, believing they were the militias coming to kill rather than friends trying to help.

The genocide that made tiny Rwanda a household name started on April 7, 1994 with the assassination of President Habyarimana. Over the next 100 days between 800,000 and a million people were killed. Commemoration ceremonies are held every year. Stores close, transportation stops. There is no pop music on the radios. The mourning officially lasts for one week. But in the villages the screaming continues. April is the worst, when most of the killing was done. Things don't really return to "normal" until after July 4, the anniversary of the day the Rwandan Patriotic Front marched into Kigali and stopped the killing.

Volunteer helping a woman to the trauma center.

Remains of some of the 600 people killed in the church at Nyamata.

Clothes of those killed in the church stacked on the pews. Bullet holes mark the baptismal font and the wall behind.

Mourners wear purple to remember those killed in the genocide. This man also shows his patriotism with a Rwanda flag lapel pin.

Seraphine Mukamusoni was in the church in Nyamata when 600 people were killed there during the Rwandan Genocide in 1994. She survived by hiding under the slain. "I was covered in blood so they thought I was dead, too," she said. Here she stands at the gate of the church where those taking refuge locked themselves in.

Wapi

2008-04-11T01:01:00.000-07:00

Wapi is a very useful Swahili word that can be used in almost any situation requiring expression on negativity. My students use it when they’re having computer troubles. People use it when cab drivers try to rip them off.
The other day our domestic, Athanase, was up a tree picking edible leaves when the branch he was standing on broke. I heard the crack and looked up from my computer to see a small red blur surrounded by a large green blur crash to the ground. Athanase, in the red New York Yankees basketball jersey he wears while working, climbed up out of the fallen branches, shook himself off, looked down and exclaimed “Wapi!”

The Easter Bunny Brought Christmas Cookies

2008-03-25T05:37:00.000-07:00

The week before Easter I received a phone call from the orphanage where I did my first photography teaching in Rwanda informing me they had a package for me. I didn't have time to pick it up until Easter Sunday, when this heavily Christian country more or less shuts down. On the package was a postmark for December 13. Inside were my long-awaited Christmas cookies, still edible, from my family back in Minnesota.

I took my cookies to the coffee shop (still only one) and put some Christmas music on itunes. I was feeling pretty pleased with myself until I told a friend what had happened and she informed me that her office had just received a package postmarked 2004.

Domestic Living in Rwanda

2007-10-19T23:44:00.000-07:00

There's a chicken in the garage, banana, papaya and avocado trees in the yard, and an herb and vegetable garden on the way.

Our "domestic" brought the chicken home a couple of weeks ago on his own initiative and feeds us omelets made from the eggs. Like most people in Rwanda we have a domestic. Even Rwandan friends who live in very small mud-brick houses have someone around to do basic chores. Ours cooks, cleans, does laundry, gardens, tends the trees and looks after the chicken. The other day our landlady brought over some seeds so he can plant carrots, eggplant, and a lot of other stuff we don't recognize. There are a number of other plants in the garden that he takes care of that we have yet to identify but that we think might be edible. Part of the problem is that our domestic doesn't speak a word of English or French and we don't speak any Kinyarwanda.

All this service and excitement costs us 30,000 francs a month, about $60. The average yearly income here is just over $200 per year, so he's doing quite well. He keeps coming in with new clothes, including a shiny red basketball uniform with a New York Yankees logo on it that he wears every day while doing his chores.

Uganda

2007-09-07T05:58:00.000-07:00

The ride from the Rwandan border town of Gatuna to Kabale, Uganda only takes 15 minutes. But with nine people crammed into a Toyota Corolla it feels like a lot longer. "Now you see how it is in Uganda," said the passenger next to me.

Rwanda runs by the book. Possibly more so than any other nation in Africa. No more than four people in a cab. Period. We've tried to do five and there was clearly no way it was going to happen. In Uganda the cab won't move until it's full. Full meaning you can't get any more people in the cab. We had four in the back and FIVE in the front. Two in the passenger seat, two in the driver seat, and one perched on top of the emergency brake. Did I mention this was a stick-shift? No idea how the driver managed to change gears with one guy almost in his lap and another straddling the stick.

I was in Uganda primarily because my 90-day visa for Rwanda had expired. The easiest way to renew it is to wander across the border and then wander back. Uganda seemed like as good a place as any. The passenger in the cab next to me explained that the country has more than 30 tribes who all speak different languages. They communicate primarily in English, the language used in schools and for all government functions. So instead of the "bonjour, Muzungu " I get in Rwanda I got "how are you, Muzungu."

Vacation Games

2007-08-16T07:53:00.000-07:00

Soccer, basketball, volleyball, dance and music competitions are all part of the Vacation Games, hosted by Maison des Jeunes, a youth center in Kigali, Rwanda. The games go on for two weeks during the school holidays in late July and early August. By the time finals roll around they're drawing thousands of spectators. It's one of the only places for kids to go during the holidays, and the impressive attendence shows a clear need for these kinds of programs here.

Soccer tournement during Maison des Jeunes Vacation games:

Even with the goal keeper laid out in a pile of sugar cane husks the green team somehow managed to prevent a goal.

Games were frequently interrupted when trucks brought in boulders to reinforce collapsing riverbanks next to the field.

Never did figure out why the guy in yellow is wearing black nylon stockings...

No Rwandan event is complete without some traditional dancing. For the Vacation Games groups of competed in singing and dancing.

As much as Rwandans love their traditional dance, "modern dance" was clearly the most popular event of the Games.
Stayin' Alive?

Nice hats. Nice pinstripes. Nice surgical gloves?

Oh yeah. Nice shoes.

Nice moves.

Nice shades.

These guys got kicked off the stage for making a mockery of, well, pretty much everything. Nice.

The kids on stage were lucky this woman wasn't competing.

The Vacation Games draw huge crowds. The director boasted that even the mayor of Kigali couldn't get such a turnout.

Top row, balcony.

The hills around Maison des Jeunes form a natural amphitheater.

Kimisagara Illustrated

2007-08-09T07:13:00.000-07:00

I've been spending a lot of my time in a part of Kigali called Kimisagara, which lies immediately below the city center (Rwanda is known as the land of a thousand hills. The city center is at the top of one of them. Kimisagara is at the bottom.) The district is home to a youth center called Maison des Jeunes, the only one of it's kind in Rwanda. They sponsor youth soccer, basketball, and volleyball leagues; and host English lessons, a Kung Fu club and a journalism club. I'm also teaching photography there and working with the journalism club on radio production and reporting. Here's some stuff I shot while working with my photo students:

Rwandese drumline. These guys are getting ready to compete in a traditional dance competition during Maison des Jeunes' Vacation Games, a kind of youth Olympics held during Rwanda's school vacation.

This guy seemed to be acting as the captain of the drumline.

Not surprisingly, the youth center is always full of impossibly cute kids.

Mud brick houses on the hill facing the center make a great afternoon backdrop for photos.

Shootin' hoops. Basketball is second only to soccer in popularity here.

More hoops.

I disrupted things badly when I passed this primary school with my photo students. I created a catastrophic domino effect as I walked past the line of classrooms. Kids dropped everything to run to doors and windows to look at the Muzungu while teachers pounded on desks in a vain attempt to retain order. Pointing a camera at the kids didn't help.

I know this looks fashionable, but it's actually a form of street vending. Women walk around with impossible loads of fruit on their heads for sale to anyone who passes by.

Presidential Pooch Part II

2007-08-08T04:09:00.001-07:00

On the first day we toured much of the volcanic north. On day two we headed east to Akagera park, on the border with Tanzania. Rwanda isn't known as a major safari destination, but Akagera has a good assortment of the usual African fauna. Check 'em out:

Giraffes were the most cooperative subjects. The let us walk up very close before they got annoyed with us and loped away with their long and deceptively fast strides.

Giraffes are very social animals, and often one or more keep watch while others eat.

Our crew for the day, from left to right: Andrew McGregor, Jon Vidar, William Karambizi, and an Akagera park ranger.

Zebras were much less cooperative. Most of our photos are of their backsides.

Akagera is full of a bewildering variety of things with hooves and horns that the park ranger invariably called "antelope." When he was feeling expansive he would explain the differences, but mostly he just pointed at stuff and said "antelope." It was very similar to the way the Rwandese point at everyone who's not African and say "muzungu."

Hippos were the least cooperative. Mostly they stayed underwater, surfacing occaisionally to spout like whales and grunt a bit before going back under. As photographers we were frustrated, but as overgrown kids we were thrilled to be standing so close to them.

Jon in the safari jeep. Other groups we met were clearly envious of our open canopy roof.

The tour operator liked this one. Hey, if he's happy, I'm happy.

Photos for the Presidential Pooch

2007-07-28T03:56:00.000-07:00

"I worry about that dog more than I worry about my own kids."

John Kayihura received the dog, a German shephard mix, as a gift from President Paul Kagame. John is one of hundreds of thousands of exiles who returned to Rwanda after the genocide in 1994. He grew up as a refugee in Kenya, and said the only jobs available to refugees were with foreign-owned tour companies. After working with safari companies in Kenya and Uganda, John returned to Rwanda and started Silverback's Adventures, a tour company that specializes in tours to see Rwanda's mountain gorillas.

Lucky for us, John needed some new photos to add to his brochure and website. So he provided a car, driver and guide and sent me and my friends Andrew and Jon out into Rwanda for a couple of days to photograph the country. Unfortunately he didn't need photos of the gorillas, but we still got some good stuff. Here's some of mine:

Sunrise over the land of a thousand hills.

I was told this is a field of "Irish potatoes," as opposed to the sweet potatoes and yams more commonly grown here.

I don't know what's in the pipe, but it was really early and he was really happy.

This guy is aparently some sort of benevolent feudal overlord of a valley to the north of Kigali. He buys all the produce of the local farmers and transports it to market in his own trucks. As a result the valley enjoys a level of prosperity higher than surrounding areas. Presumably they also enjoy this statue of their benefactor at the local truck stop.

These folks don't have access to the benefactor or his trucks, so they have to use their heads to get their goods to market.

Dressed for success.

Rwanda is pretty heavily forrested, leaves everywhere. I'm still not sure what makes these leaves so special that this girl wants to carry a huge bundle of them on her head for miles to get somewhere that's just as full of leaves as the place she's coming from.

Serious shopper.

Proud of his chicken.

Sweet potatoes on parade.

Bottle cap checkers. Rightside-up vs. upside-down.

One of the lesser lakes in Africa's Great Lakes region.

Rich volcanic soil in the north accounts for much of Rwanda's food supply, as well as the coffee and tea that are the country's primary exports.

Welcome to Kigali

2007-07-12T00:04:00.000-07:00

Jon Vidar is the content manager for the Tiziano Project. Jon's first day in Kigali involved police barricades, an aborted Forth of July party, partying at the Hotel Rwanda, and Ewen McGregor.

The motorcycle taxi had to dodge three different roadblocks on the way to the airport, and the ten-minute ride turned into thirty. Fortunately Jon's plane was an hour late, so I didn't miss him.

The last Saturday of every month is national cleaning day in Rwanda, and all businesses must stay closed. Everyone has to stay home and clean. The whole country is on lockdown until 11 a.m. The last Saturday of June was a holiday weekend so the cleaning was postponed to the following weekend. The motorcycle taxi that took me to the airport wasn't supposed to be on the streets. Airport taxis have a special dispensation and are allowed to take new arrivals into the city. Jon and I were stopped multiple times on the way to the hotel, but each time the driver pointed to the muzungus in the back of his cab and got through. After he dropped us off he sighed and resigned himself to an hour of napping until the cleaning was finished.

This all sounds harsh, but Rwandans and even the most jaded ex-pats see the measure as a positive one. Rwanda is still working to rebuild from the devastation of the genocide of 1994. The government insistence on order and cleanliness establishes a precedent that the rest of the country follows.

We waited at the hotel until the city started moving again and headed down to the coffee shop (there's only one). After getting ourselves sufficiently caffeinated we noticed that there was some sort of commotion out on the patio. We looked out and saw people crowding around to get their photos taken with Obi-wan Kenobi himself, Ewan McGregor. I've only been out of L.A. for a few weeks, and the movie star thing just made me groan. But Jon looked at me and said, "I gotta do it." So we got in line and I took a photo of Jon and the Jedi.

So we left the coffee shop and went over to the home of the American ambassador for a late Fourth of July party. We were looking forward to seeing our tax dollars at work and getting some free food and drinks courtesy of the ambassador. Only we got there and found the ambassador gouging the good citizens of the U.S.A., charging about three times local prices for beer and burgers. We were also out of cash, and all the banks were closed for cleaning day. With a certain sense of relief, we were forced to concede that we had no choice but to leave the party, and went in search of a Western Union to get some cash.

After all that the only way to finish off the evening was to go see Daddy Casanova's reggae show at the Hotel Mille Collines, the famed Hotel Rwanda, where Don Cheadle saved countless well-dressed Hollywood extras from being screen-murdered by countless poorly-dressed Hollywood extras. With past tragedy as constant backdrop a reggae show including renditions of La Bamba and Dire Straights' "Walk of Life" can be a bit disconcerting. Jon was brutally exhausted and was only weirded out for a few minutes before he started falling asleep. I had no such luxury, but the show was actually a lot of fun.

Sunday we rested. And it was good.

High Grade Spring Water “Source de Huye”

2007-06-27T09:43:00.001-07:00

For your best life, it is very important to take natural water every day. It is also better to check your caloric report, and to take regularly a physic activity with “Source de Huye.”

According to its success in mineral salt, “Source de Huye” participates daily in a necessary calcium and magnesium. It is sprung from the earth’s natural sources of Huye mountains, that is why it is the table water of choice.

Shock Treatment

2007-06-26T08:28:00.000-07:00

The hotel staff has apparently tired of heating my bathing water every morning and now they make me do it myself. I go downstairs and they give me a little yellow bucket and the magic heating wand. I fill the bucket with water and then, contrary to everything I've ever been told about electrical appliances, I plunge the wand into the water.

The yellow bucket is too small to heat enough water to bathe in, and the little clip on the magic heating wand won't attach to the white bucket. So I have to heat the water in the yellow bucket to near boiling and mix it with cold water in the white bucket to achieve the desired temperature and quantity of water. Then I use my water bottle dipper to pour the water over my head and wash myself. This is the first thing I do every morning. I find it helps me prepare for the challenges I face the rest of the day.

Atkins Nightmare

2007-06-26T07:54:00.000-07:00

Rwanda is an Atkins nightmare. The best restaurant near my hotel serves a set lunch that consists almost entirely of carbs. Large portions of rice, potatoes, sweet potatoes and French fries topped off with a small serving of beans, maybe some greens (not sure exactly what kind) and a small piece of jaw-breaking beef. The percentage of Rwandans working desk jobs is negligible, and most people do some kind of physical labor. Obesity is almost unheard of. Maybe Dr. Atkins should look into that.

Candid Camera

2007-06-23T10:50:00.000-07:00

For a Muzungu like me taking candid photographs in Kigali is almost impossible. Everywhere I go I'm followed by the chorus of "Muzungu" and packs of little kids, so there's no chance of being inconspicuous. As soon as I lift my camera adults dive for cover and kids strike goofy poses. So this is what I get, and all I'm likely to get:

JICA

2007-06-23T06:20:00.000-07:00

One of my new friends here in Kigali is a Japanese woman named Fumio who works at Gisimba Memorial Center, the orphanage where I've been doing most of my teaching work. Fumio is here with a group called JICA, which is a Japanese version of the Peace Corps. Last weekend I went with her to meet about a dozen other JICA volunteers for a Japanese culture festival they put on at a local school. I lived in Japan for four years and speak the language, so it was great to hang out with the JICA kids and reconnect to the culture. But it messed with the Rwandan school kids. They got very confused when they heard me speaking Japanese, and kept coming up and squinting into my eyes to see if I was Japanese or not.

Pre-game.

Showing off some Japanese culture.

Showing off, uh, Japanese culture?

That's better. Masa teaches at the Fawe school. Here he shows off some Kendo moves.

MEN!

Lining up for Kanji "tatoos."

Tatoo artist at work.

Kanji lessons.

Kimono fashion show.

Muzungu

2007-06-23T05:59:00.000-07:00

When I lived in China I was Lao Wai. In Japan I was Gaijin, in Thailand, Farang. In Rwanda I am Muzungu. The word follows me everywhere I go. Sometimes it's voiced as a simple statement of fact or an expression of surprise. Other times it's a greeting, often followed or preceded by "Bonjour." In this former Belgian colony educated people are expected to speak French. My education is apparently lacking.

The familiar chorus of Muzungu followed me even more persistantly than the occaisional herd of small children the other day while I was on an extended walk through some of the smaller houses on the outskirts of Kigali. Always the same. "Muzungu!" "Bonjour Muzungu." But at one house about half a dozen kids came out and started shouting in perfectly articulated English. "Come and see the Muzungu!" "Look, it's a Muzungu!" "Did you see the Muzungu?" I was laughing way to hard to stop and talk to them. But I did manage a wave and a smile and they seemed satisfied with that.

Two weeks in Rwanda

2007-06-20T09:45:00.000-07:00

I have now been in Kigali, capital of Rwanda, for exactly two weeks. My luggage been here for a slightly shorter period of time. Apparently I was lucky. My bag took only a day longer to get here than I did. The baggage attendent at the airport told me it often takes a week or more for bags to show up.

My first few nights here I stayed at the Grace Hotel, a relatively upscale place that cost me a little less than $20 per night. I had a bed, a balcony, a bathroom and a mosquito net. Most nights I had electricity, but not always. Most nights I had running water, but not always. I did not have hot water. Rwanda is equatorial, but its altitude makes for a surprisingly cool climate, which is great except at shower time.

After a few days at the Grace I moved to my current lodgings at the Auberge de Nyamirambo, where I have the same amenities minus the balcony. However, the one boy who seems to do all the work at the hotel brings me a buket of water he heats on the stove every morning at 8:30. I "shower" by pouring water on my head using a water bottle that I cut the top off of. My bathing problems are solved.

Around the time I moved into the Auberge de Nyamirambo I started teaching photography to a small group of students at the Gisimba Memorial Center (see photos below). All of them are out of secondary school (high school) and are waiting for the funding they need to either go to university or take job training courses.

Gisimba is an orphanage housing about 185 kids. They also support a number of people living outside the center. Most of the older residents were orphaned during the genocide of 1994. The younger kids are mostly AIDS orphans, and 15 of them are HIV positive.

After two weeks I'm beginning to learn my way around. I'm meeting people who are interested in working with us. And I can say "How are you?" (Amakulu?) and "thank you" (Murakoze) in Rwandan. Baby steps.

Tiziano Project

2007-06-17T07:38:00.000-07:00

So what the Hell am i doing in Rwanda? For the most part I'm still trying to figure that out. This post has to do with the part I have figured out. Baby steps.

I am part of a brand spanking new non-profit called the Tiziano Project, named for a legendary Italian journalist. The overall goal of the project is to bring something like citizen journalism to Africa. We want to teach people here how to get information about themselves out to the rest of the world. In many ways Africa remains a dark continent, and up-to-date information can be hard to find.

The first project I'm working on is with the Gisimba Memorial Center, an orphanage in Kigali that has been around since before the genocide of 1994. Most of the older kids were orphaned during the genocide, but the younger kids are mostly AIDS orphans. Out of 185 kids 15 are HIV positive. Gisimba provides the kids with a place to stay, meals, and pays for them to go to school. Last week I spent a day with five Gisimba residents photographing the center and the surrounding neighborhood. For most of them it was their first time using a camera. For rookies they did a great job and took some amazing photos. Check out their galleries and bios.

Or stay here and check out the stuff I shot:

One of my students hard at work.

Back at Gisimba getting ready for lunch. The numbers on the pots correspond to numbers on the tables where the kids sit. All kids have an assigned table.

Cooking for 200.

Digging in.

This one's still growing.

Mmmmm... Mystery fruit. Don't know what they are, but they're sour and pulpy and have lots of seeds.

Kids at Gisimba pre-school. The pre-school is open to kids from outside the center for a fee. The fees help support the center.

Swinging at the pre-school.

Pre-school teacher for 4-5 year olds. She teaches both English and French but struggles because there aren't enough picture books for the kids.

Coffee Blues

2007-06-17T07:24:00.000-07:00

Coffee is one of Rwanda's primary exports, so I was expecting some good, strong coffee to help me get my new project off the ground. But unless I go to the swanky Starbuck's knockoff in downtown Kigali all I get is Nescafe, and even that's hard to come by.

Fancy Flights

2007-06-07T08:14:00.000-07:00

Behind every toilet on the plane were two strips of red tape that read "EVEDENCE: DO NOT TAMPER."

I flew from Washington, D.C.to Rwanda on Ethiopian Air, the aid-worker special. There were more seats empty than full, and most of us had a row to ourselves. I was surrounded by over two dozen Seventh Day Adventist missionaries on their way to build an orphanage it Ethopia. They were exceedingly friendly and blessed me often when I told them I was going to Rwanda. Service on the flight was excellent and the food was good. All movies stopped playing about 30 minutes before they ended. Just before we landed in Addis Ababa the movies finally started playing all the way though, and passengers frantically flipped back and forth on their personal TV screens to see the ending of all the movies they had watched on the 16-hour flight.

In Addis Ababa I had one hour to make the change to my flight for Kigali, Rwanda. I made the flight, but my bag did not. There was a long line at the lost-luggage office. A lot of people were missing bags, but no one seemed terribly alarmed. I went back to the airport the following day to see if the bag had arrived. The attendant was every bit as surprised as I was relieved when I found it. She said bags usually take 2 or 3 days to arrive, and often take more than a week.

So now I'm in Kigali. I have clean underwear and socks, and I have my malaria pills. Life is good.
My hotel has 24-hour electricity, but only has running water in the afternoon. In the morning they bring me a plastic jug of warm water for bathing.

Burning Man

2006-09-19T22:39:00.000-07:00

"Where paths that have affinity for each other intersect the whole world looks like home, for a time."

- Hermann Hesse

FM3

2006-08-06T21:51:00.000-07:00

It takes us forever to get to the club. Some ramshackle place on the outskirts of Beijing. A friend of a friend is playing. Not exactly playing. More like directing.
People around the room sit listening intently to ipod-sized boxes while Christian and his band-mate hold up cards to give silent instructions. Blue + 3 means all those holding a blue box should set it to play track three. Red + X means all with red boxes should turn their boxes off.

The boxes are Buddha Boxes, designed by the band FM3. Each box has a number of different recordings of Buddhist chants. Fans bring their own boxes to the show and participate in an interactive performance directed by FM3. People get really involved, and there is little conversation going on during the show.

TGI...

2006-08-03T23:33:00.000-07:00

There's a TGIFriday's where my noodle shop used to be.

Ten years ago I lived in Tianjin, a city of 12 million about a two-hour train ride from Beijing, where I spent a year teaching English at Nankai University. When I returned earlier this year I didn't realize I was outside of campus until the cab stopped. A tastefully designed brick gate had replaced the dilapidated Chinese gate that once stood there. The narrow, tree-lined street clogged with ox-carts, pigs, and bicycles is now a broad, treeless avenue with a fast flowing traffic of cars and taxis. The canal outside the gate, once a gag and retch inducing toxic sludge, now shows signs of life and has lost familiar aroma. The warren of alleys where we bought produce and ate noodles and dumplings has been razed and replaced with apartment blocks, hotels. Where vendors once sold live chickens, and charged a little extra to kill and pluck, TGIFriday's now sells Buffalo wings.

Outside my old apartment at Nankai University. Aparently it doesn't take much to qualify as a Higher Intellectual.

From Tianin we used to go to Beijing at least once a month in search of cheese. The Beijing Friendship Store was the only place we could get it. Again, didn't realize I was anywhere near the Friendship Store until I was on its doorstep. The street it sits on was once lined with traditional houses and was near the beginnings of a large and lively street market. The houses are gone, replaced with upscale apartments and slick shopping malls. The street market has been forced indoors.

Beijing, like Shanghai, is one of China's "Shocase Cities." This is where China shows the world that it has come a long way, baby. The city is going through a forced modernization in preparation for the 2008 Olympics. The old "hutong," narrow alleyways of mud-brick houses and noodle shops that once housed nearly all Beijingers, are being mowed down to make way for modern apartments, malls and offices. The "chai" (condemned) character marks much of the city for demolition.

The remaining hutong preserve a solitude not found elsewhere in the city. Traditional life in Beijing revolved around distinctions between "inner" and "outer." Walking through the old alleys one can sense activity everywhere, but it all happens behind the walls, in the courtyards, away from the prying eyes of those outside.

"Chai" This boutique and the rest of the shops on the block will be demolished to make way for modernity.

Vanishing Beijing: Quiet alleys, airing out shoes, shaving noodles from a loaf of dough, sacked-out delivery man.

Shanghai

2006-07-01T04:18:00.000-07:00

"This place is as hip as L.A. aspires to be."
So said my friend Nick as we sat at an upscale bar in the Xintiandi district of Shanghai. The main streets are a playground for China's new rich. Bars, sushi, Starbucks, Orange Julius, Prada, Gucci, all here.
The back streets are another story. Narrow alleys between old wooden houses and overhung with laundry on bamboo poles, old men drinking tea at the bird market, and construction cranes looming around every corner. Old Shanghai is still there, but not for long.

Starbucks and Dairy Queen in the heavily touristed Yuyuan Gardens. OK, so I got a banana split. So what?

Behind the glitz of the main streets Old Shanghai is still hanging on. The high-rise in the background hints at things to come.

Bamboo vendor provides the raw materials that keep Shanghai's laundry dry.

Bamboo at work. Keeping Shanghai's shoes clean and dry.

During the Cultural Revolution of the 1960s pins depicting the Great Leader were worn like badges. Mao's Red Guards acted as Thought Police, enforcing arbitrary morality on the masses. Now their paraphernalia is up for sale. Across the street a shop sold bondage videos.

Porcelain figure of Red Guard with captured counter-revolutionary. These days no one in China likes to remember or talk about the Cultural Revolution. But they have no problems making a profit from it. Revolution for sale.

Shanghai men get to cruise around town in silk jammies. Lucky.

These guys bring their birds to the market everyday so the birds can talk to each other. Spending the day drinking tea and smoking cigarettes has nothing to do with it.

Crazy old Chinese drunk I hung out with while eating a bowl of cold wantons with sesame sauce. "I'm old man," he said in broken English. "Tomorrow die." Excuse me? "Tomorrow DIE!" Uh, nice to meet you.

Banna

2006-06-26T05:59:00.000-07:00

What makes traveling in Yunnan so intriguing is that half the people who live there aren't Chinese. They belong to a hodgepodge of ethnic minorities increasingly confined to the jungles and highlands around the Lao and Myanmar borders.
The town of Xiding is just a few miles from Myanmar and is little more than a mud road winding along the mountainside with wood and brick houses precariously perched on either side. Many houses are level with the ground on one side and stilted on the other, with livestock underneath. Residents derive what little income they have from farming the hills for puer tea, prized by the Chinese for its medicinal qualities.
Most days of the week the town is drab and unassuming. But on Thursday mornings the town comes alive. The weekly market draws local Aini people as well as people from the Dai and Bulang minorities. The men are pretty non-descript. Some are there to butcher hogs or sell fish. But most spend the day playing cards, smoking, and drinking bai jiu, Chinese rice liquor. It's the women that give life to the market. Aini women typically wear navy blue dresses and checkered headdresses, and some still wear the elaborate bead and metal-work headdresses. Dai women are identified by their bright floral patterns and at the market are mostly selling satay-like BBQ. The Bulang women dress mostly in black and the older women wear large black turbans.
The Thursday market in Xiding is one of the last hold-outs of a vanishing lifestyle. The nearest ATM is only two hours away by bus.

Residential Xiding. The market takes place "downtown," a concrete encased public square near the road the is the town's only connection to the outside world.

No need for a barn. Plenty of space for the animals beneath the house.

This little piggy went to market...

Couple of pork chops, some bacon, hold the ash.

Colors of the Thursday market.

Aini women make up the majority of the market's participants. In addition to the tea plantations they grow vegetables such as tomatoes and eggplants for sale at the market.

Aini woman in traditional headdress, traditional blue smock, and traditional red polo shirt.

Dai woman fanning the coals while preparing traditional BBQ. Best not to ask what the meat is. It's grilled and it's spicy and that's all you need to know.

Dai on the right grilling BBQ, Aini on the left salivating. Mmmmmm, spicy mystery meat.

Look, a baby! Everyone likes babies.

Look, a dentist. Everyone likes... oh wait, that looks painful. Check out the teeth displayed for sale on the table.

I think this might be the anesthesiologist.

Dali

2006-06-23T05:57:00.000-07:00

When I went to Dali 10 years ago the only place for a backpacker to stay was the appropriately communist Guesthouse Number 2. Don't ask what happened to Number 1. The town was a great place to kick back with a cup of Yunnan coffee and a yak cheese pizza and absorb some local color.
When I got off the bus at Old Dali's South Gate last month I was shocked to find streets swarming with tour groups and "traditional" architecture renovated to a Disnified characture of itself. The once run-down town is now spotless. Armies of little old ladies in bright yellow jackets scour the streets, sweeping even the drainage canals that run down either side of the street. Huguo Lu, a.k.a. "Foreigner Street," is crawling with backpackers, bars, cafes, handcraft shops, and hippie boutiques specializing clothing made from hemp. Ten years ago there was Guesthouse No. 2, the Tibetan Cafe and the Yunnan Cafe. Now there are more guesthouses and cafes than any guidebook woud even attempt to list. Guesthouse No. 2 and the Yunnan are long gone. The Tibetan moved to nearby Renmin Lu in search of lower rent. One shop owner told me she used to pay 200 RMB (USD$ 25) a month to rent on Huguo Lu. Now the rents are as much as 5,000 RMB (USD$625) a month.

Not just for backpackers anymore. A nearby airport and better roads have opened Dali up to a major tourism boom.

Despite the influx of tourism Dali is still a great place to hang out. Off the main tourist strips parts of the old town still retain some of the original charm. Walk in any direction and you quickly leave town behind.

The streets of Xizhou, about 20 min north of Dali by minibus, are mostly empty duiring the day as all able bodies are out in the fields.

Bai minority woman out in the fields. Either spreading fertilizer or pesticide. hopefully not too toxic because everyone I saw was handling it with bare hands.

Bai women in Xizhou.

Bai woman taking veggies to market.

I met Yang Guo Du in the town square of Xizhou. He said "hello," as many rural Chinese do when they see a Westerner. But then he started speaking English in complete sentences. Nearly made me drop my wantons. Yang is an 84-year-old retired teacher. He told me about the American army in Xizhou to fight the Japanese during World War II.

Retro-post

2006-06-23T05:55:00.000-07:00

Now that I'm out of the e-desert that is China, now that I'm no longer a danger to myself and have the freedom to view my own blog, I'm ready to get this thing up and running.

China Blues

2006-05-25T02:32:00.000-07:00

As I set up this blog I discovered that my own blog is off limits to me while I'm in China. I can set up a blog, but I can't open it, or anyone else's.
I'm in the town of Dali, Yunnan Province, China, five-hour bus ride north of the provincial capital of Kunming. When I was first here 10 years ago Dali was a laid-back little town with a half-dozen backpacker hotels, a couple of cafes and tailor shops, all clustered around Huguo Street. Now the tourist shops cover about a quarter of the Old Town.
I'm staying in a place called the Tibetan Lodge, one of the original backpacker hangouts. High rents drove the Tibetan from Huguo Street to adjacent Renmin Street. I've got free wireless there, but as I surf the web I've found that the most random websites are off limits. Chinese servers have no problem with me reading the New York Times, but blogs are apparently more dangerous. Unsupervised and therefore more likely to corrupt my fragile mind.
Should be fun to get back to Hong Kong and see what this thing looks like.

Hajime

2006-05-25T02:19:00.000-07:00

Started my summer in Japan, passed through Hong Kong, and am currently getting rained on in southwestern China. By the end of the summer I'll also have hit Australia and possibly New Zealand. This blog will be a record in text and photo of my wanderings. Enjoy.