Zhongnanhai

So there I was in Shanghai, taking my friends around town. They had stepped off a long flight from Vancouver via San Francisco, and it was both of their first time in China. The purpose of their trip was to visit Tibet, and quick stops in some Chinese cities was only a bonus.

Shanghai is definitely a beautiful city, and tends to impress those from out-of-town, or even those out-of-country. I greeted the two weary travelers at Pudong Airport, but they perked up when they boarded the state-of-the-art Maglev train, a perfect introduction to "modern" China, whatever that means. But "modernity" and "China" seemed to be the prevailing topic of conversation as the weekend progressed.

Admittedly, Shanghai isn't like Xi'an, Beijing, or Guangzhou when it comes to historical sites. Shanghai is a shopping, nightlife, and entertainment mecca and its history only dates back to the end of the Opium Wars back in 1846 (or thereabouts). Considering the history of the other cities in China, Shanghai is just a spring chicken.

I thought, though, that Shanghai would be a welcome halfway point between the west and China, before they dig deeper into the western regions of the country in Chengdu, Tibet, Xi'an, and elsewhere. But I was a little surprised by one of their observations: China isn't as modern as people say it is.

For years, people coming over here, I think, have expected farmers in straw hats and dusty streets filled with bicycles. Sure, part of that still exists. But on nearly every television channel, newspaper article, radio story, and blog, people are talking about the glistening new buildings, nightlife, shopping, wealth, and the "quality of the wi-fi in the lobby of their Guangzhou hotels", according to noted columnist Mark Steyn. This hype has been building up for years in advance of the Beijing Olympics, yet many of the run-down and dilapidated old apartment buildings still exist. What's more, in arguably China's wealthiest city of Shanghai, we saw the usual assortment of vagrants minus limbs crawling around asking for change, boarded up windows, children asking for spare kuai, and pollution as bad as I've ever seen it in the city. How modern is all that... and how will Beijing, less developed and more polluted, look in comparison?

Perhaps the incessant media coverage of China's rise has risen expectations to the point where they can't be reached. Although I sound like a Xinhua mouthpiece, China does, in fact, remain a developing country. And despite the glitzy headlines, we have to remember that.

I'm also eager to hear what my friends think of Shanghai's modernity, after two weeks in Tibet!

I am not going to make friends with this post...

I remember a few years ago, living at Sunshine 100 on Guanghua Road in Beijing, and having an awful cough and cold. My landlord at the time, who was very sweet, brought over these rubbery, licorice-like balls and told me to chew on them. I did. My cough persisted, and my cold didn't die down.

Last night, as I was preparing to head to the final night of Tim's Texas BBQ restaurant in Beijing, I came down with the flu. I went home with a fever, shivered under the covers all night, and woke up feeling awful this morning. My girlfriend took me to the pharmacy and she bought me these pellets to be mixed with water. I took them. Nothing happened. I have since purchased some Tylenol and have since regained some strength.

I'm not sure if other people have had these same problems, but I'm starting to feel like the esteemed Traditional Chinese Medicine is a crock. Does this work? Or does it only work because Chinese people think it does? Does it work on Chinese but not on foreigners? If you are suffering from a migraine, will you take some silly sand-like substance mixed in warm water or a Bufferin? Pellets, granules, or rubbery balls... does this stuff actually work for you?

I am by no means an old 'China hand.' I would not even pretend to know or understand one-tenth of what Chinese culture is really all about. There are customs and traditions in this country that I have come to love, and some that I've come to loathe. The point of this diatribe will not be about the former.

Anyone who has spent more than a day in China's urban centers, particularly Beijing, will know that while the 'locals' -- and I use that definition loosely -- have a generally friendly disposition, the habitual nature in which bad habits permeate through society is enough to drive you to the bottom of a bottle of baijiu! That said, I -- somewhat to my chagrin -- have become accustomed to tip-toeing around 'spitsicles' on the sidewalks in the winter, huffing in toxic fumes in the air like a Chinese coal miner and being nickeled and dimed by local shop keepers merely because of the color of my skin. In fact, truth be told, a part of me (let's clarify that this is a small part) doesn't want to see this aspect of China disappear. It's these daily annoyances that give Beijing its character and guarantee, thankfully, that the capital is highly unlikely to be chosen as the next location for the revival of 'Sex and the City.'

All this being said, there is one trend that is causing the circus clowns in my head to start juggling at an increasingly more rapid pace. For lack of a better term, I'm going to label this as 'machesmoing.' This 'look at me, I'm making more in a month than my father made in a year when he was my age' attitude is personified on my daily, and lengthy, trips on the Beijing subway. The unfortunate demise of my Ipod, and the fact that I don't like people reading over my shoulder, has relegated me to do some Freudian analysis of my fellow commuters. It's this analysis that has allowed me to become quite good at the 'subway lottery.' (choosing the person to stand in front of who has the most likely chance of getting off in the least amount of stops so that you can wrangle their seat before the mid-40's Beijing housewife lurking nearby pulls a 300 pound linebacker routine to get there first) This psycho analysis has also allowed me to discover that a fair number of Chinese men in the 18 to 45 demographic feel that they have quite sizeable baby-makers.

The seats in all the Beijing subway cars these days have defined borders, allowing 6 people to a row (2 or 3 in the smaller seats near the doors in between cars). So, in theory, these seats should also reflect an invisible grid in which one's extremities should not cross. However, more and more, I'm discovering that cubicles should well be the order of the day. Much like Al Bundy in the television comedy series 'Married With Children,' (minus the hand down the pants, for now) quite a number of Chinese men are more than willing to allow their legs to cross over that invisible barrier into other people's comfort zone. So what's the reasoning? There are a few possible explanations for this: Perhaps years of using squat toilets has permanently locked the leg muscles into this position? Maybe the development of Chinese underwear has led to the need to sit like this? (Hey, nobody likes the feeling of having their Fruit-of-the-Looms holed up in box canyon) Is it possible that, not unlike Chinese women's bust sizes, Chinese men's testicles are getting larger, precipitating the need for more room while in the seated position? These are all potential arguments that can -- and possibly will -- be made in response to this diatribe. However, I think it goes deeper.

China is developing rapidly. With this comes a growing sense of pride and nationalism in this country which is seeping into the core of people's everyday life. This, and the 'One Child Policy,' has created a greater sense of 'one-upmanship,' particularly among young men who are up and comers in society. And because of this it's my estimation that the testicular advertising campaign being waged on the subway is a subconscious manifestation of these attributes in society. 'I'm going to take my piece of the world, and a little bit of yours as well, because I don't think you're going to complain too much as long as I don't go too far.' That leg rubbing up against yours is the equivalent of my local cigarette purveyor charging me 8 kuai for a 7.5 kuai pack of butts. Am I gonna bitch about the loss of 5 Jiao? Probably not. However, there has to be -- and will be -- a breaking point. The question is, where, and when, will that take place?