Lewis Black and Stephen Colbert comment on recent ridiculousness surrounding a certain pin that a certain politician didn't wear. And on general hypocrisy and distraction in the Congress.
Friday, October 12, 2007
Thursday, October 11, 2007
journey to the west, part one
The first week in October was “National Day” (which was actually a week long), a holiday which doesn’t seem to have any particular significance outside of school being cancelled and everyone taking off to visit family or to do some sightseeing.
I decided to spend the week with a group of fellow CSA people going to visit an orphanage which CSA supports in Qinghai. Despite warnings that the trip would not necessarily be fun, that it could be “miserable,” I thought it would be a great opportunity to see more of the country and get a foot in the volunteer wagon.
The trip began with a 24-but-actually-turned-out-to-be-26 hour train ride from Beijing to Xining (city in Qinghai). We eight quickly got to know each other and assume our roles for the trip: The Han (the token among us), The Activist (one of my roommates in Beijing, also known as The Provider because she cooks for me), The Pacifist (because he never picks fights), The Belgian (aka Mama G), The Documenter (perhaps the instigator? he filmed it all), The Californian (“cool mom”), The Indian (she is also Pretty, for the record), and finally, The Yak (me).
The train ride was actually relatively comfortable if you could get past the squatters and the less-than-friendly staff. We met two young Tibetan monks (sharing an ipod) in the dining car who told us that Tibetans can eat meat if someone else kills the animal (and that someone else is apparently usually the local friendly Muslim butcher).
I was surprised to see that the majority of people in Xining appeared to be Muslim. Everywhere there were men wearing white skull caps and women sporting colorful scarves to cover their hair. Similar to Beijing, Xining seemed to be a city in transition – sidewalks torn up, uncovered manholes, construction sites with tents for the workers set up nearby. And yet there were many large and beautiful mosques, lots of shops and cafes, and plenty of areas where you could swear you were in any other modern city.
During our short stay in Xining (our final destination was Golog, a much smaller city that required an additional 12 hour bus ride) we visited the local temple, made friends with a Tibetan monk (who explained his choice to become a monk in quite practical terms—he wouldn’t have to worry about fighting with a wife and he could make enough money to get by), and visited one of the more upscale bars (where two of our group took part in a dance contest and won face cream, as well as local celebrity status—The Pacifist was recognized by two different people the next day at the temple).
It was in Xining that I first discovered that not everyone in China can speak Mandarin. For some reason I had been expecting that everyone would have at least limited knowledge of Chinese. However, when I tried to speak to monks at the temple I was usually greeted with a friendly smile and a headshake, "ting bu dong" ("I don't understand")--they only spoke Tibetan.
More to come about the trip soon – I’m behind on sleep, homework and blogging for the moment but I have every intention of catching up (in that order).
I decided to spend the week with a group of fellow CSA people going to visit an orphanage which CSA supports in Qinghai. Despite warnings that the trip would not necessarily be fun, that it could be “miserable,” I thought it would be a great opportunity to see more of the country and get a foot in the volunteer wagon.
The trip began with a 24-but-actually-turned-out-to-be-26 hour train ride from Beijing to Xining (city in Qinghai). We eight quickly got to know each other and assume our roles for the trip: The Han (the token among us), The Activist (one of my roommates in Beijing, also known as The Provider because she cooks for me), The Pacifist (because he never picks fights), The Belgian (aka Mama G), The Documenter (perhaps the instigator? he filmed it all), The Californian (“cool mom”), The Indian (she is also Pretty, for the record), and finally, The Yak (me).
The train ride was actually relatively comfortable if you could get past the squatters and the less-than-friendly staff. We met two young Tibetan monks (sharing an ipod) in the dining car who told us that Tibetans can eat meat if someone else kills the animal (and that someone else is apparently usually the local friendly Muslim butcher).
I was surprised to see that the majority of people in Xining appeared to be Muslim. Everywhere there were men wearing white skull caps and women sporting colorful scarves to cover their hair. Similar to Beijing, Xining seemed to be a city in transition – sidewalks torn up, uncovered manholes, construction sites with tents for the workers set up nearby. And yet there were many large and beautiful mosques, lots of shops and cafes, and plenty of areas where you could swear you were in any other modern city.
During our short stay in Xining (our final destination was Golog, a much smaller city that required an additional 12 hour bus ride) we visited the local temple, made friends with a Tibetan monk (who explained his choice to become a monk in quite practical terms—he wouldn’t have to worry about fighting with a wife and he could make enough money to get by), and visited one of the more upscale bars (where two of our group took part in a dance contest and won face cream, as well as local celebrity status—The Pacifist was recognized by two different people the next day at the temple).
It was in Xining that I first discovered that not everyone in China can speak Mandarin. For some reason I had been expecting that everyone would have at least limited knowledge of Chinese. However, when I tried to speak to monks at the temple I was usually greeted with a friendly smile and a headshake, "ting bu dong" ("I don't understand")--they only spoke Tibetan.
More to come about the trip soon – I’m behind on sleep, homework and blogging for the moment but I have every intention of catching up (in that order).
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