Intelligent Design

Comparing the world's major religions strictly based on visual appeal - and given my lack of knowledge on any other level, this is probably what I'd do if forced to pick one - Christianity would rate way down on my list. I'm sitting in a temple of Tibetan Buddhism in Beijing, and it's striking how imaginative and charismatic all the statues and paintings are. Witness, on the one hand:



Here are some of the words that come to mind which I look at this painting: Wan. Flaccid. Simpering.

Now take this Buddhist heavenly king on the other hand:



To borrow a word from my Patagonian hiking companions: badass. Everything from the character to the shapes to the colours grabs me. Stepping outside Buddhism, Hindus even get to worship a strange blue man who overcomes what surely was a debilitating skin condition to become a player.

It seems to me that if Buddhism and Hinduism combined with capitalism, their wild and imaginative styles would be easily marketable, and they could dominate new generations the world over through pop culture.

Of Signs and Change

ATMs in Beijing dispense philosophy with cash. "Please take your advice", said the one I used earlier today. I assumed this was some kind of message to look deep inside myself and reject consumer culture and materialism, but I will need to find a spiritual teacher to unlock the full meaning.

Without speaking any Mandarin, I'm relying on these small translated tidbits to understand the Chinese mindstate. Two adjacent rubbish bins were labelled "recycling" and "unrecycling". I put it down as something to do with feng shui. And next to a parking lot gate, a James Brown-inspired sign read "get down please". Again, it all seems to be about balance in life. You've just spent an hour in slow-moving Beijing traffic, the lot owners are saying, so unwind, do a little breakdancing, and then we'll open the gate so you can park your car. Don't argue, it's for your greater good. You'll see.

Actually, maybe that last part isn't so far from the truth. China is developing at an insane pace. I remember my father telling me about his visit to Beijing 20 years ago, when the streets were so packed with bicycles that crossing to the other side was a challenge. This couldn't be further from the city of today, paved with highways and filled with cars. There are so many cranes building skyscrapers that from a plane you would probably mistake it for one huge construction site.

How can a place change so astonishingly quickly? Part of the answer lies in a neighbourhood I walked through two nights ago covering an area equivalent to a sizeable number of New York city blocks. It had narrow streets of cracked pavement and dirt, and the one- and two-storey houses were old and run down. Located just south of Tiananmen Square, it was very central. It was also eerily deserted.

The last vestiges of communism still give the government an unusual amount of power, like ownership of all land. This neighbourhood, like all the others that used to cover Beijing, had been cleared out by the government, its residents moved to the outskirts of the city to make way for demolition trucks and profitable new developments. When hundreds of thousands descend on Beijing for next year's Olympics, they will see a modern, thriving metropolis. The only remaining parts of the Beijing my father saw 20 years ago will be historical sites like the Forbidden City.

Were this type of development possible in the west, it would probably be very unpopular. After all, it gives no say to those whose entire lives were based in the neighbourhoods they were relocated from. Some are now faced with the dilemma of having to spend more on the commute to and from work than they actually earn in their jobs.

But maybe it's a different operating principle, focussed less on the individual than on the whole. The fact is, a huge and growing number of people are much better off than they were 20 years ago. They reason the growth here is so astonishing is because it's simply not possible under the governments of western societies. Trying to judge which way of running things is better reaches all the way down to fundamental questions of what you value in life, and how you view the importance of self versus the group.

So is China developing for the greater good? I don't know enough to argue. We'll see.

Filling the Time

With so few blog updates from me, I know many of you have been wondering what to do with your lives. I have the answer to your prayers.

In Transit

The first leg of my journey to China was an entry into the U.S., changing planes at Washington DC. Not having had much to eat on the previous 11 hour flight and facing the prospect of a further 5 hours, I caved and bought some airport food. I looked for the most un-fast-food-looking place I could find and settled for a toasted tuna sandwich. It was made "fresh", as in freshly transferred from the freezer to the grill, and wrapped in a couple layers of deli paper, then placed in a brown paper bag.

With no time to eat before boarding, I took it on the plane to wait until I was allowed to use my tray-table without causing whatever gruesome accidents all airlines fear will happen if you unfold them before reaching cruising altitude. (Severed arms? Dented foreheads? Passengers rendered uncontrollable by the sheer excitement of repeatedly folding and unfolding the tray-tables during the multi-thousand-foot climb? Who knows.) Unfortunately by that time the dirty little secret of the airport food stall had been revealed. The sandwich had soaked through all the layers of paper to literally drench the brown bag with grease. When I picked it up from the floor where I had left it during takeoff, there was a small pool of grease left behind. It occurred to me that it would be fitting if, when re-entering the U.S., the immigration control agent handed over one of those sandwiches when saying, "Welcome back to the United States, sir."

I wish I could remember the name of the stall to warn anyone reading this. Unfortunately the best I can do is to recommend giving a wide birth to any food around gate C-2 at Dulles International Airport. Oh Buenos Aires, I'm already longing for your empanadas and ice cream, with sidewalk cafes where people don't eat dinner until 11pm.

MIA

I was meant to catch a flight out of Buenos Aires last night when I realised I hadn't rounded out my tour of hospitals, so instead ended up spending many hours going through various tests and doctor's consultations with a slightly worrying case of an inflamed appendix. But that's a story for another day. Luckily I was cleared this morning and am about ready to set off.

The real point of this post is to let everyone know I'll be out of contact for the next 2 to 3 weeks. No blog posts unfortunately so as not to incriminate myself. I'll leave you with this strip from my favourite comic of all time, Calvin and Hobbes. (Click to enlarge.)

Language Progress

A few days ago I had a breakthrough. I sat down at a cafe and while waiting for my food to arrive, picked up Clarín. Now I know what you're thinking - uh oh, he's hitting the pills hard. No, it turns out that despite the name and logo, Clarín is one of the main papers in Buenos Aires. As far as I know there are no addictive properties, though they do try to draw you in by highlighting key phrases which makes it seem like you're reading a gossip column about Kate Winslet and Brad Pitt when in fact you're reading about the latest homicide.

In any case, I picked up the paper to kill time and found that I understood most of it. It took some work, but what a satisfying feeling. It's a change from my current project of reading the first Harry Potter in Spanish, which has me simultaneously looking up almost every word in my 1,100 page Spanish/English dictionary.

I also find myself having the occasional dream in Spanish. This of course can be confusing when English-speaking friends pop up and I push on trying to converse in broken Spanish with them. When I wake up I inevitably have dozens of grammatical questions about the things I said. They usually bug me until half an hour later when I can't remember the dream anymore.

A Weekend's Break

If there's anything keeping Colonia del Sacramento off the cover of travel magazines, it's probably the water. Muddy and brown aren't characteristics that tend to lure people to vacation spots. Lucky for me, as I took a trip there last weekend to get away from the crowded city. I was surprised to find such a tranquil place just an hour's boat ride from the center of Buenos Aires. I spent my first day wandering around the beautiful colonial section of town, enjoying the old cobblestone streets and picturesque houses with walls of brick exposed by crumbling plaster.

A sign in the hostel I stayed at informed me that the water, as well as being muddy, had toxic green moss in some areas. But when I went to the beach the sun was scorching, so I surrendered to the reasoning of "everyone else is doing it, why can't I?" and went for a swim. A subsequent check didn't reveal any extra limbs sprouting, so no regrets thus far. Unless there's one on my back. That's always hard to see in the mirror.

The second night ended in the early hours of the morning, sitting with an Irish traveller outside a just-closed bar and listening to him having an extended debate with a local about various political leaders in South America. It was entertaining for a while; as the Irish didn't speak Spanish the conversation went something like this:

Irish traveller: Néstor Kirchner... bien?
Uruguayan mechanic: Más o menos, sí. Sí.
Irish traveller: Uhhh... Chavez? Hugo Chavez? Bueno?
Uruguayan mechanic: (Draws his hand across his throat.) No. No me gusta.
Irish traveller: But... Castro? Castro? Bueno?
Uruguayan mechanic: (Motions putting a gun to his head and pulling the trigger.) No! Muy malo.
Irish traveller: Oh. But Chavez? Bien, no?
Uruguayan mechanic: (Repeats his previous response.)
Irish traveller: And Castro... también?
Uruguayan mechanic: (Says he should be shot.)
(Repeat x20 minutes)

When the novelty of hearing the Uruguayan's yes/no responses, and sometimes accompanying violent hand gestures, wore thin, I decided bedtime had come. I went back to the hostel and mulled over the points and counterpoints both men had presented.

And so the following day, after this late-night debate, I fell asleep on a small beach which I had reached after renting a small motor scooter and cruising out on the surrounding country roads. I sat down to read and woke up a little later to the sound of waves on the sand. If more of my weekends ended like that I would probably be a healthier, less-stressed person.