Matt Schiavenza From the Dragon to the Apple- A Sinophile Goes to New York

Changes ’round Here

As you may have noticed there are a few cosmetic changes here with the site. Since my primary residence will be in New York City for the next two years, I felt writing a blog entitled 'A China Journal' seemed slightly incongruous. Not to worry, much of the content will be China-related. However, now I'm also interested in recording my transition from Kunming, China to New York City. This explains the blog's new subtitle: from the Dragon to the Apple.

I also felt that the blog's minimalist style had grown tired and that a fresher look was needed. I've kept the Manichean color scheme but have added a few touches. The photo in the background, for instance, was one I took on a visit to Beijing's 798 arts area in the winter of 2008. I hope that by looking at it I'll be nagged to keep up my study of Chinese characters!

The adventure will begin in a couple of days. Hope you stay with me!

The World Cup and Coming and Going

One of my first memories of Kunming was from the summer of 2006, when I first came here on vacation after wrapping up my teaching contract in Fuzhou. With a couple of friends I walked into the Camel Bar, the second (third?) edition, and watched a World Cup game with a lively mixed crowd of expats and locals. The friendliness of the scene contributed to my decision some months later to relocate to Kunming to study Chinese. The rest, as they say, is history.

Now, it is 2010 and the World Cup has returned. Suitably, perhaps, the Cup will mark the end of my tenure in the Spring City just as definitely as it marked its beginning. In the past four years, the city has changed somewhat. The Camel Bar shut down and then re-opened near its former location.The number of bars showing games has multiplied. But the spirit remains the same- a large, international community watching the world's greatest sporting event in a frenzied atmosphere.

In citing its internationalism I am forced to laugh at one of my stated reasons for moving to Kunming- that the city wouldn't have so many foreigners. I was determined to live in a city where I wouldn't be tempted to spend my free time speaking English in dingy bars, and for whatever reason thought Kunming would be a suitable place for such a purpose. In the end, of course, Kunming's concentration of foreigners is what likely has kept me here for this length of time.

I used to feel a little guilty now and then about how much time I spent immersed in the laowai scene while living here. Maybe it's the latent Catholic in me, but I sometimes wished I had made more Chinese friends, had learned more about Chinese culture, and, of course, had learned to speak and read better Chinese.

Thinking back, though, I wouldn't have had it any other way. I now have friends from countries around the world, and have learned much from all of them. I've had many wonderful experiences while living in Kunming, from traveling around Yunnan Province by bicycle to drinking and dining in the city with friends. I like to grouse about Facebook, but the fact that more than 200 of my friends are ones I made while in Kunming is a testament to the rich tapestry of people I've come across here.

I'm often asked why I chose to live here rather than in Beijing or Shanghai or Guangzhou or Shenzhen or wherever. I will admit that occasionally I've asked myself the very same question. Certainly, I'm envious of friends in those places- ok, maybe not in Shenzhen- for the rich array of culture on hand, for the economic opportunity, for the cosmopolitanism that Kunming cannot offer.

My flippant reply is that as a Californian, I can't live anywhere with a harsh winter. But this only muddles rather than illuminates the truth. Kunming offers something that I find unique- the diversity of a big city combined with the intimacy of a small town. I like being able to walk down the street and run into people I know. I like being able to see all of my friends at an nighttime event, if only because there's nowhere else for anyone to go. I like sharing in excitement when the little trappings of cosmopolitanism- a good ska bad, a real cappucino- arrive in our town.

So upon further reflection I find that there's really no reason to feel guilty at all. Growing up in the Bay Area, I had friends from all over the place- something that enhanced, rather than diluted, my very American childhood. And in Kunming, being able to wander to a table and participate in an argument about Italian soccer followed by sitting in while a different table dissects the finer characteristics of Yunnan ethnic minority groups has truly made the past four years special.

And in the end, my fondness and understanding for the Chinese language, people, and nation itself has likewise grown immeasurably. That's the ultimate issue, isn't it?

So tonight I shall traipse down to the bar street and watch more soccer, surrounded by screaming partisans of Japan or Paraguay or whomever. And I will think that these nights, in the warm Yunnan air, are almost as good as it can get.

Comeuppance

Over the past year I have been unable to obtain more than a three-month, single and double visa at any given time, so as a result constantly must be vigilant about the validity of my stay here in China. This has resulted in no small amount of frustration, particularly when other Americans in my position seemingly have very little trouble getting vastly superior visas.

When I submitted my visa application form a few months ago, I was led to believe my request for a one-year multiple-entry visa would be granted. Alas, it wasn't- and in a moment of pure frustration I loudly swore in the visa office on my way out.

Last week I went back to apply for yet another extension. The officer in charge remembered me. He wasn't happy, either. Speaking good English, he accused me of swearing at him and of humiliating him. He said that he had no control over my visa and that it wasn't right for me to be so angry at him.

I mildly protested that I wasn't swearing at him, that I knew he didn't make the decision, and that I was merely frustrated with the whole process. But within a minute I began to apologize profusely. Fortunately, the official accepted and shook my hand. 'A new beginning', he said.

So I left with my tail between my legs. Lesson learned? Two, actually. One- never assume that the people you deal with in China can't understand English. Two- intemperate outburts can be easily misinterpreted, and are probably best avoided altogether.

Christmas

Between filling out grad school applications, hosting a good friend as part of his round-the-world tour, and preparing to move to a new apartment I haven't had much time to contribute to this space. 对不起!

Christmas is four days away, and for the second year in a row I'll be spending it here in China. Although in a perfect world I'd be able to visit my family in California the combination of work responsibilities, financial restraints, and other logistical hurdles  prevent that from happening this year.

Nonetheless my friends in Kunming do a fine job acting in loco familias. The city's foreign population is large enough that we're able to obtain a pre-cooked turkey from a cafe, something that I imagine might arouse the envy of my fellow laowai in other parts of China. I myself am fairly suibian about the contents of Christmas dinner- growing up as a Noritalerican infused me with disparate culinary influences- but my British and Australian friends seem to think Christmas won't be Christmas without the bird. And who am I to complain? Turkey is good. Maybe next year we can engineer a Turducken.

China remains an officially atheist country yet has embraced the commercial side of Christmas, something that would make  advertising executives proud around the world. Christmas decorations have appeared everywhere in town and you can't walk into a supermarket without hearing a constant stream of English-language Christmas music. Proportionally few Chinese worship Christ or are even aware of what conventional Christmas traditions are, yet culturally they appear very comfortable with the crass commercialism that characterizes the holiday.

Mind you I'm not complaining. As a non-Christian myself I see Christmas as a pagan festival celebrating the end of the year, the presence of family, and other such sentimental milestones. That the Chinese have appropriated the holiday is a positive, not a negative, development.

To my readers I'd like to wish a 圣诞节快乐, a Merry Christmas, and other holiday greetings.

Happy Thanksgiving

In honor of Thanksgiving Day I'd like to take the opportunity to thank each and every one of you for reading this blog, particularly those of you who have commented and e-mailed over the past year. It's been a pleasure conversing with such an intelligent, well-informed audience. I hope you'll continue sticking around!

Rest in Peace

When I was in high school, our kindly headmaster used to speak often of our 'community'; that was, the students, faculty, staff, and others for whom our school was a daily part of life.

My friends and I used to cynically poke fun at him for saying it; at that point in our lives we yearned to break free and make our own mark; not be bound by any community, real or imagined.

Yet through the last week in Kunming I've been twice reminded that while living abroad the concept of a community is real and vital indeed.

Earlier this week I learned that Jason Stefanuik, or 'Jay Stef' as he billed himself, was killed last month in an auto accident in Philadelphia. He was 33.

I knew Jay only slightly, but memorably. Long ago, Jay hired me to interview Kunming's beloved punk band Smegmariot for a now-defunct website he had launched called netkunming.net. The interview was one of the first pieces I ever wrote for anyone and I can still remember the satisfaction I felt seeing my name on Jay's site.

Netkunming.net also included a section called 'Out in Kunming', in which Jay- who was openly gay- and others provided content detailing gay life in China. I remember thinking that it was extraordinary at the time, and I still do.

Jay was so soft-spoken you often had to lean in close to hear what he had to say. I'll remember him as a kind soul, one who left us all far too soon.

While we were still mourning Jay more shocking news arrived yesterday. Arun Veembeer, another long-term resident of Kunming, was killed  after a fall while hiking in Dali. A native of India, Arun was 28- exactly my age.

Arun worked for the Hump Group, a company named after the 'hump' in the Himalayas so integral to supplying Allied and Chinese troops during World War II. From reading his obituary I learned that Arun himself had traveled along the Stilwell Road, a remarkable feat considering the topographical and political challenges that lay therein.

What I will remember most about Arun is his sense of humor- at least once every time I saw him he would say something so original and funny that I'd collapse into laughter. His dexterity with the English language stood out; it is no surprise to me that he was a writer.

Both Jay and Arun were among the broad tapestry of people who had chosen, for one reason or another, to base themselves in this sleepy regional capital of southwest China. I didn't know them well enough to say, but I would bet that when the two of them were in high school- schools on opposite sides of the globe- they could never have imagined that they'd have ended up spending a chunk of their lives 'south of the clouds'.

And yet while their time with us was brief, they touched many lives- many more than I'm sure even they could have even imagined.

Rest in peace.

Here I Am, and There I Go

Apologies for the hiatus- for this reason or that I've neglected this blog, though not for lack of ideas swirling around in the head.

First, though, on a personal note: I will be flying back to the US tomorrow morning to attend a friend's wedding at Lake Arrowhead, California, thanks to the generosity of my folks who have paid for the ticket.  This visit will be the shortest I've ever undertaken at just a week, and it'll also be the least amount of time I've spent in China between visits home at just over six weeks.