Gone Rambling...

Who determined that four hours is the danger threshold for an erection? And if you had one last that long, are you really going to make your first call be to your doctor?

While we're talking about erectile dysfunction, I'm currently teaching my two-year-old niece the "Viva Viagra!" jingle. I know this is just setting me up for Brian to give me some big time payback once my own seeds are sown (as they say), but I don't care. It's worth it. "Viva! Viva! Viagraaaaaaaa!"

The four movies I've cried at: "Braveheart," "Big Fish," "Passion of the Christ" and "The Incredible Journey."

One move I did not laugh at (or finish): "Melinda and Melinda"

Will Ferrel's only re-watchable movie is Anchorman. And even though I know every line, I still watch.

Milk was a good choice. The last bottle I bought was an old-school, glass one. I had to pay an extra dollar deposit to help encourage me to return it. But I think I'm going to keep it and drink G&Ts out of it in the summertime. How awesome would that be?

Went to Walmart tonight to get a few things for the apartment... They sell a camouflaged crock pot. So the next time you think the meat you're eating has a gamey flavor, now you know why.

I can never remember how you're supposed to spell the color gray/grey in American.

Anyone else notice that packets of Eclipse Gum are no longer perforated? The 12-pack tinfoil tray used to tear in the middle, giving you two, pocket-sized packets of gum. Now, if I buy Eclipse, I have to use scissors to snip the package into two six-packs. Unacceptable.

How do indy rock bands stay so skinny? If they're on the road touring all the time, they must go house on fast-food constantly. I thought the heroin era was over.

While we're on the subject of grown men pouring themselves into girls' jeans, Kings of Leon is now in my top 10 favorite bands. Maybe top five. I'll let you know after I go see them tomorrow.

I got those tickets for free. I won tickets to two different concerts this week via radio call-in. I've never won anything before.

I never realized how much I missed having a real kitchen until I got one back again. I am now using pots and pans that haven't been touched in six months.

This summer, I spent two months in China. And I will still eat at Panda Express.

Scotch makes me fart in my sleep. I'm serious. I went to a wedding last month, drank scotch at the reception (Johnny Black) and woke up the next morning with a green haze enveloping the entire room. The room which, by the way, I was sharing with the groom's cousin. Sorry, Jesse. I hope your singed nose hairs have recovered.

I'm planning a wedding of my own. Did you know that it costs $300 an hour for someone to stand in a tux with their thumb on the wheel of an iPod? Me and the Missus are getting screwed - and it's not the good kind.

To anyone with a Nextel. Just stop. For the love of all that's good, learn how to text. And turn your phone to vibrate.

Did you know it's cheaper to own a trailer than it is to rent an apartment? By 30%? Then again, you'd actually have to live in the trailer. I have heard possum is delicious.

I have two closets in my bedroom. They are both full AND I just donated four trash bags of clothes to Planet Aid and Goodwill. Not manly.

Santa came to my local mall on November 6th this year. The turkeys weren't even dead yet.

I love Ikea. It's the only place in the world where you have to assemble your own cardboard box. I bought two.

A Nagel News Sighting...

My mom called me the other day to let me know that the Foster's Daily Democrat (a local paper here on the Seacoast) ran a story about me. Um, weird... but I can at least add "guest lecturer" to my resume. Nevermind that it was for my mom's high school rhetoric class.

I'll pop the first paragraph down below, so you can get the gist. If you're interested, you can read the full article about my visit here.

Local writer shares stories about Olympic coverage with Good Shepherd students

BARRINGTON — Freelance writer and journalist, Mike Nagel, of Newmarket, recently shared stories with Good Shepherd School students about experiences covering the Olympics in Beijing this summer.

This might be the first-ever article featuring me that my last name is spelled right. It's Nagel-like-bagel-with-an-N, folks!

Yes, I'm still in Junior High...

My roommate Marc helped me out on this one. It's a little comparison of squat toilets and their western cousins for you to pooh-pooh, ha.

Starting to See China...

(Note: I'd written this and pitched it to local papers, but no one picked it up. So, um, you get to read it! Yay!)

Until eight weeks ago, the word “China” evoked images in my mind of something huge, shrouded in mystery and looming eerily on the horizon. Before I flew into Beijing to report for the Olympic News Service, I knew only the barest of facts about the country and its people. They are the world’s most populous country. They have the world’s largest army. They export more goods than anyone else. They are Communist. Their pollution clouds our skies. They are our main competition as the top superpower. They are a threat to our economy, our environment and our standing.

“They, they, they”—that’s how I thought. It was all about how we do things in the United States (say, free market society) versus how they do it in China (now, a strange meld of socialist capitalism). I had an “us versus them” mentality with a clearly defined list running down opposites sides of the page.

I easily maintained that sort of black-and-white thinking when I was 7,000 miles away from China. Back home, the Chinese were an intimidating mass of over a billion blurred faces. They weren’t real.

But here on the streets of Beijing, as I’ve lived, worked and struggled through this urban sprawl of 17 million residents, I’ve started to get a clearer picture of the Chinese and their country—one that’s much different than I expected.

There’s Yang Guanjun, an artist from Xi’an, who moved to Beijing with his wife and daughter in hope of a better life. His shop is little bigger than a walk-in closet and tucked away in one of the thousands of hutong (alleyways) that spider anonymously through the city. The deep lines in his tanned skin betray the hardships that his wide, toothy smile tries to hide as I buy his watercolors.

Cindy (many Chinese use Western names when conversing with foreigners) is a graduate student who looks far too youthful to be 25 years old. She loves playing ping-pong with her friends and even teaches me how to hold a paddle correctly, giggling lightly every time I swing and miss at another return from her nasty backhand. Cindy hasn’t seen her boyfriend in more than a year. He lives and works in another city and they don’t often speak because he doesn’t like cell phones or SMS; her messages often go unanswered.

“Men and women are different, I think,” she says, “For him, the job is very important. More important than me.”

Still, she loves him and she will wait with the hope that one day they might be together.

I met Zheng Wei at a cafeteria. He helped me, unasked, to recharge a pre-paid meal card. We ate breakfast together afterward and he asked many questions about the United States, what kind of place I was from and what the universities were like. Then he asked me about faith.

“I believe in Jesus. I believe in God,” I said, trying to condense an entire worldview into two sentences.

“Many Chinese believe only in science,” he said, trying to do the same.

“You know, they can work together.”

“Yes,” he smiled and clasped his fingers together. “Work together.”

To me, China is still big and scary—I speak only the most basic Mandarin and have just seen a small slice of the country here in Beijing. But my experience over these two months has begun to chip away at the preconceptions I carried with me like too much checked luggage.

China, by successfully hosting the Olympic Games, announced its presence among the world’s powers in dramatic fashion. Yang Guanjun, Cindy, Zheng Wei and many more Chinese citizens showed me, personally and powerfully, what it meant to be welcomed here. They reminded me that the people of China are just like the people of the United States. We are all individuals who hold feelings, emotions and dreams. None of us are mere blurred faces in a crowd.

So as the world leaves Beijing, ponders what to do next about China and tries to make sense of it all, I will leave with hope. For I’ve learned here that it’s possible to co-exist if you strip away all of the politics, all of the misconceptions, all of the good and all of the bad and just look into the eyes of friend you never knew you had.

The Closing...

Every four years, history repeats itself. A city that spent seven years preparing for two weeks in the world's spotlight comes down from its Olympic high.

Beijing is like that now. The Birds Nest, the Water Cube and the dozens of other sparkling, new venues are empty. The flame has been put out (and passed on to London) and all of the nations' flags are folded and put away. The vendors' tents have been collapsed, carts hauled away and leftover merchandise boxed up. Around town, the streets seem emptier. The Silk Market salespeople sit idle on stools instead of grabbing at hordes of tourists. The bars at Sanlitun close at 2 instead of 6 a.m. The two huge warehouse-cum-nightclubs (the Heineken House and the Bud Club) where gold-medal winners, journalists, coaches and hangers-on partied nightly have vacated their property for good. All the train stations, highways and airports were packed as tens of thousands of visitors tried to get back home or get to their next destination as quickly as possible.

It's too early to tell if the $43 billion the Chinese government spent to host the Beijing 2008 Olympic Games paid off. Certainly, they're going to take a monetary loss (not surprising, considering they spent more than the five previous Games combined), but that's not necessarily what marks a host city's success. Time will tell if these past 16 days will remembered as a huge triumph (Sydney) or a monumental failure (Montreal).

Watching the torch go out from the bar at the St. Regis - yes, I roll like that - made me a little sad to see the Olympics end. I've had a fabulous experience here at the Games. I've gotten to sit ringside and watch the best amateur boxers pound the crap out of each other. I saw ping-pong in the country that calls it its national sport. I watched gold-medal judo matches, beach volleyball and USA basketball live. My commute to work involved walking through the Olympic Green twice daily, hearing the hum of the the masses and seeing the smiles all around. And I got to work in the Birds Nest, standing at the finish line and interviewing athletes. The top experience for me had to be watching all three of Usain Bolt's world records (the men's 100m, 200m and 4x100m relay) live, in person, and then talking to the guy after. Yes, I'm bragging, but how cool is that? I still can't get over it.

Neither can China. I think the country is in post-Olympic denial right now. They've been re-airing the highlights from all 51 of their gold medal winners and also just showed the entire Opening Ceremony, including the March of nations, unedited, this morning. The Chinese waited too long to host for it to be over in 16 days. We'll have to wait and see what happens when they come down off the collective high; will there be a national depression or a recession? The stock markets look like it - Shanghai's is the worst-peformer world wide and the recent inflation is starting to cause problems locally.

There is one success I'm proud to report, however small: I now love the Olympics. This is coming from a guy that hadn't watched any Opening Ceremony in 12 years and didn't watch a single minute of either Athens' or Torino's respective Games. But having been here and watched athletes go all-out for the mere love of the game, to break down crying as their nation's banner soared to the heavens and to chant "Jai Yo" (Let's go!) with thousands of happy Chinese has given me a new appreciation for what the Olympics mean. For two weeks, nations set aside their differences, pushed away language barriers and joined, universally, in sport. It wasn't just to see who could come away with the most medals, it was a chance to work together for something - to do something higher, faster or stronger than ever before. It was beautiful.

My favorite quote of the Games came from a Canadian 800m runner who finished fourth in the final round, just missing out on the podium.

"I'm not upset," he gasped in the mixed zone, 20 yards from the finish line. "I gave everything I had. Everything. It's all on the track."

That's what the Games are all about and I got to see that, firsthand, on a daily basis. You can't ask for more than that.

See you in Vancouver.

The Price of Tea in China

According to XE.com, today's exchange rate from the US Dollar to China's Renminbi (also known as "yuan" or "kuai") is 1 to 6.82. That makes travel pretty easy and, honestly, is one of my favorite things about China. You need to spend very little to live very well here.

I don't want to run through an entire list of what I bought (that would take approximately 19,000 words), since I did have to buy a second suitcase ($15) to get everything back to the States. But I do need to go over some my better purchases and ones that you might want to make, if you ever get over to Beijing.

First off, travel is hard. Plane, train and bus rides aren't good on your back. And, if you're like me and carry a man bag everywhere, your shoulders and neck can get messed up to. A massage is the answer and one of my little guilty pleasures no matter where in the world I am. For 98 yuan ($15), I had a beautiful, hour-long massage where my little Chinese masseur took me apart and put me back together again. It was ugly, she was violent, but after the dust settled, I was a new man.

Food is ridiculously cheap. My daily breakfast usually consists of an egg sandwich on fresh-made, nan-like bread or a few dumplings and a hard-boiled egg. In either case, I pay anywhere from 1 to 1.50 yuan... that's less than 20 cents in the US. Beat that, Dunkin' Donuts! And if you're paying more than $4 for a beer (in a very nice bar), then you're paying too much. Generally, it should cost between 10-15 yuan (under $2), unless you just bought it in a hutong's local shop... then you get a 20-ounce Tsingtao for 3 yuan ($1.50). Yes!

I'm not a big taxi guy, but there are times where I really don't feel like dealing with the subway here or it's late at night and I just want to get home. Thankfully for my wallet, I'm in Beijing - city of millions, most of them cabbies. These guys are everywhere and although the base fare starts at 10 yuan, I've never paid more than 90 ($12) for a ride. And that expensive one was coming in from the airport, where there are always extra charges. By comparison, my cab ride from Boston Logan to my apartment in Cambridge cost $28 before tip and took about a third of the time.

Luxurious escapes from China are, at times, necessary. I love mingling with locals and trying to see how they live, but there is a limit to how much Chinese food I can take, how many dirty serving trays I can see or how long I can go without a napkin (you'll only be given those in Western places or, on occasion, if you ask really nicely). Beijing, being the international hub that it is, has plenty of 5-star hotel bars to relax in, sip a whiskey and smoke a cigar (all for under $20). There are also dozens of ex-pat gathering places from diners (Grandma's Kitchen) to cafes (The Bookworm) where you can drop the seemingly exhorbitant sum of 100 yuan to get fresh, Western delicacies for less than 15 dollars. Then, once your stomach's been filled with reminders of home and your mind has been refreshed, you can head back out into the city streets, recharged and ready to once again soak it all in.

The cheap shopping opportunities around Beijing are well documented. But what I didn't expect to find were several tailors around the city, offering high-quality, hand-made suits and dress shirts. Last month, I visited Lisa Tailor, which is located on the 5th floor of the 3.3 Mall in the Sanlitun area. Apparently, this particular shop is well-known and recommended by many concierges around the city. I wasn't expecting to buy anything, but was completely floored by the prices - 1,000 yuan for suits, 1,300 for tuxedos, 80-150 yuan for shirts and ties for 30 and under. Put in Chinese prices, that sounds expensive, but that meant I could be spend $150 for a suit, $180 for a tux and about $10 a shirt.

If you know me, you know I can't resist shopping and I can't fight off bargains. I walked out of there with an order for a pin-stripe suit, a black tuxedo, five shirts, two ties and four sets of cufflinks. That alone might have been worth the flight over here.

So, while travel in the UK and Europe continues to get more and more difficult as the dollar's value free-falls, it's nice to know there are still places where a 25-year-old, unemployed kid can come and live like a king.

Xiexie, Beijing!

My girl Candy, sizing me up.

Rocking the Chucks with the tux. Incidentally, I bought those shoes at the Silk Market for $10 (and probably overpaid).

On the First Olympic Week of My Life...

We're not going to win the medal count.
It's a fact, USA - our domination of the Summer Games has come to a close. China already has twice the number of golds we do and are halfway to its goal of 119 medals. We're gonna lose. And it sucks.

But at least we have someone to cheer against.
If you look on the bright side, now we have competition and someone that I can boo internally while watching from the sidelines (I won't externally because, well, I like living too much).

Athletes are machines.
Television does not do these super-human competitors justice. They have ceased to be everyday people, have become machines honed for one thing and do that one thing faster, higher, harder and better than everyone else.

The first time I stepped on the practice track in Chaoyang, I was floored. There isn't an ounce of fat anywhere to be seen. I thought spandex would tear from the strain of containing the bulging muscles. The sheer fluidity of how they move around the track is like poetry in motion. Incidentally, I was watching the Nigerian, Cuban, Honduran and Malawian teams, too - and they're probably not going to win three track & field medals combined. So you can imagine what it's like standing next to the American athletes.

Long-distance runners are skeletons.
I've run one marathon and two halfs in the past 18 months or so, so I've seen some skinny competitors (Mostly at the start, before they start jogging twice as fast as I can sprint). But I have never seen three dozen, 5-foot 3-inch, walking, talking skeletons until I covered the women's marathon. Those girls had waists the size of my thigh and the tallest of them maybe equaled my height.

On the 100m sprint:
It will take me longer than 9.69 seconds to write this paragraph. And I didn't even slow up to celebrate at the end.

I heart my press pass.
Not only do I get free entrance to most of the attractions around town, as well as complimentary use of the city's subway and bus system, but it gets me other places, too. Like if I want to get into the press area while a spectator at an event, carrying a beer and dressed in a t-shirt. Or if I decide to skip lines and use the VIP entrance at the Olympic Green's sponors' exhibit halls. Perhaps if I wanted free beer at Club Bud or a gift every time I visited the Yashow Clothing Market, I could just whip it out. It gets me access beyond security points that require special passes, all because the Chinese are afraid of offending western press. People stare at it at the subway and kids tug on it. Oh, I'm keeping that thing.

If you're going to be a language translator, you'd better know how to speak the language.
So, the Chinese powers that be, in all their infinite wisdom, decided not to bring in official translators to work for the media at the event centers. Instead, they took on local student volunteers to do the work, most of whom have around two years of education in a language. They're all quite good speakers - for people that have studied for two years, that is.

Example: We're at a test press conference, where fake athletes will be answering questions from English-speaking journalists in Spanish and Korean. Our intrepid language staff will then translate the answers. The Spanish "athlete" delivers a three-minute answer to a question. We all wait, with baited breath, for the translation to come through our earpieces after he's finished speaking. There are 30 seconds of silence, some shuffling of papers and then a slight cough.

"Don't know."

Then more silence. We turn around and look into the translator's booth. There, looking completely befuddled, is a smiling Chinese student. Let's just say that language services here hasn't gotten better since.

When you're dressed the same as everyone else, you do what you can to stand out.
Even if that includes wearing a 1990s, Limp Bizkit-style bucket hat, with the brim flipped up and dark sunglasses. Yup, that was me yesterday. It'll be me tomorrow. And it'll be me through the rest of the competition... Oh yes, pictures will follow.

After a week of watching preliminary rounds, I want to box.
And if that fails, I can always race walk.

Video success and the shameful sequel...

So, I've gotten 18,000 hits on YouTube from my last crappy video and am now in the top-100 travel guru type folks for the past week. Weird, eh? Well, I didn't want to rest on my laurels, so I've just put up a video that's just as crappy, but also just as timely and hopefully people will be searching me out.

Here's some footage from the Birds Nest of Usain Bolt's world record-breaking 9.69 second finish in the Men's 100m finals tonight...



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Note: NBC blocked the video about 12 minutes after I put it up, so I re-did it this morning in the hopes that they won't do it again. We'll see...

Musings on the Opening Ceremony...

Hello, world. Beijing is ready.

Seven years, $40 billion dollars and one fantastic show later, the Beijing Games have officially opened. I hope the Opening Ceremony made you all sit up a little straighter on the sofa and take note: the Olympics have arrived.

It was impossible not to notice. Some highlights: the 2008 drummers counting down the final few seconds; the little girl soaring above the ground, flying a kite and landing into a human recreation of the Bird's Nest; dancers painting a beautiful tapestry; hundreds of paddle-weilding rowers recreating the Yellow River; Lopez Lomong - a former Lost Boy of Sudan - carrying the U.S. flag into the arena; and the everlasting image of Li Neng running through the air to light the Olympic flame.

I'd been given the honor of seeing a dress rehearsal the week before, so I knew what to expect from the spectacle, having see everything except for the final torch lighting (which had been kept secret... Reportedly, only three people in the world knew who would be the final carrier). So, last night, what I was looking for was the reaction of the Chinese people - even more so than re-watching the brilliant ceremony.

I've been some places, I've seen some things in 25 short years on this here rock. But not many come close to the sheer exuberance and enthusiasm that 17 million people can exude all at once. The whole city seemed to be united in one, giant motion. It stood smiling with its arms spread, at once welcoming the Games and the world to its door.

My friend Anna and I started out in Tian'anmen, where, although the actual square had been cordoned off, thousands of people milled about. There wasn't anything to see (few fireworks and no TV screens) and yet people were just there because they had to be somewhere. Everywhere we looked, there were Chinese flags waving, stickers of the banner cut into heart-shapes and cameras flashing as people tried to document the historic occasion.

We wound up walking around the square for a bit, soaking in the sights, and then headed north to meet some friends. The government had shut down the 2nd Ring Road and many of the main drags, so it took some fancy driving to get us to the Houhai/Drum and Bell Tower area and he dropped us off about a 15 minute walk from where we wanted to go. It wound up being less of an aggravation and more of an adventure. Thanks to the cabbie, we spent the first few minutes of the Opening Ceremony on the streets of the city, surrounded by awestruck Beijingers.

They packed up against each other, eyes towards the skies, looking for the first explosion of fireworks that would signify the party had begun. They blocked off streets, standing in the way of buses and cars, in order to keep a clear view on the big screens and TVs that lined the sidewalk. They cheered and took pictures and smiled and hugged and we were a part of it all.

Eventually, we made it to the bar and met up with our friends. There were plenty of ex-pats there, but at least half of the crowd was Chinese. They atmosphere there was one part party (bar, duh) and one part movie screening, as the crowd watched the show in silence broken only by excited buzzing and spurts of applause. Watching for the second time, I was just as enraptured as the first.

As the night wore on, the March of Nations started and we began cheering for each other's nations. There was a lone Israeli there, but the entire deck cheered for the Israeli team. Hong Kong and Taiwan received vigorous applause, as did Romania, Sweden, Canada, the United States, Great Britain and Australia.

But that was nothing to the deafening, citywide roar that arose as Yao Ming's 7-foot, 6-inch frame stepped onto the floor of the Birds Nest holding the Chinese flag aloft. The place went nuts and the floorboards shook under my feet. I yelled along with everyone, caught up in the moment and just happy to see the joy across the faces of people who had waited for seven years for that moment.

That's what the Olympics are all about. It was time to forget borders, forget money, forget politics. Instead, we remembered that despite our differences, we are all the same. Now wasn't a time to fight, now was a time to cheer each other on. So cheer on, we did.

Go China, your time to shine has arrived.

The city, and the world, celebrated long into the night.

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Note: I grabbed the photo from The Big Picture, which is a blog on Boston.com's website. You should definitely be subscribing to their feed. They post about 3 times a week and have some of the most amazing, newsworthy photography out there.

Oh, the humanity! (of the Beijing subways)

I've been on crowded trains before, don't get me wrong.

When I lived in London, my daily commute involved taking an overland train from Clapham Junction (Britain's busiest rail station) to Waterloo and then switching to the subway during rush hour. If I had enough room to hold a paperback in front of my face AND still have it far enough away to pick out individual letters without my eyes cramping, it was a light travel day. That hardly ever happened.

Coming to Beijing, a delightful city of 17 million in a country of 1.3 billion people (one-sixth of the world's population), I knew I was in for some close encounters of the Chinese kind in public transport. Every day since I've gotten here, I've been pushed, poked, prodded, piled on, pried past and probably propositioned politely on the subway. The Line 1 trains are particularly packed. Frankly, the time of day doesn't really matter... Sure, it's more backed up during the moring/evening rush hours, but I've gotten into squished cars at 2:30 in the afternoon. Whatever, it's part of life here.

The fun thing I didn't expect to find here was what I affectionately call "The Running of the Chinese Bulls." You see, I'm staying beyond the end of Line 1. That line ends at a stop (Sihui East). From there, I have to switch to the Batong Line if I want to continue eastwards from downtown. It makes no sense whatsoever - the Beijing MTA could easily just make the Line 1 trains keep going instead of pulling U-turns and heading back west, but whatever. I'll post more on that sort of commonplace Chinese efficiency later.

The Running of the Chinese Bulls is what commuters do every time they have to switch trains at Sihui East. The line up at the doors of a Line 1 train, sprint out in a mad dash from the car, up the closest flight of stairs, through corrals set up for the express purpose of preventing the weak and young from being trampled, back down a flight of stairs to a different platform and then huddle around the areas where the next train's doors will open. Once that train pulls into the station, the people cluster around the doors - literally pressing themselves against the side of the car - before sprinting for a seat as soon as they whoosh open.

It's hysterical.

I've seen full-on dives for seats, mothers tossing toddlers into an open plastic chair, bags thrown down to mark territory and more sucker punches thrown in the scrum than I could count. Within three seconds, every seat is taken and the chaos subsides into the usual sort of spacy silence you'd expect from the commuting crowd. It's rather uncanny and something you just need to see for yourself. So, I've taken it upon myself to videotape the scramble for my next YouTube project.

Here goes nothing...

Down in the Hutong...

I love her / she loves me
But I don't fit in her society
Lord, have mercy on a boy from down in the hutong.

Hutongs are the narrow, winding alleys that spiderweb across Beijing. They are the traditional neighborhoods of often-ancient stone houses, clay-tile roofs and shared bathrooms. If Beijing's six circular highways (ring roads) are the arteries of the New City, then the hutongs are the network of capillaries that have given life to the capital for centuries.

They're everywhere, crisscrossing main streets, leading to landmarks' rear entrances and dead ends alike and twisting—often at 90-degree angles, without warning. But at the same time, they're easy to overlook, for this is where the city's underclass lives. A few hutongs here and there have been gentrified, with new walls and tea shops sprouting up. Mostly, though, stepping into one is stepping into the way of life for millions of Chinese.

It is a step, I think, that many tourists don't take. Just like it's easy to stay away from the run-down neighborhoods at home, wandering through hutongs isn't a necessity. There are main roads, taxi cabs and sparkling new subway lines to whisk foreigners from photo op to photo op, shopping centers built below high rise office buildings to peruse (mostly Western) name brands and plenty of KFCs, McDonalds and Starbucks to visit instead of getting your feet dirty trudging through back alleys. This isn't a condemnation; it's just an observation. I've had my share of iced coffees from the baristas over the past month, too.

But I've also found the hutongs to be an indispensable part of my experience here. Perhaps when this is all over, my times wandering through these neighborhoods will be my fondest memories of the city.

Stepping off the sidewalks into a hutong means you're leaving behind all of the comforts you're used to. There aren't any English menus in the restaurants and very few will have pictures. You may have to put up with the smell of open toilets as you pass by the common bathrooms the residents share. You'll be dodging delivery people and garbage collectors on bicycles and have to endure the occasional interested stare as one of the locals watches you, perhaps wondering if you're lost.

Walking through a hutong also provides you with potential for some of the best travel experiences you can have. For one, I've found the food to be incredible. Most of the restaurants will either have open-air kitchens or will only have one dish for sale, which will be on display. I can spot something I like (egg and tomato stir fry or pistachio pastries, for example), pay a couple yuan for it and either eat it there at a small stool and table or take it for later munching. While these places look ramshackle and run-down on the outside, I'd trust their food over pretty much any Westernized fast-food joint in Beijing. These restaurateurs are basing their entire livelihood on their dumplings or their steamed buns—make a couple people sick and no one's going to come to you ever again.

There are almost always children playing in the streets, whether it's kicking a ball or running around playing tag or some other chase game. Many will skid to a halt after spotting me, sidle up and whisper a nervous, "Nihao." I'll respond with the same and a smile and their faces never fail to light up as the foreigner tries to speak their language. They'll giggle and then run off to keep on playing—the joy of children is universal.

The other day, I stumbled into Yang Guanjun's art shop, attracted by the watercolors and the English "ART" sign on the front door. I found the owner to be a delightful dude, with enough knowledge of English for us to stumble through a conversation. Guanjun is from X'ian in central China and he studied art at university there. There wasn't enough work for him in his hometown, so he brought his wife and young daughter to Beijing ten years ago to open an art studio and tea house. Business has been okay, but it's hard for the tourists with money to find him, as his home/studio is a few blocks from the main road, down a narrow hutong with no signs and no other shops. He gladly showed me his wares—everything from calligraphy on antiqued scrolls to photographic prints—before inviting me upstairs to see the living space he's trying to rent out for the Olympics (a pair of twin rooms, a brand new shower he was infinitely proud of and Internet access on provided, ancient PCs). I spent 30 minutes chatting, sampling the tea he had on sale and talking about the coming Summer Games before I departed, two original paintings under my arm. Those souvenirs are nice, but their meaning will go beyond that of the trinkets I've picked up in the Silk Market or around town because I shook the same hand that painted them.

None of that would have happened, had I not gotten lost, wandering alone through a hutong. If you're ever in Beijing, I suggest you do the same. You never know what you might find.

Yang Guanjun with his work


Champion Art Gallery (owned by Yang Guanjun)


Hutong Rooftops


Bicycles Along the Wall

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Editor's Note: Yang Guanjun does not have a website, but he can be emailed at yangguanjun [at] sohu[dot]com. His shop is at 26 Men Kuang Hutong, in the Xuan Wu district (about a 20 minute walk south of Tien'anmen Square).

Great Wall Video - Visit to Badaling

Here's take 2 for my travel videos... So much for one a week! It's on my YouTube site or you can just watch it below. Let me know what you think!

"Asked a gas station employee if he ever had trouble breathing and he said, 'It varies from season to season.'"

Some musings on Beijing's famous smog...

When you tell people you're preparing for a trip, you generally get warnings based on where you're going.

"Watch out for pickpockets!"

"Get a malaria shot!"

"Bring Amodium!"

All that good stuff. When I was getting ready to come to Beijing, the one comment I received that far outweighed all the others was, "The pollution is terrible there! You can't even breathe! You won't be able to see your hand in front of your face! You'll die of asphyxiation as soon as you step off the plane!"

Turns out, those helpful tidbits were exaggerated... but only slightly. For a kid used to the clean, crisp air of New Hampshire's seacoast, the smog is freaking bad. I could see it the first night I arrived - a yellow haze that settled over the city and showed up like halos of cigarette smoke ringed around streetlights. That worried me.

But like anything else that makes travel difficult (exchange rates, language barriers, entry visas, ticket touts and overbearing Americans in fanny packs), you just learn to deal with it.

I, for one, turn it into a game. I call it "Where's Burns Manor?" Each morning, my alarm goes off and I throw it into the wall. 90 minutes later, I get up and walk across the 3 1/2 feet of tiled floor to my window and gaze out, trying to judge the smog levels for that day. One mile from here, there's a nuclear powerplant, that looks just like the one in Springfield (hence, Burns Manor). If I can see it clearly, it's a great day and the smog has disappeared overnight with no explanation or note - almost like a one-night stand sneaking out before breakfast and regret. If I can make out a shadowy outline, it's a typical day in Beijing; the smog is there when you wake up, like a good friend. On the days where I can't see Burns Manor at all (which is more often than not), it's a crappy, smoggy, hacking day and the clouds of pollution are like a suffocating relationship that you just want to get out of, but can't because you're trapped and smothered under a blanket of pain, tears and lost dreams.

Either way, you're in a relationship with the smog, whether you like it or not.

(Pictures 1&2 are from the fifth day of the trip, which was the clearest we've had. Incidentally, it's also the first day we figured out that a powerplant actually existed. The third shot is from yesterday, which was by far the worst day. Burns Manor should be where that giant cloud is on the right. Walking around the city yesterday felt like simultaneious onset of an asthma attack and a claustrophobic freakout. I need my inhaler.)

Since I'm here, I just have to deal with it. I did come somewhat prepared - stocked up on allergy meds (Claritin and Zyrtec), way-cool nose spray that goes perfectly with my headgear (Zycam), an over-the-counter inhaler and Chinese Airborne (Now, with 15% more lead!). All that's been working well with me and when the smog ups the ante to a higher thickness level, I just check-raise that sucker with more pills. Boo-yah.

There are other ways of coping, too. One is to just not go outdoors, which is a method some have taken - only the air conditioning here is just as bad for you and sitting in a dorm room is now way to travel. Others have taken to bringing face-masks (although, I haven't seen anyone in my group wear one). There are also more than a few PODs (Portable Oxygen Device) going around, too. These little cans of oxygen give you 40 breaths of clean, smog-free air per tube. I have one and I've been using it off-and-on. Have I seen a difference? Um, probably not... but it does give a psychological edge in the battle against smogification. And there are those that swear by them and trade them on the ex-pat black market like they were packs of cigs in federal prison.

I've been told that, eventually, you just get used to the air. The lack of sunlight stops bothering you and your lungs adjust. I hope so, because I've developed a sore throat for the past four days and sort of a dry hack of a cough on occasion. But at least I haven't resorted to the face mask. I'm just living for the next clear view of Burns Manor.

Maybe it'll be tomorrow.



(Image of the sun, over cypress trees at the Temple of Heaven, peeking through the smog at 4pm yesterday).

Highlights of Beijing (to-date)

So, rather than bore you with long-winded descriptions of each place, I'm going to keep y'all updated by giving out a list of the sites I've visited and include a note on each. And lots of pictures. Because a picture is worth a thousand words and no one actually wants to read 10,000 of those, right?

I was able to visit about half of these places courtesy of BOCOG (the Beijing Organizing Committee for the Olympic Games), who took us News Service worker on a three-day tour of the best Beijing had to offer. So, I have to be eternally thankful to them, even if our first stop was kinda poopy.

On to the sites! As always, I've linked to more shots on Flickr from the entry.

Qinghe Water Reclamation Plant - this is, you guessed it, a waste water treatment plant. Or, more specifically, they clean sewage so the water can be used in car washes, to provide irrigation and the like (thankfully, not drink). The city is definitely proud of this plant and the 12 others just like them it built for the Olympics. There were a plethora of jokes about this visit, but I can't share any of them in mixed company.


Xiang Tang New Culture Village - We visited "the most beautiful village in China," which is a government sanctioned/subsidized/supported/built "village" in Beijing. I'd liken it to something akin to visiting Disneyworld or the City of the Future at the World's Fair. It was eeiry, actually... there a ton of new buildings, but very few are inhabited. It's a mish-mash of old style courtyard homes and Western condos. At the center is an arts center that caters to a resident retirement community. They sang us a song about how happy they were to live in a place with clear skies and fresh mountain air (the smog was so thick that day that we couldn't see the actual mountains that were a 1/2 mile away, but they assured us that they were there). Honestly, I'm not really sure even now what to think about this place. It's either a project to try and reclaim some of China's lost history or one giant PR scam... neither would surprise me.

Peking Duck - let me say, if you had to have a last meal and picked this, you couldn't be too wrong. My goodness, is it ever delicous. Perfect with a Tsingtao.









Great Wall, Badaling - Lonely Planet say thus about Badaling: "The surrounding scenery is raw and impressive and this is the place to come see the wall snaking off into the distance over the undulating hills. Also come here for guard rails, souvenier stalls, a fairground feel and the companionship of sqauds of tourists surging over the ramparts. If you time your visit to coincide with a summer weekend, you won't be able to move against the wall of humanity on the battlements." I have to say, the book couldn't have summed it up better. It took us a full hour of waiting, jammed against Chinese tourists, to get from the ticket booth to the top of the actual wall. Part of it had to do with Felipe Calderon (Mexico's president), who decided to visit the wall on the same day and they closed off sections for him, but part of it was Badaling's natural "tourist charms." I will definitely be re-visting the Great Wall, but not at Badaling. Having said that, it might be the coolest thing I've done in Beijing. Climbing over one of the 7 wonders of the world (that's 2,000 years old) cannot be underestimated.

The Ming Tombs - built during the 1500's during the Ming dynasty, these tombs rival those of Egypt's Pharoahs in splendor and oppulence. There are 13 of them, but only three are open to the public. In essence, they are underground tombs surrounded by lush gardens of cypress and impressive temples. The best part of the visit, however, wasn't the tomb itself. Rather, it was the perfectly clear sky that gave us tremendous views of the rocky mountains just north of Beijing. A landscape fit for an emperor's resting place.

The New Summer Palace - Originally named "Qingyi Yuan" or Garden of Clear Ripples, the Summer Place was built in 1750 by Emperor Qianlong (Qin dynasty) to celebrate his mother's birthday. Um, wow. Let's just say the dude A) really liked his mom and B) had lots of time on his hands. Since then, it's been destroyed twice (by invading Anglo forces, as the signs around the park constantly remind you), but has been open for nearly 100 years as a public park. It's now a UNESCO World Heritage site and full of China's signature brillantly painted temples. The park's two most distinguishing features - a lake and a steep hill - are both manmade. The emperor wanted a lake, there wasn't one there, so slaves dug one. He then also had a hill to build imposing Tower of Buddhist Incense. It's good to be king.

The Old Summer Palace - Anglo-French forces destroyed this one (by fire) in 1860 and it hasn't been rebuilt. That's really all I know about it. It's really sad to see, actually, because it would have been quite impressive... it was inspired by French architecture and would have resembled Versailles, to a certain degree. There was a cool maze, though.



The Forbidden City - This wasn't part of the BOCOG tour, so I went there on my own with a few friends. It's pretty neat to wander around the grounds where the seat of China's power had been for five centuries. During that time, just your Average Joe-types like me wouldn't have been allowed in. It was a place of mystery, excess and politics (kind of like our Congress, ha). Actually, if I had been allowed inside, I'd have to pay with my, um, family jewels, as the only average males let in were the eunuchs who watched over the 3,000+ concubines and supervised their quarters. Pretty crazy...

Tien'anmen Square - did you know it's the largest public square in the world? I didn't. It's massive - took an hour to walk around it. I'd have to say that it was certainly Communist-inspired. The buildings surrounding it all have squared, blocky edifices and, of course, there's Mao's every present pus peering over it all. Definitely a must-see, although it's tough to get pictures to come out with all of the cars and people getting in the way.

"Hey, everybody... come see how good I look."

Yup, you guessed it. I've got more photos up on Flickr. There are about 150 shots (Too many? Probably.) up which you can look through at your leisure by visiting my China Collection.

Hmm... "China Collection." That either makes me sound like Kenneth Cole or Hannibal Lechter. I can't decide. Judging from what I've been eating lately (mule, scorpion, sea snake, silk worm, McDonalds soft serve), it just may be the latter.

If you're too lazy to click through to another webpage or if you're suffering from horrible finger cramps, I'll put up a few fun ones here for your perusal.

But all the naked ones are on Flickr.

I'm kidding.

Or am I?

Here's that link again, you curious perv.

Lamb skewers at Wangfujing Snack Street

Buddha in the Temple of Heavenly Incense, New Summer Palace

Peeps at the Summer Palace

Me, standing on history at the Great Wall (Badaling)

Settling down in China...

So, I feel like I've been really down on Beijing in my first two city-related posts. A lot of that had to do with just sort of getting a wave of culture-shock upon arrival... so I wanted to write and say that I'm doing fine now.

The one thing you can say about the Beijing Organizing Committee for the Olympic Games (BOCOG - the overseeing group for all-things Beijing Olympics) is that it has been nothing but welcoming from Day 1. The longer I stay here, the more I realize the extent of what it's done to make us feel at home.

For example, we have air conditioning in our residences and private bathrooms. That's nearly unheard of... even on the campus we're staying, most of the students have to walk to camping-style, communal bathrooms.

They decorated the hallways of our building with pastoral pictures of forests, mountains and log cabins. Just like the good, ol' USofA (or so they were thinking). It's endearing.

We were given a 3-day, all-expenses paid tour to Beijing's top sights - the Great Wall, the Ming Tombs, the Summer Palace. And we were also shown a couple areas the local government is especially proud of: a state-of-the-art waste water treatment plant and a planned village, which is where the "future of China" lies. While the latter two aren't necessarily what I'd take visitors to New Hampshire to, the fact that the people were so proud to show off their achievements to a horde of Western volunteers was definitely touching.

All the while, we've been inundated with food... over 100 specially prepared Peking ducks one night for the 350+ volunteers, watermelon (a delicacy here) for dessert each night, dish after dish after dish stacked onto lazy susans... the spread has been immense and I'm hoping my waistband won't be the same in the end. I've come to find out that the number one way to show visitors welcome in Asia is the feed them into a coma.

But the most welcome has been shown by the people of Beijing. The entire city is behind the Olympics. It's not just the people we've been introduced to by BOCOG, either. Rather, everywhere you look, people are wearing Games swag, taking pictures of the beautiful stadiums and smiling happily when you tell them you're here to work for the ONS.

There are a handful of Chinese volunteers that have been assigned the task of being ambassadors to our group, as well. One, in particular, has gone above and beyond to make sure the loud, crazy, non-Mandarin speaking Americans feel welcomed in Beijing.

Cindy rocks. She's a grad student at the Communications University of China (the CUC), where we're staying. While she's been learning English for only two years, she's already fluent. On every bus ride, Cindy has been sitting up front, ready to answer questions or chat about life in China in a friendly, outgoing manner. She's already organized impromtu Ping-Pong-Cho sessions, invited a half-dozen of her friends and schooled each one of us at the ping-pong tables.

I just try to think that if a group of 35 foreigners came to my school for two months, would I have done the same? Honestly, it's not likely...

So while Beijing may not have the natural beauty of some other world-class cities, its citizens have already demonstrated (on the individual level) that some of the country's most beautiful people live there.

Thanks BOCOG and thanks Beijing.

Cindy (left) and fellow-volunteer, Li

Housekeeping...

Just a couple notes...

For all my Facebook compadres: I'm having a tough time getting on to respond to comments and emails. Sorry, but the Great Cyber Wall of China isn't helping me enjoy my Facebook addiction and I haven't been able to post any pictures. Sad day.... so don't feel offended if I don't respond to you right away (or quickly) (or at all). It's not personal, I'm just blocked for some reason.

For people checking out my Flickr site, the best way to view shots is to view my collections. I've organized everything (or am in the process of arranging, anyway) into Japan and China collections with sub-sets in each of those. Fun, fun, fun...

That's all, folks. Now, back to the fun and your regularly scheduled programming...

Photos are up...

So I'm doing really well in Beijing. After a bit of culture shock, I feel like I'm fitting in nicely. BOCOG (the Beijing Organizing Committee for the Olympic Games) has done nothing but make all of us volunteers feel welcomed.

I've been AWOL because there hasn't been much down time with the tourist schedule they set up for us... for three days, they sent us around to: a waste treatment plant, a "future of China" type planned village, the Great Wall (at Badaling), the Ming Tombs, a crafts center, Peking Opera, Peking Duck, the "new" Summer Palace and the "old" Summer palace as well as spread after spread of delicious food. I swear, I will gain 40 pounds by the time I come home.

I've been trying to digest everything I've taken in (both literally and in the tourist sense), but I don't feel like I'm quite ready to break down everything for you. It's all a little new and overwhelming... and I don't want to trivialize anything by a little premature posting. So, I'm going to hold back for now, but I will tell you that I FINALLY have Japan photos posted.

They're here on my Flickr site. I really wanted to get them onto Facebook, but I believe the Great Firewall is preventing me from accessing it. Either that or the application I use has a glitch (also a possibility). Anyways, if I figure out a way, I'll get them there, but for now they're on Flickr.

I will have more blogs - whether writing, videos or pictures - for you tomorrow, I promise.

In the meantime, here's that link again.

Enjoy, friends!

Ceremonial, pre-temple cleansing


Downtown Peeps


Owabi on the grill

Culture - it's a shocker.

I have to say, there’s been a little bit of culture shock. It’s weird because that sort of thing never really bothered me before. And it’s not like I haven’t been in situations of extreme cultural differences before – it’s just not gotten to me the way life in Beijing has. I’ve always been able to brush it aside and use my excitement for exploration to get over it.

Maybe it’s because I’ll be here for a full two months. Maybe it’s because the language is so difficult to navigate and I feel completely lost, linguistically. Whatever it is, it had be down for the first couple of days.

The funk settled in like a thick layer of the city’s infamous smog, which, by the way, exists in full force. What little of Beijing I’ve seen is, quite frankly, very ugly and full of concrete buildings and massive, Communist-era structures. These intimidating skyscrapers are everywhere.

The skyline’s uninviting demeanor isn’t exactly improved by the thickly settled pollution, either. This stuff is just as bad as advertised. It’s like the weather is continually foggy, yet strangely bright, all around here. You can’t help but feel sluggish as you struggle through the pollution’s pea soup.

I’ve seen the sun twice since I’ve gotten here. The other day, at 1pm, it towered high above Tiananmen Square, burning bright and yellow. But it was just a glimpse and then it disappeared, blocked out by the thick clouds that jostled each other for position over the city. Then, later that night, I saw it again before it set… a burning, red orb angered at being pushed aside and forgotten.

I’ve heard that people my age, who have never left Beijing, have seen fewer blue skies than they can count on their hands.

The most noticeable feature of the city’s skyline are the towering, skeletal outlines of massive cranes. There is a huge amount of construction underway in Beijing and these tools are literally everywhere. They are specters overlooking the birth street-and-concrete offspring - new buildings, bringing new life to a Beijing that’s evolving on a daily basis.
They should be the image of rejuvenation. And yet, I haven’t been able to shake off the ominous prickling up the back of my spine when I see them rising from the mists, looking ready to devour the young they helped create.

Yeah, you could say that I’ve been in a funk.

A little bit of culture shock is a standard part of travel. Strange faces, strange faces and strange foods can overwhelm, but for me, that was always the most exciting part. It was the reason I traveled in the first place. I wanted to be surprised, I wanted to see new things, I wanted my comfort zone to melt away.

But during my first two days here, I didn’t want any of that. As I looked around at what I perceived to be a despairing city, lost in in a sea of 17 million fast-paced, hard-charging citizens, I felt lost.

(An aside: very few people wait in lines here – there’s a whole lot of cutting and jostling while at cafeterias or waiting for the subway)

I felt lost and insignificant. What was I doing here? I still had two months to go… could I cut it? For fleeting moments, when thinking about home and Sonja, I wanted to leave Beijing. And I’d barely even gotten here.

It’s funny, sometimes, how life works. One minute, you can be completely lost (in my case, in China, struggling to be understood and to understand) and then a seemingly inconsequential act can give you a ray of hope that pierces the clouds like a bright beacon.

For me, it came at a subway station ticket machine. Rush hour in downtown Beijing and literally thousands of commuters were pouring past me through turnstiles and herding themselves towards the trains. I stood there with the whirlwind whipping around me, trying to work the touchscreen and buy a ticket back to home campus.

Even though there were English directions, I couldn’t figure out exactly how to work it to purchase a ticket. Every time I searched for my destination on the map and tried to put in my money, the machine either timed out or spit out my bill. Over and over and over, I got rejected. Looking around, there wasn’t a station attendant in sight or a counter where I could bypass the dysfunctional computer station.

Right when I was about to give up, there came a small tap-tap-tap on my left shoulder. I turned around to see three teenagers, smiling w/ gapped, yellow teeth. The tallest one, his unruly hair sticking out at every angle and dressed in a t-shirt two sizes too large, motioned to me and then to the machine.

I thought he wanted to use it and had gotten impatient with the befuddled American (wei guy ren) in front of him. He just wanted me to get out the way right? Wrong. Quietly, he punched three keys on the screen. His friends stood there smiling as he motioned for me to put money into the feeder. I slid a 10 yuan note in, the machine took it this time and then it spit out a ticket.

The three kids, all of whom were about 10 years younger than me, and I never exchanged a word of English. But they came to my rescue no matter what the language barrier. I quickly grabbed my ticket and change, thanked them repeatedly (in Mandarin – one of the few things I know how to say) and then hurried off to catch the next train.

It was an inconsequential moment, really – the whole thing took less than 15 seconds – but to me, it mean quite a lot. A ragtag group of teens had seen me struggling to get through a simple transaction, saw I couldn’t do it on my own and stepped in to help a complete stranger.

I boarded the train, pressed in on all sides by a crush of humanity, and thought, “Maybe I can make it after all.”

Two days later, not coincidentally, I woke up to blue skies and bright sunlight with mere wisps of clouds in the sky. It was a beautiful summer day in Beijing.

I’m still here.

I am Silent Thunder...

A while back, I was gmail-chatting with my friend and former co-worker Liz when the subject of nicknames came up.

Liz - "Some friends call me Lizzle."

Me - "Makes sense... I like 'Lizzle.' I've never had a nickname. Well, except for Nagel-Bagel, which all the kids in kindergarten used to chant."

Liz - "Well, we need to find you a nickname..."

She then went on to try a few until she hit on one that rang.

Liz - "I've got it! MURDERFACE! You'll be Michael MURDERFACE Nagel!"

It was my very first nickname.

It rocked. I liked it... it was unique, had a ring to it and matched nicely with my first name. Alliteration is always awesome.

The problem was, it didn't stick. Maybe it was because Liz didn't tell many people (I would have, but you're not supposed to spread your own nickname, a la George as "T-Bone" in Seinfeld). More likely, though, it was because it didn't quite fit me. You see, MURDERFACE is an imposing moniker. It signifies raw power, brute strength, tattoos and probable love for motorcycles. But, as anyone who knows me can tell you, that's not quite me. I'm 5'8" (on a good day, when earth's gravitational pull is less), 160 (when the pull's stronger) dislike needles and like shoe-shopping (tides, distance from the sun and the earth's rotation have no effect on that).

So, I found myself once again nicknameless.

At least, that was the case until my Beijing prep class at school. You see, it's traditional for Chinese to have both Western and traditional names (Hence, the plethora of "Johnny's" and "Rose's" at serving at Asian restaurants). For our semester-long class, our professor Shu-jen, gave us Mandarin monikers. They all were supposed to represent the common first names and surnames we'd encounter in China.

Mine was simple enough - "Lei Muo." There are accents on each syllable - the first goes up and the second descends. So, when you say it it sounds like "Lay! Moo-oh." Not too bad, easy enough to remember. It wasn't any big deal until I asked her what it meant.

We were going around the classroom, each person repeating their names and practicing pronunciation when I inquired to the name's definition. Shu-jen looked down at her class roster with Mandarin characters next to each person. Then, she smiled. And giggled. And laughed out loud. Until then, she hadn't thought of its meaning; she'd just put together two common names.

Lei Muo, in Mandarin, apparently means, "Silent Thunder."

You know what I learned that day? Besides the meaning of my Chinese name, that is.

I discovered that if you're nicknamed after a fart, it'll stick.

World, meet Silent Thunder! Bring it...