Working in a Library

For the past six weeks, I've been working at Nimitz Library at the Naval Academy. I've been working at libraries since high school, and as most people can imagine, it's definitely not the most exciting job out there. There's nothing spectacular in shelving books or standing in front of a wall of books, painstakingly reading each call number to make sure they're all in order. The Library of Congress cataloging system is a mind-numbing series of letters and numbers, arranged in complex series and combinations that the average library-goer finds hopelessly indecipherable. For instance, does G124.R32 2003 come before or after GA121.S53? (for the answer to this question and more about the LOC catalog organization, please visit the LOC's Catalog and Aquisitions page).

And don't even get me started on periodical titles... if a journal has on its cover "U.S. Maritime Safety and Security Council Proceedings," (an actual journal title) one would logically presume it would be found under "U." Not so. It's actually filed with the "P's", with the title "Proceedings of the U.S. Maritime Safety and Security Council." I feel sorry for the poor soul who comes into the library expecting to read all about foreign trade vessels and the security of U.S. ports, and is left scratching his head in confusion in the "U" section, wondering where his journal has gone.

Despite my frustrations with the organization of library materials, I've really enjoyed my time at Nimitz. Not so much the work, but the people I worked with. The Circulation department has some really awesome employees. There were my two other fellow student co-workers, AnneMarie and Grace, my super-cool supervisor, Sam, Howard, who's been working at Nimitz for 30 years, Larry, a retired Navy corpsman, and Carmelo, a retired Gunnery Sergeant. All of them were a lot of fun to work with. What's more, Larry and Carmelo had some pretty awesome stories about their days in the Navy and the Marines.

I had shifting duty with Carmelo, moving journals around, so I got to hear a lot of his stories. Carmelo really is an amazing guy - he's a third-generation Marine (his grandfather was a Navajo codetalker in WWII), Force Recon, served three tours in Iraq, 2-time Purple Heart winner, and Navy Cross recipient. That's a track record that demands respect. Yet rather than being one of those Marines who can't seem to find the "OFF" switch and treat people like they're a bunch of new recruits, he's a really funny, down-to-earth guy. He called me "Pvt. Pyle" (I told him a few stories about my adventures in ROTC) and threatened to IPT me if I gave him any sass, which I always did. He even gave me homework one weekend: to watch "Full Metal Jacket."

It's amazing what I heard and learned from him during our shifts together, especially about leadership and accountability. Marines have this aura, this overpowering sense of honor that makes you want to be a better person... at least they have that effect on me. That doesn't mean that I want to go green - hell no. But I can definitely take a point or two from what I've learned from Carmelo (and others) and try to apply it to my own life.

Monkey Poo On My Shoe

Whew. I see it's been quite a while since I've written anything. It's been a busy month- end of classes, traveling around Tibet, saying goodbye to my host family, flying home, and most recently, getting over some serious jetlag. It feels really good to be back in the States and back to sit-down toilets, inwardly-opening soda cans, grass (the kind that you have a picnic on), cereal, waffles, steak, (relatively) clean air, and everything else that I've spent these past 4 months pining for.

My 2 week trip to Tibet and Nepal was incredible. Definitely one of the coolest things I've ever done. Tibet was unlike anything I'd ever experienced before. The people, the culture, the religion, the scenery... whether it was the bright smile of a Tibetan monk, the incredible architecture of the Potala Palace, or the long, bumpy road to Mt. Everest, I was in a constant state of awe and amazement.

We visited a lot of Buddhist monasteries - so many that I lost count. While it was really easy, in the words of Jon, to get "Buddha-ed out" after seeing so many, I could still feel a sense of sacredness within their dim, candle-lit interiors. Each time I crossed the threshold of a temple, I felt like I was entering a sanctuary, escaping from the chaos of the outside world. Pilgrims in ragged, dusty clothing filter in and out, prayer wheels and beads constantly in motion as they murmur the words Om Mani Padme Hum ("Hail the jewel in the lotus") before statues of the Buddha. The air is thick with smoke and the distinct, heady smell of yak butter candles. Murals of Buddhas and other deities gaze benevolently (and sometimes even angrily) at you as you make your way around the room. Countless gilded statues in glass cases and books of sacred texts line the walls. Monks sit in the corner, collecting donations and quietly recite scripture. Even for a person who isn't Buddhist, I could really feel a spiritual charge in the monasteries.

In terms of superlatives, the coolest place we visited had to be Everest base camp. It's a 4km walk from the end of the road to base camp, but at over 18,000 feet, it was slow going. The season was just about over, and only one expedition was left - they had started climbing only the day before. We were fortunate enough to have a relatively cloud-free view of the mountain, so I was able to get some decent shots with my camera. The wind was really strong, making me regret only bringing a lightweight nylon shirt. Still, it didn't detract from the awesome spectacle rising up before me. Sunset

The coolest thing we did was sitting on the roof of a bus for 40km on the road from the China-Nepal border down to Kathmandu. What a great way to travel. No seats - just hold onto the grill and pray the bus doesn't make any sharp turns. We passed other buses whose roofs were packed with Nepalis who liked to throw fruit at us (for eating). The road was barely wide enough to accomodate two cars, so it was always a hair-raising experience when the driver made a turn around a blind curve and there was a truck on the other side. There also was the occasional low-hanging branch that you had to look out for. This was one instance where I was glad I was short - they always cleared my head, but Jon, who was sitting behind me, would get a mouthful of leaves.

The grossest thing I experienced was in Kathmandu, at Swayambhunath, or more commonly, "The Monkey Temple." These monkeys are deceptively cute... they wait until you're not looking, then they grab your bag and run off with it, which happened to one of the group members. My experience, while much less distressing, definitely left me (specifically, my foot) smelling pretty bad. I was walking down a path, not paying attention to where I was stepping, and squish. "Uh, you just stepped in a giant pile of monkey crap," Jon dutifully informed me. I lifted up my left boot. Sure enough, there was a foul-smelling mess covering the sole. Despite stomping vigorously on grass, gravel, and every doormat in Kathmandu, it would not come off. It was like glue (must be all those fruits and nuts that monkeys eat). Even after 3 days, my boots still reeked. I'd be sitting at dinner with the group, and every once in a while, we'd all get a nice big whiff. I double-bagged my boots for the plane ride back to Beijing, and it took 20 minutes of hard-scrubbing to get the stuff off of just one boot. And they still stink.

Many other adventures - such as almost missing my flight back to China due to visa issues, altitude sickness, running out of money (Jon), trying to mail a yak skull from Lhasa, Tibet to Wayesboro, PA, and one particularly nasty bout of food poisoning - happened during those 2 weeks, but this post is long enough already. Pictures are forthcoming.

To end this post, I just want to say that the trip wouldn't have been nearly as much fun if Jon hadn't decided to come along. To quote a Dave Matthews song, "It's not where but who you're with that really matters." Jon made me laugh when I was stressed out, took care of me if I got sick (and vice versa), and always made sure that Joe the Penn State Lawn Gnome was prominently featured whenever we took a picture of a famous landmark. So thanks, Jon, for being such a great travel partner. You really made my trip.

Rowing in China

One of the great things about the world we live in is no matter where you come from or what language you speak, there are certain things that bring people together. Whether it's soccer, chess, or Yanni, you and that exchange student from Burundi suddenly aren't as different as you think. You "get" each other. You smile and laugh at the same things, know the ins and outs of your shared passion. Seemingly insurmountable cultural gaps disappear when you both are doing something you love. For me, such an equalizer comes in the form of rowing (赛艇 sai ting).

At the Head of the Charles last October, I had the chance to speak with a few of the members of the Beijing University crew team, who had traveled over 7000 miles (and due to visa issues, sans coxswain) to Boston to compete. With their average height being about 6'3, these guys broke all of my preconceived notions that Chinese people were short. When I told them in my pitifully poor Chinese that I would be in Beijing for the spring semester, they immediately told me that I should come out to watch a practice, and gave me their names, phone numbers, and email addresses.

Well, I kept those digits, and kept in touch with them, specifically a guy named Li Rui. I got an text message from him about a week ago, inviting me to come watch the team take a 2K test on the ergs. Actually, I received his text that day, about 2 hours before the erg test started. So, after making the quick and easy decision to blow off my sociology "field trip" (the majority of which, I was pleased to learn later, was spent sitting in Beijing traffic), I hopped in a cab to Beijing University.

(Zhu Ye: coxswain, TV star, and boat repairman)

The entire afternoon was happily spent watching the team pull their 2Ks (not so happy for them, I'm sure) and chatting with some of them in-between pieces. The team itself isn't very big - only 12 are on the team this semester. I met their coxswain (舵手 duo shou), Zhu Ye, who, according to Li Rui, was one of the top 10 finalists on China's reality TV series to find the next two coxswains for the men's and women's Chinese Olympic rowing teams. The idea itself is a little absurd: the majority of contestants have never even sat in a racing shell, much less coxed one. You can't create an Olympic-material coxswain in one year. Zhu Ye is one of the few who actually has coxing experience, so if anyone deserves to win, it's him.

After practice, Li Rui, his friend Liu Zi Yu (English name: "Rocky"), and another team member invited me to go eat jiaozi with them. Being true to their culture, they wouldn't let me pay for a thing. They all could speak pretty good English (better than my Chinese, at least), so most of our conversation was in English, although I did make a valiant, if futile effort to speak Chinese.

Since I had already made plans to go watch a water practice, I met Li Rui again last Saturday morning to head out to the resevoir , but this time I brought my friend Allie, who rows for Trinity College in CT. We all piled into a taxi and headed north out of town to Changping. One hour, three wrong turns, and 150 kuai later, we pulled up to where the team practices. The place is actually a water-skiing school, but they let the Bei Da rowing team use their facilities when they come to practice. As we came in, the team was already out on the water, but they were heading back to the dock, probably due to the ridiculously strong winds that were making scary-looking whitecaps on the water. So, the rest of the day was spent just hanging out with the team.
As I was looking around at the mountains that surround the reservoir, I noticed something unusual on top of one of the more distant mountains. As I continued to look at it, I realized it was part of the Great Wall. It was surreal to think that these guys row in the shadow of something that ancient. Pretty cool. The oldest thing about where I row back home is the lake itself, which was built in the 60s.

Despite the initial disappointment at the less-than-favorable weather conditions, it was a great day. The team reminded me of my own team - everyone works hard, but they all have fun doing it, everyone has blisters on their hands, and just about every rower I talked to mentioned how much they hate the erg. If you were to plop them right down in the middle of a PSU crew practice, they'd know exactly what to do. I was really glad for the chance to meet and hang out with them. They're a great bunch of guys. I hope they make a repeat appearance at the Charles next fall.

Yungang Grottoes

I just got back from an awesome two days in Datong, Shanxi Province. Caroline, Jake, my host sister Jia Min, and myself wanted to see the famed grottoes of Yungang. After a 6-hour train ride, we arrived in lovely Datong, aka the Coal Capital of China. We checked into a pricey yet very nice hotel next to the train station. Since IES each gave us 1000 RMB to do whatever we wanted this weekend, we thought we'd treat ourselves.

We got up at 6 am the next morning to catch a bus to the grottoes. Despite our early start, however, there were already dozens of tour buses in the parking lot when we arrived at Yungang. After we bought our tickets, we joined the pushing, jostling masses into the first cave. We were greeted by a huge statue of the Buddha that reared high above our heads. Thousands of smaller Buddhas and other holy deities were carved into the walls and ceiling of the cave, painted in different shades of red, blue, yellow, green, and many other colors. Despite over a thousand years of exposure to the elements and the touch of hundreds of human hands, their faded colors were still incredible to behold.


The sacrosanct atmosphere of the cave, however, was jarringly offset by the constant bursts of camera flashes. Not wanting to contribute to the light pollution, I turned my flash off, but the security guard, who had been idling at the cave entrance for a while, suddenly decided to enforce the "No Photo" policy when saw us pull out our cameras. Despite the fact that everyone else around us was unabashedly shooting away with their flashes, the guard came up to us and told us that we weren't allowed to take pictures. Knowing that he was singling us out because we were the only foreigners in the place, we pointedly ignored him. When he told us a second time, Jake calmly asked him (in Chinese) why he wasn't telling other people they couldn't take pictures. The guard looked at him, stunned, then walked away.

We passed through cave after cave, each one different in its own wonderful way. Buddhas ranging from less than 6 inches to more than 3 storeys were arranged in dazzling patterns. While the big, impressive statues were well-protected, many of the smaller statues bore the marks of vandalism and neglect - I saw graffitti carved into murals, and hundreds of Buddhas were missing their heads -they're now most likely adorning someone's desk as a paperweight or hanging in some collector's home. There were no fences or barriers to protect those statues. I guess they decided they were in such sad condition that they weren't worth preserving. I bristled when I saw people touching the statues, and just about snapped when I saw a kid throw a rock into a cave, not knowing what could be in there. I got so angry, I had to leave the cave to calm down.


Despite my anger at some people's blatant disregard for the fragileness of the place, there was a moment a while later that quelled my frustration. I, along with about 50 other people, were standing before the second tallest Buddha in the grotto. Staring up at the huge, benevolent-looking face, the place suddenly got quiet. The only sound was a tour guide describing the features of the cave, but even her voice was quiet in the vastness of the cave. I looked around at the people around me. Everyone was staring up at the Buddha. Their cameras were forgotten for the moment as they contemplated the massive figure before them, the result of deep faith and tremendous hard work. Even after over 1500 years, this place still evokes a sense of awe and reverence from its visitors.

I Stepped On My Host Mom's Mango, and Other Stories

Yes, this entry's title speaks the truth: while sitting on the couch and watching Chinese opera on TV, my host mom accidentally dropped the mango she was peeling. At her outburst of "Aiya!", I stood up to look for it, and my right foot came down on something soft and squishy. I had found the mango. A good chunk of it got smushed into the carpet. Luckily, it only took a few tissues to clean it up. My host mom thought it was hilarious. I, however, felt bad for the mango - the rest of it ended up in the trash, after only one bite. Oh well.

My host family is great. I think I am a constant source of amusement for them, especially when I try to have a conversation with them in Chinese. For instance, I was talking to my host mom and sister the other day, and I mentioned the phrase "I like sleeping in my bed." However, I mispronounced the word for "bed" and instead told them "I like sleeping on sheep." My host sister is constantly writing down new words for me, but there some words that no matter how often she repeats them, I can never remember them. My top 3 are "tomato" (xihongshi), "gym" (jianshenfang), and ironically enough, "to remember" (jide). My sister really gets a kick out of me trying to recall them, and has even gone so far as posting a note on the bulletin board in the living room with the word for "tomato," complete with illustration. Actually, there are quite a few post-its scattered around the apartment labeling common household features, such as xiyiji (washing machine), weibolu (microwave), yagao (toothpaste), etc.

In other news, my real mom came to visit last week. It was great to see her, and we had a good time touring around Beijing. I took her to see the Great Wall, the Forbidden City, Tiananmen Square, and the Temple of Heaven. We also hit up the Silk Market, where we made out like bandits, but only after some hard bargaining. On her last night here, we went to this awesome out-of-the-way restaurant called The Tree (voted "Best Pizza" in Beijing). They had dozens of Belgian beers to choose from - I opted for a wheat beer called Celis Witbier. Wow. A party for my tastebuds. Sweet and spicy, with a bitter citrus aroma. Coming from a college in Pennsylvania, I know it's blasphemy to say any beer other than Yuengling is the best, but I'd be lying if I said that beer wasn't the best beer of my life.

Well, I'm in the homestretch for the end of the semester: less than 3 weeks of classes and finals left, then I'm off to Tibet for 2 weeks. Although I'm ecstatic about going to the Roof of the World, I am particulary excited about whom I will be traveling with, specifically a certain someone who decided that he wanted to fly halfway around the world to explore Tibet with me. I couldn't think of a better travel partner.


(Mom and me at the Temple of Heaven)

No Queue-Jumping Day

Today is April 11, and in Beijing, that means it's "No Queue-Jumping Day." In February, the city launched a campaign to encourage Beijingers to be a little more civil in preparation for next summer's Olympic games, and deemed that the 11th day of each month would be a no line-jumping day. They even have a slogan: “It’s civilized to queue, it’s glorious to be polite.” One day out of 30... hmm... I would say that it might be effective... if people in this country even queued in the first place. The Chinese are the anthithesis of the British when it comes to queueing. Boarding a bus, subway train, or even an elevator is like reaching for the last Tickle-Me-Elmo in a toy store filled with hundreds of desperate parents - you gotta throw some elbows if you wanna get on.

Once a week, I a person wearing a red armband standing at the bus stop near campus, trying to get people to line up (just to line up, we're not yet at the queue-jumping stage). He'll wave a little red flag and try to corral the people waiting there into something that resembles a line. All goes well, until the bus arrives - poof! the line disappears and suddenly there's a mob of people pushing and shoving their way onto the bus. Talk about an exercise in futility.

I know I'm not supposed to make judgment calls when it comes to cross-cultural comparisons, but the lack of order here really frustrates me sometimes. People don't even line-up while they're waiting for the bathroom. I can't help but look at how things are done back home and lament the apparent inefficiency of this place. However, I've taken enough anthropology classes to know that there is always a reason for a certain behavior of a society, even if it's not immediately apparent. The every-man-for-himself mentality that I witness everyday here probably has its roots in the tulmultuous history of China itself. That's 5000 years of habit and tradition. I don't think one day a month will do much to change that.

In related news, the Chinese government has also started a "no-spitting" campaign. We'll see how well that one does.

Commuting

Mornings come pretty early here in Beijing... at least they do when you have class at 8 am and have to bike from your apartment to campus. I live about 15-20 minutes away from campus by bike, which I suppose evens out to about 2 miles give or take. I've really come to love biking to class, but everytime I venture out onto the streets, I'm taking my life into my own hands. Nothing gives you an adrenaline rush quite like biking in Beijing, especially when you have to cross two major intersections. To give you some sort of an idea of what I'm talking about, here is a short play-by-play of a typical morning commute:

7:19 am Leave apartment
7:23 Retrieve bike from the bowels of apartment building. Make sure to say hello to the bike lady who guards tenants' bikes like a rotweiler. Select playlist on ipod for listening pleasure, usually AC/DC or the Allman Brothers.
7:25 Turn onto Xueyuan Lu towards campus. Careful when merging to avoid the throngs of bicycles carrying school kids, furniture, propane tanks, trash, giant stuffed crocodiles, and just about anything else you thought you'd never see on a bike. Pass the Chaoshifa (supermarket) and the truck that delivers sweet potatoes.
7:27 Cross the entrance to the Agricultural Sciences Academy. Weave in-between cars waiting for the light. Have a close encounter with the front bumper of a taxi. Almost hit a man walking a Bichon Frise (who is wearing red booties).
7:28 Hit a pothole. Stop to fix the bike chain that is now sadly dangling from the bottom of the bike.
7:29 Wipe greasy fingers on nearest available clean surface (read: jeans). Resume biking.
7:30 Almost wipe out on a car door that out of nowhere has swung open.
7:31 Cross major intersection, always watching for cars making left-hand turns. It pays to wait for the light.
7:33 Hit another pothole. Fix bike chain. Resume journey.
7:36 Cross Xisanhuan Road.
7:38 Enter Bei Wai via the west gate. Furiously ring bell to get through the throng of students on their way to class. Play chicken with a car. Car wins.
7:39 Arrive at IES Building. Lock bike (using two locks).


(Photo courtesy of China Chas)



(Photo courtesy of... I forget)