Here’s a tough job: Spend the next year traveling to every province in mainland China. Hang out with cool people. See everything you’ve ever wanted to see in this country. Blog about it.
David DeGeest and Lonnie B. Hodge (aka One Man Bandwidth) somehow landed this job. Theirs is the China Dream Blogue (like travelogue, get it?), and the project aims to raise money for two charities through ad revenue and help deserving people make good one their own best hopes. The pair stopped by Dalian last weekend, and I grabbed them for some barbecue and brought the video camera. Here’s how they explain the project:
Now, I’m a little skeptical of the amount of cash a blog can bring in. I know there are those that make heaps, but there are mountains more that don’t. So I gave Tom a buzz, and he’s optimistic. Even if it just brings his cause more attention, that can translate into money or volunteers or more opportunities. “I have had good luck with getting donations from blogs,” Tom said. “I received one US$300 donation from Lonnie’s previous blog.”
Three hundred dollars built Tom’s first two libraries. Both are in Dalian, and I watched each be hammered together by energetic volunteer teachers who were already thinking of ways to expand the project. Tom’s planning to be back in Dalian next month, so I’ll get a progress report then.
Through July and August they migrate north to the warm waters in this unnamed strait between Madagascar and Ille St. Marie. They’d float up around our boat, maybe checking out the noisy craft intruding on their winter home, then exhale and drift back under the turquoise ocean.
That’s how whale watching goes sometimes, even in the farthest place from anywhere.
The humpbacks come here to do more important things, like give birth and spend the southern hemisphere’s cold months away from their usual home around Antarctica.
Our guide was a talkative local named Albert. He owns the beach-side bungalow where we stayed and the 12-person boat that took us out.
He used to ferry people across from the mainland in the same vessel, a harrowing prospect as choppy waters bounced us up and down, even close to the coast.
The Balmito is small enough to ride the current; it feels like surfing over short distances, which is fun until someone throws up.
The rainstorm that was hanging over the island caught up with us as we headed back to shore. We were soaked by the time we returned to our place.
But the whales we worth it, and we were thrilled.
Production notes: I originally narrated the above into my slide show (click the image) but decided against it at the last minute. This is the second time I’ve used Soundslides, and the first time using gathered sound, so any feedback puts you on my good side. These things take forever to upload on uber-slow, pay-by-the-minute Malagasy internet, so I think the rest of the multimedia will have to wait until I’m back in the PRC. That’s August 25, if you’re curious. Posts in old fashioned text and non-moving pictures are still forth-coming.
I spend a lot of time on buses in Dalian. Living on Heishijiao and studying downtown adds up to about two hours a day dealing with public transport. I’ve written about it before, so I thought I’d give my students a chance to explain the situation.
For my English majors’ final project, I asked them to perform a short play explaining some part of their lives in Dalian. Most have been in the city for two years, unless they grew up there. Four groups used the bus as their lens. This is what they produced (with me filming and editing).
A bad day on the 801:
People on the Bus
A thief on the bus
The Heroic Bus Driver
All in all, I was pretty satisfied with most of the performances. Most of the videos are now on YouTube, and are available at my channel page. Enjoy.
I must have walked past the Alps bar dozens of times in the past month. I never noticed the little neon sign that said “Live Music,” and I’m pretty sure I never heard any coming from inside. Yesterday, however, I did hear music when I walked by, not live but enticing enough, especially after I saw that sign.
The place was empty. Not just dead or quiet. I mean abandoned. A woman behind the bar hurried me inside. “Live music?” I asked. She said it started in 20 minutes, around 10:30 p.m. I promised to come back, with friends if I could round them up. The stage had enough instruments lined up to keep several bands busy all night.
I was alone when I came back at 11, and I was alone for most of the show. None of my friends came along, and serendipity found no one else. “Do you like folk music?” the barista asked when I returned. I nodded. “Do you like Korean music?” I shrugged, having never really listened to much. It sounded good, though. There was a man at table tuning a classical guitar, and all those instruments were still on stage. I sat down and ordered a Cass.
It was a one-man show. The man’s name is Bang Il Son, and he manages the bar. Before and after his set, he answered phones and delivered plates of food to another few guests who came in, one of whom I later learned was his brother. He was good, though, and I wish he had more of an audience. The bar is in a tough location, his brother told me before I left: Halfway between Yonsei University and Sinchon, where most of the area’s nightlife is, Alps gets little walk-in business from either place.
Aside from location, the place is cozy, with soft couches and low tables, a large Che painting peaks out from an alcove hiding secluded booths. Al Pacino looks down from a Godfather II poster near the bar. It’s the kind of place I probably should have found a month ago, not three days before I head back to China.
Remembering wars can be a tricky thing. How does a country view its actions? What does it count as just and unjust? Are the millions killed martyrs or victims?
Of the memorials I’ve seen, the Korean War Museum in Seoul is possibly the most comprehensive and most respectful of the 4 million who died. It is a far cry from its Chinese counterpart in Dandong, where signs boast about how many “enemies” were “eliminated” each day, and where the North’s breach of the 38th parallel is overlooked and blame is placed on the UN for responding.
What struck me most was the number of children at the Seoul museum on a Sunday. Mostly, I saw them running and playing, climbing over old weapons and treating the awful relics like one big jungle gym.
This video is what I saw, and the song I had in my head all day. It is a rough edit, and my first time doing something like this. Mostly, it was an experiment to see if I could do it. All critique is appreciated.
