Beijing

Last September I was completely overwhelmed by Beijing. With only a week’s visit, I was immersed in horizon-broadening sights, sounds, smells and sensations. I shouldn’t be surprised given Beijing’s rich history, vibrant present and bright future. But Beijing was more disorienting – yet strangely comforting – than any place I have visited.

When I travel, I am not usually drawn to the well-known tourist destinations. I want to feel the pulse of a new, unfamiliar place. To see how people live. How they think. How they feel. I don’t resist the disorientation of culture shock because it releases me from my usual mindset. Even so, I still find myself looking for familiar references when I arrive at a new place. What was the first familiar sign at the airport? A Burberry advertisement.

Once on the road, I noted familiarity in the form of cars, some of them of the luxury kind. There’s definitely money in Beijing. And lots of cars. In roughly a decade, Beijing’s streets went from having one million cars to nearly four million cars. It’s one example of massive expansion. Driving in Beijing must be fun if you have a strong heart. No one seems to use seat belts or turn signals. It seems perfectly appropriate to not only flash your high beams at the driver in the front of you but to leave them on until the car moves out of the way. The horn appears to be a proxy for turn signals and Beijing drivers use them liberally. As I learned the hard way, pedestrians do not own the road. Crossing streets often requires an act of courage or faith.

Their road infrastructure may be stretched thin, but there are staggering amounts of investments in maintenance and development of new infrastructure. Even though there are clearly signs of planning, there is a certain flow that transcends any particular timeframe. Perhaps even a connectedness between generations or a realization that some things are beyond one’s control. Groups of people practicing Tai Chi in Tiananmen Square or references to dynasties rather than dates at the Forbidden City. The mention of Gregorian calendar years seems to be for those who seek specific references. During the opening session of the conference I attended, our hosts referred to the beginning of the harvest season within the Chinese lunar calendar. I recognized the reference to harvesting new relationships but I also wondered if it was a subtle reminder to the North American visitors that we weren’t in Kansas anymore. A sign at the Forbidden City captured this connectedness over time:

“A single act of carelessness leads to the eternal loss of beauty.”

The idea that our actions today could destroy the work of artisans from the past – some of whom spent an entire lifetime working on one piece of art – is a powerful reminder that those who came before us expected us to behave respectfully so that those who follow us can also appreciate their inspiration and creation. A work of art connects people across time.

Seeing the Forbidden City gives me something to bond over with other visitors to Beijing. I had hoped to find a way to bond with people who live in Beijing. I visited a bookstore where I saw several books by familiar names: Barack Obama, Dale Carnegie, Warren Buffet, LeBron James and Sarah Palin.

Yet when I looked at the bestsellers section, not a single Western author was to be found. All I could see were books in Mandarin without any familiar names or titles. So while the bookstore was filled with books I could recognize, was I really gaining insights into the interests or thoughts of the Chinese? Yet I could tell that people like visiting bookstores and sitting down to read books (though in this bookstore people were simply sitting on the floor – no comfy chairs or coffee bar in sight). Regardless of what people read, people like to read. People like to discover ideas or connect with other people through books.

This realization made me wonder even more about common bonds between people. Are there universal symbols, signs, ideas or feelings? Beijing is awash in corporate symbols ranging from the golden arches of McDonalds to the interlinked C’s of Chanel. Yet within the bookstore I couldn’t shake the feeling that these symbols were transient.

During my final day in Beijing, I debated whether to visit the Great Wall or to wander the city. I chose the latter, ending the day by visiting the Olympic Green. It was a windy day so there were several people selling or flying kites.

As I watched the kites flying in the wind, day gave way to twilight which gave way to evening. I had not noticed the steady stream of people who now filled the Olympic Park, many of whom were kids running about with a giddiness only children seem to exhibit. At one point, a soccer ball rolled my way so I kicked it back to the child who was chasing it. Before I knew it, I was kicking around a soccer ball with him and his parents.

I bought one of the kites and noticed another child watching me. I offered the kite to him. Initially, he reached for it until his parents said something in Mandarin. No moment made me wish more that I spoke Mandarin. I kept gesturing to the child with my kite and I eventually gave it to him. I smiled at him and nodded at his parents. Eventually they smiled and the boy ran off with the kite. Without speaking a word of Mandarin, I had made connections with two families.

And then it struck me.

I’ve travelled to many places throughout the world. I’ve yet to visit one where a smile or an act of kindness does not go a long way toward building goodwill.

Are we more drawn to corporate symbols and currency rates or smiles and acts of kindness? Which is more universal?

No scene captured this question of the universal more than an encounter on the Beijing subway. A Chinese couple and their incredibly cute baby boy stood close to me. While the father held his baby, he started to nibble on his son’s ear. His son beamed, smiled and laughed. He tilted his head toward his father inviting him to nibble some more. His mother lit up with joy. One of my friends once told me that there’s no greater joy for a mother than to hear her child laughing. The couple noticed my uncontrollable smile and made eye contact. Without saying a word, they acknowledged me and invited me to share in the moment. This scene could happen anywhere in the world and could bring together people from different worlds. There is no greater invitation than asking someone to share joy. Eventually, I thought it best to lower my gaze so that they could enjoy their moment as a family.

It was then that I noticed their baby was wearing Disney sandals.

Capitalism has washed over a flattened world. It remains to be seen if kindness will do the same.

Down Under

I recently had the pleasure of visiting Melbourne, Australia. It's quite a journey from Baltimore. When I landed at Melbourne airport, I wanted to check into my hotel asap. But my bag apparently chose to stay in the US. The very friendly folks from Qantas Airlines noted my local hotel information, but they also asked me if I had enough clothes for a day and offered me a toiletry kit. Even in my confused state of being, I could tell that this was a nice, thoughtful touch.

Much of my early impressions of Australia were formed by Olivia Newton-John (who was actually born in England), Men at Work, and Crocodile Dundee. Fortunately, I had a richer, more nuanced view from Midnight Oil, Mad Max, and Peter Weir's Gallipoli and The Year of Living Dangerously. Anytime I travel, I experience the disorientation cocktail of jet lag, culture shock, and novelty. In Melbourne, the disorientation dissipated quickly (except for the 14 hour time difference). On the surface, the scenes were familiar to what I see in the US. McDonald's meals still cost the local equivalent of US $4-6. But I noted that Burger King is called "Hungry Jack's". This was my first clue that I wasn't in Kansas anymore. Apparently, there is a "takeaway food shop" in Adelaide with the name Burger King. According to one of my friends from Australia, it's an individual business. Can you imagine a small business owner maintaining a trademark against a corporation in the US?

My initial superficial impressions of Melbourne gave way quickly as I visited the amazing Queen Victoria Market (I heard a local refer to it as "the Vic") and walked around the city. Whenever I travel, I'm most fascinated by evidence of cultural exchange. Japan, and Tokyo in particular, felt like a culture clash on several occasions. Melbourne felt like a true cultural mashup. Given its geography, history, demographics, and politics, it's no surprise that Australia felt familiar and exotic at the same time. I explored this reality over the course of my two week visit down under.

Smoking or Non-Smoking

It's been awhile since I've been asked that question in the US, but I've been asked this question on more than one occasion in Tokyo. I have seen a lot of vending machines around the city, most of which offer water and other drinks for sale. I have also seen a few vending machines that sell cigarettes. I've also noted that cigarettes are relatively inexpensive. One of my standard price benchmarks when I travel is McDonalds. The extra value meals in Tokyo cost anywhere from 500 to 650 yen (about $5-6 with current exchange rates). A glass of orange juice at a restaurant has cost me 400 yen. Cigarettes sell in the vending machines for about 300 yen. Marlboro seems to be a very popular brand.

I had read that US big tobacco companies had shifted their attention to Asia. It would seem they have done so quite effectively.

Cheese Flavored Coke

I've returned from a business trip and brief vacation in Europe. I'm struck by how people in Europe gather in common spaces such as parks for conversation or walks, rather than in shopping malls for consumption. There are more bicycles than people in the Netherlands. People in Europe don't seem to be out to prove something. In the song, What About Everything? the group Carbon Leaf sings about being "in search of some rest, in search of a break. From a life of tests where something's always at stake." Granted, it took Europe a long time to reach this point, and there's quite a bit of damage to others in their history, but even throughout their heyday, there was always the need to learn another language, observe another culture, and experience someone else's food. Someone else's real food.

The US is beginning to actively engage in reflection and conversation about food. Michael Pollan has written The Omnivore's Dilemma, which examines the "lineage" of four meals. It's disturbing, but not surprising, that it's almost impossible to determine the natural history of a happy meal from McDonald's. I'm sure the cows processed in the industrial production chain of McDonald's aren't too happy about those meals. The single point of failure with industrial food production has also resulted in a vulnerability or dependency that can affect large numbers of people or our furry friends. Think of the fast food restaurant problems with vegetables, or the pet food recall that's taking place right now.

Pollan recently wrote an article in the New York Times Magazine ("Unhappy Meals"). He describes an interesting journey in the US of the fascination, even obsession, with micro-nutrients. This view has culminated in the belief that if one can manage to eat the ideal combination and proportion of vitamins, minerals, and avoid the bad stuff like saturated fat, then, voila, one can become healthy. He offers a persuasive argument to eat real food, focusing on natural ingredients because, well, perhaps nature does know best. Or perhaps our adaption to nature over time has resulted in cuisines that actually acknowledge the best balance of local ingredients and our nutritional needs. Pollan begins his article with the following advice: "Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants."

Our (and I include myself in this) reluctance to follow this simple, yet powerful, advice has been fueled by the industrialization of food. As we have moved away from real food, we have correspondingly missed the taste of real food. There's an entire industry associated with artificial flavors. I find it disconcerting that I can close my eyes, smell something from a test tube, and imagine a bacon cheeseburger. Artificial flavors seem to found their true calling with sodas (or soft drinks or pop if you prefer). Just think about the number of variants of Coke. What started out as "new Coke" has now resulted in so many varieties of Coke that perhaps we've overwhelmed ourselves with choices (why is it that there are so many close associations of the words "choice" and "dilemma"?).

My wife has also noted that cheesification of food. There seems to be cheese generously applied to all types of food. Perhaps this happened during the Atkins Diet craze, or perhaps it's an attempt to surpass corn-based derivatives as the "natural" food flavoring additive. I'm sure if cheese can be added to enough food products, the dairy industry will be very happy. So it's occurred to me that there's an obvious conclusion: the happy convergence of high fructose corn syrup and cheese.

Cheese flavored Coke.

Ask for it the next time you supersize your meal at McDonalds.