Why Chinese is So Damn Hard

I stole the title of this post from an excellent article on "Why Chinese Is So Damn Hard" by David Moser. My favorite excerpt:

Having never studied a day of Spanish, I could read a Spanish newspaper more easily than I could a Chinese newspaper after more than three years of studying Chinese.

I can confirm Moser's thesis: Chinese is damn hard. Personally, my spoken is far ahead of my written, which suits me. In business or foreign policy, I might often speak Chinese, sometimes read, but rarely type, and almost never hand-write characters. My Chinese friends likewise painstakingly learned the latter (they had class six-days-a-week from 6am-10pm during junior and high school), but they seldomly hand-write nowadays: my Luxembourgian friend Chloe corrected my Chinese language partner Anna on the character for monkey the other day.

Classroom instruction is traditionally Chinese. I lucked out and have all cheerful teachers. Duan Laoshi makes us sing if we come late; you all missed a soulful rendering of “A Whole New World,” by yours truly when I overslept one morning. Yet even my engaging teachers are constrained by the system: the teacher talks and the students cower, hoping not to be called upon. I even fell into that trap myself for a while, but snapped out of it and am now that obnoxius kid who talks all the time. Average class size is about 20 students. Desks are aligned facing the teacher, not in a circle like at Stanford. It's fine for reading and writing comprehension, but is no good for my spoken Chinese.

One textbook, used at the University of Leeds, offers an easy guide to the pronounciation of consonants:

It is an unaspirated voiceless bilabial plosive which is produced by pressing the lips together, keeping the breath in the mouth, and then opening the mouth to let the air out with a pop.

This is a voiceless labio-dental fricative which is produced by placing the lower lip against the upper teeth and releasing the breath with a friction.

Matt writes, “Simple really, even if some of these sound more complicated than yoga movements and could be mistaken for oral sex instructions.”

We all develop our coping strategies. Because of the tones, my friend Emily views it as a 3-d language when all we knew before was 2-d. At a 麻辣汤 (spicy soup) shop in Nanjing she once ordered a soup as "点点点点点 spicy," 点 being Chinese for "a little bit." In Chinese, however, this means "a little spice, a little more, a little more, a little more, and a little more... " Your mouth burns as you eat your spicy soup, you laugh it off, and try again. My friend Henrik has a rule: if it’s over 10 strokes, don’t bother. I personally, when out and about, routinely keep short lists in my mind of words to look up when I get back. One early list was "Hard Dark Guess," which is also what I will name my rock band when I’m reincarnated with rhythm one day. With English, German, Spanish, and Chinese, I don't intend to attempt anymore languages in my life. Maintenance alone will be a tall order.

A Chinese-American friend of mine jokes with her boyfriend, “If you want me to convert to Judaism, you have to learn Chinese.” That's committment--my father never even learned German.

Quirky China

The quirks that make China so frustrating at first, but endearing in the end:

Food in China
Like me, Chinese don’t eat to live; they live to eat. It’s easily the #1 topic of discussion in China.

Banquets
I was a bit fearful of the food upon first arriving, as most of my previous dining experience in China was with banquet food through FACES. I hate banquet food: you have no control over the dishes that appear and they try to impress with specialties, which are often bizarre bits of seafood or meat. One particular banquet featured ocean snails, Hakuna Matata-style grubs, roasted sparrows, tripe, and liver. Fortunately, simple food, like 鱼香茄子（fish-sauce eggplant, with ample MSG, of course) is much nicer. I still hate the breakfasts, but am contented with my daily oatmeal, yogurt, and banana.

A Personal Relationship
The Chinese are close to their food. Take this KFC ad: “Handsome Chinese youth stands in idyllic green pasture massaging a brown cow. In the next scene, he’s sitting in front of the pasture on a bale of hay, biting into a delicious beef-stuffed pancake, and grinning into the camera.” This would never fly in America! We try and distance meat as far away as possible from the animal—even our animal terms (cow, pig, etc.) are often distinct from meat terms (beef, pork, etc.), which is not the case in Chinese. A favorite Chinese eating tactic—which I have yet to become comfortable with—is to take a large piece of meat, fat, gristle, and bone into the mouth and suck the bone clean.

Chinglish
A classic Chinglish sign from my visit to Renmin University last fall: "The green grass is longing for your cherishing."

Chinese “English” Names
How on earth are they chosen? I personally know a “Yummie” and “Lucky.” My friend Wang Xiaobin from Xinjiang told me he was given the name “Randy” because it is an English name for tall, handsome people, which is news to me (I’d love to get a hold of the book used in schools for choosing English names). This video by "Sexy Beijing" sums it all up. Sexy Beijing now runs a regular feature called, “Ask Smacker.” Props to Andrew Miller for turning me on [to this].

Menus
Menus are littered with atrocious translations. The winner though? Oriental Restaurant in Hangzhou, China, which proudly promotes its delicious “Homos with meat” (see picture). I believe they were going for “Hummus with meat.” Yum.

At the Club
Nonsensical English lyrics in Chinese songs: “1, 2… fuck you… 3,4… we want more… 7,8… too late.”

Miscellaneous

Skyscrapers
Have no floor 13 (unlucky in the West) and 14 (unlucky in China because “4” sounds like death), but they do have floors 4 and 24 for some reason, which my Shanghainese friend also does not understand.

Chinese (In)directness
On some matters, the Chinese are shockingly direct. Taxi cab drivers will ask you your age, your salary, and whether you prefer Asian or Caucasian girls. You don’t have to answer, but they will ask. On other matters, they are famously indirect. Because they strive for a “harmonious society,” conflicts are kept in the closet: they will walk circles around core disagreements. I find friendships with Chinese are also difficult to gauge—do they want to hang out, discuss personal matters, etc.?

The Haier Logo
This charming interracial, boylove logo (see picture) is plastered on all sorts of electronics. Sadly, Haier Electronics, one of the first Chinese brands to make it in the West, elected not to feature the same logo there. My friend Stefan has more on the matter.

Conclusion
China (中国，zhōnggúo), literally translated, means middle kingdom and China’s historical position was “you come to us.” The first Western missions to China were frustrated when His British Majesty’s Representatives refused to kowtow (touch one’s head to the ground) to the Chinese Emperor, unless the Chinese agreed that a Chinese official of equal rank would do the same for His Majesty were they to visit Britain. So in some ways, the US and China are similar: huge, patriotic nations where few speak foreign languages.

My Life in Shanghai

Though “The Life of Kai” blog has been on hold, my life (and camera) has been busy. I'm happy in Shanghai. I elected to turn down a fellowship at the German Bundestag (Parliament) in order to stay here for the full school year. So, I will be in Shanghai through July '09 at least, which means you should all come visit (I'm looking at you Lukoff family and Mr. Josh Harder...).

Before I talk Shanghai, a short aside on the political and economic situation in the US of A: I'm greatly cheered by the political turn of events. Evan Osnos of The New Yorker commented that Obama has restored a certain nobility to political involvement, and I have many close friends who worked day and night for Obama, among them Jacob Becklund and Michael Baer. The New York Times article, "300,000 Apply for 3,300 Obama Jobs," says it all. Finally, check out the gem (below) about the departing administration, "Die Bush Krieger: Ende der Vorstellung," which translates as, "The Bush Warriors: End of the Show." It shows the cover of Der Spiegel magazine from 2002 (left), alongside the 2008 edition (right). Fitting. Credit to my friend Stefan Angrick.

The economic turn of events, however, is depressing. US consumer spending will probably not return to its pre-crash levels for another 10-20 years. Fortunately, China, with its massive rainy day fund of foreign exchange reserves, faces a much softer fall. The Economist Intelligence Unit predicts China's GDP to grow by 7.5% for the next two years, as opposed to a contraction (negative growth) for the US, EU, and Japan.

Friends
The axis and allies constitute my two primary groups of friends. My German and Japanese friends, who I know through class, are kind, genuine people. When altogether we speak mainly Chinese together, though English is often resorted to. My British friends, from Leeds University, are a fun-loving lot who have well indoctrinated me with some of their British mannerisms, which they find well amusing. I too now fancy pub quizzes and proclaiming my indignation at the unruly queuing habits of the Chinese. My language partner, Anna, aims to learn German and is wonderfully independent, direct, and well-traveled for a Chinese girl. On the whole, a lovely group of friends, though, since they are mainly foreigners, I do not practice as much Chinese as I would like.

Work
One of my objectives was to obtain business experience while in China, and on that account I have done handsomely. I'm interning at a small consulting company called China Streetsmart, founded and directed by a Canadian of Chinese descent. This small shop (5 employees total) operates primarily on the "soft" side, advising Western executives on the cultural differences and peculiarities of doing business in China. Groups of executives, such as Irish manufacturers or Danish product sourcers, come to Shanghai and we tailor a program to suit their needs.

My main project is to design, implement, and analyze a survey on the opinions Chinese middle management on issues relevant to their Western bosses. For instance: if an employee cheats on his expense account, but complains that he was unfairly fired because the system is widely abused, who is more at fault: the company or the individual? Forty percent of Chinese answer that the company is more at fault, a number that we expect to be near zero when we run the question in the West. In this case, the data should inform Western executives on the need to create non-abusable compensation systems and how to address violations should they arise. This work also serves as a crash course on Chinese culture for me.

My boss is business personified. He is warm, social fellow, but always with an eye to the bottom-line. A former marketing man, he leverages an impressive rolodex to create value for our clients, who are looking to enter the market, but new to China. He has lively stories of his days managing sales and distribution for the beer companies Beck's, Foster's, and Lion Nathan's in the early 90's, when China was still akin to the Wild West. A good portion of the work is also networking, which has allowed me to attend a spicy bachelor charity auction and to lunch with the former Ambassador to Mongolia and Consul-General of Shanghai. I'm developing that all-important 关系 (guānxi), which is the rich Chinese term for connections.

All told, the position is a great introduction to the world of business, which is actually quite foreign to my family (primarily academics and social workers). If I can secure gainful employment, I will be the first in the family to work for a living--none of this educating or helping people mumbo jumbo. Then again, I may continue to be a student indefinitely, for the life suits me just fine.

One piece of my Stanford life I do miss (in addition to my lovely friends and daily sunshine), are the intellectually titillating discussions about all [academic] topics under the sun. The matter was hammered home by the stellar FACES conference last week (as an aside, what a phenomenal organization and group of future luminaries! I was fortunate to experience it as a delegate and officer, and I only wish I had of been involved earlier on in my Stanford career). There's no lack of intelligence or interest here at JiaoTong University, it's just that there's no ready forum. To address the issue, I'm founding China EDG, the China Economics Discussion Group, which plans to hold weekly meetings. I'm counting on China EDG to reintroduce the meaty mindfood into my life.

Shanghai: Paris of the East or Whore of the Orient?

Shanghai carries two nicknames. Paris of the East for its glamor, tree-lined alleys, and image of China's Westernized future. Whore of the Orient because it was teeming with brothels under Western occupation in the 1800s and early 1900s. Today, the latter name reflects the city's insecure identity. Driven by Shanghai's nouveau riche, it tries to outwest the West—it's NY/Paris/London, “with Chinese characteristics,” which is the term the Chinese append when they borrow from the West, and then endeavor to make it theirs.

Shanghai is supersized: at 20+ million inhabitants it’s China’s largest city (no small feat). Each year, an estimated 1 million additional migrant workers arrive. The city already boasts massive Western-style shopping malls, 6 stories tall, replete with the Rolexes, Armanis, Ferraris, and, most importantly, Cold Stones. Still, construction is booming. Every hour or so you hear what sounds like distant machine-gun fire; it turns out to be collapsing bamboo scaffolding after they finish with construction, which is what they use for all but the tallest buildings. I love the fella in the photo on the top left leaning on his shovel, seemingly saying, "Yeah, I single-handedly built this city. So what?"

The unfettered expansion has some nasty side effects. Pollution creates grey skies some days (though it’s just fog if you believe the authorities). Thankfully, I don’t feel it when I breathe, as I could in Beijing last fall. I just hope it isn’t silently ravaging my lungs when I jog or play fútbol. Mercifully, the XuJiaHui campus is an oasis of tranquility amidst this bustling city.

For this California boy, the biggest concern is the cold… brrrrr. My iGoogle homepage, which lists the temperature in Shanghai and Petaluma, is depressing—there’s routinely a 20° F differential. I’ve never before endured a cold winter: if I don’t survive, tell my sister that she can keep my room in the house for good. The saving grace is that, at the peak of the freeze in mid-Jan to mid-Feb, I’m fleeing for a one-month semester-break jaunt to tropical Thailand and Laos--scuba diving, turtles, and mermaids included. Hot.

Finally, I’ll leave you with the Chinese artist Yang Liu’s work on the differences between the East and West (click for link). Cliched, yes, but largely true.

New Beginnings

After a week in Shanghai at JiaoTong University, it's time for my ballyhooed update and photos. Sadly, I have no juicy tales to tell yet, so my first post covers my objectives and first impressions.

Objectives:

1. Learn Mandarin
2. Make Chinese friends
3. Gain business experience
4. Explore Judaism, join a synagogue
5. Travel to rural China, Xi'an, and Southeast Asia
6. Become Tomáš Rosický, aka "The Little Mozart"

First Impressions:

I'm studying Mandarin at JiaoTong University, best known for producing Chinese President (1993-2003) Jiang Zemin and a worldwide ranking of Universities. So far, JiaoTong is a winner; I'm up at least 11 life points.

WARM Fuzzies:

• Socially Promiscuous Chinese (+4)
  
• I cannot sit down at the dining hall without being chatted up by a friendly Chinese. Yesterday, my red face--after having just played two hours of soccer--was of particular curiosity. Thus far, I've broken bread (or slurped noodles, rather) with a socioeconomically diverse (students, a professor, the dining hall manager), though all-male crowd. Almost all speak English that is eons better than my Chinese.

• The Penthouse (+4)
• A spacious, well-lit single. My digs are sweeter than the housing I had at Stanford. And tuition, room, board, and a small stipend are all paid for by my scholarship!

• Foreign Foreigners (+2)
  
• The JiaoTong international dormitories are dominated by Japanese and Koreans, though I've also cross-pollinated with Kazakhs, Mongolians, Saudis, Germans, Spaniards, and Brits. I have yet to meet another American!

• The Lunch/Dinner Chow (+2)
• A piping hot bowl of miàn (noodles made before my eyes) with a topping, such as egg-tomato, costs 4 Yuan (about 60 cents) in the dining hall.

• The Soccer Pitch (+2)
• A block from my dorm is the pitch where the magic happens. I may not be Tomáš Rosický yet, but I am one of the bigger and badder kids on block. Unfortunately for their bruised egos, many Chinese never saw this physical specimen coming.

• Studies (+2)
  
• I took a placement test and, like a good white boy, understood next to nothing. Classes begin on Monday, and I start out in Elementary Level IV, the highest level of elementary. I'm especially stoked about two of the elective options: Chinese Cooking and Business Chinese.

COLD Pricklies:

• Slow Internet (-2)
  
• Not glacial, just solidly sub-par. It's like a car that tops out at 35 MPH, often breaks down, and explodes if you take it down certain streets.
  

• The Kitchen (-1)
  
• It has fridges, microwaves, and boiling water, but NO burners?!? How now am I to cook my way into ladies' hearts, let alone satiate my own stomach?
  

• Chinese Breakfast (-1)
  
• Fried dough balls filled with bean paste don't do it for me. Fortunately, this resourceful, strapping young lad obtained some hearty oats, milk, and bananas to satisfy his voracious morning appetite.

• My Neighbor, "The Nuclear Power Technology and Equipment Engineering Research Center" (-1)
• This charming, dilapidated facility across the street--conveniently nonexistent on the campus map--could be the reason my children are born with thripples.
  

The Last Hurrah

I resolved to solidify (or strain) my strongest friendships before departing for Shanghai (more on that later) by spending some quality time together.

First, I went camping with Maya and Jen Okwudili. We encountered a black bear and rattlesnake—Jen will probably never camp with us again. I also learned that my music tastes are “not hip,” because—among other offenses—I fail to understand the brilliance that is Radiohead.

Second, I invited friends up for wine tasting and the alcoholics responded in force. Fifteen of us sampled the fine pinot noir, zinfandel, mustard, and black boar sausage that Healdsburg has to offer. Arista winery was the unanimous favorite. Unfortunately, Nelson was not taken away in a police car this time.

Third, I toured the bay area (Stanford-Berkeley-San Francisco-Emeryville), crashing at friend’s places like a hobo. To Nelson, Jacob, and James—thanks for the couches! It’s exciting to see the next step for my post-college friends: Evan’s TFA classroom, Jacob’s Obama organizing, Ben’s med school dormitory, and James’s concert venue. For example, when I visited Evan -ahh excuse me- Mr. Perkiss, he was feverishly preparing an elaborate college theme for his class of twenty-four 5th graders.

Fourth, I visited Sagari in Houston, America’s 4th largest city. It was my first time in Texas (my first time in the middle region of our country, in fact). I must confess that my expectations were not too high, but they were far exceeded. The cultural offerings were terrific: I visited four museums, all for free (displaying Surrealist, Modern, Contemporary, and Ancient art). Even public transportation was cheap, convenient, and speedy.

But the uniquely Texan experiences were the highlight: BBQ, Rodeo, and, above all, the worship services at Prestonwood Baptist Church. The Sunday service on “Walking with God” at this megachurch (~6000 worshipers) was fascinating. It was a huge production, replete with a ~300 person choir, a small orchestra, and two huge screens. Though contrived at moments, it felt much more powerful than I’d anticipated—some in the audience certainly agreed with me: a number stepped forward to rededicate themselves to Jesus Christ that morning. While I didn’t take that step, it was a window into a world that I never see, and rarely hear of—and then primarily only disparagingly. Thank you Texas!

Finally, I visited the magnificent Chihuly glass-blowing exhibit at the deYoung Museum in SF with my mom and cousin, Ben. I couldn't resist but include a plug and a photo.

Darling it’s better > Down where it's wetter > Take it from me

Roatan, Honduras is all about Scuba diving. Our Scuba certification course cost $250 and lasted four days (and three not-so-crazy nights of completing chapter reviews). Our instructor, Tim, was a cheery chap, and his British accent made his quips 1.5 to 2.5 times more comical. I am now a card-carrying, PADI open-water certified recreational diver. This is a major boost to my sex appeal. Ladies, please— don’t crowd me, form a single file line, you’ll all get a turn.

The underwater life was spectacular. To help us appreciate it, the Lukoff-Harder team acquired an all-star free agent: Katie Freakin’ McLean, the Michael Phelps of Scuba diving partners. Katie, who studies biology at Lakehead University in Ontario, Canada, routinely found and identified fish us amateurs would have overlooked.

We saw lobsters, octupi, Moray eels, shrimp, turtles, and enough colorful Parrotfish to feed a small Japanese village. To my delight, the water was as warm as the kiddie pool, but for more sanitary reasons. Roatan was truly our Isla Bonita, a charming tropical escape. Down here all the fish is happy.

I had my brush with death when we rented mopeds. Hurtling along at up to 60 MPH along pockmarked streets was at once a harrowing and exhilarating experience. If you fell at that speed, the pavement would skin you alive. What Yamaha bike’s lack in safety, they make up for in fuel efficiency: 100 MPG. Of course, if you die, you use less gas too.

While cruising, at moderate speed, out of the island’s one town, Coxen Hole, I noticed a plastic blue ball rolling down a driveway and into my path… mental alarm bells started ringing. Sure enough, a small Honduran boy followed an instant later. I swerved to the right, since he was already far into the street, and narrowly avoided turning us both into road kill.

Finally, to protect my eyes from the many bugs, I had resorted to wearing my Scuba goggles (having lost my sunglasses earlier). This, I regret to inform you, did little for my sex appeal— a Garifuna village was rolling with laughter at my get-up.

Alas, all good things must come to an end, except for Pixar’s absurdly long string of quality movies. Fortunately, Josh and I ended our romantic tryst on an up note: his parental unit put us up in a nice hotel in downtown SF upon our return , which was 45.2 times more luxurious than our “hotel” the previous night in El Poy, Honduras. It was there, while watching the cooking channel, that I learned the three rules of grilling. They are also rules to live by: keep it clean, keep it hot, and keep it lubricated.

CLICK to check out my S. and C. America trip photo album!

Jungle Fever, or Of Jungle and Illness

We are now in the heart of darkness, Honduras. The jungle here is vivacious, dense, green, and sopping wet. Some outdoorsmen are "mountain men," but my terrain of choice is the jungle. I relish the warmth, commotion, and diversity of life to be found there.

At the jungle lodge here, we've twice rafted and once junge trekked. The rafting was billed as Class IV-V, which I was excited for never having rafted Class V's before, but it was a bit disappointing. In terms of what I like to know about a river, the class ratings of difficulty are a crude metric: somewhat ambiguous (dependent upon water levels and assigned by river guides, not an intl organization) and invalid (a nice rapid, if it has a log at the bottom under which someone could get caught and drown, could go from a Class III to a Class IV). Unfortunately water level was low, the guides had assigned generous classes, and much of the classification was for technical danger, not huge waves.

That having been said, it was Josh's first time, and it was still a rolling good adventure. My grandfather, a Second Lieutenant in WWII, pulled the same man out of the water twice during the war. And I had to do the same thing that day for the Honduran-born, British chap, Jamie, who was also in (and often out of) our boat. See the pictures at the bottom for the 2-meter drop we took. Our landing was less than a perfect 10.

For weeks, I have been congested. But in Copan and here in the jungles near La Ceiba, I've had fever and a vicious sore throat. Josh also suffers from a runaway nose; we sound our trumpets early and often. Fortunately, in our last day here, we appear to have turned a corner, which is crucial for our scuba-diving prospects in Roatan, our next destination. Finally, this will surely be the last entry for at least a week, as internet on Roatan is per Satellite only, so slow and expensive. Cheers.

Machu Picchu

The pictures don´t lie, Machu Picchu was spectacular. The dark green, jungle-covered mountains surronding the sites were magnificent in their own right. The site was not discovered until 1911 when Hiram Bingham, an American anthropologist, met the one indigenous family who lived on the mountaintop. The family still used the Incan terraces to farm, and the family´s son, Pablito, provided Bingham with the very first tour of Machu Picchu, as our tourguide, Jaime, proudly informed us.

We decided not trek the Inca trail, figuring that Machu Picchu was the true attraction and there were plenty of other places to hike at a much lower cost. Between the cab, train, and bus that we had to take at tourist prices, it was still plenty expensive. But can one really go to Peru without seeing Machu Picchu? I think not.

A group of four of us went: Josh and three Germans (Olaf, Peter, and myself), who we had met at Loki Hostel. Josh and I have been thrilled by the diversity of characters that we have come across in our travels. Many have more adventure in their pinkie then I will have in my entire life, and I would consider myself to be moderately adventurous amongst the crowd that I associate with in the US. Josh and I would do very well playing ¨Never have I ever¨ in the Loki Hostels, but staying there for too long would certainly make us go down quicker in the States. In the picture, the four of us ¨gather energy¨ from the astrological device the Incas fashioned to divine signals from the heavens.

Recovering my Broken Spanish

Lest you think I be all party, no study (though I don´t think that anyone who knows me well holds that opinion) this entry shall chronicle my attempts to recover my broken Spanish and activities in Cuzco.

First, last week I had four hours of Spanish instruction each day. My school was called Proyekto Peru, and they were great people and instructors. When I first arrived in Peru, even correctly recalling the articles (yo, tu, usted, el/ella, nosotros, ustedes) was a struggle, as I kept confusing them with the Chinese (wo, ni, nin, ta, nimen, tamen). Yet it has come back quickly. I have studied virtually all the grammar in Spanish at one point or another, but rarely use anything past the present, present perfect, or preterite in everyday speech, so it was a most needed refresher! And apparently, according to my Spanish teachers, all the locals call Loki the loco hostel. Fortunately, the teachers themselves became quite loco on our "mandatory Friday study night," which was held at local bars.

Second, Josh and I visited the Incan ruins at Sacsayhuaman, overlooking Cuzco. Sacsayhuaman/Cuzco was the capital of the Incan empire (1438 to 1533) and home to some of my all-time favorite Incans, among them Maco Capac, Sapa Inca Pachacuti, Tupac Inca, Huayna Capac, and Atahualpa. When Pizzaro came to veni, vidi, vici, the Incas retreated from there to Machu Picchu and Vilcabamba. Thanks to the Spanish, Josh and I were able to sit in the Incan throne without risk of death.

No thanks to the Spanish and their Cathedrals in Cuzco, much of Sacsayhuaman was looted for its stones. Yet the stonework that remains is astounding. The Incans used methods similar to those of the Egyptians (logs underneath, expendable labor) to transport huge stones across large distances, and then create walls imbedded with the shapes of their triad of sacred animals: the condor (air world), puma (earth world), and serpent (under world). The Incans also built elaborate tunnels called chincanas, which linked the Incan empire together. Unfortunately, a few daft tourists went and died in the chincanas, so they are now closed to the public. Josh says: Incan people small, echo good (from where the Incan emperor spoke to his plebians), and that the shapes in the rocks don't really exist (all just a fabricated tourist scam).

Finally, if you would appreciate a postcard from Central America, let me know via email and send me your address!

The Travel Fraternity

Loki Hostel is a co-ed travel fraternity. Once I decided against a homestay (time was too short), Josh and I decided to go whole hog in terms of a social hostel and came here upon the following reviews:

• ¨Don´t come here if you are a recovering alcoholic. Otherwise, definitely come here. Superb.¨
• ¨For the love of God, this place is frickin' crazy. 1st night we wuz there we saw some New Zealand guy who looked like Prefontaine climb the rafters and everyone saw his little weiner, very disturbing. He then put ketchup and mustard all over himself, thinking that he was a hot dog. Needless to say, the message is simple, don't smoke crack. And don't be from New Zealand.¨
• http://www.hostelworld.com/hosteldetails.php/LOKIBackpackerHostel-Cusco-11829/reviews/?page=1&Show=comments&HostelNumber=11829&SwapTo=5&Order=

English is the modus operandi, but German and French are also well-represented. It´s been great to toggle between English, German, and Spanish in the evenings at the dinners and bar (both in-house at Loki). Signs say that no alcohol is to be consumed before 1pm, but that is not observed, least of all by the bartender. As expected, everyone is uber-social.

On Tuesday night was Loki´s 3rd anniversary bash. The theme was Twisted Prom, which translated into lots of crossdressing. My four hours of Spanish lessons the next morning starting at 9am, were dificil.

At least a hearty breakfast is always available the morning after (served 6am-1pm). For $3 you can get a large pancake with fruit and a banana smoothie (yum!), and Cuzco is one of the most expensive locations in South America.

Finally, I ran into Nithya Rajagopalan here, SIW and Stanford ´08 compatriot. Small world.

Cuzco, Peru

The nightmarish bus ride did have one silver lining: Alfonso Medina, the stout, amiable man who sat next to me for 24 hours, followed in David´s footsteps and gave me a warm, generous introduction to his country.

Alfonso, a mechanic in Lima, was in Cuzco for the weekend to visit his girlfriend. I, playing the part of the eager, awed, and slightly naive tourist, became his second charge. From the bus station, he took a safe taxi with me to my hostel. That same evening we met up and went to the non-tourist section of Cuzco for a rock concert. Mars de Copa, I must say, is a pretty baller rock band.

The next morning, we headed to the main plaza in San Sebastian, a neighboring town, to catch the Sunday market and try traditional Cusqueña dishes at Restaurante El Juglar. My wake-up was a cup of Ceviche de Criadillas, raw bull´s testicles with lime and corn nuts. My main dish was cuy, guinea pig with arroz and papas amarillas. I was the lone tourist.

It was a terrific opportunity experience the real Peru and to recover my Espanglish. Ah, the kindness of strangers.

The Ride of Pink Death

As if a 18.5 hour bus ride (Lima-Cuzco) is not bad enough...

1. We were delayed because the Cruz del Sur bus (probably the best transport firm in Peru) blew some internal hose, so it turned into a 24-hour nightmare.
2. Worse yet, I knew that South American buses play movies, but I was NOT prepared for the 14 hour assault. First, I had planned to ignore the films and read Moby Dick, but the sound is played via the speakers, not headphones making it misery to try and read. Second, it was a nonstop barrage of terrible chick flicks. I thought we´d at least have a Rambo or Rocky thrown in.

The Pink Death:

• 13 Going On 30 (D+); Meh. At least Garner is a looker.
  
• Wicker Park (D-); Lame ´plot twist´ romance. WAY too much furrowed brow of Josh Hartnett.
  
• Just My Luck (D+); This one was a hit with the Peruvians onboard, and I fail to understand why.
  
• Step Up (B-); not half-bad. Hollywood has found the one white boy in America who can dance.
• A film, of unknown title, that I shall call the Matthew McConaughey fest (F); it was a PTSD-inducing experience that I would not wish upon anyone, except for Robert Mugabe.
• Maid in Manhattan (C+); a generous grade, but you could at least root for J.lo
• Cruz del Sur promotional ¨See Peru¨ video (A); Featured a smoking hot host/model, who would periodically take off her clothes and roll around for sponsoring tourist activities. It is official: there is at least one hot girl in Peru.

This is one bus ride, that my main woman, Josh Harder, is going to dig. Unfortunately, I´m taking the bus back too, as it´s $140 cheaper than flying. Oh, the horror. I have 10 days to detox. Oh, the horror.

Lima, Peru

I arrived in Lima on June 26th at 2:15pm. Fortunately, I was able to get plenty of shuteye en route because of my rock-solid sleep kit: ear plugs and my baby-blue, satiny eyemask (only female ones were left at Kmart). I was carrying a suitcase full of old eyeglasses that Josh´s father needed to get to Arrequipa, Peru as part of his philanthropic work in optometry for MMI. As planned, David Gonzales, an Anglican priest and local volunteer with MMI, met me at the airport to pick up the suitcase. Unfortunately, the same-day bus to Cuzco was booked out.

David, kindhearted man that he is, refused to let me die young and alone in the streets of Lima. He not only found me an affordable ($10 dollars!) and safe hotel, but also gave me a tour of his city: Plaza de Armas, el Palacio de Gobierno, innumerable cathedrals (where you can´t help but notice the stark contrast between the opulence (gold, everywhere) inside and the poverty outside), and the Circuito Magico del Agua Parque, complete with tallest public fountain in the world (80 meters). We then ate at a restaurant where David had helped some members of his parish secure employment.

It was a great chance to test drive my abysmal español (6 years jr and high school, virtually nil since) and learn about a life, the clergy, which is quite foreign to me. Lima is a sprawling city of 9 million (about a third of Peru´s total population) with huge slums and squatter communities. David works with a poor community on the outskirts of the city. It gives him joy when the fatherless children he tutors in religious studies and homework call him father.

World Tour!

I graduated from Stanford on Sunday, June 15th. The last week, full of friends and late nights, was a spectacular finish.

Now begins a world tour:

• 1 month (June 26th-July 1st) in South and Central America, for Spanish, scuba, and salsa
• 5-10 months in either Taipei, Taiwan or Beijing, China, to study Mandarin and travel
• 4-14 months in Berlin, Germany (with any luck), as a fellow in the International Parliament Scholarship or DAAD program

This blog should keep you up-to-date on every riveting detail. Enjoy!