The Times, They Are A-Changin'

I apologize.

Typically I spend a small, but precious, amount of time thinking of a great pun or clever witticism for the title of my blog entries, and I hesitated to use a tired music reference to title this one; people who title their blogs after song lyrics also typically wear conspicuous amounts of American Apparel and think than Ben Gibbard writes songs just for them.  Yet I have now crossed over into that realm.  But rest assured, it is only because I feel that it accurately represents my life at the moment (that, and I do own a pair of American Apparel boxer-briefs.  So sue me).

With the end of my trip rapidly approaching, my "carpe diem-ness" have been increasing with the dwindling days.  Let's take a look at the days already seized, and then those that have yet to be seized:

This weekend I traveled into the Shapingba region of Chongqing, where several friends and I walked around the historic city of Ciqikou (Tsee-chee-kwo).  Bordered by the Jialing River, Ciqikou is a preserved city dating back to the Ming Dynasty, where it became a thriving port city during the following Qing Dynasty.  

It is difficult to express the beauty of the area.  Walking under stone archways worn by the rain and wind, we emerged on a bluff overlooking the entire Jialing Valley, where fishing trollers slowly drift down the river into the sunset.  

We sipped some local teas while taking in the view, watching the shore below us where the locals gather to eat, bordered by the red glow of lanterns.  All of the stone stairs and walls were covered in a dark green moss, giving the area an ethereal feel of ancient China.  After our tea, we climbed into the top of an aging Pagoda; the summit of our journey.    

How convenient, then, that our trip to Ciqikou was the one day I forgot to charge my camera's batteries.  It's always something.  However, the next night proved to be just as enjoyable.

Having received care packages filled with tortillas, mexican spices, coffee, and other such spectacular staples of American living, my roommates and I decided to attempt a dinner made by our own hands.  Dangerous?  Yes.  Giving cooking utensils to four college-age bachelors is like expecting a toddler operate a zamboni.  

Yet, incredibly, we managed to create a Mexican feast of epic proportions.  Soft-shelled tacos, rice, Islamic-equivalent tortilla chips, and (amazingly) a decent tasting homemade salsa.  It was definitely one of my more unlikely culinary successes, and an entirely satisfying one at that.

Our most recent exploit was a visit to a traditional Chinese hospital, complete with electric acupuncture and "cupping", a method of extracting "cold" from the body.  Unsurprisingly, this technique is often used to treat colds.  The doctor heats the inside of many glass cups, and then quickly applies them to specific trigger points on the body.  The pressure change from the heat inside the glass suctions the glass to the body, creating a vacuum that "pulls cold from the body".  

If you couldn't tell by my liberal use of quotation marks, I am a little skeptical of traditional Chinese medicine.  (And by a little, I mean a lot.)  Maybe I'm just a westerner at heart, but I think a nice round of Amoxicillin will cure a sickness much better than crop-circle hickeys.  (And don't even get me started on electric acupuncture; yes, lets stick small pieces of metal in our muscles and send electric currents through it to cure arthritis.  Oi.)   

Left on our "things to accomplish before leaving China" list include a trip to local hotspot Chengdu, a train adventure to Inner Mongolia similar to Wes Anderson's The Darjeeling Limited (although hopefully without someone getting maced), and a final hurrah in Beijing.

Despite being incredibly comfortable, our room has adopted the familiar odor of, for lack of a better description, boy.  At the request of some concerned female friends, Brice and I tracked down an incense store and purchased a small incense pot with which to de-boy-ify our room.  

Previous to this trip, I relegated the idea of incense to either Buddhists, or hipster twenty-somethings dabbling in Buddhism in order to distract them from the mind-numbing tedium of working at the G.I. Joe's ski shop.  But, after picking out a suitably Asian-looking pot and incense sticks, I have to admit I was excited to give it a try.

One small problem: our lighter was out of lighter fluid.  Strike after strike, our resilient little Zippo failed to ignite.  Summoning my inner-caveman, I was determined to discover an alternate method of creating fire.  My eyes fell upon a jug of Baijou a friend was showing off.

Baijou, for the unaware, is a 120-proof grain alcohol highly prized by the Chinese people.  The smell is unmistakably noxious, and also happens to taste remarkably similar to lighter fluid.  Hm.  Of course.

Quickly borrowing my friend's jug, I filled the Zippo with Baijou.  I thumbed the flint:

Nothing.

A word of advice if you are in need of lighter fluid: grain alcohol is not a suitable alternative.

Lesson learned.  (Brice is still convinced if we boil the water out of it, it will work.  I am unwilling to try this method.)

All in all, I am excited for my remaining time here in China.  Perhaps more importantly, though, I am excited for the changes that are occurring.  I am living off campus this year.  We will soon have a new President.  I am studying halfway around the world.  

These are exciting times.  And yes, they are a-changin'.

Until next time,

-McG

P.S. -- Happy Belated Halloween.  NOW GO VOTE!

(GObama!)