The first day I hit the streets? What a head-fuck. Standing at that corner, frozen to the spot, I thought, “here flow a billion fish, indeed”. Like immutable laws, these intersections are everywhere, as if trying to create an illusion of order. But when the light turns green, a flood of chaos is unleashed. The noise is frightening, the pollution is sick, and without a doubt, these bus-drivers could be the worst on Earth (they don’t gaze peripherally, just straight ahead like vacuous automatons). Directly in the middle of Xian lies the one thousand year old Bell Tower, and four streets, running North, West, East and South, converge into it. Ironic how you have to navigate through paths of decadent, consumer-mania to get to the city’s historical heart. Away from the downtown core, there are less shops, but more street vendors, and on most days, it’s a maddening throng: hawkers rambling through megaphones, cookers frying anything from crabs on sticks to shit-smelling Chou Dofu, beggars harassing, thieves thieving, motor-bike men trying like hookers to get you to ride- and weaving throughout, like an indelible blood-stream, the Chinese horde, the Army of Suits.

The Army of Suits

They all look the same, replica clothes, faces, cell phones perpetually at their heads, smoking away. Even the rich ones that can afford a car all buy the same one: a black Audi with tinted windows. No one dares to be different, the level of conformity is mind-boggling. I went to an English corner once, to chat with some University students, and they were amazed at my hairdo- I had a Mohawk then- and my boisterous, funny-man persona. The discussion quickly turned to ‘individualism’, to which they said, “we’re all copy-cats”. Here, people twist and conform to tradition, so individuality doesn’t ring out like it does in the West. North America’s history goes back only three hundred years, and when it began, it was a cataclysmic break with the Old World- no wonder we were all high on expressive dissonance. But the Chinese got five thousand years trailing behind, like an onerous anchor holding the ego in check.

The Night of Fires

Fours days ago, I was walking home from work with a friend, and as we turned onto the road leading down to my apartment, I was struck silent. Scattered along the sidewalk, as far as the eye could see, lay these little bonfires. “These are vigils for dead relatives” she whispered. You get cardboard, a money-book, a lump of charcoal, and then you trace a circle upon the ground, burning it all within. As the flame flickers, you murmur to the dead, telling them that you’ve brought symbolic offerings. The image of all these fires, with everyone tenderly dropping paper onto red-teeth, absolutely shivers me.

A New Era of Idolatry

If the people have become more tight-lipped regarding China’s ideology, than the streets sure haven’t. Turn onto any main road, and guaranteed, you’ll see enough advertising that’ll make your eyes vomit. I once asked her: “do young people ever talk about politics?”- and she replied: “most are just concerned about the latest fashions, only the older generation talk about stuff like that”. If there’s a pinch of truth to the idea that awareness amongst the young ferments change, than China has never been further from revolution. Call it what you want, ‘Communist’, ‘Capitalist’, ‘quasi-Capitalist’- people still live under totalitarian principles. You see, you know, what they want you to know. If I type in ‘Tiananmen Square’ from a search engine, I get nothing. And if I try and access certain websites that are critical to the government, like the BBC World News, I’m blocked. But it’s only these little things that remind me I’m living in an Orwellian ant-farm, and most times, I forget. Just taking in all the advertising and shopping malls, the McDonald's and KFC’s, lulls me into thinking that I’m living in some liberal-capitalist state, and that I lead a life like any consumer of the West. Shit, if I’m prone to these temporary delusions, think of someone born here? Yep, China is changing, and Mao, the great, omniscient leader, is probably puking in his grave. Sure, corporations are flourishing, but they’re poisoning the environment at a rate that would make even a bear stop shitting in the woods. If the government doesn’t do something fast, choose air and soil over the idolatry of coin, Eliot’s ‘Wasteland’ will become more than a poem, more like Chinese prophecy. “How long will Communism last?” I asked her, and without blinking an eye she answered, “maybe one hundred years”.

The Tomb

I went to the tomb of the Emperor Han, and inside, near his sarcophagus, sat this massive, miniature model of ancient China, and glittering gems, shining like faint galaxies, were encrusted to the ceiling. When he died, his nine wives were buried alive with him. The most valuable part is still sealed though, and won’t be opened until the technology permits it (they don’t want the air destroying anything timeless). Historical records say that lakes of mercury and thousands of candles await within. Supposedly, these candles, made from the fat of some sea-snake, can burn away oxygen free for a thousand years. Imagine that sight? Shimmering lakes of mercury with fireflies dancing atop.

Day 1

3am: I couldn’t sleep, so I awoke and started unpacking. My apartment could be worse. The floor, marble, the toilet, however, requires squatting. Lovely. I share it with an American named Anthony. He’s out of town on some trip with the school, so I’ve yet to meet him. The trip? Wired with nerves, I just gazed at the ocean below. When we hit Russia, the view was spectacular, no towns or cities, just miles of breathtaking countryside. The plane’s shadow streaking across the landscape made me think of Dr. Strangelove. From the air, China was ochre and mountainous; it took twenty minutes just to fly over Beijing, and wherever I looked, construction greeted me (the magnitude of the 2008 Olympics is quite evident). Upon landing, the sun disappeared, replaced by this hazy, yellowish film, and at baggage, I started panicking when my guitar didn’t surface. Asking for help was a nightmare, I couldn’t understand what they were saying, and when I resorted to pantomime, the Great Wall kicked me in the junk. Surmounting this edifice, this language barrier, shall prove exquisitely difficult. Everywhere, I see the effects of the ‘one-child policy’. While waiting at my Xian gate, a kid saluted me with his can of coke. I returned the gesture, and he laughed and told his parents. Kids are great here, they’re not withdrawn like all the adults seem to be. I’ve been trying to acclimatize myself to the sounds of Mandarin, but too no avail; it’s hard distinguishing where words even begin and end. People are rude as hell, they stare and budge as if it’s entrenched, noon-tea etiquette. Truly, I’m an outsider, but it feels exhilarating. When my taxi pulled into Xian, the China that I’ve always imagined hit me like a wave: chaotic traffic, smoky shops, vendors, packs of cyclists, and a ubiquitous military presence. To get into the downtown core, I had to pass under the City Wall, a 1200 year old remnant of the Han dynasty, and when I arrived at my apartment, a crowd were gathered near the foyer, watching some musicians: a flute, a drum, a strange violin, and an old woman belting out some ghastly melody. Sitting on crates, the air smoky, shadows splayed across the walls, surreal indeed. Before drifting off, I lay in bed, clearly hearing them from the twelfth floor.

Chou Dofu

Chou Dofu is a type of tofu, cooked in gas woks by street cookers, deep-fried until it shimmers a charming brown. Billions of Chinese adore it, they gush that it’s absolutely delicious, but I can't support those claims; I‘ve never tried it. Why is that? Ah, how do I put this?...because it smells like shit! Imagine the smell of shit, multiply that by ten, then imagine it securely compacted within a spatial radius- now you've got an idea of what it's like strolling the streets of Xian: always on the lookout for an invisible, shit-ambush. Usually, one's nose becomes accustomed to smells over time (I've gotten used to the garbage taint on most streets), but I’m telling you every time I smell that smell it’s as if I'm straight from the womb. When strolling by the cookers, I have to cover my nose, and most times the patrons nudge their friends to say with an air of cultural pride, "hey, look at that foreigner, he can't take the smell". But seriously, why mock me? - It smells like shit! Indulge my reminiscing. Let's go back in time to the guy that invented the seasoning, sure, it supposedly tastes great, but he had yet to discover that. He had to go against his nose-radar, screaming out that shit stood before him. But try it he did, so I guess he’s a hero of sorts, the 'man who swallowed the bitter truth', 'who ate it for the people'- three cheers for China's patron-saint. Seriously, the stuff smells like shit, so China, if you want world superiority, then you gotta' consider harnessing its powers for other means. Imagine a nuke with a 50-megaton yield of uranium incinerated Chou Dofu? ! So, I’m warning you, if you come to China and smell a smell when walking down the street that would logically spur you to think: “man, that's some nasty foul shit on the sidewalk, probably left by a dog with Ebola”- it’s actually a traditional snack being cooked up much too the Elysian-delight of the people.

Life in Xian

Xian is like one giant sidewalk sale. Everywhere you look, there are people selling stuff, anything from pirated DVD’s and CD’s, to vegetable peelers and artwork. The street food is dirt cheap, and most of it’s delicious, aside from the dreaded, shit-smelling Chou Dofu. The most crucial illumination of Xian? It's not very clean. But the government tries in many ways. In faith with the good ol’ Communist doctrine that everyone should work, you can see these guys with red vests walking around, picking up trash, sweeping with giant, straw brooms. Since all of the trucks used to transport the waste are foul, polluting beasts, the solution only makes things worse. Recently, a foreigner that I know told me that Xian’s air was voted 'the worst in the world' by the U.N. I doubt that that’s true, but it is bad. The city can sometimes get shrouded over by “a yellow fog that rubs its back upon the windowpanes”, and unlike Canada’s sun, where you don’t actually see its edges, only a luminous blur, the pollutants here dim it, transforming it into a clearly demarcated, bloody sphere. Some days, I make my students go to the window and drink in the breathtaking sight of their setting sun, huge, shimmering, blood-red, telling them that it’s more beautiful than the one I’ve got back home.

There are about 55 different ethnic groups living in China. The largest are the Hans, the traditional majority, and second, the Muslims. They make up about 15% of the total population. Tolerance to the Muslim faith appears to be warm. They’ve been in China for centuries, and it’s quite common for someone to be related or married to one. Christianity, however, is much more recent, foreign, alien. The government has relaxed many of its policies towards it, but they still are stringent. You can only go to public churches, any private bible-study groups are absolutely prohibited. And of course, this has nothing to do with the introduction of metaphysical beliefs, and more about keeping an eye on your citizens. Cabals have sown the seeds of every revolution since time immemorial. When I first got here, I had to sign these papers that said I was to never engage in any religious or political discussions with my coworkers, and similarly, they had to sign something that said they were to defend China if they were to ever hear me bad-mouthing it. Hasn’t worked though, me and some coworkers talk politics all the time. One time, while in the cafeteria lunch-line, a Chinese friend said, “fuck the government, they’re all corrupt bastards”. I remember hearing about this American girl that was deported 3 months ago because she was recruiting people for her bible group; and how can I forget the two Australian teachers that were working at my school before me? Apparently, these guys were baptizing people in their bathtub. Crazy bastards. Let’s look at how the government treats a Muslim: if they commit murder, they go to jail for life, whereas, if a Han commits murder, they’re killed by the State. They’re also held to lower standards when entering Universities, and receive more pay when joining the Army or Civil Service. Xian has the largest Muslim demographic in all of China. Muslim food is great. First, they don’t eat pork, and neither do a lot of the foreigners, second, they steam their vegetables, which keep all the nutrients in, and third, their restaurants are cleaner than your average Han’s. After work, I usually go to this place by my house to get these wicked noodles; honestly, they’re not what you’d expect noodles to taste like, more like a pasta, and they only cost eighty cents Canadian.

A huge majority love the government, and see its goals and principles as worthy. Most see the West as decadent, lacking in culture, and in some ways, they’re right. They have an ancient culture to sustain themselves on the sea of suffering, whereas, we have our cloned, Post-Modern culture of Non-culture. I’m telling you though, these people are smarter than your average Westerner, and when a billion ants finally get organized, watch out. Within ten years, a huge majority will be speaking English, and not only will they be more strategically aligned with Russia, they’ll have the entire world-market in their grasp. It’s only a matter of time before China overtakes the U.S; every year, they make massive gains, while America drowns deeper in debt. Aside from the predicted prosperity, living ‘inside the box’ still applies here. When I mention Tiananmen Square to someone, they don’t know how to respond. I saw more as an eleven year old child glued to the T.V.

The old men, doing their morning sword-play by the river, enchant.