Big Mountain's daughter turned six on Thursday, and Little Miss Personality *loved* the attention showered on her--even more attention than usual! She got to have two birthdays: one on Thursday, with just her immediate family (and me) and a Chinese birthday cake, and one on Friday with extended family, friends, and an American birthday cake made by yours truly.

Excitement over her Chinese cake, with Grandma looking on:

The Chinese cake did not do it for me. The texture of the cake was angel food (never been a favorite of mine), it was barely sweet, and the frosting tasted like canned whipped cream that hadn't been refrigerated. In between the layers there were pieces of fruit, which was good, but otherwise I thought it would be no competition.

My mom sent a bunch of things over for Qiuyu, mostly involving helping her learn English. She absolutely loves to practice writing English (speaking not so much, but we're working on it) so the gifts my mom sent were a huge hit.

And now, of course, onto the cake. My cake. Baking this cake was an affair--I took my two hour mid-day siesta, which I guard jealously--to make the first layer, and made the second one before dinner (meaning I left work an hour early). The cake had nothing on what I'd be able to make in the States, since I used olive oil instead of butter and store-bought Betty Crocker frosting (from Guiyang) instead of making my own (no powdered sugar), but I was pleased with the result. Qiuyu loves white chocolate, so I chopped up a bar of Ghirardelli that Matt sent and threw it in the batter. Americans, who are trained in the art of cake-eating, would notice that something was a little different because of the olive oil, but I don't think anyone would necessarily think it was a bad thing. Overall, I was really quite proud of myself for this creation:

Click here for a link to the recipe!

Qiuyu's dinner party was huge--there were at least twenty people there. She was beside herself with excitement the whole night because we were all going to sing karaoke afterwards and she was allowed to stay up really late. Dinner concluded around 9:30, and we headed to karaoke, where it was determined that we would eat the cake. But apparently, karaoke was (for once) not what everyone else wanted to do. Big Mountain, his wife, his brother-in-law, and his brother-in-law's eight year old son were the only people who showed up to our karaoke room.

And when it came time to have cake, Qiuyu's excitement ended with blowing out the candles. She did not eat a single bite of the cake.

It broke my heart.

Big Mountain and his wife made a show of eating a few bites (they both despise sweets), but everyone else seemed to really like it. And since I had made a rather large cake in anticipation of lots of guests, I took the remainder home with me to share with the people in my office. It was a much bigger success today after lunch than it was last night, and now, the only thing that's left is a few crumbs and a smudge of icing in the box.

On a completely unrelated note, I just wanted to share with you a text message I received recently from a friend here that made me laugh. I hope it has the same effect on you!

Being friends with the head of the police force in Libo has its benefits. I met him at Nainai's funeral, and he immediately insisted that I call him "Liu Ge" (Big Brother Liu); at the time, I had no idea that he happens to be "kind of a big deal" in Libo. Like a lot of people here, upon meeting me, he insisted we take a photo together:

This past weekend, Liu Ge invited me to go on a hike with the local SWAT team. Let me be the first to tell you these guys were not messing around. The hike was conducted in full uniform as a training exercise. In other words, it was really, really hard! We hiked for five hours up (and down) four mountains averaging about 2000 feet each--a total of eight miles. The mountains were densely forested, but instead of being shady and cool, the forest acted as a humidity trap, ensuring that all of us were absolutely drenched with sweat within the first twenty minutes.

Starting out:

For the record, the mountains you see in front of us in the picture above are not what we were climbing.

This photo is of the last mountain we hiked over, taken from the village where we rested and had a late lunch before heading back to Libo:

Although the hike was a training exercise, the men acted more like boys on a field trip, singing traditional Chinese songs, whooping and hollering, and generally making mischief. Some of the more serious hikers engaged in a race, but most of us concentrated on not slipping on the rocks as we climbed (sometimes using our hands).

The Maolan forest is famous for "python trees"--trees whose branches have twisted around each other for a snake-like effect. Apparently, the forest is home to black bears and monkeys, but unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately, in the case of black bears) we didn't see any animals (just insects . . . lots and lots of insects).

I once mentioned to Liu Ge that I am interested in learning kung fu; I figured since he's Mr. Badass Head of the Local Police he would probably know who could teach me. Little did I know that on the hike, I would be introduced to Zeng Shifu, my kung fu master.

He may not look like a crouching tiger . . .

but he is most definitely a Hidden Dragon.

My first lesson:

Another new friend, Deng Ge, proudly presented me with a tiny crab he caught in the river. He was so pleased with his gift to me that he insisted we document the exchange. Even more incredible than the fact that I'm holding a crab is the fact that Deng Ge is taller than me! I can count on one hand the number of people I've met here that fall into that category.

As we drove back into Libo, Big Mountain's daughter called me to invite me over for dinner. Even though I was exhausted, I find it nearly impossible to refuse her anything, so I took a quick (and mercifully hot) shower and headed to their house. By 9 pm, my muscles were yelling at me for having condensed an entire month's worth of exercise into five hours, and Big Mountain suggested we go get Thai massages.

Music to my ears! Had I ever had a Thai massage? No. Did I know what that entailed? No. But I was game--anything to ease the pain.

If you are a knuckle/neck/back cracker, then this massage is for you. Every limb was yanked, twisted, pulled and pushed into what I would have thought to be impossible positions. There was the usual kneading and massaging as well, although at one point the woman was doing chopsticks (with her hands, not actual chopsticks . . . funny that I need to specify) on my forehead. She used her knees, toes, elbows, and entire body weight during the massage; at times, I had a hard time keeping a straight face, especially if I looked over at Big Mountain having the same procedures done to him across the room. (By the way, in China, going to get a massage is like going to get drinks--you go in groups. Everyone in your party is in the same room, and you all change into silly looking pajamas and drink chrysanthemum tea and eat tangerines. It is as great as it sounds.)

Here are some images from the internet of Thai massages, to give you an idea:

Just kidding about that last one. But the second to last one? Yeah that happened.

After my massage, I felt like I had been hit by a magical bus that turns muscles into jello but also kind of hurts at the same time. But the next day, I thanked my lucky stars that I went. I expected to be immobile the day after, but aside from mild discomfort at the thought of going up or down a staircase, I was a-okay.

I know you were curious, so here's a picture of me in the silly pajamas.

Wee-ew-wee-ew-wee-ew! The fashion police are on their way.

Last Monday, I went on a true adventure to the real rural China. I think of Libo as rural because it's a town that is hard to get to, it has a population of 170,000 people, it has no Western amenities (restaurants, stores, foreigners), and the buildings don't have heat. And I will continue referring to it as rural even after I admit that in reality, it is not. The real rural China is so remote that the roads leading to it are unpaved, the villages have fewer than 50 homes, the villagers have never seen a foreigner, and most buildings don't have electricity or running water.

This is a place where government propaganda touting the importance of keeping your babies, even if they are girls, is plastered on crumbling walls. Its inhabitants look perpetually exhausted--women bent with age and malnutrition, thin teenage mothers with heavy breasts and fat babies strapped to their backs, men with tanned skin and far more wrinkles than teeth. Only the children are full of energy, running through the streets chasing after wild dogs and roosters, oblivious to the occasional moped or car speeding recklessly through the village.

And surrounding the village, rising up to the sky on all sides, are green peaks speckled with terraced rice paddies.

We stayed in a cabin high above the village, reachable only by a narrow path made from dirt and rocks twisting up and around the paddies. It is difficult to describe the sound of a rice paddy; you might think, like any other type of crop, that it grows in relative silence--a rustle of grass in the wind, a bird calling overhead, the chirping of crickets at night, the occasional shouted greetings of the villagers below. But standing in the middle of this mountainous watery field, I was constantly surprised by the bubbling, slurping, gurgling sounds of the paddies' irrigation system.

I spent a good deal of time during our trip writing in a journal. Below are a few of my entries.

2 October 2012   5:00 am
I'm lucky I found this pen abandoned in the corner of the room I slept in last night, for although I had the foresight to bring a notebook, I managed to leave without packing a writing utensil. The camera Big Mountain's loaned to me for the trip is already nearly out of battery, so while he and his friend set up tripods and snap away at the sun emerging just above the mountains, I'm sitting here in the relative comfort and warmth of a comically cramped SUV, observing my surroundings through mud-spattered windows and listening to the hum of the car engine that Big Mountain never seems to shut off.

The rice paddies are the most graceful piece of man-made handiwork I have ever had the good fortune of seeing with my own eyes. Without knowing anything about their history, I am stunned by how long it must have taken--how many centuries of back-breaking toil must have been required to build step after step of miniature water-filled field.

The morning is foggy, but the sun is bright, making the fog appear even denser than it is and our pictures appear blurry even though they're not. Big Mountain keeps repeating the phrase, "It's really not ideal," as though its a mantra or an inside joke. And I understand his disappointment--we drove for ten hours (with frequent stops for photo breaks) yesterday through less than ideal road conditions to reach our destination.

We've made it back up to the cabin for dinner. Three of the four doll-sized tables are full of weary photographers (and in some cases, their aged parents and small children) enjoying a meal of what I've come to view as "Chinese comfort food." Hot pot--I can see the appeal. It's chilly outside; how better to warm up than to sit around a pot of boiling soup stock, cooking various cuts of meat and vegetables and dipping your findings into a fragrant bowl of "lajiao" hot pepper sauce? I'm certainly not against the principle--in fact, in Beijing I relished the nights we treated ourselves to a night out in Houhai and cooked up thin strips of lamb, sweet potatoes, and bok choy while sipping on fresh watermelon juice.

I have found, however, that eating hot pot with native Chinese people is an all-together different experience. I suppose that our Americanized version of hot pot in Beijing wasn't authentic, but but at this point, I think my life in rural China is authentic enough. I don't need the added reality of pig brain and cow intestine to enhance the flavor of my new life.

Big Mountain is an incredibly perceptive person, which partially explains his success as a photographer.

[This is his photo, taken on one of our stops along the road with the camera he loaned to me for the trip.]

~

As much as I appreciate the beauty of a spectacular landscape, having a mother whose profession is portrait photography appears to have influenced the kind of pictures I found myself drawn to take on this trip. Each person I passed had a face with a story behind it; maybe it's my mother's influence, and maybe it's also my writer's mind that finds a photograph with a person in it generally more interesting than one without. As I learned more about how to use the camera I was given, my ability to capture faces improved. 

The photographers at work (click to enlarge):

They took pictures of me taking pictures too, but until I get my hands on them, here are a few of me doing other things (like eating grasshoppers!):

It's time for another round of "The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly: Chinese Food Edition" . . .

The Good

Alexy and I went exploring one Saturday afternoon for a good spot for lunch that isn't the seventh floor of our office building. We found this gem around the corner, which is always packed and famous for their scallion pancakes (in the background). My go-to dish is a spicy beef and cabbage stir fry over rice.

This next one was a bit scary, but ended up being quite delicious. On our way back to the office from a meeting one day, the weather was hot and Alexy recommended we try a traditional Guizhou treat for sunny weather. I was of course willing to check it out, but when I saw the street vendor ladling clear, wiggling jello out of a bucket and into a bowl for me, I got nervous. In my head, I was thinking, "Kaci, this is exactly what you are not supposed to be doing. Eating food on the street that comes out of a bucket. If you get sick, you deserve it." But I didn't want to chicken out, so I went ahead and let Alexy choose my toppings: thick molasses, sesame seeds, peanuts, raisins, and some sugary candy. The result was certainly a unique blend of flavors, but overall quite delicious. And I didn't get so much as a stomachache! Win.

Last weekend, a friend of Big Mountain's invited me over to his home for dinner. His daughter is twenty-one and a student at a university in Guiyang. She's studying philosophy, English and Japanese, and loves to sing and play the guitar. She was too shy to speak much English, but we had a great time talking about music (she loves Green Day and Avril Lavigne--angsty or what?!) and travel. The family served the dreaded hot pot, but this time it was full of only things I like! Mushrooms, normal cuts of beef, stewed pumpkin, and cabbage were some of the hot pot ingredients. We drank wine that Mrs. Mo made herself from grapes in the family vineyard. After dinner, we headed out on the town for some good old-fashioned karaoke, where I once again confirmed the fact that I will never be able to sing Beyonce's songs. Ever.

To celebrate the Mid Autumn Festival, I went to Big Mountain's house for a special dinner. As usual, it was delicious--spicy chicken with bamboo (center), beef and celery, bitter melon, edamame with ground pork, and homemade sausages . . . The list goes on and on. After dinner, we looked at the moon and gave thanks, and of course enjoyed a traditional Libo moon cake filled with sweetened red bean paste.

Chinese escargot. The only way I am eating snails is if they are served in a French restaurant and smothered in butter and garlic thankyouverymuch.

Mmm . . . Pig brain.

And now, I present to you: fried grasshoppers.

These are under the "Ugly" category because they don't look too good, but let me be the first to tell you that they were actually quite delicious! I ate two.

Here's a fun game for all you non-Chinese speakers out there! It's called, "Find the Dog on the Menu." (Hint: It's somewhere in the right-hand column.)

This game is also known by another name, which is, "Make sure you go out to eat with someone who can read Chinese."

The phrase "tea party" brings to mind several distinct images for me. The first is of playing 'tea party' as a child with my cousin and grandmother, using a beautiful old tea set and equal parts cream, sugar, and English breakfast tea. The second is of taking high tea in London with friends last year. And the third (for whatever reason) is of a page from a middle school history book about the Boston Tea Party.

My guess is that upon hearing that you have been invited to a tea party, at no point does your mind associate that with, "belly dancers," "braised pork ribs," or "grain alcohol." You can imagine my momentary confusion, then, when I attended my first Chinese tea party last Friday. The party was hosted at the "fancy" hotel in Libo following a conference between government officials and commercial investors. To the amazement of everyone who didn't know me, I gave a speech in Chinese about how thankful my company is for the government's support, etc etc. Then I sat back, relaxed, partook of the complimentary fruit plate, and understood very little of the rest of the meeting's proceedings.

After the conference, all 75 or so attendees filed out of the conference room and downstairs to the ballroom, where tea was in fact being served. The air quickly filled with cigarette smoke and the sound of fifty people speaking loudly on their cell phones at the same time, as is typical at Chinese functions such as this. After about 30 minutes of settling-in time, where the attendees found their assigned seats, enjoyed a moon cake or two in honor of the Mid Autumn Festival, and caught up on nicotine and voicemails, the party really got started. Performances by ethnic minority groups (mainly women in traditional costumes dancing and singing) were the main event, and to be honest, I was quite transfixed. I had never seen traditional Chinese dances like these or heard music like what was sung and played that afternoon.

Having participated myself in many concert choirs, I found the differences between American and Chinese choral performances striking. To have a nasal tone in the States is anathema; in China, it is required. Still, I wholeheartedly enjoyed the performance, especially the movements they incorporated.

The final performance startled me, as it was more reminiscent of Indian dancing than anything I've ever seen in China. It's fascinating to see how various Eastern cultures must have influenced each other over thousands of years.

After the performances, dinner was served and the toasting began. I was asked to give a karaoke performance, so in front of a large audience of Chinese businessmen and government officials, I sang Lady Antebellum's "Need You Now," the subject of which may not have been the most appropriate given the venue. I banked on the fact that no one would understand the words, and to my knowledge, no one did. Unfortunately, giving that performance meant that almost every single person in the room came over to toast me personally afterwards, which was becoming a problem until I managed to fill my grain alcohol pitcher with water instead of "baijiu". This also meant that I didn't eat dinner. Womp womp.

Gan bei! ("Bottom's up!"):