The Great Wall defeated me, I'm sad to say. Before the morning of July 30th, I was under the impression I was in good-to-decent shape, but apparently no, I am not at all.
It was fantastic to go there, though, don't get me wrong. But let me start at the beginning.
We awoke the morning after our feature concert early to catch the bus that would take us out to the Great Wall, one of the tourist destinations I was monumentally excited to see. I didn't know quite what to expect from the climb itself - I pictured a short staircase up to the wall which would then be flat as it stretched out for miles in either direction. Maybe some gentle slopes up and down as it reacted to the mountainous terrain on which it sat.
Wrong-o.
The busride there was maybe a couple hours through a particularly foggy landscape. We arrived at a quasi-village looking area with a steady line of mountains on either side:
Parked the bus and walked to the entrance area:
And began the ascent:
The last photo there gives you a better idea of what the climb was like. The length of staircase that stretches into the misty distance would be about one section, and there were twelve of those to the top.
I made it to about the third. Perhaps it was a combination of the fog, dehydration, and overexertion, but I suddenly found I couldn't get enough air to breathe. Further, I felt shakey and queasy. The inner workings of my body were sending me a clear message, and only one solution seemed likely to alleviate the problem.
So I leaned over the side and threw up into the hazy abyss. Right about where this view was:
Another singer who wasn't feeling so hot and I decided to make our way down at that point. We returned to the bottom and waited here:
It wasn't too long before another handful of people came down too, having advanced another staircase or two from where I had quit before resigning. The five or six or so of us went further down near the entrance area to a quiet little pagoda to sit and wait for those who had gone all the way to the top.
It should be noted that our purpose in climbing the Great Wall was as much a photo-op as it was a chance to see a wonder of the world. Dr. Hatteberg, at this point having received the invitation to National ACDA the following March, was determined to get a photo of us, in our concert black, at the top of the Great Wall to put on concert programs at our convention concert in the spring. So all of the men had been making this ascent toting garment bags and nice shoes to change into at the top.
Eventually everyone got back down. Got some pretty harsh looks from the rest of the bass section, who would have had 100% success if it weren't for me. I think the sopranos were the only section to have all members make it to the top. Well done there.
Got back on the bus and headed to lunch, which I desperately needed, having lost my breakfast over the side of the wall. We went to this restaurant that was attached to some sort of pottery factory, which we were given a quick, five-minute tour of before being seated to eat.
And as always, we were given the chance to shop after the meal:
On the docket next was a tour of the facilities built for the 2008 Olympics, but it was rainy and dreary, and most of us were worn out from the morning, so instead we did an abbreviated driving tour:
And that was just fine. Back at the hotel, a different group was interested in Pizza Hut, and I decided to go again, since the first time had been such an adventure. Once again, our first waiter didn't speak English, and attempts to bridge the divide with Google translate and pointing didn't do the trick. Another waitress was brought over, who was able to speak just enough English to inquire as to whether we spoke French. Luckily, one of the people with us had taken some French in high school, and managed to communicate our - again, very simple - orders successfully. As the waitress was looking around the table speaking to us, she, seemingly mid-sentence, remarked that I had beautiful eyes. It was so out of left field and so quickly moved on from that I thought I had just misheard her, but someone else later confirmed. Odd!
Walked back to the hotel for the rest of the evening in:
The next morning was another demonstration and talk rather than performance, back at the middle school we'd visited twice before. This one was three hours, which we somehow managed to fill comfortably:
This was followed by lunch, which was the followed, at long last, by the pearl market:
The Pearl Market was like Silk Street on steroids. For one, obviously, the main attraction was pearls. There was a whole floor dedicated to small department-store-esque booths, which were individually numbered well into the 200s, each selling what they claimed to be the best pearls for the best price. Lower floors had more of the same general souvenirs and electronics, and the bottom floor was more oriented toward clothing.
After the thrilling but less than optimal visit to Silk Street, I was giddy to try my hand here. My goal going in was to either get something for less than 5% of initial asking, or to get something for 5 or fewer Chollars - either way. Also, I wanted to get some Chinese pearls.
The first stop was the top floor, which turned out to be where they kept the like, expensive and high-quality products, so no luck there. The few that had gone up returned down to the main pearl floor to find Matt and Reed haggling for pearl chokers. They were trying to get the sales lady to budge on a two-for-one deal, but they couldn't bridge a gap of about ¥10. I jumped in and asked if we could get them for ¥60 each if I got one too. At this she finally relented, and we all got our pearls.
Next, we went down to the basement level to find Dr. Hatteberg in the midst of a complex haggling gambit where he appeared to be trying to set adjacent belt vendors against each other by making lowball offers and stepping away immediately to the next when it was turned down. They seemed like they were beginning to fight, both against him and amongst each other, and he seemed to be having a great time. Watching him haggle is like watching him conduct a choir: inspiring and enormously instructive.
Feeling confident, Elliot and I attempted to get a pair of ties for ourselves at the lowest possible price. First we scoped out the tie racks on the basement floor, but my opening bids of ¥5 for a tie were met with veritable scorn and contemptuous grumbling from the vendors. No go. So we went back up to the main floor and tried a tactic that had accidentally worked for us at Silk Street: when attempting to get our collared shirts, other people had come by to tell us the bus was leaving, and as we began to leave, we were immediately offered the shirts for the price we'd been trying to get at that moment. So the plan was to stage a similar thing here where I'd let him begin a haggle, then run up and say we were about to leave.
It didn't work. The salesperson just ended the negotiation.
So we went back to straightforward haggling. Finally, at a tie stand, we were able to feign enough casual disinterest to get two ties, initially ¥300 each, for ¥30 total, meaning ¥15 each, meaning right at 5%. SUCCESS.
Having just a few Yuan left, we then decided to just go for broke with whatever we could get for that much. We knew that the people who called out to you as you walked by would be the most likely to settle on a lower price, so we walked around waiting for that to happen, the item being sold notwithstanding. A lady selling a scarf at a table yelled at me to come take a look, so I went over. I offered ¥5 for the scarf, and she laughed. She asked what I had paid for the tie, and I said ¥2. More laughter.
"I tell you what, I give you ¥5 for that tie right now. You make money." DANG. CALLED. OUT. I was clearly out of my league.
I did end up getting the scarf for ¥20, down from an initial ask of about ¥850. Less than 5% ahoy! An admittedly hollow victory.
It's possible my participation here may come off as a bit crass and borne from a place of unrecognized privilege. It's true that in many cases the haggling hinged on a difference of maybe 5 to 10 yuan, something on the order of a buck fifty, which makes virtually no difference to me, and may have made a very big difference to the people selling. Getting the low price was a matter of entertainment almost, and I have no idea how it affects the vendors. I can defend my actions by saying that they mark up these cheap goods to an absurd degree, and the people who aren't aware of the inflated price makeup the difference, but I don't know that for sure. I also don't know for sure that the situation is as desperate as I make it out to be. It's possible all the people in that department store are doing fine, it's the others, the ones I'd see more of the next afternoon who lived in glorified holes in the wall, were those truly in need. I suppose the information just isn't there for me to see, and I'm too small a force to fix things even if I did know about them.
Anyway. We left the Pearl Market, discussing our various hauls, talking about our noble feats to procure the deals we got. Dinner followed. On the busride back to the hotel, it was announced that we had been invited to participate in the closing ceremony - something we didn't have in our itinerary as of yet. It would mean one last performance, and one last wearing of concert black, which by this point was more burden than pleasure. Still, it was sort of a big deal to be invited to do this, and we felt it would be a good gesture to accept. So it meant the tours scheduled for the next morning would have to be abbreviated somewhat, and that we'd have to get an earlier start than we'd planned.
It being one of the last nights, a few of us were game to find a local bar and get a more authentic taste of Beijing. One person was able to find somewhere just a short cabride away, but since the address was in Chinese script, we didn't know for sure that it would be enough for a cab driver to find it. One person had the idea to show the driver the phone number, so that he or she could call the place and ask for the address. Nine people split into three cabs, each planning to do this. In my cab, it took quite awhile to make things work. Eventually we got going. Maybe 10 minutes later, the cab dropped us off in a sketchy, sketchy alley and drove off.
It did not look like the right place, and there was no sign of anyone from the other two cabs. We went down the path under the arch in the photo above to what looked like the back door to a hotel, and quickly turned around and walked back to the alley. Not knowing what to do, and having no way to communicate with anyone else, we walked toward what seemed like the more commercial end of the street, planning to stop at the most viable bar we could find.
A block later, we ran into some of our people, and picked a place with outside seating. We each ordered a beer:
...and watched as the waiter uncapped the bottles with flare, flinging the caps into the street with a soft, distant plunk.
The third cab never showed up. We later found out that they had been taken to some completely different place with like a cool balcony and live music played by a band that happened to be American and had had a great old time. Good for them.
Our group, on the other hand, sat around and had an okay time ourselves. Nothing fancy, but still kind of neat to be out in the city, away from tour guides and prepackaged shopping trips. At the end of the night, we elected to walk back as a group, as someone with us somehow knew exactly how to get to the hotel.
I kind of liked the midnight walk back, ill-advised as it may have been. Along the way, groups of Beijing citizens would be gathered out on the street, sitting and talking in plastic chairs. It was interesting. I assume it was the typical thing to do at night.
We got back no incident and hit the beds. The next morning we went to the closing ceremony as planned and sang three of our pieces yet again. From backstage, we also got to hear some of the other choirs, who were competing. I may have not made this clear yet, but most groups there were competing with each other for prize money. The Cardinal Singers were there as a featured group, a concert to see just for fun, which is why we were also doing so much in the way of demonstrations and ceremonies. I don't know who won or what the prize even was. We were not abreast of most of the rest of the festival while we were there.
After the concert - mercifully the last time we'd wear concert black - we were driven to what I can only describe as a little village of alleyways right in the middle of Beijing for a rickshaw tour.
The tour was the only chance I felt that we really got to see the real Beijing. Not the flashy city nor the tourist sights, just the place where the real citizens actually lived. As we were taken a few blocks through this area, I snapped some pictures into the homes and small businesses:
Then we were taken to a family's home in the neighborhood for a lunch they prepared for us:
And one of the family members played us some music while we ate:
It was interesting seeing the homes throughout this area, all of which featured a small, walled-off but open-air courtyard and adjoining rooms in every direction. It was also a bit alarming being told that the house we ate at belonged to one of the wealthier families in the area. The conditions overall just seemed not so great. Everywhere seemed dirty, kind of run down, and too cloistered and cramped to be comfortable. But I dunno. Maybe when this is the norm, it's no big deal. Maybe I'm just so used to the big American houses I know that I think anything else is destitute. Once again, I found myself unable to reach conclusions without more information.
The next stop in our very packed final full day was the panda zoo, something I was really looking forward to, being a fan of zoos (see my Aug. 2014 Indianapolis post) and being a fan of seeing things in person I'd only ever encountered through photo or video before.
YEAH.
There were other animals to, but who cares? I wonder how it must feel to be the non-panda at a panda themed zoo. That's like being a street musician playing a pan flute outside a rock concert. NO ONE'S HERE TO SEE YOU.
They also sold the fat panda stuffed animals at the gift shop which I liked but did not get:
We were only there about an hour. Next, we went to an acrobatics show. I didn't know what to expect, but boy was it way more exciting than I thought it would be:
We got special seats:
They began with this bizarre like, hype-man, who yelled at the crowd in Chinese for a good ten minutes, which of course we didn't get at all.
Then they got to the show proper. There was a story, which was really just a framework around which the typical acrobatic showcases were placed. I think we were supposed to be following the adventures of this young boy traveling through history and seeing all the great events from China's past (and later, future!!):
They had all your typical Chinese acrobatics fare: the contortionist, the tumblers, the yo-yo girls, the giant double-hamster wheel contraption, the balance guy, the bicycles:
But the grand finale was the most exciting: the motorcycles in a steel cage!
The video of which is apparently too big to upload here. Ah well.
The acrobatics show was followed by what most of assumed would be our last dinner in China (was that foreshadowing? Why yes it was):
Following the dinner, we checked into what many of us assumed would be our last hotel (my goodness, why does that phrase keep popping up??).
This was by far the nicest hotel we had stayed at. The toilets in the rooms had like heated seats and different settings and a remote control and stuff. It was great! Shame we were only there for one night. I am not sure why we switched hotels for just one night, but I think it may have been that we were adding on an extra day not allotted for by the festival itself, so we couldn't keep staying in the festival hotel.
The plans for that night were to go to this lake area called Houhai, which sounded great to me. They Cardinal Singers had gone there in 2010, the last time they came to China, and Lydia - the only remaining member from those days - had asked Dr. Hatteberg if we could tack it on to this trip as well. He'd managed to arrange for the bus to take us there and back, leaving us with a couple hours to walk and drink and hang out one last time. Perfection.
The lake, right about where we were dropped off:
A few of us made our first stop at a rooftop bar overlooking the lake:
The beers there were about 50 yuan if I remember correctly - something like $7 apiece. Not enormously expensive, but still what might be slightly high in America. We decided to seek out a street vendor for the next round, hoping to cut down on the spending. We managed that very well, finding liter bottles for ¥10 just off the main path. We also found Dr. Hatteberg and a few other singers sitting around talking. I joined in with that group, which soon moved back to the main loop. Toward the end of the path, we found those same liter bottles for ¥5 each - less than a dollar. As much success as I had haggling at Silk Street and the Pearl Market, that beer may have been the best deal I got all trip.
We returned to the entranceway next to the Starbucks to catch the bus:
I really loved the final night out at Houhai. It was a beautiful place, and it was great getting to hang out with everybody with no further concerts or official duties on the docket. A moment of pure vacation.
Another shuttle, another night in the hotel, another morning, another nice breakfast:
The tourist destination for that morning was a Lama temple, which I was totally fine to see, but maybe a dozen people wanted to return to the Pearl Market and buy a few more souvenirs, so we split in two for the morning.
I was glad I went to the temple, in retrospect. I had no more haggling I wanted to do, and even though we'd been to a few places like it during our trip, this one was the most interesting to me. I guess it just struck me the right way.
At the gate, we were given packets of incense sticks, and instructed on how to use them (I think you burn three, then bow in all four cardinal directions, then put them in the pile of ash to continue burning. I am not a very good Buddhist).
We made our way through the temple:
As we approached an enclosure toward the middle of the compound, an ominous beating emerged from the smoky dark:
The monks were apparently in session!
They sat at long tables in this room, chanting from books, while one person kept them together with the drum. Fascinating!
We continued on to the last building of the temple, which our guide told us housed the largest statue carved from a single piece of wood, or something like that.
The entrance:
First glimpse:
The immensity:
And here it is colorized from Instagram:
I wandered around the temple at my own pace a bit more after that, poking my head into a few buildings we'd skipped on the guided tour. I liked that place. Eventually, we gathered at the back exit and left for lunch, and to meet up with everyone that had gone to the Pearl Market.
Lunch that afternoon was dumplings, which many (especially those that had gone to Korea with the Cardinal Singers the year before I joined) were terribly excited about. I thought they were fine, but nothing to go crazy for.
On the bus rise to the airport, we said goodbye to Linda, who had been our tour guide for our final 24-or-so hours of sightseeing. Since she knew we were singers, she offered to sing us a song she knew as a way of commemorating our time together. It was sweet. Then, we were dropped off at the airport.
Speaking of immense:
Once again, we split into our two respective parties, I being in the smaller end-of-the-alphabet group, which now included Elliot! For reasons.
Even the run-of-the-mill airport architecture was neat:
On the twelve hours of suspended animation they called my "flight home", I was able to reflect on this trip. As I've said, I try to always be cognizant of moments that are rare, and to be in them as fully as possible while they last. The definition of "moment" is, admittedly, elastic; it could be said that my entire Sojourn in China was a moment of this sort. I was and continue to be under the impression that I will never go back, that this Cardinal Singers summer trip is the only time in my life I will find myself in that country. Maybe I'm wrong, of course, but even if I ever do return, I imagine it will be costly and hard-won. I cannot go there lightly. This fact makes the failure up on the Great Wall sting that much more; it was certainly factoring into my decision as I gazed upward into the mist, contemplating how much more I'd have to do to reach the top.
But I know when I'm eighty I'll remember this trip. The friends, the sights, the opportunities. Who gets to do things like this? And how lucky am I to be one of them? I think of my mother who keeps reminding me each time I take off on an adventure like this that she didn't even leave the country for the first time until her thirties. As worn out as it always seems to make me, I am continually driven to go and see more.
I think of the people whose lives are mostly played out within the confines of a single small town, and I further think of those who are happy to remain in one place their whole lives. I can't understand it. We only get so long, and there is so much to see. These moments are called moments precisely because they disappear so quickly. The photos, this blog, these attempts to keep the memories alive cannot place me back in time. The only choice is to be there when you're there. To not miss what's in front of you. To not blink.
When we at last touched down in Chicago, we all turned our phone data back on and received the rather alarming news: the other flight hadn't made it back.
They hadn't crashed or anything; apparently they were still on the runway (although accelerating to take off, so...yikes!) when some sort of engine malfunction had brought the flight quite literally to a screeching halt. Officials inspected the plane and concluded that the flight had to be cancelled - all thirty of the beginning-of-the-alphabet people were stuck in China for one more night.
Happily, the airline put them up in a hotel and paid for their meals, so the only true expense on their part was time. Still, what a crazy situation, and to be stuck in a place so far from home.
What was really weird to me was thinking through the implications of this fragmentation of our group. Factoring in the length of the flight and the time zone difference, thirty of our friends were now a day ahead of the rest of us, and not just nominally so - while we had been in the air (twelve of thirty-six hours that comprised that August day), the rest of the group had gone to a hotel, finished up their afternoon and evening, eaten dinner, gotten a full night's sleep, and were just now waking up to the wee hours of a Beijing morning. Whereas for the small group, we had gotten on a plane in the afternoon and arrived in Chicago at virtually the same time we'd taken off. It was only early evening by the time we reached our gate for the connecting flight home. Twelve hours had transpired between 4:00 and 4:05 PM.
I find that kind of stuff fascinating to think about.
And of course, the other shoe eventually dropped as well, as the small group reached Louisville and returned home to finish up their very, very long day, at the same time that everyone else's day was just beginning. This picture was taken at around 11:30 PM on the longest day of my life, about 30 hours after I'd woken up that morning and about 10 seconds before I crashed right into bed unconscious:
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On the first morning after China, I awoke to find myself in a bad state. I couldn't tell if I was sick or only jetlagged, but the effects would have been comparable all the same. Technically, I didn't awake in the morning at all. A solid twelve hours of sleep had placed me well past noon. On my first drive in two weeks, I noticed the construction on 3rd street was finally done. At Starbucks, they were out of my first two food choices, but to be fair, I was ordering breakfast food at 1:30 PM. Back at my apartment, I had only the energy to put my still-sweaty clothes through the wash while I wore the only clean article of clothing I could find: a sky-blue silk bathrobe, fresh from its cellophane packaging. And as I did all this, nearly three-fourths of my closest friends were in the midst of a 36-hour day of their own, jetting steadily through the air somewhere over the Pacific.
They eventually made it home just fine, though. Their long day ended much like ours had: in total collapse. But we all rest and recover eventually. And that was it for the 2015-2016 Cardinal Singers (aside from a quick recording session later that August). These people, this family, these connections, they must be broken each and every year like clockwork. I sometimes wonder how Dr. Hatteberg, or how any educator in a position like his, feels having to say goodbye to what I am sure he considers to be friends year after year like this, to have to lose so many people with such regularity over his career. Must be genuinely tough.
But soon, the beginning of a new school year approached, and with it, the next generation of Cardinals. That's the other side of the coin. There is the loss, yes, but there is also the new adventure always on the horizon. So I guess one just has to make the decision to always look forward, never back.
Here's to a brand new year.
