I love being back in this city. We went down to the Lincoln Memorial the other day after stopping by a party that looked like the cast of Jersey Shore had invaded. I swear I saw Snooki. How many bumpits can one person use? I love the quiet in the streets and the shorter buildings without losing the cosmopolitan atmosphere. I can tell the difference because when I was looking for internships in Hong Kong (FAIL!), I’d see where they’re office is and be like “Ugh, it’s such a bitch to get to Fortress Hill,” but here I’m interested in where the offices are because this is my temporary home and exploring is part of our mission as twenty-something year olds. I also like not smelling those horrid stalls that sold dried out hearts of octopus and flattened skin of leeches or other items that probably made an appearance on Bizarre Foods at some point. My apartment is my haven within the city and my Dad was such a blessing for helping as much as he did. I’ve gotten a lot of comments on it, but my friend Melanie was the best because she finally said that room (for the first time since Freshman year) did not look like an office. Whatever, she’s blind.

I decided to write on this blog again because this past Monday, during our second meeting of the Elliott School Undergraduate Scholars Seminar (doesn’t that sound important?) I was reminded of a secondary use for this blog: a research tool. A scholar from last year used a blog to update and share his research as it was ongoing. He was researching the comparative nationalistic movements in Belgium and Scotland (I know, wtf?) and apparently got contacts and comments that helped him meet people that he then used to meet people and add to his paper. It’s a cool, if weird, way of networking. I figure if I like writing that boring stuff on here, it can’t hurt. What will hurt is having people read these posts, so who knows what will happen to them. I’ll probably keep them, because if my posts start to revolve around “The Successes and Failures of Chinese State Owned Enterprises in Cross-Border Mergers & Acquistions as compared to American Private Enterprises,” (My topic title as of yet) I might start to look bionic. So an update: I just got my first 6 books (my first from the library) and they’re smelly but I’ll hopefully ut up thoughts on those books, as well as my other regular musings.

Happy (One day late) Birthday Mom! This one’s for you!

It’s war here in Cartias Bianchi Lodge. Tensions are rising and it’s all because of these five letters: b-l-o-g-s. We’ve had a rash of blog attacks recently, the garrisons are shaky and the troop’s morale is low. The barbarians at the gate are constantly gathering, feeding off each other’s mutual cruelty and insidious sense of humor. The Battle of Chinese Class was an epic disgrace for the side of emotions, while fraternizing and “bro-ing” out were on the march of victors heading into lesson. The blog’s defenses had been leaked earlier in the day and were hastily defeated in the run-up to the battle.

Once the hooligans had control of the all-powerful computer, the game was all but won. The tapping of keys preceding the decisive access to the web page. Public readings from the blog ensued. The Battle commenced and the leading women banded together in defense of their sister, the author, who was visibly troubled. The readers were quickly shouted down and the battle stalemated. The stalemate was a relief to see after the blog reading Battle of the Lodge Room 1312. I was lucky enough not to have witnessed that gory skirmish, but the battle reports included lots of screaming, tears, and a highly prized MacBook Pro being thrown to the floor.

The reports and finally witnessing the blitzkrieg of internet use in the Battle of Chinese Class were almost enough to make me want to put up even stronger defenses on my blog. Passwords? Moats? Fire breathing tarantulas? I just don’t know if any of it will be strong enough against the onslaught of bros who want to target another helpless blog and do the unthinkable: read it. Oh the horror. Then again, maybe keeping it a secret will protect. Secrecy is the ironic secret of success in this battle; those of us who write do so in silence, not knowing if our neighbors and classmates are writers, or readers. Who can one trust? It took only one blog to go down the road of Tituba in The Crucible, now we’re all witches; 21^st century heathens armed with words and a shoddy internet connection. Knowing there are supporters out there is all we can do, for our personal blogs are taboo as a topic of conversation, as it should be. Reading another’s abroad-mates blog is like a longer, worse version of Twitter, except you already experienced what they’re writing about.

The preceding story was a dramatization of a few events that have happened in the last week. It was also a very real, and in my opinion accurate portrayal of some of the ridiculous reactions towards what was simply someone finding out about two blogs. Public readings ensued and while not kind, you’d think someone’s best friend had been shot and pitched out the window. Good God people. We just passed a health care bill and people actually care about shit like blog access. If the bill the house passed doesn’t make you want to scream, this Neanderthal-like behavior should.

As an aside, we went back to our romping ground at Lon Kwai Fong and there was a massive carnival like food festival. Upset because I just spent HK$20 more on a drink than I should have, we looked at all the stalls and suddenly I heard the voices of angels. A stand had corn dogs. Not like Pronto Pup mind you, but at this point bits of hot dog and a corn tortilla chip would do. I did not buy because it was chaotic and I didn’t want to be the fat kid who held the others up. I regret that decision now because once we had circled around, the stand was closed down. No corn dogs for me. It’s all for the best I suppose, and the carnival was fun. Additionally, I found a new park called King’s Park that is great for reading at in the sun, which I’ve thankfully seen a lot of more recently. Things are looking up here at the Hong Kong Life & Times, and I’m excited to both leave for traveling and to come back. Apologies for the length of this post!

I finally booked my flights to Vietnam, with much help from Bekah, who eased my desire to kill someone due to our internet working so poorly. My mild illness didn’t help matters, nor did the 2 hours of sleep I’d gotten the night before. Over the next week and a half I have a Finance presentation on Thursday (We’ve been told he is looking for reasons not to give us 90′s), Human Resource presentation on Friday (where my group of three will present to our two, yes two, other classmates), a Human Resource final exam on Monday, Chinese oral final on Wednesday, and Chinese written, History of China, and Finance final exams on Thursday (what a bitch). Fortunately, I’m not really stressing about any of them because being abroad affords you the luxury of not caring about classes. Unless you actually go to Syracuse. Then you deserve to have to care for choosing a program affiliated with your school. Morons.

My favorite professor, our Chinese teacher Sophia (Or Sophia “lao shi” as we call her) secretly took my class, Group A (the other Mandarin class being Group B) to a late dim sum lunch. She is so funny and makes the best facial expressions. She is a constant story teller and gossip hoarder who literally asked us our opinions of all the other teachers, students and significant other’s in our lives. She is my Facebook friend, which is a little weird because she brought up how “beautirfa” we looked in our “Harroween” costumes…and then asked how many beers we’d had. It’s ok though because she gets beers with us when we go to lunch. So this post has served no real purpose other than a simple update on the goings on here at the wonderful SU Abroad-Hong Kong program.

Oddly in three weeks we’re done with classes (which to me means its past Thanksgiving in a normal year, which means Christmas music is acceptable, but I’m holding out till at least the 1st), which here at SU abroad means kids are either A) freaking out that they chose to do the internships or B) are planning more and more elaborate trips in a strange game of “Who has the bigger penis?” I’m serious, I mean I went to Vienna which makes not very much sense, but kids here are constantly like “Hey I just got some rates for a hike up Everest, would you be interested?” Yeah, cause I’ve secretly been training to climb the world’s tallest mountain in the rugged foothills of Washington, DC. Hell no. Or my personal favorite, “I’ve always wanted to experience the herdsman lifestyle in Mongolia, doesn’t that sound like fun?” Maybe to someone without legs…who has ridden a horse for years at a time…who enjoys yak butter tea. I enjoy legs, cars, and 7-11′s on every corner, so I’ll skip that. We currently have people planning to go to Burma, Philippines, Indonesia, Vietnam, Thailand, Taiwan, Cambodia, Laos, China (again), Korea, Japan, Bangladesh, and Australia. Oh and Paris. As in France. Just for fun. I swear, sometimes I fear for my generation. In my own defense, at least I had a host and reason to go to Vienna.

Personally, I’m ecstatic that these worthless, utterly incomprehensible classes are almost over. I’ve come to enjoy two of my professors, Hase and Sophia, the former because of his accent and habit of calling one of my frequently tardy classmates “A child of unmarried parents” and the latter because she calls people “naughty boys,” gives us food and told me that me visiting Bekah in Vienna was “touchable.” My other two professors are less interesting, mostly because one thinks that being a “Certified Thinker” (I shit you not) is actually impressive and the other because he always has a stained polo on and spits in class. The jungles of Angkor and the bustle of Vietnam sound like heaven right now and I can’t wait to be done with some of this research and bogus paper writing so I can travel. Wasn’t study abroad supposed to be a joke?

Nathan Road, outside my dorm, at its best

Friday morning, Mo, Alice, Rachel and I woke up early and headed to one of the ferry terminals to catch our TurboJet to Macau. Macau is an old Portuguese fishing colony, that was also home to a lot of the South Sea Pirates, but was handed back to China as a Special Administrative Region (Like HK) in 1999. It is famous for its European colonial heritage and as the Las Vegas of Asia. Though LV might start needing to call itself the Macau of N.America because last year Macau officially beat out LV on revenues. When we arrive, I must say Macau wasn’t like anything I’d imagined. It seemed like what Vegas might have been 60 or some odd years ago, with dilapidated apartment blocks and hundreds of scooters. Not the glitz and glamor of Vegas’s high rise condos.

We were staying overnight at the Pont 16 resort by Sofitel, and it was a great choice. It was like the Cheescake Factory design crew built this hotel, with all the grandeur of a Chateau designer on crack. We headed to the old historic sites of Macau, including the ruins of Sao Paulo’s Cathedral, which was burned in a fire years ago. Among the small winding, tiled streets in the old town were thousands of little shops selling all kinds of crafts and wares. We had lunch at one of the city’s famous Latin cafes and eventually made out way to Macau tower to watch some of my other program mates bungee jump off the tallest bungee in the world. That was thrilling! Kelly, our resident Brazilian convinced us all to take a trip to the island of Coloane to taste some authentic Portuguese food at Fernando’s. I tried Chili Verde soup and garlic grilled codfish, and it was all delicious. Definitely not sweet and sour pork.

We came back to our hotel and got ready to go out on the town, trying to walk the fine line between drinking and gambling while not losing too much of ourselves in either. Some people won big, others didn’t win or lose anything (myself included). We stumbled in and out of the Grand Lisboa, the Wynn Macau and the MGM Macau without a care in the world. And because we were American, we could go anywhere we wanted, it was both awesome and sort of disconcerting. The next day we spent recuperating by the pool and later meandering our way through the halls of the MGM playing a variety of games on the cheap.

It was great to come however, and see that another former Portuguese colony had finally gotten its chance in the spotlight: the 2016 Olympics were awarded to Rio de Janeiro. My heart went out to Chicago, but I mean I think that if a great Midwestern city is to host the Olympics, why not Minneapolis? I was glad the IOC finally got enough balls to bring the games somewhere new, I just hope Africa isn’t too far down the road. Minneapolis 2020 is all I’m saying!

I broke down today after reading my friend Kate’s blog. She’s in Tanzania and really desires a true fall. I mean I wasn’t crying. I just wanted to wear a hoodie and jeans for Christ’s sake. I really desire a true winter…like now. So I listened to two Christmas songs on the way to class: I Listen to the Bells (Luther Vandross) and It’s The Most Wonderful Time of the Year (Andy Williams). After I had my fix, I left the Kowloon Tong station and headed into Festival Walk, the mall that serves as our meet and greet once leaving the metro. Honest to God, every MTR exit is to a mall. Our classrooms are located in either (Nope, not the school) the Hong Kong Productivity Council or the Jockey Club Environmental Buildings. Such beacons of education.

My lessons today were a mix of horrible and fascinating. My Chinese quiz was a joke. Ditto for Money & Banking. I did spend 2 hours learning about the Silk Road, which is a surprisingly awesome subject. I want to learn about it more, but alas, I went back to Yau Ma Tei and Nathan Road where we live. The same man in a wheelchair was begging for money, except he was motionless and was just holding a hat whilst sleeping, like always. The street was crowded. Not unusal. The aromas from my favorite Vietnamese restaurant were calling me. I eventually ate there for dinner. I love Sri Racha. I spend most nights in various peoples rooms, avoiding the work that I don’t really need to do. I think we students take our classes more seriously than our professors.

A M&B Quiz Question:
A bank is an example of an

A) Financial Instrument

B) A Coffee House

C) A Financial Institution

D) An Insurance Company

I almost put B, but realized sarcasm doesn’t translate well on tests. Tonight I was at any one point laughing about accents with Mango and PomPom, playing Sporcle with Marshall and Kim or begging for dinner company with Alice and Billy. Either way, I’ve decided that while I won’t be long term friends with many of these people, I just like people, so I’d rather spend time getting to know them than wandering the streets alone. Solitary tourism can suck it…until I go to Vietnam.

Three days ago, my cousin Nikki and her husband Keven celebrated the birthday of their daughter Elyce. She would have been three years old. I wish I could have been there to celebrate with them. Nikki is one of the funniest people I’ve ever met in my entire life, and I’ve met a shit ton of people. She is so courageous and when she’s not causing my mom to snort from laughter, she is an equally intelligent and greatly appreciated friend. She is lucky in one respect to have found someone so rock solid as Keven, who keeps her grounded. Literally. I mean like sit-ups grounded. He’s always got a smirk, but a great head on his shoulders nonetheless. What they endured was an unspeakable tragedy, but if nothing else, it makes us an even tighter family unit and it makes me happy knowing I can look forward to Christmas with the Dorans and Clevelands (and Ose’s) and that next summer the “cottage” will be waiting for us. I air quote cottage in my mind (Cause its a cabin) but I actually wrote it here for mom and Jody’s sake.

Avoiding the inevitable pun about a rain cloud over my head, I found out with mixed glee and disappointment that I wont be able to intern for Citigroup whilst here in Hong Kong. I love the word whilst. It’s so…British. Unfortunately Citi has decided not to accept or initiate any new interns for the entire Asia/Pacific region, including from our program. It was a disappointment because it was really the only internship I wanted that was offered through our program. However, it was also a small moment of happiness, finally knowing what I will be doing from November 16 to December 16: traveling. Barring me securing an internship with a company that I get on my own, I will be doing the “Independent Study” option of our program. I will have to do a research paper, but I am already looking into places in China, Vietnam, Cambodia, Thailand (again), and Malaysia that I want to visit. Travel is exciting! Paper writing isn’t!

I feel like I should learn how to transition between paragraphs here. Another time, another place I suppose.

Hong Kong's Waterfront during storm

It often seems to me that some of the worst days in life are followed closely by some of the best, and in China that seemed especially true. After numerous days of culture shock and exhaustion, our group seemed to bounce back on a lot of occasions where catty fights should have otherwise broken out. Many members of our group were at wits end, including murmurs of a desire to go home, back to an easier life at Syracuse. Luckily, everyone made it to that glorious Thursday. After a quick quiz, to make this traveling class at least appear legitimate, we headed on our hour bus ride to the Mu Tian Yu section of the Great Wall of China. We couldn’t have asked for a better day, as Prof. Bruce explained to us, this was the first time in 10 years that he’d be visited the wall on a bright blue sunny day. Pulling up to the small town at the base of the climb, you could never fully appreciate the grandiosity or scale of the wall. It was a great team building exercise to climb up the steps, with everyone cheering and helping each other along. No one had an easy task of that, for sure. Once atop the hundreds of steps, the reality of the moment sank in, that we had arrived at the moment that most of us had been waiting for the duration of the seminar.

The Great Wall was one of those rare edifices that actually exceeds your expectation when you see it. You immediately forgot about the over eager vendors and the rancid smells of much of China and simply took in the enormity of the moment. The serpentine wall curved around mountains and rode along ridgebacks. It seemed intact enough to be used as a strong line of defense even today. There was hardly a soul on the wall besides our rag tag and sweaty bunch of students, but we populated the wall well. Splitting up, we found ourselves among new groups, making new bonds among the jovial atmosphere. Nothing could go wrong, because we were on one of the Seven Wonders of the World, though we struggled to come up with an accurate list of the rest. I even forgot that I had lost my Kindle the day before. We spent a few hours atop the wall and after racing in one direction and back the other, we came to our final spot, the beginning of the alpine slide that would take most of us down individually. As much momentary independence as we may have wanted, we eventually all bunched up behind a slow riding Chinese family, who suffered the shouts of many irritated college students. We all came off the slide smiling though, happy at just the few hours we spent atop the Great Wall.

On our way back to the hotel, a portion of our group convinced our tour guide Jin Jing to take us back to the Pearl Market. I went, saw, and yet again exited the market empty handed. There really isn’t a lot of need in my life for badly made fake Polo or Abercrombie shirts. However, nothing could dampen my mood after the Great Wall. Just as we were pulling into the hotel, Jin Jing made a wonderful announcement, “Did someone lose a small computer in the classroom?” At first I didn’t really comprehend what she was saying, I almost yelled “sucks” because I thought someone had left their laptop. It took until Sarah asked “Evan, did you ever get your Kindle back?” that I realized Jin Jing was talking about my Kindle. She graciously accompanied me to the classroom building and I was soon after happily reunited with my Kindle. I could finally finish Roma, the fictional story of Rome I was so immersed in.

Happily engaged, we eventually got to the train station for our night train to Shanghai. We had all developed expectations of scenes out of Darjeeling Limited or Slumdog Millionaire, and our program chaperones didn’t do much to quell them. However, once aboard the train we realized that the beds, four to a chamber, were more comfortable than our beds at our Hong Kong residence. My precautionary measure of imaging myself on the Hogwarts Express went out the window as I climbed up to my bed. Next thing I knew, our train was announcing its arrival in Shanghai. The last few days of the seminar were going to fly by as fast as the train ride did.

Shanghai was truly an odd city, a picture perfect postcard of consumerism, the Big Apple with Chinese characters. Our shoddy hotel was located on the bustling Nanjing Road, China’s Champs-Elysses or 5^th Avenue. A small walk west brought us to a large pedestrian street lined with huge flagship stores for the likes of Guess, Zara, & Gap. Shanghai also had a much different vibe than Beijing and Xi’an, with more cosmopolitan people. As was the pattern with the Syracuse program, it clearly seemed all the planning had been last minute and much of the emphasis seemed to have been on the front end of the trip. Our first few days in Shanghai were spent at museums and a few landmarks, the irony being that Shanghai has few landmarks because the city is so utterly new. The Pudong, Shanghai’s large financial district with buildings reaching the clouds was farmland as recently as 1995. We visited the urban planning museum, an oxymoron in a city known for tearing down cultural heritage to build the next tallest building. We also visited a traditional Chinese water village, full of canals and black and white painted buildings, with characteristic red arches and lanterns. It was unique for its setting and traditional way of life, but it seemed staged, as if built almost exclusively for tourists. Shanghai had a lot great restaurants and bars, but beyond that the city was hardly impressive. My recollection may seem narrow and superficial, but if nothing else my memory of Shanghai will match the general attitude of the city I saw.

Thus ends the story of our journey, though I have one last piece of actual reflection to add.

Everyone has that annoying person who travels everywhere and tells unbearable stories of their travels and I’ve got more than a few who’ve told me about the smogginess and pollution of China. They weren’t kidding, and no, I didn’t overlook the irony of writing that first sentence on a blog dedicated to travel story-telling. I liked the circularity of being that annoying person though. Seriously, I sympathize with the Olympic sprinters who were complaining about air quality because while I didn’t immediately develop a harsh cough, I know people who are still coughing up black bits. Exaggeration? Maybe, but I can say it because I’m in Hong Kong, not the mainland. Akin to torture, our tour included in the same day an 8:00 AM flight and then a full afternoon tour through Tian An Men Square and the Forbidden City. Tian An Men Square is one of those places around the world where a greatly watched historical event occurred but because of CNN’s or NBC’s use of Chinese inspired montage shots as introductions into their “Terror at Tian An Men” stories, I’d developed an opinion that Tian An Men was a gorgeous cultural heart of Beijing.  In reality, the square is a gray behemoth, crowded with children grasping at parents fingers and tour guides touting flags and brightly colored umbrellas. It’s as if the US’s National Mall was covered in cement and thrown into the middle of Beijing. There was no anticipation of arriving upon the Forbidden City because one can see the entrance gate from a mile away. The recently repainted fire engine red gate beckons visitors to leave the limbo state created by Tian An Men, where grey is both under your feet and above your head.

The Forbidden City, being not very Forbidden anymore, hardly strikes up the imagery of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, much less Mulan. Eddy Murphy would have been a nice respite from the constant Chinglish being used by tour guides for American, British and even German groups. Feeling quite like cattle, 39 of us made our way through the giant Chinese style gates of the great city. Once through and quite confused, we collectively turned our heads back. “Didn’t we just pass through the gate?” someone asked. Apparently we had entered the city, but not yet experienced its vibrancy because we had yet another gate to travel through, this one called the Gate of Supreme Harmony. Kim, a hilariously opinionated Villanova Wildcat at once uttered, “What the fuck are you doing. I’m over it.” Having finally enunciated the exhaustion we were all feeling, we continued on towards hopeful Harmony. Once passing through, it became clear how Harmony could be momentarily attained by gazing at the sights ahead. Roof after roof of yellow glazed tile lied before us, culminating in the apex of the Hall of Supreme Harmony. Without being able to enter any of the buildings, it was hard to get a real sense of the life of a resident of the ancient Forbidden City, but I could at least imagine what a blue skied day might have been like before the advent of the modern factory. Nearing the exit, we all became aware that one of our classmates was missing. As the city was closing, two of our chaperones were sent to do the impossible: find Crissy in the mess of thousands of exiting Chinese. Luckily, Crissy had run into a helpful British fellow who helped her find our hotel in this still unfamiliar city; she boarded the bus just as we were leaving for another group dinner.

The next morning, continuing in shades of gray, we heading towards a traditional Chinese Hutong, which are old villages kept in a decent state of repair that offer insights into what old Beijing was like. Upon arriving, one could either conclude that the Hutong had seen some changes or that Beijing residents were hardcore alcoholics, given the number of watering holes that used old houses as residences. We had rickshaw’s escort us around and eventually made our way to lunch with a local Chinese family, who fed us a feast, with countless delicious dishes. After visiting a tea shop and the ancient bell and drum towers that signaled the beginning and end of days in the ancient capital, we headed back to our hotel. This was one of the first days that irritation was clearly visible, and not from constant touring. Personalities were starting to mesh and clash, as there was a clear delineation of peoples when we split up for family lunch.

The next day saw even great clarity among groups, as we arrive at the famed Bird’s Nest Stadium and the rest of the main Beijing Olympic grounds. The sound of the thousand drummers from the Opening Ceremonies long gone, the only sounds left in the vast paved grounds were the theme song piped from every metal orifice and sweaty vendors selling banana ice pops. Fittingly, that night many of our group ventured to a local hotspot called Coco Banana. Amid the pounding western beats we made quick work of clearing ourselves a spot on the dance floor. Glances and glares from our Asian hosts confirmed our success. The night ended on a high night for some, myself included, having watched with mixed dread and humor some of our Orange crew getting awfully close to one another. We knew drama was about to occur on a scale as yet unseen within our fluid forty-member team, especially as those less in control would have to deal with harsh hangovers during the full day of lectures slated for the next day.

The anticipated drama was short lived, to be replaced by drooping eyes and light snoozes during our unbearable day of lectures. The day turned out to be my worst in China, and not necessarily because of lectures. After learning about China’s ethnic headaches from the Beijing correspondent of Reuters we listened to a lecture on China-Africa relations by a South African native with a great accent. After a quick Sichuan lunch of spicy noodles and beef we returned for yet more lectures on China’s loss of urban heritage and ethnic struggles to the west. Once back at the hotel, Alice, Rachel and I decided to return to the Pearl Market to attempt to do the unthinkable: return a pearl necklace Rachel had come to regret. Chinese consumerism dictates that there is virtually no acceptance on returns, but for some miracle Rachel was able to convince the proprietor to accept the return under the guide of a badly chosen birthday present.

It was only when we returned; exhausted from the lectures, arm-grabbing t-shirt vendors, and unyielding pearl sellers that I realized I had lost my Kindle. I came near to having my “China moment,” that time we were warned we would all have when the cultural changes caused us to snap. Only mine would have been a stupid moment, with only myself to blame. I raced back to our classroom building, but with my nonexistent Chinese I was only able to reenter the classroom. No luck. Fortuna must have been smiling on me though, because my future roommate Mo was in the lobby when I returned, exasperated. I begged him to accompany me back to the building to use his native Mandarin. We went back and despite our best attempts, my Kindle was nowhere to be found; lost forever in the black markets of China. Could any Chinese really want English only Kindle with no charging ability and no way to put any more books on? I prayed not, but slept poorly that night nonetheless.

To be continued…

We departed Hong Kong in the mid afternoon of a muggy Thursday afternoon. All thirty-nine of us waited eagerly for our flight to Xi’an to be called to board, waiting to experience what each of has had heard stories about: Syracuse’s famed China Seminar. We knew what was in store but only through images from Wikipedia and tales from well traveled aunts or cousins. The Great Wall, Forbidden City, Terra Cotta Army and the other relics of an ancient China that still only lingered in the memories of the generation prior to ours. The Orangemen and those of us not associated with Syracuse boarded our bus after landing and were disappointed to realize that our bus ride to our hotel was going to include pitch black images of night and a long winded brief on Xi’an from our local tour guide, Tony.

Hesitating to get out of our comfortable beds, we met and headed to the first of the many attractions that were waiting for us: The Museum of the Terra Cotta Warriors. I say attractions because unfortunately it is the most fitting word, thousands of spectators milling through crowds of eager vendors and subtle pick-pockets. The pure imagery of thousands of terra cotta soldiers staring blankly ahead was awe-inspiring for sure, but the onlooker was left with a sense of bewilderment when the sky was blocked by a giant airport hangar.   The craftsmanship should not go unnoticed, both for the original workers as well as the rebuilders who pieced together each unique man from millions of fragments of Terra Cotta left after harsh conditions and harsher villagers left their mark. What should possibly go unmentioned is the traditional custom of rearing a child in China which includes clothes with no coverings for private areas. Streets are used as children’s toilets and Dad’s hands are supports for little ones who can’t yet stand to pee. I only wish I was kidding. I’m talking about full frontal child nudity here.

We next headed to our second and not yet final stop, the Forest of Stone Tablets.  As the name doesn’t describe, this was a traditional Chinese complex which enshrined a collection of large flat stones onto which ancient Chinese philosophy, laws, and customs have been engraved. It was not a popular destination for our exhausted group and there were more than a few attempts at nap taking on damp benches. This was one of the first times that our group began to really interact on a more than superficial level. Questions became “Why are you in China?” and “What are some of your goals?” instead of “Where do you go to school?” We moved from freshman to sophomore year in a matter of days. This was at first glance a quick group, but I wasn’t ready to make a full conclusion. Our last stop took us through the streets of old Xi’an, past markets where vendors hawked lychee and green teas, flying toys and whirling strobe lights. The smell of the meat was enough to look, the sight enough to pass on. Our seminar professor, British ex-pat Philip Bruce was eager to guide us through the muddy alleys and small construction projects on the way to Xi’an’s famed Great Mosque. The Mosque is interesting in that the building keeps many of the traditional Islamic functions while similarly maintaining a completely Chinese architectural style. After the mosque we headed back through the maze of the ancient city towards a “famous” (Read: touristy) Chinese dumpling restaurant. Marshall and I roused our table into an eating contest in which we had no clear opponents, but the seven of us managed to eat every single piece of dim sum placed on our table. I nearly spat out the mushroom stuffed steamed bun, but held it together in sacrifice for the good of the table. We were victorious.

By the second day, after we raced around the 20 mile City Wall of Xi’an on bikes and each lost half our body weights in sweat; I could clearly notice certain groups forming within our larger Orange Crew. Though I never abandoned my GW pride, I couldn’t help at least creating alliances with the Orangemen if only for social enjoyment during my time here. Matt and Rachel, my GW compatriots biked along the wall and pointed out bits of China’s cultural legacies together through the mass of dilapidated high rises. We next had a delicious traditional Chinese lunch with our guide Tony and Prof. Bruce explaining the intricacies of “hot pot,” a traditional Chinese eating method similar to fondue. I very nearly printed the application for Top Chef back at the hotel after creating some truly awesome sauces. Our afternoon was spent at a rural village outside of Xi’an which was called something along the lines of Dong Yang. It was a very eye-opening experience to see both the poverty that had been in the village for centuries and the newly built cinder block multi-story homes being built back from the roads. The village children split evenly between swarming those of us who brought candy and pencils and those too shy to ask. With the help of Mo and Wyatt, our ‘Putonghua’ or Mandarin speakers, we coaxed the kids out of hiding. The local tour guide took us through muddy trails and paved walkways, rusted kitchens and lighted living rooms complete with TV’s. The variation in living just within one village was astounding, though nearly all the citizens had roughly the same income. The day at the village was the glue that held our group together, bursting at the seams for some separation and air. The next morning’s 5 AM wakeup call did nothing to calm our nerves or quench our exhaustion; we had to make our 8:00 flight to Beijing.  Having not yet grown accustomed to spending nearly 24/7 with the same 39 kids, I realized were going to have to learn fast or regret it. Hopefully Beijing meant bonding, delineation, and at the very least, more comfortable beds.

To be continued…