Day 3: The Odd Couple Goes Abroad

BEIJING — "One. One per day, that's all you get." 

This was my initial response to Kristina's great travel dream: pictures of herself doing yoga in international locations. I may be fairly ostentatious in my natural habitat, and out-going among my grad-school classmates, but there is nothing I want more while in the world at large than to silently blend in with my surroundings. This is partly about wanting to quietly take in the places I'm visiting. But also it's to do with insecurity. The thought of asking for directions sends me into a tailspin. I speak at a near whisper, convinced that everyone is staring at the two noisy foreign girls, because come on, they ARE. Taking pictures embarrasses me. Ordering food embarrasses me. And the idea of snapping photos of my friend while she strikes a warrior pose at the Temple of Heaven made me want to chew my own face off. 

Let me just say, understatement that it may be, that my travel partner does NOT share my social anxieties. 

Kristina is naturally out-going and very eager for new experiences. I might be those things sometimes, but less so when I'm traveling, and rarely if it's someone else's idea. (There is an opportunity for self growth here somewhere, a lesson about control issues, some sort of letting go something or other, but I can't be bothered.)

Because I want to support her hopes and dreams, though, I grudgingly agreed to take a satisfactory picture of Kristina in some sort of yoga pose once a day. But not without some complaints.

"Oh come on, it's not that weird," she said. "It's like doing Tai Chi in the park, people do it all the time."

I immediately called bull shit. Since I had only ever seen such a thing in movies and in my Sims Freeplay game, I was sure that this was a made-up activity. 

That day we saw no fewer than 485 people doing Tai Chi in the fucking park. I apologize for my use of vulgar language, but I need to illustrate how vehemently opposed I was to these photos. And how the more adventurous and interactive Kristina gets, the more I resemble the world's angriest librarian, hunched over my books, issuing a constant and aggressive "sssshhh" from my pursed lips. 

Taking it up a notch with the sword. 

(We now have an agreement that includes unlimited yoga photos, as long as I retain the right to veto my own presence in any picture. And I am making a concerted effort to embrace her friendly, boisterous personality, while she respects my desire to be very, very quiet. So, some growth has occurred.)

I will say Kristina's willingness to engage did come in handy during haggling in the Pearl District, where I paid too much for some pashminas but would have paid much more if not for her patient but persistent intervention. And her habit of speaking highly enunciated and linguistically complex English to non-English speakers, while mostly confusing, does eventually result in us getting directions to where we need to go. 

Then there are the truly wonderful moments, like the trinket-sellers along the treed promenades in the Temple of Heaven park. An older gentleman, dressed in a neon shirt, visor and shorts, was happily bouncing a badminton birdie on a paddle. He walked up to Kristina and asked her to play with him. She declined, politely, twice. Then the man casually bopped the birdie off his paddle and directly into her face, laughing and seeming to insist in Chinese, come on, just give it a shot, I need someone to play with. Rubbing her forehead, Kristina relented and grabbed a paddle. A woman then appeared, also decked out with matching shorts and a visor, plus a fanny pack, and the three bat the birdie back and forth a few times. After a few rounds, Kristina said thank you, and moved to hand the paddle back to the couple. But a woman with a whole bag of paddles and birdies came running over from the trees, joining the group for a brightly-colored, three-person sales pitch; probably the most elaborate marketing plan I've seen yet. Coordinated recreation outfits and a birdie to the face? That's called riding an edge my friends. Without my brave companion there to play ball, I would have just walked straight through. 

And certainly I wouldn't have wanted to miss her interaction with the guard at Beijing's Ancient Observatory, from which men gazed at the sky for centuries. We were both enamored by the quiet gardens and astronomical tools, so much so that as we left the stone gate, Kristina shouted to the seated guard, "Better than the Temple of Heaven! So awesome!" I'm not sure if it was her volume or the forceful bodily gesture that accompanied her joy, but the man nearly jumped out of his chair, startled by this noisy woman. Before he could reach for a weapon, however, he realized she was smiling, and he kindly smiled back, nodding along to her emphatic, foreign words. Yes, I'm happy to have seen that strangeness today. 

At the Beijing Ancient Observatory. That's a Marriott in the background, Beijing being known for its integration of old and new architecture. 

This sextant was designed more than 400 years ago by the astronomers at this observatory. 

But nothing put Kristina's relatively harmless social quirks into better perspective than our trip to the Kung Fu theater. The show included dozens of stunningly athletic young men and women, telling the story of Kung Fu's origins through theatrical presentation of their martial arts. I can't help but notice how attractive I find Kung Fu artists, with their carefully crafted movements, their springy muscle. While the Red Theater is clearly a tourist trap, the show was incredible. What was NOT incredible was the Spanish woman seated next to us, who posed for a picture in the crowded theater while we waited for the show to start. She used her fingers to make her eyes slant upwards, mugging for the shot while her boyfriend snapped away. It was certainly the most overtly idiotic and inappropriate thing I'd seen a foreigner do. Knowing my dear Kristina was nowhere near this ridiculous, I softened, ever so slightly, toward the idea of yoga pictures. 

Today I will leave you with my new favorite foreign quirk, the habit Chinese men have of rolling their shirts up on hot days. All about the city, leaned in the doorways of hole-in-the-wall restaurants, squatting on sidewalks and lounging over table-top games, bare bellies loll in the sun. The shirts that usually cloister their steaming flesh are rolled up high, to just above the nipples, a look that threatens to bring sexy way, way back. I could ask why, but isn't it obvious? Because it's hot. The better question is, my full-shirt wearing friends, why not?

I took this picture. It was very stealthy.