Public Pajamas

Don't be upset, sir, you are bound for blog-post glory

The Chinese have a number of, um, *interesting* fashion trends (don’t get me started on their maternity clothes!).  

My hands-down favorite is their penchant for wearing pajamas out in public.

Yes, pajamas, as in full-scale sets that I really didn’t even think people actually wore outside of Christmas movies and the classic happy-family-type television shows I used to watch on Nick at Night.

Gold satin, head-to-toe: perfect for a stroll in the park

The vision of Chinese familial bliss, as displayed on oddly Caucasian mannequins

They even have entire clothing boutiques dedicated to selling sets for the whole family.

I feel like most of their merchandise is overstock from the 1980s, but apparently this is the cutting edge in Chinese pajama fashions.

Unfortunately, my attempts to capture this trend in photos have been less successful than I would have liked.  But it’s tricky to whip out the iPhone, unlock it, turn on the camera mode, focus, and snap a photo, all while attempting to be somewhat surreptitious so as not to completely offend my subjects or embarrass myself.

Apparently his friend missed the memo

I have heard many explanations for this trend.   

One idea is simply that pajamas are comfortable loungewear for the weekends, much like how women in NYC run errands in their yoga outfits and in-season swimmers would live in their deck parkas if the stench didn't offend their roommates.   

Another is that proper pajamas denote a certain elevated economic and cultural class, as in “I have so much money that I can buy special clothes just to sleep in.”   

A third theory told to me by an expat friend is that it distinguishes the “true” Shanghainese, because apparently they enacted a law forbidding public pajama wearing, except families who had lived here for so many generations could be grandfathered in and thus allowed to continue showing off their nighties (and therefore, their local roots).

Pajamas + black spiked heels = perfect for errands

Someday, I do hope to learn the real reason(s) for this fashion phenomenon.  In the meantime, I will continue to enjoy being entertained by the public pajama-wearers, and hopefully will become more adept at photographing this amazingness.

Pajamas for the commute home

Moganshan: Sun-dried

Shanghai represents China the way that New York City represents the United States.  Which is to say, it doesn’t.  The fast pace, busy sidewalks, bright lights, international flair – not to mention droves of tourists – make it intriguing, but I’m sometimes left feeling that I’m getting an inauthentic experience here.  I’ve been longing for something a little more average, the Chinese equivalent of “middle America”, the towns and people that tourists don’t typically experience.

Well, I got my wish this past weekend when we ventured out of Shanghai with Paul, Matt’s friend and our first guest in China.  Moganshan is a mountain 3 hours outside of Shanghai that was a popular expat escape in the 1920s and is slowly experiencing its renaissance as a relaxing nature retreat.  As I wandered the rustic lanes, I found myself thinking, now THIS is China.  I also found myself noticing a theme in the particular hamlet where we stayed.  Everywhere we looked, there was bok choy on fences, herbs on grass mats, clothes on lines, wrinkles on faces.   

The whole place was sun-dried.  I couldn’t help but snap photos of it all.

bok choy drying on bamboo poles

baskets of bok choy with a pile of dried & halved bamboo stalks

hang the laundry on one pole and the produce on another

possibly dried meat, although I didn't want to get close enough to sniff-test

minced and dried herbs

Moganshan: Cakewalk

Paul, an avid hiker, wanted to go for a hike.  After talking with the hostel caretakers and some fellow guests, he chose a route illustrated on the most rudimentary of maps provided by the hostel.  “It’s called The Cakewalk,” he explained to me, “because it’s a really easy hike and it ends at a café famous for their cake and cookies.”  I was sold.

Now, had I known that the map was grossly out of scale, that Paul thinks scaling boulders is “really easy” hiking, and that the cake & cookies were actually famously bad, I’m not sure I would have survived the next four-plus hours of what is surely the most intense physical activity I’ve had in the past year.  But ignorance is bliss.  And thus I acquired the following photos and a true sense of accomplishment for conquering our little Cakewalk.

It began as an increasingly steep ascent out the back door of our hostel.

 

 Due to the poorly-drawn map, we got lost a few times.  Luckily, Paul is a geographer.

Occasionally the foliage would part and we'd get a nice vista of the valley.

  
After going over the first mountain and back down a dirt road, we began ascending our second mountain up some stone steps through a serene bamboo forest.

 

  

This led us to our second vista, from a lookout point on a rock outcropping.

Gradually, the bamboo gave way to pines and scrub and what we'd more typically think of as "forest".

Eventually, we reached the little town of Moganshan, and made our way through the streets as they crisscrossed down into the next valley.  This is where we scarfed down our mediocre lunch before taking a taxi back to our hostel . . . a ride that took 30 minutes and was over 20km. 

 

But no complaints!  I loved that after many city-slicker years, Matt & I could once again pay respect to our Colorado roots by getting active outdoors.  TJ was a trouper throughout the day as she took in the sights from her perch on Matt's back.  And with Paul's help, when he wasn't patiently guiding us towards our destination, we even managed to snap a family photo, our first that I can think of since the hospital shoot the day after TJ was born.

Once it was all over, I was glad the hike didn't live up to it's name as a "cakewalk."  I relished the challenge to remind me that I can now reclaim my inner athlete, and between the crisp mountain air and the blood pumping through my legs, I ended the hike feeling more refreshed than fatigued.  Plus, I remembered, I don't even like cake...

Moganshan: the Meal

This is the story of a meal that became an adventure.

It all began when we decided to travel out of town for the weekend, which of course is made more dramatic by using public transportation, bringing a baby, and being in an unfamiliar foreign country.  I don’t want to belabor the first six or so hours of our trip, but the important part is that we arrived at our hostel completely famished, only to find out that their refreshments consisted of beer and snickers.  This would not satisfy.  Now, a wise traveler might ask the hostel caretakers for some suggestions of where to find food, but no no, not us arrogant fools.  We just ventured out towards what we thought might be “town” and began a long and desperate journey.

searching for food

either this is a restaurant, or things are about to get awkward

After miming various acts of eating while completely butchering the Mandarin words for restaurant, meal, food, and eat, the local farmers pointed us up a narrow winding road with a few houses dotted along it.  One had a beer billboard on the front and a “welcome” sign on the open door, which to us indicated that perhaps it was a restaurant.

our hostess

We walked in to find a precocious piggy-tailed girl playing on her computer.

I asked her – in Mandarin, go me! – where her parents were, and she lead us back out the front door and around the side of the building, where a woman was bent over hacking at something.  The girl indicated to her mother that they had visitors, and Mom gathered her duck and chicken (the “something” previously being hacked) and ushered us back into the house.

hostess, chef, and what would become our lunch in the bowl

Soon we were caught up in a whirlwind of herbal teas and shrink-wrapped dishes and a menu of all Chinese characters and no illustrations.  As I fumbled with my iPhone’s translator apps and Matt clumsily repeated what he thought was the Mandarin word for chicken and Paul wondered just how much beer could quench his hunger, the Mom-turned-chef had an epiphany.  She motioned for us to follow her through the house to the backyard, which – lo and behold – was the kitchen!

"kitchen"

Here she thrust various ingredients at us as we nodded in approval.  Bok choy looking vegetable?  Okay, that seems to be the town staple so it must be locally grown.  Eggs?  Yes, they come in their own little containers, sanitary and harmless.  Chicken?  Well, we saw the poor thing earlier so we know that’s fresh.  And with Matt’s recollection of the Mandarin words for rice and beer, we finalized our order.

I’m a little ashamed to say that once the food arrived, I was far too hungry to pause and snap photos.  There were chicken feet and gristle and all sorts of goodies chopped up into what we would recognize as meat, but it came in a delicious brown sauce with scallions.  There was a heaping pile of fresh scrambled eggs.  There was sautéed bok choy with ginger and garlic, crunchy and smooth all at once.  And finally there was steaming hot sticky rice to fill the last empty space in our stomachs.

It was nothing like we had experienced, and yet exactly as we expected.  Simple ingredients and complex flavors.  Familiar tastes in novel combinations.  Delicate dishes to satisfy hearty appetites.  Home cooking in a foreign place.  It was quite the meal.

Golf in China

(Posted by Matt)

Last Sunday I went with my childhood friend Paul, who is visiting, and two expat friends to watch the final round of the Shanghai Masters.  Golf is a funny game here, as it didn’t really exist just a few years ago and now the upwardly mobile are latching on to their clubs as status symbols.  New, ridiculously nice courses are popping up everywhere, despite the absence of serious players.

While the golf was excellent – Rory McIllroy beat Anthony Kim in a sudden death playoff for the $2 million 1st place prize – other aspects of the day were probably even more interesting.

Highlights included:

·       John Daly’s pants, which reminded the Chinese that they are not the only ones who can obnoxiously fly their flags

The old guy has slimmed down a bit, and still crushes the ball.

·       Unruly Chinese spectators, many of whom have ZERO understanding of golf, which led to them answering phones (“WEI?”), screaming at their out-of-control kids, and snapping pictures during players’ backswings

·       Colin Montgomerie’s wife, who provided further entertainment by going ballistic at said ignorant Chinese spectators on the 7^th tee box

·       The course groundskeepers, who somehow managed to turn a course with no sod on it just four weeks ago into a PGA-level gem  (ALERT: Crazy Chinese Chemicals?)

It's scary how quickly they finished the course

·       Senior government officials, who put Rory McIllroy through the most awkward 45 minute ceremony after he won, complete with rambling speeches in Mandarin, half naked girls playing drums a la the Blue Man Group, and repeated (unsuccessful) requests for Rory to do the Irish Jig in front of the cameras

He might've preferred 2nd place to avoid the whole awards show

During golf?  You're kidding, right?

And, last but not least…

·       The Chinese Air Force, who decided that Championship Sunday was an opportunity to trot out their new fighter jets in front of the ESPN cameras, as they performed deafening exercises directly above the course for a solid six hours

I can see how someone in the government thought this was a brilliant way to show off their military might in front of a Western audience, but having a bit of a clue about the nature of golf might’ve led to a different decision.  Or, perhaps it was John Daly’s pants that were causing the big fuss, and the Communist Party had to assert itself.