Listen Up

Looking for Kerosine for your camping stove in Lhasa? Take notes below, and try out this tongue twisting conversation that I had with a shopowner the other day:

Me: you mei you mei you?

Him: mei you? mei you mei you.

Me: Hmmm, na'er you?

Him: Hmmm, na'er you.

(Translation: I want kerosine. He doesn't have it. But he tells me where to get it.)

Look like mish-mash to you? It would certainly seem so were it not for the crazy little things called tones that you have to add to almost every word in Chinese. Since the word for kerosine and the word to have are homonyms, this makes for a very singsongy, tongue-twisting challenge. (For those interested, the first phrase should be read "you3 mei2 you3 mei2 you2" with number corresponding to these different tones, 2 being a rising tone and 3 being a low falling-rising tone).

It's a hard phenomenon to get used to for those beginning the study of Chinese. Though it grows on you after a while. I'll leave you with one of my favorites: forty four lions eat forty four persimmons. (Si shi si zhi shi zi chi si shi si ge shi zi).

The Alternative...

Coke that tastes like rotten apricots...

Countless mid snuggly night sleep bathroom breaks....

Metallic water sensations....

Severe tingling in your feet at 2:30 AM that wakes you up and continues for an hour....

Ringing in your ears....

Daytime tingling of the feet, hands, lips, forehead, scalp, cheeks.....

And all of these atrocities are suffered in the name of staving off the other ugly alternative of AMS, otherwise known as altitude sickness. I had never given this nasty little condition much thought until I flew from near sea level to Lhasa and proceeded to run around the city to every monastery and walk every kora imaginable in the firs two days I was there. Then the headaches started. And then came nausea, sleeplessness, and fatigue. Now, I'm not one to let any physical illnesses get in the way of my travelling adventures (reference Wilburt the Campylobacter blog), but these seemingly mild symptoms put me in bed for 14 hours and led me to pull out the medical literature and pills my father had sent me for altitude sickness. I popped the acetazolamide pills, and hoped that their magic would work quickly.

And they did. I felt better, and began to have less AMS symptoms. However, after a few days the side effects of this alternative listed above proved to be too symptomatic themselves, and I gave up my altitude meds.

It's been a give-and-take ever since. Balancing how badly I feel due to altitude (and how scared I am that my AMS will develop into HACE - cerebral edema or HAPE - pulmonary edema) with the annoying lifestyle alterations created by these magic pills.

My problems are quicky resolving, though, now that we've left Everest Base Camp. We've thankfully reached the height of our altitude climbing in Tibet, and it's literally all downhill from here.

Altitude?

Altitude?

When they say the word mountain in China, they mean Mountain with a capital M. Set your sights way beyond the heights of the Rockies - these crags around here way taller than anything in the States. And we're trekking up them.

I've been climbing higher than I've ever been before in my life, and I can definitely tell. On a five day trek from Ganden to Samye, Philip and I hauled ourselves (luckily two sturdy yaks were hauling out packs) over passes of 17,220 ft and 16,800 ft. (For comparison, the tallest mountain in the Continental US tops out at 14,500 ft.)

For those of you who haven't been to these heights, let me describe what it feels like to be there, from a lung's point of view:

Lung 1: ....."where's the oxygen, man"

Lung 2: , "I", , "don't know",

Lung 1: "I" "am breathing as hard" "as I can"

Lung 2: "It's just not" "enough"

And despite the coughing, wheezing, gasping, and moaning, I'm having the time of my life. It's amazing, beautiful, and a literal breath of fresh air after months of being stifled by Beijing's pollution.

We're bound for Mount Everest Base Camp tomorrow, where we'll sleep above 17,000 ft and reexperience all of our altitude symptoms anew. I can't wait, and will report back after we leave the

A Fresh Start

A Fresh Start

Every time I think I'm ready to integrate back into the American culture, I find myself once again engaging in activities that, though seem logical to me, might be quite alarming to those of you back in the States. Let's take today:

Today I returned from a six day seriously intense trek over high mountain passes between two of Tibet's largest monasteries. Before embarking on our landcruiser adventure tomorrow, I sought out the laundry service of our hotel to make everyone in our car a bit more comfortable. Upon hearing the ridiculous prices charged by our foreigner's hotel, I followed the advice of friends and washed all of my laundry in the fountain in front of our hotel. Faux pas? I call it ingenuity.

Try that on for size next time you're staying at a Hyatt.

Beware: The Evil Winds Are Blowing

Exam room 401 is not what you would call large. And considering that two desks, two treatment carts, two cabinets, six patient beds, six roasting lamps, six moxabustion machines and countless other treatment apparatuses are placed about the room, there's not a whole lot of room for the two doctors, three visiting docs, four rotating students, and three foreign misfits to stand while we rush patients in and out for treatment.

On a seemingly unrelated note, deodorant is quite difficult to find here in Beijing. I've only had success in foreign import stores located near the embassies.

Now, add the first two paragraphs together, and you will understand my pain as the temperatures in Beijing continue to rise. I genuinely fear the upcoming summer. The natural answer to this problem would be to open a window - simple, cost-effective, easy, right?

You would never guess that the same nice cool breeze that cuts the odors of a room could also bring calamity upon its inhabitants. To "受风" (shou feng) is to be hit by the wind, and many of our patients have already suffered this atrocity. They come to us for facial paralysis, stroke recovery, and colds, and it is our duty to both treatment their illness, and also to protect them from the evil wind during their treatment. We have strict orders on who can and can not be placed in the bed next to the window, and in extreme cases the window must be closed and locked before certain patients enter.

So day by day, I suffer in front of the half inch crack in the window of room 401. Anything to protect our patients, right?

Side note: before you roll your eyes, know that I'm rolling mine. I sincerely believe in the efficacy of Chinese medicine, but I simply cannot make myself believe in the evil winds. I'm trying, but it's hard to push twenty years of logical western medical thought out of one's consciousness. However, I do have my own theories about the winds, be they friend or foe, which I won't post here lest I bore my readers with "Carmen's view of TCM." However, interested parties are free to inquire and subject themselves to my opinionated rantings.

And a deadly holiday to you too

It's that time again, holiday season in China. For seven days in May and October, thousands of citizens trample each other through bus depots, train stations, and airports to be the first to arrive at the same top ten spots of gaudy scenic fame.

The day before our holidays began, the director of our program paid a visit to our class to enquire of our whereabouts during the coming week. Like teenagers reporting our nightly plans to a parent, one by one we were required to give a complete plan, including flight/train itenerary, to our director.

And one by one, the bad news came.

-Going to ride horses in Mongolia? Only light trotting allowed, a man broke both his legs last year when his horse bolted through the grasslands and he lost holds of the reins.

-Travelling out west to the Tibetan Plateau? A group of foreigners recently got lost in the woods for three days without food and water. One of the girls didn't bring a sweater and died from exposure when nighttime temperatures dipped below freezing.

-Beach plans in Dalian? It's too cold; besides, swimming is a dangerous adventure and should only be undertaken with a lifejacket securely tied around your legs, arms, and neck.

-Taking a boat down the Yangtze River? Many people indulge in a bit too much alcohol on these boats and have fallen off the side at night and drowned in the river.

-Driving through remote mountainous areas of Yunnan? Watch out for rockslides, there's usually no warning and large rocks can crush or roll even a large bus. Heaven help you if it's snowing and there's an avalanche...

-Hiking around monasteries in the mountains of Eastern China? Monasteries are built on cliffs, and cliffs have edges. Do you want to come back alive from that holy experience? Stay in a group, at least ten meters from the edge.

-Experiencing the Muslim culture of Western China? You're wallet's a goner; people there will steal anything. And bring your own noodles from Beijing, the food there is (gasp) different and will definitley make your intestines turn inside out for days.

And so on and so on....for over an hour...

With a caution for every activity, and countless stories of past deaths, I began to think that I might have to cover myself with bubble wrap and lay on the floor in my apartment for the entire holiday week to avoid my impending death.

However, I'm happy to report that I did survive the holiday. Our director came to class on our first day back to do a head count and make sure one of us wasn't missing out on a glacier somewhere. "小心" (be careful) might have to be the new Chinese slogan after "work to welcome the Olympics" becomes outdated.

Peace and Quiet

With 1.6 billion people in this country, it's hard to find anywhere that you can actually be alone, let alone find peace and quiet. However Ben, a veteran Beijinger and fellow nature lover, has gone to great lengths to find camping sites and hiking trails out of reach of pollution, peddlers, and phone coverage. Don't ask me how, but with current road maps, topographical maps, old CIA maps, and google earth, Ben leads us fearlessly down dirt roads and farmer's footpaths.

Last Saturday we boarded a bus out to the countryside, where we rented out a bread car (named for its loaf-like shape) and headed into the wilderness. After almost two hours of veering scarily close to the steep embankments on the mountains of the northern Beijing prefecture, Ben decided that we had arrived. On a random curve, on a random road, he steps out and finds a footpath that leads up through terraces, some abandoned and some currently tilled, and eventually up to the Great Wall. I still don't know how he does it, but I'm glad that he does. This amazing discovery led us to a beautiful unrestored section of the Wall and wonderful terraced (and therefore flat) land on which to pitch out tents and build our campfire.

Ahhh, finally, peace and quiet.

Well, as long as you don't count Dutchess, the miniature doxen who runs full speed and leaps into the side of your tent at 5:30 AM, apparently imagining that a door will magically appear if she hits it hard enough.

Aside from this, peace and quiet.

Almost there, but not quite yet

Someone's going to have to recall the NY Times article that I recently referenced in my blog. A brand new advertisement wall has gone up in Beijing promoting the opening of a new restaurant. It's newly designed and obviously aimed at foreigners, boldly proclaiming that:

Utopia is beyond your mind, but your Buffalo is not.

It almost competes with my favorite store sign of all times for a clothing shop near the embassies:

Before I became a man, I was arrow. That was a long time ago.

Almost, China, almost there.