Day 5 pt. 2: Village meat

“Ah, that´s a dog meat restaurant, lets go.” Our driver, “Jason”, says as he crosses the road. Eddie turns back to me, and smiles. ¨Should we do it?¨

There are moments while traveling, when taken out of context, seem nearly impossible to occur. For example, how would our taxi driver “Jason”, who was a “trader” for Chinese and North Korean goods for over a decade and now drives to take care of his daughter, end up spending the day with Eddie and I in some random rural village? I imagine it’s one of the most un-ordinary days for him in a long while. It was clear he wasn’t not sure what to make of us curious foreigners when we jumped in his cab from the Dandong station. I don’t blame him, we are strange and we are curious. The village we agreed on is called Bienman, or Gate Door. It once acted as a immigration route between North Korea and China. No remnants exists today. 

Jason happily greeted us after we hopped in, post our North Korean lunch. We could tell pretty quickly he was a bit tense. Why were these foreigners wanting to go to this random village? What are they up to? Eddie said he asked if we were up to ¨sensitive business¨. Foreigners asking about intimate details of life and prodding where they shouldn’t is frowned upon and his suspicion is not uncommon. Soon enough we were out of the city - small by Chinese standards but still housing over 2 million - and into the countryside. Flowers appeard on the side of the road and rugged, rocky hills surrounded us on both sides. Transportation transformed from cars and buses to mopeds, horses and bikes. 

We pull over to take in the scenery, snap a couple shots, and so Jason can smoke a cigarette or two. I point to a bridge on a far off mountain and ask if that´s for cars.

“Yeah, we can drive all the way to the summit, want to go?” Jason asks.

Not really, I want to see village life, not mountain roads.  Jason still feels a bit uncomfortable, or maybe just confused with us, but Eddie´s continuous chat is starting to put him at ease. We pull over in front of a pharmacy in the village to pick a couple things up. The pharmacist is a bubbly woman, who Eddie points out must have gone off to university in a larger city, then returned to the village to run the shop. She is fascinated with me and pulls out her phone to take a picture. I response with a camera of my own:

I get even more looks here than I did in the cities, but that´s fine, I know they are just curious. We later find out that I am the first foreign man Jason has driven. We pass by a fresh watermelon stand and Jason treats to half of one. We decide to continue walking so we can find a good place to dig in.

Life is explicitly slower here: people walk slower, drive slower, maybe they adopt modern changes sower too. I am enjoying the contrast to the cities, looking into the small alley ways that lead to a shed or farm instead of another, darker, alley. People are just more chilled out, and what would be they be in a hurry for anyway?

We turn what seems like the final corner in the village, and just before we decide to head back, Jason perks up.

“That is a local dog meat restaurant, let´s go”. He has already crossed the street and called for the waitress before we can respond. 

Now, for western people this a pretty sensitive topic - as well as in some parts of Chinese society I should add. Dogs are more than animals, they are companions, friends, and important parts of some families. In other cases, this is taken too far.. they don’t need birthday parties with cakes and decorations, do they? Really? I love that dogs evolved to understand human emotion, and that, after not seeing you for several hours they think it´s fucking awesome you have returned from god knows where. I´m not going to have a moral discussion about eating dog meat. I’m in rural china and this restaurant serves customers daily, and for generations. So we did follow Jason that street, and went with it. The view was perfect, the watermelon was calling, the local wanted to take me, and the meat was already prepared. Did I feel bad? Yes, a bit.

So we sat, we ate, we drank, and I watched. With the mountainous peak as a backdrop, I saw the various modes of transport that passed us by. I started to notice the variety of size, shape, and color. So much character in the vehicles and the passengers. I didn´t see a single taxi: people here are more dependent on vehicles, something I can relate to growing up in small town USA. We even had a few people walk by, going who knows where. 

While Eddie was talking to Jason, I started picking up my camera and capturing, again and again, until the battery died.

A grandpa who was hanging out while his grandkids played with a toddler whom I presume lives at or near the restaurant. I think he noticed us staring at the baseball bat sized cigarette he had rolled. He took another one out and handed it to us. Well, why not? I’m already pretty deep here. When we got up, I dog meat, beer, and cigarette in my system. I had to laugh at the moment. How the hell could I predict one day I would be smoking a hand rolled cigarette from a rural villager in China after a meal like that? 

Grandpa on duty

We head back to the car and Eddie and I reflect on the day we’ve had so far: from the broken bridge to the baseball bat cigarette. But Jason has one more treat in store for us. On the edge of Dandong he pulls in front of a non-discript storefront. It’s a “sheep soup” restaurant, a locals favorite. I think they serve other things but the sheep soup is what hundreds of people come for everyday, mainly for lunch. Holy shit, lunch? What do they do afterwards? After a couple minutes, 3 giant bowls appear. I peer down, look up to Eddie, and ask what I probably shouldn’t have: “what’s in it?”. Cooked blood, intestines, cartilage, and the kitchen sink of sheep bits. It’s a deep bowl and it’s packed with this meat stuff, maybe half a kilo. It’s pretty amazing people knock this down and then go back to work. Broth and bits, that’s all folks. Jason shows us how to add vinegar, pepper, and MSG, and it does help. I’m already full so I take down maybe half the bowl of bits, the other half Eddie happily gulps down. “I swear man, I was a Chinese man in another life”. I definitely wasn’t, but damn if I don’t respect them - and their microbiome. Let’s hope mine holds up. 

Left: Eddie, Jason, me

More from Bienmen:

Day 5 pt.1: Street cleaners

“Is that a water slide?” Squinting through the large binoculars we paid $1.50 to peer across the Yalu river, I try to focus on two young boys on top of a slide inside what looks like a North Korean water park.

It´s our second morning in Dandong and we have a few hours to kill before we go to a rural village with our taxi driver from yesterday. We are standing at the end of the ¨Broken bridge” which used to connect the North Korean and Chinese cities, but now stands as a monument and tourist destination. A part of me has felt like the boat rides and binoculars are zoo-esque, observing some foreign creatures behind protective glass. But at least for me and Eddie, it´s not malicious or cruel, but based on fascination and empathy.

Chinese tourist pose at the end of the “Broken Bridge”

¨Do see the two boys? There they go!¨ I tell Eddie excitedly. Sure enough two seconds later a splash jumps over the edge of the water slide. Looming darkly behind the slide, a monolithic, circular building was under construction. While I did get an Eye of Sauroman vibe, I couldn´t help but smile at the thought of these kids, just being kids, enjoying the heat by splashing about in on a water slide.  

Eye of Sauroman water park

The broken bridge runs parallel with the working bridge, which carries ~3 trains per day between the two countries. The bridge has a plain, industrial design with no flash or special appeal, but represents the main road to the outside world for North Koreans. The border between north and South Korea is a no mans land that is hostile and foreboarding. I wouldn’t go there lightly. I’m sure Eddie would love to go, and I would go with him. Conversely, the Yalu  river is available for use by both countries freely. We see an old, cyber-punk looking boat blowing smoke pass by. It was operated operated by deeply tanned North Korean men. They look at us, we look at them. What are they thinking? How did they feel when they got up this morning?

We leave the bridge and head down for our second boat ride in 24hrs to get a closer look at the city we saw in the binoculars. Some Chinese women are fascinated by me and ask for photos (Eddie excluded) while we wait for the boat to fill up. Once people start complaining about waiting, the boat starts up and trolls near the North Korean shore. We see guards inspecting ambiguous sacks of cargo while men in ragged clothes cautiously look on nearby. Another guard stands in front of a wes’anderson aesthetic building. She leans against the building, a stoic figure, planted for  as long as we are within sight. 

Rows of boats sit idle nearby. It´s hard to differentiate the abandonded and the operational ones, only given away by the small figures who pop their heads out  or walk around the hull.  I see an excavator pick up some sand, turn 90 degrees, and drop the pile of sand. I cant get the thoughts out of my head: how much of this is just for show since the NK governemnt knows Chinese and other tourists are coming by these shores daily. Eddie assures me it´s not propoganda. What are they doing with that sand?

I’m curious what the words painted in large characters on the cranes and buildings mean. 

“Long live the sun the son of Korea, Marshal Kim Jung-Un” Eddie tells me. We see it again plastered across buildings, some with the paint fading away. As the boat turns to the Chinese shore and face the imposing rows of Super Blocks and industrial buildings, I take one last look to see if the woman guard is still gargoyle´d against the pink pastel building. She is. I wonder what she thinks of us? Nothing at all?

With about an hour left before we leave for the village, we only feel it’s right for another North Korean meal. Eddie spots the place by a group of waitresses cleaning the street.

Street cleaners

We head in and are greeted by a similar scene as what we saw the night before: a mostly empty room with state TV playing, a manager of sorts, and lots of young, pretty, quarantined, North Korean waitresses.

The food was just as satisfying as before, this time we go for North Korean beer which tastes just as I expect: the same as Chinese. I see a chance for a photo, which Eddie tells me was definitely “pushing the envelope”, a theme for the trip. The manager - donning a North Korean pin and puffing cigarettes constantly - dips in and out of the room, but seems to pay us no mind. As we are getting ready to go, a group of South Korean tourists arrive, which seem even more bewildered than us. I peer at my watch; “time to roll”. The rural village awaits.

Day 4: a river, a bridge

“Does everyone ride bicycles in North Korea?” I ask Eddie. We’ve sped across the northeast of china from the center of Beijing to the border city of Dandong. Nearly 7 hours on the high speed train which is a point of pride for Chinese modernity. Out the window, my head bounces back and forth like a lawn sprinkler, taking in this new landscape. I am intrigued by these sprawls of “Super block” apartment buildings which dot the dreary landscape from city to city. Hours after leaving Beijing, traveling at 300k/m, we still seem them, relentless in their functional shape and ominous presence. I try and imagine what life is like for someone in a abitrary window in a arbitrary building we pass by. What do they do? How do they live? These cliche travel thoughts are refreshing and novel, mainly because I have no idea what the answer would be. 

Eddie (I felt the same), 5 hours out of Beijing

Eventually, the super blocks give way to rolling green hills and quaint villages. I am somewhat surprised by the lush scenery even though I was told we were going to rural China. I was starting to think it was impossible to the escape the grey, repeating city scapes. Dense forest open little pockets for quaint villages with chimney’s puffing and dirt roads to fill in. I see a man washing his car in a shallow part of the river and a family scrubbing away at their laundry. 

Súper Blocks, somewhere, China

The train is clean and fast and on time. Each stop gives a group of passengers enough time to suck down a cigarette. They wait at the doors like a diver pushing to the surface for a gasp of air. Huff huff huff. As we near Dandong, the Chinese border city to North Korea, a couple of locals board the train donning camo and carrying large, industrial looking bags.  Eddie tells me this region is known for a certain ‘vivacious’ talking style. A conductor quickly finds this out as he tells them they are not sitting in their assigned seats and they explode with a flurry of words and hand gestures. The conductor loses this battle and moves onto the next car.

Pocket village far from Beijing

 We arrive mid-afternoon in Dandong and the sun is bright and piercing. A large statue of Chairman Mao pointing into the distance greets us as we find our way to the taxi line. Our taxi driver is a friendly local who Eddie befriends quickly. After figuring out where our room was, we chatted about life in Dandong and he accepted our request to drive us to a rural village outside the city the following day. Without too much sun left, we drop off our bags quickly and catch a $1 taxi to the Yalu river. 

The river is within a 2005 Tiger Wood’s swing from North Korea. 

Yalu river

There it is, one of the most repressed, strangest, dangerous, and information deprived countries in the world. A place where anything said by the government is the truth, and dissent means concentration camp or death for you, and your family. Among some of the sensational and comical claims made by the North Korean government about their current leader Kim Jong-Un:

• He could drive at 3 and was a professional sailor at 9

• He and archeologists found a unicorns lair 

• He and scientists created a drug that can cure aids and Ebola (among others) with a single injection 

• A double rainbow appeared at the moment of his birth

I immediately feel for the first time that being in China is immensely safe (in comparison) and look behind me at the dense urban scene with a sense of capitalist/socialistic comfort. The countries are split by the natural barrier of the Yalu river, which nearly touches in some areas, leaving only a barb wire fence to separate the contrast of the barren North Korean shore with the Chinese super blocks. 

After walking 5 minutes we see a boat tour sign; a chance to get even closer. Eddie talks to the guy us sells us on a 2.5 hour excursion, that is leaving in 10 minutes. So, minutes after arrived to the Yalu, we find ourselves on a bus with other Chinese tourists heading to a remote port north of Dandong. The scenery is beautiful and we even see a chunk of the Great Wall (what is it doing out here?), but I quickly realize this is not a 2.5 boat ride, but a 2 hour drive and half an hour on the water. 

I sat in the front seat of the bus

After 45 minutes of barely any villages, we turn a corner and the narrow road is closed in on both sides with restaurants and shops. A hundred or more squeezed in the length of a couple city blocks.

We haven’t eaten a meal today and i am drawn to a meat stick stand that nearly causes us to miss the boat. It was worth it. We take off, cross under the another “broken bridge” that used to connect the countries. Here, away from the cities, the countryside is picturesque with rolling hills and farmland on both sides. We talk with a man who tells us that we are not looking at farmland on the North Korean side, but cleared land. Cleared by the military to make cover difficult for anyone thinking of leaving. He then tells us the guard tower is not for those trying to cross into the country but for defectors. The woman sternly standing in the small tower takes on a new atmosphere knowing this. 

A poor quality phone zoom image of a cyclist in N Korea. Damn the one time I want a telephoto lens!

“Does everyone in North Korea ride bicycles” I ask eddie, as a woman slowly tops a small hill which feels within throwing distance of where we are. The only vehicles we see are work trucks, while the (farmers?) slowly pedal in front of the rolling hills in the distance. Again I wonder, what did they do today? What are they thinking about? Even further from answers,  I have more questions. What do they think of us? Are these boats full of peoeple visible to them, or do they not give a shit? Do they really think the world is in awe of North Korea’s accomplishments as they are told?

I don’t expect people to understand why I am drawn to be this close to North Korea, but I feel a mix of empathy and curiousity. I really cant put myself in their shoes: I work in the information hub of the world, and they are the most information deprived country on the planet. We battle fake news, while in North Korea fake news is anything not stated by their all-reaching and self-procalaimed all-wise government. Yet, I wonder if they still crave the fundamental human needs of belonging, purpose and social connection. Or perhaps survival is the bottom line. The boat ride was short but the memories are long. The figures moving across the green landscapes incite questions and feelings of  mystery, and slight concern. There is nothing I can do for them, but so much more I want to know. 

Rural North Korea in all its glory

Back in Dandong, we decided (I insisted) we eat at one of the North Korean restaurants in the city. We passed one that was closed and one eddie had been to before, and just before giving up and turning around, we found our spot. All the blinds were closed; I thought it was closed, but Eddie made his way in and flagged me to follow. The waitress who saw us look startled, and I felt like we were interrupting something intimate. But the large room was empty part from the pre-made tables and the gargle of empty fish tanks. Edie spoke to them in Korean (his mother his from South Korea), which may have caused the the deer-in-headlights look she gave us. Behind the counter was a middle-age woman who screamed “I’m watching these girls, and you.”

It was a surreal dinner to cap off the day: we were the only customers, outnumbered by fair-skinned, pretty North Korean waitresses 4 or 5 to 1. They stared and giggled and continuously made their hair in the mirror. For who? I wondered. There was an upstairs area that, when we asked about, one waitress said “for karaoke and other activities”. 

We ordered cold noodles, a traditional dish in Pyongyang, along with kimchi, grilled eel, green bean pancakes and a small bottle of Soju. The girls were always in pairs or larger, moving between the mysterious upstairs and the kitchen. After Eddie talked with them in Korean again, one of them changed the TV channel. We were enjoying the North Korean state propoganda where a man gave a tour of a historical monument and applauded the developed nation they were lucky to be a part of.  The noodles were a great, slurpy, refreshing dish I’d gladly have again served by these curious creatures. Eddie and I guessed they didn’t live much of a free life here, they seemed attached to the hip, and were likely daughters of middle class or better families. It seems like they weren’t chosen by accident, nor could they extend their cultural work experience much past the walls of the restaurant. 

When we went to pay, there she was. The “manager” sitting sitting all along, reading some magazine. We paid and left this North Korean enclave to sit by the Yalu river, a bridge between worlds, both of which remained  complete mysteries to me.

Day 3: level 3 details

“Of course, I have a 3D printer. Do you want to see it?” Adam, Eddie’s 11 year old (chosen) nephew leads me to his room and unveils his 3D printer.

“Do you want to see my software drawings now?”

Eddie has gone back to get Peking university to get the ajvar I brought from the States, still in his room. That left me, so far untouched by jet lag, to get to know his adopted Chinese family for a couple of hours. It’s Adam’s first day of summer vacation, which in my childhood meant unequivocal freedom from homework and anything beyond what sport or activity I was going to do that day. Not here in the South Eastern neighborhood of Beijing. Here, most families choose housing within walking distance to schools. Adam is taking a summer school course in 3D printing, preparing for an international English exam, and revising on courses he (and his parents) felt he could do better in. Adam is 11.

Adam and Eddie reunite

His parents asked me if I felt the US was less intense than China; they have been thinking about sending him away for at least a year so he can get some breathing from form the intense pressure of chineses education. How do you separarte 1.5 billion people and decide who gets into what school? The next day on the train, Eddie would point out the repeating ad I had been staring at was in fact study aids for the middle school exam Adam had just completed.  

A daily scene: families wait outside a Beijing elementary school for the children to leave.

“Do you want to shoot with me?” They know I played basketball in Cambridge with Eddie. I don’t remember seeing any hoops around, but I agree. Eddie’s uncle pulls out a mini basketball hoop from his workstation where he crafts little furniture, tools, and other gadgets for the house. I can’t help but think of my father, the ultimate tinkerer and crafter in my mind.

Across from their building is a little maintenance shed with a ladder climbing up the edge of the budiling. Eddie’s uncle grabs a nearby moped, stands on the back seat, attaches the backboard to a metal chain I assume he put there, and ties the bottom of the backboard with some thick shoelaces. 

“Of course, steph city and hard harden are very poplar here” Adam tells me when i ask about the NBA.  He’s got great basketball instincts and defended me valiently after challenging me to some 1-on-1. Every 10-15 minutes we take a break from the smoldering summer heat and talk with Adam’s mother under a nearby tree. 

“Do you think Adam speaks good English? Mine very bad, very bad” She tells me they wanted to go to Australia this summer but their visa was rejected.

“They are scared we don’t leave. US visa is very hard too, but is US safe?”

I assure her for the most part the US is very safe.

“But there are guns!” I didn’t say anything, but almost every diagram Adam showed me for his 3d printer was a gun or weapon.

I take sip it of a coke-looking-bottle and am told this is a traditional drink from her home town. Honey-water fermented beer, homemade of course. It’s sweet and refreshing. Eddie returns, Ajvar in hand, and auntie Wang pulls out her camera again and starts talking with Eddie. “She wants you to teach Adam some moves and she will record and watch them later”

Eddie already taught Adam over the past year all he needs at this age, but we come up with a couple flashy moves and he happily goes through them. Eddie tells me she wants just one more. And then another after that.

Adam showing me some plants he has grow

Sufficiently sweaty and hungry, we go back for the feast they have prepared for the foreign guest. Uncle Wang also is a baker, and his little rolls waiting. I ask him how he can use such a small oven, in the US that would be the size of a microwave. Everything in their home is small and has a place and is used, or that’s the feeling I got at least.

Lightning sets in after we eat so we decide to chat a bit while uncle Wang takes Adam to a study class for his English exam. This was his first day of summer break, I couldn’t help but say. Maybe I should set up an exchange for him to go to Washington, he won’t have classes on his first day of summer, that’s for sure.

We browse some of my photos and at first Eddie’s aunt is worried i have some deep sadness in me looking at a few of my 35mm black and white photos. Then I show her some collage, double exposure, and other colorful pics and she is responding actively to each one. Eddie tells me she’s not worried anymore.

“But why are you making photos?” I am asked. It surprised her that I take and make photos just for me, to follow my gut and get out of my head. Edie’s aunt instead tells me that in china, people do not have the luxury to do things with aimlessness, or at least without a clear purpose. They are still pushing to survive, which Eddie slightly challenges her on, pointing to the middle class surroundings and price of their apartment. After we finish going through some travel photos of Lisbon where Eddie is from - she tells me that the common theme betweeen my photos is that it makes her feel present. I told her that is the highest compliment someone could give me.

They send us off and point us in a direction of some Hutong’s; labriths of small alley ways that used to dominate Beijing for many years. It’s still raining but that only amplifies how new it is all to me. How the neon lights are doubled with their shimmering reflections and the uneven pavement creates large puddles testing our awareness. We pop into a small local restaurant which covets stares, both because of how i look and how well eddie speaks. We order some potential mystery meat we find out later was pork, some fresh cucuember with garlic and cold beers.

We head back out into the rain and I can’t help but feel this has been a perfect launching point for our Chinese adventures. Down to earth local people and small, crooked streets.

Days 1-2: murray state of mind

Bill Murray was taking a cab to Sausalito from San Francisco international when he found out that the cab-man was in fact a moonlighting sax player. Murray, later stating “it is what anybody would do”, offers to switch spots with the driver so he could practice and serenade their drive. They end up in Oakland at 2am, when Bill reassures the driver they were safe to get some BBQ since “he had the axe (sax)”. In a way, Bill Murray in this story (and others) is what traveling should bring out in us. Whatever opportunity arises, go with it and have fun.

I’m sitting at 35 thousand feet, watching a doc about Murray stories, with a feeling I’m grateful to have experienced before. It’s a mix of excitement, uncertainty, wonder, as well as knots and uncertainty. More than anything, it’s the feeling that possibility awaits for the pure in-the-moment-serindipity Murray has shown on countless occasions, from joining a kickball game mid-match to washing dishes during a random house party in Scotland. It’s pretty simple. Show up to where you are, as you are. Bill is not a movierstar, he’s the dude carrying in the amplifier so the band can start playing. Maybe Bill is teaching us to not be afraid of the unexpected, but to face it with clear eyes. This is at the core of what idealistic travel means to me. When the outcome of travel becomes secondary to the process of being “there”, space is created for spontaneity and the unknown  to seep through the cracks. 

This trip, I’m seeing China, and then japan, with fresh eyes. I’ve never been to Asia so it’s an all new for my senses, which I’m sure will be overloaded. I’m lucky enough to travel with a near-local in China: Eduardo Baptista, a man on a self proclaimed quest for  “language domination”. I’m grateful he always has dominated mandarin. It will make our time much more accessible to talking and learning from locals. 

But that is later, days 1-2ish are spent losing half a day to time zones and another 24hrish to travel. All worth it though, for I know when I wake up in Beijing, I know a entirely new world awaits.