Beijing Bicycling

Despite the fact that calling things “extreme” hasn’t been cool since 2002 (at the very latest), biking in Beijing is fucking xtreeme.

Basically, it requires the perfect balance between precision pathfinding and complete reckless abandon. Since last summer, I think I’ve been addicted. I realized this when I made the switch to my current bike from a newer-style one, with the intention of making things more exciting. The ‘new’ ride, a Flying Pigeon, is harder to balance and higher off the ground. Oh, also, the handlebars are crooked and the seat spins. Looks pretty sweet though.

Here are some strategies I’ve followed :

• Don’t stop. Ever. Keep going, even though the city’s wide fulu (bike lanes) are also meant to be used by cars and crowds of pedestrians.
• Find that gap (between the aforementioned cars, bikes, and pedestrians) and get in there!
• Keep your hands on the brakes while pedaling full speed. You’re more likely to avoid getting crushed by an electric bus that way. (You learn a new thing every day)
• The odd bell-ring can get the job done, but mute it once the message is conveyed. No one wants to look like a pussy.
• When crossing the street, it’s strength in numbers. Green light? Red light? No light? Find a stubborn lady on a moped and use her to block for you.

Oh… in Beijing, people don’t usually lock their bikes to anything. They just block the back and/or front wheel with a lock, and leave it.

Here’s what the bike I’m using looks like: (Naturally, they’re all the rage in New York, right?)

Innoculations, Noise, Nanluo Guxiang

Today was fairly packed:

I had to go to the embassy clinic to get a rabies booster. That in itself wasn’t much, but I snagged two copies of what I imagine to be a WHO classic, their “Rabies Awareness” booklet. The pictures are pretty priceless, but unfortunately our scanner is broken. A little dialogue snippet will give you the picture though:

Nervous curly-haired boy: What will happen to a person who has been bitten?

Inexplicably short, bald veterinarian: When the virus reaches the brain, the patient suffers from headaches, fever, muscle pains, salivation and vomiting. He becomes restless, irritable, drools and starts to fear water. He may also be sensitive to air blown on his face. This stage lasts a few days before the patient goes into a coma and dies.

Hot and Cold jammed or practiced, whatever it is that we do. It sounded good. Then, true to form, it just got too fucking loud, and we had to stop. I had fun coming up with shameless Velvet Underground / Modern Lovers rip-off riffs on distorted keyboard though. Also, we did some recording tests using a Fisher-Price boombox that I bought for Simon at Value Village. I think that’s how we’re going to record the next ullltra limited edition CDR we make.

I also biked out to Nanluo Guxiang, which is a cool little side street (hutong) in an area northwest of the diplomatic district where I live. It’s near the ancient drum and bell towers that were used to keep the time in the era before countdowns to the Olympics brought to you by Omega watches.

The first time I went to the narrow street was in 2006, and it was either rubble-under-construction or worn cobblestones. Last summer, I had the sinking (elitist) feeling that the alley’s quaint coolness had been destroyed and sweaty British tourists with dubious taste in sunglasses had taken advantage of the newly paved street, snagging the place as their own.

This time around, though, it just felt like a trendy little spot. Nanluo Guxiang is lined with little music and clothing shops, restaurants and cafes, and groups of old Chinese guys huddled around folding tables with their shirts rolled up over their stomaches, talking shit and playing chess.

There were also lots of Chinese kids, I guess about my age, taking pictures of the old guys and other quaintnesses that caught their eyes. This was pretty interesting, because I’d never really seen young people in China going around cool neighbourhoods taking arty shots before, or show interest in belligerent-looking old guys. (How we love that in Montreal!).

A new little toy shop had opened, selling metal wind up old-school robots and stuffed animals from My Neighbour Totoro. Highlight: the cat bus, with a tail you could pull to make it vibrate. Oh, Japan.

The purpose of my outing had mostly been to check out a cafe I had heard about, called Alba. The open front room was full, so I clambered up a slanted ladder staircase to the barn-loft-style second floor, plugged the electric fan in, and sat and read. There was a small window you could crawl to  that had a  cool view of the street’s power lines (I’m not being sarcastic) and the surrounding area of one-story buildings. I will be back. And if you come to Beijing,  I will take you.

Falling asleep at 4:30 in the afternoon and waking up at 7:30 for dinner kind of sucks.

I dealt with registering at the police station today, which involved first getting a receipt/form from the apartment office here where I live to prove that I’m actually residing here. I’m pretty sure that the girl who helped me had Feist’s 1234 as a ring tone. What?! Or I’m crazy.

Afterwards Simon and I headed out to Xinjiekou, a shopping-ish area a few subway stops west of us. It always ends up being exhausting. Plus, I haven’t actually bought anything there since December 2006, so I might be writing it off my list.

That being said, there’s a peculiar little CD shop that sells real foreign albums. For some astonishing and inexplicable reason (except for the fact that the band is amazing) they had two copies of Swell Map’s Trip to Marineville. They’re a 70s post-punk group from England (“buttfuck-shire,” if I recall correctly) who never really learned to play their instruments. One of my favourite tracks features a vacuum cleaner solo. So yeah. I was kind of astonished to see the album.

I couldn’t really bear to fully examine the grotesque picture window, but there’s also a ridiculous adult store in Xinjiekou. There are a surprising number of these places in Beijing, but most are pretty discreet with nondescript signs that say “Sex Shop.” The one I passed used to have some kind of doll in the window, in a box that read “My First Time – Double Penetration.” Eeeg.

So as not to end on that note, here’s a cool poster for a show. D-22 is celebrating two years of existence, and has back to back concerts with some of the best bands in Beijing.

It’s done by a collective called Cult Youth. That’s Beijing magazine said the group, “capture the absurdities and pitfalls of modern Chinese culture.” I’m not sure what vomiting an eight-ball symbolizes, besides being badass, but I do like their work. Hopefully when Hot and Cold opens for Carsick Cars, they make our poster.

Pretzels for Breakfast

It’s 5:09pm in Montreal and I am sitting in my blackout-curtained room, having eaten leftover pretzels from the flight. Oh right. I passed out at 9:30 and was up at 4:45 in the morning.

The Sugar Jar set was cool yesterday. Simon opened up with multi-layered samples from R.D. Burman, an Indian composer who did a lot of old style Bollywood stuff. He probably had great glasses and a mean comb-over. It was a pretty much non-stop set, which was impressive (except when a shitty cable broke and caused a few minutes of silence).

Liu Kai, the guy who watches over the store, is one of the sweetest guys I know in Beijing. We hung out and sipped green tea while Simon set up. I showed him the joys of Pitchfork TV (he’s obsessed with “the loudest band in New York,” A Place to Bury Strangers, and they have a full set online). He showed me how to bid on $20 Cheap Mondays on the Chinese equivalent of eBay, which I think is called Taobao.

His English is quite good, but he’s still more comfortable in Chinese, which is nice because when I actually have the right vocabulary, we can converse. But I don’t know how to comfortably say “I see how you like the Big Muff pedal more than my Danelectro one because the distortion is a bit warmer.” He’s big on the shoegaze/post-rock thing.

Shouwang/Jeff came from almost an hour away to see Simon’s set. We went around the 798 art area afterwards, looking for the sort of microphone that Sulumi was using the other night. No dice though: the shop was closed.

Last night we ran into these crazy guys from Azerbaijan at a Xinjiang (Muslim) restaurant. The three of them were on their way through a second bottle of Vodka by the time we got our food. Apparently, drunk driving “doesn’t matter!” in Beijing because it’s crazy enough sober.

Today is also Go-back-to-the-police-station-after-being-turned-back-yesterday Day.

Seven Twenty-Two (was it AM or PM?)

It’s the morning in Beijing, and I’ve gotten up at a reasonable hour.

Today, as I mentioned, Simon is playing at Sugar Jar, a tiny, loft-like CD store in the Dashanzi art district not far from our house. It was formerly an industrial area, and now many (not all) of the spaces have been turned into galleries. You can still see paintings on desolate walls instructing workers to follow Maoist thought. Also, random jets of steam tend to spurt out of the ground. It’s looking on the sunnier side today so I’ll bring my Lomo.

The show last night was good. I think the combination of my earplugs and the reverb-heavy sound didn’t exactly do Carsick Cars justice, but Shouwang (aka Jeff, the guitarist) is amazing as ever and still just as simultaneously friendly and shy. I received a (signature) awkward hug. Yes!

As I arrived, Sulumi was playing outside. There was a nice cool breeze (not unlike Montreal, which I am wont to compare everything to right now). There were two people playing electronics, a Microkorg, and various Gameboys and Kaoss pads – Sulumi and… Sulumi’s Friend? Anyhow, they were far more impressive than they had been in the past. Sulumi himself was singing through a weird mic that looked like an olde tyme telephone mouthpiece. There were thunderous beats and many blips and gloops and whirrs. About three times as good as the Crystal Castles show. (Plus, no one was selling meat kababs outside Cabaret Juste Pour Rire, motherfucker). You can check them out at www.myspace.com/sulumi.

I’ll scan the poster from the show and put it up later. It’s done by the one guy seems to do every cool flyer in Beijing. His stuff actually kind of reminds me of what Ming draws (although I don’t think I’ve seen any of Ming’s graphics involve someone getting spanked). Something about the faces.

Last night I started to read Julie Doucet’s 365, which is good for missing Montreal and straining my eyes. Nice to think about hanging out at Drawn and Quarterly with Megan and like, almost half, of Charlottetown.

Today I have to register with the local police station – so as not to get deported. Apparently foreigners can’t do whatever the hell they want here any more. Or more specifically, they can, but more than ever (whether you do something wrong or not) you realllly better obey the Chinese government. Yaaaah!

Departure and Arrival

My flight to Beijing left at the merciful time of noon today, which (thankfully) made it possible for goodbyes to go on until three-ish in the morning, and then continue five or so hours later when I woke up.

Good news: upgraded into business class without really asking! Bad news: my bag was seven kilos too heavy, resulting in a pretty ridiculous fine. I think the numerous “Heavy” tags that they put on my duffel were bad for its self esteem.

I pretty much passed out on the plane, alternating between lying down and lying down while listening to the Books and the Velvet Underground. (Thank you P.T.)

My bags actually arrived with me in Beijing this time, which means no enormous Visa-insurance pay-out and as a result no exorbitantly expensive skinny pants. Alas. I think that Simon and I will head out to Xinjiekou sooner or later, for the skate shops where everything is $20. I also buy cheap bows to play bass with there.

Simon is playing a solo show tomorrow, for Sugar Jar’s Sunday Listening series. I would have liked to have joined in the fun, but I think at least this time, I’ll be relegated to gear-bitch status. I may be playing a solo set at D-22 on the 15th of May though. I forget who it’s with. Potentially 10, a Japanese/Korean experimental duo who use toys and dress exclusively in red. A nice couple.

Just returned from Yuxiang Renjia, which is pretty much the family favourite for Sichuan food. Despite the fancy renovations, the food’s still mouth-numbingly spicy and a pig-out dinner for four, with beer, is around $25.

Carsick Cars and Joyside are playing tonight at 2kolegas, a little bar not far from here, in a drive-in theater complex. I’m not dying to see Joyside but it’s hard to refuse CSC. Also, it should be good to say hi to Shouwang (their phenomenal guitarist who plays with Simon in Speak Chinese or Die, and who I improvise with when in town). I continue to wear my airplane clothes – they’ll be drenched in cigarette smoke in no time.