Ego revolts against nature

A lot of it was growing up.
The tension of one person finding his voice.
There just wasn't enough room in the house for a new ego.
I mean, when you're a kid,
you don't realize sometimes
how much room your ego takes up,
'cause you've only just discovered it.
So you don't have a clue what the normal size is.

You blumber around,
saying this and that,
and don't realize
that other people's egos have adjusted to the headspace.
Which is why so many people with huge egos
need to speak to stadiums
because those are the only places with enough headspace.

And you know,
I'm not knocking ego:
there is a difference between ego and pride.
But a young person's ego,
when he first discovers it,
is like his first car, and
he wants to see what it can do.
And it can do a lot:
of damage or of good.

If it's true,
that pride is what we think of ourselves,
vanity is what is we would like others to think of us,
then ego is simply
what we would like to think of ourselves.

And that's a lot.

ruoF traP, esreveR ni anihC ni serutnevdA

This is my final entry in the China travelogue. I'm quite embarrassed actually: It has been several weeks since I went, and only now am I approaching a conclusion to my story (in reverse, desimorp sa). The sadder part is that I have yet to post my remaining blogs on my trip to Malaysia. No doubt I will, long after your interest has waned to an inestimable smallness.

So now I come to it, to the first day I spent in Beijing. These memories are dated January 24 and 25.

The sun was just eclipsing the corners of the tallest buildings in our neighborhood when I woke up on the 24th. It was a calm but stiff morning, and to my delight and dismay the snow had piled up neatly during the wee small hours. Ankle-deep, it was the most snow I'd seen during my time in Korea. And it only fell on the day I was leaving!

Luke was just a bit pessimistic, anticipatory of something bad always.

"Luke, nothing is going to go wrong. This trip will be good, everything will be good and happy," reassured Loren. Luke shrugged a little, winced nonchalantly and looked the other way. The airport bus to Gimpo was just pulling up. But we were not bound for Gimpo; we were bound for Incheon.

I stood on the curb, trampling the snow underneath my feet, feeling my jeans getting soaked up to shin-level, with my back to the road. My backpack felt strange because it was full: I had plundered every available inch of space in it, and then forced three books on top of the pile. Luke later looked at the books, and shrugged disinterestedly. "Joel -- c'mon. Sartre? Really?"

The snow had stopped by the time we reached the airport. We ate first, then boarded a little 727. I had a window seat, and so began snapping pictures of the snow outside the plane. "When I finally post these pictures online, I can show what it was like when we left, and what it was like when we arrived in Beijing." That was my answer to Loren's inquiring glances, which are always of the characteristic of scrunched eyebrows, half-open mouth, and dazed eyes.

The only way I could manage to sleep on the plane was to lay my head on the meal tray. Halfway through the flight, I put on Panda Bear's Person Pitch and went to sleep. While sleeping, I managed to annoy the surrounding passengers with the incessant dull thump dub on "Good Girl/Carrots" -- my assumption that the sound of the plane's engines would drown out my music was obviously ill-founded.

We landed, were whisked through customs, and in a whirlwind found ourselves in a cab driving away from the airport. All along the road were the signs of what had been the Beijing Olympics. The streets had Beijing 2008 painted on them, there were banners hanging from the streetlights. Among the more amusing signs was for a hotel called Olympic Hotel.

Once in our hotel, bags tossed off, jackets loosened, and facilities used, we prepared to figure out where the hell we were. We knew this much -- or at least Loren did: We were only a couple blocks away from the Forbidden City. We decided to scope the land. Our only required action that night was to sign up for the hike of the Simatai portion of the Great Wall.

Our first encounter of the trip was with a lady who taught us how to say "Happy New Year" in Chinese. This was important considering that we were visiting on the Chinese New Year. Here it is, spelled phonetically: "Shin yay qua loo."

It turns out scams were everywhere. No sooner had the lady taught us how to say Happy New Year in Mandarin than she invited us to an art exhibit. We decided to go. Of course they wanted to sell us stuff -- and, despite initial resistance, we bought some. Fortunately, it was cheap: $15 for an unspectacular but pretty painting.

Dinner became our next priority. We found a duck restaurant not too far away. It was expensive, but perfectly worth it, as it was one of the more memorable meals I've ever had. Duck is not particularly amazing, but it is sweet, and the way it is eaten is very nice.

But back to the quirky observations. A couple hours later, I decided I needed to stop by an ATM. While there, an armored car pulled up, and out piled a half-dozen well-armed security guards. A couple of them went into the bank. I watched, commenting idly to Luke that I wanted to take a picture but wasn't sure I should. Luke said I shouldn't, and I agreed: After all, you don't want to use a flash in the face of 5 guys carrying shotguns and assault rifles. Yes, shotguns and assault rifles. Somehow I bet the success rate of armored car robberies in China is very low.

Around 8:30 or so, we finally found our destination. The hostel we were seeking was down an alley filled with pubs and clothing stores. There were fireworks and firecrackers going off like tangents down every other side street. We paid for our tickets and left, avoiding cars and traffic in a general effort to relax for the evening. The firecrackers did not make it easy.

As the hour approached 11, we found a convenience store and bought snacks and drinks for our hike. We bought bread, peanut butter, and jelly. Back at the hotel, devoid of knives, we used the hotel's complimentary combs to make our sandwiches. The table was covered in crumbs, and the combs were covered in jelly.

A little before midnight, Loren went to her own room. Luke and I clambered into our own beds, not particularly weary but knowing we needed to sleep. The firecrackers continued to go off, never really stopping. To my delight, the government-owned television network was showing a series of old Charlie Chaplin short films. I watched them for a while, smiling, and wondering if they were aware that Chaplin hated authoritarian governments. And then I drifted off to sleep.

The next day would be the real adventure, as we awoke to the sun's creeping glance over the horizon. With jackets, hats, and gloves on, we made for the Great Wall, for what was truly one of the best experiences of my life. In the blustery cold that read in the teens, and with the wind swirling like dust devils on the towers, Simatai stood, crumbling in portions, like a vein across the low, winterish-bare mountains, which were golden brown against the morning's light. We hiked for a long time.

Dinner that night was delicious. Our legs all ached, but none of us complained. Long before the hour had reached midnight, we slept, our anticipation high for the Forbidden City.