Squat Toilet

I've finally come to review something which I find so vile, revolting, and disgusting that I cannot even bring myself to post a photograph of it on this blog. All of you readers who have lived in Beijing or are currently residing here know where I'm going with this. For those of you who somehow missed the title at the top of the entry, I am talking about the Squat Toilet.

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There are some things that just cannot be excused or explained by cultural differences, and the Squat Toilet is at the top of the list in Beijing. In China, and indeed, in much of Asia, the water closet throne has no seat. You must simply balance, brace yourself, or mysteriously levitate above a hole in the ground, and drop your load.

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This little detail of life in China somehow escaped the thoughts of every single person who advised me about moving here. An "oh, by the way, if you need to go #2, you'll need to balance your butt above a hole in the ground with your pants around your ankles" would have been appreciated. And where was this important aspect of contemporary Asia documented during the run-up to the Olympic Games? Why didn't any of the umpteen local reporters, much less national network anchors, do a profile on how one of the basic necessities of everyday life calls for an uncomfortable compromise for most Westerners?

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The Chinese will tell you they invented paper and the means to write on it. They invented fireworks. They may have even invented the first shoulder-mounted rocket-propelled-grenade launcher. So my complaint can be summed up thusly: "After more than 5,000 years of civilized history, is this all you could come up with for depositing human waste? A hole in the ground?"

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I can recall the first time I encountered the horror of the Squat Toilet. It was at my workplace, in a public bathroom on my floor in the office building. It seemed familiar enough, a metal door on some hinges, next to a typical urinal. It wasn't the cleanest restroom in the world, but I understand how accuracy is sometimes the first casualty When Nature Calls. When I pushed the door open and beheld the sight of the Squat Toilet, all I could think was, "ARE YOU KIDDING ME?" Some quaint porcelain plating and a foot-pedal flush system was all that separated it from the Coal Miner's Daughter's family outhouse in Appalachia. What was going on behind the next door down the hall? The Chinese Chainsaw Massacre?

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And this was on the eighth floor of a 25-story office tower. As I stood in the doorway, I could only imagine thirteen more levels of fecal matter dropping straight down, burning its way from one hole in the floor to the next, just like the acidic blood from "Alien." I finally turned away and began to quickly consider alternatives to my situation. I gave up on the entire building almost immediately, and went to the 4-star hotel down the street. At least they had the proper equipment to get the job done.

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Later, I discovered that the Squat Toilet is, perhaps, a result of necessity. Every now and then, you'll see a small public toilet building along a city street, and I assure you, each one has all of the fly-swatting charm of a rustic roadside rest stop along a blue highway in Arkansas. But, when you live in a city of 12-to-15 million people, dignity isn't always going to be your top concern. And, if you grew up in most parts of China, this is the way you were potty-trained: learning to rest your weight on your heels, wedging-open your butt crack, and moving the bowels until empty.

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Now the real scary thing...as if what I've already described is not scary enough...is foreigner families are actually teaching their kids to adapt to this crude custom. One woman writing on a community website says she is forcing her 3 year-old to learn to squat, because, "after all, we live in China, and we travel a lot, so the sooner our kids learn how to use squat toilets, the better!"

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Excuse the phrase, but HOLY CRAP, LADY! China has many nice hotels, nice schools, and nice homes, all with toilet seats. And they are clean, too. Unless you are traveling to some primitive grassland wilderness where no 3 year-old child needs to be, anyway, you can find a less-traumatizing choice.

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True, the astronauts aboard the International Space Station are having trouble with a workable solution, but at least they're trying. In zero gravity, I might add.

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I admit I don't understand everything about Chinese culture. However, I can tell you this; every man, woman, and child needs to sit down, not squat, to pinch a loaf. This isn't rocket science.

Feng Shui

I know some people in the U. S. who are devotees of Feng Shui, the new-age application of balance in one's life. It goes beyond having good luck or bad luck. It is the literal measure of "qi", or the flow of energy, in a particular space. The Chinese have followed the basic principles of Feng Shui for thousands of years. Westerners only caught onto the tradition recently while deciding how to re-arrange their living room furniture.


Non-Chinese railroad-builders earned the wrath of the locals in the 20th century by building tracks in violation of Feng Shui principles. Although the Chinese were angered, I suppose there were few instances of locomotives suddenly jumping off the tracks without explaination. Yet the tradition, or superstition, remains.


I joined three of my Chinese co-workers for a meal at a restaurant. The host guided us to our seats at a table in the middle of the room. After ordering our meals, my co-workers began speaking amongst themselves in Mandarin, and suddenly got up from their chairs. They moved to another table, leaving me sitting alone. I finally stood up and followed them, expecting some kind of explaination to come my way in English. Nothing. So, after a few minutes at the new table, I said, "what was that all about? Why did we move?" "That table had bad Feng Shui," one of my colleagues explained. I was pissed. "So, what?" I said, "You were going to make me sit there by myself? What was I supposed to do, walk out of the place so I could get hit by a bus?"


The response was classic Chinese. "But everyone knows Feng Shui," the co-worker said. "Everyone."

Pandas Are People, Too

You don't need to travel all the way to China to discover that giant pandas are awesome. But you need to be here to experience to depth of affection that the Chinese have for these gentle creatures. Giant pandas have been fighting extinction for more than 30 years, and the mainland Chinese have not only kept the species going, but they have managed to turn it into a symbol of peace and goodwill among nations. It's a fact that giant pandas have replaced the ping pong table as the key instrument of Chinese international diplomacy. Once the Chinese offer to send a pair of cute panda to mend fences or establish a new relationship with another country, resistance is futile.

The panda-as-superstars mania is so unusual that it defies logic. I think panda-lovers would put shirts, pants and hats on the animals if they were allowed to. There is one famous case in which a college student climbed a fence in a Chinese zoo and tried to hug one of the pandas. The guy ended up in the hospital, suffering from multiple panda bites. "Yang Yang was so cute, and I just wanted to cuddle him," the student reportedly explained, foolishly brainwashed into thinking that pandas are people, too.

But the real problem is not the alleged propaganda or occasional violence, it is the panda lifestyle of hedonism and laziness. They are not expected to do anything all day, except look cute and eat bamboo leaves. Sort of like supermodels. There's also the aspect of the panda philosophy of breeding. Since the goal at their Sichuan home was to produce more pandas, the male and female are conditioned to take time out from the bamboo-chewing at the drop of a hat and just do-what-comes-naturally. And admit it, that's the part of the supermodel lifestyle which we really want to see.

McDonald's

Whenever you find yourself in a strange location, nothing is more welcome than a familiar face.


The much-maligned Golden Arches serve that purpose for Westerners all over the Far East. And all of you culture-addicted, high-minded idiots who turn-up your noses at the sight of Starbucks, KFCs, Pizza Huts, and McDonalds, just get over yourselves.


"With all the great Chinese food to choose from, why would you want to go to McDonald's?" Um, because all Chinese food isn't that great, and you can rely on Mickey D's to deliver each and every time.


The facts are these: 1. McDonalds' plot for world domination is already more than 25 years old, so if you haven't accepted it yet, it's time you got started. 2. The Chinese like McDonald's; they think it's great. If they didn't, there would not be one on every other block in Beijing. 3. Millions of Chinese eat at McDonald's every day. So, as you international snobs keep telling me, when in Rome...put your stupid pretensions aside and enjoy the goodness that is juicy burgers, delicious fries, and a thick shake. 4. Most Chinese who do eat McDonald's food enjoy other stuff, too, like Chinese food. So don't lecture me about how opening a McDonald's in the neighborhood will lead to a health threat akin to radiation sickness, because it just isn't true. 5. The quality of McDonald's food in China is, in all likelihood, far better than that which is served in the United States. Period.


"Oh, the McDonald's fast-food invasion is sending the native culture rocketing down the toilet!" Give me a break. The restaurants are always clean, the workers are always friendly, and the crew nearly always gets your order right, given that you place your order in perfect Mandarin. Bottom line: Chinese culture has managed to last 5000 years. I'm sure it can survive a few ounces of special sauce.

Chinese New Year

Happy Lunar New Year! The Chinese virtually ignore January 1 and instead celebrate their own New Year a few weeks later. This week-long celebration includes a countdown to midnight on a specific day, but it also is marked by grandiose displays of fireworks and indoor and outdoor decorations.


The fireworks displays in Beijing are completely home-grown. Citizens buy their stash of fireworks, just like people do in the U. S., except they purchase 10 times more stuff. There's no organized display set-up by a bank or radio station. Chinese folks simply take their fireworks to the nearest parking lot, curbside, or street, and light the fuse. During countdown night, the fireworks begin at around 11:45 p.m. and last continuously for a solid half-hour. Then, for the next week, all you hear is a dull roar and the occasional outta-nowhere series of blasts.


Since Beijing is a real urban environment, some of the fireworks don't rise above the 10th floor of the nearest high rise apartment or office building (no one shoots from the roof). The folklore goes that the loud noise scares away evil spirits and clears the way for good luck for the new year. I tried to explain to my co-workers that in the U. S., the sound of firecrackers is indistinguishable from gunshots, so personal fireworks displays are "illegal" in many parts of America. Besides, we believe evil spirits can be dispatched more quickly and effectively using bullets.

I Have A Vacuum Cleaner

I have a vacuum cleaner. And I'm not afraid to use it.


You would not believe how hard it was to find this, the Philips 900 watt Mini-Vac. In most of Beijing, cleaning the street is done with a simple pile of twigs tied to a stick. I'm no student of history, but I can almost swear that Englishwomen used a better broom 400 years ago, at least until they were found out and burned at the stake. Then again, those crude cleaning tools also were said to have enabled the power of flight, but that's another story.


After midnight, you might see an old street sweeper truck, gilding the gutters along Beijing's major highways, but it is a losing battle. For a series of reasons, this is one of the world's dirtiest cities. It's only a few hundred miles from the Gobi Desert, so sand gets blown in on a daily basis. Then, there's the usual grit and grime which is typical of a big industrial city. But why and how the dirt gets into my apartment is an absolute mystery. I've lived in big cities in the U. S., and I've never had dirt pile up...PILE UP...in the corner of an apartment within the space of 48 hours. Fortunately, the apartment is fitted hardwood and tile floors, because wall-to-wall carpet would have no chance.


I used the lame broom-and-dustpan method of cleaning the floors for 8 months before I finally located and purchased a mini-vac, a "dust buster" that is standard equipment in almost every home in the developed world. This thing produces a decent amount of suction that lets me attack piles of dirt with ease. Like the message on the box says, it "Gives a Good Result Fast!" It also packs a killer recoil. The 900 watts of power forces the handle to do the kind of gymnastics underage Chinese Olympians can only dream about. I've got to tape both of my wrists before I hit the power switch.


The good news is that it works. The bad news is it keeps me from hiring someone else to clean my apartment for me, which is apparently the option most foreigners use instead of deploying the unyielding power of the mighty mini-vac. Made here in China, by the way.

Take Beijing Taxi

Almost exactly one year ago today, the first Beijing resident I met was a taxi driver who ripped me off to the tune of 400 RMB (60 USD) for a short ride from the airport to my hotel. Welcome to China.


Ever since that day, I've had a love-hate relationship with the men and a few women behind the wheel of various Hyundai Elantras, Volkswagen Jettas, and other fine automobiles. But the basic fact is, it would be impossible for me to get around Beijing without them. As professionals, they truly do a better job navigating the streets, roads, and expressways than the typical Beijing motorist ever could.


After surviving two crashes and skating through near-misses too numerous to mention, I simply must still give proper respect to the taxi drivers and their immaculate, well-maintained vehicles (how else could the Elantra 5-speed manual transmission be so nimble in bumper-to-bumper traffic? I mean, who knew?). Not only that, but after 12 months, I also need to give them credit for avoiding practically each and every man, woman, child, bicycle, tricyle, pedicab, rickshaw, ox cart, horse-drawn rolling fruit stand, motorscooter, motorcycle, illegally-licensed truck, car, bus, and other taxi-driving scum on the road.


Any suggestion you may have heard that Beijing taxi drivers spent months learning English skills to welcome foreigners to the Olympic games was absolutely untrue. And now that the Games are long past, the drivers have all forgotten whatever English skills they never learned in the first place. But consider this: you'll stand a better chance finding an English-speaking taxi driver in Beijing than in any large city in the United States. True.