The Mark of Z: Becoming Legal in China

THIS ARTICLE WAS CENSORED FROM PUBLICATION IN BEIJING AFTER A WARNING (IN NO UNCERTAIN TERMS) TO NOT SPREAD RUMOURS ABOUT THE VISA SITUATION.

The visa renewal hysteria that has clutched the Jing’s expat community has taken the micro issues off the table. There’s been a lot less bitching about squat toilets or windy days, because the questions everyone wants answered are: “how do I get a Z-visa?” and “what will happen to my life if I’m expelled from China?”

Feeling that an end to my semi-illegal, F-L-X-C visa-running lifestyle was drawing near, I decided to go straight in for the Z. Unfortunately, the Z came with a whole plethora of painful clauses: the full-time job, the company contract, the visa-run, the Foreign Expert Certificate, the ‘6-month-too-late’ Registry of Residence, the health check, and the endless gathering of fapiaos. In a neat list it all looks so manageable, but the reality was a labyrinth of dead-ends, delays, grey areas, suspicious-looking papers, negotiations with police officers and bureaucrats, and various attempts to elicit cooperation from my less-than-stable landlord.

The first step to the Z was rising above the quagmire of hysteria-filled forums that overflow with visa rejection cases, and accepting that the ease of the HK visa-run was gone for a while. The message from the Chinese Consulate in Hong Kong was pretty clear: you’re welcome in China, but you’re not welcome to apply for a visa. My company’s generous US$800 visa-run travel allowance had started looking less generous when they said Hong Kong was out, but Tokyo, Bangkok or Delhi were in. After spending last July in the muddy farmyard of Delhi’s monsoon, and wishing to avoid yet another rendezvous with sin city, I decided Tokyo would be a welcome change.

The second step (which overlapped with the first step) was to secure a Registry of Residence certificate. Coercing my landlord into showing the police her ID was no easy feat. After a week of hiding and two personal phone calls from the police, she finally agreed to come down to the station. Once there, she attempted to escape through the back exit, before spending twenty minutes in a side corridor asking various people to check if there were any “foreigners” blocking the front entrance. When our number was finally called, she announced she’d forgotten her ID card. By the time she left, the entire Sanlitun police force was whispering about the mad lady.

After cruising through steps three, four, five and six, I was back to the visa-run. A few days before my scheduled flight to Japan, my company decided I didn’t really need to leave after all. The Tokyo visa-run mega-plan was quickly replaced by an afternoon in the Foreign Registry Office with a private agent who had filled out a 20 centimetre high pile of forms on my behalf. My job was to stand behind him, send good vibes, and look foreign. A week later my passport was returned, proudly bearing the mark of Z.

So I have the Z, but am still left musing over how to collect RMB5000 worth of fapiaos every month, so I don’t lose a huge chunk of my pay. To even come close I need to get my landlord to take a trip down to the Chaoyang tax office. To avoid worrying about this, I have taken to worrying about my partner’s visa issues. For him to get the Z is far more complicated, and I fear he spends too much time on the micro issues, as he’s more often perched on the windowsill meowing at neighbouring cats, than thrashing about in the bureaucratic swamp.
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tempting fate

.after spotting this beijing cyclist, i was left wondering:

. is this really is the safest way to transport four porcelain vases?


.and did he really want them to reach their destination?
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highlight gallery @ 798

.This gallery should definitely be renamed headlight gallery!
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behind the front

OR: Nadeemy finds a sarcasm-free moment to reflect on China!

China is on the tip of everyone’s tongues – if it’s not talk about the impact this giant is having on the global economy, it’s talk about how it will be received by the international community come the Olympics. “Foreigners” who have already visited China, often leave talking about nothing more than its pollution, the filth of public latrines, the commerce push of its mega-cities, and a few of the great sites. But this is the inaccessibility of the China experience. Without language, without time, and without the willingness to debase a huge and unexpected array of beliefs, I doubt China could be much more. After all, how does one get past years of constructed orientalism, mountains of cheap goods, and the frightening largesse of the statistics, when any single one of these factors is immensely overwhelming?

It is my experience that it is extremely difficult to integrate into Han Chinese culture. Han Chinese tend to circulate in small, closed communities, and are often unwilling to share, or of the mindset that they have nothing to share (other than culinary delights and a few historical sites) with visitors. This trend is only exemplified if one digs into the archives of insular Chinese politics, and takes into consideration the long history of xenophobic and protectionist policies, and the fact that no foreigner can ever hope to become a citizen of China.

Due to an unresolved inner conflict between my eastern and western halves, my father and mother, Asian life and Australian life, it has become very hard for me to speak out against the relentless barrage of ignorant prejudices about China and its people. Indeed, not to speak is the Asian way. To my own discredit, I confess that I constantly reduce myself to entertaining other foreigners with anecdotes about cultural mishaps, and cheap talk of bizarre and untoward differences.

Yet in reality, the transformation in my awareness drawn from Chinese life, has been something innately wondrous and magical. I have been drawn in by the intimate flow of life in the streets, and the joy in making small discoveries. The fleeting moments hidden around every corner, the tiny marketplaces in back alleys, the movement in the hutongs, the red lanterns on snow, the chaotic jumble of bicycles and carts, the worlds within worlds, and the innate calmness of a people who give each space, despite the crowds. But more significantly, I am seduced by the way China is deconstructing and reconstructing me conceptually.

To comprehend anything at all about China, one has to begin by knowing that not only the language, but the mindset and approach to life, are unknown to the western mind. European language concepts are not applicable in Chinese; words only cover parts of meanings, and new meaning take a long, long time to understand. But perhaps the most striking aspect of the Chinese experience is the result of being so firmly outside the sphere and influence of Christianity; to be momentarily free of the intense individualism and egocentrism of nations harvested on the belief that each of us stands alone to be judged before God.

Living inside an empire of communities which devalue the individual so entirely is mind-blowing. On one hand, I will always be conflicted, as I can not cease to believe in the rights and the power of the individual; yet, on the other hand, China has brought me to see clearly the negative offshoots of western individualism. As incredulous as it may seem, many of the “ills of the west” (depression, anxiety, and eating disorders such as anorexia and bulimia) do not exist in Chinese civilization, and are most definitely not treated, diagnosed or authenticated in the same way. I take the viewpoint now, that these ills only exist in personal belief, stemming from a negative egocentrism cradled by social validation.

So to end my artless musings, let me say there is nothing more fantastic than the risk of being shaped and changed in an unimaginable way, and to have every idea one has ever been fool enough to believe in discredited. And of China, that the strength of this nation is undeniable, and lies not in its government, but in the millions of people who believe more in the greatness of this central kingdom than themselves.
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nike in china

"THE NEW RED?"

Chinese tour groups across the nation are going all out to impress with the new emblem of home-grown communism!
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laptop feng shui

After a recent investigation, our landlord took the liberty of disconnecting our phone and internet. In her opinion, it was in our best interests to share a modem with a turtle-loving, pyjama-clad DJ, halve our monthly bills, and run a free wire into her room. Angered at the absence of consultation, we told her “no” to the new deal, “no” to the new cables, and politely shut the door. Always one step ahead, she must have had our old cables cut, because despite our continuing account with CNC, we can no longer get online. We have now been without internet for three days, and swamped with feelings of destitution and anger. This is what happens when the centre from which all things flow is uprooted.

So, I find myself perched in a damp corner of the bathroom with the laptop halfway out the window to steal a few heartwarming minutes of wireless, when the dusty spring breeze begins to draw me back into the horrors of the old world …
It was less than two years ago that I resided in a laptop-free zone, where we were forced to do awful things, like: communicate with each other, throw spontaneous pot-luck parties, play Pictionary charades into the early hours, and cover the walls in Pop Art. They were the worst of times, which were luckily cut short when the chai-drinkers left, and two high-powered “laptoppers” moved in.

At this point, let me iterate that being online 24/7 doesn’t equate with emotional or spiritual emptiness. To the contrary, the laptoppers brought focus and synergy to the living environment. The energy of the apartment, once vague and scattered like falling autumn leaves, began to revolve around two very distinct hubs. It was then I realized success could be at my fingertips too, because harmony and peace freely abound in laptop hubs. As the user is auspiciously centered for long periods within the flow of chi, good fortune, such as the eternal fountain of free entertainment, unfettering popularity on Facebook, and a soulful relationship with an E-cupped love puppy in a chat-room, are all potential and propitious gains.

If the hub itself does not reduce household interaction to the level of stabilizing harmony, my advice is to move quickly into the business of VIRTUAL FENG SHUI. Deflect that remaining negativity by protecting the walls around your hub with a series of LCD screens featuring moving images of wind chimes and lotus flowers. The advantage of Virtual Feng Shui is that it can be programmed to cater and respond to several different users. For example, if Turtle Boy’s beats would flow more naturally with eight synchronized goldfish in the west, when he entered the hub, the screens would provide.

Inevitable technological advances promise that soon enough not just Virtual Feng Shui, but your cyber friends, will be upgraded to holograms. Imagine the joy in the cups of your soul-mate from the chat-room, when she projects her image into your hub for a late night rendezvous, and finds herself in a spiritual hotspot, energized by a gushing waterfall in the north, 99 galloping horses in the south, and a lifelike three-legged toad, hopping straight towards her.
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big cats in small boxes

.big cats in small boxes I

Most guidebooks suggest travellers make a pass on the Beijing Zoo. The general outlook is that any enthusiast is in for a fairly miserable adventure, that will lack the Disneyland lustre of well-funded, high-calibre zoos.

What these travellers unfortunately miss out on, is the opportunity to be absolutely appalled at the horrendous conditions at this zoo, and be forced to use all manner of will-power not to open cages, and release a family of Siberian tigers into the back Hutongs of the city.

Not only are the Jing's animals clearly suffering from isolation and neglect, there has clearly been very little attempt at natural environment simulation. So instead of being surrounded by trees and the sounds of nature (which can't survive the Beijing winter anyway), most animals live in barred-off, cemented, pocket-hole apartments - not so unlike the human population, but without an out.

Whilst the most difficult vision is the hall filled with giant cats (lions, tigers, jaguars etc) locked indoors, in tiny, cement enclosures, it is also depressing (for an Australian) to find a group of kangaroos huddled around a heater in a small cement box.


.big cats in small boxes II
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the tao of construction

Life in an Asian mega-city requires punters to gracefully accept the relentless seven day a week cacophony of construction and demolition. Large-scale urban develop- ments and rising megalithic skyscrapers have become the Asian way – the one dream of transforming China into a giant, matrix-esque, HK-style playground.

Despite sharing this grand vision of urbanization, I can’t repress the troubling thought that the victims of construction-related psycho-trauma must now be in the millions. The unforgiving bang-drill-dust combo is not only an assault on the senses, but a key contributor to rising levels of sleep deprivation, migraines, allergies, and angry delusions.

A few questions I know I want answered are: how bigger stake do earplug multinationals have in construction? When will freelancers be compensated for low productivity due to noise pollution? Will that film of toxic dust ever leave? And on a more personal note, who is going to wean me off oxymetazoline? Oh, sweet nasal decongestant.

I realize my construction-related trauma withers next to Mr. X, the last stronghold in a demolition site near my apartment, but I started out on the back-foot – softened by a life in suburban Australia, where the most offensive noise pollutants are tone-deaf corellas. The following is my personal account as a survivor of long-term exposure to construction, and how I found inner peace in a sea of excavators, cranes and pile-drivers.

I spent my first year in Asia in an apartment circumvented by building sites. After about 93 consecutive 5am wake-up calls, my counter-construction terrorism fantasies began. They were usually preceded by fantastical nightmares, in which a mutant species of demolitionists would descend upon my pad with an array of chainsaws and jackhammers. I would always display a few crouching-tiger hidden-dragon style moves, before realizing the smallness of being a guard-dog for a rental property, and exiting through the back window with my Shakira poster and a few angry barks.

To manage my delusions, I began to meditate – bearing in mind that harmony with surroundings is a key principle in mastering the Tao of Construction. Instead of forging my own path, I began to go with the sounds. I allowed the whirring of distant graders to become ocean sounds, and the heavy thuds, the hooves of horses on open plains. When the sounds became too invasive, I harnessed their energy for positive action. I used the repetitive bangs as a metronome for playing my oboe, and when I felt more subversive than musical, as resistance training for relevant torture techniques.

My advice for all victims of the construction scram is: don’t let the demolitionists win – embrace the Tao. Those living in districts targeted for pre-Olympic developments are in the greatest danger, but all residents must use earplugs and dust-masks, and meditate until the August fervour declines.

If despite all your efforts, you are still unlucky enough to be one of the million Beijingers handed pre-Olympic eviction notices, look at it as a chance for a positive, new start – this is your way out of that bang-drill-dust rut, and back to a peaceful life in the countryside!

To see this article in print link to: Urbane China, Habitat, March 2008.
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the dervish-hippy instruction manual

.(foto: el noveno colectivo)

One of India’s most striking first impressions is her dervishes – the original hippy model. Hindu men in the fourth stage of their Earthly development, re-enter the community on the outskirts, as possession-free observers. Those in this stage of material absolution can be found bathing in the holy waters of the Ganges, philosophising in small posses, and spinning in circles.

Many a western punter sets out on their first journey with the heart-warming intention to escape the plethora of social constraints that have controlled their life up to any given point. There are more than a few that harbour the secret desire to join the travelling ‘hippy elite,’ but often find themselves confounded by a range of new, and often confusing, expectations. Amateur queries can be as simple as: why can’t I wear shoes anymore? And, why can’t I laugh when someone cuts the cheese in yoga class?

Sadly, more than a few hopefuls have been disappointed by their failure to rack up enough hippy-cred. To save the children of the world from further heartbreak I have designed a fast-track, 4-step method to emancipation from your prior self, and rebirth as a hardcore hippy.

STAGE 1: Taking the Plunge
Move to India and start eating from the street. Within two weeks you will be suffering from your first bout of dysentery – the first in a line of many. Over time, this will help give you that skinny, emaciated look.
TIP: Aim for frequent bouts of traveller's diarrhoea (pakoras from railway stations are a good option), as this will speed up the process of emaciation.

STAGE 2: The Radical Transformation
Hide your polar-fleece sweater, havaiana thongs, and credit card, and start wearing a sarong with strings of brightly dyed beads around your neck. At this stage it is imperative that you get your hair dreadlocked, and STOP using shampoo. Neat dreads do not guarantee hippy-cred! You need to aim for that matted, ‘I’ve had dreads since I emerged from the womb’ look.
TIP: rinsing your hair in the Ganges is a good way to contract a plethora of tropical diseases that will assist you along the road to emaciation and emancipation.

STAGE 3: Upping the Drug Intake
By this stage you should be smoking ganja at 15 minute intervals throughout the day; and instead of pakoras, nourish your body with a cocktail of hallucinogenics. This is by no means the ‘authentic’ Hindu way, but it will help give you an air of wonder and nonchalance, and break down any resistance you had to meditating in a pile of garbage and cow shit.
TIP: claim regular sightings of god-like apparitions; claim a rainbow is a sighting of Shiva, and the monkey on your balcony, Hanuman.

STAGE 4: Authenticate or Dissipate
By stage 4 you should be experiencing the enlightenment of a frightening combination of dysentrious and drug-induced delusions. Your accessories and hairstyle should be perfect, and the dirt building up under your nails. It is time for you to start chanting and throwing ‘holy water’ on the locals, in between making wild, religious proclamations.
TIP: try to avoid taking yourself too seriously, and believing in your newfound authentic hardcore hippy self. Remember you stole most of your attributes from India’s dervishes: dreadlocks; the minimalist but colourful accessories; the sarong; yoga; bare feet; living with nature; vegetarianism; living on the outskirts; the relinquishment of material possessions; Buddhism (something like Hinduism minus the caste system); and non-violence towards animals.


.(foto: el noveno colectivo)
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through the peephole

As a new resident to the Jing, I soon realized my pad wasn’t going to be that lulling haven of privacy and personal space I had naively imagined – luckily I was eased in gently.

My first landlord, Mr. Li, was a pensioner, and relatively averse to climbing the seventy-odd steps to reach my door. The rare burst of enthusiasm, would of course find him passing through in the wee hours with a team of camera-laden surveyors ready to profile the walls – ‘support evidence’ for damage claims caused by new constructions. In these grandiose intrusions, we would quickly become pajama-clad wall-flowers, and try to avoid the bright flashes. As time passed, I came to consider the occasional loss of space a fair trade for old Mr. Li’s genuine kindness. Lost keys would have him wandering the streets at midnight looking for a locksmith, and my rent-paying occasionally culminated in a drunken ballad.

Mr. Li however, was no training ground for my SanLiTun love-shack collective – ruled over by Li Jie and her troupe of over-sexed cats. It was late one night when I was frying eggs and contemplating reality, that a blinding flash filled the window. A color-wolf! An egg-flipping voyeur! A pervert with a stick-on beard! My claims had my macho-man racing out to accost the offender. Finding Li Jie outside the front-door, he recounted the event. It was then that she unabashedly announced she was just feeling a bit snap-happy; and the Mexican took an extended moment, outside in his slippers, to contemplate a new reality shared with Li Jie.

Another unusual visit soon followed, in which Li Jie attempted to accost some of our household items: old slippers, a rice-steamer, a large kitchen-knife … Spurned on by these visits, the disappearance of a lucky, red paper Fu, and too much Hollywood, a few paranoias began to emerge. A string of 3am phone calls, an hour of banging on our walls, and a blackout, had us huddled, trembling in the dark – waiting for it all to stop. Sweet daylight brought me to the realization that the faulty power-switch was behind our couch; we were to blame for the collective blackout … and maybe Li Jie just wanted her heater to work, not to murder us …

Another series of power-cuts late one afternoon had Li Jie trundling back and forth in front of our apartment. In role as a neighbourhood detective, the Mexican was spying on Li Jie through the door-viewer. He was fortunate enough a witness her ensuing struggle to dislodge our Christmas wreath. Li Jie, caught red-handed, temporarily froze, dropped the wreath, claimed it was for our safety, and scooted out.

Since then, Li Jie has been lying low; and it has become just as likely she will find me peering through her window with binoculars, as I will find her. I remain suspicious that when we’re out of town, she (or at least the cats) loll about in the love-shack, use the rice steamer, and languish in the warmth, but in a strange way, I am becoming ever more comfortable with the idea.


For the massacred version of this article in print: Urbane China, Habitat, February 2008.
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