In 1937 In New York

Down and down to the south east of the city.  From here beyond the fifth ring road it is a straight shot onward to Tianjin, a two-hour drive that’s pointless now that the high-speed train will get you there in thirty minutes.  I’ve been working with my head down but now I notice rows and rows of warehouses.  I must be getting close.  I’m off to see China’s second largest retailer this morning.  I have been here before and I’m trying to identify, without consulting an app, the big office building that I’m to hop off at.

This morning, stealing two or four pages of reading, while visiting the facilities, I came across an interesting passage in the Pomfert book I’m reading about U.S. China relations.  The author mentioned something that struck me: The Chinese writer Lin Yutang was credited with coining the term youmo: （幽默）, which, if you hail from deep-enough in Brooklyn sounds a bit like the loan-word it comes from:  humor.   The author’s name sounded familiar.  One of the titles, the suitably ironic: “The Importance of Living” was certainly something I’d seen before.  I searched once and then again on my China shelf and found an original edition that I believe my father had given me of this Lin Yu Tang title.  Written in 1937 in New York, this was the third title Lin had written in English.

Next meeting.  Colleague driving.  I type again and look up to notice that we’ve driven all the way around the south of Beijing on the fifth ring road.  My colleague had the wrong license plate today so he had to stay outside this ringed parameter or risk a fine.  I wasn’t even aware of where we were till I looked up and saw that familiar pagoda up on the hills, off to the right.  Is that the Fragrant Hills?  I have to look later to confirm that no, the fifth ring road is still to the east of the Western Hills.  And if that’s the case this can’t be the ta atop Fragrant Hills.

Shangdi is the site of the next meeting.  We only have thirty minutes to eat and get their.  My colleague points to the right and suggests some Chinese fast food.  “We don’t have time for a sit-down menu.”  I don’t like the looks of the place, but reluctantly I head in.   I’m nearly have the words: “hongshaorou” (Mao’s favorite: fatty pork),  uttered before I remember I’m a vegetarian this month.  “Can I have it without the pork?  What can I substitute the pork for?”  I remember this routine from twenty years ago.  “OK.  Then no meat.” The set menu comes with a hotdog and a bowl of stir-fried pork.  I summon the young man who took my order and revisit our conversation: “Oh, you mean, no meat?”  “Yes.  That’s what I said.”  What can we swap in here?  “Hey, yeah you, gimme a dish of eggplant here.”

Tuesday, 01/16/18