SARS-6 years later

Had it not been for a reminder from my wonderful group of friends from the Peace Corps days in Sichuian, I would have totally forgotten that this week six years ago was when our service was abruptly ended. One morning I was totally content walking to the market to buy a big batch of vegetables to make dumplings. By that afternoon, I was frantically packing 80 pounds of stuff and trying to contact as many friends as I could to say last minute goodbyes. Two days later, I was back in the USA after nearly 2 years away.

In the end, the evacuation worked out well. I was planning to go to grad school in the fall and I had a couple more moths to prepare. I got to travel in the US that summer to visit family and friends. I even wound up with a cool stint working at a farm camp for teenagers. But the entire evacuation process was a haunting reminder that even though the US government sent us to go and live and work alongside Chinese people, we remained Americans with passports and the ability to be pulled away from any potentially dangerous situation.

I still look back at the SARS experience from my perspective of being caught in the middle of two competing worlds. At the time I left, no one around me knew much about SARS. If they had heard of it, it was something that was not a big deal that was happening in Hong Kong, far away from Sichuan. Everyday I checked online sources at the local internet cafe to read intense, fear-producing stories about SARS coming from the US. I thought both sides were extreme, but the US version of the story ultimately determined the fate of 80 Peace Corps Volunteers serving in China at the time.

So six years ago, I left China for the first time. I was certain that I would return, but come back on my own terms. I also wanted to come back with more of an intellectual challenge ahead of me. Don't get me wrong-doing the Peace Corps in Sichuan was an invaluable experience. But teaching in China is a monotonous job and I often felt more valued simply for my English speaking abilities than any environmental experience or expertice I was supposed to have to be a volunteer in the first place (my job title was officially 'Environmental Education Volunteer').

Of course, I have come back to China many times since 2003. I think all of the trips I have made here have been leading up to the research I am currently doing. And I am happy to be doing this crazy, overwhelming (at times) fun project. Its been worth it, and I can sense that now especially with spring's arrival. People here have removed their winter layers of clothing and there is a bounce to everyone's stride. I think with spring in Harbin comes a contagious joy. I hope that happiness is not just limited to Harbin. Happy Spring!

Hiding the Dirt

This guy is selling cabbage from the back of his truck. He's cutting off the old and dirty parts of the cabbage to sell the clean versions we see in front of him (rather than the dirty cabbage behind him).

I've worked on enough farms in the US to know that vegetables sold at farmer's markets or in farm stands must be appear to be high quality. A tomato, while perfectly good but with spots, is to be separated from tomatoes with a perfect appearance (to be displayed at the market). In Chinese markets, a similar hiding process occurs. Vendors pay special attention to make sure the top of a pile of vegetables looks perfect; the imperfect ones are hidden at the bottom of a pile.


Whether its silly or not, we all expect the food we buy to look good (or at least we have become accustomed to being offered good-looking food). In US farmer's markets (the ones I am thinking of which tend to be organic), most markets attract customers willing to spend extra money on local, organic produce. In exchange for the extra price they are paying, customers expect clean, beautiful, high quality produce. All or most imperfect items are removed (failing to recall Joni Mitchell's lyrics, "give me spots on my apples, but leave me the birds and the bees").

In Chinese farmer's markets, the beautification process takes place in front of customers. They see the old, dirty parts of the cabbage being cut off. They know that underneath clean items lay the imperfect ones. Consumers tend to sort through and choose their own items to avoid imperfect ones. Similar processes, but different approaches to hiding the imperfections.

Whether or not the appearance is authentic or not relies upon trust. In Harbin, a few people have told me that there is a machine some rice sellers use to put their rice into it to polish it to make last year's crop appear new to pass for this year's crop. Some people claim they can tell when this is done; others claim that they go to the same store to purchase their rice because they know and trust the owners.

Trust is also a big part of the local food movement in the US. Small producers who cannot afford to go throught eh process of organic certification rely upon a consumer base who trust that their food is grown organically.

I have nothing significantly profound to say here. My point is simply that all food is dirty and has imperfections. Standards of perfections are different across cultures. In the US, perfection is considered in appearance, freshness, and in lack of chemicals in production. In China, perfection is appearance and freshness (in both cases, these are wild generalizations). Trust between consumers and sellers plays a role in insuring the authenticity of that perfection.

Reason to go to Beijing

I was in Beijing this past weekend. It was a great weekend. I got to bike and run outside in the sunny weather. I got to compare Beijing supermarkets to Harbin ones (in terms of rice selection, of course). I got to go to a yoga class, get a massage and a pedicure. I got to talk about the process of doing research with other geography grad students. I got to see friends passing through town.

But really what made it all worth it was to get to know this little ball of fuzziness.
Meet Dakota. Here she is with her new mommy, and one of my best China friends, Melissa. Dakota was rescued a few weeks ago from a garbage can where she was abandoned and with cuts on her belly. A caring person took her to the vet. Her cuts were fixed and she stayed at the vet until Melissa learned about her and adopted her. She is almost 3 months old and is a big ball of spazzy puppy energy. She runs and is always looking for attention. Although she's not very loud, I named her Da Kou Ta (大口她) Her Big Mouth in Chinese because it sounds like Dakota.

Now she is living the luxury life of a classy Beijing puppy. She goes on multiple walks a day, eats good doggy food meals, gets plenty of treats, plays with dog (and cat) toys, and is bathed at least once a week to keep her white fur white in a dusty city.

She takes the whole bath thing pretty well for a puppy.

She is a mixed puppy. I think she is actually a puppy-kitten hybrid. Melissa thinks she's a lion cub. We think she has some teddy bear in her, too. Regardless of what she is, she's CUTE. And I look forward to more trips to Beijing to play with her.