After more than a week in Korea, here are a few notes about a random array of topics:
1.) The mass market beer is pretty good compared to Chinese beers. Cass has a sweet corn malt to it and a crisp drinkability. Of course, I am comparing it to Chinese beers, so anything is good when you use such standards.
The first time I used the Seoul subway, I lost 500 won (US$0.46) because of its stupid ticketing method.
When you get a ticket issued from the machine, you pay a standard fare–about 1,350 won, or more depending on length–but there’s also an additional 500 won highlighted on the screen. If you, like me, want to try to take out the subway machine in its local language, then you will click around on the buttons until you eventually order a ticket, but you won’t comprehend what the extra 500 won is for.
It’s not until the next time that you use the subway machine and you reach into your pocket and find that you still have the old subway card in your pocket and then you try to reload your subway card and find that you can’t, then you click the buttons to buy a ticket, and the 500 won is still on the screen, and the machine issues you a new card, that you finally realize, WTF.
In fact, the 500 won is a deposit on your card, and you have to put the card back in a card return box at the end of your trip to get the refund back. (Since I still had my card in my pocket, I might have ultimately got the refund back. However, who cares?) For someone who has never used a subway, this might seem like a perfectly reasonable system to guarantee that the cards are returned.
But if you have used a subway, you might notice that many systems issue you a token (Nanjing) or a card (Beijing, Shanghai, Hong Kong) and then the turn stalls have a built-in system for you to deposit the card upon exiting.
So, first point: Remember to deposit your card in the refund box at the end of your trip on the Seoul metro.
Overall, however, I have high praise for the Seoul metro. It has very many cars connected and is not crowded like Beijing or Shanghai or Nanjing often are. Its heated seats are highly praised in the winter.
While researching tourism to South Korea, I discovered that tourism from Asian countries is dominated by female travelers. 62 percent of tourists to South Korea from East Asia and The Pacific are women, according to the Korea Tourism Organization’s figures for June 2016.
Looking at the numbers on a country-by-country basis, as I did, the countries or territories with the most disproportionate rate of females-to-males visiting Korea were Hong Kong, Taiwan, Thailand, China, Malaysia, Singapore, and Japan, in that order, before the first European country, Portugal, came.
In 1931, The China Weekly Review published an article by a local claiming that “such vices as gambling, opium dealing and houses of ill-fame are allowed to exist openly in China … wherever the French flag flies in China, social conditions are worse than under other foreign flags.”
Ah, the legendary French hedonism… The French had their own section of Shanghai, governed on their own terms, from 1849-1943, but the good times continue today, 73 years after they waved the white flag and signed the territory over to the Japanese who had conquered Shanghai. Remaining sections of the former French Concession, such as those around Shaanxi South Road, Huaihai Road, and Fuxing Road in Xuhui District have beautiful bars where you can have the old French-style experience, which includes quiet afternoons, too, I think.
Maison de Thé Song Fang was my intended stop. Housed inside a Republic of China-era lane house from 1930, it is renowned for its charming old-time teahouse style. Wooden tables on a wooden floor. Woven chairs, lamps. In one room, lights housed inside birdcages hung from bamboo poles, and tables were lined up along a flowery red couch that you could just imagine high-class Shanghai women sitting on and playing mah jong. The tea menu listed Chinese and French teas divided by style, with detailed descriptions, most of which were priced between ¥60 yuan and ¥96 yuan (~US$10-15). It also included a selection of fresh homemade pastries.
The citizens were lined up in the park, holding machine guns and M-1 rifles. They had forced the authorities out after the police had brutalized and arrested peaceful protesters, and scared the military off after 700 soldiers who had been called to suppress the protests began firing on and killing citizens.
UPDATE: My trip to Korea is over, and my Kickstarter campaign unfortunately did not succeed. However, I am still going to be writing exclusive articles about my travels in Korea. These exclusive articles will only be available to email subscribers. Click here to visit the subscribe page, or sign up below:
The scene was Gwangju, the year 1980. Ever since the end of the Korean War, there had been sporadic protests for democracy against an ever-changing lineup of authoritarian regimes in South Korea. Elections would be rigged, opposition leaders arrested, the parliament dissolved, or the president would take some “crisis” as an excuse to declare martial law. Eventually the dictator would be disposed of by assassination or coup, and a new dictator would take his spoils. It went on like this through five republics and one period of military rule, but in 1979, the people would stand for it no longer. Demonstrations swept the nation in May 1980. On May 17, Chun Doo-hwan, who had used the assassination of strongman president Park Chung-hee to seize control of the military and domestic security security apparatus (and later the presidency) declared martial law over the whole country on the pretext of maintaining stability. The demonstrations in most cities were put down without bloodshed. But the people of Gwangju city in South Jeolla province, long known for its independent nature and history of rebellions, stood their ground.
For almost a week, the people of Gwangju held control of the city. They formed self-government committees, they printed a newspaper, and they raided police stations and automobile factories for arms and vehicles. On the early morning of May 27, their uprising came to an end. A line of tanks rolled in. The people had gathered on the outskirts of city the day before to try, with little success, to slow the advance of the military. Then civil militias faced down the tanks with weapons they had gathered. Their final stand lasted just one-and-a-half hours before the Korean military had regained control of the city. All told, at least 144 protesters and militants died, as did 22 troops and 4 police officers. Those are the numbers released by the government, but the Bereaved Family Association says at least 165 Gwangju citizens died, and some government critics argue the death toll is as much as 2,000*. Continue reading
As a child growing up on the outskirts of Guangzhou, Li Chixiang would listen to Hong Xiannv broadcast revolutionary operas on the radio and act them out. One moment she was the White Haired Girl, a peasant oppressed into concubinage by tyrant landlords, the next she was Wu Qinghua, a brave female soldier in the Red Detachment of Women. With her imagination, Li would conjure beautiful robes, flowered headdresses, and martial props. Her family was too poor to afford those things.
One day her father brought home a large blue vase from a business trip. As the family was admiring it, young Li, then 10 years old, picked up the vase and began using it as a microphone. She immediately transformed into Li Yuhe, the revolutionary railroad worker in The Legend of the Red Lantern, but as she swayed and sang, the vase slipped from her hand and smashed on the ground.
With mother and father enraged, Li ran off towards the bus station and headed for downtown Guangzhou to find Hong Xiannv and Zheng Peiying, another actor she had recently seen perform live. When she got off the bus, none of the adults she asked knew where either of the two actors were, and she headed back to her home in Panyu suburb awaiting her punishment. But when she arrived there, her mom said, “You scared me to death! As long as you are all right, everything is fine.” News in the village had spread that a 10-year-old’s corpse had been found in a creek.
Li Chixiang recounted the story in her book Cantonese Opera Royalty in the Eyes of A Xiang, published in 2012, in traditional Chinese characters, by the Macau Publishing House. The book includes essays on 72 heroes of the Cantonese opera stage, Hong Xiannv and Zheng Peiying among them, and 25 famous songs, as well as some stories about herself.
With a career acting and hosting TV shows spanning over thirty years, which included an appearance on CCTV’s Spring Festival Eve Gala, Li Chixiang was a good guide to me for Cantonese opera culture when I visited Guangzhou last year.
Dangshan pears are a famous local produce. In 2010, Dangshan held its first officially promoted “pear blossom festival” to promote its local produce. While the flowers bloom in spectacular beauty every year, Dangshan also hosts performances, photography competition and events tied to the festival. Still, the main highlight is walking between the trees in the park. While I couldn’t attend this year, Lu Han sent me some photos:
Maybe they’re used to it. In 2014, protesters here fought with triad members during the early days of the pro-democracy Occupy Central movement, and later in early 2015, they went “shopping” at night, filling the sidewalks in defiance of Chief Executive CY Leung.
Leung said in 2014, “Mongkok is not exactly the most genteel part of Hong Kong,” but if it’s known for being gritty and tough, residents take it as a badge of honor. In fact, Mongkok’s reputation as a former industrial area and a center of gang activity and prostitution, as portrayed in films like One Nite in Mongkok, is really an attraction force for youths who want to see a different kind of culture—free-spirited, thrill-seeking, cheap and accessible, in contrast to what one might consider stilted and unaffordable in Central district of Hong Kong island.
In recent years, Mongkok has also started to develop some “high culture” to complement its cheap markets, KTV parlors and fishball vendors. Modern and higher-end pubs, coffee shops, and restaurants are opening where mechanic shops used to be. Hak Po Street (Hei Bu, in Mandarin) now has an award-winning ramen restaurant, a dedicated coffee bar, a craft brew pub, and a dessert place side-by-side-by-side.
I discovered Hak Po Street for the first time after searching for Hong Kong’s best cafes. Number 1 on a list produced by A Foodie World.com is Knockbox, located at 21 Hak Po Street. It also rated mentions in lists by HK Magazine, Lady Iron Chef.com and Spurge.com. And for good reason. It has premium coffees available in different varieties and different presses for selection to satisfy your tastes, with recommendations available by baristas who know their stuff. The narrow shop has room for just one bar platform and a line of tables, giving it an intimate feel, and it has classic music playing. Every Friday night, Knockbox hosts coffee sampling starting at 6:30 pm for HK$80 (67 yuan).
If beer is your drug of choice, you will find it in close proximity—down the street from Knockbox is TAP (The Ale Project), a cozy and delicious craft brew pub. TAP, which was opened in 2014 by Chris Wong, who has also opened HK Brewcraft and Beer & Fish, offers an extensive list of beers from local companies like Young Master Ales and HK Beer Co., along with some Australian and European brews. I enjoyed Young Master’s seasonal Celebration Ale, which had a sweet hazelnut and vanilla kick to it. Besides beers, TAP also serves delicious Hong Kong-style fusion sandwiches, like a version of the Cubano with roasted pork and Chinese pickles, made with bread by famous baker Gregorie Michaud, who operates Bread Elements.
Many dessert places like Next Station Dessert and Joyful Dessert line Hak Po Street further along, and Ramen Kureha, with an interior covered with retro Japanese posters, is next to Knockbox on the other side. Next Station has a 97.5% satisfaction rating on Open Rice.com.
MK hipsters have already known about Hak Po Street for half a decade. Knockbox opened in 2011, Next Station in 2012, and TAP in 2014. But Hak Po Street is a little bit off the radar of tourists, since it is in the southeast side of the Mongkok streets, a small street that is intersected by a soccer field. In particular, the section with these trendy restaurants is just south of Shantung Street (Shandong Street), where much of the rioting took place.
While some people across the harbor seem to be scared of Mongkok, the district continues to bustle just like it did before. Throngs of people walk on the streets, bumping into and trying to get around each other. Performers do tricks and shows on the pedestrian street, West Yangcai South Street. Mongkok actually is one of the most popular places for independent travelers to stay, with cheap guesthouses inside the Sincere House on Argyle Street and elsewhere. So, too, in Tsim Sha Tsui, the Chungking Mansions, made famous by the film Chungking Express, have a reputation for being gritty and exciting while also serving tourists with cheap guesthouses. These are the kinds of places that add color to the bright international city of Hong Kong.
I couldn’t help myself while walking around the basement level of the Shilin Market in Taipei. Everywhere I looked there were delicious-looking snacks. Fried salty chicken, crispy crab, dumplings, meats of all kinds ready to be fried… I ate something here and something there, and by the time I got to the end of the line, where I saw an iron griddle restaurant that proudly displayed a set of award trophies, I was full.
A good piece of advice for visiting a Taiwanese night market is to always walk through once to see all the fare before you make your choice. With so many treats, you don’t want to miss something. However, that’s hard to do on an empty stomach, so you should read this summary of Taiwanese snack food instead.
Taiwanese night markets are widely praised in tourist literature. Before even stepping foot in Taiwan, an image of Taiwanese pancake rolls filled with beef showed up on my Facebook feed. “I must eat this when I go to Taiwan,” I thought. So I did.
Lao Dong Beef Noodles (老董牛肉面) is a successful noodle restaurant Taipei that was featured at the Taiwanese Cuisine Exhibit of the 2010 Shanghai Expo as a representative example of Taiwanese fare. Besides beef noodles, it also has other typical snacks like shrimp rolls and beef stuffed pancakes. All three satisfied my taste buds. Though Lao Dong may not be the best in Taipei, it had a lot of variety of snacks for reasonable prices. My favorite was the beef (or pork) wrapped in scallion pancakes. The beef was succulent, and the pancake was cooked crispy on the outside. Visitors in a hurry can purchase them on the go at a window on the outside of the restaurant, which is located at 35 Minsheng W Road, Zhongshan District (民生西路35號，中山區), just outside the exit of Shuanglian Station.
Beef noodles are also a widespread dish in mainland China, so what is so special about Taiwanese beef noodles? That is also the first thing I thought when Taipei locals told me to try beef noodles there. Beef noodles are so famous in Taiwan that it is considered a national dish. It turns out that Taiwanese beef noodles are indeed different from the Chinese variety, which were popularized by the Hui ethnicity. Taiwanese beef noodles usually have a richer soup flavor, derived from the addition of soy sauce and other ingredients, including sometimes five spice powder. The beef was also thicker—in chunks at Lao Dong—than the thin pieces of meat at Lanzhou Beef Noodle restaurants.
The most exciting place to try snacks in Taiwan is without a doubt a bustling night market. As you walk through throngs of people, you can see all kinds of food in every direction and breath in tantalizing smells. One of the largest of Taipei’s night markets is Shilin Night Market. Spread of over multiple blocks inside and outside, the area includes both souvenir shops and snack stalls. Arriving by subway one night (Shilin station or Jiantan station, line 2), I could see brightly lit signs hanging from the sides of buildings and a long line of people walking down the pedestrian street.
The main food area, however, is located inside a building at 101 Jihe Road (基河路101號, 士林區). On the first floor vendors sell packaged snacks that one can take home for friends. Such famous souvenir snacks include pineapple cakes and mochi. Pineapple cakes, with the fruit encrusted in buttery crust, vary in price from machine-manufactured and cheap to the handmade varieties. Bargaining is possible and recommended there. Mooncakes with pineapple or other tropical flavors are also popular in Taiwan.
The cooked food restaurants are on the basement level of the Shilin Market. It is there that I looked around, unable to decide what to eat. I had a list of famous Taiwanese snacks drafted from research and recommendations:
Oil noodles (担仔面)
Duck soup pot
Eel noodles (鳝鱼炒意面）
Taiwanese meatballs (肉圓 – ba wan)
Braised pork rice (沾肉飯）
Pan fried buns (生煎包)
Taiwanese-style hamburger (割包)
Pepper pork cakes (胡椒餅)
Three-cup chicken (三杯雞)
Some of those are hard to find in Taipei because they are regional foods. Eel noodles, for example, are from Tainan in the south. Others, like braised pork rice, which has fatty pieces of pork braised in a soy sauce-based sauce and put over rice to soak the rice, can be found anywhere. As I walked through the night market, other dishes I hadn’t thought of came to my attention. Pepper chicken (deep fried chicken drenched in black pepper with fried mint leaves) looked and tasted irrestible.
Others like pan fried buns were simple and nothing special.
To summarize a few highlights: Taiwanese Meatballs
Like a round dumpling, when you bite into it, your mouth fills with happiness. Steamed rice and sweet potato flour balls filled pork with vegetables like bamboo, usually in soup. While it is called rou yuan (肉圓) in Mandarin, Taiwanese call it ba wan.
Three cup chicken
With chicken cooked to absorb flavor in a mix of rice wine, soy sauce, and sesame oil, this chicken is very moist and flavorful. Garlic, ginger, and basil added afterwards add to make it bursting with savory kick.
This noodle dish from Tainan includes pork, shrimp, egg, and spices in soup. In Taiwanese dialect, danzai (擔仔) is pronounced as ta-a.
Other Night Markets
Night markets are found in abundance in Taiwan. The Taiwanese tourism bureau has a page listing 12 famous night markets throughout. In Taipei in particular, Linjiang Street Night Market and Ningxia Night Market are also listed. I visited Ningxia Night Market as well on my trip. It is near Shuanglian station, along Ningxia Road (at the corner of Ningxia Rd and Mingsheng W Rd). It is completely outdoors, a pedestrian street lined with stalls.
Riders rested their heads on tables or put their legs up on their partner’s lap while they stretched out on hard seats. Those without seats crowded on the floor or on small folding chairs outside of restrooms. We were on a train, somewhere between Bengbu and Nanjing, at just after 2 am on the way back to our places of work after Chinese New Year break.
Chinese New Year, or Spring Festival, brings people from the big cities where they live and work in to the towns and villages they grew up in. It’s the one week of the year that Shanghai is quiet and empty while cities in nearby Anhui like Bengbu and Dangshan are alive. It’s the one week of the year Shanghainese might actually miss the “out-of-province” people some of them ordinarily feel superior to.
So I decided to see how things were in a small city north of the Yangtze River. On my way to Xuzhou on Spring Festival Eve, the man sitting in front of me on the train mentioned his hometown Dangshan, a county-level city at the northernmost tip of Anhui. The bus to Dangshan went over bumpy roads by barren, dusty fields and two-story buildings with chipped paint. About 2 hours and 100 km later, we arrived outside Dangshan train station.
A guesthouse around next to the station cost about 70 RMB (compared to over 200 RMB for almost any hotel room in Shanghai) a night for a passable room with internet and toilet. Down the street, actual restaurants were open serving food. Most of the restaurants there seemed to be open.
I had spent the morning of the first day of the new year in Xuzhou, where I watched retired locals perform a pangu dance for which their Railway Folk Troupe was paid by a mall.
The lady playing the matchmaker was the most spirited of them all.
The previous night, Spring Festival Eve, rowdy young men lit made-for-export fireworks and threw them, like grenades, into the river running through the city, and watched them explode, lighting up the water with a flash. Once one of them set off a firework upside down, sending everyone to the ground to dodge the multicolored sparks that shot up off the ground. As this was all happening, an old guy sat, completely calm, on a railing a dozen meters away. No one ever said Spring Festival is completely safe, but no one got hurt in the short time I observed the relaxed display of booms and bangs either.
Vendors sold made-for-import fireworks (with English-language warning labels) on the bridge. Roads were covered with red paper from exploded firecrackers.
There can be some more fireworks expected during Lantern Festival on February 22. Here’s my video of Lantern Festival in Beijing from 2014:
Being in Xuzhou, however, I missed seeing young men kowtow to their elders on the first day of Spring Festival. It’s an ancient tradition that is not observed much in the cities now, as families are far apart and neighbors don’t know each other. But in the old days, and still in many villages and small towns, the men go from door to door and get on their knees and bow to grandparents.
Kowtowing photo, provided by Dangshan middle/high school student.
The tradition of kowtowing reflects how important family and ancestors are considered in Chinese culture. (There is also a tradition of kowtowing to the graves of deceased ancestors during Qingming Festival.) After the young ones bow, the elders give them red envelops containing money—from a few hundred to a few thousand yuan, ordinarily. For children, that money is often deposited into savings accounts for tuition. Now Chinese kids can still get red envelops and new pairs of clothes even if they don’t do the kowtowing. “Little emperors,” indeed.
Kowtowers would walk from one house to the next.
Overall, the Spring Festival traditions I did see or hear about all appeared to be going stronger in the countryside. The leader of the Railway Folk Troupe, Zhou Xiangxi, told me that folk arts like pangu were born in the countryside and that he and his fellow retirees were trying to keep them alive, as, “It is slowly dying.”
The high school students who showed me pictures of the men in their hometown kowtowing said it only happens anymore in the countryside, and my friend in Shanghai said his son would think it was strange if he told him to do it.
Dangshan is right on the edge of the modernization and tradition. In between the major roads, you can find crisscrossing alleyways where brick and stone courtyard homes house groups of families.
On the edge of the city, you can see new apartment towers being built. In the south, a manmade lake is being filled up, where ancient-style walkways were built over the water, and friends and lovers hang out and fly kites. A young man who just broke up with his girlfriend invites me to drink a beer with him on the bridge.
There’s still no McDonalds, KFC, or Starbucks. The closest they get is Dikos, a Chinese chain of fast food chicken restaurants with a presence in smaller cities, and DBS, a hamburger joint whose logo has a striking resemblance to Burger King’s. (The closest Starbucks is in Xuzhou.) After dinner one night, a woman bemoaned the fact that there was no Haagen-Dazs. For better or worse, the new pleasures of consumption are what many Chinese want.
There are so few foreigners that three people at three separate places mentioned the “black English teacher” to me.
There is a high-speed rail station opening later this year that will make it much faster to travel to Xuzhou and Zhengzhou. For now, I was left to purchase a hard seat on a train that left at 9:40 pm and arrived in Nanjing at 2:30 am. Others had to purchase standing-room only tickets. One woman going to Kunshan (near Shanghai), although she was able to purchase a seat, had to pay for a ticket for the whole length of the journey from Zhengzhou to Shanghai, because all the tickets allocated for local trips had been sold out.
When I arrived at Nanjing Station, the long journey still wasn’t over. The line at the taxi stand was long, and just one taxi came in five minutes of waiting. I ended up getting a taxi by walking down the street outside the station, where a taxi driver picked me up along with another person. It was in violation of the regulations to pick up either of us so close to the station, let alone both of us at once. “The regulators are sleeping,” the driver said. “I wouldn’t have done this during the day.”
The driver was just responding to high demand and low supply. Even many of the taxi drivers went to their old homes during Spring Festival. By Monday, everyone else will be back wherever they are working, and everything will be back to normal.
Red lanterns, a symbol of Spring Festival.
Lamb on sale.
Why is Kyrie Irving’s jersey on this Chinese milk carton? LeBron too expensive?