Food and Drink – Page 2 – On the Horizon Line

Highlights from Beijing and Guiyang

I first came up with the idea for this blog while in China last June. I was there for a month as part of a U.S. State Department/University of Montana exchange program between U.S. and Chinese environmental professionals. I was the water “expert” … or something.

The reason I originally wanted to start a blog when I arrived in Beijing is because it’s impossible to capture China in a postcard, ora 10-minute conversation, or even in a 5-hour debrief with a loved one when you return. It needs to be captured in real-time, as the bizarre and fascinating experiences unfold. Since I’m a year late to capture the “real-time” China visit, I figured a brief summary reflection would have to suffice.

This was my first trip to Asia, and I was nervous. I’d never really been anywhere I couldn’t speak the language, or even decipher symbols spelling out “bathroom.” All my travels through Latin America and Europe did nothing to prepare me for how freaking DIFFERENT China was from my culture in most ways: food, language, customs, bathrooms, group mentality. Luckily, I’m good at laughing at myself, and was able to appreciate my social gaffes instead of getting frustrated at my naivety.

Yet I was surprised at how much I loved it. And how much hope it gave me, when I was expecting despair—especially going as part of an “environmental” contingent. The speed and determination with which the country implements new policies, programs, and ideas was reassuring. Even refreshing. And, yes, slightly terrifying, too.

In some ways, the country is leaps ahead of us, at least on the water conservation front. For instance, instead of debating “septic tank vs sewer” when building wasteware infrastructure in rural regions, the government just skipped straight to composting toilets, with cheap, efficient systems that deal with human waste,add nutrients to croplands, and use natural wetland processes to filter the water. A solution that delivers triple-bottom-line benefits.

It was remarkable to see the scale of consumption … and even more than that, the general sense of entitlement felt by 1+ billion Chinese to consume as much as they want. And why not? We Americans started it, after all. You can buy anything you might ever need just by crossing the street. The cities have underpasses that functions both as a mall full of vendor stalls, and as a way for pedestrians to survive crossing 8 lanes of hectic multi-modal traffic by keeping them beneath it. Ingenious.

If I were to use 5 words to describe my visit to Beijing and Guiyang cities, they would be: overwhelming, tasty, loud, confusing, fascinating. A few highlights:

I ate 100-year-old quail eggs, chicken knees, and pig feet.
I sampled foot massages in dozens of venues (and realized—the hard way—that they don’t get naked for massage in China).
I got really good at peeing standing up.
I felt in my bones the history of the Chinese civilization, and how shiny-new and small America is in comparison.
I realized how unique the individualistic perspective of the West is on this earth, and witnessed the how and the why of cherishing the community, the whole, and the society over one person.

sunset at caras park in downtown missoula

Community and Culture, Food and Drink

My North Star = Missoula, Montana

Tonight, I went to my 10^th annual Farm Party. It’s only one block from my house, and said to be the best party of the summer here in Missoula, Montana. The sunflowers are reaching toward the creek, the acres of corn shelter giggling children, and the rows of shiny veggies gleam next to the wooden stage on the back of a red pickup. Over 500 people show up, eating dinner, drinking local beer, and dancing to local bands under the late-night Rocky Mountain sunset.

I’ve been to just about every Farm Party since they started in 2002, the year I moved here. The college kids look younger every year, and my friends seem to procreate exponentially (if the giggles from the corn rows are any indication). But some things remain constant at the Farm Party: the number of bikes always dwarfs the cars; the beets are always plentiful; and you always see plenty of old and new friends. As I walked up, with my beer-in-a-jar in one hand and my baseball hat in the other, I laughed at a dad riding a skateboard while pushing one kid in a stroller and yelling at his bike-bound toddler ahead of him.

It’s my last party for a while.

We’re leaving this spring, setting sail for adventures west of my mountains, and for unknown horizons. I don’t know if we’ll be gone for one year, or two…or ten. There’s joy in that unknown, and in the freedom of bursting from routine into an unplanned and unscheduled world. But there’s also joy—and comfort—in knowing we’ll be back.

As I walked home in the mild summer air, the north horizon still reflecting the last rays of sunset at 10pm, I looked up. Cassiopeia loomed above me, while tipsy bikers careened past my shoulder. I found the Big Dipper, and gazed at the North Star. She sits directly above the mountains I know intimately, the trails I’ve biked and the creek I’ve fished and swam in this past decade.

It was such a good decade.

It’s interesting to feel the pull of contradictory needs these last six months before we leave. I want to cuddle with our dog, or stretch out on our wide, cozy couch before crunching my life into one backpack and one small sailboat. But I also want to talk to everyone in this community, memorize the children’s faces and let them memorize mine–don’t forget me!–and revel in the sweet, short Montana summer. I want my hair to grow long and blanket me during the cold Montana winter, but I can’t want to crop it short, to keep me cool when I cross the Equator.

My friend Joellen pulled me into a hug the last time I left Missoula for a spell. I still remember what she whispered in my ear, because I tell it to my friends who leave, too: “We love you. We’ll miss you. And we’ll be right here when you get back.”

When I look up at that North Star while I’m in Thailand or Alaska or Hawaii, I’ll picture my friends dancing at a flower-studded farm under an August sunset. And though I will travel far and wide, in the end I know that the same star will guide me back home.