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I’ve recently become acquainted with a Canadian radio host working in China who shared with me an incredible insider’s perspective on how the PRC maintains an iron grip on the media.  Consider that:

• Major broadcast centers must be based in Beijing, so that the political elite can keep the media close at hand.
• Security is taken very seriously - the aforementioned broadcast centers all have guards armed with assault rifles deployed in their lobbies. 
• DJs are all issued lengthy lists of forbidden topics each week, which include unfavorable news stories and certain personalities. 
• All programming is carefully scripted and pre-recorded.  These recordings undergo scrutiny from at least 4 officials before being played over the air.
• Senior leadership and even middle management is composed entirely of party members. 
• Taiwan can’t even be mentioned in the same context as other independent nations, such as Korea or Japan.  Instead, it must be listed along with the rest of China’s provinces.
• Many Taiwanese artists that refer to Taiwan as independent are banned.  Yet Western songs with curse words can be freely played.

Its absolutely astounded by just how deep this censorship rabbit hole goes.

While hanging out in the small village of Wutunsi, I happened to meet an artist.  He was the resident thangka instructor at one of the two monasteries for which Wutunsi is known for, and had been studying the Tibetan Buddhist painting style for the past 25 years.  As you might imagine, his thangkas are incredibly intricate and undeniably mesmerizing. 

Like all artists, he is looking to build a global following for his work.  Unfortunately, he has two strikes against him - he is Tibetan, and his art is religious in nature.  Every attempt at putting his work online has been ruthlessly censored by the PRC.  I’ve had my own minor issues with censorship in China, but they don’t begin to compare to the frustration felt by an artist unable to freely express himself.

While I have mixed opinions about many of China’s other policies, I believe strongly in the freedom of information.  So for what it’s worth, here’s my small contribution to the cause:

His name is Lo San Long Da.  If you’re interested in contacting him about his fantastic collection, send mail to the Wutong Up Monastery near Tongren in the Qinghai province of the People’s Republic of China.

I’ve always understood from a theoretical perspective why outsourcing is such an attractive option for many US companies. But its only in the past couple of weeks that I’ve developed a far more concrete appreciation for the economic forces involved.

Traveling in China is not unlike constantly swimming upstream through a torrent of human flesh. There’s a suffocating crush of people everywhere you go - in restaurants, on the streets, at the ticket counter. There’s simply no escaping it. This makes it easy to see how the cost of Chinese labor can be one of the cheapest commodities available. Equally obvious is the impact that cheap labor has on everyday life.

Clever innovators in the Western world have developed innumerable technologies which exponentially increase the productivity of a single person. From what I’ve seen thus far, little of this has made its way to China:

• In Bejing, I passed a construction site which required some cables to be strung through a section of sewers. Rather than renting a vehicle with some horsepower to quickly tow everything into place, the construction firm hired over a dozen men to collectively (and ineffectively) tug at the cables, all the while yelling the Chinese equivalent of “heave-ho.”
• One of the hotels that I stayed at had the exact same card-based lock configuration installed in every room. It was cheaper for management to pay someone to carry the one key card they had, and be available around the clock to unlock the door for guests as needed, than to hand out distinct key cards for each room.
• Every retail establishment I hazarded had at least a 5-to-1 ratio of sales people to customers. I was swarmed every time I came within arms reach of a given counter. Its a stark contrast to US supermarkets, which are clearly moving towards automated check out.

More so than any place I’ve ever been to, Beijing is a study in contrast - it feels as though the city is continually at odds with itself. 

The most obvious manner in which this clashing culture manifests itself is in the city’s architecture.  Deep in the heart of the city, ultra-modern skyskrapers that prominently feature multinational corporate logos sit adjacent to narrow hutong alleys that spider between courtyard residences.  On the outskirts of Beijing, partially demolished slums are slowly being overtaken by industrial parks.

There’s a huge emphasis on individual health and well-being, yet environmental health is given little consideration.  People seem to focus on eating nutricious meals, and the television is inundated with commercials touting the latest medicinal beverage.  Early mornings find the local parks teeming with both old and young practicing Tai Chi.  Yet spitting in public is socially acceptable, and by spit I mean thick gobs of yellow phlegm.  Of course, there’s the constant haze of smog that blankets the city, to the point where locals go out of there way to comment how blue the sky is on windy days.

Family is an incredibly important social institution, and friends here treat each other with astounding courtesy.  Yet when in public and interacting with strangers, there’s total disregard.  Cars tend to ignore traffic signals and pedestrians, and the notion of a queue doesn’t really exist - at the train station, whoever can cut, push or shove their way to the front gets to purchase their ticket first.

Though my heritage is Chinese, I will readily admit these conflicting values confound me.

Half of the fun of independent travel is in deciding what to pack. The engineer in me insists on optimizing every last ounce that I’ll be carrying. I’m constantly looking for high utility, versatile items.

First, lets go through my requirements. The entire package needs to be compact enough to fit easily under a bus seat and light enough to carry on my back all day. I’ll need to have clothing suitable for fairly extreme climates ranging from northern China and Tibet during the winter, to Israel during the summer. Finally, I want a significant amount of space left over for souvenirs or clothing that I pick up along the way.

Having said that, here’s what I’ll be taking:

• 44 liter backpack
• footwear: sandals, shoes, 3 pairs light socks, 1 pair thick socks
• jackets: soft shell, fleece
• clothing: long sleeve shirt, 2 t-shirts, 2 pants, long underwear, 3 boxers, board shorts
• toiletries: glasses, contacts, toothbrush/paste, soap/shampoo, razor, sink plug
• laundry kit: detergent, elastic clothes line, Febreze, stain pen
• repair kit: duct tape, scissors, tape, needle/thread, twisty ties
• first aid kit, including prescription medication for altitude sickness, malaria and diarrhea
• other necessities: cord lock, journal, headlamp, sunblock, insect repellent, seat belt, towel, umbrella, sleep sack, bandanna
• electronics: hacked iPhone with global sim card, digital camera with 2 GB memory card, chargers & plug converter

Everything fits easily in the bag with 20% extra storage capacity and weighs under 20 lbs. I’m pretty pleased with the results, as well I should - I’ll be living with nothing but the above until November.