Panders: Living the Dream

Despite all the cool animals, zoos have a tendency to make me a little sad. I love almost all critters (with the notable exception of snakes), and seeing them in cages is a bit of a heartbreaking experience. The time I spent at the Oregon Zoo as a kid (and more recently as a pseudo-adult) was always great, but seeing animals in captivity makes me want to do little more than set them free. And while Portland may have a severe shortage of giraffes, I just don’t think the hipsters there are ready for Savannah animals to be roaming their streets yet. Outside of the obvious logistical problems of street-giraffes, they don’t wear nearly enough plaid. Though their legs might just be skinny enough for a pair of Levis 510s… Hmm.

Anyway, I was fully expecting my Chinese zoo experience to be one of my worst. In my mind, I began to picture terrible bouts of animal cruelty, small cages, and an entire population that was acting like that one kid at the zoo who thinks it’s funny to knock on the glass at the monkeys. Sure, I had heard whimsical tales of White Lions and Ligers and Sunbears, oh my! But let’s be honest: China’s population has a tendency to live in what I’ve come to refer to as the “socially acceptable grey-area.” Things are perfectly okay here—if not encouraged—that would just not be considered normal in America: babies defecating in the street, people spitting on restaurant floors, and women wearing cartoon-print pajamas at all times of the day, to name a few. These may not directly relate to any negative zoo experience—though I have witnessed all of these things during my time here—but my point is that China’s standard for what is acceptable, especially in terms of how animals are treated, is very different than in the US—and not always for the better.

…

But then again, sometimes the unexpected happens: and if Charlie Sheen can be successful, then so too can China. Not only do they make the best damn xiaolongbao in the world, but they also know how to make a good zoo—at least in Shanghai.

Firstly, what zoo would be complete without a racetrack? Sure, one could be content with racing horses or dogs, but China likes to shoot for the moon; they don’t settle for mediocrity here. Between the camels, horses, dogs, ostriches, and cheetahs, I’ve never seen anything quite like it. I can’t help but think that if Momma and Papa Wolf had dealt in Cheetahs, and not Arabian Horses, that they’d still have a showing at Portland Meadows. What a shame—my childhood, spent standing up on the railings trying to catch a glimpse of horses racing, could have been so different. Why Momma Wolf would settle for housecats, and not cheetahs, I doubt I’ll ever fully understand. I guess the majestic Orange Tabby is the next best thing to anything you might see on an African safari.

But back to the zoo, and away from yet another tangent making fun of my mother’s cats. Next up on my list of why Chinese zoos are better than American zoos: the petting zoo. As any small child, or person with the maturity of a small child, will tell you, this is a necessary stop for any day spent zooing. However, after enough experiences, you begin to feel a sense of numbness towards Dexter cows; once you’ve hand-fed enough, they all start to feel the same. By the tender age of 19, I had all but lost that sense of adventure that petting zoos once provoked…

But China has reinvigorated me. Let me introduce: the kangaroo petting zoo. It’s a slightly sketchy operation, as there’s no gate and the "entrance fee" is paid to two men who are standing nearby a sign, but there’s a large grassy area with about 20 kangaroos being chased by Chinese children and their mothers. There’s no hand-washing station—this is China, people—but there’s a small spicket coming from the ground where you can rinse yourself off with some of Shanghai’s unpotable tap water. The kangaroos are (relatively) tame, and for $3 USD anything goes.

…And once you go kangaroo, you never go backaroo. Sorry, Dexter.

But kangaroos and racetracks aside, there is one aspect of the Chinese zoo that simply cannot be ignored: panders (“pandas”, for those of you who are less cultured in Chinese accents). China has a habit of milking its cash cows for all they’re worth, and panders are no exception. These charming, lazy critters have become a national treasure, and China has made sure that they are not going anywhere anytime soon. There’s the argument that we shouldn’t focus so much time and resources trying to carry on a breed of animal that would clearly otherwise be extinct, but they’re just so damned cute. How could you not do everything possible to keep these little bundles of joy alive? Sure, they have no desire to procreate, and sure, they can often not differentiate between sexes of their own kind in captivity, and sure, their bodies cannot properly digest the only type of bamboo—of almost 30 varieties—that they choose to eat, but… Whatever. Shut up, they’re awesome. So awesome.

As I mentioned earlier though, zoos generally make me sad. These guys, however, completely broke the zoo animal stereotype; they loved their life—everything about it. I have honestly never seen an animal that was so genuinely happy. It’s as if bamboo was the most amazing thing that they had ever tasted or imagined, and every meal of it was the first and last time that they would ever get a chance to experience it. I truly cannot understand how someone could not love a Pander. If you ever have the opportunity to see one, please do; quite frankly I think we could all learn a thing or two from them. Instead of taking after their pickiness over food and utter laziness though, focus on how happily they live their life: even in captivity, they’re still living the dream. God bless you, panders.

On a mostly unrelated subject…

Type in “can pandas” into Google, and the top 10 suggestions to finish this search are as follows: swim, be pets, eat people, be dangerous, be domesticated, kill, purr, run, eat meat, and run backwards. Just for the record, the “purr” search is inconclusive—though apparently raccoons can.

Also: the red panda (only the “lesser” panda in name, not in my heart) thrived in the mountains of eastern Tennessee roughly 4.5 million year ago.

Thanks, Wikipedia. And the quest for knowledge continues…

Zai jian,

Jhw

Babies “R” Us

Not that it matters—as I’m not in a position of authority in America or China—but I very much question how many people actually follow the one-child policy here. Babies are everywhere. I’ve been told that there are four babies in China for every one in the US, but it doesn’t seem like this could possibly be true. Maybe it’s because I live in Boston—where basically a quarter of the population is in college—but I see far fewer babies in America than this ratio suggests. Not that I’m saying I wish I saw more babies in Boston, I’m merely trying to point out a personal observation: in order for this baby factoid to hold true, most of Boston’s student populace would have to be parents. Anyone who knows me will probably agree that I shouldn’t be having kids any time soon, and quite frankly neither should the rest of my demographic.

Does coat-check accept kids?

The idea of my friends trying to raise children right now terrifies me. I hear news of people I that knew back in the day procreating, and it frightens me that they are raising the next generation of Americans. I shan’t mention any specific names, but I think we all know a few people who fit the description of “they just had a kid? Oh f***…”

But I digress. My point is that Baby (as Asian babies all look the same, I shall refer to them as a single entity) is everywhere. Really. Everywhere I look, I see future-Mao wearing his ubiquitous puffy jacket and pseudo-pants. You can’t walk down the street without Baby holding you captive as he goes through his usual daily errands: Baby walking; Baby sleeping; Baby defecating in the street; Baby eating; Baby throwing cats; Baby laughing; Baby playing with raw meat; Baby drinking Coca-Cola; Baby falling down; Baby darting in front of traffic; Baby running with sharp objects. Everyday it’s the same. On occasion you want to tell Baby to stop, but you just can’t bring yourself to pull him aside and explain “no, Baby, orange kitty doesn’t like it when you sit on his face.”

I’d consider some of his usual activities normal, but surely some of these are only until he knows better. It’s tough, but you have to watch Baby make his own mistakes. Baby’s parents seem to be of the mindset that Baby should learn through experience; quite the contrary to many over-protective American parents, Baby’s seem to adhere to more of a hands-off approach. Baby is rolling around in trash? Good for him. Maybe he’ll find something better to play with than those rusty scissors he has now.

I’m sure Momma and Papa Wolf have had a tough time watching me struggle through many of my own life lessons. There was never any shortage of advice, but sadly it was all-too-often cast aside in attempts to do things my own way (teenagers say the darnedest things, right?). And now, as Baby begins to go through the same motions that I once did, I have to just sit back, watch, and restrain myself from intervention: Baby’s first steps; Baby’s first solid food; Baby’s first bike ride; Baby’s first time driving a clutch; Baby’s first trip to Montreal; Baby’s first tequila shot; Baby’s first time waking up behind a toilet.

Oh, Baby, the places you’ll go.

Zai jian,

Jhw

Free Bird

It was Magical—love at first sight. If such a thing were ever possible, this was it. I don’t know what caused it, but it was the kind of thing that would we’d be describing in stories to our children someday. I couldn’t look away. Everything was perfect—the setting, the mood, the ambiance. Truly, the stars had aligned. Was it the way her dark, forbidden eyes glistened in the fluorescent lighting? Or perhaps her words that flowed like a song over the intermingled backdrop of Chinese families and reggae beats? Could it have been the way her hair flowed as it danced with the windblown steam of hotpot and rice?

Perhaps I’ll never know what instilled this fervor in me, but the words that came from my mouth could not be stopped.

“Mamacita,” I whispered.

“Marisella,” she corrected.

“Mamacita,” I whispered, “will you share this pigeon with me?”H

I’ve made jokes about this before, but I’d never actually seen it on a menu—or tried it—until today. That’s right; I ate one.

Flying rat.

Street chicken.

Tuscaloosa firehawk.

…Pigeon.

I ate my first earlier this evening. Actually I shared three pigeons with three other people—which in all actuality means I only ate ¾ of a pigeon—but let’s just round to the nearest bird. I may have romanticized the scenario a bit, but it was a life-changing moment nonetheless. Having eaten this, I now consider myself part of the Chinese “in” crowd; which, by the same standard, also coincides with the Westernized “out” crowd.

I guess this means that I still don’t know who I can eat lunch with in the middle school cafeteria.

…Damn.

Anyway, I’ll give it 4 out of 5 stars. This, despite my relatively modest palette, should hold some clout, as I’ve been eating nothing but Chinese food for the last 3 months. It was slightly gamey, moderately boney, but with a hint of ginger which really set the tone for the tone rest of the meal—which happened to be more pigeon. Perfect. If you’re ever in the Zhongshan neighborhood, be sure to stop by and try some. It’s the little restaurant on the right (between 4 others that look exactly the same except for different colored signs), with the crowd of Chinese people sitting in lawn chairs outside. There should be a man nearby displaying his pirated reggae wares via his moped’s over-powered speaker system, and a floral awning in front of the restaurant. The subtle tones of energy-saving white lights, draped artistically from the awning with extension cords, will let you know you’re in the right place.

…Or just try making flying hand-gestures towards your mouth, while repeating “gezi” (guh-zi) in an exaggerated first tone. The locals will know what you came for.

Ask for Willy, and be sure to preorder any wings for your Superbowl party ahead of time, as they get pretty busy that time of year.

Zai jian,

Jhw