Seriously?

Coming out of the ether that is chronic jet log, coffee was the first thing on my mind.  Where is the nearest java distributor I mumbled incoherently? There has to be a Starbucks somewhere nearby.

To my delight, there was one adjacent to our apartment building.  Just eight short floors down the elevator and a 25 yard jaunt to the corner of my building and the connected shopping center, my need could be quenched and caffeine could be mainlined into my system.  Interestingly it was slightly more expensive than the U.S., albeit significantly cheaper than Tokyo.  The attendants were friendly but not fluent.  I had to use the point and pay technique.

Fully functioning, the next need was internet access.  I tried unsuccessfully to link to Starbucks free wi-fi.  But you have to have a Chinese phone number in order to receive your access code mobily. New word.

So I hauled by caffeinated butt and my laptop to the nearest Apple store in Sanlitun, expat capital of Beijing and state of the art shopping mecca a 10 minute walk away, in order to pirate their wi-fi.  It worked!  Ahhh. I'm connected with the world once again.

Except for I can't access my blog, or Facebook or Youtube.  What the?!!!  At least I could get my email and Skype on so I could let my sister know I had arrived safely.

As I happily emailed I noticed a small crowd of men forming in front of me, not more than a foot and a half away.  What is it with the Chinese and their spatial lackability?  They were having an animated conversation, discussing something with much enthusiasm.  They seemed to be staring at something in my direction.  What are they looking at?! And why are they standing so close to me, I thought irritably, turning around to see what was behind me.  Nothing.

Then I noticed their gesticulations.  If I'm not mistaken that is the universal hand signal for breasts.  And  it dawned on me, pun intended, they were discussing mine.  What the hell! They were staring at and discussing my chest.  It was about 85 degrees at 9am so I was wearing a sundress.  It didn't even show much cleavage but I guess the fact is I actually have cleavage, a rarity in China.  You would think they'd never seen a blond woman with breasts before.

Geez!  In Tokyo nobody ever noticed me. Yet here in Beijing I had drawn a crowd.  Yikes!
I was extremely self-conscious.  They had no qualms whatsoever about ogling me.  That would never happen in Japan; it would be considered impolite.  But China is decidedly different.

That evening when I walked back to Sanlitun, dressed for dinner in a casual dress with no exposed cleavage, a young Chinese man literally ran ahead of me and walked backwards, in front of me, so he could check me out.  Does he know I can see him?

A few days later I was running on the treadmill in the fitness room of our apartment building.  It's on the ground floor and the floor to ceiling windows afford a view of the drivers waiting to pick up their clients as you work out.  And apparently it affords a nice view for people walking by.

A Chinese man stopped to watch me run on the treadmill for 15 minutes!!! The reason I know this is because I was watching the clock desperately, willing the clock to count down faster.  I pretend that counting the minutes makes the time actually go by faster and the run hurt less.  It doesn't, but watching the clock allowed me to measure exactly how many minutes this clown actually stood there, staring at me with a foolish grin on his face.  Seriously?!!!  He literally stood there for 15 minutes watching me bounce up and down, up and down, sweating profusely, trying to avoid his lecherous eyes.

You have got to be kidding!!!

Conversely the Chinese women seem to be completely self-possessed.  Every time they walk by any reflective surface, and I mean anything: a window, a shiny street sign, a puddle,  they pause to admire themselves. The few times I have walked through the adjacent shopping mall, the sale girls are invariably standing in front of the fitting room mirrors examining their reflections.  Even the apartment representative, this cute twenty something woman, cannot walk past the lobby windows without staring at herself the entire time.  It's really hard to have a conversation with someone when they're admiring themselves in the window the entire time.  What is the deal?!!!  Don't they own a mirror at home?

Once, while waiting for Russell to get some cash for lunch at the bank, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirrored curio cabinet in the waiting room.  Of course I immediately glanced away, but not before noticing the petite, attractive Chinese woman posing behind me.  First she turned to the right and eyed herself admiringly, then she flipped her long black hair provocatively and gazed over her left shoulder into the mirror smolderingly, completely immune to anyone else in the crowded bank.

Seriously?!