The temperature in Beijing is approximately 1,000 degrees, Farenheit. Right now two very nice Chinese men are in the apartment trying to fix my sister's air conditioner, which has for the past several weeks been creating small oceans on her new Ikea chair.
Earlier today, we went to a high-powered AIDS-activist meeting, which was held in a Pizza Hut. That is, my high-powered sister attended the meeting. I ate a strange-tasting coffee ice cream pie, and tried to read Paradise Lost. My sister's boss is a very young, small Chinese man in spectacles. His cousin, who created the NGO's website and is therefore known to us as the internet slut, was also there.
We had a lot of trouble finding the Pizza Hut. The problem is, it's hard to say "Pizza Hut" in Chinese. The concept, like many others, such as waiting in line, just isn't there. There are many uniformed security guards who looked like they could be asked for directions, but actually they are fourteen-year-olds from the country who are so short they have to stand on pedastels. They don't even speak Putonghua (i.e. Mandarin), much less fast-food-chain. Sometimes they march around our apartment complex in formation.
When it's very hot, it's good to drink a lot of pijiu: beer. That was one of the first words I learned. It's very unalcoholic, so we've been drinking it often and in quantity. If you want it cold, you have to say "bing de." Although another word for cold is the same as the word for two.
My brilliant sister memorized "This Be the Verse" on the subway, while an American dude giggled every time we said "fuck."
Tomorrow: a Great Wall adventure that the guide book says shouldn't be attempted in the summer heat. Right now: mosquito annihilation and then "French food" for dinner.
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