Lanzhou's Female Cops [PHOTOS]

   In the flow of traffic, this pretty policewoman (lit. "police flower") is quite the scene. 

Upright postures, delicate facial features, standardized hand signaling.

Due to policewomen's high sense of dedication and responsibility, the city's traffic is ensured to remain free-flowing and unobstructed.

Pointing the way for an out-of-towner.

Chatting about the job.

Policewomen are tasked with public lessons on traffic safety at elementary schools, as well as coordinating the improvement of campus facilities, such as signs and directions, for the purpose of creating a comprehensive safety network for the students when they are out and about.

Each day at the beginning and end of classes, policewomen wait at the campus gate to escort students across the street.

All day, policewomen perform thousands of hand signals over and over out in the car exhaust and noise, but they remain undaunted.

Writing about the joys of the job on Weibo (China's Twitter).

Off-duty policewomen play cards in their dormitory for recreation.

A festive weekend dinner party for the policewomen.

Off-duty policewomen surf the web in their simple and tidy dorm room.

Policewomen display their fashions in a shop.

"Police flower"; introduces femininity and suppleness into law enforcement, bringing the police and the people closer together.  With the equal strength of a man, they accept this mission with their hearts.  They use practical methods to interpret the People's policing duties, using their earnestness and persistence, blood, sweat and tears, even their lives, to safeguard the "Mission and Honors of this Unglamorous Job!"

Text and Photos by Pei Qiang.  Translations by Jonathan Alpart.

Electing a Village Official [PHOTOS]

At six in the morning, the village leaders prepare the plan for the day's election.  All the workers have convened at this meeting.  Government functionaries divide into small groups with specific responsibilities.

The candidates have posted their commitments on the wall.  Some people look on from afar, others seize the last opportunity to make endorsements.  Beneath what seems to be a tranquil form of order, there is a teeming sense of competition.

The election has not officially started, but people have already gotten an early start to scramble for a place in line at the front of the ranks.

A vote-counting box made of thick steel.

Based on the villagers' endorsement, this election official will oversee the election.

In the 35°C heat, the voters' emotions are running high, pushing and shoving while they wait.

Neither this worker, manning the first ID checking booth outside the gate, nor the voters trust one another, so a village leader himself submits to the check in order to avoid a conflict.

A camera takes a video of all the people who are entering in order to vote.

A 93-year-old elder is being helped to the voting area.

Voting while carrying a child.

Only trusted people can vote in the stead of others.

Young people who have left for work return to vote by secret ballot.

Election monitors.

As soon as the voting has finished, workers will begin the next segment.  The vote box will be checked once again, opening it up to count the votes.

The votes are counted, and it is announced that "1,237 ballots were issued, and 1,236 votes were cast."

After a roll call and counting of the votes, the counting of the votes is complete.

After the count, a video camera makes a tape of the record for future reference.

The election has commenced, and the newly elected Village Committee Director says that starting from today he will become the kind of leader that will deliver to the villagers the good life.

Photos and text by Wang Jinyuan.  Translations by Jonathan Alpart.

Sauna Buddies

In the China Radio International complex where I work there is a swimming pool.  There's a sauna but it seems to always be closed for maintenance whenever I've wanted to use it.

One day after a good and long swim, after having really pushed myself, as I was walking to the shower room I noticed the sauna was open for once.  I peeked in through the foggy glass and saw two portly and naked Chinese guys.  No towels.  I wondered if that was common in China to sit in saunas completely naked, or just a happy coincidence, as I considered passing it up for going to change.

But, why not?

So I walked in and plopped my foreign, towel-covered ass right next to them.

Situations like this in America would require no thought at all, but in China you have to always be aware that just about everything you do that involves other Chinese people that are in your vicinity will probably get you stuck in a conversation.  So before you do anything, there is always the inner dialogue of -

"Do I feel like having the same conversation with these random people that I've already had with various other strangers several times today?"

Anyway, the thought of sweating out various poisons and building camaraderie with naked men sounding appealing at the time, so I decided to go on inside.  Heck, I could even practice my Chinese.

By the way, for those outside of China, that conversation you have several times a day goes like this:

"Where are you from?"

"America."

"Your Chinese is incredible."

"It's OK."

"Your Chinese is better than most Chinese people/my own."

"That can't be."

"Your Chinese is so good."

"Thank you."

"How long have you been in China?"

"Five years."

"Are you studying or working?"

"Working."

"How much do you make a month?"

"Um..."

"How - much - do - you - make - a  - month?"

"OK, about 10,000 RMB."

"OK."

"Do you like China?"

"Love it."

"Are you used to Chinese food?"

"Yes, it's delicious.  In fact, we eat it in America."

"OK." looks around if there are other Chinese people in the vicinity

to another Chinese "This foreigner's Chinese is incredible."

And so it begins again.

This can become quite tiresome, but every once in a while you'll meet someone who is adventurous or actually curious enough to kind of break out of this dialogue, and you learn some interesting stuff.  Anyway, for me at least, conversations always reach that awkward point where my Chinese level no longer is good enough to understand what they are saying, so I either just nod along or say "I don't understand" enough until the conversation just kind of fizzles out.

After we got through the aforementioned "formalities," the guy in the sauna started telling me about growing up in Beijing.  Beijing locals are easy to spot.  First, their accent is unmistakeable.  Some people say it sounds like a pirate, the way they add "Arrrrr" to every single consonant they possibly can while still being understood - by who, I don't know.  Others say it sounds like someone with a couple of socks in their mouth, because they swallow their words and muffle gaps between sounds.  I say throw in a drunk orangutang and you have a pretty good description.  Either way, speaking to a Beijinger is the real deal.

The CRI campus is located about 20 minutes west of central Beijing by subway, which is considered "far," practically suburban.  It is just across from the Babaoshan cemetery where heroes of the Communist Revolution are buried.  (Think Arlington Cemetery.)  There is also Beijing Statues Park, a park full of, well, statues; Taiwan Street, an avenue with fashionable restaurants themed after pop singers from the 80s, and, like just about everywhere else in this city, endless rows of high rise apartments, cars, and concrete, concrete, concrete.

Back when my sweating partner was growing up, he tells me, it was all farmland here.  Nothing but.  He asks me if he could throw more water on the hot stones.  I tell him to go ahead.  After all, I had swam more than I'd planned and was feeling invincible.  Let's see how hot we can go!

He started talking more about his childhood, and I started doing the nodding which precedes my embarrassment threshold of finally admitting I've completely lost him.  He asks again, and I feel reoriented:

"Add more water?"

"Mei wen ti!"

"Wow!  You sound just like a Beijinger when you say that!"

"Well, I have coworkers from Beijing, I guess that helps."

"You work here at the radio station?"

"Yes.  You?"

"I work here, too."

"Ah, what department?"

"I work here.  At the swimming pool."

That's when I realize again something I realize quite often since living in China.  This guy is middle-aged and I definitely make more money than he does.  Even though my salary is pitiful and puts me around poverty level by American standards, I easily make three times as much as he does.

But that's OK.  Chinese people ask openly about salary all the time.  It's like talking about the weather with them, I suppose.

I actually didn't understand him the first time he said he worked at the pool.  I hope I didn't offend him, but I'm probably just thinking about it too much.  I tend to do that a lot here.  Probably because I often don't know what the hell is going on.

I shouldn't have let him put more water on.  My skin is burning and my throat hurts when I breathe.  It is hotter than hell and I feel dizzy.  He keeps talking to me, and not only do I not understand a word of it anymore, I'm about to pass out.

I need to stop showing off my Beijing accent because it makes people think my Chinese is better than it really is.  I need to learn to say "no" when people want to add more water to the hot stones.

I need to learn (now, this is the obligatory deep metaphor to sum up the story) that feeling dizzy in a sauna is nothing like the dizziness he must've felt seeing the Babaoshan area explode in development around him, and now he's face-to-face, genitals-to-genitals with a 20-something American working at the International Radio station that was once farmland.  Nothing but.

I need to get out.  He senses that.  Chinese people seem to always sense these things.

By his lead, both of us, naked, go to the dressing room.  We make some small chit-chat and say goodbye.  I tell him I hope to run into him again here.  Surely, I will.  After all, I like swimming.