Summer camp ended in a tide of tears and goodbyes. Taking photos I found myself getting a little choked up. Darn cute kids and their tears. One teenage girl had been crying so much her eyes were scarlet red. It looked as if someone had beaten her about the face.

I am free, for a fortnight. Two weeks, more than 1100 photos, countless hours and agnostic prayers.

Now it’s time for a little traveling.

Do you remember one year ago?

The sweaty train ride, me worried about another bout of near-heat stroke? Arriving late in Changsha? Racing through the streets of a city we didn’t know to a registry office we weren’t sure was open?

Do you remember completing the forms and making our promise before the three uniformed women in a dark office? Or me, not being able to recite that pledge, written only in Chinese characters?

Do you remember it was 7-7, Chinese Valentines day, unplanned, and a fortuitous omen. It was if the fates had smiled and spread their blessings upon us. That was why I was rushed that day, panicked on the train as I looked at my watch, and ran through the station, hell-bent. We had to be married that day, July 31, 7-7, there could be no better beginning.

Do you remember the yet-to-be opened hotel where we shared our first official night? Or our wedding feast at KFC while trying to book plane tickets to return home? Or the police knocking on the door and hurriedly dressing, like caught teenagers, even though we had the papers to prove our union?

I know you remember. I do too.

Our first anniversary finds you in a different country, on a different continent. I write you this, 爱人, to show there are some things I will never forget.

我爱你。

It may look like an act of ritualistic suicide with a plastic scimitar, but it’s not, it’s English Summer Camp in China. The person above (let’s call her Frowena, as when I met her last August she was sporting a head of close-cropped hair, and now has a magnificent fro) and her compatriots competed against yours truly in the summer camp World Idol Contest. The trio’s recreation of Michael Jackson’s Beat It video came complete with a fake knife fight.

I had no props, or backup singers, or stage presence for that matter. In the vernacular of today’s youth, I got served. Three staff performances made it past the first round. In the second round, after a secret ballot vote by the 200+ campers, I was eliminated. There was a small and vocal group of Stevo fans, Grade 5 boys who think me cool for some strange reason, but they were unable to sway the results.

No trophy for me. As always. Damn you Frowena, and your coolness!

I can’t sing or dance, but I take a hell of a picture.

technical notes for photo geeks: 70-300 f/4-5.6 IS USM lens, 580 EX II flash. The grainy 1600 ISO image was touched up with the Noise Ninja Photoshop plug-in by PictureCode.

Public buss could spark legal fuss, Beijing couples warned
Last Updated: Wednesday, July 25, 2007 | 11:29 AM ET
The Associated Press

Beijing couples who steal a kiss in public are being warned they could be caught on closed-circuit television — and suspected of committing a crime.
China’s Xinhua News Agency reports “intimate acts of lovers may be initially categorized as ‘kidnapping’ or ‘robbery’ by the computers, which are programmed to be sensitive to violations of safe distances.”
Police officers monitoring the cameras will decide whether the situation really is dangerous.
Signs will go up in August in areas covered by the cameras, saying in Chinese and English “you are entering a camera-monitored zone.”
Public displays of affection, and more, are common for young urban Chinese couples, who often have nowhere else to go because they share small apartments with their parents.
Closed-circuit cameras are becoming more common in Beijing, and Xinhua said that before the 2008 Olympics, the city plans to unify the monitoring of the cameras.
from: CBC

There are closed-circuit security cameras everywhere in China, much like the rest of the world. After reading the above I laughed.

I often attempt to grope my sweetie in our building’s elevator. She protests (as she rightfully should), swats me, and points at the camera embedded in the roof of old Otis.

Chinese security guards have a boring job. I think one guard is employed for every four residents in my property development. They don’t have a lot to do. My rationale behind the attempted groping is to liven up the day of the poor sod pulling a 12-hour shift watching 20 TV monitors. By giving him something to watch:

1. He will be briefly entertained/aroused/disgusted;
2. Hence, pay better attention to the CCTV monitors, looking for further possibly entertaining/arousing/disgusting behavior, instead of sleeping, drinking, or daydreaming. In the process he might discover a misdeed and foil dastardly crime, becoming a hero lauded by the masses. I’m altruistic, not a dirty old man.

I don’t think it’s working. And my arm is sore from the swats.

One of the good things about being at school after dark is a chance to shoot some interesting night scenes. This is far from perfect. It’s slightly out of focus, and the light bleeds around the tree in the upper right. That said, I kind of like it. It could be far worse. The Great Navigator said something about learning one step at a time. That is what I’m trying to do with night photography.

It had been a pointless day. I had traveled to the city center, to Hua Qiang Lu, the street full of electronics, computers, and assorted gadgetry, to find camera gear. My excursion had been a waste; the merchants tried to screw me because of my foreignness, or didn’t have the items I wanted. Leaving the air conditioned comfort of my apartment had been a mistake.

The ladies at the local chicken shack take an afternoon break.

I rode the Metro (subway) to its last stop, my first step in getting home. I was surly as the escalator carried me back to the surface. The white hot sun assailed me, and my eyes adjusted from the subterranean dimness to a sidewalk full of hawkers, cops, and people waving frantically at passing cabs. I joined the fray.

My truce with the taxi drivers had been in place for months. They took me to my destination without needless twists and turns. There were no overt acts of war. I tipped and said 谢谢. There was time when I believed in a conspiracy between the taxi cab brethren. They all had my photograph and tried their hardest to drive me mad as they drove me around. After work they gathered in the “Screw Stevo” clubhouse and laughed at the red-faced 外国人 they had provoked.

A few people jumped into the cars that pulled to curb. Other waited and watched cabs as they slowed down, scanned the crowd, and placed the Out of Service sign in their windows. Other drivers would ask the assembled mass where they were headed and select the largest fare. I was hot and weary. Turning on my heel, I headed to the China Post kiosk on the corner. The green shacks, on almost every corner of the city, sell newspapers, cigarettes, and beverages.

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