Leaving Tianjin, city of rust, was like a long goodbye kiss with China. And china had  abstaining from brushing and been smoking packs of cigarettes in preparation.

We had no “clean break” as one might in a plane launching from an airstrip, rather two hours stalled ferry, as our ship was continually delayed due to smog cover. We passed the time gawking at the Port of Tianjin. The acrid fog refused to thin, and when we finally departed, it was half an hour of snaking through the smokey labyrinth of docking canals, as our pilot ship escorted our own “Tian Ren” to the mouth of the Yellow Sea.

It seemed the port was home to a single ferry, ours, and was a place clearly developed for transporting cargo. This cargo was being loaded onto all manner of ships, painted in primary colors that oxidized through the fog into twisted pastels. Cranes poised idle, weather on the dock or mounted to the boats themselves. Names of ports beckoned from the ships’ helm, and mounds of red dust awaited loading adjacent to nondescript corrugated metal containers.

These are the kind of sights that really get me going. Countless blogs cater those hounding over the latest consumer electronics. Most tech guys like watches, mobile phones, mp3 players, and little gadgets. I like the gigantic steel things that enable global trade.

These gigantic unglamorous vessels oddly poetic names like “CNA CCM AFRICA” “Overseas Soverign,” and “Shining star” are owned by greek tycoons vacationing thousands of miles away in St. Moritz, shouting orders at teams of bankers who scramble in New York to value these rusting money machines.You see, the cargo ships are not trivial.Non-trivial to finance. New builds are expensive. The bigger the boat, the bigger the earning potential, the bigger the bet. You must spend a staggering amount of money and engineer a stream of payoffs from operating profits during the lifetime of the ship. If everyone wants ships, everyone will be building them and materials, labor, and dock space will be costly. By the time you’ve finished your ship, Hanjin, Samsung Heavy, Hyundai Heavy have just rolled out new builds too. Atop that, the (roughly) six year American economic cycle has hit an inflection point and supply outpaces demand for your services, dropping the price. Oops. At least now you have a gigantic boat with a nice shiny paint job.

Non-trivial to build. These gigantic things take time, space, a surprising degree of engineering expertise. Korea has a lockdown on this market, producing many ships in Incheon and Busan. Tianjin, too is trying to match the quality and undercut the price, but the Korean Chaebols have experience where the Chinese have a lot of mistakes yet to make. Additionally, these Chaebols are locked into stayed relationships with banks, governments, and may be cushioned by the other constituent firms that make up their holding conglomerate.

Non-trivial to own or operate. How long will the given economic boom last and will it overlap with the life cycle of your ship? Ever dealt with Philippine pirates armed with Russian made machine guns in the Sulu seas? They’re a real pain for your insurance premium (sea piracy and shipping accidents were the reasons Lloyds of London came about). It’s also a pain when Chinese people smugglers, known as “snakeheads,” were paid $60,000 per head to transport illegal immigrants in a shipping container, and you’ve been summoned to court to explain why they were discovered getting off your boat in Oakland, CA, rather than while getting on in Xiamen, Fujian. If the stress is too much for you, you can sell the freighter on the secondary market, like the Hua Run below: Manufactured in Vladivostok by the Russians then purchased and painted over by the Cambodians, ushered to a new home in Phnom Penh for a new life of dry goods transport.

Non-trivial to liquidate. What if the supertanker is leaking crude across the Arctic ? When repair costs exceed the expected future profitability of a vessel, its time for the graveyard. These graveyards are located in Gujarat, India, and Chittagong, Bangladesh. Why? Miles of shallow water near the mainland of these South Asian countries provide a place for the ships to sit lopsided in the sand while skinny, muscular, men are paid USD $1 per day to extract all the valuable scrap metal and disassemble the rusting beast. In industry jargon, this is referred to as “Shipbreaking.”

Assuming you’re not one of these misfortunate shipbreakers, and rather you’re a more fortunate shipbuilder its possible to get the timing right. You can borrow when money’s cheap, build where labor’s both cheap and skilled, and by the time you smash a bottle of champagne on the helm, the ever cycling economy is banging on your door to shuttle iron ore from Perth to Shanghai. That’s at least what Baosteel or Rio Tinto wants. Or it could be GE sending washing machines from Shenzhen, China to the Bahamas, where products sit in untaxed warehousing zones before going to market. A Nigerian oil magnate may send thousands of barrels of black gold from Lagos to Hong Kong. Or it could be shoes, motorcycles, steel pipe fittings, soccer jerseys, and diesel generators from Hong Kong to Lagos by Guinean traders in Guangzhou. There are ships for dry goods, ships to hold containers, and tankers to hold oil. There are even ships specially fitted to accommodate gigantic chemical tanks. Where do you think American food processing facilities off the New Jersey turnpike get their raw materials?

Shipping connects some of the worlds poorest with the worlds mass market middle class, and is overseen and orchestrated by some of the world’s richest. Catching a glimpse behind the scenes of the international logistics market on the Tianjin to Incheon ferry was stimulating and eye opening, driving my curiosity to new levels. As AsiaWheeling’s resident adventure capitalist, I will research further and determine what kind of inefficiencies or injustices exist in this market. Ones that we may address and continue to investigate on AsiaWheeling 2.0.

Back to our storyAs the Tian Ren neared the sunny Korean peninsula, shore birds began to ride the airstream created by the ferry. schoolchildren and ship engineers alike held out snacks which the birds snatched mid-flight with their beaks.

As the birds circled, darted, and arced, an engineering feat riving the natural one of the birds progressed around us.

A bridge connecting the island two bodies of land across many miles of water seemed to erect itself, as large machines filled pylons with cement mix and crane barges lifted road crew trucks up onto the causeway.

Korea was flexing its muscles. Samsung had branded this bridge, and the work itself has changed the way I consider civil engineering and its disciples.

The people on the boat began to buzz with the energy that accompanies a return trip home, and the clean sea breeze of Incheon welcomed us in a way that no burgeoning city in China could. Seoul lay before us, and with it, wheeling, drinkable tap water, post-modern metropolitan nightlife, and a new level of gonzo attitude.

Armed with a makeshift Korean phrase sheet, we dismounted the ship onto a packed bus which spilled into the customs hall.

Tianjin greeted us with a deep smog that obscured our vision much worse even than Beijing had before it. We hopped in a cab and Scott attempted to communicate the the driver the location a hostel we had found on the internet. There had, however, been only a roman alphabet version of the name and the street, lacking any indication of the tones, so this took some time, as the two them tried on different tones and worked out the particulars. At one point, our fine driver even stopped the cab at a red light and just got out of the car, wandering over to question nearby drivers. The man was stellar. He joked with us, and looked something like the standard cross between Hunter S Thompson and Ghengis Khan, with a little Chuck Norris thrown in for flavor. Finally he had us on the right street and we peered through the smog until we’d spotted the place. One doesn’t tip in China. But this fellow was so great, we tipped him.

The hostel was clean and nice. The owners spoke good English, and they offered to arrange for a cab to the port for the next morning. They also rented bicycles. Really shitty bicycles. They took us out the back door and we peered at the sorry hunks of  rusting metal.

Tianjin is the city of rust.

The humid smog corrodes the exposed metal in the city so rapidly that it seems nothing gleams. And the sides of the buildings are streaked with a dried blood color, as rain dissolves rusted exterior components. Speaking of exterior components, if anyone can correctly identify this one, and state its purpose, we will gladly send you 10 free AsiaWheeling stickers.

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First waypoint of Beijing wheeling round II was a breakfast with Scott’s good friend, a Mr. MCK. The man is co-founder of Khaki Creative, a raging design firm, and currently resides in Beijing.

The fellow lived in the Russian section of Beijing. We had ridden by the day before, and marveled at the Cyrillic writing the great number of Russian groceries and restaurants. Having gotten off to a little of a late start, we wheeled hard through the smoggy Beijing morning towards that place. We finally turned into a courtyard which, at the entrance, sported a particularly a Russian grocery. At the door to MCK’s building we found another little bit of Russia. Three police officers approached us asking for our papers. I carried a photocopy of my passport and visa, but Scott had only his passport number. The similarity to Russia ended right there, however, when the cops smiled and began to converse with us jovially in English. It seems they were primarily concerned with us not sleeping at MCK’s house without registering that activity with them. To ensure this, they followed us upstairs and talked at length with MCK as well. In the end, assured that we were simply tourists, staying in a normal hotel, and soon to be gone, we all shook hands and they went on their merry way.

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Our first wheel in Beijing left us sticky, dirty, hoarse from breathing the bad air, and starving. We returned to the hotel, locked the bikes and began to ponder food.

Scott had been told by his good man, Casey Jacobs, that while in Beijing one must have a Peking duck at the Da Dong Duck restaurant. So he quickly located it on the internet, copied the Chinese onto a sheet of paper, and we took it to the front desk to confirm its readability. It was indeed readable, but, the woman said, also very far away from the hostel. It was a half an hour drive to a neighborhood beyond the third ring road. This was, we decided, no big deal. We flagged a cab, and rode hungrily towards the duck restaurant. Our driver, it turned out, had no idea where the place was. After this became apparent to all involved, he began to employ the Indian system of asking directions from multiple people and averaging the results.

Luckily the Indian system works just fine, and in no time we were strolling into the place. It was in a ritzy neighborhood, and the smell of duck spilled over us at the door. The place was elegantly lit and air conditioned. Though there were a good number of people waiting in a kind of narrow but very long anteroom. Despite the crowd, we were seated immediately.

I’d like to think it had something to do with the AsiaWheeling business cards that we presented. On the way in we noticed a wall full of commendations from famous politicians and celebrities that had eaten there. Not the least of which was his majesty the king of Thailand! We ordered two Mai Tais (why this seemed appropriate I have no idea… but it most certainly was). The waitress helped us to order exactly what we needed, two persons worth of duck, sautéed ambiguous greens, fried rice with clam, and an appetizer of fresh oat greens with tahini dipping sauce.

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Our train to Beijing had only first class cars. It was, in fact, the nicest train I have ever been on in my life. It, however, had no dining car, so we ate noodles from our auxiliary supply, and slept like stones. We awoke in Beijing.

Outside we were immediately assaulted with Olympic propaganda and advertisements. We shuffled with the giant crowd, had our tickets stamped, and were spit from the station. Shifting and fidgeting under all our belongings, which were of course strapped to our bodies, we scrutinized the giant back-lit bus map outside the station. Scott realized at this point that he had left his Panama hat on the train. So please, dear reader, may we pause a moment to morn.

We located the correct bus, and navigated to one of the 10 or so possible platforms. As the bus lumbered its way through the dense Beijing morning traffic, we began to get excited about the city. It sprawled around us, a delightfully ruddy combination of old tile roofed temples, blocky soviet-looking structures, and hyper-modern office buildings. And it was filled with bicyclists. The smog was as thick as I had ever seen in my life. Buildings and people simply meted into it. And we couldn’t wait to join them.

We got off the bus and hustled our stuff over to the Red Lantern Hostel. It had been rated the best in all of Asia. I’m afraid AsiaWheeling can’t give it that stellar of a rating, as they failed to actually record our reservation and we were forced to spend our two nights in two separate rooms. But I can say it was clean, not over-priced, and generally full of fascinating people. Oh, and they rent SAVAGE bicycles.

Our bikes in Beijing were brand new Giant brand wheeling bikes, complete with fenders, bells, and tires so new and sticky, that the little rubber hairs were still attached. Despite some of our fiercest haggling yet, we were hit with a very fat deposit, leaving us with somewhat of a shoestring budget to wheel on. Not a problem. We can forgo luxury. Just give us the open road.

And, by god, on the back of one of those splendid cycles, not even the thinnest wallet can get you down. Beijing raged around us, and we began to wheel hard. All the pent up energy from our days on endless trains and our frustration with the damned Xiangzimen Youth Hostel became a kind of solid rocket-fuel. We blazed forth with thousands of our wheeling brethren around us, breathing the sooty and chemically tainted air as deeply as if it were a mountain breeze.

Scott called a way-point for water and we noticed a crowded little noodle shack nearby. The decision was unanimous and unspoken. We sat down and ordered two bowls. They were killer, if perhaps somewhat poisonous, but by then we were both on Ciprofloxin, so we felt immune to culinary danger.

Now a belly of noodles added its own voltage to our ride, and we burned down the road. All in all the wheel was one for the record-books, perhaps best illustrated in pictures. So I refer you here to the Beijing Gallary Page.

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We here at AsiaWheeling are in the business of raging trough the east and delivering the finest correspondence we can muster right back to you, dear reader. But there must be, in even the most savage of journeys, a moment when one catches one’s breath. On our last day in Xi’an, we lazed and worked on correspondence in Jie’s apartment. Read the rest of this entry »

Xi’an had a feel to it. I thought to myself as we flowed in the giant crowd towards the exit of the train station, “ok, now this is China.” The streets were still wet from recent rain, and the sun shown mildly. We climbed into a taxi and started the twenty minute drive from the historical cultural district, where the station is, to the new high tech district where Jie lives. It seems Xi’an may be the in the throws of a milk craze. Everywhere we went, I saw milk commercials, and instead of beer slogans emblazoned on the umbrellas of local shops and cafes… Puzzling.

The stone walls, and tiled, sloping roofs of the old section were quickly replaced by skyscrapers. And the skyscrapers simply didn’t end for the entire 20 minutes of driving. Xi’an simply has miles and miles of skyscrapers. And more are being built everywhere. Jie’s apartment building was no exception. She came down to meet us, and we rode up 40 floors to her apartment, which was large and new looking.

We showered the Dunhuang off and the three of us strolled to a local Si Chuan restaurant. We had some ragingly spicy fish, and a delightful assortment of cold vegetables. Then we took off towards bicycles. Read the rest of this entry »

Dunhaung gritted sand against it’s teeth and pried itself grayly from night into day. We followed suit and hustled out the door and into a taxi. Dunhuang had been something like Agra. Both cities proved great for wheeling, but were hampered by terrible rental cycles and a predatory tourist industry. Both are places blessed and cursed by their most beautiful assets. However, while Agra had been a dump, in any sense of the word you might wish to attribute, Dunhuang was clean and new. We could see crews cleaning and shining things as we drove out of town. But regardless, the same feeling pervaded the taxi as we left Dunhuang that had leaving Agra: thank god we’re moving on. We don’t do as well in the tourist spots here at AsiaWheeling. We just can’t properly express ourselves in such a climate. But now we were on out way to Xi’an. The current home of Gao Jie, chinese wheeling coordinator extraordinaire, and we were excited to have a local to guide us.

We arrived at Jaba’s palace just as our train was boarding and hoisted our belongings into our rather tiny middle bunks in the hard sleeper compartment. We splerped hot bowls of instant noodles, made from Chinese train-samovar water. Scott clutched his stomach and went to sleep. Read the rest of this entry »

We had, in the planning of this adventure, expected Dunhaung to be a mere whistle-stop on an obscure Chinese train-line. In fact, we suspected it was something like Tatueen (the desert planet from which Luke Skywalker appears in the original first star wars movie). Dunhaung appeared in only the most recent Chinese train documentation, and was not even listed in our overseas rail schedule. But in our assumption, we were, however, sourly mistaken. The Dunhaung train station towered outside our train car in gleaming blocks of sandstone and glass. It did, however, seem to take architectural queues primarily from star wars.  So we were correct on some level… We would not have been surprised to find Jaba the hut holding court inside, or if a storm trooper were to walk around the corner. Read the rest of this entry »

Our train to Dunhaung was a real hard sleeper. As we were to later discover, the hard sleeper we took to Kashgar was a bizarre variant. This was one open car, immaculately clean, lined with bunks, 3 layers high. Each bunk was short, and the higher bunks were narrow enough that the the metal bar protecting one from falling greatly hampered one’s ability to lay. But the color scheme was a refreshing white and lavender. And for some reason, the day in Kashgar had put us in such a fantastic mood, that we might as well have been staying at a giant rolling Ritz Carlton.

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