East versus Midwest

Sounds of China

2009-11-17T08:44:00.000-08:00

After a long and eventful trip with my parents across Eurasia on the Trans Siberian, an insufficient breeze through Scandinavia , and a visit with friends in the UK, I am squarely back in Middle-America and a frustrating job hunt.

Before I left China, I jotted down a few sounds that I will likely not hear again unless I someday return. Sounds are difficult to capture in words unless you have experienced them. So, though the list may still be interesting to all, it will only trigger nostalgia among those who have experienced them.

Sounds I will miss:

1) Dried tea leaves pinging the bottom of a stainless steel mug on the way to the office water boiler
2) Clanging woks just inside open windows of low-rise apartment buildings at lunch-time
3) Walnut shells grinding together in the palm of a old Beijinger man strolling in the opposite direction
4) The militaristic count to 4 in the morning for various official events and training sessions
5) Women preparing a bed for a guest by beating the mattress with both hands
6) My roommate’s dramatic teeth brushing performance from one room away
7) A room full of shot glasses clanging against glass lazy susans in nearly perfect unison during banquet toasts
8) “Luo la” or “ Lao la” (My name in Chinese)
9) The single syllable “mmm” or “ahh” of agreement in conversation
10) The silence after someone sneezes (as in no “Bless you”)
11) Shameless public singing
12) Chopsticks being washed en mass by rolling them together between hands under water
13) Table tennis in the office hallway in the late-afternoon
14) Rubbish collectors on carts yelling upwards to open windows
15) The deep voiced guy that sells handmade blankets in my neighborhood, also yelling upwards to open windows
16) My Grandmother’s cheery voice through my cheap Nokia mobile at 4:30AM when she had mastered Skype, but not yet the 12 hour time gap!

To be perfectly honest about my feelings on leaving, I have included sounds I WILL NOT miss:

17) The pre-spit hawk
18) The post-hawk spit
19) Northeast or Beijing dialect ‘r’ outside my window at 4:30 AM
20) Alternating fast high-pitched and slow low-pitched voices of elderly neighbors bickering, muffled by not so well insulated walls
21) Loud ringtones of pop favorites
22) ‘wai guo ren!” (foreinger!)
23) ‘lao wai!” ( foreinger!)
24) “e luo si en!” (Russian!)
25) Poor quality pop music bumping from poor quality speakers at storefronts
26) The ubiquitous recording telling me that everything inside a store is only 2 Yuan
27) “Mei Banfa” (Nope, there’s no way to solve your problem / I’m not willing to help you)
28) Muzak magically emanating from fake logs and mushrooms in tourist areas and otherwise natural parks
29) Heavy plastic door flaps closing in your face

China's Quirky Mornings

2009-10-30T10:29:00.000-07:00

I like China most in the early morning. Aside from the occasional official university event, all of which for some reason must begin at 6:00AM with loud speakers, mornings are relatively quiet. Breakfast food stands set up in back alleys selling fresh soy milk, fried dough sticks, and bite sized steamed dumplings to go. Vegetable and fruit markets present the day’s freshest produce to the most eager customers. And, mornings are hands down the best time of the day for people watching in China. It’s the only time/place one can see an old man in full Kung Fu garb after his morning training poking through vegetables at a market with a sword!

Through both direct and indirect comments, I get the feeling that Chinese consider themselves to be a nation of early risers. I also get the feeling that Chinese believe that westerners are late risers, dare I say lazy late risers. My landlord’s pride sneaked through his typically stoic face when he mentioned that he wakes up at 4:30 or 5:00 every morning to jog. The early morning hours are a time to be outside pursuing moderate exercise.

Mornings are a time for serious Tai Chi and Kung Fu classes in parks, as well as individual practitioners scattered about apartment complexes and university tracks. For men and women, mornings are also a time for walking; jogging (which is at the same speed as walking but with a jogging façade); waking backwards; leg stretching to lengths that make me cringe; rope jumping; table tennis; various routines of smacking legs, arms, backs, cheeks, and heads; and playing a hacky sack type game with a feathered shuttlecock. For men, mornings are a time for harder running, basketball, and pull-ups. For women, mornings are a time for traditional style dancing with fans and sequenced fabric squares.

While I understand the physical and mental benefits of these activities, there are a few additional exercises that leave me stumped. Many of these exercises overlap with Chinese traditional medical concepts, some of which also still bewilder me. Many exercise regimens involve repetitious patting/hitting, extreme stretching, and even yelling; all purport to maintain good circulation, flexibility, and expelling ‘bad air,’ respectively. Here are a few anecdotes for you to picture and ponder.

Once on a morning run by the ocean in Dalian, above the waves I heard the disturbing sound of people yelling. As I paused to watch, I found no one to be in danger, but rather 25 swim-capped heads bobbing about letting out generic hollow yells. Perplexed and slighted disturbed, I asked my doctor friend about this bizarre habit. He suggested that they were probably trying to force out ‘bad air.’ I guess this is similar to the idea of ‘running out’ a chest cold on the mend?

On a river ferry boat on the Yangtze River, I came up to the deck to greet the day only to see ten men halfway through their personalized morning routines of arm rotations, hip thrusts, and trunk twists. Feeling that my conventional hamstring stretches and jumping-jacks were insufficient for that crowd, I returned to my room.

Early one hot July morning in Beijing, I was jogging around a university track and every time I passed the 100 m mark I could not help but slow to watch an older couple in their creative routine. The women was bumping her back forcefully against a tree trunk and letting out a yell. The man held one end of a large linked chain over his shoulder. At the other end he had tied the chain into a ball about 10 inches across. He was slowly but rhythmically swinging the chain around his body and letting the chain ball hit his back side. I can only guess that the Mrs. had a case of the bad air and the gentleman was worried about circulation. I guess I could have asked, but they seemed occupied.

Other exercise routines are less perplexing to me and more impressive. Each public exercise area always has one or two super fit middle-aged men maxing out on pull-ups and dips. I have also seen men an women well into their 80’s with one leg halfway up a tree! I have seen fewer women demonstrating acts of strength, as I gather such activities are not in keeping with a woman's best health interests or overall image. Yet, I have seen some solid female joggers and jump-ropers.

My first encounters with these strange activities made me smirk with, admittedly, condescension. As an ex-400m runner, I tend to be slightly masochistic when it comes to exercise. What good is a workout if you’re not drenched in sweat, gasping for breath, and cramping by the end? I feel that America has a split personality when it comes to fitness. On one end are the marathoners and gym rats that guzzle Nalgenes of water and drink whey products. At the other are those who have resigned themselves to a life of immobility altogether. In this context, the Chinese seem to have it figured out.

So what if the lady walking backwards hitting his arms repeatedly has a little pot belly? At least she’s moving! And what if the guy jogging is getting lapped by the walkers? He probably won’t need knee surgery! Stretching for a half hour, playing table tennis, and yes even bumping one’s back against a tree, would likely benefit those who (for no other legitimate health reasons) have become immobile.

Neighborhood Watchdogs

2009-09-23T14:30:00.001-07:00

I recently wrote a short “what to expect when coming to China e-mail” for a professor of my institute who was expecting two foreign summer interns. I included the detail that it’s not uncommon to see vibrant slums standing beside shiny modern luxury apartment complexes. She stopped me on the way out of the institute, and we chatted about the e-mail amongst egg-plants, carrots, and chili peppers spread over the sidewalk by vegetable vendors from the suburbs. She said that even after living in Europe, she had never noticed the affluence discrepancy. She explained that being poor was part of everyone’s childhood in her generation. So actually, she doesn’t notice the slums, period.

When I first came to China, the unkempt, cracking concrete soviet style buildings of no particular aesthetic value put me on edge. Having emerged from a bubble of small town USA neighborhoods, perfumed by an aroma of fresh lawn clippings and fabric softener sheets from dryer vents, I was trained to believe that “rundown” conditions of a neighbor probably equals crime, guns, murders, and packs of marauding males intent on doing me harm. But in China, rusty, discolored, and water damaged, well, perfectly describes my perfectly comfortable neighborhood.

It took me a while, but I stopped seeing the general sliminess of my neighborhood and started noticing the signs with which I associate safety, security, and community: familiar smiling faces; grandmas with their infant grandchild out for a stroll in the pitch dark at 1:00AM; harmless neighborhood gossip; food gifting; a kid practicing his trumpet, and general neighborhood nosiness!

I rest assured knowing that I have a brigade of retiree watchdogs keeping astute monitor of building 22. I can hear conversation in Beijing bravado during their voluntary shifts from 5:00AM to Midnight, while they play cards and mahjong, exercise, and wash and peel vegetables. They do take an hour and half break mid-day for lunch and a siesta. This must be the time when they tell secrets, because everything else they say can be clearly heard on the top floor of my walk-up flat.

I learned quickly that they keep track of everything, including me! They sit under the trees on a patio directly across from where I lock up my bicycle, meaning that I rarely enter or exit my building without a little chat. As I round the corner on my bike, I quickly calculate the ratio of their degree of absorption in their card games to length of my skirt and strategically time my dismount accordingly.

On my way in they ask if I have finished work, where I have been, what I have purchased, how much I paid, and then advise on where I could get it cheaper. Sometimes I even get my vegetables inspected. On the way out, they ask me where I’m going, what I’m throwing away, and if there are any recyclable bottles in my bag.

If I don’t appear to be in a hurry, they press on: “Have you found a new job yet?” “Where are you going,” “Are you going to play soccer, I heard you play soccer (with thumbs up because girls don’t play soccer in China).” “Don’t you take a nap after lunch?” “Did you bring an umbrella?” “Have you found a Chinese boyfriend yet?” “Where did you get your flat tire fixed on your bike and for how much? You didn’t ride your bike for five day you know?”

I judge that their involvement in my business is a manifestation of their concern at best and condescension at worst. Unfortunately, I interpret their questioning as the former or the latter based on my mood and how many similar questions I have endured that day. I have never tried firing questions back. I wonder how my lack of inquiry into their semi-private lives is interpreted. Thoughts?

The picture is of a few of these ladies when they were actually, officially, "on patrol" during the weeks of congressional meetings in China (as if any top officials would visit our tiny complex in a remote corner of Beijing.) But, they do the same thing all day anyway, just without the red arm bands.

Long Distance Bus Ride Blues in China

2009-09-08T20:13:00.000-07:00

I can be positive about many things in China, but bus rides is not one of them.
I have taken a few long distance bus rides in the US, Vietnam, Cambodia, and China. I rank China as number one for overall sensory discomfort. Unfortunately, I do them so infrequently that I forget the physical discomfort between and book them again to save money.

First there are all the problems associated with buying a ticket. There is usually a small crowd around the door of a long distance bus station trying to or get passengers on another bus or car. Or, they are simply trying to get customers to buy the same ticket that you would buy inside, but from them. As a fair-haired foreigner, I get hassled more than the Chinese customer (or at least that’s how I feel). I have to nearly push my way through the crowd of gruff speaking, smoky, smelly, ticket poachers to get to the official counter. Once there I have to hold my place in line and try my best to ignore the chatter from black market ticket sellers, who have followed me from the front door. I tell them in Chinese, “You’re wasting your time, don’t bother me, and I’m not Russian” but to no avail. If the official ticket vendor is kind, she will tell them to scram.
My most recent long distance bus experience was on the return to my final trip to Dalian in July. I thought I would save some money and take the 11 hour bus trip back to Beijing instead of flying. Things started well. My dear friend got the ticket for me in advance and the bus was modern and relatively clean. My seat mate was a neatly dressed young woman, which I greatly prefer over the cigarette/booze scented male alternatives. The bus was not full when we left, so the driver crept through concentric circles around the Dalian station, honking insatiably, while his wing man yelled our destination out the door. This is just in case anyone on the sidewalk suddenly decides to drop his/her plans and go to Beijing. I guess it’s possible.

After a couple years traveling in China, I’m well inured to the excessive use of horns on bus rides. The real noise problems began once we were on the open road and the distractions of city driving had ceased. The music and video programs were switched on and I suddenly remembered why I should have taken the plane. Regardless of the genre, Peking opera, traditional comedy skits, the official Spring Festival performance (still showing in July), or mediocre pop singer performances, they are all LOUD! In moments like these I sit and look at the screaming speaker above my head and imagine a Chinese manufactured volume dial with only two settings: “shufu”(comfortable) and “bu shufu” (uncomfortable). I gauge that this time it was set at about three notches past “bu shufu.” I looked around the bus to find that I was the only one wincing instead of grinning during the canned laughter.

Next come air problems. I suppose anytime one boards public transportation she forfeits her rights to climate/air control. Yet I find that my need for a constant flow of fresh air to be more fervent than my bus-mates’ needs. We stopped on the outskirts of town to fill up on gas and take a bathroom break with the air-conditioning off and the doors and windows closed! Much to the amusement and interest of those around me, I pulled out my Chinese style fan to avoid both physically and mental meltdown. Again, no-one else seemed to sweat (pun totally intended) the dreadfully stagnant air of a July afternoon, which was further warmed by of 80 pairs of hot moist lungs.

Reminded of his habit by the no-smoking signs in the gas-station, the driver lit up a cigarette the moment we pulled away. As soon as he finished his torturously long cigarette, his wing man lit another, doubling the haze in the bus and my regret for not taking a plane. To his credit, he opened the tiny window beside him after lighting up. But at about 60 mph, this only rocketed the carcinogens to the back of the bus.

At this point, I had my shirt over my mouth and nose, my fingers in my ears, my cheek pressed up against the window to keep cool. And still no-body else seemed to be bothered about any of it! But just then, a man in the front row with a grandson in his lap asked the men to stop smoking. The wingman put up some protest that the grandpa refuted by telling him that he himself was also a smoker but would not subject his grandson or the rest of the bus to his smoke in such a confined space. God bless him and his grandson!

After countless unexplained stops, identification checks, bathroom/smoke breaks, and traffic jams, we finally rolled into a non-descript bus station parking lot in Beijing at 10:00 PM. I was tremendously relieved to be off the bus and to be reducing sensory stimuli one-by-one. But what would a bus journey be without a grand finale? Just then, we opened the luggage compartment only to watch two heavy eyed sluggish stowaways un-contort themselves from the spaces between our luggage and casually walk out of the station.
But, after all that I did save about 40 dollars!

Teeth Brushing in China

2009-09-08T20:01:00.000-07:00

Ok, you think I’ve run out topics and have resorted to something as banal as brushing teeth. But really, for those who choose to keep dental hygiene habits, brushing one’s teeth is quite the event here.

I’ve noticed two puzzling traits about brushing teeth in China. First, it is occasionally a public event. Second, it is always done in conjunction with a cup.
By public brushing, I don’t mean like in a public office bathroom after lunch break. I mean public like in front of your business on the street! I recently went to a tiny Kodak store to get visa pictures taken. It was mid-morning and the twenty-something year old technician with a rattail and wispy bangs was apparently just beginning his day. He conducted the entire half hour exchange from photographing to printing to payment with toothpaste foam a half inch wide around his mouth and a toothbrush rolling around in his teeth as he spoke. The fact that I walked away with the right sized pictures at a decent price, I consider to be a listening comprehension victory!

I reckon that this young man lives in dormitory style living quarters with no sink. These kinds of rooms are tucked away in otherwise un-rentable basements and first floors of old apartment buildings everywhere. At night, when the lights are still on, one can peer in on the lives of single young men trying to minimize their rent, content to have a place to sleep after long hours of work at little pay. My multi-tasking Kodak technician friend either shared such a room with 15 other men with little or no bathroom access, or he actually lives in the Kodak store itself and I caught him in his morning routine. Either way, he joined others that morning along a line of storefronts for public face washing, hair washing, and teeth brushing.

My Kodak friend also had a cup for brushing his teeth. Why he did not bother to deposit the toothbrush in the cup while he spoke to me, I cannot say. Anyway, my observations on Chinese teeth brushing must start with an explanation of where I’m coming from on the matter. So, excuse me for a moment while I take you through the intimacies of my own diurnal routine. I wet my tooth brush and paste with a drizzle from the faucet to start, brush modestly, and finish by rinsing my mouth, toothbrush, and sink basin with the water from the faucet, directed by my cupped hand. If I am feeling extra responsible that day I’ll add in a flossing session too.

In contrast, all of my observations of Chinese teeth brushing sessions begin with filling a cup from the faucet, dipping the toothbrush into the cup followed by an extended furious brushing period, which unabashedly spreads toothpaste foam from nostrils to chin. The session ends with, what seems to me, an exaggerated amount of swirling, stirring, swishing, splashing, and tapping in a percussion show among mouth, cup, and basin. Again, this may seem a tedious topic…but it is nearly an art and diverged enough from my experiences to make me stop and observe. Watching my roommate brushing her teeth, I actually thought of writing to the alternative percussion group, ‘STOMP’ to suggest a new idea for their percussion performances. Oh and the flossing? Non-existent. I think only Americans do that after all. In fact, my current Chinese roommate reported that her dentist informed her that flossing actually damages your teeth and gums.

So why the cup? I have a hypothesis about this and did a little research to test it. I surveyed a set of randomly selected candidates as to their preference for using a cup when brushing (this really means I asked those friends who happen to be on G-mail chat or Skype at that moment.) I found that none of my native born American friends use a cup to brush their teeth. Yet, my first and second generation Chinese American friends do in fact use a cup. Actually, one does not, but upon further inquiry I found that her parents do. This only further supports my hunch that the cup habit is due to a lack of running water. While the majority of Chinese teeth brushers in my generation have running water, our parents’ generation (i.e. the models of all hygienic habits) likely did not have running water. Thus, while the cup may once have been a necessity, the habit has been passed down one or two generations merely by example. But, my research methods are shaky and open to peer review! Feel free to suggest other explanations for the cup brushing phenomenon.

The second reason for this practice, I believe, also relates to water supply issues. Reflecting on her own cup use habit, my Chinese American friend pointed out that using a cup simply saves more water than repeated bursts from the faucet; it is an environmentally friendly habit. I have observed a general frugality when it comes to water use in Chinese homes. My Chinese roommates have all used as little water as possible during showers, turning on and off the water throughout the shower. They have even used a basin in the shower so as to not loose water down the drain. However, while I credit my Chinese American friend’s water conservation to environmental motives, for many others here in China, these habits have little to do with environmental morals and everything to do with saving money. This is evidenced by my experiences in public bath houses, which have flat fees. There women take hours scrubbing every inch of skin multiple times under continuously gushing water. By the way, I also observed that even under the full stream of a showerhead, these women will still make use of the complimentary plastic cups to brush their teeth!

I recall yet another example while staying with a sick friend in a hospital in Dalian. The woman caring for the girl in the adjacent bed took full advantage of free water in the bathroom. By the end of the week she had washed half her wardrobe and two pairs of shoes, all of which were strung about the room adding to the humidity of the already clammy room. I liken this indulgent behavior to Americans at an all you can eat buffet!

Speaking of Americans, it is perhaps more appropriate to be astonished not by Chinese frugality, but by the global exceptions, Americans. Chinese are more in keeping with the rest of the world’s water consumption habits. Whereas, Midwest Americans in particular enjoy the luxury of cheap, abundant, clean water. I have watched dormitory mates brush their teeth with the water running the entire time. I myself am guilty of taking leisurely showers at home on my parents’ water bill…and of course… not using a cup.

Life in the Bike Lane

2009-05-14T20:54:00.000-07:00

I've been copying my big brother since I was able to walk. So I thought I'd give a biking update too!

Beijing and bikes just seem to complement each other. Beijingers young and old, sporty and plump, chic and country, all ride. Bike lanes line most major roads. Promotional fliers and coupons are distributed in mass in bike baskets, rather than snapped under windshield wipers. Bicycle repairmen, found on every other corner, will patch your flat for 2 Yuan (and I probably even got ripped off). While biking then becomes quite the daily routine, it is never in anyway banal.

Traffic in China is generally right hand traffic. Yet, because it is often difficult to cross the street, the bike lanes and gutters on either side function in two way traffic for bikes, load bearing tricycles, and motorcycles. Strangely, on the these edges the traffic pattern switches to left hand traffic. So, if I’m riding on the right side, I should assume that the bikes riding on my side of the street, but in the opposite direction, will hug the curb, forcing me out into traffic. After much deliberation, I've finally concluded that this is because oncoming riders can actually see what is approaching. Accordingly, they take the safest position possible while I remain blissfully unaware of the dump truck behind me piled twice its height with tumbling fill dirt. My only other explanation for this reverse traffic pattern phenomenon is that when bicyclers "double," the person on the back typically sits side saddle, feet to the left. Thus hugging the curb lessens the chances of a car clipping the legs of the freeloader. This also spares oncoming bikers from being skewered by spike high heels on long legged wispy Chinese girls bumming a ride from their boyfriends.

There is the occasional hairy situation. A taxi may pull a U-turn with no warning. Or, a hubristic driver of a black Audi might unapologetically back off the sidewalk into the road, breaking the otherwise laminar flow of cyclists. In these cases, all the rules break down and it’s every peddler for herself. Yet there is one fundamental, irreducible law of bike riding in Beijing that never disintegrates: Play It Cool. It must be written somewhere! When in doubt, continue in the same direction at a constant speed. No quick movements, just expressionless fixed stares and the understanding that no one will pull a fast one.

Bikers in Beijing also contend with slow moving elderly folks, darting little children, loogies hawked from the sidewalk, crowds around street vendors, the occasional unannounced uncovered manhole, haphazardly loaded building materials on overloaded tri-cycles, and the occasional load of....ahem...from the power end of a donkey cart.

Yet beyond these perilous hazards, there lurks one final test of Beijing bicyclers’ maneuverability and nerves: young lovers! While all other traffic seems to flow in a kind of oxymoronic predictable chaos, young couples move like erratic moths! Beware; the innocent couple in matching pink T-shirts walking just ahead of you might actually do you in. The girl with feathered hair, knee socks, and a teddy bear back-pack may at any moment shriek, 'Tao yan!” [I totally disapprove of that disgusting thing you just said/did!] and retreat into an arm crossed pout and directly into your front tire. That slight framed guy, with 8 hair styles in one, carrying his girlfriend’s purse, might bowl you over as he dodges a swing from his pouting girl. It gets even more dangerous when one or both of them are holding “chuanr” sticks [pointy wooden kebab sticks], which simultaneously arm them and expand their striking distance a full foot on either side.

I once took a defensive driving course at the Mid-Ohio raceway where I learned how to handle scenarios like emergency lane changes and hydroplaning at 70 mph in an Ohio summer downpour. And yet, I feel completely defenseless against the emotional outbursts of young Chinese couples on a muggy spring Beijing night.

I have been riding a round with my camera bungee corded to my bicycle basket just to see if I can catch any of this in images. These are some of the results.

Silkworms: Fresher the Better

2009-05-12T09:42:00.000-07:00

Mmm live silk worms in the market. I hear (from every one, every time they are mentioned) that one has as much protein as three eggs. Yet, everything about them just turns me off....

My Brother is hardcore!

2009-03-26T23:06:00.000-07:00

Just in case you know Brian, or you want to, or you're thinking about biking across the entire US, check out my favorite brother's current adventure from San Diego, California to Charleston, South Carolina.

Seated at my desk in front of my computer, with one eye on his stories and one eye out the window at a smoggy Beijing skyline, I'm a bit jealous!

加油 "jia you" (add gas) Brian!

Unrequited Chinese Hug Affairs

2009-03-26T20:40:00.000-07:00

Occasionally I feel that my China experience has been a string of awkward conversations and events. I romanticize home as a place where one does not often have to think about the proper reaction to, for instance, receiving an impromptu gift of a vacuum packed whole chicken; or, trying to read the awkward smiles in our dinning group as they explained that the soup I just ordered for us is traditionally only for pregnant women. While these these memories make me giggle, there are a few moments that actually make me physically cringe, the majority of which involved my very American custom of hugging.

With the exception of young lovers on the subway and in dark corners of parks, and perhaps grandparents with babies, Chinese people don't really hug. Greetings are typically a handshake or a nod and a hello. That is not to say there is no physical contact, quite the opposite in fact. Female friends walk arm and arm down the sidewalk, stroke each others' hair, and hold hands. Male friends might throw an arm around a friend's shoulder, or lay a hand a buddy’s thigh while seated. But the big, warm, welcoming, so happy-to- see- you- I -just- can't- contain- myself American hug, just doesn't happen.

I recall one unfortunate hugging event in Dalian when I was teaching. First let me say that considering the proximity of our ages, I was already informal with my students. We would occasionally eat lunch together in the student cafeteria and chatted informally outside of class. And since I taught at a branch campus nearly an hour away from my apartment, I rarely saw my students outside of that distant campus. So, one weekend when I saw this particularly outgoing (dare I say favorite) student in the middle of the Saturday shopping crowd in downtown Dalian, I was surprised. For a split second I lost my cool and gave him a big hug! He on the other hand remained rigid, neither concave to accept the embrace, nor convex to avoid it. His arms were clamped firmly to his sides and his face shown a look of sheer panic. The embrace lasted about a half a second, as I regretted it the moment I committed. This wasn't the first time one of these unrequited hugs occurred. I have had similar experiences with both females and males and I thought my past misfortunes had cured me of such moments of American caprice. In fact, I think this self restraint has seeped into my behavior with foreign friends, ironically making ME the non-hugger!

My friend has pondered the same cultural difference, but from the Chinese perspective. He speculates Americans' hugging custom is a function of our small population [in comparison to that of China]. He reasons that the tradition developed from pioneer days when two people might have come upon one another in the wilderness and embraced out of relief from solitude. Thus the hugging trend began. While I find this to be slightly oversimplified, I'll grant that we hug more than our crowded UK and European neighbors with whom we supposedly share other "western" customs. Even the French "bises" keep you at a greater distance than any style of an American body to body hug!

This leads me to my next awkward hug experience that recently occurred with one of my Chinese roommate's suitors. After an evening out of barbecued meat, beer, and banter, "Old Zhao," as my roommate affectionately calls him, said that he heard that Americans hug. Then he asked me if I could teach him HOW to hug! It was only then that I realized the complexity of this custom. Who can you hug, under what circumstances, and how? The answers are something like: definitely not your boss, not the first time you meet, and .....there are many options.

How to hug? Who goes under? Who goes over? Do you cross? Pat or no pat on the back? Squeeze? How tight? Where does you chin go? When you think about it, hugging can get slightly mechanical for us too. If you linger a moment too long in a hug, it could be misinterpreted as an advance. There are best friend hugs, family hugs, lover hugs, and sweaty sporting event hugs. Girls often do the one armed side hug at formal events so as not risk wrinkling or smudging all that they've prepared. Guys do that slick handshake into a hug and slap on the back combination.

I chose not to attempt to explain all this to Old Zhao at 11:00 PM on the sidewalk outside the rowdy smokey restaurant. Instead, I taught him the crisscross, slight squeeze, with a pat on the back hug, and added the caveat to not use it the first time he meets someone.

Safe?

Spring Festival Was a Blast!

2009-03-03T18:43:00.001-08:00

Though I have spent two years in China now, this was my first chance to experience the entire Spring Festival (Chinese New Year) season. This post is delayed because, as the title demonstrates, I have found it impossible to come up with an original way to describe Spring Festival. If you are living in China, this is old news. But for those who have never experienced the tumultuous weeks of Spring Festival, read on...

Spring Festival shares a common quality with Christmas in that the expectation is to return home to pass the holiday season one's family. And as the capital, Beijing is much like Washington D.C. in that holidays mean a mass exodus from the city. Yet, while D.C. drains via freeways and airways, Beijing's population gets pumped out one train full at a time. According to the Chinese Rail Ministry's numbers, (as reported in China Daily) nearly 5 million of the China's 1.3 billion people are on the move via rails in the first 10 days of the holiday season. You can imagine the fear/anxiousness/dissatisfaction related to buying train tickets that pervades the holiday season. For example, when two friends/acquaintances run into each other, a common greeting is, "Have you eaten yet?" Yet, in the weeks leading up to Spring Festival, the question changed to "Have you bought your tickets yet?"On the street, in grotty noodle shops, and around the office, I could count on overhearing conversations about buying train tickets. I heard accounts of marathon queuing sessions, counterfeit tickets, black market tickets systems, fights at the ticket counters, and even confessions of general discontent with the country's governance, precipitated by these travel troubles. Most of these conversations end with everyone shaking their heads and grumbling, "tai ma fan," meaning "too much trouble/hassle."

After witnessing all this, I became terrified to even attempt a trip during the height of this period. Instead, I stayed in the ghost town university district of Beijing. Part of me assumed that I would pass the most significant Chinese holiday with Chinese people. But, by the time the big day arrived, any Chinese friends I had made in Beijing had returned to their home towns. I had a couple of offers to return to home towns to pass the holiday. However, one was impossible because it necessitated plane travel and my passport was locked up in the visa office over the holiday. The other was from a dear male friend who said that, though he would like to invite me to his home, doing so at Spring Festival would send the wrong message to his family! So, while I regret not being able to give an account of a family celebration, I can describe my enjoyable experience with some great foreign friends as we celebrated our version of Chinese New Year’s Eve.

We were set on eating dumplings, the traditional food eaten at New Year’s celebrations. I was never sure why this was so until a friend's uncle explained that in traditional Chinese folklore monsters ate everything except flour based foods. Thus, the tasty meat and vegetables are encased in protective unappealing dough to keep for humans only. (Though, the story was in Chinese, so I may have missed some details. Please feel free to set me straight.)

After stuffing ourselves with dumplings at a modest restaurant and celebrating a bit with the owners, we took to the streets with fireworks and "baijiu" (see the previous posts to know why this is actually a terrible combination). The atmosphere outside the restaurant was frigid and fanatical; explosions of light and sound came from every direction. Taxi drivers hauling inebriated passengers dodged erupting roman candles placed in the middle of the street. Pedestrians took cover in alleyways as rolls of firecrackers hung from trees fired without warning. Yet despite the peril and noise, I met no Spring Festival Grinches. There must be something about the power to create minor explosions that makes for inquellable smiles for even the most experienced merry makers. Through the strobe effect of firecrackers I watched childrens' expressions flash between glee and horror as they clasped their hands to their ears.

We made our way to the Drum Tower square and set off our own fireworks along with hundreds of other jovial Beijingers (including a surprising amount of foreigners, whose presence I attribute to the one line in the English events magazine article suggesting that the Drum Tower district was the place to be for New Years. If it was a conspiracy to keep us all in one place, it worked well!) The tradition of lighting fireworks at New Years stems from the now loosely held superstition that racket scares away monsters and evil spirits making for a clean start for the new year, void of hassle from ill intentioned ancestors lurking about.

The highlight of the evening came at midnight when Beijing citizens simultaneously lit their most expensive fireworks and the whole city spewed bright colors and sulfurous smoke in unison. Our crew was separated in the confusion and chaos but rejoined at club to dance away our numbness from the cold and take shelter from the explosions that continued for the rest of the night.

While setting off fireworks is technically only legal on two nights of the holiday season, the noise in my apartment complex continued day and night for two weeks straight. Here are a few video clip, just to show you how close to buildings, people, trees, cars, these big explosives are being lit.

Here are two clips from midnight. Notice the nonchalance of.....everyone about getting scarily close to these explosions.

This is a clip from my apartment window. And yes those sparks are really falling that closely.

Baijiu and Obama back to back

2009-01-22T03:45:00.000-08:00

Spring Festival (Chinese New Year) has arrived. Heavy duty fireworks and firecrackers are exploding everywhere day and night. The university through which I ride my bicycle to work every day is eerily devoid of students, with only broken suitcase handles and wheels littering the ground as evidence of their mass holiday exodus home. And, restaurants everywhere are hosting Spring Festival banquets for companies and institutes all over Beijing. The need for these events can be compared with the obligatory company Christmas parties in the US. In the US, these company parties are awkward. People are forced to dress up and talk to each other about non-work related things, drink, but not indulge. The whole thing is a tightrope walk between business and pleasure. However, with all the lines of “professional” behavior slightly skewed in China, I got the feeling that these banquets in China are actually enjoyed!

Our institute’s celebration was a family affair that began in a banquet room filled with balloons, confetti, and plates of sunflower seeds and candy on the tables for munching. Staff members brought their wives/husbands and children to watch performances of our institutes’ own employees in a kind of talent show. One researcher joined his daughter in a magic show complete with a release of a parakeet (which then took 10 minutes to catch). A five year old boy showed the crowd of 100 his Taekwondo moves. A group of male post-docs performed a skit with jabs about how little money they made. Their female counterparts performed a dance routine in cut off jean shorts and tall black boots. Others sang Chinese pop songs on a Karaoke screen or performed a more traditional poetic story in the style of San Ju Ban (Three and a half sentences). The top prize went to the administrative and research staff that performed a Spanish conquistador partner dance with costumes and recorded blaring brass music. After the performances we were invited to play Chinese chess and word puzzles and then make our way to a nearby restaurant where the real party began.

Our group occupied about 20 round tables, which amounted to half the restaurant’s open first floor dining room. I sat with some of the researchers' wives and their children. The kids continued their song, dance, and martial arts performances throughout dinner despite reprimands from the adults! After a half hour of eating, the higher-ups began circulating the tables toasting their colleagues with “baijiu” (white rice alcohol that tastes like paint thinner ) and things started to get rowdy. You see a toast in China is not a sweet speech followed by a sip of champagne. Rather, it is a boisterous demonstration of thanks or good luck followed by a shot of 60 proof alcohol.

Lets again picture the stuffy holiday parties in the US where everyone is holding it all in. If someone does accidentally loosen up after a few trips to the bar, stories of their rowdiness and dirty dancing will float around the office in whispers for weeks. Now, imagine a party with no pesky Puritan roots to hold you back! Chinese drinking culture is such that one loses more face by turning down a challenge to drink than by getting completely blitzed and making a fool of himself/herself. (I say herself, but actually I do not fully understand how women fit into drinking culture in modern China.) In his book Rivertown, Peter Hessler recalled (hazily I am sure) a similar banquet with his English department where he and a friend felt no regrets about diving over tables and shooting each other with rubber band guns!

When my boss and another important staff member circled round to my chair and poured me a glass, I found myself caught in a tangle of tacit cultural expectations. I knew that it is disrespectful and even condescending to turn down a drink. Yet, I also knew that it is common for Chinese women to shy away from alcohol and toast with tea or soda instead. And finally, my Midwest roots were telling me that I should probably not be taking shots with my boss, period. I made a split second decision to file myself into a totally different category of “only foreign girl in the room” and threw one back. In the after burn I caught a thumbs up from my boss as he moved on to the next table. Whew.

The waiters brought bottle after bottle of baijiu and the noise level of our side of the room rose. I sat uncomfortably as I thought about how much we must have been disturbing the other customers sitting a mere ten feet way. Just when I thought about asking my friend if we were being too loud, the director picked up a bullhorn to announce the top prize winners of the raffle! The other customers seemed neither surprised nor offended. I guess by now I should know that hot, loud, jovial places are just where Chinese people would choose to be for the holidays.

A few students and staff stopped by my seat to chat in a mix of slurred English and Chinese. Whether it was the alcohol or the freedom that comes with speaking an opinion in a foreign language, one man felt free enough to explain the significance of this night to me. He claimed that one could “lose” oneself for the night. He described this as the one time a year when all is forgotten and forgiven. “You can say anything!” And most importantly, by drinking with his staff, the boss shows a bit of humility allowing him to reconnect with his employees.

Slightly buzzed from the cultural overload and the baijiu, I looked at my watch and remembered that the 44th US Presidential Inauguration was to take place in two hours. Being an hour's subway trip away from where I said I would meet my friends to watch, I excused myself from the party, which I later learned had continued on to a Karaoke bar. As our group walked to a bar promising a CNN live feed, we realized that while we all shared excited feelings about the big event, I was actually the only American in the group.

The bar was packed and just as loud as the Chinese banquet. But, instead of bullhorns and toasts, it was Beijing x-pats competing with each other and the CNN commentators for a bit of air time. An old Chinese man in a Mao cap circulated through the crowd selling his handicrafts and took a moment to watch the screen himself then confirming with those around him that the event was somehow connected to “ow – ba – ma.” The crowd quieted a bit at the sight of Carter, booed at George W. Bush, and cheered with the emergence of Michelle Obama. I stood beside Italians and English during the oath, an American for Aretha Franklin’s song, and Canadians during Obama’s speech. It is not until one spends an election or an inauguration abroad that one realizes how closely the rest of the world follows US politics.

I fell asleep at 4AM trying to process it all.

Here is a video just to give you a taste of the political and social vibe of the (mostly young) Beijing x-pat crowd. The second video is just proof that not everything is censored in China. This was the bit of the speech that was edited out on the Chinese stations but came through clearly on CNN.

Latest language gaffe/near miss with humiliation

2009-01-15T04:56:00.000-08:00

As an intern, anywhere really, one is constantly anxious about how to slip into the social scene at the office/company. If you have an intern, know that he/she is over thinking every action so as to avoid being both completely overlooked or in the spotlight. This internal tension (no pun intended) increases when the job lands the intern squarely in a foreign culture where he/she cannot even rely on gut social instincts. While I am constantly strategizing about how to ease into the social scene here, I am never actually confident about how my actions are being interpreted. With such deliberation to say and do just the right thing, you can imagine what affect one major gaffe might have on my psyche.

While my Chinese vocabulary continues to grow, I am still very capable of making grave and humiliating mistakes. I had a close call during a series of email exchanges with a PhD student here at the institute. We bumped into each other outside the institute and he invited me to the public oral defense session of his thesis. There is a specific word for oral defense of one's thesis, "da bian" (答辩) which was new to me when he spoke it. I attended the session and managed to comprehend only the gist and not a single detail of his extremely technical presentation. Afterward I confidently typed up an e-mail thanking him for including me and asked him how he thought his "da bian" had gone.

However, due to my dearth of Chinese character recognition, I used the characters "大便," which is also pronounced "da bian" but with slightly different tones and unfortunately means..well... excrement (to put it gently)! I was one mouse click away from thanking him for inviting me to his defecating session and asking him how he felt about it had gone.

I swear Chinese is a code not a language!

Beijing Roast Duck (all of it)

2009-01-07T01:05:00.000-08:00

A visit from important foreign guests to the institute warranted a trip to eat the all famous, “Beijing kao ya,” or Peking Roast Duck. Our group of ten headed to a famous roast duck restaurant near the Olympic village. The place was packed with waitresses in Qing Dynasty costumes with walki-talkies and headphones. The walls were covered in pictures of foreign guests and dignitaries that had dined there during the Olympics. I noted that Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo represented the Philippines as well as one could with a whole naked duck in the foreground. We were ushered to the private “Putin room,” complete with Chinese and Russian flags as the table centerpiece and pictures of Vladimir Putin and his entourage enjoying roast duck. We ordered two entire ducks prepared with the “Putin” menu.

This restaurant was obviously still riding the Olympic theme. First to arrive on our table was a small plate of fried duck skin intricately woven into the shape of the neighboring Olympic bird nest. Next was a simulacrum of the Olympic aquatic center which took the form of duck skin chunks suspended in a rectangular mass of translucent gelatin. The jiggling mound was set atop a base with a blue twinkling light bulb making it glow aquamarine. I tried a cube as it glided past me on the rotating glass Lazy Susan. It tasted exactly like what you might expect if you ate a big spoon full of the semi-hardened grease that pools around your turkey a few days after Thanksgiving.

The waitress announced the name of each in Chinese as she placed them on the table. First was the usual, duck meat served with sweet hoisin (thick dark and sweet) sauce and spring onions all to be rolled up in thin crepe-like pancakes and eaten like tiny burritos. Undeniably delicious! Then, a plate of fleshy floppy “duck feet” arrived. With a little encouragement from my boss, the other American at the table and I lifted the wilted webbed bits of flesh from the plate with chop sticks, dipped them into mustard sauce, and plunged them into your mouths with a cringe. We both reached for our beer and gulped to forget the soft crunch of flavorless cartilage. I understood the next few dishes as announced, “duck liver,” “duck hearts cooked in Chinese white liquor,” “duck neck,” “boiled duck head,” (which was split in two for ease of eating I suppose). But then there was one dish announced that was beyond my vocabulary and visual identification. I turned to my boss and said, “I don’t’ know that one.” He laughed out loud and said, “And nor can I tell you.” There was an awkward silence as he thought for a moment and then said in English, “The Chinese have a special word for this too, “Duck Precious!”

I tried everything and at the same time tried not to think about what effect the layering of such new cuisine in my stomach might have later.

One version of a Beijing Christmas

2008-12-27T07:33:00.000-08:00

Holidays are slightly daunting here. I suppose they are daunting anywhere if you don’t have a family on which to rely to fill that day on the calendar. But as a foreigner in China, to celebrate is more of a decision than an expectation.

China has picked up on the marketing potential of Christmas. While a Beijing Thanksgiving could have passed without my knowing, the reminders were everywhere for Christmas. Shopping malls have 60ft decorated Christmas trees outside and Holiday season sales. Though, these sales are overlapping and muddled with sales for the quickly approaching Spring Festival (Lunar New Year). Since both holidays are dominated by red it is slightly unclear what is being celebrated. Western restaurants, cafes, bars, and hotels put up English signs featuring their set menus for Christmas dinner and the servers pressure you to make reservations. Businesses of all genres decorate their storefronts with paper Santa Claus cutouts, tinsel garlands, and even fake spray snow in a can. Supermarkets sell fake Christmas trees that come pre-decorated if you want. I am sure that here in Beijing one could also buy a real Christmas tree for a price. Christmas music is common in establishments and unfortunately on cell phone ring tones, but not nearly as ubiquitously as in America.

All this hype gives one a sense of urgency about making some kind of plan. My choices were: shell out 1000 Yuan ($150)a head for a luxurious dinner, pay 200 a head for a Japanese buffet, join some friends for drinks at their apartment and then go out on the town, make dinner at a friend’s oven equipped apartment, or eat dumplings with my Chinese roommate. I chose to spend Christmas Eve out on the town and Christmas day cooking and baking in the much coveted oven.

Chinese don’t spend Christmas with their families and most foreigners don’t have families here, so Christmas has become an excuse to hit the clubs and bars. After all, what’s Christmas without a Rudolf character piloting a Congo line of scantily glad, glow stick waving, Chinese girls around the dance floor to a blaring remix of “Celebration?”

Christmas day, on the other hand felt much more wholesome. My English friend brought his mother’s Christmas recipes and three of us worked together to create a feast of stuffed apples, stuffed peppers, roast potatoes and carrots, salad, and half a turkey. The other half apparently went to another foreigner at Wal-Mart who also seemed overwhelmed at the idea of a full-sized turkey in her toaster oven. We added mulled wine, cheese, and apple pie to the menu and ate and drank ourselves into that familiar holiday digestive state somewhere between fulfillment and misery. The night finished with a scrabble game and a Skype call to my family to share in their real-time holiday.

Just before going to bed on Christmas Eve, I put Santa Claus hats stuffed with goodies and chocolate outside my Chinese and Italian roommates’ doors. My note in Chinese said that it was from Santa Claus (literally “Christmas old man”) but I think my poor Chinese calligraphy must have given me away. My Chinese roommate saw right through it and put a note on my door in English that read: “thank you, nice is young santa claus. I hope you next year more beautiful." I have no idea what that means, and it might be an insult. But, I think she liked the chocolate.

Merry belated Christmas all and Happy New Year!

Apartment Hunting

2008-12-16T18:32:00.000-08:00

My employer paid for my first week here in a in a modest hotel until I could find an apartment. I used the entire week apartment hunting within a 3 mile radius of the institute. My criteria were simple: close to work and subway, clean, and at or below 1500 Yuan (~200 dollars). I began with the help of a Chinese friend at the institute. We looked at Chinese versions of Craig’s List and also expat websites like Beijinger. Though all the listings were advertised as individuals’ posts, we quickly realized that they were actually “middle companies.” The way my friend spit the out the word, “zhong jie,” made it sound like they were something obscene and abhorred. We scheduled a few visits on a Saturday and hit the neighborhood on foot. After just two calls, my name and number was out. No sooner had we finished one visit when my phone would ring with another company offering to show me a room. The mystery voice on the phone would instruct us to meet him at a certain corner/bus stop etc. We would arrive at the corner and locate a slightly sleazy looking man wearing a cheap suit jacket and black leather shoes. Upon seeing a lost looking blond, he would jump up from his resting squat and lead us to the next room, chain-smoking all along the way. As we walked I struggled to stay close to my friend and the middleman, bobbing and weaving around cars, carts, people, trees, and various gross things smeared on the sidewalk. The first day I mostly listened, memorizing the standard conversation as I knew that the rest of the week would be a solo adventure.

Over the course of a week I looked at about 20 apartments. These places ranged from disgustingly dingy first floor slums, to dazzling newly refinished hotel-like rooms. If the other renters were home I tried my best to size them up quickly. Some were foreign students: Italians, Japanese, Kazakhstanis, Americans, and one German. All of those places were either too expensive or meant speaking to much English. Other prospective apartment mates included an older bachelorette with a hyperactive three year old niece (that told me I was beautiful and then threw candy at me), a young family that swore they would never be home, a middle-aged couple with a chain-smoking husband, and two young Chinese guys with a bio-hazard for a bathroom. One middle company sleaze-ball took me to an apartment and then admitted that he didn’t actually have the keys. He said he would see if anyone was home and I expected him to make a phone call. Instead, I watched in disbelief as he scaled the barred windows and peered into the second story apartment to get someone’s attention. I told him to forget it and left him hanging.

Finally, I met one middle company guy at about 9:30 on the last night of my free stay in the hotel. As we walked he suddenly stopped and pointed to a Jeep Cherokee that seemed to appear out of nowhere, suggesting that we ride to see the apartment. I hesitated; I hate these judgment testing moments! It’s a little like when an unleashed barking dog charges you in a public park while the owner runs after yelling, “He won’t bite!” You think, I don’t want to overact, but I don’t want to get mauled either! I was thinking, I don’t want to freak out and offend these guys, but I also don’t want to lose my internal organs tonight!

I peered in at the driver, a geeky looking college kid with glasses and a friendly grin. He addressed me in Chinese and explained that he could give me a lift to his friend’s apartment with the spare room. “I know where it is…it’s just down the road… I can just walk,” I said. “Suit yourself” he said, “But it's cold and I can’t park here.” A response with any more pressure to get in the car would have blown the whole deal for me. But, that was just enough indifference to make me try it. I got in, one hand on the door handle ready bolt if need be and at the same time thinking that if they were really going to steal my kidney tonight they would have found a way to keep me from jumping out [insert mother’s cringe here].

The young guy turned out to be extremely nice and he was indeed actually helping his friend. The three of us talked about the global financial crisis, NBA stars, and how cold it gets in Beijing in winter. He drove through a security gate and deep into low rise apartment complex to the foot of building number 22. The front was lined with hundreds of bicycles ready for the morning commute. The balconies were decorated with laundry, cabbages, sausages, leeks, and garlic braids, all hanging out to dry. The stairwell was normal for this price range: dirty, dark, unmaintained, and like it might lead to a prison cell. I was comforted that we stopped to get keys from the landlord on the first floor. The door opened to a warm, spotless, well lit, newly refinished, sizable three bedroom apartment that smelled like someone had recently cooked something tasty. The current renter, a young Chinese woman, was away. But a quick glance at her shoes, kitchen utensils, stocked refrigerator, and absence of filth was enough for me to think we might be more compatible than the screaming child or the stinky Chinese boys. The landlord couple came up to visit from their apartment on the first floor. He was a cute reticent old man with a Mao era hat. She was a typical middle-aged, plump, ruddy faced loud mouthed nosey woman, who I am sure would push me out of the way on the bus any day. They asked questions about my experiences in China and complemented my Chinese. They explained that they were “lao Beijing ren” (Beijing born and raised) and their old neighborhood was in the same place before it was leveled to make way for this apartment complex. I took it all hook line and sinker and put down a couple hundred Yuan for the key.

I left feeling a sense of achievement for independently securing a decent room, under budget, and all in a foreign language. I celebrated with a bowl of noodles and a chocolate bar. But, when I contacted the folks helping me at the institute to tell them the good news, my pride and satisfaction turned to angst and dread. They wanted to come and help with the contract signing, meet my landlord, check on the apartment, and barter yet another lower price. I knew what was going to happen. My bubble of ignorant trust was about to be popped! They would tell me that I was paying too much, these people were cheating me, my future roommate was probably not even living there, and I should not have made such a hasty decision. All these things passed through my mind too, but I was tired and trusting and went with my gut.

As predicted, what seemed to me like a simple six month agreement to exchange money for a place to sleep and a hot shower turned into hours of discussion. Voices were raised, teeth were sucked in dissatisfied, and the smiling faces of my landlords were twisted into disgust and distain. But, I know that all this is necessary. Nothing in China is ever as simple as I feel that it should or could be. My friends know this system and can predict the 110 ways I could be taken advantage of later. I know that this flagrant display of skepticism and distrust are normal in these negotiations. But, after almost two years it still makes me uncomfortable! As I followed the fast loud conversation, I wanted to scream, “I don’t care what you think! This location is convenient, the place is clean, I’m under budget, and if things get ugly at least I’ll have something to write about!” But, I kept respectfully quiet until the contractual negotiation/shouting match subsided and I got the cue to sign. I felt somewhat vindicated in that after all that the landlord wouldn’t come down on the price. My friends were not satisfied, but were luckily too busy to insist that I keep looking for something cheaper.

While I am truly thankful for their help and local perspective, I recognize that our objectives are different. I am personally willing to pay a small premium just too keep the pleasant and polite comfort bubble intact. When I see my landlords playing with their grandchild outside, they will smile and ask me if I have eaten yet. And, I can smile back and continue to think of them as a sweet “lao Beijing” couple that may actually have my best interest in mind.

What is Midwest Culture; A call for your comments

2008-12-10T07:42:00.000-08:00

All this moving around has sparked some new observations and has me wondering; what is it about trying to maintain a Midwest character in China that is so exhausting and futile?

During college I was convinced that the Midwest was the most generic place on Earth: flat, no wilderness yet no cosmopolitan areas either, strip malls, K-marts, gray skies for half the year, corn fields. Picturing it? If you grew up in rural or suburban Midwest you were stuck being aware of all the extreme hobbies and cultural scenes of the rest of the country, yet had to make do with what the region could provide. You could only go so far into these interests before you either had to settle on something else or bail for one of the coasts or Rockies.

My friends were all from places that I imagined to be more . . . authentic. I listened to my friends' hometown stories with envy. In Marion, Virginia they had southern accents, bluegrass, and hometown doctors that cross-country skied to the office in the winter. I am sure there were grassroots revolutions started in the coffee shops and vegetarian joints in Amherst, Massachusetts. High school students in Seattle, Washington knew how to deal with both glacial crevasses and inner city scuffles. And in the tiny hamlet of Pultneyville, New York, old ladies will interrupt your long run to taste test their homemade cookies. I spent my summers in Alaska, Idaho, and Washington, hoping to gain some kind of character that I thought the Midwest had shorted me on. So, I was surprised and even delighted in China when a friend from California paused after something I said and exclaimed, "God you're so Midwest!"

That got me thinking. What exactly is that Midwest character? I thought there was none. But, the Beach Boys Sing about it: "The Midwest farmers' daughter's really make you feel alright..." So, there must be something distinct there right?

Here are some undeveloped thoughts:

Is it for better or worse, that the Midwest feels a bit generic?
In her song entitled Iowa, Dar Williams sings, "Way back where I come from, we never mean to bother; we don't like to make our passions other people's concerns. We walk in the world of safe people and at night we walk into our houses and burn."

Is it that people are friendly, or that they keep to themselves?
After a flight of unwelcome chatter on a plane, my sister-in-law's friend said that he appreciates Ohioans as seatmates because Ohioans will always say hello, but still let you read your book.

Or, is it some obsession with a constant hyper-awareness in social interactions. With tedious utterances of "Sorry" and "Thank you," a good Midwesterner is continuously aware of how to help others while simultaneously staying out of their business and never, ever, inconveniencing.
Author Jonathan Franzen captures this in The Corrections, as he describes his main character's visit to a museum in St. Jude. I did not bring the book to Beijing so I cannot quote it directly. He explains perfectly the constant awareness with which everyone moved about the exhibits. Each person will pretend to view the display even after they have lost interest, so as to not pressure those ahead of them. If those ahead of them are also good Midwesterners, they have a guilty fear about lingering too long which becomes activated by the tacit signals from the people behind them. The whole system works very well.

Or, does it have something to do with a balance of restraint and indulgence. My friend told me that is his father, a good Midwestern man, could never bring himself to give his cat straight kitty treats, but rather mixed them with the other less decadent cat food.

Here is call for your thoughts and suggestions from Literature/music/films/comedy and your own musings. I need some material. So please, give me Garrison Keillor and the lot. What's your Midwest description? You can email or comment.

Beijing Beginings

2008-11-30T18:16:00.000-08:00

After a longer than planned, but wonderful summer and fall in Ohio, I finally made it back to China in early November. I can say with relief that the contrast between the first few weeks here in Beijing and my first weeks in Dalian are positively disparate. I shudder to think back on how I began my first experience in China: heartbroken, friendless, speaking zero Chinese, illegally hired, and having lost my luggage. Any situation here will have to be an improvement on those first lonely and confusing weeks.

In contrast, this time I was met at the airport by some friends of a Chinese friend in America. They drove me to dinner (which was spicy boiled duck heads, duck liver with sour garlic sauce, and beer) and then on to the institute where I will be working as an intern. Still waiting for me there at 9:00PM were two researchers who took me to a nearby hotel. The whole 48 hour travel experience ended with all five people escorting me to the door of my hotel room, and me feeling ridiculous and guilty for all the undue attention.

The institute where I will be working is a full hour by subway from the cultural epicenter of Beijing. But, I am solidly in the university district which makes the place feel alive and young. The street on which the institute is located I have deemed as “recycling row.” It's chaotic traffic is dominated by second hand furniture vendors and recyclable collectors on load bearing tricycles. If it were not so cold, I could stand out there and watch the impressive loads of cardboard, old box springs, Styrofoam, and plastic bottles go by for hours. This stark contrast between the new research complexes with their million dollar budgets and the old neighborhood where it’s still worth one’s time to collect waste materials, seems to encapsulate developing modern China in one city block.

Thus far everyone at the institute has been exceedingly welcoming and helpful and I am breathing a huge sigh of relief! Let the Beijing chapter Begin.

New Perspective on the Midwest

2008-09-10T07:24:00.000-07:00

I have been home for nearly two months and had some time to write up stuff that I started but never finished. While home, I've noticed a few bizarre things about Americans as a whole and the Midwest in general.

As I drug my dehydrated sleep deprived body into the Chicago airport, the first thing I noticed was that people were sitting on the ground! In China, the ground is considered dirty. Inside or outside, no one pretends that it’s clean. If you put your purse or bag on floor in a restaurant, there are is immediately a server there to help you move it to a chair or hook. In China everyone squats instead of sitting, or if they must sit, they grab a newspaper or a plastic bag to place below them. And, most importantly, Chinese remove their shoes before entering anyone’s home. I became sensitive to these standards and also feared whatever it was that the locals feared about the ground.

People were not just sitting on the floor, well dressed business men were sprawled out taking a snooze on the floor - where thousands of shoes had passed that day! Outside was no different. A mother was allowing her daughter to sit on the sidewalk while she ate an ice-cream cone! Unimaginable!

While I will be the first to recognize that the ground is cleaner in the U.S. than China, it has made me second guess our comfort with the urban surfaces. It has also made me reconsider our custom of wearing shoes all day, in parking lots, public restrooms, through the yard, through the garage and then into our homes where we eat, sit, lay, and play on our own floors. Just a thought.

Other cultural things to note: We eat raw vegetables that taste like nothing and expect children to like them. I think more children and adults alike would eat more veggies if we fixed them as in Chinese cuisine style.

We stop at red lights regardless of if there is anyone around.

We stop for pedestrians. A woman rolled over the crosswalk line as I was crossing the street, saw me, backed up, rolled down her window and gave me a big Midwestern, "Sorry!" I'm not complaining about this one. Just caught me off guard after the daily battle crossing streets in China.

Chinese Medicine Neophyte

2008-07-20T06:51:00.000-07:00

Western medicine and Chinese medicine appear to co-exist in modern Chinese culture. Dalian is fortunate to have one of the most contemporary Western medical hospitals in China. It has all of the normal machines you would expect to see, a pharmacy that deals out pills and injections, plus a ward just for traditional Chinese medicine. Yet, there are also hospitals solely for the practice of traditional Chinese medicine.

These were, as far as I could tell, just as popular. I accompanied one of my Chinese friends there for a check-up on her asthma treatment. The moment we stepped out of the bus I could the smell distinct odor of boiling herbs. Once inside, I sat and waited with my friend in the small office of her doctor while other patients received treatment and consultation a mere five feet away. This was slightly uncomfortable for me, the American who is used to a clear cut beginning and end to a private doctor’s appointment. Instead, as my friend was being seen other patients lingered in the room and continued to ask questions as they thought of them.
The doctor took my friend’s pulse on both wrists and thoroughly inspected her tongue. He listened to her symptoms and complaints and began writing a prescription. She took the slip of paper to the herb center where they keep thousands of varieties of herbs, fungi, and dried animal parts. She had the option of taking her prescription home in a bag of dried mixed herbs to boil herself, or she could wait a few days and they could boil the concoction for her. Having no kitchen in her apartment, she chose the latter. Later she showed me her set of smart sealed glass pipettes filled with a thick black bitter liquid that she drank three times a day. When I asked why she didn’t go to the Western medicine hospital, she answered rather frankly, “Because those medicines can hurt you.” I couldn’t really disagree.

My only other experience with traditional Chinese medical thought was in a combination beauty/health clinic, which are as common as noodle shops around the city. This was a small operation run by one Beijing native middle-aged woman named Ms. Liu and two apprentices. I began going there about once a week for facials (don’t judge me, they were cheap). But, I really went to practice my Chinese with these terribly patient women who doted over and pampered me. Often these visits would last hours while these matronly women sat holding my hand, serving me tea and fruit, giving me life advice, and reacting with great enthusiasm to even the simplest of jokes I managed to crack in Chinese. I could always count on them to bluntly tell me if I had gained or lost weight too! It helped that they were never particularly busy!

During one of these routine visits Mrs. Liu set up a large monitor on the wall and asked me to wash my hands. Never sure what is coming next in China, I did so willingly. She showed me a pen with a lit microscope lens at the end that when rolled along the skin could project the image on the screen. She grabbed my left hand and rolled the pen along the surface of my palm and began narrating. She gestured to the chart on the wall that illustrated the points on the human hands that coordinated to various internal organs (thank goodness I had learned the names before in my first hospital experience). As she rolled over my thumb she commented that I was extremely bright because of something about the quality of lines on my thumb. She moved the magic pen to the pad of my middle finger and commented that my “small brain” was also clever. Continuing to the base of my middle finger, she exclaimed that my lungs were exceptionally healthy! But as she moved closer to the middle of my palm, she saw red spots. She grumbled that my stomach was not healthy and warned me against eating or drinking cold substances.

On this particular visit I had brought my friend along to share in the experience. He was also instructed to wash his hands to be checked out. Mrs. Liu took his right hand (being male) and repeated the process as a mirror image of my hand. All checked out as healthy until she reached the outer edge of his palm. When she saw red spots she sucked her teeth with disapproval. She warned him that his liver was in poor condition and that he should drink less alcohol. My friend protested, blaming the red spots on a scar from a recent motorbike accident. Mrs Liu was having none of it.

I dodged the bullet when they asked me if I believed in Chinese Medicine saying, “I’m not very clear on it.” I was dying to ask if the magic pen worked reciprocally. That is, could you look at my organs to assess the condition of my hands? I bit my tongue fearing the sarcasm might not traverse the cultural gap before us.

I have a rough understanding of a few other medical beliefs that both baffle and fascinate me. Many of them center on wind and cold. For instance, for fear of catching a cold, my Chinese roommates refused to sleep with a running fan. Additionally, despite the stifling heat they always slept with a blanket covering their stomachs and balked when I did not. Later another Chinese friend confirmed that it is commonly believed that cold or exposed stomach will result in internal discomfort in the morning.

There is definitely a love hate relationship with air-conditioners here. There was a mother-daughter couple that attended my weekly Tai Chi class. One day, only the mother came to class. When I inquired to the whereabouts of the daughter, the mother answered, “She has diarrhea.” “Oh,” I said awkwardly, “she must have eating something spoiled.” “No,” she corrected, “she slept with the air-conditioner on.”

I fail to see the causal relationship between cold air and unhealthy bowels. Yet, I am sure that each culture has its share of wildly accepted yet loosely proven health beliefs. For instance, is there any scientific evidence to justify the belief that swimming just after eating will actually result in cramps? Not sure, but without fail someone brings it up while snacking next to the pool or on the beach. Or, how about the magic sponge and water in Europe? When I played on a soccer team in France, a girl was injured and everyone started screaming “de l’eau, de l’eau!” A teammate ran over and dumped water on her hurt leg. If anyone can think of others, please let me know.

Other rules that I heard (but don’t fully understand) throughout my time in China are: Don’t drink water before bed or your eyes will be puffy, staying up late is bad for specifically WOMEN’S health, you should not expose your lower back to cold air as the cold temperatures can cause kidney problems, don’t walk while you are eating or you will get wind in your stomach, and eating cold things in general will give you indigestion.

Exactly how does Chinese work?

2008-07-10T07:17:00.000-07:00

The Americans I meet ask many questions regarding the Chinese language. For those of you who have an inkling of interest in how the Chinese language system works, I will as succinctly as possible walk you through it. I will try to draw comparisons between English and Chinese throughout the explanation. However, the dissimilarities occasionally make it difficult to draw these parallels. I will put in a disclaimer that there are many exceptions to these rules. So if you are Chinese or you are studying Chinese please understand that this is just for the gist!

First, the Chinese language has “characters.” People often ask me, “Are characters letters, words, or pictures?” The answer is that they are a mixture of all three! But, to think of it like that would be selling short an amazingly intricate 2000 year old language system. Chinese does not have an alphabet in the sense that English has an alphabet. Instead, it has characters which are made up of even smaller pieces called “radicals” which have loose meanings and sometimes phonetic associations. Radicals are similar to our roots, prefixes, and suffixes (e.g. chrono, aqua, or anti). These radicals are made up of “strokes” which are a very specific set of pen (originally brush) strokes that are standardized. Strokes are similar to your understanding of standard English handwriting techniques. For example you know the precisely where to curve the second pen stroke so that everyone comprehends that you meant to write P instead of D. One character itself can be a word alone. Or, it can be combined with another character to make a compound word. Let me summarize. From most simple to most complex it goes stroke – radical – character-compound word. Here is an example with the character for mother.

Basically, think of characters of having some combination of meaning and phonetics. The character for woman is 女, pronounced “nu.” The character for horse is 马，pronounced “ma.” The word for mother is also pronounced “ma.” The character of mother needs to show the meaning of a woman with the phonetics of horse ma. So, the character for mother becomes 妈。Notice the woman part on the left and the horse part on the right.

Let’s try again with the word for fry, like to “stir-fry” as we call it. The character for fire is 火 pronounced “huo (hwo).” The character for a small amount or an amount is 少 pronounced “shao.” The character for stir-fry is 炒 pronounced “chao.” As a beginner in Chinese, I might possibly be able to work this out. I could see that the fire radical meant that there was heat and fire involved, and I might already know the 少“shao” on the right. So, I might be able to guess that the entire character together. Maybe.

Most characters are not this simple. In learning Chinese one rarely has enough time to go through all the radicals in each character and derive a meaning. Because there are 6500 characters, memorization starts early! For instance, the character for electric or elecricity is 电 “dian (deean)” and the character for brain is 脑 “nao (now).” I memorized these cold during separate study sessions. So I was delighted to know that the Chinese language combines the two into a word. That’s right 电脑 “dian nao” means electric brain aka computer!

However, don’t expect to see too many of these simple characters in your local Chinese restaurant, any US China town, or a fortune cookie. “Traditional Characters” are still used in all of these locations, whereas mainland China has since adopted the use of “simplified characters.” While there has always been a history of simplified forms of some characters, the official government driven simplifications occurred in two rounds. The first occurred in the early days of the Communist Revolution (1956 and 1964) to improve literacy. The second further simplification occurred later towards the end of the Cultural Revolution (1977). The final list was adopted as recently as 1986 to be taught in schools. Generally traditional characters have more strokes and are in my opinion extremely difficult to write. Modern Chinese characters are derived from their traditional forbearers but have been stripped down for ease of use.

Now, you may ask, “Ok so if Chinese uses characters, then what are those Roman Alphabet like looking letters in the explanations?” That’s called “Pin Yin.” It is the phonetic representation of each character. That’s right the characters are only loosely phonetic. If you are trying to compare this to English, imagine if you wanted to make a complex code with a forbidden lover. Maybe you two agree that agree that:
˄ = I
˫ = love
* = you

Then you could look at a note from your secret lover that said “˄˫*” and know the meaning without ever having to consider the English phonetics associated with the meaning. In fact if you used it enough, “˄˫*” would become phonetic in your head! Chinese children begin associating the sounds with the characters in the same way. They start early enough that they don’t really need pin yin spelling at all. In fact, I have met some older Chinese people who cannot use pin yin at all because they never learned it in school. They only operate on the sounds for characters based on pure memorization and association. They have no need for a third step of phonetic representation in between.

The problem with thinking and writing only in characters leads me to your next question. “How do they use computers?” I know what you’re thinking. If there are over 6500 characters, how could there possibly be a keyboard that big? Well, the techy geniuses of China have found a more efficient way. They use Pin Yin along side when working with word processing software and even text messages on cell phones. When they are using Microsoft Word for example there is an extra piece of software (made by Google of course) that allows them to type Pin Yin and then change it to a Chinese character.

This leads me to your next question. You are thinking, “Hmm Pin Yin looks a lot like an improvement on those complicated characters. If you have to change to Pin Yin to use the computer, why not change the language for good and forget those confusing characters all together?” Funny, in my moments of illiterate frustration I have wondered the same thing! But, it’s not that simple. Remember 马? If you have already forgotten that’s “ma.” But, it turns out that there are a lot of “ma” sounding words out there. Each has a different meaning and thus a different character. When I type “ma” I a list of choices pops up: 妈马吗嘛骂码麻玛么抹 etc. ALL of these are pronounced “ma” but very have different meanings. One means mother, one means horse, one signifies a question, and one is one half of the word “what” etc. When using the computer each character corresponds to a number that the typist must select thus “typing” the character on the screen. That is, assuming that I, the typist knows which character has my intended meaning. So the only way is to either memorize characters or get comfortable with illiteracy.

Finally in the spoken language (adding one more layer of complexity), Chinese is “tonal.” If you have been reading my updates, you will know that I, the monotone American speaker, am constantly battling this one. Mandarin Chinese has four tones (sometimes five) and the meaning of the word you say changes depending on the tone of your voice. We have this only minimally in English. It is similar to the difference between “a record” and “to record.” That is, the noun “record label” is pronounced differently than the verb “to record.” But, the divergence in meanings due to tones in Chinese is exponentially more dramatic. For instance, consider all of our “ma” words. If you say “ma” with your voice high and steady like you are singing, then you are saying 妈 meaning mother. If you say “ma” and your voice goes down a note or two and then back up (like Tarzan) then you are saying 马 meaning horse! Here’s another one. If you say the word “mai” and your voice does the Tarzan thing then you are saying 买 meaning to buy. But, if you say the word “mai” and your voice goes brusquely down (like you’re scolding your dog), you are saying 卖 meaning to sell. Factoring in the tones in pronunciation gives yet another reason that simply switching to Pin Yin would not be sufficient. Characters wrap up meaning, pronunciation, and tone, all in one package – something that a simple alphabet system cannot handle. Again memorization is the only way out!

If you are overwhelmed don’t let me discourage your dreams of learning Chinese! There is one attractive and endearing feature of this language for the neophyte. The grammar is a piece of cake! There are no plurals, no subject-verb agreements and not really any verb conjugation at all. If you forget your grammar terms in English, that means that you don’t have to worry about when to say “I am,” “you are,” or “she is.” And, you don’t have to worry about when to say “drink,” “drank,” “drunk” or “swim” “swam” “swum.” There is no past or future tense like we know it! In English you have to say, “I had eaten,” “I ate,” “I am eating,” “I will eat,” or “I will have eaten.” But in Chinese you can just say, “I two days ago eat,” “I yesterday eat,” “I now eat,” “I later eat,” “I tomorrow eat.” How’s that for simplicity and efficiency!

Normal Conversation

2008-07-06T00:27:00.000-07:00

As the sounds and tones of Mandarin have slowly (ever so slowly) acquiesced in my brain, I have had the joy and sometimes the misfortune to understand everyday conversations around me. I don’t usually have to eavesdrop, as I generally find many Chinese people to be quite boisterous about….anything! I happily discovered that what I had thought was an oral confrontation in the market was actually something like this: “ARE THESE GOOD APPLES?” “YES THESE ARE DELICIOUS APPLES!” “THEY’RE SWEET?” “YES VERY SWEET!” Whew. I was relieved to find out that elevated volume did not always equal conflict. As I studied more, I came to realize that these conversations sounded particularly confrontational because of one aspect of the Chinese language, the fourth tone. The fourth tone is a sharp falling tone. In English we save this tone for dogs that start eating from the table, or toddlers that reach for a hot iron. “NO!” we say brusquely. But in Chinese, this sound is common and may distinguish between the meanings ten and is, or, honest and city. But to our delicate ears, loud volume plus the harsh fourth tone would have us all thinking that Chinese people are in constant conflict with one another.

When I first arrived in China with all of my stereotypes and presumptions from history and rumor, I fantasized that the garbled sounds around me were all bits of conversations pertaining to Mao’s teachings, or some unbelievable propaganda. But, with each passing week, I began to understand more and more which brought me to the realization that daily was conversation was….well…completely normal. This realization was particularly among the children. When I was still in pitiable stages of incomprehension, I wondered if parents were pumping leftist thought or traditional Chinese philosophy into their kid’s right in front of my eyes. Now, I know that kids are kids and parents are parents, and they universally talk about the same simple things. I passed a little girl and her father in Children’s Park in Dalian. Looking at the fish pond the little girl asks, “Dad, what do fish eat?” The dad, pre-occupied but willing to indulge said, “Anything, everything!” The little girl clarified, “Well do they eat tree leaves?” “No, they don’t eat tree leaves.”

Now, when I listen on the bus, or in a restaurant, I find that about 70 percent of the conversations (of those I understand) circulate around food and money. “Have you eaten yet,” is a common conversation starter regardless of if you have any intention of meeting up with the person to have a meal later. I was listening to a one-sided conversation of the young man directly in-front of me on a crowded bus. “Where are you?”……. “Have you eaten yet?”….. “Oh, what are you eating?”……. “What’s the filling in your steamed buns?”………… “Are they good?” ………. “How much?”……… “Not bad, not bad.”

Another topic of everyday public chatter is money, and specifically prices. As far as I can tell, it is not at all rude to ask someone how much they paid for some food item, garment of clothing, even houses, and cars! Remember that bargaining is still the name of the game in many stores, so everyone wants to check to make sure they are getting the best deal around. They particularly like asking me how much I paid, and then telling me I paid too much. While we in America are often happy to brag about a good deal, we rarely ask what someone paid, as we might reveal someone’s embarrassment of being spendthrift or tightwad.

As I mentioned in an earlier update, asking one’s salary on the first meeting is also not taboo. On a flight from Dalian to Shenzhen, I sat next to a couple who starting talking about me. I listened for a while to them trying to decide whether I was Russian or French. I decided to break the awkwardness by letting them in on the fact that I could understand everything they were saying. We went through the normal questions: What country are you from, how old are you, are you married, do you like China and Chinese food, and what do you do? Then the next question was logically, “How much do you make each month?” While sometimes I lie, stating figures far higher or lower just to see what kind of reactions I get, this time I told the truth. “4000 RMB each month with free housing,” I said. This immediately led to a ten minute debate between the couple about my salary and living standards. I was completely cut out of the conversation while they argued. They paused for a moment and turned to ask me, “Do they give you free food?” “None,” I answered. The debate resumed for a few minutes while they discussed my savings capacity, food expenses, and daily spending habits. Then they finally turned to me and announced “Not enough.” I didn’t know whether to be ashamed, offended, or thankful for their financial advising. The couple continued to talk about money for the rest of the trip. I tuned out, but I could just hear numbers and prices for two more hours.

I assume that the conversations that I do not comprehend are far more profound. But those that I do understand reflect a population of thrifty people who take good food seriously!

Questions

2008-05-05T00:36:00.000-07:00

While I was supposed to be teaching my students (sophomores and juniors in University) “Oral English” and “Advanced Oral English,” I was also serving as a representative of all American and even all “Western” culture and thought. Tough work really. During my first semester of teaching, I could be mid lesson on something like, how to state an opinion, or key phrases to use during phone conversations, when all of the sudden, a hand would shoot up. Delighted that someone was interested in the lesson, I would call on them. But more times than not, the student would stand and ask something like, “Are you married” or, “What do American’s think about Chinese people?” I never wanted to discourage participation, but these questions would completely derail any kind of lesson I thought I had planned.
As a result, I began second semester (same students) by telling my students that each class would begin with “question time.” During question time students could ask any question they wanted of me. Some classes loved question time and we never moved past it throughout the whole two hours. Other classes would sit silently and wait for me to continue the lesson. The questions ranged from seriously political to embarrassingly personal. Though, considering the still conservative nature of the Chinese culture, I never worried too much about getting into topics that would make even me squirm in front of the class. Some were easy to answer and others not even an hours worth of conversation and clarification could patch the cultural and political gaps that inspired the question in the first place.

I have collected as many questions as I wrote down and can remember and put them in the list below. I will add explanations only where necessary so as to allow you to experience the same shock/confusion/embarrassment as me at the moment of the inquiry.

Are you married? [Many Chinese do not wear wedding bands].
Do you have a boyfriend?
Do you live with your boyfriend?
Will you marry your boyfriend?
Do you like Chinese men?
Are your eyelashes real?
Are Americans particular about their clothing?
Are Americans very open minded? [I later found that “open minded” apparently means sexually open minded]
What kind of shampoo do you use?
Do you believe that China should hold the Olympic Games in 2008?
Why do Western countries care about China’s problems, like Tibet?
Can you drive?
What kind of car do you drive?
What is the name, in English, for the occupation in the government that is charge of putting out/ distributing propaganda?
Why aren’t some of the Western countries helping with “One World One Dream?” [Referencing those boycotting the Olympics and the Olympic slogan]
In the US, do you have to use a password when you use your credit card?
At what age do American’s get their first job?
Can you recommend some scenic places in America?
What is North Dakota like? [I learned later that some students are going to a college in University in North Dakota next year]
What do you eat every day? [He meant staple food…basically, what is my rice?]
What does this mean (crossing her fingers)?
Are you afraid to live in America? [She was referring to the fact that guns are legal.]
Do you believe in God?
Are you a WASP? [White Anglo-Saxon Protestant]
Why do black people like rap and R&B?
At what age do most American girls get married?
What time [of the day] does school end in America?
Do American college students have many parties?
Is marijuana illegal in America?
Then why can I see students smoking marijuana in movies?
What do the words “red-neck agenda” mean? [Referencing song lyrics in Green Day’s “American Idiot” song]
If you don’t have chopsticks in America…..then how can you eat noodles?

The Swimming Pool – The Worst Place to Hide White Skin

2007-12-10T00:20:00.000-08:00

A neighboring university offers a 15 Yuan ticket (10 if I fib and say I’m from said University and then act really confused and pretend that I cannot speak Chinese when they ask for my ID card) for unlimited time in their swimming pool. I go once a week for a dose of Chinese culture and some exercise on the side.

After misunderstanding the complex directions of the locker room rules, and having every inch of my white skin inspected by the other women as I change, I make my way to the Olympic style swimming pool. I must be glowing as every goggle wearing swim cap covered head (that is not face down in the water) turns to look at me. I scramble to disappear into the water. There is a play area where adults and children alike use floaties and flail about. Next there are two slowish lanes with older men and women wallowing through the breast stroke. Finally the inside two lanes are for those a bit more athletic. I pick the slow lane. After a couple of laps, I’m hanging out by the spittoon located at either end of the pool (yes gross but not as gross as if all those coal dust loogies were going into the pool) and a pink swim capped lady with enduring pink lipstick is staring. Here it comes, “Where from?” “Meiguo (America)” “[in Chinese] Ohhh your Chinese is SO good.” And I smile and return to the crawl thinking, “remember pink cap, remember pink cap”. On the way I’m interrupted by some unapologetic cross traffic from two high school aged boys. I rest at the other end because I’m not a good swimmer. A blue capped, heavy middle-aged man emerges from the water and greets me with a strong hot misty exhale reeking of his garlicy lunch, his most recent cigarette, and the consistent sort of moldering smell that never really gets brushed away here. I turn my head to the spittoon, and nearly gag. Off I go, “remember blue cap, remember pink cap.” At the other end, I pause too long. A university student is there also resting. He is extra skinny and his Speedo makes him even skinnier. Confident from his last oral English class, he asks, “Where are you from?” “America,” I say. Next question: “Have you a telephone number? I want to practice my oral English.” I’m thinking, not only would I never give my number to a guy in a Speedo after 15 seconds of conversation (30 if you count the awkward staring before) but I don’t know where he would put it even if I wrote it down! “Umm, I have to keep exercising.” And I’m back to the crawl thinking, “This lane is on to me.” At the end, I duck under the lane line and switch lanes. This group will take a few more laps before I can no longer keep all the swim caps straight, which buys me at least 10 more minutes of blending in as just another color of swimming cap.

After a couple more strategic lane swaps, its back to the showers where even through the steam I can watch women watching me. I know they think it is strange that I wash my hair with my head thrown back because I think it’s strange that they wash their hair bent over forward. Either way, while I’m looking up and they’re looking down, that is a couple more moments of being unnoticed.

Since Where? Eastern What?

2007-12-01T00:16:00.000-08:00

If you have never been to modern China, you are probably picturing some modernized version of misty mountains and silk dresses. But now when I think of China, I picture a hazy skyline of half built high-rises, each topped with a crane, and all twinkling from the working welding torches within. Many of the new luxury building projects are obviously emulating some sort of western style (though usually missing it). Two traits stand out in particular for the newest luxury construction projects. First, regardless of how recent the building or business has been in place, there is often a placard inscribed with “Since (a date)”. Now, when I see “Since 1800” on a sign or label in America, I think, “Wow, this business must be great, having such enduring business and all.” Or, at least that is what they want me to think. However, here the placard stating, “Since 2002,” simply does not evoke the same veneration. Frankly, it seems like an oxymoron.

The second feature is a naming trend. Often months before a new 40 story apartment complex pops up overnight, the name is already proudly displayed. Names like: “Eastern San Jose”, “Eastern Camp David”, “Eastern Manhattan Towers”, and “Eastern Stanford Place.” The intent is to associate the new landmark with the revered place names of another culture thus boosting the new construction’s legitimacy as luxurious and developed. Yet to me it reinforces the infatuation for western luxury lifestyle that irks me so. Why can’t they name it, “Fresh Forbidden City” or, Modern Ming Magnificence?” Ok so, maybe the alliteration is going a bit far. My point is that developing China is quicker to honor western tradition than the historical treasures of their own deep history. Or, at least that’s what sells!

"You know, this is the Chinese way"

2007-11-28T00:06:00.000-08:00

My trusted Chinese friends in have been exceedingly helpful to me in my new life here. However, from those less concerned with my best interests, I have experienced a chronic social phenomenon dodging responsibility. Often when someone can feel me reaching my wits end, they say, “This is the Chinese way, no one wants to do more than they must.” Please note that in contrast, any inconvenience, weather it be expended money or time, is willingly endured for the sake of close friends or family. But, the work place is a different story all together. Here are two such examples, one from the University and one from travels.

The classrooms in my university are completely dysfunctional for a discussion class (which is what I’m supposed to be teaching). They are designed for lectures and for students looking straight ahead being perfectly silent. Jealous of other foreign teachers that have rooms modified just for their conversation classes, I was eating lunch in the teachers’ cafeteria, thinking of a solution to my problem, when in walked the Dean of the English department. I quizzed him as he slopped a tray full of Chinese dishes and rice into his mouth in record time. Here is how the no language barrier English conversation went.

Me: So, I’m having trouble with my discussion classes because of the design of the classroom. You know all the desks are bolted to the floor. It is designed for a lecture, not discussion.
Dean: ah ah ah (Chinese sound for ok/yeah/understand/listening)
Me: Can you think of any classroom that has tables and chairs so that we could move around?
Dean: (looks up from his tray towards the ceiling) No they are all like that.
Me: Ah, ah. You know, in other schools they have made a classroom for foreign teachers.
Dean: Ah ah ah
Me: Do you think our univeristy could to this?
Dean: No, because the desks are fixed to the floor.
Me: Umm, I know, that is my problem. Do you think they could change one classroom on this campus for this kind of class?
Dean: No, because they are all the same.
Me: Umm, I know, but if I asked someone higher up, and had the students request also, do you think we could do it?
Dean: No, because we use a private company to supply our classroom materials.
Me: I see…. (pause and look around covetously at the mobile chairs in the cafeteria) Well, could I have class here?
Dean: Absolutely not.
Me: Why?
Dean: Because this is a cafeteria, not a classroom.
Me: But it could be a classroom, if we had class here.
Dean: But the door is locked most of the time.
Me: But we could arrange to open it during non-lunch time periods.
Dean: Impossible, it is a different department of the university.
Me: Ok
Dean: What about on the second floor of the main building, there are some couches there?
Me: Sure, could I borrow a chalkboard or a white board from another classroom?
Dean: No, I think there are no extras.
Me: Ok
[Here comes feigned helping but really are dodging responsibility part]
Dean: You could have your class outside.
Me: It’s December
Dean: You could all sit on the floor.
Me: My students don’t even want me to put my bag on the floor, they will not sit on the floor!
[The shoveling of rice has ceased] You know these things are very complicated I think. Ok, you know, I have to go. Have a good day Laura.

And I knew I would never hear anything of it again.

Another example is perhaps more humorous yet at the time just as frustrating. When traveling with my parents in Yunnan province in Southern China, we stayed in a historic village called Lijiang. We stayed in an admittedly sparse lodging house but comfortable enough for one night. But, there was a problem. The toilet didn’t flush and the seat was half gone.

I called in the boss, a long haired woman with gray streaks and a strong Sichuan accent wearing a cheap masculine looking boxy sport coat. I explained the problem in my best Chinese. She said she would come fix the flushing part. But, I said the seat was broken too and my parents are tired and old (sorry parents I had to play up the severity of the situation a bit) and they need to be able to sit on a whole toilet seat. There we stood, the two of us in the sparse, poorly redone bathroom, staring at the toilet. She dove right into “helping” me with my problem. Without speaking, she creatively and acrobatically demonstrated about five different positions from which my parents could choose to use the crescent seat and still carry out their business. I was trying my hardest to remain stern and hold back my smile as she danced and posed around the pot. Finally, the seat remained unfixed and I demanded that we change rooms.

Parents come to visit from the Midwest Motherland

2007-11-05T23:25:00.000-08:00

My parents came to Dalian in the dark. I was almost offended when in true American style they continued to wear their shoes past the threshold of my apartment. I asked them to kindly remove their shoes. They did so obligingly, but mostly likely thought they were humoring their daughter who is trying to live Asian style. The next morning, they saw the city in the daylight. I took them to the market where we walked over slimy fish guts, rotten vegetables, and vendors’ yellow spit wads. Throughout the day I am sure they noticed the piles of dirt and dust from the ever-present construction and maybe even one or two young children squatting to take a leak (or more) on the sidewalk. When we returned to the apartment they took off their shoes immediately, the day’s sights explanation enough for the new custom their daughter has apparently embraced.

It took me weeks of confusing meetings and phone conversations with the Chinese travel agency, but I finally successfully planned a much too ambitious vacation to visit the city of Xi'an and multiple locations in Yunnan province for the three of us.

Yunnan is a mountainous province in Southern China bordering Tibet to the West and Laos and Myanmar to the South. It is famous for holding 26 of China’s 56 and some odd ethnic minorities. We hired a private driver which was key to reaching some remote mountain towns and stopping whenever we pleased. I was astonished to realize that my freshly learned Mandarin Chinese did me no good in most of the places we visited. I held my breath while my mother traipsed out into a rice paddy to converse (in English) with a minority farmer who surely did not even speak Chinese! I am sure the story of the day that the white woman came to his field made him the center attention in the village for months! As far as I could tell, these people’s daily life, language, and culture has nothing in common with and is most likely indifferent to Beijing and the central government.

Other travel highlights include: the old minority woman who guffawed at the mud slick on my mom’s backside from an unfortunate topple in the old woman’s banana field; all of us cringing during the crazy Chinese driving on mountain roads and my father demanding that the seat belts be released from under the seat as a direct result; my mom riding a yak across a mountain river; and the live chicken that got loose in our ATM booth! My father reported that in Ohio, he probably encounters three new images in any given day, giving his brain plenty of leisure time to process these new encounters. Yet on this trip, each day felt like a marathon as hundreds even thousands of new images were packed into his brain. What troopers!

Montessori Graduate meets Chinese method and awkward classroom moments

2007-10-30T23:09:00.000-07:00

I am learning about Chinese classroom management one awkward moment at a time. I always knew that my educational background has been anything but traditional with regard to stringent rules and structure. I went from a Montessori school where we sat on the ground and called our teachers by their first names, to an all-girls school where our discussion was not only encouraged but as I remember difficult to harness. Next, it was on to Wooster where my Philosophy classes were often conducted in circles and I actually took an open book final exam on top of a building just because my professor said we could “go anywhere!” While I know that this is a special collection of experiences even in the US, when I’m teaching students pushed through the infamously strict Chinese education system I am occasionally genuinely flabbergasted.

For example, I was taken back the first time that I asked a student a question and they abruptly stood up and said “Teacher, I do no know,” and quickly sat back down. A little honored and yet a uncomfortable I thought, did you really have to stand to say that? If I ask a student to report on something, or give a speech, it takes on a nature of a diplomatic speech rather than casual explanation. There are usually about five sentences leading up to the meat of the speech somewhere along the lines of, “Today, I stand before you today, to tell of something of great importance in my life. I am honored to tell my opinion in your presence…etc.”

Yet perhaps the most obvious difference in conduct is that of pardoning oneself to the restroom during class. I don’t believe that I asked to use the restroom in high school and I most definitely did not in college. But these students can’t seem to break the habit. Despite my pleas for them to just go when nature calls, they will still appeal to me to grant them permission, often with way too many details supporting their request. For whatever reasons (water, kitchen sanitation, or real physiological differences) it is fair to say that my students frequently suffer from stomach problems. I know this because they tell of their discomfort during class. Perhaps the saddest example was one young looking Sophomore girl who suddenly jumped out of her seat. She ran to the front of the classroom arms extended and presented a note to me using two hands (which is considered respectful). The note read, “Teacher, I have diarrhea. I must go to the washroom now!” For God’s sakes go, I thought! Considering that I had to use spell-check to find the correct spelling of “diarrhea,” I am sure she spent two minutes in agony while she looked up the word in her dictionary and wrote it down. I kept a straight face and of course encouraged her to run!

I suspect that some of these awkward moments are also because they are being cautious because they do not know what a foreign teacher expects. I suspect that things will improve as we get to know one another. None the less, next semester I’ll lay down some rules. No telling the teacher when you are going to the bathroom NOR what you are going to do there.

Teaching Challenges

2007-10-15T22:54:00.000-07:00

I teach all English majors except for one class of Engineers. You would think that I would prefer teaching English majors. But, ironically the class of engineers is my favorite class. Perhaps it is because I teach their only English class, whereas the English majors have only English classes. When these students enter their freshman year, they are assigned to a class of about 30 students with whom they will stay throughout their five years of study. They have up to six classes a day with the same students day in and day out, almost all of them dealing with some facet of the English language. By the time they get to my class they are sick of English and sick of each other. I’m contrasting this of course with my experience in an American college where we were encouraged, if not required, to take many courses outside of our majors. By contrast, these students’ schedules are written in stone before they even get to the university and they will follow the English track just as the class before them. I have heard that some universities go as far as to assign students to a desk mate for the entirety of their studies. I guess you cross your fingers that you get along!

Each week is a little adventure in Chinese academic culture. I am still trying to work out the parallels and opposites to the standard of education in my head. Here is an example of a particularly rough day that shed light on both the student’s struggles and mine.

There is one problem class in particular - 7th and 8th period, Sophomores. I had not attempted to discuss any environmental issues yet because I wasn’t sure if the topic would bomb or not. So finally, one of the last weeks in the semester, I floated a greeny topic to see what would happen. The topic was: How do you account for/describe/feel about the way Western media covers China’s environmental “crisis?” Albeit a loaded question, but I prefaced the entire thing by explaining that I cannot read Chinese newspapers and I am sadly limited to Western slants on China’s environmental situation (more precisely an American slant considering the BBC website is blocked in China).

The first two classes ate it up. We went over new vocabulary and how to use it. Then they explained the unfair criticism from developed western countries and even gave me some examples of recent advancements and solutions from the central government. We even had a mock debate. However, my problem class was silent. I mean totally silent. While I am getting more comfortable with silence in the classroom, this went on forever. I have quickly learned that a question directed to the whole class usually goes unanswered. Students are trained to only listen in class, so there is no feeling of responsibility to fill the silences in a class. That is, apparently, the teacher’s job. I got a few students to admit that they simply were not interested in this topic; that was all I could squeeze out of them. Finally with still 45 minutes left to go in a two hour class, I told them to leave. I said those who want to have class can stay, those who want to leave may leave. And they did - except one, Melody. Her pronunciation is careful and precise and she obviously cares about learning English. I quizzed her about her reticent classmates. She explained two important things.

First, the majority of students in her class were assigned to be English majors. In fact, they have no interest in English at all. Apparently when admitted to a Chinese University, you must decide a major before the start of freshman year. However, there are limits to each department and if that major is full or you don't qualify, you are simply assigned to another. Simply obtaining a university degree is far more important than the actual subject matter studied (not to mention one’s interest there-in.)

The second challenge is cultural. She explained that most students are taught to be modest in class and in life. If a student speaks too much the other students will feel that they are showing off. I admit that during my college classes I was careful to avoid becoming the class loud mouth. But this seems to be a more extreme awareness. Melody confided that she is careful to not speak more than three times in any class period….even if this is “Oral English.”

Such is the growing tally of challenges: (in addition to never really having taught full two hour lessons in a university before in my life) I have shy, socially awkward and paranoid students who are stuck with all English classes all week with the same classmates since freshman year, half of whom don’t even like English at all. Add to this a completely useless book from which to teach, absolutely zero suggestions on curriculum or grading standards, and a support staff that speaks no English. Finally, include classrooms just large enough for 10 rows of bolted down desks, a chalk covered podium, and a blackboard. Go!

Images of a northeastern University

2007-09-15T01:51:00.000-07:00

I have completed one rocky semester a small under-funded university of no great esteem. Many of my students have reported with humility that they had dreams to a more prestigious larger university, but did not score high enough on the national college entrance exam and so ended up here. While some students come from as far as Xinjiang province (western China) and Sichuan province (South Central), the majority of my students are from Liaoning (my Province) and Jilin or HailongJia (two neighboring provinces to the Northeast).

First, some images. The classrooms, hallways, and lobbies' once white walls have long since been smudged and the floors are dusty. The desks are in rows and bolted to the floor. It is an ordeal anytime students need to move about the room, as everyone in the row has to move too. The desks are covered with a mix of Chinese graffiti, which I can’t read, and some English graffiti that I don’t want to read because it is some memorized fluff that is painfully sentimental and dramatic. The windows are dirty from rains falling through dust filled air due to the surrounding construction projects. There is always a scattering of paper cups, used tissues, and even melted ice-cream pops from the previous classes. The girls wear tube like sleeve guards that go up to their elbows to keep the dirt form the desks away from their nice clothes. The teaching podium is completely covered with chalk dust so I never know where to put my things. I usually put it on the ground which to me looks like a better option. However, once after class some students approached me with concern.

Concerned student: “Teacher, why do always you put your bag on the ground?”
Me: because there is no other place to put it.”
Concerned Student: “You can put it on our desks next time. Please don’t put it on the ground. The ground is dirty, and it makes us worry for you!”

Apparently, not many of my actions go unnoticed.

Like most of the low budget modern constructions in China, the teaching buildings are Soviet style non-insulated concrete. This means that sometimes it is colder inside than outside. Through the winter months, teachers and students alike keep their coats on during class. All the students bring seat cushions to put a thermal layer between themselves and the cold desk seats. I have teased a few of the boys for having particularly girlie pink Hello Kitty seat cushions. They don’t seemed bothered. Occasionally, if I have to sit down, a student will offer me their seat cushion, which I take to be a great honor.

Instead of drinking fountains in the hallways, each building has a large water boiler machine on the first floor. Since no one drinks tap water here, everyone lines up with thermoses for hot boiled water. Around the boiler lie slippery scatterings of saturated tea leaves, flowers, and various other less recognizable pieces organic matter on which students have been sipping in their tea all day.

Outside the landscaping is a bit more comforting. It is obvious that they are trying to keep as much green as possible on campus. In the afternoons there are outdoor speakers blaring music and messages. Dormitories are strictly single sex. Students sleep about 6 to a dorm room, and they have a curfew of 11:00 PM when the electricity is cut. (Although, once during a late night jog around campus I caught a young man climbing out of the girls’ dormitory window. He looked shocked. I just snickered and kept jogging. Although I really wanted to give him a double thumbs up). Once during an in class Truth or Dare game, I strategically discovered that by freshman year, a handful of students had already jumped the fence to get into the campus after the gates were locked at the 11:00 curfew. The alternative is to stay awake all night in a smoky internet bar. Luckily my blond hair is proof enough that I’m not a student and I can come and go as I please.

New Chapter

2007-09-10T08:04:00.000-07:00

After three jobs and moving four times, I have finally moved into a more permanent, more comfortable situation here. I will be teaching English a local uniersity for the next two semesters. The job comes with a large apartment on campus, internet, health insurance, a real work visa, and free Chinese classes with all the Japanese and Korean foreign students here.

So far it is nice to run around the dark track in the evening with students, see the extended families of faculty that all live together on campus, and generally feel like I am at a real academic institution instead of a business. Like most Chinese Universities there is a curfew of 11:00 and the guarded gates close. Luckily I can come and go as I please.

Right now the freshmen are doing their obligatory military training on campus. All day and into the evening I can here chants and marching from groups of extra young looking freshmen sporting camouflage and the signature red handkerchief around the neck, all sneaking peaks at their cell phones.

This is the second week of classes and I am teaching 16 hours a week. Twice a week I travel an hour through the countryside to another a branch campus right on the coast. There is a little bubble of about 10,000 students there! When class lets out it is a bit overwhelming to be the only blond in a river of Chinese college students returning to their dormitories. My “American Culture and Society” class has 65 students! I have given two rather uninspiring lessons to them and will have to get creative quick!

"Fat!" Ego crushing bluntness

2007-08-30T07:17:00.000-07:00

Some well informed friends warned me that bluntness is characteristic of the Chinese culture. Now, after six months, I couldn’t agree more! I get picked apart in this country, particularly when clothing shopping. In one shopping trip (which is discouraging enough because everything is too small), I took a tally of the comments. Just in case I didn’t know, the store owners took it upon themselves to tell me all of the following: I am fat, I am rather gifted on the lower half of my body and not so much on the top, I have wide hips, I have hairy fore-arms, my complexion is not clear, and I have big feet. Thanks! In fact, apparently the only thing that I have going for me in this country is that I have long eyelashes and white skin!

I have always jeered a bit at the superficiality of Americans when it comes to things like commenting on appearance. Have you ever noticed that there are about ten ways to say that someone is fat other than using the word fat? Let me further demonstrate the cultural gap here. One Chinese woman, who had stellar English, genuinely asked me, “What is the polite way to tell an American that they are fat?” I thought for a second and then began to laugh, “There is no polite way to say that!” You just don’t say it. I mean is there really a need?

It’s not just because I’m foreign that I get these kinds of comments. The same phenomenon happens between Chinese friends too. The first thing that was said after hello was, “Oh you got fatter and darker!” "Fat" just doesn't seem to have the same ego shattering effect as in our cautious Midwest culture. I have concluded that these vocalized observations are in no way comments about the person’s character, which makes them less offensive. It is more like saying, “So how about this weather we’re having, plus you know I really care about you and we are close friends!”

While I used to think that all our pleasantries that we go through about appearances were a bit silly, once people started calling fat, I found that I was not as thick skinned (no pun intended) as I thought! I know they mean no harm, but it still cuts to the quick.

Chinese Roomates and stifling summer nights

2007-08-25T06:37:00.000-07:00

In the middle of the summer, I moved yet again. My roommate called and told me (for reasons that I to still do not understand) that we had to move the following day by 8:00AM. I stayed for a week on my friend's couch while we we waited to move in to the new place, this time with my two more Chinese girls, none of whom spoke English. To maters more confusing, one had a Northeastern accent (kind of like a Boston accent), and one had a Southern accent. Me, who has only learned standard Mandarin dialect and accent, struggled every moment that I was home!

The apartment was small, two bedrooms, one small kitchen, no seating area, and a shower room which doubled as the toilet with a door that grew mushrooms because of the moisture! Good thing rent was only 300 yuan a person (~40 bucks per month)!

I shared a bedroom with the southern gal. Lights out girl chatter was stifled as it usually ended in frustration soon after it began! However, I gained a bit more of perspective about the issues facing my generation of Chinese youth. Things like: When your boyfriend asks you to marry him (because by this age you better well be on your way to marriage), will you live with his parents? This is something that is quickly changing in China. My roommates said that they have changed their minds’ about this just in the past year. Now they would opt for independence and privacy rather than a more traditional live in situation.

Romantic relationships among my age group are consistently serious. It is not at all uncommon to see a young couple wearing matching outfits. I’m told this is a way of to demonstrate their closeness and sincerity. You’d have to pay me to do that! One friend (24) said “The next girlfriend I have must be my last girlfriend,” meaning it would end in marriage. I thought that weddings were a big deal in the US. But they are a really big deal here! Twice my roommates’ recently married friends came to our tiny apartment to share their ENTIRE wedding day video, which records the whole day's events. We sat on the bed in our pajamas and discussed every detail of the plans and outcomes etc. I felt as though I was taking part in a modern Chinese girlfriend ritual, one that was probably happening in thousands of groups of girlfriends that very same night.

I feel that I adjusted well to the constant straining for comprehension, sharing of bedrooms, squat toilet, and fungus on the door. The thing that I could not stand was sleeping in dead air. It was the middle of the summer and my roommate insisted on turning off the air-con and fans at night and sealing up all the windows. She said we would catch a cold if we had wind coming through the room. I lay there in my underwear, sweating, chocking on thick air, and tried to remember more comfortable summer sleeping arrangements. My bedroom in Ohio with all three screened windows open listening to crickets on a hot Midwest summer night. Or, sleeping on the trail we just made in the Sawtooths stairing at stars upon stars and feeling the cool evening inversion set in. Or, solo on a ridgeline in the Olympics smelling snow chilled pine! And then, with no warning, my roommate threw a blanket over me, saying something about how I must cover my stomach or I will get sick. I drew the cultural sensitivity line there. Not a chance!

Still missing tones

2007-08-14T06:35:00.000-07:00

The latest tone faux pas was between the close pronunciation of “da suan,” garlic, and “da suan,” to plan. In the first one, your voice should start high and go forcefully down. In the second, your voice should go down then up and then down again. So I guess I asked my Chinese teacher, “What do you garlic this weekend?” This language is nearly impossible sometimes!

Korean Circles

2007-08-08T06:25:00.000-07:00

There are perhaps just as many, if not more, Koreans and Japanese in Dalian as western foreigners. Though, if they remain silent they can usually drop below the "hallo!" radar screen.
In Dalian, if you meet a Korean, you can assume a few things. First, he/she are probably devoutly Christian, and second they he/she lives in some of the most posh of apartments in Dalian. All the English speaking foreigners know that they should charge at least 50% more per hour for a Korean than a Chinese tutee.

Through some American friends, I found work at a Korean school to bridge the gap between the jobs. This job brought a whole new set of challenges cultural challenges to teaching. I had to laugh when I found myself in front of a group of rich Korean kids, living in China, and teaching them American middle school social studies lessons on Native Americans! How out of context can we get here?! Needless to say I had to keep them entertained by role playing. We acted out scenes like: The first time Sacagawea met Louis and Clark. That lesson ended with with tears and exploded drywall marker ink all over the walls!

In the meantime, I was introduced to the best Korean restaurants and markets in Dalian, and was hosted to dinner on more than a few occasions to drink Soju (Korean grain alcohol) and eat pickled spicy things! It was also valuable to get the Asian Ex-pat’s perspective on China. I was surprised at how their complaints about spitting, cleanliness, etc., echoed those of my western friends.

Still missing tones

2007-07-21T06:22:00.000-07:00

Steep learning curve in hospitals

2007-07-20T05:31:00.000-07:00

I had the unfortunate experience of helping a seriously sick friend here and so learned Chinese hospital protocol. My very first roommate here in Dalian had a series of stomach problems that seemed different than the common stomach problems in China. If you are eating any good food here at all, undoubtedly some microbe attacks your whole digestive track about once or twice a month here. If you avoid the street meat on sticks you can probably go longer between bouts of discomfort.

I spent a few sleepless nights in a row with my friend as her discomfort seemed to peak at about 1:00AM. We went to a couple of hospitals around town in the middle of the night. The doors were open but the whole place seemed deserted. She sat on the only chair in the lobby while I ran around knocking on windows and doors trying to roust someone. Finally a sleepy eyed nurse appeared and listened to our woes. They poked at her, took blood samples etc, and said it was an intestinal infection. Her shots and medications did not seem to help and the next few nights were more of the same. With few options left, I called my dear friend who is a doctor in Dalian. He in turn called his friend that specializes in abdominal issues. The four of us met the ER at 1:00 AM all dischelved and red eyed. My sick friend was moaned and as the poked and prodded and I stood wide eyed at all the spectacles that walked in the door.

One man came in restrained by police officers. He was wearing nothing but his underwear and handcuffs and he had been severely cut on his stomach and chest. My doctor friend leaned over to me and said, “He is a thief, but got caught!” Just then two more men, also wearing nothing but underwear, burst into the room. The larger, rather over-weight man spent the next two hours frantically pushing his friend allover the hospital on a gurney… still in nothing but black briefs. I watched but failed to come up with answers for two puzzling points: 1) why could no one lend this poor man a pair of hospital pants, and 2) what could possibly have been the circumstances necessitating them to leave with no time to put on pants or shoes?!

After an eventful night they sent my friend and I home again with drugs and a couple of shots. As she still could not even keep water down and she was obviously fading fast, the next morning another friend and I took her to yet another hospital where we shuffled her around from test to test. She got worse throughout the day and was ordered nil by mouth. However, the diagnosis was not paired with an offer for a bed and a drip. We were informed that there were no beds in this hospital. With no offers for ambulances, the three of us went by taxi to five hospitals in one evening, X-rays and CT results in hand. Everywhere we went was like reinventing the wheel. By necessity, I learned all the words for the internal organs! Finally, my friend the doctor yet again saved the day by securing a room for her at one particular hospital. We were to go there, say a specific doctor’s name, and he would take care of the rest. Again, connections are crucial here. With out them you are at whim of the default system of the masses and your current Chinese language level.

We got her into a bed and hydrated. Being the Americans that we are, at about midnight we left the hospital. We are used to strict rules limiting the amount of visitors and visiting hours in hospitals, so we opted to get out of the way. I returned early the next morning to a group of angry and befuddled nurses. They demanded to know where I was the previous night, and why didn’t I stay with my friend. Confused, I asked if there was some place for me to sleep at the hospital. She informed me that family and friends not only stay bed side night and day, but usually sleep in the same bed with the patient, or on the ground in the room or hallway. Bed side care is not the nurses’ job. As I learned, nurses change IV’s and bed sheets...when requested. As I looked around, it was indeed obvious that every patient had a family member with them, if not three!

So, for four nights another friend and I rotated shifts taking care of our patient and being her advocate. I believe that there was a file on my friend, but it was not anywhere near her bed or room, so every new nurse and doctor had to start over. This was entirely frustrating considering the language barrier. I counted three times when they tried to feed her medication or food and we had to step in and remind them that she was not to eat or drink, rather only have an IV drip. There was usually just an “ahh” of agreement and then they left again. My friend's parents came to China to help and they have all since returned to the US to get care for her there. I hear she is dong well!

The lesson I learned is that one a) not get sick; b) get to a hospital before you need an advocate; or c) keep good friends.

Do I really look Russian?

2007-07-15T00:05:00.000-07:00

There is a substantial Eastern Russian population in Dalian. During the summer Russians tourists seem to be everywhere. I hear that China is the easiest place to get a travel visa for Russians. I can spot a Russian girl from a mile away: skinny, sharp nosed, bleach blond hair, too much make up, and a hair and clothing style that hearkens back to the 80’s. But, to the Chinese, all white blonds look the same. So, first they say, “Hallo!” then immediately ask me rhetorically, “ni shi eluosi ren ba? (You’re Russian right?). I’ve started snapping back in Chinese, “No! And Russians don’t speak English!” Both come as a surprise to most.

I have even had Russians themselves approach me speaking Russian . Not knowing if I should respond to them in English or Chinese, I used to just wave my hands pathetically in the air and look confused. More recently I have learned how to say, "I'm not Russian" in Russian.

Perhaps the most confusing is when a Chinese person, who has commendably learned Russian, starts a conversation with me. It takes me about five for me to realize that they are not speaking Chinese, and they are confused and embarrassed that their Russian is poor. One man, despite my insistence that he speak Chinese and that I was not Russian, would have none of it. He continued to speak Russian and forced his name card into my hand, which was all in Russian!

I really always thought I looked solidly German!

"Hallo!"

2007-07-03T10:48:00.000-07:00

“Hallo!” This word is a close imitation of the real English greeting, yet it has an uncountable amount of meanings in China! “Hallo” is usually shouted from behind a table of things for sale. “Hallo” can mean buy my fruit, buy my vegetables, buy my cheap clothing, buy my nice clothing, buy my bottled water, etc. “Hallo” can mean come into my restaurant. When accompanied with a bottom’s up head toss back… “hallo” means come have a drink here. When accompanied with a honk, it means you are about to get run over by some vehicle even though you are on the sidewalk. Generally I don’t mind and I simply answer back with “Ni hao (hello).” But I refuse to respond to the ridiculous high pitched yell to your back after I've passed.

Environmental NGO's - Travel to Wuhan

2007-06-29T10:36:00.000-07:00

During my lull between jobs, I managed to attend an international forum for environmental non-governmental organizations in Wuhan, Hubei province. Participants included Chinese environmental NGOs and American NGOs. The idea of a non-governmental organization is still fairly new to China and still a little risky. The Chinese NGO’s were there to network with each other and also to ask for guidance from well established American organizations. (If you are familiar, Sierra Club, World Wildlife Fund, and Natural Resources Defense Council were all present). While the presentations themselves were not overly enlightening, I came to understand a bit more about the problems facing NGO’s in China.

It became obvious in round table discussions (with translators) that China must obviously find their own method of building a non-profit, non-governmental sector. It was tempting for these budding, under-funded NGO’s to ask the comparatively wealthy American organizations for a step by step guide to success. However, the conversation repeatedly came to a halt when the Central Committee was mentioned. The Chinese government would likely thwart attempts to follow a similar development strategy.

Additionally I learned that most of the environmental threats are not rooted in policy from the central government, rather the local provincial and municipal governments. At the end of the day, Beijing can say what they want, but the mayors are going to make their cities prosper – and that usually includes bribes from industrial companies who ask for lax environmental restrictions in return. This came as a shock to me who held the ignorant vision of China as a completely centralized lumbering giant. As it turns out the central government struggles to keep their provincial appendages in check. In light of this, most environmental NGOs see this as their only niche. Most organizations are focusing on small, grass-roots, public participation projects rather than going for the impenetrable and enigmatic central government!

It was an eye opener for me. I also did a bit of networking with several NGO’s, took their name cards, and promised that my Chinese would be better in a year! Who knows where if anywhere that will lead, but it is good to keep options….even if they’re just in my head.

Visas and Guanxi

2007-06-19T10:24:00.000-07:00

Borden, and overall dissatisfaction led me to quit my first job at the language school. Unfortunately my visa expiration date fell around the same time period. The burden of renewing my visa fell to me, a powerless white girl with Chinese nowhere near the level needed to get myself a new visa. Luckily, my friend, a professional here Dalian was willing to help me renew my visa until my next employer could sponsor me for a legitimate work visa.

Normally, to renew a visa, a foreigner must go to Beijing in the least and possibly even leave the country. I assumed that it would be the same case for me. However, I received my first lesson in the power of what the Chinese call, “Guanxi” (connections/relations). As it turned out a my friend's brother in law knows one of the visa officials. This means that we all make quick “friends” to exchange favors.

The entire process consisted of two meetings. The first meeting was just to understand my “options.” To me the meeting felt like classic modern Chinese bureaucracy - sketchy. The small sparsely furnished completely undecorated office had white washed walls with smudged footprints and cracks. A layer of black dust had settled on everything not regularly used. The visa official was also a classic picture: short, dark skinned, with a belly reflecting his financial prosperity and slightly oily hair past due for a cutting. He sat back in his desk chair with a cigarette and periodically checked a thick book of rules and regulations. While the two men spoke I observed from the sidelines. Afterward my friend translated the whole hour’s meeting to me in about two minutes. From this I gathered that much more was discussed that was let on, although actually I think he was probably just sparing me some useless details. I’ll never know! Basically we concluded that he could help me get a new visa without even leaving Dalian, let alone the country! But I was warned that these were special circumstances and that I should probably not flaunt it around other foreigners.

He later said that that we would need to return the favor to the official. Fearing the worst, I withdrew extra 100’s from the bank. Instead, he produced a fax which was the visa official daughter’s English homework assignment! I couldn’t believe it. So, my friend and I sat together in his office and wrote the middle school English homework together. I wrote it in native English and then he strategically added in some “Chinglish” to make it believable. If this doesn’t demonstrate the value of English proficiency in China, I don’t know what does. The whole deal was sealed with a letter of recommendation explaining that I was studying acupuncture in China for a few months and that it was not my intent to work. While it all felt sketchy to me, this is how China works right now and I was assured that because the rules on book are changing so quickly, it was not exactly illegal to make our own way.

What you see is what you get - public undie drying

2007-06-15T09:48:00.000-07:00

A detail of life in China in which I take daily delight is that of shameless public underwear drying.

While we definitely used a clothesline in Ohio, I was always happy it was concealed in the back yard. But with little private space and dryers being a complete luxury here, you can see underwear drying anywhere - next to convenient stores, in front of restaurants, strung across sidewalks, and hanging off high rise apartment buildings. Displays include everything from racy black lace to huge gray cotton bottom buckets. I actually take great joy in buying an ice-cream from someone knowing full well that I am standing next to his freshly washed briefs dripping on the side-walk beside me. Somehow makes me feel like we know each other better and maybe I don't need to count my change. Who says China isn't green!

Chinese Roomate

2007-05-30T09:41:00.000-07:00

I was introduced to a young Chinese woman (24) who was also looking for an apartment. I jumped at the change to live with her for two reasons. One, to remove myself from being under the thumb of my employer, and second to learn more Chinese! Her name is Gao Lina and she works as a liaison between the pharmacy and doctors in hospitals.

So far, if we are both home, we spend the evening munching on fruit with dictionaries open attempting to communicate. It is slow and frustrating, but also hilarious at times when we have misunderstood each other and then realize what we are really trying to say. For example, tonight, I was trying to tell her a story in my broken Chinese about a class that I had today. I explained that I had four students all 7 years old. They started to fight a bit and then three of them started crying really loudly. I said that I couldn’t teach them anymore so we just made paper airplanes for the rest of class. With a perplexed look, she asked me why 7 year olds learning English? I said that their parents want them to learn English. She exclaimed, “They have parents?!?!” I said of course. Then finally…she repeated my original story and I realized that I had indeed begun by saying that I had four 70 year old students that got in a fight and cried and then we made paper airplanes instead of having class. Oh my, what an image.

The other most recent miscommunication highlight was when she tried to tell me that I had a huge booger in my nose. But, I was in a hurry and just left the apartment pretending to understand. It wasn’t until a half hour later when I made the discovery in the reflection of a store window that my brain pieced all the words together.

"No why!"

2007-05-20T09:37:00.000-07:00

One my favorite observations from teaching these kids is watching them react to questions that are not answerable with an absolute right or wrong answer. While most Chinese students have a commendable memory, the Chinese education system leaves little opportunity for critical/creative thinking or opinions. So, I start easy with some material from the book:

Me: “True for False, the first video games were invented in the 1980’s.”
Student: “True”
Me: Right, and is the world better or worse now with video games?
Student: Better
Me: Why?
Student: (pause….) No Why!

“No Why!” is now my favorite answer! It is as if they are correcting me on my ill-formed and nonsensical questions. I have been told by my older Chinese students and friends that you learn early in China that the “why” question is useless in many arenas. “No why!” Priceless. I actually find my self trying to ask why about subjects that I think might evoke the “no why!” answer just for my own amusement!

English Speech Competitions

2007-05-13T09:30:00.000-07:00

I am quickly learning that Chinese parents are focused on testing, competitions, awards, and results for there child. In a country of 1.3ish billion, there must be some way to carve up the levels of abilities. To this end, there are often English speech competitions around the city to encourage English learning. Some of my students were invited/forced to enter.

The process goes as follows: The student writes a short composition in Chinese, the Chinese teachers at my school translate it using an on-line translator, and then they follow around the foreign teachers all day trying to get us to make the text sound normal. While I don’t mind helping, online translators leave something to be desired for accuracy. So, for about two weeks, during my ten minute breaks between classes, I was tried in vain to derive meanings from sentences like: “I hold the lead of the gold metal to an innate wandering smile.”

Next, the student has to memorize and rehearse these ridiculous speeches on the themes of patriotism, work ethic, their favorite subject in school etc. This is where I learned that there is apparently a certain type of voice just for delivering speeches in China. The louder the better! My first rehearsal class was in a small room with one student. He was a small framed 10 year old with glasses and big cheeks. I waited with his hardcopy of the speech as he prepared himself. He stood, hands at his sides, fixed his gaze at a point behind me where the ceiling and wall met, and then belted loud, strong, monotone phrases! I stopped him immediately trying to keep a straight face and told him that would be unnecessary.

May Holiday in Chang Bai Shan

2007-05-06T09:03:00.000-07:00

May holiday was a compact traveling experience farther into Northeast China. The destination was Chang Bai Shan, meaning “ever white mountain.” We travelers made a colorful group of personalities heading into Jilin province. We began as three: another American teacher from my school, a Chinese teacher from my school, and me. The American teacher is a hilarious guy from LA, with good Chinese, knows NBA like he was betting on it, loves conspiracy theories, practices Tai Chi in the middle of public places, and cracks himself up consistently. The Chinese teacher, "Colin" is a short, round faced 24 year old who loves speed metal, wears cheap sunglasses and a fanny pack, and eats faster than anyone I know. He smokes an extra cigarette while bartering for taxies/busses and hotels, though rarely actually takes a puff. Rather, just waves it around in the air with his elaborate gestures.

We took an overnight train ride in a smokey sleeper car with sounds of cellphones playing pop music late into the night. I watched Colin engulf an entire bag of little dried squid parts way too fast and wash it down with a light sudsy beer. He suffered from a stomach ache for hours.

The morning arrived all to slowly. As we chugged into Tonghua the hallway filled smells of instant noodles, more cellphone amplafied pop music, and a long line of people waiting to use the sinks for their ritualistic morning face wash. (I don't know seems to be a big deal here) We missed a connecting train to take us to the little town of Baihe so we had to take a minibus over roads that would make a Forest Service Fire crew cringe. One hour into the 6 hour bumpy ride, the driver handed out barf bags. Thirty minutes later we saw and smelled last night's squid parts and beer all over again. Miserable. While I turned the other direction to avoid getting sick myself, I befriended the young Korean guy beside me on the bus. He spoke a little Chinese and a little English, but insisted on writing everything on his hand with his finger before verbalizing. Good thing it was a long bus ride.

Baihe was a sleepy town with a mix of Chinese and Koreans. The women drove motorcycles and no one was trying to hustle us white people. Refreshing! The next morning we got a taxi to take us to the gates of the Chang Bai Shan nature preserve, which is China’s largest Nature preserve. I didn’t know that places like that existed in China. There was still a foot of snow on the ground in the forest and the air smelled like pine sap. It was raining in Baihe, meaning snow on the mountain. After a good hour and a half climb up hundreds of ice covered steps, we reached Tian Che (Heaven Lake), which was still frozen. We walked onto the lake and into North Korea! Thrilling, but a little eerie considering the white out blizzard conditions.

The trip back was two long train rides. However, the second will be the most memorable. Everyone warned me not to travel during national holidays. Now I know why. We arrived in the city of Shenyang (about a 6 hours north of Dalian) only to find that there were not only no beds for the night train to Dalian….but no seats period! So, do as the Chinese do, pay half the price and just stand. So from 11PM to 5AM, I stood on this smoky, crowded, hectic, smelly, stuffy train. I have heard of people standing for much longer, like 40 hours all the way across the desert. The lesson learned is to fly if you can afford it.

Language troubles - always one tone off

2007-04-29T08:54:00.000-07:00

A foreign friend and I had some time to kill, so we headed into a tea house/restaurant. The place actually said “.Tea” in English on the outside. We ordered some food and TRIED to order some green tea. After all it was a tea house and we were in China where they serve you tea every time you sit down.

After many failed attempts to get the waitress to understand “Cha,” she finally left to get her supervisor. She kept saying “meiyou” meaning, don’t have any. We were so confused. Why would a tea house in China not have any tea? Fortunately the supervisor had a more lenient ear to tone deaf/mute westerners and understood what we wanted. After much dictionary rifling to see what the waitress thought we were ordering, we discovered that one tone off of “cha” (voice starting low and ending high) is “cha” with another tone….meaning western knife and fork.

You know you should be working harder at the language if you cannot manage to order tea in China!

Cutthroat English Industry

2007-04-28T08:42:00.000-07:00

I have an English pimp. I apologize for the rather crude analogy, however, I found that I have something to sell here and a pimp is the best way to describe my boss. Her name is Ms. Jean and she refers to herself in the third person. In her broken English I often her, “Ms. Jean no like…” or, “Ms, Jean like…” She is old enough to remember the Cultural Revolution and how it stripped her once affluent family of its wealth, but young enough to have kept her contacts and business tactics. She would be a part of China’s nouveau riche except that she is really part of China’s revived riche. Like many entrepreneurial Chinese, Ms. Jean knows a market niche when she sees one.
If you didn’t know, or if you have forgotten, this school boasts an American style and American teachers. When you walk in the school are there are American flags at the entrance. All of the American teachers have framed portrait pictures in their classrooms which have been atrociously photo-shopped onto the background of a nearly florescent American flag. I have never looked so pasty white! All the better I assume. When the Chinese staff answers the office phone, they say, “Ni hao, Am-mer-ic,” meaning, “Hello, America.” Judging from conversations with my students, most intend on traveling in, studying in, and or living in America. Ms. Jean has powerful contacts everywhere and the school obviously acts as a middleman for obtaining the highly coveted American visa. This school seeks to employ only American teachers marketing to rich parents who believe that America is the be all end all for their single, priceless, treasured, and completely stressed out child.
In short, I am a blonde haired, blue eyed, American accent sputtering commodity. My value is high in China. Ms. Jean gets me my hours and I just look and sound American for the students, and much more importantly, the parents of the students.

This is not to completely discredit the school, or the work that I do there. I am indeed teaching English to those who are for the most part genuinely interested in learning. However, I have quickly observed that this is business first and an educational institution second.

Frustrations here have sent me searching for a new job. Hope to be done with this place mid June. The next update will give a full report on job searching in China, and my next move.

English Names

2007-04-10T07:37:00.000-07:00

It is common for Chinese to choose an “English name” at some point during their education. The origins of these names vary: the names of characters in the cheesy model dialogues in text books, western media, or some connection to the original Chinese name. Most names are common: Amanda, Charles, Ellen, Tina, Colin, Andy, etc. However, there are a few extraordinary names that deserve at least explanation and probably a laugh. While these are not all my students, some standouts include (in ascending peculiarity): Auto, Bank, Coco, Tiger, Dragon,Candy, Marx, Ice Snow, Ghost, Killer, Forever 25, Chest Hair, and Sea Sickness.

In addition to simply bizarre name choices, there are a few unfortunate names that, due to common pronunciation pit falls here, will always be mispronounced. For example, I have met a couple of women named Vivian. The Chinese trained mouth does not easily make the sound of “V.” Thus, “Wiwian” will unfortunately be repeated in at every English introduction.

I say forever, but actually my students seem to have few qualms about changing their English names. It is hard enough to learn the names of all these students, let alone when one kid in each class announces that he is trying out a new name today.

While I joke about these names, in reality they are extremely helpful to foreigners. While I have tried, I fail to remember Chinese names at this point in the game. This practice of taking English names is partly for education and participation in the English world, but also to save westerners’ butts. On the flip side, English names can complicate an international work place. That is, you may know you're student's or colleague's English name but no one else in the office knows it!

Xiao Chi

2007-04-05T04:36:00.000-07:00

Street food and “Xiao Chi,” (snacks or little eats) is a favorite so far. There are certain back alleys that are packed after work and into the later evening. There you can find all kinds of meat kabobs (like on a stick), whole fish kabobs, chicken head kabobs, tofu of all kinds of colors, and fresh plump mushrooms all grilled over long narrow coal gills surrounded by people eating them as fast as they are cooked.

In these steaming teaming streets there things that stink, things that smell scrumptious, hot and spicy curry smells, sweet waffle/pancake smells, pickled things, dried things, steamed breads and buns, dumplings, fresh fruit, and things you assume will be sweet but rudely turn out salty. Always a sensory adventure!

Public Backyards

2007-03-30T02:57:00.000-07:00

Parks are wonderful havens for people watching and culture here. I suppose it is no different than Central Park in Manhattan, or any park in a big city. The parks serve as people’s backyards. And, in such a modern city parks give a foreigner a window to an older, deeper culture here. I have visited most of the parks in this city, enough to notice a few trends. Under all the trees are heavily trodden areas, which are evidence of some one’s favorite place to practice morning Tai Chi. If you wander there early enough, (as the weather warms that is) you see hundreds of people practicing Tai Chi and other martial arts….swords and all! Some older men bring their songbirds in cages to the park.

Later in the afternoon parks become meeting places for Chinese Poker. I don’t really know the name of this game, but it is really fun to watch. There will be a group of 100 people (usually old but some young also) gathered in a big mass Groups of four play while at least triple that are standing around watching each game. Players throw their cards down in sets of threes and fours to make a smacking sound when the cards hit the table or bench. Then there are mutterings and people stand up and wave their arms and yell until someone else smacks down something that beats it. It’s quite the serious game. In general I love observing older Chinese folks. I cannot help but think about how much they have seen this country change, both in ideology and in infrastructure during their lifetimes.

I finally found a park with some joggers and went to jog there myself for the first time. While I was not alone, I was the only female jogger, although I expected this. While it was nice to move my legs a bit, I did feel like I was doing a disproportionate amount of work to filter the Dalian air through my lungs as the average park go-er there. Not sure what the effects of pumping coal thick air through the lungs will be.

Right of Way?

2007-03-29T02:38:00.000-07:00

One of the biggest adjustments to life here is the simple and frequent act of crossing the street. It doesn’t take long to understand that pedestrians never have the right of way. Crossing the street is a free frawl, everyone for him/her self! Sometimes I feel like I am in a game of frogger! You just have to go for it, crossing one lane at a time as it opens. Occasionally this leaves you stranded between two lanes, sucking in as a bus passes right behind your back and a taxi just before your toes. But this is necessary! If you are timid, you will never get across a busy circle or street!

There are some crosswalks and even some walk signals, but they are rarely observed and should never be trusted. In fact, I was became confused at a major intersection when cars were stopped at a light. I am already used to never having right of way and was not sure how to proceed.

I do however believe that the drivers are more aware and calculated while driving than in the US. Cars get closer to people than I am accustomed. But it is all normal here. Cars get closer to everything for that matter. Parking is done mainly on the sidewalks which means that during business hours most of the walking is ironically done in the streets! So, you have to be aware of the cars on the street, and aware of the cars in the process of parking on the sidewalk. Basically, there are no relaxing strolls in the city until you get into a park. A car may be approaching from any direction. Cars, taxies and busses will occasionally give a forewarning honk to let you know that you are in the way, on the street or the sidewalk.

Cute kids

2007-03-28T03:07:00.000-07:00

I love to give a smile to the chubby little Chinese kids all bundled up for cold weather. The strangest thing is that their big quilted bulky pants are constructed to have an open crotch. I guess this is a convenience feature for the not yet potty trained child and his/her parent, but my, what a draft!

There is a group of 5 six year olds that invades my life for 2 hours a week! Kids really are the same everywhere. In all of these classes there is always a spokesperson, usually the one that speaks the best English. However, at six, none of these kids speak English! So all of the sudden, I could tell there was something really dire happening. There was all kinds of squirming and high pitched Chinese going on. I stop with my one woman show of “What’s this?? It’s an ear..” just long enough to understand the young spokes man’s loudest word, “cesuo!” (meaning toilet) and they all bolt out the door. It was a chore to get them back in the room and back in their seats. Somehow they had all acquired lollypops during the two minutes they were outside. A stern, well dressed mother came and pulled the lollypops out of their mouths one by one. They all found the suction and pop noise that this made hilarious and it took another five minutes to calm the giggles. Just when I regained attention with a relatively close rendition of the alphabet song, they discovered that there were tiny bits of paper on the floor. Oh my gosh! What fun! All concentration was gone as I lost them all under the table. Needless to say, I suggested that a Chinese teacher accompany me during the next class to keep order.

China "Lite"

2007-03-28T02:04:00.000-07:00

One Month down here in Dalian, China.

Dalian was recommended to me by a friend of a friend as a good place to get my feet wet in China. I arrived in late February when there were still Spring Festival fireworks every morning at 8:00 AM.

Some foreigners refer to Dalian as "China Lite." That is, it's not too crowded, it's generally clean, and the air is decently clean. It also has many of the comforts to which we we westerners in developed countries have come to enjoy.

There is an astonishing amount of English written everywhere in this City. It is almost disappointing (but helpful none-the less). You can find peanut-butter, olive-oil and apparently cheddar cheese, although I have yet to find it! You can find all the designer brands from Coach to Armani (I mean authentic, not rip offs, although you can find those too). There are coffee shops, bakeries, Tapas restaurants, and even a decently authentic looking Irish pub! Clothing stores in general have a much wider selection than in the US. Options seem endless here in this phase of consumerism. However, when you do the math, many of these things come out to be US prices or higher.
All of these luxuries do not however make this place feel like home in anyway. This culture is still foreign despite the affluence that manifests itself through association with western goods and trends that may seem familiar. China is still a deeply rooted Eastern culture despite any western flare on the surface.