Friday, December 17, 2010

December 17th

It’s December 17th, 2010. (My kids actually just learned how to say that. Supposedly, at least.) I don’t remember what I was doing on December 17th, 2009 or on December 17th, 2008, but December 17th, 2007 was quite literally the longest day of my life.

December 17th, 2007 began with karaoke. There was a student deal for the place near my campus in Beijing: if you entered after midnight, you could have a room for 60 kuai a person until 6 AM. So, around 12:30, my American friends and I made our way over to meet up with our Chinese roommates. Our roommates had moved out of the dorms the previous day, but we all wanted to see one another once more before heading home. We sang, we danced, we hugged, we took pictures aplenty, and, around 4, we started wandering back to our dorms to catch a couple hours sleep.

The morning was full of last-minute packing, a cab ride to the airport, and hours of waiting. Many of the kids in my study abroad program were on the same flight to Chicago, from where we’d split up for our domestic legs. We left Beijing in the afternoon and got to Chicago, according to the clocks, a couple hours later. In China, of course, it was already the next day. The flight was a bit delayed, and customs took awhile, so after I got through and transferred to the domestic terminal, I only had enough time to grab a tall-skim-lite-whip-peppermint-mocha at a Starbucks kiosk before boarding my next plane. America hit me in all of its holiday glory (and a huge boost of caffeine).

The flight to Atlanta I don’t remember in the slightest, but I do remember finding my parents. They were waiting for me at the place where most people exit security. My plane, however, had landed elsewhere, so I came up on them from behind. We drove home. I went to sleep eventually. It had been December 17th for almost 36 hours. Christmas Eve was a week later. I felt I’d been gone for so long, and I was happy to be home.

It’s December 17th, 2010. I’ve been in China for just over five months—almost a month and a half longer than my entire semester abroad—and I’m not on a plane right now. I’ll be on a plane in a month, but that plane will be to Thailand (!) and I’ll be back here about 5-6 weeks later for another semester that won’t end until mid-July.

It’s hard to be gone during the holidays. I’ve skipped Thanksgiving a lot, and there have been years when, due to how early Hanukkah’s fallen, I’ve been at school the whole time. But I’ve never skipped Christmas. Yes, I realize that I’m Jewish and that I’m considering rabbinical school, but Christmas to me has never been a religious thing. Christmas is fresh pine needles, our Christmas Eve candlelit tea party (more aptly described as a cookie party, though, to be fair, we do always have a cup or two of tea with our huge platefuls of sweets), singing carols around the piano (yes, we actually do that), being woken up by my sisters and tiptoeing to the living room hearth to experience that once-a-year feeling of a fully stuffed stocking.

I’m still not sure what I’m planning on for grad school (it’s down to either Rabbinical School or a masters and maybe Ph.D in early American history), but I do know that people matter to me more than I’d realized before. For a variety of reasons, I’m not visiting the States over the semester break, but once I get back home more permanently I’m going to make a much greater effort to travel and see people I care about. Obviously finances and obligations like school/work will make it impossible for me to travel whenever and wherever I like, but I’m considering trying to live within driving distance of my folks, and, if I have a year before grad school, I’m determined to spend it somewhere where I already have family or at least one close friend.

Although I won’t be home for Christmas this year, nor will I be alone. All of the Heqing fellows are headed to (surprise surprise) Dali, where some Lincang fellows will apparently be rendez vousing as well. I’m sure it’ll be a nice weekend, that we’ll eat good food (like cheese!) and walk around and enjoy ourselves. The Heqing fellows are doing Secret Santas as well, so that’s always fun. Our big break, however, doesn’t come until mid-January, so it’ll be back to school on Monday December 27th. I suppose in the states there are plenty of people in a similar boat who won’t get a month off later, so I still consider myself quite lucky.

There’s no doubt that I’m doing better here than I was a couple months ago. My language still isn’t improving at the rate I’d like, in my classroom I’m still having discipline and motivation programs galore, and relationships with the other teachers are rather slowly forming, but I know there’s been progress. Ultimately, I see next semester as a chance to start again, at least with my kids. There are some things I really, really need to establish better, and I think a new semester will be a great chance to do that. For now, I’ve got just shy of a month to get through two and a bit more units and review like crazy for the Final. Earlier this week, I made each kid write down his or her goal for the Final and gave them my goals. Surprisingly, most of my students seemed to get what I was after, aiming neither too high nor too low. I made them write their goals before I showed them the ones I had in mind for each of them, and most were within 10% of each other. We’ll have to see how it goes. The Mid-Term was a disaster grade-wise, but I’ve changed my teaching and testing styles fairly dramatically since, so hopefully that will prove helpful.

This weekend will mostly be a working one, but I’ve got Christmas music galore, I’ve bookmarked “Love Actually” on one of the movie streaming sites here, and I’m learning how to knit toe-up socks. I’m also greatly anticipating not one or two, but, at last count, four holiday packages currently winging their way across the Pacific. I am so loved. And once I get my parents’ peppermint extract, peppermint hot chocolate and mochas are so happening.

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

Why I (Pengtun 7th Grader) Want to Study

First of all, I posted two new batches of pictures—one a general update of the last couple months (Yes, crazily enough it’s been that long), the other a compilation of some of my cooking/baking adventures. Both can be found at http://anamericaninheqing.shutterfly.com. Enjoy, and onto the main event:

About a month ago I made all my student write me essays, in Chinese, about why they wanted or didn’t want to study. The kids weren’t doing their homework and weren’t really studying much in general, and I wanted them to reflect on how they were doing and how they could do better and why any of it mattered. When I gave directions, I reiterated, oh, about fifty times, that I wanted them to write how they really felt and not what they thought I wanted to hear. Some of my kids seem to have taken that to heart and others not, but, at any rate, here’s a list of reasons for studying, courtesy of rural Chinese 12-14 year olds and my translation/paraphrasing skills. (Commentary, naturally, can be found in the parentheses next to each reason.)

-“I can get lots of knowledge” (This was the first sentence of many an essay, so I guess getting lots of knowledge is rather important to these youngsters.)

-“There are opportunities to get to know teachers and classmates.” (And beat up classmates, and pass notes to classmates, and laugh at classmates….)

-“I can understand life principles.” (Not sure exactly what you’re getting at there, but I appreciate the thought)

-“I can understand English and the differences between English and other languages.” (Impressive, Molly, impressive….)

-“Because Zhou Enlai said so—you should study for the people and devote yourself to the motherland.” (Motherland—a new and useful word for the Chinese vocabulary of Emily Cohen)

-“I want to repay my parents and my teacher. I can’t fail them.” (A common sentiment in theory, but, unfortunately, a lot of my kids still fail to study enough to repay anybody. And yes, Amy, that includes you.)

-“Studying changes destiny.” (Go forth, young padawan, and control your destiny.)

-“Now is the information age.” (Perhaps so, Peter, but I’m not entirely sure how your English textbook is helping you play with the internet.)

-“Studying makes me smarter. We should all value time and want knowledge.” (And yet in class you seem to most enjoy sleeping and goofing around with your little friends….)

-“I can expand the limits of knowledge” (Not your knowledge, Jake, but knowledge in general? That’s lofty of you.)

-“Everyone only has one life and to make it more valuable we should study more knowledge.” (And then do what with it, exactly?)

-“Knowledge is important for the whole society and so I don’t become a stupid person.” (Yes, William, it is. Unfortunately, you spent half of tonight’s evening class with your eyelids flipped inside out, looking at the wrong page of the text book. So you might need to work a tad bit harder on that front.)

-“Knowledge allows us to understand more things so that when we grow up our lives will be more wonderful.” (I would like a more wonderful life. How does one go about achieving that?)

-“Everyone should respect the nine years of compulsory education.” (I believe you already do, Zoe, but, please, get the rest of your class on board)

-“Education is everyone’s right and everyone has to go to school.” (And yet, Freddy, you seem to most enjoy far-from-subtle whispered conversations with friends halfway across the room)

-“Studying is our wish and our duty. It’s an activity that delights us and makes us happy.” (I’m sure it does, Sophie, especially when you cheat on every other test.)

-“Books are our best friends and our best teachers.” (I thought that was dogs?)

-“I’m stupid, so I like to study and I like your class.” (Well, Barry, I’m not really sure how those connect, but good for you)

-“When we start middle school our thoughts are more mature than in elementary school and we should know that our reason is to learn knowledge, not play.” (Ellen, considering that your current average is around a 90%, I’d say you’re doin’ pretty well on that front)

-“Science and technology are really developed and connected to life.” (Sure, Nate. This connects to English how exactly?)

-“I don’t want to study because I’m afraid of your bad list of names and responding incorrectly.” (Leia, sweetie, you are not the smartest child in the world but I know you care because you always do your homework and when I ask easy questions you very shyly but hopefully raise your hand. You will never get on my nonexistent bad list of names.)

-“My ideal is to work in America, so I must study.” (Yes, Alanna, and stop cheating. Because, you see, if you only pretend you can speak English when you get to America you might have some problems.)

-“We can have contact with the world, impact society, and understand a lot.” (True, Mike, true.)

-“To get good grades and make the teacher happy.” (Y’know what would make me happy, River? If you’d do your freakin’ homework and not do homework for other subjects when you’re in my class!)

-“Go to college and make foreign friends.” (Miguel, you are a smart kid, and if you tried you could almost certainly get to college. However, you are also insane, so I’m not sure how that’s all gonna work out for you.)

-“Because I want to lay foundations for the future and not be illiterate.” (Luke, I don’t want you to be illiterate either, and English can help you lay foundations for the future, but somehow I don’t think it’s gonna help your ability to read Chinese all that much.)

-“To increase culture.” (Hate to break it to you, Amelia m’dear, but I’m afraid you’ve lost me there. Whose culture are we talking here?)

-“Without English we have no future.” (This would be funny, Ariel, if it wasn’t more or less true, at least as far as education is concerned. English is worth more on your high school entrance exam than any other subject, and you, unfortunately, are averaging a 25% on your tests.)

-“I don’t like to study English, but it’s important for testing.” (Yes, Connor, it is. And I think its importance is stupid, but unfortunately I don’t control the tests.)

-“To get knowledge, wealth, and happiness for myself and my family.” (Laura, considering that you are among my very best students, I’d say that’d a distinct possibility.)

-“The most afraid people in the world are the people without knowledge.” (You must be positively terrified then, Leland, considering how many of my classes you sleep through.)

-“Studying can change impulsive hearts, sharpen dull hearts, and get hearts that know nothing to know lots. It gives people meaning.” (From most students, I’d just think this was weird, but from you Sam, I’ll actually take it at face value.)

-“Because teachers teach lots, especially foreign teachers.” (Is this a good thing for you, Serenity, or a bad thing? At any rate, that is my goal. To, y'know, teach lots.)

Friday, December 3, 2010

Grocery Run

This morning after class I went into town—Heqing City. I didn’t need anything special, so I was in and out within an hour and a half. A trip to town always begins with walking a block from the school gate out to the Dali-Lijiang road that connects those two tourist spots and goes right past Heqing. Actually, from what I understand (although I could certainly be wrong), today's two-lane highway more or less follows the path of the "Horse and Tea Road," which some folks might better recognize as the "Southern Silk Road." There are two kinds of vehicles, both costing one yuan, that shuttle people to the city: 19-seater buses that I would say hold up to 40 when things get really crowded, and what I think of as “Oregon Trail” cars—five seater cabs with an arched wagon-like piece of canvas covering two benches in the pick-up truck style back. These benches hold 3-4 people each, but often there are also 5-6 people (or 3 people and a couple bikes) crammed into the small standing space between the benches. Kinda hard to picture, perhaps. I’ll try to remember my camera next time.

You flag down either kind of transport by sticking your arm out, and it’s a short ride—5-10 minutes, depending on how many times we stop to pick up or drop off more passengers. This morning I had to wait more than 10 minutes before a bus arrived. Normally, they’re much more frequent, and it was kinda chilly. I was wearing my fleece and an excellently warm alpaca scarf, but I haven’t broken out my hat or mittens much. Gloves are pretty common here, but we’re talking cute little skin-tight gloves or motorcycle gloves, not my Norwegian snowflake mittens. And, for whatever reason, I don’t see a lot of hats except for those worn by the Bai women, and those aren’t winter-knit caps. However, I’ve decided that I don’t care. Minnesota-trained or not, my hands and head are chilly.

Anyway, when I go to town, I almost always need to go both to the market and to the supermarket. Today I go to the market first, which is on the far side of town (keeping in mind that the “far” side of town is all of a 10-15-minute walk from the closer side). Once off the bus, I first have to walk through the meat and fish sections. There are two wheelbarrows full of pig heads. I have no idea why. There’s a lot of blood on them. There are always pig heads (and feet and legs and everything else), but there are not usually wheelbarrows fully devoted to the storage (display?) of pig heads. It’s really quite upsetting. So glad I don’t eat pork. In the fish section I try not to look at the flopping and suffocating piles, but peripheral vision—what can you do? Again, so glad I don’t eat fish.

Once free of the animals, I move to the potato trucks. The first time I bought potatoes, I thought they were russets and only discovered after scrubbing them in my sink that they were, in fact, red-skinned potatoes. The (mostly) ladies who sell them sit by small fires to keep warm. I buy eight—it is Chanukah, after all—and pay 5 kaui.

Then, crossing over the piles of discarded, rotting scallions and cornhusks, I make my way to my broccoli lady. I started buying broccoli from her a couple months ago, and she knows that, although I often buy other things, broccoli is always on the list. Today I supplement my large crown of broccoli with two sizable tomatoes and an eggplant, paying 7 kuai for the lot. Produce is getting a little more expensive as weather turns cooler, but there’s still plenty of it, and since it’s not hot I can buy more at one time. When I first moved here, I could really only buy veggies I’d eat within a day or two. Now I can leave food by the window and it’ll keep much longer. It’s pretty awesome.

I’ve recently rediscovered onions. Not that I’d ever not known about or liked onions, but I hadn’t really been buying them. Today I look around for one of the onion-ginger-garlic sellers. They often have other things too, but generally if people have garlic or ginger they seem to specialize in all three. I grab two red onions (I don't know if I've ever seen white or yellow onions here, actually) and 3 bulbs of garlic and pay 4.5 kuai.

The tofu lady I go to today gets into a long (because I have major accent issues) conversation with me about whether or not I can tutor her high-school-aged niece in English during the break. As over the break I won’t be in Heqing, I say I can’t do that, but who knows? Maybe next time I’ll ask if she wants me to meet with her niece on the weekend or something. At least she doesn’t seem annoyed as she cuts and bags up my 1 kuai slab of fresh tofu (about 2/3 of the size you’d get in a box in the states).

My noodle lady knows that I’m always after ersi— fettuccini-sized chewy rice noodles. I pay 1 kuai for a nicely-sized handful before moving past the many varieties of ground pepper and into the fruit lane. Here I stock up, bagging 6 or 7 clementines, 5 bananas, and 4 apples for 12 kuai.

Produce total: 30.5 yuan, or $4.50 at today’s exchange rate.

I walk past stalls bursting with socks, slippers, DVDs, and all manner of other things out of the market gate. I’m kinda hungry, so I approach a steamed bun seller and hand her 5 mao (half a kuai) for a small but warm roll, munching as I walk to the store. The market is at one end of one of the main streets cutting through town, and the supermarket I like to go to is almost at the other. It’s maybe a 10 minute walk. I pass by restaurants, clothing stores, blanket stores, convenience stores and the toilet paper store (all it sells is TP—I kid you not), as well as stands hawking papaya slices (sour and dipped in salt and chili powder, so not really my thing), spam hot dogs, and french fries. When I reach the store, I hand my backpack to the woman behind the counter (it’s not allowed inside) and grab a basket. I need a few things here: soy sauce (5.9 kuai for a 500 ml bottle), salt (1.3 kuai for a 500g bag), sponges (2.9 kuai for 4), tissues (3.8 kuai for 10 pocket packs), and sesame oil (a bit pricey at 10.8 kuai for a 180 ml bottle, but so worth it). When I reach the sesame oil aisle, I realize that I’ve forgotten the characters for it. Scanning the many bottles, I experience a brief moment of concern before centering myself and letting the characters surface once again in my mind.

Store total: 24.7 kuai ($3.71)

On my way back to the main road and my bus home, there are a few flower shops, a gaming den, and countless convenience stores. I drop into one and pick up 4 eggs for 3 kuai. Eggs are running pricey these days, but I'm a bit protein-conscious lately so I still like to keep a stock.

I wait for a minute at Heqing’s one stoplight but eventually end up jaywalking anyway, passing building supply shops, fruit and breakfast stands, and more restaurants before arriving at the seemingly arbitrary place where one can almost always find a bus waiting. Seats are already full, so I grab a handle, cushioning my eggs as best I can. This is always the scary part. I guess 10 AM on Friday is busy, because before long I find myself pushed far forward, directly behind a middle-aged gentleman and his cigarette. I'm forced to relinquish my handle in favor of the top of his seat. There are “no smoking” signs in all of the buses, but I think they’re paid about as much attention as the technical maximum capacity.

Three or four minutes after I step on, the bus sets off. We pick up two more people on the way out of town and let off a few before we get within range of my school. I yell “师傅,下车!” (Driver, get off bus!) which is, I’ve learned, the standard “Please stop” request. He pulls over and I step around people and baskets of produce to shove my not-at-all-graceful-but-at-least-efficient way down the steps. A dart across the street, a five minute walk, and I’m home again.

Thursday, November 25, 2010

In Thanks

I am very easily excited and very easily annoyed. I squeak a lot and I gripe a lot. I especially gripe a lot here. It’s all too easy for me to forget just how hard I worked to get this job and how not only nervous but how super excited I was to cross the Pacific.

But today is Thanksgiving. I’m eating my dinner of mashed potatoes, mushroom gravy, and quasi-stuffing made with celery, onions, and mushrooms picked up from the market earlier this week and bread I “baked” this afternoon. Today marks four years (more or less) since I became a vegetarian. Thank you, Annika and Dakota.

Cliché as it is, and to force myself to think positive instead of griping, I’m going to write, in no particular order, about some of what I find myself thankful for these days. Prepare for some sappy sincerity.

Emily’s Thanks
I’m thankful for my room. Cold as it gets, and as uninviting as concrete floors are, it’s really nice to have a place to retreat to—a place where I know I can be myself instead of the American teacher. Plus, my room has a couch, and a desk, and a place for me to cook, so it isn’t only a bedroom. I’d add a bathroom, a better view, and a carpet if I had my way, but as things stand I still feel quite lucky to have the space I do.

I’m thankful for my co-workers—especially Mark. Life here is a challenge, and the four of us might not be the best of friends, but if I’m having a bad day, I can hash it out with Mark, and if I’m confused about what was just said in a faculty meeting, Ma LiJun and YiMing are always willing to help out. Although Ma LiJun hasn’t really opened up much in the four months I’ve known her, I’m getting to know YiMing better, and I’d call Mark a friend.

I’m thankful for the market in Heqing. I hit up this place about once a week, and it’s awesome. Fruits and veggies, fresh tofu and rice noodles, eggs and obscene amounts of ginger and garlic…. You can get almost anything, and almost everything’s cheap. I love walking through the aisles, picking out food, going back to the vendors I’ve become something of a regular with.

I’m thankful for job security and financial security. So yeah, I earn a salary that makes my AmeriCorps stipend look quite hefty, but that money goes far here, and I don’t have to pay rent. I’ll probably have to dig into my American account for my New Year travels, but when it comes to the day-to-day stuff I really just don’t have to worry about anything. Also, barring some kind of disaster, my job’s not going anywhere. There are still a whole lotta people back home (and here in China) who can’t say that.

I’m thankful for Dali. I’ve headed down there about once a month since arriving in Heqing, and it’s always a breath of fresh air. Western food, shops, other non-Yunnanese people…. When Mark and I went down over the weekend, we openly acknowledged that we were basically taking a three-hour bus trip just to go to a coffee shop. That kinda café/coffee shoppy vibe that’s so common in so many American spots (even Fountain City in Columbus, GA) just isn’t to be found in Heqing. I swear, when I get back to the States, I’m gonna shuttle between kitchens and coffee shops for like a month. If you don’t know where I am, just go to the nearest kitchen or coffee shop and that’s where I’ll be. When I switch planes in O’Hare or wherever—Starbucks. Right away. Scoff if you like, but I’m tellin’ you…. In the meantime, Thank God for Dali.

I’m thankful for my computer and the internet. Superficial though a computer might seem, this thing is my lifeline. It connects me to skype and gmail and my blog, the NY Times (and its crossword puzzles) and Minnesota Public Radio. It lets me know what’s happening with all the people and places I care about back home. I’m not trying to be at all funny when I say that I don’t know how people used to do it. I really don’t know how people managed to travel abroad and be away from loved ones before email. Skype is an awesome bonus, and I love it, but email’s pretty much a non-negotiable. Beyond the net, this is the place where I have all of my pictures, music, and writing. Not to mention my kids’ grades.

Speaking of my kids, I’m thankful for them. That’s not to say they don’t drive me absolutely nuts (see previous post), but ultimately, they’re my reason for being here. They’re the ones who are changing my worldview and keeping me humble. Often, I feel most energized in the classroom. Of course, often, I feel most exhausted in the classroom too, but so it goes.

This getting super sappy now, but I gotta write it, so bear with me. I’m thankful to be an American. Yes, start up the patriotic music and wave those flags, but it’s true. I suppose it would be much more accurate to say that I’m thankful to be a middle class, college-educated American. Being here has hammered in for me in a way that nothing else in my life has just how lucky I am. Rural China is very different even from Beijing and other major Chinese cities. There are so, so many things that aren’t part of my existance here that I took completely for granted back home. Here are just a few. Last year, my housemates and I kept the heat around 62°F and thought we were roughing it. This year, there is no indoor heating. I’ll have a space heater for my room, but in the classroom, if it’s freezing outside, it’s gonna be freezing inside. (If you think I’m exaggerating, you might be interested to know that the two long walls of my rectangular room are all windows.) I’ve already talked about the bathroom situation. Also, diversity. America definitely has its race/religion/sexuality/class issues, but at least they’re, in many cases, acknowledged. Here, people are unabashedly ignorant of other kinds of folks. I’ve written before that it’s impossible for me, as a Caucasian women, to be anonymous. That was even true in parts of Beijing, although of course to a lesser degree than it's true here. While there are certainly places in the States where diversity doesn’t happen, it’s mostly a part of life. Now, I know the US has its downsides, and I’m not trying to sugarcoat those, but overall it’s a darn good place to live compared to much of the rest of the world. I knew that before. I really know it now.

I’m thankful I’m homesick, or, more accurately, I’m thankful that I have so much to miss—that my life in the States is so full of people and places and things that I love and don’t like being separated from. I have some amazing family and friends and I’ve lived in some wonderful places. When I start feeling too sorry for myself, I think about the many, many refugees in the Twin Cities and how they might never be able to return to the familiar homes and cultures they’ve left, and how, even if it were possible, they might not want to.

Along the same lines, I’m so thankful for everyone’s support. The emails I’ve gotten and the skype/gmail chats I’m had are what keep me smiling during my roughest times.

Finally, I’m thankful for you. Yes, you, whoever you are, whether you know me or not. As I’ve said, I get lonely here, and my blog is one of my best ways of connecting with people outside rural China. It means so much to me that people read it and come along with me for this crazy ride.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.

Sunday, November 21, 2010

"Who Needs a Master Key When You Have a Good Snap Kick?" and Other Stories


Here is what I’m wearing right now:


Sweatpants, a T-shirt, a knock-off North Face fleece, heavy socks, excellently absurd slippers with blue cows on them, a relatively thick hat, and freshly-knit wrist warmers (made with my first ever bought-in-China yarn).

Did I mention that living in a concrete box can get kinda cold?


We’ve come to the point in the year where, outside, sunny weather quite often means pleasant conditions and cloudy weather quite often means misery. Unfortunately, even with the curtains open, not much warmth trickles indoors. Hence my evening attire being what it is. Don’t worry; there are still layers to be added, but having been Minnesota-trained for the last five winters, I know better than to throw them all on at once the moment it gets chilly. I haven’t turned on my space heater yet (I’m aiming for post-Thanksgiving), and I have fleece PJs awaiting me.


So it’s been a good long while since my last post, mostly because my weekends have been busier than usual, and weekends are usually when I get my blogging in. But this weekend is apparently five days long and will be followed by a marathon nine days of class. Excited I am not, because we found out about our vacation a grand hour before it started, and hence there wasn’t exactly time to plan for travel. We’re probably heading to Dali for a couple days. Most of the other places of note within three hours of us are too chilly ‘til the spring, and we don’t fancy a long trip to somewhere like Kunming, because we had two ten hour bus trips last weekend (more on that in a moment). I shudder to think of how I will feel on Friday December 3rd, after going from the night before Thanksgiving (weeks always begin with the evening class) without a day off. But what can you do?


Anyway, here are some stories of good, bad, and just plain random times in rural Yunnan.


Gate Crashers

One Saturday morning, Hallie and Arianne thought it’d be nice to ride their bikes up to the spring near our school and hang out. Mark and I, being only twenty or so minutes away, walked over to meet them. Upon arrival, Mark and I looked around for our American friends and were instead greeted by a chorus of “Good Morning, Ms. Emily!” from a gaggle of girls.


“Are those mine or yours?” I asked Mark, puzzled. He didn’t know whose students they were either, and as we drew closer it turned out the answer was neither. These were eighth graders from the area’s top middle school, and they knew who we were because they had already thrust birth

day cake and lollipops onto Hallie and Arianne. Before we had time to utter more than a “Oh, you don’t have to give us cake!” the two of us received the same treats.


The next hour or so was mostly consumed by slightly successful attempted conversation with the girls, followed by a hugely successful silly string fight (during which Arianne was pretty well walloped), followed by the washing of hair, in the spring, to remove said silly string.



Reunion

Last weekend, the reason we had two 10-hour bus trips in three days was because of this year’s first Professional Development Conference. All fifty-whatever CEI fellows congregated for about a day and a half of discussions and trainings aimed to help us work better in and out of the classroom. Since all but three of the CEI schools are in Lincang, rather than Heqing, we Heqingers got to/had to make the trek back down. That part wasn’t so bad. We got two mini van-sized cars to take us all and spent most of the time chatting and sleeping and occasionally playing word games. The conference itself was more useful than I thought it would be. There was some annoying bureaucracy involved, as always, but some of the discussions about class planning and classroom management and integration into school life were genuinely helpful.


More importantly, it was awesome to connect with everyone again after almost three months apart. Our situations are alike in that we’re all dealing with challenged populations, and the American fellows all have some sort of language barrier, but of course every school and every team of fellows is different, and the casual chats/rants about individual schools were great. I was also able to start probing into people’s plans for our month off in January and might—fingers crossed—be putting some things into motion. Details to come when I’ve got ‘em.


On the somber side, being with everyone really hammered in for me how much I wish I was closer to other folks. I like this place, but the 6-10 hour distance from other places stinks. Case in point: if I weren’t 6-10 hours away from everyone, guess where I’d go visit this weekend?



Who Needs a Master Key When You Have a Good Snap Kick?

This story is actually super old news, but I forgot to write about it and it’s way too good to not share.

Sometime in October, I left my room with a key-shaped lump in my pocket, pulled my door closed, went to the bathroom, and traipsed back up to my room only to find that the lump was, in fact, a wadded up post-it. Oops.


Not really sure what to do, I was lucky to immediately run across the teacher who lives next door to me coming up the stairs. She got the maintenance guy. Prepping my very best “不好意思” (I’m sorry/Oh, I’m so embarrassed) face, I got ready to thank him profusely for walking up here to unlock my door. Thus, I was puzzled when, rather than taking out a master key, or a set of keys, he started examining my (very much closed and locked) window. At this point, I was beginning to suspect that there was, in fact, no master key, and that the only two keys to my room were both inside. How this could possibly be the case made no sense to me, as in the city you can find key copying people on many a street corner, and copies cost 2-3 kuai a piece.

Anyway, at that point another teacher arrived, and Ma LiJun came out to help me translate. Her services were swiftly rendered unnecessary as the other teacher’s foot engaged in the cross-cultural language of kicking—kick

ing out my lock, that is. The maintenance guy then spent an hour replacing and installing a new one. Of course, they had all the parts necessary to replace a whole lock. The next time I went into the city, I got copies made, so I now have my own “master key” in the form of four keys—one to carry around, one spare in my room, and two in Mark and Ma LiJun’s rooms. And I still have an awesome footprint on my door.




My Kids are Crazy!

This is less an anecdote than an ongoing saga, but these last few weeks have been particularly notable behavior-wise. Heqing students are, generally speaking, closer to sane than some of their Lincang-ian counterparts. I have never had a student set a desk or his/her own hair on fire in the classroom, and I’ve never caught a student coming to class drunk. At other CEI schools, this has in fact happened. But the Pengtun kids are, on the whole, the least cooperative of the three Heqing schools, and hence we’ve got our own issues. Mostly, these issues arise in the form of talking—lots and lots of talking. Then there’s cheating—lots and lots of cheating. On their Unit 5 test a week ago, I caught no fewer than ten students talking or cheating. Not fun.


The problem is that these kids are very much used to being hit, and I will neither hit them myself nor send them to be disciplined by teachers who will hit them. Thus, my own discipline system needs to replace the fear of being hit with a wooden stick with the fear (or hope of) something else. I’ve tried to make this work through carrots like free time and candy and games, and metaphorical sticks like holding the class back for ten minutes just before lunch so they’re last in line, giving out extra homework, and making particularly naughty kids stand just outside the classroom in 40°F weather for an hour and attend class through the window. Unfortunately, nothing’s come to work properly just yet, and now some of my least cooperative students have a new trick: crawling out of the window as soon as class ends. Mark’s having a similar issue, so we’re planning on switching off being “window guard” for the other.


Anyway, I’ve talked discipline tips with other CEI fellows and my parents, but if anybody else has tips on how to handle the velociraptors (as one of last year’s fellows so aptly titled them) I would love to know.

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

Mandatory Fun

“Tonight at five we’ll go out for dinner with all the teachers. Does that work?” The smiling elementary school principal stands before YiMing and me; it only takes one glance for us CEI fellows to know we’re on the same page. We went out with the elementary teachers two weeks ago. It wasn’t as awkward as it might have been, but Tuesday evenings are the first time I have to chill after a very busy 24 hours, and I don’t want to give it up again.

“Oh, please excuse me, but I have a Chinese lesson this afternoon.” I don’t mention the time (3-4), hoping this will suffice as an excuse.

“Oh, then how about six?” Still smiling, the principal overlooks our clearly uncomfortable expressions. It’s YiMing’s turn, and he launches into a short apology/explanation of how busy we both are. No luck. The principal replies with the decent point that we’ll have to take time to cook and eat dinner for ourselves if we don’t go out with her and the other teachers. This is true enough, but what Peng Xiaozhang doesn’t get is that, for me, cooking is stress relief; dinner in Chinese with Chinese elementary school teachers I’ve just met is not so much.

It’s time for YiMing and me to switch to the secret language: English. Looking at my notebook as though checking my class time, I ask YiMing, “Do we really have to go? I’m already having lunch with Mark and our mentor teachers. If it’s important for social reasons, we can, but do you think we need to?”

Not too happily, YiMing says that we probably do need to show up for at least a little while. Mandatory fun. Again. So, wanting this over earlier rather than later, I ‘discover’ that my lesson is actually from 3-4, making a five o’clock dinner date just dandy.

Fast forward to five, and there we are. There’s a table with teachers, but it’s hard to tell, aside from the principal, who works for Pengtun Elementary School and who’s from other places. It was this way last time too, and I’m honestly not sure if I’ve seen any of these folks before. Still, everybody’s friendly, and there’s quickly tea to be had and bowls to be filled. The principal knows that I’m a vegetarian, which alleviates some of the inevitable awkwardness, at least until she holds up a ladleful of chicken bits and says “Don’t be afraid. Eat a little chicken.”

YiMing, forever courteous, jumps to my defense. We both exclaim (very politely and with, on my part, many many smiles) that I’m not afraid of meat. It’s just not my custom to eat it. That covers things until somebody tries to put a fish in my bowl, at which point I must explain that my aversion to meat extends to sea life—or lake life, as the case happens to be. I live in a locavore’s paradise, and I appreciate that a great deal when it comes to produce and tofu, but it doesn’t mean I’m any happier about eating things that used to walk or crawl or swim.

Not to be deterred by dietary restrictions, the teachers continue to serve us. There are little potato sticks, tofu (which did not look like tofu to me--not sure how it was cooked) and green onions, tomato and egg, mushrooms, some veggie I don't recognize but am pretty sure I've had before, and a bunch of unidentifiable meaty things. I get full pretty quickly, and, perhaps because I’m a girl or perhaps because I’m an American, the locals eventually stop dumping things into bowl. YiMing, a skinny, Chinese man, is not so fortunate. Long after the teachers have mostly given up on hoisting more food upon me (trying everything from “You should try this; it’s delicious” to “Oh, you’re going to lose weight”—a lie, by the way, as I’ve gained weight here) they continue to fill YiMing’s bowl to the brim. He eats what he can. What else can he do? This is traditional Chinese hospitality. They mean well, they want us to feel welcome, and if instead of welcome we feel like stressed out oompa loompas that’s just too bad.

Conversation moves well enough. I tune out some of it, following what I can, until the topic inevitably turns to me. Namely, praising me. They compliment my Chinese and my supposed youthful looks, they tell me that my fifth grade students all like me and think I’m beautiful, etc. It’s very kind, but I still haven’t quite worked out the art of responding to such things, as even “thank you” can be considered conceited after awhile. Still, I try to reply in kind. Eventually, YiMing opens the escape hatch.

“Oh Emily, your extra class,” he reminds me. There’s no such class, of course, but not for nothing did I take acting classes for half my life. Looking at my watch, I apologize profusely, and, repeatedly but sweetly declining offers of an escort for the three-minute walk home, steal away to the comfort of my room and the lesson planning that awaits me.

Friday, October 29, 2010

October Fading

This morning, I spent two hours ing (proctoring) as my students sat for their English mid-term. This is the reason I haven’t really posted for the last two weeks, that I’ve not replied to as many emails as I ought to have, that I’ve been even more of a sugar fiend than usual. Two weeks ago was when we found out about this thing. We knew there'd be a mid-term, but we didn't know when. Thus, instead of teaching class at a normal pace, Mark and I spent two weeks absolutely scrambling to cram four lessons into a very, very short time. It was tense and annoying and meant extra classes (sometimes twice a day). My exam papers are currently sitting on my desk, awaiting my red pen, and I’m scared to even begin to look. The crowning jewel of this whole situation? Wednesday night, as I was running an extra class before our two-hour evening study, Mark walked into my classroom and informed me that he’d just been told the mid-term only covered lessons 1-4—not, as we’d thought, 1-6. At least it was before class, so I could plan an on-the-spot review session instead of shoveling more of lesson six down my students’ throats.


I’ve proctored my students’ 40-45 minute tests a few times since the beginning of the year, but this is the first time I’ve been in an all-day testing zone since last year. Elizabeth Hall International Elementary takes state testing very, very seriously. It’s a Title I school, and there’s always concern about not making AYP. Last spring, I spent four mornings sitting in the hallway outside the 3rd-5th grade hallway, listening to the eerie sound of silence (believe me, if you spent any time in this school you’d understand) and reading a book. I’d traded my normal tutor/mentor hat for that of monitor, assisting any teacher who opened his or her classroom door with a question or request. On the last of these four mornings, I noticed that I had a missed call and voicemail from a number that was in a really weird format. Figuring it wouldn’t hurt, I listened to the message, and uttered a miniscule squeak as I heard my CEI admissions offer. My co-worker, another hall monitor who’d been downstairs for a minute, came back up, and I hissed “I got it!” at him. Then I proceeded to bounce in my seat until such time as it was permissible to go back into the office and squeak for real.


Anyway, things have continued to be much better around here than they were before. Although I know it could always come back, I’d say that I’m officially out of my funk, which is a relief. I’ve still got life issues (like the sugar thing…. I’m pretty sure I’ve gained some weight and so I need to seriously cut back) and classroom issues (like constant chatter and my three kids who haven’t turned in homework since I can remember) and homesick issues (man, Minnesota autumn, how I miss you), but ultimately I feel more settled here and more content.


Now I have a few stories to share:


Learning How to Take a Compliment

So, this Monday all the seventh graders had to take an English test. I did not write this test, nor was I able to see a copy prior to the administering of the test, so I really didn’t know what to expect. After the test was over, the seventh grade English teachers all sat down to grade. There were several excellent questions, but this one definitely takes the cake. Mark and I were cracking up (probably not very nice, since the other teachers were there, but seriously….)


“Your watch is very nice.” A) No, it isn’t. B) Yes. C) Thank you.


No, no, China. Thank you. And thank you local teachers for not running the questions by, y’know, the native speakers in your midst.


Giving Locals a Taste of Their Own Medicine

I’m normally very nice about people staring at me and saying hello, but a couple weeks ago I was in the city, having embarked upon a wild goose chase to collect my parents’ package from the states. I had to find two post offices and try to explain my situation, and ultimately it wasn’t at either of them. (It’s arrived since—more on that in a bit.) As I was walking back across town to catch the bus home, I saw a group of what looked to be high school students clumped on the sidewalk ahead of me. As expected, they stared and giggled and a few pointed. I expected the customary “Hello” followed by even more giggles, but instead what I got was “Oh, 老外!老外!


Laowai, or “old outsider,” is a very common term for foreigners in China, and I hear it a lot. Usually I don’t pay it much notice beyond, perhaps, a small smile, but these kids kept saying it over and over, whispering at first among themselves and then repeating more loudly as I grew closer. Finally I’d had it, and I replied. “老外?啊,中国人!怎么办?!?(“Foreigner? Oh, Chinese people! What am I going to do?”) They just kinda stared in shock after that, and I continued along my way.


Now, like I said, I normally don’t get annoyed with locals’ fascination with me, but I guess I get annoyed when people assume I don’t understand anything that’s being said. I might not be able to follow a whole conversation, especially when said conversation is conducted in a dialogue other than Mandarin (an extremely common occurrence, here in the Bai region), but I understand key words. If I didn’t have at least some knowledge of how to speak Chinese, there’s really no way I could survive here. I’d be fine in Beijing or Shanghai, or even in Dali or Lijiang, probably, but you can’t live three kilometers from Heqing and expect to be able to do things like eat and get in and out of town without a half-decent Chinese level.


A Taste of Home

The elusive aforementioned package, when it eventually arrived, came not to the post office but to the school itself. This was very exciting, because it meant I didn’t have to carry it from town back home. Packages from the States are freakin’ expensive. My parents filled one of those large flat rate boxes, and it was fifty-five bucks. Needless to say, I don’t expect too many to come my way. Not wanting this to be a Christmas Morning-like experience of bunches of new stuff all at once followed by the “Oh, there’s nothing left under the tree” moment, I decided to make this package last. Hence, I’ve been taking out one goodie a day, and, since most of said goodies are relatively small, I’ve been able to do this for over two weeks. I have three things left, and I’m pretty sure they’re oregano, a book, and a box of tea. But we shall see.


So far I’ve taken out a book, a cami, a sweater, a pair of socks, vanilla extract, ground cinnamon, TWO containers of dried basil, cocoa powder (powdered gold, more like), stain stick, pictures I forgot to pack when I left, a CD from a dear friend that I can’t listen to ‘til December because it’s Christmas music, a card from my Mom that now lives on the ledge beside my bed, two boxes of Yogi tea, and some Shabbat candles along with my candlesticks. I got a little teary when I pulled those out. I’d missed my candlesticks, but I didn’t think to ask for them when I made my list. They live under my coffee table now, except on Friday nights (like this one), when they live on top of my coffee table and, burning brightly, remind me of people and places that I love.


I also got my first written correspondence—a postcard from the Grand Canyon, via Richmond, VA. It lives on my bedside table and makes me very happy indeed. Now that I know where both the Heqing post offices are, I need to write about a half dozen letters. Email’s awesome, and I honestly don’t know how I’d deal without it, but seeing people’s handwriting is awfully amazing.


A Halloween Huodong (Activity)

So every month the Heqing fellows get a 600 kuai budget for a fellow-organized activity. A different school’s in charge each month, and this one’s ours. Due to the fact that this gathering will be occurring tomorrow, we decided to go with a Halloween-like theme. I am quite excited indeed. Fellows from the other two schools will arrive in the mid-Afternoon and we’ll go on a walk or something around the area. Then we’re going to eat dinner, and then we’re going to have some excellent hangout time. This hangout time will include much chocolate cake, made by me tomorrow morning. This is great, because it lets me bake without feeling guilty for a) eating way too much, or b) spending money on baking supplies and then giving away everything I bake to other people. Right now, I’ve got like 60-70 kuai’s worth of Dove bars sitting in my kitchen. I’m going to try a chocolate layer cake with some sort of chocolate icing/glaze, made with neither butter nor powdered sugar. We'll see how it goes I’m also going to do an apple crisp demonstration/class after dinner tomorrow, so that other fellows might learn how to make this very easy stove-top dish in the comfort of their own homes. And YiMing, who’s currently in Dali, is buying candy so we can sorta go trick-or-treating. It should be fun for Chinese and American fellows alike. Now I just need a costume….


Social Times

YiMing’s birthday was on the 21st. He’s 27 now, making him almost four years older than me and ten years and a day older than my youngest sister. We took him out for dinner, and then later that night I made a cinnamon apple cake and we threw him a quasi-surprise party. This party resulted in all four Pengtun fellows sitting in Ma LiJun’s room, attacking my cake with a spoon, since we didn’t have proper plates, drinking relatively icky red wine that Ma LiJun enjoys, and just…chilling. The next night, we did the same thing (minus the cake and wine and plus tea). The second night, Yi Ming and Mark played chess while Ma LiJun looked at a book and I knit, all four of us chatting a bit, when suddenly we heard giggles and turned to see students peaking in through the slightly ajar door. Clearly they wanted to know all about the scandalous Friday night activities of these four young teachers, but somehow I doubt they came away with much of a story. Anyway, I wouldn’t go so far as to call our hangout a breakthrough, since it’s not like we’ve done this a thousand times since, but it was definitely a start, and I’m grateful.

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Pengtun Cooking- Chocolate Zucchini Cake with Clementine-Honey Glaze

It’s been awhile without a post, I know, but things have gotten suddenly super busy around here. This is one of the few lulls I’ve had for awhile. I do intend to write about my day-to-day stuff soon, but for now I’m just sharing this, since I started it a week ago and only need to finish it up.

It occurs to me that, as much as I’ve alluded to my various cooking adventures, I have yet to actually do any sort of cooking/baking-focused posts. When I got here, I spent a lot of time googling all things rice cooker baking-related. I didn’t find a ton. I haven’t found much info in general that connects to foodie cooking in limited kitchens. However, I’ve experimented, and while some experiments have been less than successful, others have been glorious. Thus, I’m beginning today the dissemination of said successes. Granted, I have neither measuring cups nor temperatures nor actual baking/cooking times, so everything is very approximate, but perhaps these recipes will serve as inspiration for others in my shoes. Rice cooker baking is possible, it’s not a disaster to experiment with, and sometimes it turns out quite well indeed.

I begin with this cake because it was, aside from banana bread, perhaps my most successful rice cooker endeavor yet.


Chocolate-Zucchini Cake with Clementine-Honey Glaze

  • Half a large zucchini (about 1 cup), grated
  • 1/3 cup brown sugar
  • 1/3 cup white sugar
  • 1 egg
  • ¼ cup milk (I used whole, ‘cause it’s what’s here, but I bet other types would work too)
  • 2-3 TBS vegetable oil, plus more to grease the rice cooker (Note: I realize that this is very little oil, and if I were baking in a traditional oven I would likely increase it, but the steaming process doesn’t require as much. Plus, milk here is all whole milk, so there’s additional fat content there)
  • 1 tsp. baking soda
  • ½ tsp salt
  • a scant ¼ cup cocoa powder
  • dash cinnamon
  • about 1-1 ½ cups flour. How much will depend. You want a thick but easily pourable batter.
  • about 1 large chocolate bar (3-4 oz, maybe?) chopped. Or you could use ½-3/4 cups chocolate chips, if you’re in a place with such things

Quick breads and cakes are things you’re supposed to be careful with. You’re supposed to mix the wets and dries separately, combining swiftly so as to keep the baking soda from reacting before getting into the oven. I have never been so precise, but especially since entering my new abode all such procedure has gone out the window.

I usually start with the egg, because that way I can beat it before adding anything else. Then I throw in the sugars and oil and milk and mix. I would also have added vanilla extract if I had it at the time, but I didn’t. After that, it’s time for the dries. You can mix them separately, which makes incorporating the cocoa powder a bit easier, or just throw the dries into the big bowl one by one.

Finally, mix in the grated zucchini and the chocolate chips/chunks. You should have a thick but pourable batter. If it's too watery, add more flour. If too thick, add milk or oil. Transfer to your greased rice cooker (or, y’know, a loaf pan, if you are in possession of an oven), spreading to even out the batter if necessary, and start the cook cycle.

I usually end up doing two cook cycles, with period of maybe 15 minutes in between while the cooker cools down. Every rice cooker is different though; some even have cake cycles. Sometimes my cakes don’t cook through before the bottom burns, but I’ve found that flipping the cake, while yielding a more evenly-cooked baked good, is usually less than conducive to keeping said cake in one piece. Depending on whether the cake is one to be shared or to be gobbled in private the “to flip or not to flip” debate can lead to different conclusions. However, this cake cooked through so well that flipping was unnecessary. Luck, perhaps, or maybe it was just the zucchini thanking me for using it in such an utterly unexpected way (as far as Chinese born-and-raised zucchini are concerned).

Once the cake is done, flip it onto a plate. I usually do this by using the rice server to loosen the cake as much as possible, very quickly flipping removing the rice pan and turning it upside-down, praying all the while that the cake drops out.

Glaze:

  • One small Clementine (or perhaps ¼ of a typical orange), juiced, peel reserved
  • 2-3 TBS sugar
  • 2-3 TBS water
  • 3-4 TBS milk
  • 1 TBS honey
  • dash cinnamon

Combine the sugar, water, Clementine peel, and juice in a saucepan (or skillet, since that’s what I had) and simmer, adding the milk after the sugar is mostly melted. Watch it carefully, stirring to keep from burning (quite a feat, on a hot plate), and add more milk or sugar as necessary to reach a thin syrupy texture.

Use a toothpick to poke holes all over the top of the cake, then spoon the glaze on. Eat and be blissful.

So there you have it. If anybody out there is another budding rice cooker baker, I’d love to hear about it. We can swap horror/success stories. And hopefully the next time some poor displaced American foodie googles rice cooker baking, he/she’ll have a few more options.

Saturday, October 16, 2010

A New Day

After my last post, people really stepped up to offer comfort. So thank you for the comments, for the emails (of which I still have half a dozen lacking replies), for the e-hugs. It’s amazing to remember just how much I’m loved.

Just over three months ago—July 15th—I stepped off of a plane in Beijing. Since then there have been a good number of moments where I wanted nothing more than to step back on. That’s to be expected, but, frankly, I think I need to be done with that stage. I need to choose between feeling sorry for myself and feeling committed to Pengtun, between resentment towards the relative ease of my family and friends’ lives in the States and acceptance of the simple knowledge that for the next two years life is going to be harder than what I’m used to.

Every day, I need to remember that I’m here. I’m here for reasons that I chose and for the possibility of reasons that would reveal themselves to me only after arrival.

I’m here to teach, not only expanding my students’ knowledge of English but opening their eyes to a part of the world they might otherwise never encounter. I’m only one American, it’s true, but that’s one more than most if not all of my kids have met before, and it’s one more than they might ever have met depending on where their lives take them. The same is true for some of the teachers, and for many of the farmers and other workers in Pengtun. Barely a day goes by when I don’t encounter curiosity or confusion from locals. Elderly women in traditional Bai clothing smile and shoot me thumbs up as I jog by the lake. Construction workers call out “Hello!” on my way to (and back from) the shower. Small children standing on the back of their parents’ and grandparents’ motorcycles stare and whisper. I educate by my mere presence. As the only non-Chinese woman in a very Chinese place, locals’ opinions and views of the Western world, and the women who call it home, are affected by their interactions with me.

I’m here to teach the teachers, too. I can’t change the system of Chinese testing that’s meant to lure top kids to the surface and leave the rest drudging along lake bottom. I can’t fix the local English teachers’ pronunciation if they aren’t interested in practicing, and I can’t improve their classroom technique unless they want to make changes. However, I can show them that there’s more than one way to run a classroom—that, even while preparing students for their tests, you have the option to prize independent thinking and understanding over rote memorization. I can show that I don’t tolerate cheating and that I won’t accept the notion of my lowest ten or twenty kids just not being able to learn. I can express my discomfort with the use of corporal punishment and affirm that I will neither hit my kids nor send them to be disciplined by another teacher who will.

I’m also here to learn. I’m here to acquire Mandarin proficiency and to figure out how to interact in a place where I can’t communicate fluently or even consistently conversationally. I’m learning about how to be an effective teacher, and every day I’m learning more about just how crazy my native tongue is. I’m seeing how most of the world lives. I will never be Chinese, and despite the adjustments I’ve had to make in my life I will never experience the same kind of existence as most people in this place, but I do get a taste of it. I’m learning to make due, not necessarily with less, but with different. One really can get almost anything in the States, and in rural Yunnan there are many products that aren’t available—hence care packages containing cocoa powder and dried basil, and baking adventures replaced with rice cooker adventures. Ultimately, most of what I’m learning I’m probably still not aware of myself. I imagine it’ll take some time after I return home to process, sorta like I processed Mac last year.

I’m here to explore my own limits—to see how far I can and want to push my comfort zone. Never in my life have I been so consistently surrounded with situations that make me uncomfortable. I’m shy with people I don’t know well under the best of circumstances, so the fact that here I not only spend much of my social time with people I don’t know well but with people I don’t know well and with whom I have trouble communicating is terrifying indeed. Whenever I want anything, be it directions, advice, or a price; I have to ask with a language that doesn’t come naturally to me. At this point, I don’t have the vocab to order my usual small skim lite-whip mocha at a coffee shop. That’s fine, as there are obviously no coffee shops around here, but it’s just an example of how a simple interaction—something I never, ever have to think about in the States—transforms into a task that I would have to plan for in advance or use an obscene amount of gesturing and explaining to accomplish. I’ve lost my Stateside anonymity: the ability to be out and about without the eyes of others focused upon me. I am, in a very real way, a Pengtun celebrity. While from a young age I sought the spotlight (acting, anyone?), as a young adult I’ve loved situations where I can just be. I can do that here, but knowing that while I’m being me I’m being watched takes some adjusting to.

I’m here for awhile but not forever. That’s a big one. I’m here for two years—a long time, perhaps, considering that I’m all of 23, but not a lifetime. I’m not an immigrant, seeking better than the place I left, knowing that a return to familiar surroundings is almost certainly out of the cards. Ultimately, I’ll be going home, back to the States, back to comfort and ease and all of the things I’m missing now.

Of course, it won’t all be comfort and ease; in fact, if things go as planned I’ll be hitting the books once again, in one field or another. Life there will have its challenges and its shortcomings too, and I expect there will be moments, many of them, when I want nothing more than to step back on the plane again. But I’ll deal with that when I get to it.

Saturday, October 9, 2010

Saturday Night on my Couch

It’s 9:01 PM, and I’m scrounging around for something—anything, really—to do. Today was our “Friday,” and thus my day began with a test for my kids and a bunch of grading for me. They did much, much better on this one than the last one; I wish I could believe it was all because of my teaching and their studying, but I suspect there’s cheating involved. I only caught one today, after all, and I normally get three or four. Anyway, that, and a meeting I marginally understood concerning teaching English at the elementary school, comprised my morning. For lunch, I had four more of my students to my room. This was the second group I tried, and, man, they were worse than the first. Getting them to talk was painfully awkward in every imaginable way. Longest forty-five minutes ever. I’m still glad I’m doing this, just so my kids can see me out of the classroom and look at random pictures of my family and stuff, but I need to get them to respond to my questions with more than the bare minimum.

The afternoon was also mostly class prep. Grading tests for me means doing a fair amount of data analysis. I always want to know how my kids are doing, as individuals and as a class, compared to their last test. Plus I’m trying to get their overall grades to date figured out, which means accounting for missing assignments and whatnot. Excel and I are becoming pals.

Anyway, since my four students left after lunch, the most exciting thing I’ve done is make chocolate chunk zucchini bread for dinner. Now, don’t get me wrong—chocolate chunk zucchini bread is exciting, especially when it comes out of the rice cooker in one relatively-attractive-looking round instead of in delicious but messy chunks—but it just feels like something’s missing here. I spend a whole lotta time alone, and I am getting lonelier day by day.

I really am an introvert/extrovert cusp. It’s easy for me to be overwhelmed by social situations, but I also notice their absence in a major way. During the STP, I sometimes found myself wanting nothing more than to have a few hours to myself, but now I’ve been pushed to the opposite extreme. I spend most of my time here alone. I teach with my kids, of course, and I attend faculty meetings on Mondays. I usually speak with my CEI coworkers at least once a day, and we go out for dinner a couple times a week. Mark and I have nice post-night class conversations on a regular basis. My coworkers really are very good coworkers. They’re all three of them responsible, smart people. However, we’re still working on the “friend” side of things. And that’s the problem.

I need friends. Going from Minneapolis, where I lived with two of my best friends from college (one being my boyfriend) and had a number of others within close reach, to rural China is, well, a bit of a shock to my social system. I assumed, naively I suppose, that a magical bond would form between me and my three fellow CEI folks and that we would find ourselves hanging out and tackling this world together. However, my coworkers keep to themselves quite a bit. I don’t blame them—to each his own—but it means that I don’t feel entirely comfortable going and knocking on their doors every time I’m bored. We have had a lot of fun times together, and I am trying to entice them into group activities that don’t just involve food, but it’s definitely a process.

So what about getting closer to the local teachers? Well, two issues there. One, of course, is language. When it comes to my Chinese, I get awfully frustrated awfully easily, and spending extended periods of time attempting to communicate with somebody I can’t understand at all is just not my idea of fun. In fact, it usually makes me want to cry. I’m quite friendly with the teachers, but our relationships at this point largely consist of such heartfelt conversations as “Are you going to teach?” “Yes, I am. Did you just teach?” “Yes, I did.” Add a shower of smiles and nodding and you get the idea. I expect that as the year continues, and I start to break through the cipher that is the Heqing accent, I will have better conversations, but for now it’s slow-going. Even when communication is no longer as grave an issue, however, I anticipate trouble connecting. The fact is, I’m an American. I’m the first American girl most of them have probably spent any amount of significant time with, and, as such, I am the stereotype and the oddball at once. I’m on the lookout for ways in which we can relate and connect, and talking about our students and about teaching strategies is a nice opener, but that won’t cut it in the long term.

So I’m alone a lot, and I’m lonely a lot. I knew to expect some loneliness when I came out here, but expecting and experiencing are two entirely different things. I have more time than I can comfortably fill with my hobbies of journaling, blogging, and cooking (and my not hobbies but still time-sinks of “The West Wing” and Chinese-dubbed Disney movies). I’m trying to make myself study Chinese more, but a lot of the time I’m so sick of language struggles out there that I don’t want to make them the center of my attention in here. Yes, I realize I need to get over that if I’m ever going to improve, but what can I say? My will power isn’t the best these days. I’m looking for a new hobby—something unconnected to Chinese, and preferably the computer—that I can turn to when I need to combat unhappy, alone feelings. I do a lot of nonfiction writing, but fiction writing has been mostly eluding me since my arrival, so that’s one thing I’m working to pick back up. Beyond that, I’m open to suggestions. Also, mail! Packages would, naturally, be amazing, but from what I understand they’re also relatively expensive. Letters, however, are not! Here is my address:

欧阳旭/Emily Cohen,

中国云南省大理州鹤庆县

彭屯中学/草海中学 671500)

P.R. China

I promise replies to any and all communication received, however long it might take to get here and back again.

Hopefully, these lonely feelings are just part of my overall “slump” that I will, again, hopefully, be coming out of before long. I’m just shy of three months in China now—about a month and half of which have been here—so a “leveling out” period can’t be too much farther away. Right? Encouragement/advice, anyone?

Thursday, October 7, 2010

Back to the Grind

Well, it’s been a lovely week, but now it’s Thursday, which means we start classes again tonight. Today is, in effect, Wednesday, with tomorrow becoming Thursday and Saturday filling Friday’s shoes. At least we still get Sunday off. There’s an interesting article in the NY Times this week about how China’s handling the holiday schedule in general; in effect, we aren’t the only ones who are confused.

Adventures were nice. We first went to Shaxi Old Town, busing along mountain paths, competing for space with huge trucks and little motorcycles. I fell asleep as we were leaving Heqing and woke to a crazy sharp turn, at which point I giggled sleepily and pointed out to Mark and Ma Lijun that we were all going to die. No idea if I said this in English or Chinese. That’s been happening a fair amount lately—of course I’m always speaking Chinese to the local teachers/people in town, but when I’m talking to my CEI coworkers I’m managing to have whole conversations where afterwards I can’t remember the language I used. The same thing used to happen when I was studying abroad in Beijing. I’m guessing this is a good thing?

Shaxi is pretty and quiet, with far fewer tourists than I’d imagine most places had for National Day. That being said, I was shocked to spy not one or two but a good dozen Westerners wandering about, and some of said Westerners were children! I’ve seen many 20-somethings and retirees in Lijiang and Dali, but Shaxi was the first place where I’d seen young families. We think the most likely explanation is that these are families living in China who wanted a quiet place to go with their kids during the holiday. Shaxi’s good for hiking, and there’s a nice river right outside the old walls, with a few pretty bridges and farmland views. If Lijiang is the Disneyland version of a “Chinese Old Town” and Dali is the Cool Big Brother, Shaxi is the closest I’ve seen to the real deal. It still has the tourist trappings of handmade shoes labeled with American sizes, as well as its fair share of inns, but ultimately it seems as though a lot of the people there are just the people there. I liked that.

We stayed not in a traditional inn but rather in a house with a separate building containing three guest bedrooms. It was perfectly comfortable and in a nice location, with a pomegranate tree and a bunch of other plants in the courtyard. Plus a hot shower! Actually, interesting moment. Shower aside, the bathroom was an outhouse much like the one at my school—the only notable differences being the lack of a door and the fact that it was for one person rather than a dozen. If I’d encountered such a bathroom more than two months ago I would have had to pee like crazy to even consider using it. As it was, I didn’t blink.

Our time in Shaxi was spent wandering stone-paved streets…and hiding from the rain. Yes, rain. Rain that started the morning after we arrived and made mountain climbing, along with most other outdoor exploration, less than enjoyable. After spending an hour escaping a downpour by drinking tea in a nice little shop with an equally nice but not so little german shepherd, we decided it was probably best to move on. So where to go in the rain? What’s in Yunnan that doesn’t require good weather? Dali!

So the three of us piled into a van and then later onto a bus, and although we didn’t save any time by leaving from Shaxi instead of from Heqing, we knew we were headed to a good place. Of course, the holiday meant major traffic, but we still got there without too much trouble. Then there was the issue of finding a hotel. Because our bus was delayed, and the holiday week was only half over, we ended up with no choice but to share a relatively pricey room—at least compared to what we’re used to paying. Still, it was nowhere near expensive by American standards, and we had a place to dump our stuff. We introduced Ma LiJun to Indian food (not very good Indian food, unfortunately) and wandered around. Dali is just a very open, very free-feeling space. I really can’t get over how grateful I am to have it close. During our wanderings, I bought a purple hanging that is currently masking some of the white space that is my room. It’s quite pretty, with flowers and butterflies tye-dyed onto it, and it makes me happy (happier than is probably reasonable) to see it on my wall.

The next morning marked the closest experience I’ve had to a “coffee shop chill time” since getting here. We ate breakfast at the German bakery, and then we just hung out. I didn’t actually have any coffee (I haven’t, in fact, since getting to China), but I sipped on tea and we chatted and I did a little writing while Mark was responsibly lesson planning and Ma LiJun went to the bank. It was just quite lovely in every way. Then the day got even lovelier when we met up with May! She’s one of this year’s American fellows, but her family and she have lived in Dali since she was twelve, so she was home visiting. We went out to lunch together, and then May took us back to her house where we drank more tea, chatted about our schools, and met her parents and adorable seven-year-old brother. It was a really nice feeling to be in a house, to chat with some new people, and to hear more about Dali from someone who knows it well.

Because we all had colds (I’m only just now getting over mine—slept twelve hours straight a few nights ago, which I never do), we decided to head back home. Ma LiJun stayed the night in XiaGuan, the modern city right next to Dali, but Mark and I took a bus back up to Heqing. We left at five with plans to get into town at eight, but instead we didn’t make it back until after ten, because our bus stopped for about 45 minutes—twice. It was quite wretched, really, and made all the worse when the driver decided the best way to improve upon the situation would be to blast Chinese pop. I have a rule of thumb regarding my iPod that if I ever have to turn it way up to block out other sound, it’s not worth it. That ride was an exception. Upon arrival in Heqing, Mark and I discovered, much to our surprise, that our humble little city possesses a red light district. We had the pleasure of walking right by it on the way to find a cab. Luckily, nobody came out of the buildings, so there was no need for me to pretend to be Mark’s wife or something.

The last two days have mostly been about recovering from my cold, getting laundry done, and trying to think through the next couple weeks of class…which start in ten minutes. Guess I better get over there, huh? Ah well. Vacation was nice while it lasted.

Saturday, October 2, 2010

Happy 61st, China!

Yesterday was National Day, and thus we get time off. A whole week, as it turns out. Of course, our week off started yesterday, and we didn’t find out for sure we were getting a week until Wednesday, which made planning difficult. As it stands, Mark and Ma LiJun and I are leaving this afternoon for a village about 3 hours away and then deciding after a day or two there whether to venture elsewhere. I’m really excited. I’ve never done this sort of “follow the wind” travel before, but it should be fun. And Yunnan is so beautiful that I don’t doubt we’ll find cool things to see.

Yesterday, my first day off, I kept it local—doing a major room cleanup in the morning and then strolling out into the villages behind the school in the afternoon. My original plan was to find a back path to Heqing that I could walk along without fear of being hit by a tour bus or a tractor, but before long I stopped paying too much attention to where I was, rather just wandering indiscriminately. It’s worth noting that, when wandering rural China, you never really know where you’re going to end up or what you’re going to end up trekking upon. Yesterday’s walk encompassed nice, concrete, sidewalk-like roads; packed down dirt (and sometimes mud) paths; skinny, almost-dumping-me-into-the-rice-paddies trails; and straight up bush wacking. My tiva’d feet got a taste of the local stream, my bag picked up many friends in the form of burrs and needles, and I terrified/herded about 100 ducks before warranting the attention (and mercy) of a local farmer, who allowed me to cut through his courtyard to get back to the main road. It was, all in all, a quite lovely afternoon, despite the embarrassment and need for extreme foot washing. There are new pictures of my wanderings, as well as Lijiang and Dali, at http://anamericaninheqing.blogspot.com.

Today marks 11 weeks since my arrival in Yunnan. I wonder how long it’ll take the weeks to add up enough that I stop counting and default to months. I have been teaching for a month now, officially. In some ways it feels longer, but I still have quite a lot I need to improve upon. The kids will have their first “Monthly Test” shortly after the break. These tests are modeled off of the prefecture and regional tests students are subjected to on a quarterly basis, and they are really, really dumb. So far, my students have learned the alphabet, a few simple greetings, ways to introduce themselves and others, and a few scattered colors and nouns. Everything I’ve taught them (with a few exceptions for classroom commands like “stand up”) is in their textbook. There are other things in the book like acronyms (because BBC and UFO are really terms that first year English students need to know), and I’ve been putting those things aside in the interest of teaching them, y’know, practical English. Unfortunately, China and I do not see eye to eye on what constitutes practical English. Thus, if I want my kids to pass their test, after the break I will need to spend significant time teaching them things that absolutely are not important to first year English study. It’s quite frustrating, but everything from here builds to the end-of-ninth-grade Zhong Kao. If they don’t pass that, they don’t go to high school, so I have no choice but to bite the bullet as far as content and test prep are concerned.

I’ve been in a slump since getting back from Dali—more homesick and less motivated than usual. I’m really hoping this is just a short thing that I’ll snap out of soon, but I don’t know.

Last night, I watched “Beauty and the Beast” in Chinese. It was glorious—classic Disney fun with the added benefit of me being able to write down some vocab words. I intend to do quite a bit of Chinese Disney watching in the future.

Anyway, that’s all for now, folks. I’ll post about my 2-5 day adventures upon my return.