One week ago, the principals, vice principals, and a spattering of teachers from our schools came to Lincang’s for three days to participate in CEI’s not-so-accurately-titled “Principals’ Week.” The purpose of this, to my understanding, was to allow us fellows to form a solid foundation for understanding and working with our school staff. Of course, what actually emerged from our time together were a series of incredibly awkward and frustrating interactions interspersed with moments of hilarity. Since arriving in Heqing, I’ve continued to find myself in very interesting (and sometimes very awkward) situations. I’ve learned a lot about Chinese culture, American culture, my current limitations, and a host of other topics I can’t name separately right now.
At any rate, I think the best way to illustrate my recent activity is through a series of short stories. Please enjoy.
The Power of the Juice Cup
Last Monday afternoon/evening, the day before most of the Lincang folks departed for their schools, the Lincang Educational Bureau sponsored a “Beer Party” for CEI and the staff of our placement schools. No, don’t think Oktoberfest. However, there was a fair amount of beer and a fair amount of “ganbei”-ing (the Chinese equivalent of toasts which, when properly executed, necessitates emptying one’s glass entirely). During dinner, the drinking and toasts continued. Drinking is a very important social thing here in China, but, as a woman I am luckily much less pressured towards consuming copious amounts of alcohol than my testosterone-laden companions. This does not mean I am exempt from participating in toasts, and by the end of the evening toasts had been made by basically every principal of every school to every other principal (and the table where he was sitting).
At the time of each toast, whoever was offering it would go around pouring beer into eggcup sized glasses (Chinese teacups, for those who are familiar). The only way to avoid being “beered,” as it were, was to have a cup full of something else. This is where juice saved the day.
Although I was not hugely enjoying the unidentifiable-except-for-sugar flavor of juice on our table, I greatly enjoyed being able to partake in all of toasts without drinking what would likely have amounted to at least 4-5 cups of beer. For those properly gambei-ing, and thus finishing a cup with each toast, I hesitate to imagine the number of beers sloshing around their stomachs by night’s end.
So, a word to the wise (or at least those with low alcohol tolerances). When it comes to Chinese parties, remember always the Power of the Juice Cup.
Americans will be Americans
Monday night was the last that we CEI fellows had together before setting off for our schools. I had originally thought, despite it being our last night, that we’d have a relatively chill evening—perhaps watching a movie or something along those lines—because Tuesday morning we still had events and meetings going on.
Nope.
Instead, most of the American fellows, a number of Chinese fellows, and quite a few staff members ended up going out, hanging at a bar, and playing the eccentric mix of American and Chinese drinking games that tend to typify our group in the same way as Chinglish. Later that evening, CEI managed to take over the bar’s (very small) dance space. The locals were mostly amused, luckily, and everyone seemed to be having a good time. Bars and dance spaces aren’t usually my thing, and I’m not the only one in CEI who wouldn’t normally find him or herself out until 1:30 AM before having to get up at 6:30 AM the following morning, but there was just a feeling of abandon in the air. For all of us, it was a last opportunity to spend time as Americans do rather than being concerned with behaving properly. Plus, after so much time trying to be formal and extra extra polite with our principals, we wanted to let loose.
Oh. You’re the new teachers from CEI.
On Thursday morning, the fellows from all three Heqing schools met up in Heqing city to get Heqing phone numbers and generally orient ourselves to the town. On the way in, our principal insisted that another teacher accompany us (despite protests that it was very easy to take the bus and that we wanted to practice going in on our own). However, on the way home, we had no escort, and as we all crammed onto the bus we realized that we were not positive exactly where we had to get off.
(I should explain that the buses we can take to and from Heqing proper are not like American buses with set stopping points. Instead, you wait by the side of the road, pretty much wherever, to get picked up; you pay one yuan; and when you want to get off you yell “stop!”)
I was personally cool with just looking out the window and yelling stop when I saw aI’ familiar part of the road. Ma LiJun, however, being practical, asked a few of the locals jammed into the space next to our seats if they knew where Pengtun Middle School was. They did. Moreover, they knew that we were the new CEI fellows who would be teaching at the middle school. It’s sort of amazing how quickly word travels. I’ve certainly run into people since I got here who have no clue who I am, but Colin was saying on Thursday that CEI is “a known commodity” within Heqing. And that’s with the ten Americans here last year. Ten Americans being more or less known within a whole city. I’m not sure yet if I’m pleased or displeased with that situation, but it’s certainly interesting.
White People are Scary
My second night in Pengtun (and my first out to eat without the principal and other VIPs), Ma LiJun, Mark, and I went to a restaurant around 6:45, which is quite late for China. As such, we were the only ones there, with the exception of the family that runs the place. This family included 2 little boys (one perhaps 4 or 5, the other less than a year). While we waited for our food, Ma LiJun decided to go over and say hi to the kids, and I followed suit. The five year old seemed happy enough with this situation. The baby (who had seemed quite content enough) immediately started crying. And this is why white people are scary. Or perhaps it was the curly hair.
Long Walks and Local Interest
Yesterday (Saturday) morning, I decided that I really needed to get off campus, so I went for a walk. There’s a lake/marsh thing behind our school with a pathway alongside it, so I took that for a ways, meandering randomly and figuring I’d be able to make my way back to school eventually. As I walked, I came up alongside these older two ladies and they tried to talk to me. I say “tried” because they had to repeat basically every question at least once and half of them I didn’t understand at all. But we had a lot of smiling and whenever we reached a fork in the road they gave me advice on which way I should go to see pretty things. Eventually we parted ways.
After that, I ended up walking through rice paddies on the concrete strips that border the irrigation lines, and I cut through a village on the other side. I was trying to get to the mountains, which were very close by, but everywhere I walked there was a lot of corn between me and them, and I wasn’t sure about the etiquette of cutting through someone else’s crops without a set path like in the rice paddies.
My wanderings brought me within earshot of what sounded like a recording of Beijing Opera, so I followed a very muddy, very wet path to what turned out to be a spring with some pretty bridges and pagodas and places to sit. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a water bottle with me, but it’s nice to know where the spring is and how to get there.
After that, I started trying to make my way back. All along the roads and paths, people were staring, of course. Kids were the most fun. Usually, they would stare and stare, and then as I got closer they’d giggle and look away. I’d smile and say “ni hao,” and then a lot of them would giggle again and, in a fit of sudden bravery, yell “Hello!” before turning away once again. Also, I apparently do not always make babies cry, because one little guy was just fascinated with me. So that made me feel better.
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