My Kids Need Glasses

This is Andy. No, he doesn't always have that deer in the headlights look. I took these shots on the first day of class so I could learn their names. It was day one of middle school and day one of being taught by an American teacher, and naturally a lot of them looked pretty silly.

Anyway, he's a good kid. Not the brightest bulb in the box, so to speak, but he's usually paying attention during class and does his homework about half the time. He seems to like English, when he's not too tired to focus on it. I feel bad, because he's got a pretty thick accent and I usually have a difficult time understanding his Chinese, but, at any rate, he's a good-natured soul and I'm rather fond of him.



This is Andy during class. No, he's not sleeping, although he does from time to time. Usually I tap him on the shoulder and say "Andy," and he looks up blearily and smiles sheepily, as seems appropriate for the sensation of opening one's seventh grade, rural Chinese eyes to the sight of one's very not Chinese English teacher.

No, this is Andy trying to take notes. Andy, you see, has terrible eyesight. He sits in the front row but still can't read the board. Andy has glasses, but they don't do him much good, it would seem. I asked him how old they were and he didn't seem sure how to answer.

Andy needs new glasses. I'd like to buy some for him, but I don't really know how to do that, and, even if I could pay for them, I'm not sure it'd be appropriate to give a student something so (relatively) expensive. Instead, I'm wondering if any of you fine folks who follow or stumble upon my blog know anything about organizations or other means of acquiring glasses of the proper prescription both for Andy and for some other kids. He's the extreme case in my classroom, but he's not unique. I bet across the school there are dozens of students whose grades could improve dramatically if they could, y'know, see.

Monday Musings

It's funny how, when you're a teacher, you can spend so very long writing a lesson plan, or filling in a behavior chart, or painstakingly cutting photocopied dollar bills from the confines of their white borders, and have absolutely no idea if your work will pay off. As it stands, I've planned my classes for the next day and a half and have until the end of the week sketched. This is pretty darn good; I'm a rather last-minute planner, for the most part, and as a less than detail-oriented individual, going from rough sketch to fleshed-out plan (with points A, B, C, etc) always requires effort. Luckily, on Monday afternoons we have faculty meetings, a multi-tasker's paradise, during which I half-heartedly listen and whole heartedly scribble away all the intricacies behind such phrases as "Come to visit Bridge Street," and "Take a walk through the park." Our current unit is on, you guessed it, directions and neighborhoods. It should perhaps be pointed out that I still struggle with directions in Chinese, and French, and every other foreign language I've taken. Those pesky little prepositions. And imperative sentences. Woof. I'm doing my best to keep things simple to remember and prod my students along without driving them, or myself, to frustration.

I feel in some ways as though I'm back in college-- never done with work, and always concerned, to some degree, with whether or not I'm doing things right. I guess that's common to many jobs. It's not the best feeling, and having a group of 46 students to critique me two or three times a day can be a bit wearing. Last year was hardly a no pressure zone, but I felt like my job ended when I walked in my front door after a day's work; things were compartmentalized, and although I thought and talked about my students a ton (as I'm sure both my former housemates would attest), work was a part of a well (or at least better)-rounded life. In Pengtun, work is life. In college, work was life too, but work was generally more fun. I miss it, and I'm really excited to start grad school, if I can get in, in Fall 2012.

My students are rather unpredictable, growing more-so by the day. A lesson plan that might keep them quiet and engaged one morning could lead to utter chaos the same afternoon. My kids all know the phrase "Everybody. Shut. Up. Now!" Oops. At least they don't know that it's any worse than "Everybody quiet!" Nonetheless, I've been trying to supplant it with "Simmer down!" (I figure that whatever phrase they associate with me being loudest and widest-eyed will be the one they try to replicate, and both because I don't want them telling each other to shut up and because I think the notion of rural Chinese kids telling one another to "simmer down" is hilarious, that's my new angle.) I've tried shouting, whispering, kicking kids out, storming out myself, ignoring bad behavior, bringing poorly-behaved students to school administrators, etc. My current rewards system, using the aforementioned fake American money, has been working relatively well for the good kids, but unfortunately isn't curbing rotten behavior. Only hitting seems to do that so far, and as I'm not allowed to implement that, well....

As much as I appreciate the differences from my life in the States, I also appreciate what I can keep the same . Desk, computer, school books, notebook, warm beverage (usually green tea, but I got so much lovely American stuff in my holiday packages that I've been favoring chai and cocoa lately). Often enough, streaming MPR (that's Minnesota Public Radio for you uninitiated folk) or some other music. Lesson planning, yes, but comfy lesson planning.

New Year's Travels

Well, it’s been awhile coming, but I’m finally ready to sit down and write about the five and a half weeksish I spent on the road. I could do this in a couple chunks, but instead I’m just gonna post one heck of a long entry. It keeps things simple. Also, I've split pictures from break into four albums: Thailand, Cambodia, post-Cambodia, and Food. All are at http://anamericaninheqing.shutterfly.com. And on facebook too.

Adventures began on the evening of January 15^th, with my very first Chinese night bus. I have vague, drowsy memories of the driver and a passenger or two crouched over a panel on the bus floor that opened down to the engine. And as I recall there was dish fluid of some sort involved. Nonetheless, we arrived in Kunming bright and early.

After meeting up with my travel buddies (Emily Cole, Kristen, and Laura—Alex was already in Bangkok), we napped atour hostel for most of the morning to make up for the night’s lack of slumber, then enjoyed an afternoon and evening sitting at Salvador’s (best western food in Kunming). The city was chilly and wet. I found myself wishing I’d brought a scarf and mittens for the trip.

Then we went to Bangkok. Bangkok, where I was sweating in shorts and a tank top. Bangkok, where our guesthouse’s whole neighborhood smelled good. Bangkok, where public transit zooms about, where both the local and the western food are amazing. Thailand wasn’t love at first sight; it was love at first touch of tropical air wafting in through the gap between plane and jet way.

Our first Bangkok stop was a short one. We spent a day getting acquainted with the incredible weather, Thai iced tea (made thus with sweetened condensed milk—highly recommended), street food delicacies of all sorts, public ferry rides, wats, hot showers, and…the fact that we don’t speak Thai.

This became quickly obvious, as we all tried to speak Chinese when ordering food, buying tickets, etc. It was a bit hilarious, and somewhat embarrassing, and also very humbling. None of us would consider ourselves fluent Chinese speakers (heck, I don’t know if I’d call myself proficient), but we’re all so accustomed to trying to make do with what Chinese we do have, circumlocuting left and right and, usually,eventually, getting ourselves understood. In Thailand, we were helpless. The first time we wanted to order iced tea there was nothing to point at (except a Thai-alphabet menu), we didn’t know any numbers, and we couldn’t even say thank you. If some young, English speaking guy hadn’t come to our aid, I don’t think we’d have succeeded in acquiring our tasty treats. But throughout Thailand people were, in almost every interaction, so very helpful and accommodating. Those who spoke English (and there were many, no doubt due in great part to tourism) used it with us, and those who didn’t tried to help us anyway.

The evening after arriving in Bangkok, we took our first Thai night bus down to Krabi and then bought ferry tickets to Ko Lanta. Going into this trip, I expected the island to be my least favorite part. I’m not a huge beach person. But I’d also never been to a tropical island.

And what an island it was. Bungalows a minute from the ocean, beachside meals, water in colors I didn’t know existed outside of postcards and movies, tropical fruit everywhere, caving, snorkeling, mo-peding…. Ko Lanta is certainly a resort town, and hence there were a heck of a lot of European vacationers about (we all went into blonde haired/blue eyed shock) and a lot of expensive things.It could hardly be called the most traditionally Thai part of our trip. Still, it was an exquisite few days.

As we came to Lanta (by ferry), so we left, boating first to Ko Phi Phi and then to

Phuket. Phuket has a party town and an old town, and we opted for the latter. We stayed in a creepy old hotel (home to Phuket’s first elevator) and spent a night and a two days wandering the streets, appreciating the strange but enjoyable mix of Chinese, Thai, and European influences.

After another night bus, a quick stop at the Bangkok bus terminal, and a couple hours on yet another bus (a second class one rather than the first class one we’d been sold tickets for—oops), we arrived in Kanchanaburi, a river town that was

once the site of a WWII POW camp and now plays host to lots of backpackers. We slept in raft rooms on the river Kwai, visited a war museum moving in its simplicity, rode bikes about town, and bused out to a park with seven tiers of waterfalls and monkeys.

Laura, Kris, and I headed back to Bangkok a day earlier than Alex and Em. We stayed by Khao San road rather than in the less touristy area where we’d slept our first night. It was nice for the experience, and Khao San road is certainly a good place to shop, but I much prefer the quieter Ari neighborhood. We went to the Great Palace—which contained more gold than I think I’ve ever seen in one place—and met up with Alex and Em for one last night in Bangkok before Kris and I split off for Cambodia.

Going overland to Cambodia is complicated and full of potential scams, which I spent a good long time researching. We took the 5:55 AM, quite uncomfortable 3^rd class train from Bangkok to the Thai border (ash blew in through the window, and the seats jutted into our backs), rode a tuk tuk to the border itself, walked through, got a visa on arrival, immigrated, took a complementary government bus to the transit station, and got a shared cab to Siem Reap.

Siem Reap, so far as we could tell, was not a particularly exciting place. It was incredibly touristy, of course, and hence had a lot of western and Cambodian food options, and a few fun markets, but the attraction of the town was definitely the temples. There are lots and lots of temples to see, Angkor Wat being the most famous, and Kristen and I spent two days exploring. As many visitors as there were, most of the sites were not nearly so crowded as American and European tourist spots I’ve visited. So that was nice.
The temples were big and small, in various states of repair and ruin. I found myself, naturally, utterly amazed by the architectural feats of so long ago. Watching the shifts in religious allegiance was also fascinating. Buddhas hacked out of rock or turned into Hindu holy men with the addition of beards, broken statues of Shiva and Vishnu.

Cambodia also threw me for a loop by using the American dollar more than the Cambodian riel. I hadn’t had greenbacks in my wallet, much less used them, since July. This was made even more confusing by the fact that everything in Cambodia is very cheap in American dollars. Kristen and I decided to splurge in a major way when we bought 5-dollar plates of homemade, and very authentic-tasting, four-cheese gnocchi and tagliatelle with pesto.

The trip back to Bangkok was much simpler than the trip to Cambodia. We went to our original guesthouse in Ari and spent a relaxing night there before Kristen met up with her boyfriend for more beach time and I embarked on my first ever solo travel adventure.

At first, this just meant going across Bangkok, where I dropped my bags at the train station and explored. I walked to Chinatown to check it out, and then I walked swiftly away from Chinatown, because it was a bit too authentic. After wandering for most of the afternoon, I returned to the train station and got on my night train up to Chiang Mai. I happened to be sitting across from an American family living in Beijing and had the longest English face-to-face conversation I’d had with a non-CEIer since leaving the states. Thai sleeper trains, as opposed to Thai third-class trains, are a really nice way to travel—quite comfortable and with actual beds instead of just reclining seats like on the buses.

Chiang Mai was not as hot as down south or Bangkok, but warm and comfortable, with tons of cafes and pedestrian-friendly streets. The combination of my being a solo traveler and

wanting a bit of a break after being on the road for something like three weeks meant taking time to relax. I’ve said many times that having a coffee shop in Heqing would solve half my problems, because there’s nothing quite like that atmosphere (not to mention selection of beverages) to cheer up a mopey/uninspired/unproductive me. I spent a lot of time in Chiang Mai sipping mochas and smoothies and other treats. I also spent a lot of time in cooking school—three days, in fact. I knew I wanted to go for at least a day, but the first was so much fun that I signed up for the second, and the second was so much fun that I signed up for the third. I now feel fairly confident that, given proper ingredients, I can replicate some pretty authentic Thai stuff. I explored a lot of wats and markets as well, and my visit happened to correspond with the annual flower festival, so I saw a parade with rather incredible floral floats.

After a week in Chiang Mai, I night bused back to Bangkok and reunited with Kristen for our last couple days in Thailand. We went to Wat Arun (the Temple of Dawn), Wat Pho (home of the incredible reclining Buddha), Bangkok’s largest outdoor park, and Cinnabon. Yes, there is a Cinnabon in Thailand. Actually, there’s a Cinnabon and a bunch of other ridiculous places at this huge food court in this huge mall that definitely was a bit of cultural overload. I also went to the US Consulate to get pages added to my passport. It was American but not, and I was surrounded by perfectly nice looking folks and by some creepy old guys with their 20-something Thai girlfriends/wives.

Flying out of Bangkok was a sad experience, I must say, excited as I was by the prospect of Hong Kong. And Hong Kong was quite fun (and quite expensive). Mark surprised Kris and me by meeting us at the airport,and he proceeded to be our guide for our three-day stay.

We booked a room at the Chungking Mansions, not realizing until after the fact that, though its reputation has improved dramatically, the place is pretty darn sketch. That would explain the prices. Certainly I wouldn’t want to stay alone, but with Kristen it was fine. Our room was a shoe box but clean and secure, and the mansion itself had some amazing Indian food because many of the residents are Indian and Pakistani.

Hong Kong’s weather left something to be desired. I don’t think I would have been that bothered by it coming directly from China, but going from Thailand it was cold. Also wet. Very wet. So much so that when we went to see the Lantau Buddha (which is among the world’s largest seated Buddhas) we saw shapes rising from the mist. Still, we had a lovely time checking out different parks and neighborhoods and getting a sense of where Mark grew up.

Macau is about a one-hour ferry ride from Hong Kong, and Kris and I passed through on our way back into the mainland. While there we met up once more with Emily Cole, who was staying with her aunt, and she toured us around. What a cool city. Macau has a Vegas-like reputation in China, and it’s true that there were casinos, but all I saw was amazing Sino-European architecture and food. We visited a centuries-old church that had burned down, leaving only the stone façade, and a fort, and had Portuguese egg tarts and sandwiches at a café near the center square. All too soon, however, it was time to get on a bus and cross back into China. It was Valentine’s Day. I’d been out of the country for nearly a month.

After a one night stay in Guangzhou and a 26-hour train ride with the lights on and without a sleeper car (not recommended—after finally drifting off I got woken up by a young guy who wanted to know about what I put in my hair to make it curly. ‘Nuff said.) we got back to Kunming.

Laura was already there, and over the following days the rest of the CEI crew trickled in.We indulged in lots of western food, city strolls, and a day of hiking west of the city, before settling back into work with a professional development conference and a plane ride back to Lijiang. Flying over Heqing, I was struck, as always, by just how gorgeous it is. There’s a lot I don’t appreciate about this place yet and a lot that I think I never will, but the straight up beauty is a definite perk.

We’re three weeks into term now, and today marks exactly 8 months since my arrival in Beijing. I’ll be teaching (with a few breaks, I’m sure) until mid-July. I’m incredibly grateful for the opportunities I had during my time off and am working to make this new semester more successful (academically and personally) than the last. So you can expect a return to regular, rural, China-style blogging soon enough.