Home Again

I live in paradise.

No, really, I do.

So many little things make life so very lovely. I can take showers any time I want to, and they’re always hot. If I wake up in the middle of the night and find myself thirsty, I can go get cold, clean water (and ice!) from the fridge in the kitchen. Actually, I’m guzzling water these days, because hydrating is so much simpler and going to the bathroom no longer necessitates getting dressed, walking outside for 2-4 minutes, and chancing the possibility of sharing with a dozen tweens. Indeed, there is a bathroom right next to my bedroom.

When I’m not marveling over the wonders of hygiene I’m marveling over the wonders of food. Y’know what’s good? Cheese. And cookies. And chocolate chips. And frozen yogurt. And milk. And non-instant coffee. And non-Chinese bread. And…

I’ll admit that I miss the mountains. In Pengtun I lived in a beautiful neighborhood but not the most beautiful house. Here it’s the opposite. I have hardwood floors and walls that aren’t white. I find myself surrounded by the wonderfully familiar—the desk dresser in my room that I’ve had since I was a child (Seriously. There are Wishbone stickers on them), embarrassing pictures in the hallway of my sisters and me as little girls, coffee tables and dining tables and sofas and chairs that I know so well.

Aside from the mountains, and the lack of fresh tofu (I bought some earlier this week, in its typical plastic packaging, and found it so comparatively spongy and tasteless—still perfectly serviceable but no longer yummy before being cooked) I don’t miss China yet. I will, I know, but a week ago I hadn’t even arrived in Chicago, so I’m still in utopia.

My last few days in China were mostly quite nice. Two of my students came to the bus station to see me off, and Yiming and I traveled together to Kunming. We got in at 6 AM, and, as neither of us had places we had to be, opted for breakfast at KFC, because there’s a decent bathroom there and they’re often open 24 hours. We sat and talked for quite awhile, Pengtun already in the past tense for us both, neither of us really wanting our fellowship to truly end. But we parted ways. I got on my first plane in quite awhile and whisked my way up to Beijing, then eventually grabbed a train to Tianjin. The reentry into urban life was jarring, but, at the same time, I found myself far better equipped to handle this jaunt through Beijing than the one I endured my first night back in China last July. I had a better idea where I was going and was far more capable of asking directions.



My friends’ wedding in Tianjin was super fun. I got to meet both the bride’s and groom’s families and explore a city I’d never been to before. I was so happy to be able to spend time with my friends, whom I know only from Georgia, in their home. Plus, we stayed in an amazing hotel. Seriously, I jumped for joy when I got to my room.

After two days in Tianjin, I had two in Beijing. I traded my 5-star experience for my typical hostel, which was unfortunately not nearly so charming as many of the hostels I enjoyed in Yunnan and southeast Asia. Still, it was a really great location, a short walk from Tiananmen, and I spent most of my time just strolling around, exploring neighborhoods both near and far from the hostel. The new subway lines are amazing—you can get to so many places so very quickly and easily. When I studied abroad, subway service was far more limited. Since I’d already lived in Beijing during study abroad, I didn’t feel a need to go back to the city’s main tourist attractions, but I took a morning to go out to the Olympic Village, even forking over 25 RMB to enter the Bird’s Nest. It’s an awfully cool stadium.



The other highlight of my trip was a dinner out with a good friend from study abroad whom I’d not seen in over three years. The experience reminded me of just how lucky I am to have so many friends in so many places around the world.

Before I knew it, I was on a plane in Beijing, then wandering through O’Hare—staring awkwardly every time I saw a non-Asian person—and munching a bran muffin from Starbucks. The sound of English in my ears threw me off even as I relished in its simplicity. I called my parents from my American cell phone, which felt strange to hold after the cheap Chinese cell I’d used for the past year.

The flight to Atlanta seemed like nothing after the 14-hour stretch over the Pacific, and I was doing so very well in speaking only English to everybody. But then, when we were disembarking the plane, an older Asian gentleman gestured for me to go first. Out popped a “xiexie—thank you. Oh.” I hope he didn’t hear me.

Unexpected Wanderings

(This is a chronologically out of order post that I started writing before my school departure post but didn’t get a chance to finish until just now, sitting at the Beijing airport. But enjoy!)

Around June the 30th, we the teachers of Pengtun Middle School were informed of a 9-day break, from July 3rd-11th, coinciding with the administration of the high school entry exam for the ninth graders and some sort of test for the eighth graders.

Had it been earlier in the year, I would have chilled, gone somewhere for a few days, and chilled/prepped some more. However, the combination of just how soon I’m moving back to the States and just how much I’m trying to keep myself busy instead of staring at my computer led to me going happily for broke.

So it was that, after taking Saturday to relax and grade, I bussed out on Sunday with a couple changes of clothes, showering supplies, school stuff, my journal, and a novel.

First stop was Dali, where I wandered up the now-familiar stone sidewalk from the parking lot on the DaLi Lu up into the touristy clutches of the old town. It was strange. I hadn’t been to Dali since mid-May, at which point there were tourists but not that that many. Early July was a very different story, and more than just feeling a little surprised I felt a little uncomfortable. I didn’t know how best to interact with all the white faces, which set of manners to use. Hearing American English from sources other than Colin, Mark, Arianne, and Hallie threw me off.

Luckily, the German Bakery remained the German Bakery, and I plopped down at a table with a slice of raspberry cake crowned with real whipped cream and fresh berries. It was a quick trip. Less than a couple of hours after arriving I dashed off again, this time into the city of Xiaguan, Dali’s modern counterpart.

I met up with Mark, Arianne, and Arianne’s mother (who’s visiting China for a couple of months), and we got rooms in a hotel near the bus station in preparation for the morning’s journey.

The first leg of our journey, from Xiaguan to Yunxian, was a bus ride we’d actually taken once before, going the other direction, on our way back from the English Teachers’ conference in Lincang. I thought then that I’d never be in Yunxian again, but so it went. The awesome thing about Yunxian is that it is possessed of a most excellent handcut noodles shop, and, as our bus got in around noon, we got to indulge.

It’s a small world in rural China, because as we sat chewing our delicious lunch, who should walk in but Laura, on her way down to Lincang. After sharing pleased hugs, she joined our table, and we walked together to the bus station, where we got to see Kristen and Sean before all three of them jumped onto their bus. I’m super grateful for the random rendezvous, because I didn’t think I was going to get to see those two ladies again before heading back to the states.
The ride from Yunxian to Gengma was a pretty one, southern Yunnan revealing itself in flowing, rich greens—sprawling plant-life filling almost every non-sky inch of space beyond the road. The mountains rose, it seemed, taller than they are up here, although Heqing itself is at a higher elevation than Lincang.

Gengma itself, unfortunately, didn’t exactly impress.

There’s this thing with Chinese cities of a certain size—namely that they’re all organized in a very, very similar fashion. It’s the sidewalks that really get me; they’re all paved in exactly the same way. Yellow dotted tiles, guides for the blind, run down the center of every single sidewalk. Gengma was pretty to walk about, with palm trees and very warm weather, but it was the fields I found, when I wandered to the very back of the town and kept going, that made me happiest. I traipsed, largely ignoring the confused glances of the farmers, although I did get into one conversation with a local who told me that Pu’er Tea (which can be really expensive and generally considered good quality) was not at all good and that I should only drink the stuff from Gengma. We did, in fact, buy a whole lot of really nice smelling, really cheap tea.


Cangyuan, where we went the following afternoon, was not too much more exciting. Because it’s only six or so miles from the Burmese border, we expected a city steeped in Burmese style food and culture. Instead, we found a mostly Chinese place with a few Burmese accents. Certainly there were little things that were different from my part of Yunnan, but on the whole it was in every way a Chinese city. So we wandered, wilting in the heat but pleased by the mountains surrounding, eventually finding ourselves in a grocery store where we purchased ridiculous Chinese sweets with the intention of making ourselves a 4th of July “cake” later. This did not happen but was nonetheless fun.

In the morning, we hiked. Hiked, in this instance, ought to be taken as as loose an interpretation of the word as may be, for by “hike” what I actually mean is bushwack, and by “bushwack” what I actually mean is a pleasant enough trudging through a farmer’s hillside corn fields, followed by not at all pleasant crawling up a muddy slope towards a pine forest. It was really pretty, to be sure, and we enjoyed wandering through the woods.
However, when it was time to get back down to the road again, we basically ended up sliding down a severe slope and ending up covered in mud. It was very exciting indeed. A couple locals strolling alone stopped to watch and pronounced us incredibly badass (as the term 厉害 would perhaps be best translated).

The next day, Mark and Arianne went back to school, but Arianne’s mother, Jean, and I went on up to Shangrila (thus named by the Chinese), a Tibetan area of Yunnan. I hadn’t really experienced any Tibetan culture since my brief but powerful trip to Lhasa in 2007, and I wasn’t sure what to expect. In fact, I was a bit nervous that, because this is more or less a designated tourist spot, the government would have made it a little Tibetan theme park.However, while there were certainly kitchy touches, on the whole it was easy to see a core of organic Tibetan culture. Monks walked the streets, there was a large, active monastery, and the villages just outside the town were entirely different from those in Heqing and reminded me really strongly of the ones I’d seen in Tibet itself. While it was a short trip, it was so relaxing, and I’m really glad I was able to go. I also bought a small yak wool blanket for myself, woven with Tibetan motifs, that makes me really happy.


By the time I got back to school, almost a week after I’d left, I felt incredibly alive and rejuvenated and more than ready to jump into my last week of class.



(I think the sleepy baby yaks helped)

The Village of Silver

About a 10-minute bike ride from Pengtun is the village of Xinhua, a rather unremarkable town in most respects that, two years ago, was transformed into a tourist destination. (Note the awesome Chinglish). Groups of Chinese travelers going between Dali and Lijiang often stop by Xinhua to watch ethnic dancing and buy insanely expensive, locally produced silver jewelry. Apparently, international travelers also visit from time to time. It’s a rather strange place—totally built up in some areas and looking exactly like every other village in others. There’s a lot of wealth—some homes make Americas McMansions look modest in comparison—but there are also houses that have doubtless been around for decades or even centuries.

The kids from Xinhua go to my school, and my class has three kids from the village. Yesterday, Mark and I went to hang out. We biked over on our own, and then I called Levi, who guided us to his house.

Levi is one of my troublemakers. He’s way more physically mature than a lot of my other boys—tall and possessed of facial hair—and he’s actually my only student who’s ever made me feel physically uncomfortable. A couple weeks ago I saw that he wasn’t doing whatever he was supposed to be and plopped down next to him (a relatively common tactic when kids are off task). I faced out to give some instruction to the rest of the students, and he slid up behind me. Not cool, Levi. He’s also the kid whose can of beer (pulled from his desk a month or so back) is sitting in my room as a constant blackmail threat. Nonetheless, there are some kids you can just tell have had decent upbringings, and he’s definitely one of them.

The Levi that I visited with yesterday was nothing like the Levi I know from Class 82. In fact, it made the visit a little awkward, because I didn’t know how to interact with this polite, demur teenager who wasn’t joking around or being a bit of a jerk.

When we arrived at his house, it was clear that we were Expected. We put our bikes in the courtyard and smiled at the folks making fake silver knives and the like for the souvenir shops all over town. Then he brought us into the sitting room found in most homes around here—benches or couches lining the walls and facing each other, a table in the middle, the TV at the far end. Fruit and other snacks were already laid out, and Levi’s little brother poured us tea. Levi gave us huge hunks of watermelon, which there was really just no graceful way to consume, so we munched as politely as we were able.

I didn’t interact much with his mother, but Levi’s father sat with us for awhile, and we chatted about the importance of education, his own educational and family background, and the ways that Xinhua had changed over the years. Like many of my students’ parents, Levi’s dad is from the area (in fact, he and Levi’s mother grew up in Xinhua in houses very close together), but when Levi was young he spent much of the year doing business in Sichuan, coming home only over the New Year. When Levi’s brother (now 11) was very young, Levi's father managed to get a business going in Xinhua instead and was able to return home full time. Coming from a large family, he had a few older siblings who were forced to leave school and start working at a very young age. He was able to continue studying until halfway through eighth grade. It’s difficult, he told me, to support Levi and his brother’s studies, when he and his wife didn’t go to much school themselves, but they’re trying to emphasize the importance of education in today’s world. Even if it doesn’t lead to more money, he said, it’s better to be educated than to leave school when you’re young.

Levi’s a smart kid, and if he decided to apply himself, I’ve no doubt he’d do well, but he doesn’t, most of the time. I tried to convey this to both him and his father; we’ll see what happens.



After leaving his home, we biked around the village, stopping by Ginny’s house and trying to track down Johnny, who wasn’t around. Then I asked about silver, since I wanted to buy some local souvenirs for my mom and sisters. Levi’s father came out to meet us and brought us to a shop run by a woman he’d grown up with. Bracelets, my initial plan, were a bit out of my price range, but I found some nice earrings, and because Levi’s father was there, I didn’t have to spend 20 minutes bargaining the price down. She just gave me a good deal. The importance of 关系 (connections) cannot be overstated in China.

I haven’t visited all my students, but I’m grateful for the ones whose homes I have been able to see, and I’m especially grateful to have been able to experience the village of Xinhua behind all the touristy glitter.

The Process has begun

By “The Process,” I of course mean the absolutely insane amount of organizing, throwing away, giving away, mailing, and packing that stands between me and my night bus to Kunming on July 16^th. This time frame is slightly complicated (mostly in a good way) by the fact that we were informed this week of a 9-day-vacation, beginning yesterday and extending to next Saturday night. This is bad for two reasons: 1) it cuts way down on review time, and 2) they told us late enough in the game that flying anywhere isn’t really a possibility. However, it is also great for two reasons: 1) there are plenty of places to visit that don’t involve flying, thus allowing me to take a “bonus” trip here in Yunnan, and 2) being away from school for a few days will leave me far less likely to be staring at the calendar on my computer, compulsively counting down the remaining days of class, days in Heqing, and days in China (7, 14, and 19, for the record). I’ve decided to go down south with Arianne, her mother (who’s visiting from the states), and Mark. We’ll be hanging out in tea country for a few days. I’m very excited. Apparently there are nicely sized blocks of really good tea available for very cheap. I’ll leave today and get back probably on Friday, after an overnight in Dali on the way up.

We found out a week or two ago that Pengtun isn’t going to be a TFC school next year. Since Yiming and I are both leaving, Malijun is moving to an elementary school, and the school isn’t really dealing with a teacher shortage, the admins of both the school and TFC decided it’d be better to move Mark to another school rather than move 2-3 new fellows in. Well, that’s the official reason. There are others, I’m sure, like our test scores. TFC fellows in schools down south have had their bans (classes) taken away from them because of poor grades, and they spent this semester teaching oral English to most students in the school. There’s nothing wrong with that—in fact, I think in many cases oral English instruction would be a much more appropriate use for TFC teachers than being in charge of a ban’s complete English instruction—but it does show the natural frustration some schools are feeling with our less-than-stellar results.

But enough of that. What all of us meaning Pengtun means is that I will not be able to treat my room as a college house, as it were. My last two years at Mac, I lived in homes that had been inherited from and were subsequently passed on to Mac students. It was a pretty great deal, because we got each place mostly furnished and were able to take and leave whatever we wished when we moved out. This year, however, will be more like my first two years in college, when I lived in the dorms and a move out meant that everything other than school-provided furniture must go. We’re still not entirely clear on what belongs to the school and what doesn’t, since when we got here we already had quite a bit remaining from last year’s fellows, so that complicates things.

Packing will be a slow process, not least because I know that the more I take my room apart the more I’ll be fixated upon getting out of it. Yesterday I mailed a box of books and cards (padded with winter socks) that I’ve received over the course of the year. It was less expensive than I thought it might be, which was a relief, but as I sent it by freight who knows when I’ll get it? I also threw away a bunch of papers and other miscellaneous stuff, including my 10-month-old box of really expensive and really disgusting pork mooncakes (a gift from the school) that I smuggled out to the dumpster in the dead of night. I organized my desk drawers and collected a bag of clothes to give away. Clothes to throw away will be dealt with later. I’m paring down my pantry, trying to use up stuff and pass along/toss things I don’t think I’ll ever end up eating. There are a whole lot of decisions to be made concerning such questions as how much of my pharmacy to try to take home with me, whether or not to hang onto clothes that I like but that aren’t in fantastic shape, etc. Most of these decisions will need to be made post trip, but I’m glad to at least have gotten things going.

Anyway, not to harp entirely upon the leaving on Heqing, I share here a few stories of recent life.

Why did the chicken cross the road?

I contemplated the timeless question as I braked on my bike, then swerved to the right so as not to hit the two roosters casually bobbing their way across my path. When I bike to town, I go over a mix of cement, dirt/mud (depending on the amount of rain), cobblestones, asphalt. The way I usually go, I pass through most of Pengtun, dip out onto the DaLiLu for a minute, and then cut back in to villages closer to town. I am as likely to run across a cow as I am a car, likely to see more tragons than tour busses, and not at all surprised when I find myself needing to slow in order to keep fowl alive. The other day, I also became an impromptu horse whisperer, when a foal somehow traipsed its way out of the field and onto the Pengtun village road, a few meters from the DaLiLu. While its mother neighed in what I’m sure was a most potent combination of exasperation and fear, I got off my bike and tried to coax the little horse back down. It didn’t quite work, but he at least moved farther away from the big road.

Commie Party

As some of you fine folks might know, the CCP celebrated 90 years on July 1^st, and, as such, there was a bit of hoopla around here. All of the teachers at Pengtun, and all of the teachers from other schools in the area, were required to participate in a local singing exposition/talent show. Mark and I got out of this, somehow, which is probably a good thing as it’s possible I’ll run for office some day, and Mark’s Chinese side of the family fled to Hong Kong in part because of that whole communism thing. The other teachers were required to rehearse before evening classes a few times a week, and, I must say, they were good. It’s not entirely unheard of for teachers in American schools to be drafted into singing during talent shows or other events, but I feel like the spirit there is always one of light, slightly embarrassed indulgence. There is no harmony, no solemnity.

As Mark and I watched the teachers perform, I found myself subject to the rather furious pokings of an old woman who, for some reason or another, reaaaallly didn’t like me. I could not understand a word she was saying, but she poked me for a few minutes.

On Friday night, the actual 90 Year Celebration day, I got a text from one of my very sweet and not very intelligent girls that read something like this (forgive my translation skills):

“Burning hot weather, burning hot happiness, I wish you with the Party constant good fortune, I wish you with the Party constant good luck, I wish you with the Party constant happiness, I wish you with the Party constant luck in love. On July 1^st, be happy happy!”

Slipping Towards Sunset

My family and some friends have known for awhile, but just to clear up any confusion, I’ll go ahead and say straight up that I’m planning on returning home this summer rather than remaining in China for a second year. There are a number of reasons for this—some organizational, others purely personal—and I don’t feel like a public blog is the best forum to discuss them. So, suffice it to say, this was a decision that took me a long, long time to make, and although it’s got its downsides, overall, it’s right for me.

Nonetheless, I feel so incredibly fortunate to have been able to be a part of this place that will, every day, affect the way I think about life once I’m home. For all its challenges, this is perhaps the most personally worthwhile experience I’ve had, and I remain so humbled by the degree to which the people who call Heqing home have let me make it mine, for this short time.

I’ve got exactly five weeks left as of today (Thursday, here in Yunnan) before hopping on a plane to Chicago and then on to Atlanta. I’ll be going to Beijing a few days before that, and I’m lucky enough to be able to zip off to Tianjin for a day to attend a family friend’s wedding!

Anyway, during these last bits of time I have here, I’m trying to absorb as much as possible, to live as much as possible. This is made slightly harder by the rain, about which I have composed a not-entirely-original poem:

Rain, rain, go away
Though the fields want you to stay
You make it grey all day
So I want to go home today

I’m affected strongly by weather. Always have been, really. It’s amazing how sleepy the rain makes me. Lesson planning through the last month was already gonna be something of a challenge, just by nature of it being the last month, but now it’s gonna be laced with the extra difficulty of overcoming grey. Ah well.

On the plus side, living in a generally rainy environment these days makes the non-rainy moments all the more wonderful. Tuesday, I biked into town for what has become a mostly weekly ritual of meeting up with Hallie and Arianne and Mark for bubble tea. Only, that evening, we were also having dinner with Yiming and Malijun and Yiming’s girlfriend, who’s visiting from Hong Kong. Because of this, we ended up being in Heqing until close to 8, at which point the sky was beginning to turn towards dusk.

I rode back alone (Mark had to stop by the store, and the Chinese fellows don’t have bikes), starting out on my usual route and then branching off to take a dirt road I’d not tried before.

It was a beautiful evening. Quiet, with a touch of a breeze, cool without being cold, as is so often the case in the basin here. Pedaling along, I caught the glances of the last of the farmers coming in from their fields. The older men, brows furrowing atop eyelids, often give me slightly hardened looks, trying to place this strange figure in her coral rain jacket. I don’t think there’s ever any sort of resentment, just interest in the disruption from normalcy. Women, young and old both, are often more forthcoming, smiles tentative but frequent. The younger men, students or those who should be but didn’t test in, are typically the only potentially aggravating sort. I get “hello” from a lot of people, but it’s the teenage and 20-something boys that really like to shout it, over and over, usually beginning just as I’ve passed by and continuing until I’m out of earshot. On good days, I grin at the silliness of it. On bad days, I roll my eyes and occasionally mutter things in English that it’s probably fortunate they can’t understand.



Tuesday evening, clouds caressed but didn’t smother the sky. Streaks of pink blended into pale blues and whites outlining the western mountains. The tower, the one we hiked to three months past, stood in steady black, crowning the highest peak, a vessel for the waning sun’s rays peaking through to drape over the stone, the earth, down into the rice paddies below. And to the north, layered cloud upon cloud upon cloud, grey to silver to gold.

I biked through the dirt paths dividing field from field, listening to the soft songs of waterfowl, witness to the simple but captivating beauty of this place. Heqing has modernized a great deal but still runs, in some respects, like I expect it has for centuries. Farming is done mostly by hand. It’s quiet, no machinery disrupting the rhythm of planting and harvest and everything in between. I’ve grown used to the sight of rice paddies dotted by men and women, the latter’s hats wrapped with bright scarves. Sound comes only from the motorized wagons and from the main road, something that didn’t exist not so long ago.

Rural China is full of frustrations, especially for those of us accustomed to a first world standard of living. But moments on my bike, feeling free as anything; moments wandering through Heqing town and through the market in particular; moments with my students when they’re being the silly but loveable young teens that they (sometimes) are; those are the times when my smile bursts forth. Those are the times I want to remember.

Silkworms, Steak knives, Crawfish, and other Adventures of May

My room has gotten a little more crowded lately.

First of all there’s Saffton. Saffron is my silk worm. You see, last week Peter was playing with something in his desk. That isn’t at all unusual, but normally he’s messing with a pocketknife and a stick or trying to surreptitiously swigging of pepsi. On that day, however, he happened to have in his possession something else entirely—a rather large, white worm. He held it up as if hoping to scare me and then set it on his desk, wherefrom I plucked it, and, ignoring the screams of my female students, walked it over to the windowsill. I stuck it there, but it didn’t seem too happy, so at the end of class I took pity and brought her back to my room. I found out that she was a silkworm from Yiming. Malijun shrieked, pronounced it scary and ugly, and ran away. Silkworms only eat mulberry leaves. Luckily, there are several mulberry bushes quite near the school, so I ventured out once every couple days to get her a new stash. Over the weekend she built a cocoon, so in a week or two I should have my very own moth. Unfortunately, the moths only live for a few days and can’t eat or fly. Still, pets are good.

I wish Saffron was my only pet, but this is apparently fly season, which means that there are not 1 or 2 but rather at least a dozen flies buzzing about my room. This is the punishment, I suppose, for having a room that cannot ever be completely closed off from the outside. They like my computer. There are three on it as I type—no, make that four—and I’ve grown accustomed to the little colony that forms on the edge of my keyboard. Fun times.

Speaking of fun times, I’ve collected, over the course of this year, quite a few knives from my students. Most are of the pocketknife variety and are not particularly scary. Two nights ago, however, I pulled from William’s desk, despite his best efforts to divert me from it, a full-fledged steak knife. He was only cutting up the desk and not his classmates, which I suppose is a plus, but it nonetheless caught me somewhat off-guard.

As if that wasn’t enough, yesterday I walked into class to find a very big, very much alive crawfish on my desk. The boys who’d put it there tried to snatch it back, but I held onto it and brought it to the lake after class ended.

When we first arrived in Heqing last August, we had nary a day of sunshine in a good month. I remember seeing patches of blue in early October and being amazed by them. We’re heading back into the rainy season now, so there’re a lot of days that range from brightest sun to rainclouds and back. I’m taking as much advantage of the non-rainy weather as possible, biking into town a few times a week and going on walks and the like. I’ve discovered a way to town that goes along village roads instead of the main ones. There’s prettier scenery and less traffic. There’s also a whole lotta straw and other plants on the road. This is apparently the time of year when the farmers beat the seeds from last season’s crops, and to take some of the work out of the process they often lay the plants out so cars and motorcycles and people will dislodge the seeds.

Last Saturday, Mark and I went to visit three of my students in their village, about a half hour bike ride away. We didn’t know exactly how to get there and ended up biking through a lot of fields and, on more than one occasion, having to half drag, half carry our bikes between fields over these rather precarious ladder/bridge contraptions.

The thing about Chinese villages is that there are not street names or, often enough, distinctive homes and landmarks. It’s mostly a lot of fields and dirt or cement roads. Thus, when we finally reached the village, I called Malia to ask where to meet her, only to discover that clear directions weren’t in the forecast. Luckily, we stumbled upon an eighth grader from our school who guided us, on her own bike, to Malia and Molly.

The visit was fun. I got to see three of my students’ homes and get a tour of their village. They were really excited to see me outside of school too.

We’re kinda-sorta-a little bit coming into the home stretch. I have three units of new material left, followed by review time. This semester is much less demanding, time wise, than the last, when Mark and I were absolutely scrambling to fit everything in by the end. School goes until sometime in July, but whether it’s the 10^th or the 20^th or even later is still very much uncertain. This made buying a ticket home difficult, but I did. July 25^th. Beijing to Atlanta. I am ever so excited. In the meantime, I’m trying to get as much out of these final two months as possible. I may be ready to go home, but I also know that this is in some significant respects the most extraordinary circumstance I’m likely to find myself in for years.

For now, it’s Friday afternoon, which means a major room cleanup, reading time, and perhaps a trip into town for bubble tea and groceries. Weekends are good. I'm going to try to get a new batch of pictures up soon, so stay posted.

Mid-Week Musings

Life is strange these days. I think I’m just getting to the point of understanding that this is not a vacation--that I have, in fact, moved here. Of course, I haven’t yet gotten to Heqing, to the school where I’ll be living and teaching this whole year. (It hasn’t been decided whether or not fellows will be switching schools for the second year. CEI plans to continue to expand pretty dramatically—currently they’re planning on 150 fellows for 2011-2013—so the number of schools will also presumably grow. But in any case, Heqing will be my base for a good long while. ) We should be moving up there in a little over a week—probably next Thursday or Friday. I’ll be sad to leave the friends I’ve made here, and to get away from most of the native English speakers in my life, but at the same time I’m really itching to start my life. That’s hard to do when I’m living in a dorm room, eating all my meals at the cafeteria or restaurants, and generally keeping my possessions to a minimum. Actually, I guess that doesn’t sound so different from my first two years at Macalester, but I was 18 and 19 then, not 23. I hadn’t lived in houses for two and a half years.

Anyway, my brain’s been involved in some serious acrobatics over the last week or so. I keep thinking about people and things in the states and realizing just how long it’ll be before I see any of them again. I’m doing what I can to live day by day, to cherish each new experience as it happens, to approach every moment with a tremendous sense of possibility.

There have been amazing moments—many of them—and there have been very “human” moments that remind me how similar people all over the world are, wherever they are. Yesterday, for example, I was going to the Post Office and I saw a little boy, maybe 2 or 3, playing with a toy truck. A long truck, larger than most of those seen on these streets, came rolling by on the road, and suddenly he was pointing at it, yelling and looking between it and his mother. Little boys+trucks=love, here or anywhere else.

Teaching has been getting generally easier, I suppose, although I still have good days and challenging ones. On Friday each class will give a performance for the rest of the summer school. We’re doing a short chant, followed by what will hopefully be a rousing rendition of “A Whole New World.” Should be fun, or at least hilarious. I spent the last hour doing a word-by-word translation of the song, since the Chinese version isn’t all that similar to the English one. Now it’s in the hands of my co-worker, Malijun, for corrections. Judging by how long she’s had it, I’m thinking there’re a lot of corrections.

Today and yesterday we had lessons with Colin (who will be my ongoing support manager), discussing the format and general situation of the Chinese testing system. It’s pretty crazy. The tests seem unreasonable in that they sometimes test material not covered in class, they sometimes include grammatical or spelling errors, and they sometimes have multiple choice questions with multiple correct answers (or no correct answers.)

Case in point:

1) _______________. Is this your pencil?
a. Hello.
b. Hi.
c. Wait!
d. Excuse me.

While it’s true that “Excuse me” seems the most plausible, all four answers could work and the idea of non-native speakers getting the difference is pretty extreme!

Colin also told a few stories about his experiences teaching last year. These were all hilarious until, of course, you realized that they could very easily happen to you. For example, “The kids don’t really bathe. They wash their feet and their hair and their hands, but everything else not so much. So in the winter it smelled so awful that we had to open a window.” Or, “After every test they call the best kids to the office and praise them, and then the call the worst kids to the office and cuff them and scream at them and you have to watch and it’s really awkward and uncomfortable.” Or “You will probably have access to showers, which will probably be hot unless it’s not sunny. So on cloudy days in the winter you probably won’t shower.”

You gotta hand it to China on the solar energy front. Solar heated hot water is common and, in general, a great idea. But I feel like there should be some kinda backup for monsoon season.

Very soon (probably tomorrow or Friday) I’m gonna put up a post about the things I’m used to here and the things I’m not used to, because that’s something I’ve been thinking about a lot. For now, have a lovely Wednesday, everyone.

On a Lovely Weekend and The Wonders of Technology

I forget sometimes how lucky I am to be here in the year 2010, with all the modern amenities that accompany it. My parents went to visit some family friends in Maryland a few days after I left the States, and apparently one of them lived in England for awhile when he was about my age. That was 30 years ago, and it took a month for him to send a letter home and receive a reply. It might be that if I were to communicate only through letter writing, I would have similar issues now. However, I haven’t sent a single letter since I got here. (I do intend to! I’ve written one to my grandpa, but I haven’t gotten to a post office yet.)

Anyway, with the year 2010 comes the ability to skype. Instantaneous video chatting, for free, from China to the States. Sure, it sometimes gets blurry or cuts off, but the fact is that I have the ability to feel as though I’m almost in the same room as the people I’m talking to. This morning (Saturday night in Minneapolis), I “skyped in” to a BBQ with five of my dearest friends. I felt like I was hanging out in my old backyard. It was awesome. The world is so much smaller than it used to be.

This weekend was marked by much more than a lovely skype conversation though. Friday was crazy, but in a good way. We had a “mandatory fun” scavenger hunt after classes, which meant running around the city in our school groups of four, completing mostly ridiculous tasks and trying to rack up more points than the other teams. What’s ridiculous, you might want to know? Well, I will tell you. Ridiculous means posing for a picture next to somebody welding, making somebody in your group eat a chicken foot (a very popular snack food in China—kinda the equivalent to jerky in the states), making somebody in your group eat something scarier than a chicken’s foot (we found a pig’s tail, which my Chinese co-worker said was “very nice.” I will take his word for it), finding a giant abacus, and climbing into the back of a motorized wagon (we call them truck-wagons, or “tragons”) to have our picture snapped holding pitchforks. I have these pictures and will post them shortly. Our team didn’t win, but we had a really awesome time running and cabbing around like mad, asking locals for really strange favors.

On Saturday I went for a long exploratory walk with Kristin and Yanmei. We strolled around our neighborhood, checked out a huge supermarket, and then passed by a bunch of fruit and veggie stands and the like. I think we were far away enough from the areas of town CEI fellows frequent that the presence of Westerners was harder to cloak (not that it’s easy anywhere). Case in point: when Kristin tried on a watch, we had not one, not two, but at least five people who entirely stopped what they were doing to watch the exchange. That night, we went out to dinner with some other fellows, and I got to have ice cream! (The restaurant was the one place in Lincang we’ve discovered so far that has coffee and legit ice cream).

Today I skyped with my friends first thing, and then I went for a walk up into the hills next to the school. It’s pretty amazing how you can have a perfectly paved street in China that turns, in less than one minute’s walk, to a muddy mass. All of a sudden the roads and construction sites end and fields and ponds take their place. We didn’t leave sight of the school at any moment during our walk, but it was already a very different sort of feeling.

The line between city and country is so easily blurred here. Water buffalo graze right outside the school gates, across the street from the cranes putting together upscale condos. Goats and the boys who heard them compete for road space with shiny new cars. When you walk five minutes from the school in one direction, you feel as though you’re in an urban area. When you walk the other way, you’re in farmland. It’s easy to imagine what this place looked like before this school and all of the other modern amenities surrounding it, and it’s sort of sad to see it now—lost in its lack of identity, torn between two times and two worlds.

On Hobbies

I’m an interesting personality; when I took the Myers-Briggs test my senior year, I actually scored the exact same for introvert-extrovert. That meant that according to their scale I should default to introvert, but unlike many introverts (who perhaps know themselves better), it’s sometimes hard for me to remember until it’s too late that I’m not happy when I don’t get alone time regularly. Yesterday was a bad day in more ways than one (although the first bad day I’d had in a week, which was excellent!), and I’m pretty positive it’s because I’d spent almost no time alone in the previous several days—maybe even a week. I recovered by hanging out in my room for a couple hours, playing a computer game I mostly reserve for “get me OUT of here” moments, writing in my journal, playing penny whistle, and singing my heart out.

This might not be the most fascinating post for most of you, but yesterday’s me time (and the incredible discovery of rice cooker baking) got me thinking about my hobbies and what can transfer to China easily and what can't. It's an interesting process for me to figure out. So, in no particular order, here’s (some of) what I like to do in my free time:

Write fiction
Write nonfiction (journal/blog)
Read
Cook
Bake
Sing
Play music
Knit
Go for walks
Bike
Hang out in coffee shops

Writing (both fiction and nonfiction) is the easiest hobby to keep up with, because I don’t need anything but my brain, my hands, and either paper and pen or a computer. So far, I’ve done a ton of nonfiction of writing and very little fiction. I’ve still been plugging away on the story I started last summer, but progress is slow. I’m assuming that’s mostly because there’s been so much going on in my real life I haven’t been as drawn away into the one I made up.

Reading…well, that’s a little more complicated. I brought three non-Chinese books from the US: "Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban," "Ender’s Game," and "The Meaning of Life," which is one of those books with cute pictures of animals that my Mom got me. Obviously, those are all comfort books—ones I’ve read many times but know I will want to have on hand for sad days. While I was in Kunming, I bought two more books: A trilingual copy of "The Little Prince" (English, French, and Chinese), which I think will be great to work through in all three languages; and Bill Bryson’s "A Walk in the Woods," which I’ve been meaning to read for years. I haven’t started it yet, since I’m trying to “save” my books for when I need an escape, but I think it’ll be the mix of light and meaningful that I’m looking for. Once I get through "A Walk in the Woods," things will get a bit more complicated. There are going to be 6 Americans in Heqing (2 at my school and 4 at 2 other schools), so hopefully we’ll be able to trade books. I know there are bound to be some English books in Dali and Lijiang, since those cities have become more touristy in recent years, but I feel like I might end up doing a fair bit of reading online. I seriously considered buying a kindle before I crossed the Pacific, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I love books.

Cooking and baking we’ll have to see about. I am intrigued and hugely excited by the rice cooker possibilities (in case that wasn’t obvious), but I will miss things like muffins and scones and cookies. We’ll see though. In terms of cooking, I think I’ll be cooking a bit differently than I did when in the States. That being said, I can’t wait to play with all the possibilities and flavors I can find here that were distant at home.

Singing and playing music. I’ve sung almost every day for most of my life, and I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t in a choir/voice lessons/something vocal. I have a serious need to incorporate music (especially singing) into my existence, and when it doesn’t fit in naturally I have to make it fit. Of course, making it fit isn’t always easy when you’re busy all day and can’t get a practice space to yourself. I do have a tuning fork with me, so that’s nice, but I can’t exactly belt when my roommates are in. Yesterday they weren’t, so I did, and I felt so. Much. Better. I need to remember that throughout this year. I do hope to teach music at Peng Tun though, which might fill most of that niche. As for playing music, I love having a penny whistle because it’s so portable, it’s very low maintenance, and it sounds good by itself or in a band.

Knitting. Wow, well this one is the shocker. I don’t remember a lot of knitters from my time in Beijing, and I certainly don’t remember seeing any yarn shops (although my favorite mittens are from Tibet). Since my arrival in Yunnan, I’ve seen three yarn shops! One was in Kunming, and two were here in Lijiang. The Aiyi (caretaker) of my dorm is almost always working on some project or another. I brought some yarn with me and a bunch of my own needles, but it looks like when I deplete my stock I’ll be able to easily get more. I’m also really hoping that this will be an “in” for me with some of the local teachers. Colin (my OSM) says that the women teachers are always knitting during faculty meetings and the like. Maybe we can trade patterns! I’d love to learn how to knit what they do, and it’d be awesome to teach them Nordic mittens or something.

Go for walks. So this is a gimme. Obviously, I can go for walks in China. That being said, one of the nice things about walking around the States (or at least the Twin Cities) is the general anonymity available. I will always be noticed in China. China is not diverse. If you are White or Back or Latino or anything that doesn’t look distinctly Asian, people will stare at you. Staring here is not at all the same taboo it is in the States. So yes, I can walk, and yes, I will walk, but people will be watching me.

Bike. So I’ve heard that bikes are easy and relatively cheap to acquire in Heqing, and I look forward to checking into that. Whether or not I’ll feel comfortable biking there is another question. Roads are freakin’ terrifying in China. When I say that they remind me of roads in driving-based video games, I do not exaggerate. Although drivers generally wait at red lights, beyond that there are two rules: don’t hit others, and don’t get hit. Stay tuned on this one.

Hang out in coffee shops. Alas, we find ourselves faced with the unfortunate reality that coffee shops aren’t big here. There should be some in Lijiang and Dali I expect, and maybe I’ll be able to find a tea house nearby, but that good ol’ mocha is probably going to be a rarity for me over the next few years, as will that awesome aroma.

So there you have it. I’ll update you on this topic throughout the year as I see development. For now, it’s Friday morning, which means 1.5 hours of training, 1.5 hours of teaching/observing, 2 hours of lunch/break/Chinese prep, 1 hour of Chinese, and FREEDOM!

Welcome to Yunnan

It’s Friday morning here in Lincang City, Yunnan, China, and the only reason I can type this right now is that I’m on my laptop. Yesterday, we got an email saying that from 7:30 AM- 6 PM today there would be no electricity. No reason was given, but then, I’m learning not to expect such things here.

I arrived in Yunnan two weeks ago and spent the first half of that time in Kunming, the province capital. My days were filled with a teaching crash course, courtesy of Teach for All. At some point I will write a blog post detailing exactly how I feel about this organization and its methods; for now, suffice it to say that, while I appreciate being exposed to different sorts of pedagogy, after a full year filled with classroom observations I do not appreciate being informed that one particular pedagogy is better than all others. Just sayin’. My evenings were booked by social events of various sorts. It’s been fantastic getting to know the 29 other American and 27 Chinese fellows, as well as the very young and incredibly motivated staff. While some of the full-time staff members are probably around thirty, and the summer training staff range from late twenties to retirees, our CEO is 24 and clearly a genius of some sort. He started this organization four years ago and has the best Chinese I’ve ever heard from a non-native Mandarin speaker. Ever. Pretty inspiring.

But really, nearly everybody involved with this organization is inspiring in some way. All of the fellows graduated within the last three years and are putting a whole lot of faith into an ideal—the thought that, by spending two years in some of China’s neediest schools, by committing to cross-cultural teams, by leaving behind the comforts of American and Chinese middle class life, we can affect truly positive change within the educational system here.

A week ago, the fellows and I spent our last night in Kunming and celebrated our departure with a “Last Western Supper” at Salvador’s Café, an expat-run restaurant (Thanks, Steph!). Then it was off to Lincang city, the capital of a prefecture in the extreme southwest of the province, not far from the Myanmar border. Lincang is beautiful, a city graced by mountains on all sides. Clouds gather on the peaks overnight and rise in the mornings. It rains and shines in unpredictable intervals, and I’ve found myself carrying my raincoat everywhere. Although a relatively poor place, there’s very little pollution here compared to the larger Chinese cities I’ve spent time in. I have a lot of pictures and will try to upload some soon.

For the next month (three weeks, now), we’ll live on the campus of Lincang’s top middle school, continuing our training and teaching at an English summer camp organized specifically to give us practical experience. After a year of working in a Minneapolis Title I school, I know my way around a classroom, but working with these children is, unsurprisingly, quite different from my time with urban American kids. I’m quickly learning to deal with an almost entirely new set of behavior issues, classroom expectations, and languages. From 7:30 AM-10 PM daily I’ve been occupied with teaching, observing, lesson planning, attending training sessions, and studying Chinese. My Ma, ndarin is still a lot less handy than I’d like it to be, but I know that will change quickly. Even in two weeks I’ve started to feel more comfortable with my abilities.

After the conclusion of the Summer Training Program, I’ll be moving to Pengtun Middle School, along with one American and two Chinese fellows. It’s about 6-7 hours north of here, and I don’t know exactly what to expect, but I’m so excited to see it.

Anyway, I’m sure now that I’ve started this blog I’ll update fairly frequently. There’s so much about my first two weeks here that I haven’t even started to get into. I’ve actually written as much in journal since my arrival here as I wrote in my last seven months stateside. For now, happy Friday, and enjoy the weekend. I know I will.