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.
Monday, March 21, 2011
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
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 15th, 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 3rd 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.
Monday, February 28, 2011
And We're Back!
The exclamation point there might be slightly less than exuberant, but I felt like continuity with my departure post would be appropriate.
Break was incredible on so many levels, and while it's certainly nice to have my feet on the ground and my bags unpacked for the last time in the near future, I'll miss the places I've been. I've got over 900 pictures to sort through and a good 50 pages in my journal before I post about the trip, and as I begin teaching either tonight or tomorrow (I love rural China's last minute lifestyle, don't you?) that may not happen until the weekend or even later.
However, this post contains substance of its own! I realized last night that I hadn't put my last album from semester 1 online, so now it's here: http://anamericaninheqing.shutterfly.com. Enjoy. I'll be back with break adventures soon enough. :)
Saturday, January 15, 2011
And We're Off!
Well, the plan was to write a nice reflective entry about my 6-month mark in China (I got into Beijing on July 15th), but as I plan to walk out my door in 45 minutes that's not going to happen. Oh well. Instead, I leave you with this picture of my bags for the next six weeks on the road. If all goes according to plan, I will get on my first sleeper bus in three hours, arrive in Kunming early tomorrow morning, meet up with my travel buddies, chill for a day, and embark for Thailand!
I can't post a proper itinerary because I don't really have one. Basically, we'll planning on being in Bangkok for a couple days and hitting up beaches for a bit. Then, three of us five will head back up to Bangkok to meet up with family/friends while Kristin and I hang out down south a little longer, go to Angkor Wat, and then make our way back up to Chiang Mai. On February 11th, the two of us have a flight to Hong Kong where we'll meet up with Mark and Hallie and who knows who else? On February 23rd, we have to be in Kunming for training. Whether we will get there by plane, train, or bus is TBD.
For now, there's dinner to eat, a kitchen to clean, things to unplug, computers to lock in drawers, and a night bus to catch.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Fire, Water, and Food Poisoning
Fire
Mark said if he had my students he’d quit. I know my kids aren’t as bad as some of the ones in Lincang, but they’ve been getting worse lately. Last weekend Nate tried to shove his way into my room to get a cell phone I’d taken from him, yesterday Miguel reached into my bag to try and take back a jacket I’d grabbed, and on Monday there were flames in my classroom, courtesy of Harry. I’m not sure what he set on fire, but I screamed at him about it for quite some time.
I see metaphorical fire a lot these days. These kiddies really know how to push my buttons, and when I’m trying to do things, like, y’know, get them ready for what is sure to be a very difficult final, I don’t appreciate needing to take so much time for classroom discipline.
Last week, I almost caught my blanket on fire. It was touching my space heater, and I didn’t realize until it started to smell like something burning, and I realized it had a nice big brown spot on it. Oops.
Water
I got a new bucket. It’s a beautiful thing, lightweight and with a sturdy handle, large enough to hold a lot of liquid without being so big I struggle like a small child trying to fill a sandcastle moat when I lug it from the taps to my room upstairs.
With this bucket, I only have to fetch water once a day or even once every other day. My big water bucket, the one that lives in my room and holds at least 5 gallons, has been fuller than usual of late (although not tonight, as the water taps seem to have been shut off). The first time I used my new bucket, I was able to fill my big bucket almost to the brim, and I felt giddy—rich. I never thought I’d feel that way about a bucket of water, but when my big bucket’s full I feel at complete liberty to do laundry, wash my dishes with as much water as I’d like, wash my hair and face, and make tons of tea. When it’s not so full, I’m far more careful.
There’s almost always some form of water available, and, when boiled, everything’s safe, but the other day when I got water from one of the taps that links up directly to the lake (instead of one of the two that come from the spring), it was tan and included chunks of stuff. So, safe perhaps, but when I’m not on a camping trip I don’t really wanna drink it. A couple months ago I wouldn’t have. Now I just boil it and do anyway, looking forward to the return of spring water to my life.
From the time I was small I’ve known that water is a finite resource, but I never saw it quite so clearly until now, when it doesn’t come from a faucet in my room, when every time I need it I have to go get it from somewhere. Granted, I’m not going to a well or anything like that—there are still taps where I can draw it—but it’s not quite as eternally present, and it’s not nearly as convenient.
I never drink cold beverages here. Maybe once every two weeks I end up buying a bottle of water, but the rest of the time it’s tea, tea, and more tea (and occasionally hot chocolate, thanks to my American packages). I also drink a lot less than I do at home, something I’m working to rectify. I’ve realized that I’m getting dehydrated, but I also don’t at all appreciate going to the bathroom in the cold.
Food Poisoning
“你要牛奶吗？” (Do you want milk?) Malijun asked in an upbeat tone.
I stared at her, and, not even bothering to use Chinese, replied, “Oh God no.”
It’d been a rough 12 hours. The day before that exchange I noticed during my afternoon workout that whenever I had to be on my stomach I felt kinda gross, but I thought it was just because I’d had a snack not too long previously and should have waited longer before exercising. However, I didn’t eat anything after about 4:00, and at 9:30 I was feeling tired enough that I went to bed. An hour and a half later, I was puking my guts out for the first time in recent memory.
After a very rough night on both ends, I got up the following morning hoping to feel well enough to teach, but I barely made it from my bed to my couch (all of three steps) before collapsing onto it. I knew I needed to go tell my banzhuren (lead teacher) that I wouldn’t be able to do my 9 o’clock class, but the prospect of changing into jeans was just too daunting. I stuck my feet into my flats and prayed that one of the other three CEIers would be around and could walk over to the academic building for me. Malijun came to the rescue, and I went back to bed.
Several hours later I stepped out of my room into the winter sun, feeling much better indeed. I still hadn’t eaten anything, but I’d been sipping on lukewarm tea, napping on and off. Malijun, who happened to be outside as well, said I looked like me again, which I took to be a good sign. I told her I was feeling much better than I had been earlier, even though I didn’t feel ready to eat yet. That’s when she offered the milk, which is apparently considered a good “sick” food in China and which made me want to vomit again. I told her that in the States you usually drink lukewarm beverages, especially clear sodas like sprite and ginger ale (the latter, alas, a great rarity in Heqing), when you feel stomach gross. It was an enlightening conversation for us both, I think, made more so when she offered me an orange. Again, not something I wanted to try to digest. Cultural differences really do amaze.
Mark said if he had my students he’d quit. I know my kids aren’t as bad as some of the ones in Lincang, but they’ve been getting worse lately. Last weekend Nate tried to shove his way into my room to get a cell phone I’d taken from him, yesterday Miguel reached into my bag to try and take back a jacket I’d grabbed, and on Monday there were flames in my classroom, courtesy of Harry. I’m not sure what he set on fire, but I screamed at him about it for quite some time.
I see metaphorical fire a lot these days. These kiddies really know how to push my buttons, and when I’m trying to do things, like, y’know, get them ready for what is sure to be a very difficult final, I don’t appreciate needing to take so much time for classroom discipline.
Last week, I almost caught my blanket on fire. It was touching my space heater, and I didn’t realize until it started to smell like something burning, and I realized it had a nice big brown spot on it. Oops.
Water
I got a new bucket. It’s a beautiful thing, lightweight and with a sturdy handle, large enough to hold a lot of liquid without being so big I struggle like a small child trying to fill a sandcastle moat when I lug it from the taps to my room upstairs.
With this bucket, I only have to fetch water once a day or even once every other day. My big water bucket, the one that lives in my room and holds at least 5 gallons, has been fuller than usual of late (although not tonight, as the water taps seem to have been shut off). The first time I used my new bucket, I was able to fill my big bucket almost to the brim, and I felt giddy—rich. I never thought I’d feel that way about a bucket of water, but when my big bucket’s full I feel at complete liberty to do laundry, wash my dishes with as much water as I’d like, wash my hair and face, and make tons of tea. When it’s not so full, I’m far more careful.
There’s almost always some form of water available, and, when boiled, everything’s safe, but the other day when I got water from one of the taps that links up directly to the lake (instead of one of the two that come from the spring), it was tan and included chunks of stuff. So, safe perhaps, but when I’m not on a camping trip I don’t really wanna drink it. A couple months ago I wouldn’t have. Now I just boil it and do anyway, looking forward to the return of spring water to my life.
From the time I was small I’ve known that water is a finite resource, but I never saw it quite so clearly until now, when it doesn’t come from a faucet in my room, when every time I need it I have to go get it from somewhere. Granted, I’m not going to a well or anything like that—there are still taps where I can draw it—but it’s not quite as eternally present, and it’s not nearly as convenient.
I never drink cold beverages here. Maybe once every two weeks I end up buying a bottle of water, but the rest of the time it’s tea, tea, and more tea (and occasionally hot chocolate, thanks to my American packages). I also drink a lot less than I do at home, something I’m working to rectify. I’ve realized that I’m getting dehydrated, but I also don’t at all appreciate going to the bathroom in the cold.
Food Poisoning
“你要牛奶吗？” (Do you want milk?) Malijun asked in an upbeat tone.
I stared at her, and, not even bothering to use Chinese, replied, “Oh God no.”
It’d been a rough 12 hours. The day before that exchange I noticed during my afternoon workout that whenever I had to be on my stomach I felt kinda gross, but I thought it was just because I’d had a snack not too long previously and should have waited longer before exercising. However, I didn’t eat anything after about 4:00, and at 9:30 I was feeling tired enough that I went to bed. An hour and a half later, I was puking my guts out for the first time in recent memory.
After a very rough night on both ends, I got up the following morning hoping to feel well enough to teach, but I barely made it from my bed to my couch (all of three steps) before collapsing onto it. I knew I needed to go tell my banzhuren (lead teacher) that I wouldn’t be able to do my 9 o’clock class, but the prospect of changing into jeans was just too daunting. I stuck my feet into my flats and prayed that one of the other three CEIers would be around and could walk over to the academic building for me. Malijun came to the rescue, and I went back to bed.
Several hours later I stepped out of my room into the winter sun, feeling much better indeed. I still hadn’t eaten anything, but I’d been sipping on lukewarm tea, napping on and off. Malijun, who happened to be outside as well, said I looked like me again, which I took to be a good sign. I told her I was feeling much better than I had been earlier, even though I didn’t feel ready to eat yet. That’s when she offered the milk, which is apparently considered a good “sick” food in China and which made me want to vomit again. I told her that in the States you usually drink lukewarm beverages, especially clear sodas like sprite and ginger ale (the latter, alas, a great rarity in Heqing), when you feel stomach gross. It was an enlightening conversation for us both, I think, made more so when she offered me an orange. Again, not something I wanted to try to digest. Cultural differences really do amaze.
Monday, January 10, 2011
On Language (again)
Random Canadian traveler in buffet line at the hostel where we stayed in Dali: So if you guys are teaching and living here, do you speak any Chinese?
CEIer in line (I forget who): Yeah, some. We’re not that good though.
Canadian: Do you have to speak it a lot?
CEIer: Some. I mean, we teach in Chinese.
Canadian: Wait, what?
Although I’ve had a lot of language-related stuff in my posts, I haven’t done a truly language-focused post for quite a while. So here’s an update of sorts.
Basically, I’ve come to the conclusion that dropping me (a non-native Mandarin speaker who’s only studied previously in formal contexts and in Beijing) here is not really at all akin to dropping a Chinese person into, say, Columbus, GA. Columbus is in the south, and, as such, there are very thick accent issues to work through. I’m sure that for non-native English speakers, Columbus is a frustrating place to be for some time after arrival. My students, and I would assume students all over China, study California, TV anchor English. As far as they’re concerned, there’s no such thing as a southern drawl, New York nasal vowels, or Boston dropped r’s. For beginning students, such clear English makes sense, but it also means that there’s no proper preparation for authentic situations, interacting with real, accented people. Anyway, Columbus would not be an easy place to have one’s first English interactions, even after years of formal study.
This is much worse. Because, you see, dropping me into the Dali Bai Autonomous Prefecture of Yunnan is not akin to dropping a native Chinese speaker into Columbus, Georgia, but is much closer to dropping a native Chinese speaker into a Latino Immigrant Community in Southern California.
There are three distinct languages at play here, each more incomprehensible to me than the next. First, there’s straight up Mandarin, what I studied in school and during my semester in Beijing. Only, it isn’t straight up Mandarin, because most of the students and staff here don’t speak standard Mandarin. Their tones aren’t the same as what I’ve studied, their vowels are formed differently (sounding almost British), and according to Malijun and Yiming, their grammar isn’t typical either. In a tonal language, having inaccurate tones, well, complicates speaking and comprehension. The lead teacher for my class speaks very local Mandarin, and, hence, we don’t communicate well. My kids’ accents vary, but I often need more standard speakers to translate what a less standard speakers have said.
Mandarin is the language of the classroom and of other official school business, or at least it’s supposed to be. That’s a small mercy, because it means I can sometimes begin to catch the gist of faculty meetings, even with accent issues. That being said, I’m rarely confident enough in my understanding not to check in with Yiming or Malijun for details afterwards. Plus, being the official language of school business doesn't mean it's always the language of school business.
After Mandarin comes the local dialect. It’s related to Mandarin, but if you don’t have a full grasp of Mandarin there’s essentially no way you’d understand. Arianne’s beginning to, but she’s also spent much more time living in China than the rest of us. This is one of the languages I hear out and about around the school and town. When I got here I couldn’t even tell the difference between local (accented) Mandarin and the dialect, but my ear’s improved enough that, most of the time, I can now. Some of the older people here (and, unfortunately, some of my students’ parents) don’t speak Mandarin at all, although some who don’t speak it can still understand because of TV and stuff.
The least comprehensible language, although—let’s be honest—the local dialect is equally confusing, is 白族话 (Bai Zu Hua). This is the language of the Baizu minority that populates most of these parts. There are 56 distinct “minorities” in China, and Yunnan is one of China’s most diverse regions. Considering that I’ve been living in the Bai region for well over five months I feel bad that I don’t know more about these people. I’ve now been witness to a Baizu wedding, and of course I know what married Baizu women wear, because it’s the dress I see all over the town. However, I have yet to really learn about their history, how they came to be here, and how their modern-day culture differs from that of the traditional Han culture. I do know that their language is Tibetan-Myanmese in origin and I don’t understand a word of it.
At this point I’m fairly confident in my ability to communicate with standard Mandarin speakers. I can’t discuss philosophy or politics or anything technical, but when it comes to the every day I can generally hold conversations as long as my conversation partners are patient and will help me to understand concepts. I’m not at the point that I can understand TV though, because there’s no way to stop the speakers and ask them to slow down, repeat themselves, or define a word. Someday, perhaps, I’ll get there. In the meantime, I’m trying to think of ways to keep my Mandarin from flagging during my almost 6-week absence from China. Podcasts and books, perhaps?
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Twas the Season: Christmas Week (and New Year’s) in Yunnan
Well, I’ve passed through my first Christmas away from home and my first New Year out of the country. Monday began our week and three days of review, which will be followed by finals, followed by a bus ride to Kunming and a plane ride to Bangkok. Chinese semesters are long (we started class August 29th, I believe), and it hasn’t sunk in that I only have a week with my kids before not seeing them for over a month, but I’m really looking forward to the break.
Story Time:
Christmas Apples (or, Give your Teachers Elaborately Wrapped Fruit Week)
Yunnan celebrates Christmas in its own way. Jesus has nothing to do with it, but there’s a general feeling that late December is a time to be happy and give gifts. Two weeks ago, on a venture into town, I saw a four or five-foot-tall Santa Claus figurine, in front of which were laid out many apples, ribbons, and plastic wrapping paper of various prints. This was my introduction to “Christmas Apples,” three of which showed up on my desk over the following week. Apparently, these apples are not meant to be eaten, but I thought they were tasty. Well, I thought the one I ate was tasty. Two of them are still in their wrappings, serving as coffee table centerpieces. Gift giving centers far more around Chinese New Year than it does on Christmas here, so it was sweet of my kids to share with me.
A Very Dali Christmas
Early on Christmas Eve morning, the five Heqing American fellows set off for Dali, intending to renew our visas on the way. Unfortunately, it turned out the procedure for getting visas had changed, and thus we spent an hour or so hanging around the lobby of the Dali police bureau, watching as about 30-40 Nepalese folks (we eventually caught a look at one of their passports) tried to get their visas straightened out. It was really quite exciting. Also chilly. Marble floors are not much more conducive to warmth than my concrete one. After settling into our hostel (The Hump-- the same one where we had the Thanksgiving meal), we set off for an afternoon of yummy food and coffee, chatting, and waiting for the rest of the kids to arrive. While the Heqing crowd, including our lovely Chinese fellows, had been planning on Christmas in Dali since November, it was lovely indeed to find out that we’d be joined by a large number of the Lincang folks!
Later in the afternoon, as a bunch of us sat in the hostel’s courtyard, a man in a Santa suit came running in and exclaimed that it was time for the gingerbread decorating contest. Obviously, we didn’t take much convincing, and so we made our way up the stairs to a table laden with pre-assembled but homemade gingerbread houses, icing of various colors, and fun toppings. So we spooned icing all over roofs and walls, as more and more CEI fellows trickled in. Eventually the Heqingers split off for dinner and Secret Santa gift exchanges, followed by impromptu caroling.
Then it was time to go out. Little did we realize we’d be entering a spray foam Warzone.
So there’s this stuff in China called “Flying Snow” and the best way I can think to describe it is projectile, foamy shaving cream. It comes in aerosol cans, but it squirts out like silly string and can get a lot of distance. We saw people selling it in the street upon our arrival, but none of us thought much of it until the battle erupted after dark. Nobody was safe, and no part of anybody was safe. The unspoken embargo on shooting things at one’s face and in one’s eyes usually honored during most activities of this sort was rather…not in place, nor was the notion of “unarmed combatants” being granted safe passage. It was chaos and made every one of us want to spend as little time outside as possible.
Christmas itself was lovely, beginning with French Toast at one of the cafes in town and continuing with some nice strolling and shopping, a 3 minute phone call from my parents, bike riding through villages, a buffet dinner at the hostel with rebaked potatoes and HUMMUS (among other treats), hot chocolate with Bailey’s, and a hilarious white elephant gift exchange. Each fellow was allowed to spend 15 kuai (about $2.50) and gifts included a snickers bar from the states, a slingshot, a crossbow complete with rubber-tipped arrows, a half eaten package of peeps, and....a live trout—quickly named Sullivan, and then, well, barbequed. I did not partake.
Sunday was marked by more delicious food (this time courtesy of the German bakery), a Walmart run mostly in order to stock up on peanut butter and grab some free weights, and a pleasant enough trip home. It wasn’t American Christmas, but, still, no complaints.
Pig Killings
It’s杀猪season in Heqing. In other words, this is the time of year when lots of nice plump pigs meet their doom and are made into sausage and organ sauce and all number of other…delectable…entities. Apparently, the tradition is to have dried pig’s meat for Chinese New Year’s, which necessitates killing the pigs right around now. Of course, when families kill their swine, there must be parties. Last Tuesday I was coerced into attending my first. When Yiming and I arrived at elementary school, the principal informed us that there was to be a pig killing right after class and that we were both invited. I wasn’t really sure what to expect and was a bit nervous that an about-to-no-longer-be-alive pig would greet me, but as it turned out the pig was 24 hours dead and the party was much like most others I’ve attended here: meat-heavy dishes, drinking men, and chatting. So far I’ve not been invited to any more pig killings, but some fellows have attended quite a number, so who knows?
Walking back from the Pig Killing to school, Yiming and I took the route by the lake and rice paddies (now largely a mix of shallow pools and grazing ground). I hadn’t been out that way for awhile and was really struck by its beauty. Even in what’s probably the least green part of the year, there’s so much to admire. Skies are incredibly blue, seemingly untouched by China’s pollution. The mountains capture sunlight dawn to dusk, time told by the earth’s tone shifting from black to brown to gold and black once more. I know I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again: I feel so privileged to experience and live this place so many will never see.
New Years Eve, American Style (sorta)
Over the last month or so, we Heqing fellows have been trying to hang out more on the weekends. We’re all close enough to one another that we really have no excuse (aside from straight up laziness). Thus, last Friday, Hallie and Arianne came up here for a New Year’s Eve party of sorts. I’d made peppermint brownies—among my more successful rice cooker endeavors—and we hung out and chatted with YiMing and Malijun while I put together snack foods Western and not in the form of scallion pancakes and chocolate chip pancakes (with Ghirardelli double chocolate chips courtesy of Hallie’s mom. Most excellent). As eleven o’clock neared, Malijun and Yiming both announced their intention to sleep, but we would have none of it.
“In America it’s a tradition to stay up until midnight,” we explained, and, with enough badgering, we got the two to stick it out.
A few minutes before midnight, all six of us stole from our rooms to the school gate and into the street. We could hear echoes and see flashes from fireworks in Heqing, but mostly it was quiet and still—a moonless night that painted stars all the brighter.
Together, we lay on our backs by the statue in front of the lake, chilly but not cold cement tingling beneath us. After five years in Minneapolis, and three within range of New York City lights before that, I’d almost forgotten what it is to have stars—many of them—be a constant part of the night. Here, you see not only the brightest spots in the sky but under layers, stretching back into depths of darkest blue.
It was a calm New Year’s. No champagne, no poppers, not even any screaming or cheering. Just sky gazing side by side, catching a glimpse of a shooting star once or twice, marveling at the world.
Story Time:
Christmas Apples (or, Give your Teachers Elaborately Wrapped Fruit Week)
Yunnan celebrates Christmas in its own way. Jesus has nothing to do with it, but there’s a general feeling that late December is a time to be happy and give gifts. Two weeks ago, on a venture into town, I saw a four or five-foot-tall Santa Claus figurine, in front of which were laid out many apples, ribbons, and plastic wrapping paper of various prints. This was my introduction to “Christmas Apples,” three of which showed up on my desk over the following week. Apparently, these apples are not meant to be eaten, but I thought they were tasty. Well, I thought the one I ate was tasty. Two of them are still in their wrappings, serving as coffee table centerpieces. Gift giving centers far more around Chinese New Year than it does on Christmas here, so it was sweet of my kids to share with me.
A Very Dali Christmas
Early on Christmas Eve morning, the five Heqing American fellows set off for Dali, intending to renew our visas on the way. Unfortunately, it turned out the procedure for getting visas had changed, and thus we spent an hour or so hanging around the lobby of the Dali police bureau, watching as about 30-40 Nepalese folks (we eventually caught a look at one of their passports) tried to get their visas straightened out. It was really quite exciting. Also chilly. Marble floors are not much more conducive to warmth than my concrete one. After settling into our hostel (The Hump-- the same one where we had the Thanksgiving meal), we set off for an afternoon of yummy food and coffee, chatting, and waiting for the rest of the kids to arrive. While the Heqing crowd, including our lovely Chinese fellows, had been planning on Christmas in Dali since November, it was lovely indeed to find out that we’d be joined by a large number of the Lincang folks!
Later in the afternoon, as a bunch of us sat in the hostel’s courtyard, a man in a Santa suit came running in and exclaimed that it was time for the gingerbread decorating contest. Obviously, we didn’t take much convincing, and so we made our way up the stairs to a table laden with pre-assembled but homemade gingerbread houses, icing of various colors, and fun toppings. So we spooned icing all over roofs and walls, as more and more CEI fellows trickled in. Eventually the Heqingers split off for dinner and Secret Santa gift exchanges, followed by impromptu caroling.
Then it was time to go out. Little did we realize we’d be entering a spray foam Warzone.
So there’s this stuff in China called “Flying Snow” and the best way I can think to describe it is projectile, foamy shaving cream. It comes in aerosol cans, but it squirts out like silly string and can get a lot of distance. We saw people selling it in the street upon our arrival, but none of us thought much of it until the battle erupted after dark. Nobody was safe, and no part of anybody was safe. The unspoken embargo on shooting things at one’s face and in one’s eyes usually honored during most activities of this sort was rather…not in place, nor was the notion of “unarmed combatants” being granted safe passage. It was chaos and made every one of us want to spend as little time outside as possible.
Christmas itself was lovely, beginning with French Toast at one of the cafes in town and continuing with some nice strolling and shopping, a 3 minute phone call from my parents, bike riding through villages, a buffet dinner at the hostel with rebaked potatoes and HUMMUS (among other treats), hot chocolate with Bailey’s, and a hilarious white elephant gift exchange. Each fellow was allowed to spend 15 kuai (about $2.50) and gifts included a snickers bar from the states, a slingshot, a crossbow complete with rubber-tipped arrows, a half eaten package of peeps, and....a live trout—quickly named Sullivan, and then, well, barbequed. I did not partake.
Sunday was marked by more delicious food (this time courtesy of the German bakery), a Walmart run mostly in order to stock up on peanut butter and grab some free weights, and a pleasant enough trip home. It wasn’t American Christmas, but, still, no complaints.
Pig Killings
It’s杀猪season in Heqing. In other words, this is the time of year when lots of nice plump pigs meet their doom and are made into sausage and organ sauce and all number of other…delectable…entities. Apparently, the tradition is to have dried pig’s meat for Chinese New Year’s, which necessitates killing the pigs right around now. Of course, when families kill their swine, there must be parties. Last Tuesday I was coerced into attending my first. When Yiming and I arrived at elementary school, the principal informed us that there was to be a pig killing right after class and that we were both invited. I wasn’t really sure what to expect and was a bit nervous that an about-to-no-longer-be-alive pig would greet me, but as it turned out the pig was 24 hours dead and the party was much like most others I’ve attended here: meat-heavy dishes, drinking men, and chatting. So far I’ve not been invited to any more pig killings, but some fellows have attended quite a number, so who knows?
Walking back from the Pig Killing to school, Yiming and I took the route by the lake and rice paddies (now largely a mix of shallow pools and grazing ground). I hadn’t been out that way for awhile and was really struck by its beauty. Even in what’s probably the least green part of the year, there’s so much to admire. Skies are incredibly blue, seemingly untouched by China’s pollution. The mountains capture sunlight dawn to dusk, time told by the earth’s tone shifting from black to brown to gold and black once more. I know I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again: I feel so privileged to experience and live this place so many will never see.
New Years Eve, American Style (sorta)
Over the last month or so, we Heqing fellows have been trying to hang out more on the weekends. We’re all close enough to one another that we really have no excuse (aside from straight up laziness). Thus, last Friday, Hallie and Arianne came up here for a New Year’s Eve party of sorts. I’d made peppermint brownies—among my more successful rice cooker endeavors—and we hung out and chatted with YiMing and Malijun while I put together snack foods Western and not in the form of scallion pancakes and chocolate chip pancakes (with Ghirardelli double chocolate chips courtesy of Hallie’s mom. Most excellent). As eleven o’clock neared, Malijun and Yiming both announced their intention to sleep, but we would have none of it.
“In America it’s a tradition to stay up until midnight,” we explained, and, with enough badgering, we got the two to stick it out.
A few minutes before midnight, all six of us stole from our rooms to the school gate and into the street. We could hear echoes and see flashes from fireworks in Heqing, but mostly it was quiet and still—a moonless night that painted stars all the brighter.
Together, we lay on our backs by the statue in front of the lake, chilly but not cold cement tingling beneath us. After five years in Minneapolis, and three within range of New York City lights before that, I’d almost forgotten what it is to have stars—many of them—be a constant part of the night. Here, you see not only the brightest spots in the sky but under layers, stretching back into depths of darkest blue.
It was a calm New Year’s. No champagne, no poppers, not even any screaming or cheering. Just sky gazing side by side, catching a glimpse of a shooting star once or twice, marveling at the world.
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