A lot’s been happening around here, and I have a lot to say about it. I was planning on posting one long entry, but as it happens I’ve just written a good two pages on one aspect of my time, so I think I’ll split this up.
As an introduction to these posts, I’d like to share a Chinese word—习惯 (pronounced SHE-gwan). Like many Chinese words, this one can be a noun or a verb, and can be used to express “accustomed to,” “adapted to,” and “habit.” One of the most common questions I’m asked here is “你习惯了马？” (“Are you used to this yet?”) and my response is typically “有的习惯，有的还没有”(“Some things I’ve gotten used to; others I haven’t yet.”) My existence these days is all about 习惯 –ing, about taking who I am and what I’m like and adapting it to my new life, about finding the balance between what I can and cannot change about myself. It’s about maintaining some routines, despite the difficulties involved in putting them in the rural Chinese context, dropping others, and taking on new ones.
Every morning here in Pengtun, I have a morning routine much like the one I’ve had for most of my life, wherever I happen to be. I need to go to the bathroom, I need to get dressed, I need to wash my face and brush my teeth, and I need to eat breakfast—which often includes a cup of tea. In the States, the completion of this routine typically necessitates walking from my bedroom to the bathroom around the corner, using a toilet and a faucet, pulling clothes from my dresser, and wandering to the kitchen (or, for my first two years at Mac, the dining hall) to put together something to eat. Here…not so much.
When I wake up in Pengtun, it’s to the sound of my phone alarm. I do intend to buy a little clock but haven’t gotten around to it yet. Once awake, I pull on a jacket, since the mornings are chilly, and walk from my room down the stairs, outside ( well, out from under the roof, as everything beyond my room is outside), and to the outhouse. Oh…the outhouse. We are becoming such fast friends. I’m going to go into some details on the Pengtun bathroom situation, so if you don’t want to read them, you might want to skip this next paragraph. You have been warned.
Chinese bathrooms are not like Western bathrooms; that is a simple fact. Almost everywhere you go, the bathrooms will have squat rather than seated toilets, and you are expected to provide your own toilet paper (and soap, if there’s a sink available). Also, rather than flushing your toilet paper, you place it in a wastebasket, because Chinese plumbing systems are too delicate to handle it. I’m basically used to that. Pengtun’s bathroom situation, however, is a bit more extreme. First of all, these “toilets,” if they can be called such, do not flush at all. Rather, they consist of rectangular holes, perhaps a foot and a half by half a foot, dotting a concrete floor. Under each of these holes is a ramp, doubtless intended to carry whatever waste one produces to the pit beneath the bathroom. Unfortunately, it doesn’t always work, and as many people do not avail themselves of the outhouses’ wastebaskets (one in front of each hole), the top of each ramp is typically covered in used toilet paper, pads, and all manner of things. Also, there are no doors on the stalls, “stalls” being used in the loosest sense of the word here, since they consist of concrete walls, to the left and right of each hole, perhaps three feet high. When squatting, of course, this guards one from view of those in neighboring stalls, but it does nothing to prevent people walking by to their stalls from seeing all. There are no sinks near the bathrooms, at least with hot water and soap available, so I usually just go back up to my room and wash my hands there.
The other fascinating facet of bathroom use is outhouse culture and etiquette. Mark and I laugh about this, because we feel like we need to have a better understanding of what’s going on there if we want to network with the local teachers. See, my instinct, as an American, is to use tunnel vision upon entering the bathroom, glancing to the side only as much as is necessary to see if particular “stalls” are occupied. For Pengtun girls (and boys, according to Mark), it’s a different set of rules entirely. During breaks between classes, it is not unusual to see two or three girls standing in front of a stall, chatting casually with a friend using the bathroom. It is also not unusual to see people on cell phones while taking care of business. Now, I know plenty of American girls (myself included) will chat stall to stall (or stall to sink) when in a community bathroom with friends, but this situation just seems a little different.
After the bathroom, it’s time to wash my face. In the kitchenette section of my room, I have a faucet and a sink (which consists of a basin with a drain that drops to the floor where there’s another drain). The sink is very convenient, because it gives me a place to dump waste water. The faucet is very inconvenient because it does not provide me with water. Nope. Instead, I have a large bucket and two large containers meant to hold hot water. So, every day (or twice a day, or every other day, depending on how much water I’m using), I take my empty hot water bottles down to the taps outside by the cafeteria, fill them up with nowhere-near-potable water, and bring them back up to my room. If I want to use the water for washing, I pour it into my bucket. If I want to drink it, I boil it and then pour it back into one of the hot water bottles, which will keep water warm (although not boiling) for a day or so. To wash my face and hands, I pour a mix of hot and cold water into a basin. I inherited a half dozen or so of these basins from last year’s fellow, and I’ve assigned each of them a different use. I have a face/hands washing basin, a foot washing basin, a sponge bathing basin, a laundry basin, a dishwashing basin, and a “drying rack” basin. I also have different towels for everything—floor towels and dishtowels and a hand/face towel and a foot towel. Having basins and towels “assigned” like that makes me feel like everything stays cleaner, but perhaps that’s just wishful thinking.
Not having super convenient, unlimited access to hot and cold water both has definitely made me a lot more conservation-focused. I try to reuse when I can—pouring used hands and face-washing water into the foot washing basin, and draining cooking water into the dish washing basin. The lack of immediately potable water has also caused me to start drinking less water than I do in the states—although perhaps that’s got just as much to do with not wanting to go to the outhouse very often. I know, I know…I need to stay hydrated.
I suppose I should also take this time to explain our shower situation. We, the CEI fellows, have access to a shower. It is located in a building perhaps three-five minutes walk from our dorm, and it is open from Monday-Friday, 8-5. No word yet on how that works when holidays roll around. It makes perfect sense, of course. Why would anybody want to shower outside of business hours? This shower is solar-heated, which means that the availability of hot water varies. I’ve had showers that were cold for the first half and then warmed up, I’ve had showers that remained lukewarm the entire time, and I’ve had hot showers. Water pressure is subject to the same fluctuations. I’m a bit concerned about the situation, because it’s chilly here now—as in, August—and I’m not at all looking forward to the wet hair walk from the shower to the dorm in the winter, especially if the shower is not a hot one. The nice thing about the shower is that it is a single room, which locks, so there’s no issue with privacy, and there’s a barrier behind which you can leave your clothes/towel without fear of soaking them. When it comes to the weekends, that’s what sponge bathing is for. I haven’t tried washing my hair in a basin yet, I’ll admit, but I’ll let you all know how that goes once I do.
Anyway, dressing, and breakfast, remain much the same as in the states—the only notable differences being the tea leaves (rather than tea bags) in the bottom of my cup, and the use of honey rather than brown sugar as a sweetener for my oatmeal. Actually, though, I found brown sugar in Lijiang yesterday! (more on Lijiang later—don’t worry).
Another morning habit I’ve recently adopted (or re-adopted, as it were) is MPR—Minnesota Public Radio. I love MPR, and I listened to it constantly in the Twin Cities. I woke up to it on many a morning, cooked dinner to it on many an evening, and basically let it be my soundtrack when hanging around the house. I’ve been a member for two years, although I let my membership lapse when I moved here. Maybe I should rejoin though, and keep giving my five dollars a month, because I just learned that I can stream it internationally! On one hand, it is, of course, a bit odd to be hearing the 6:30 PM news at 7:30 AM, but just because we’re dealing with different times of day doesn’t mean we’re dealing with different worlds, and it’s really comforting to hear the people whose voices I’m used to. Plus it’s an excellent way to keep up with the news when I’m not trolling The New York Times and to keep tabs in Minnesota in general.
What’s interesting about my morning routine is that I’m already basically used to it. Sure, I’d prefer a real bathroom, and I do kinda grumble in my head when I have to go lug water from downstairs, but ultimately I’m having fewer issues adapting to this particular facet of my life than I thought I might. We’ll see about the winter though—I’m not going to want to put on my knock-off North Face every time I have to go to the bathroom.
As for my other routines and adaptations, you’ll have to stay tuned to part two. Which I may post before long, if the power comes back on. God, am I glad I have a new laptop with an excellent battery life….
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Monday, August 23, 2010
Emily’s First Yunnan Cooking Experience (and Some General Food Thoughts)
Here marks the last of my “backlogged posts.” It’s all new from here, folks! Also, as an addendum to this post, two days ago I attempted rice cooker corn bread. It turned out ok, but I really need to find baking soda/some sort of baking soda substitute/have baking soda sent from the US. Ma LiJun actually said it was the best corn bread she’s ever had, but I think that’s mostly because Chinese cornbread/cake and American style cornbread are very different animals. Today I might try to do tortillas, but, again, baking powder/soda would be nice…. I also plan to get lunch from the cafeteria this afternoon, just to try it out. I’ll keep you updated.
Also, check out my newest batch of pictures! http://anamericaninheqing.shutterfly.com
For lunch on Friday (today, at the time of this writing), I decided it would be a lovely idea to break into my cooking supplies and the food I bought in Heqing yesterday and try to make some lunch. I should explain that I really lucked out in terms of kitchen inheritance here. My room has a hot plate, a kettle, a wok, a medium sized pot with a lid, a steamer, a knife, a cutting board, and several cooking utensils, as well as a few bowls and a plate. Yesterday, I replaced the rice cooker that was already in here, because it was cracked on the bottom and generally did not inspire confidence as far as cooking safety was concerned. Now I have a new one (recommended by Ma LiJun) that came with a steamer of its own. Convenient indeed! I can’t wait to make mantou (steamed buns). I also bought some chopsticks, a glass mug for tea, and a trivet (which, in retrospect, seems rather unnecessary, considering that I don’t exactly have a dining table/chairs).
The girl who lived here before left containers of cooking oil, soy sauce, rice wine, and a couple other things I haven’t gotten around to translating yet. Yesterday I bought eggplant, broccoli, peppers(hot and not, although the hot ones weren’t actually hot), garlic, ginger, and sesame oil. For lunch I put together a stir fry of sorts. I don’t usually fry eggplant, so I used more oil than I intended to, and I didn’t bother to look up what each of the buttons on the hotplate means, but altogether I think it came out relatively well. I also over or undercooked the rice or something, but then, I almost never use rice cookers (or cook white rice—I use brown at home), so I think that’ll just take a bit of adjusting to
I will need to get better at cooking for one person; I made too much rice (which I saved), and a little too much stir fry (which I ate, since I have no real means of keeping it/reheating it). I’m so accustomed to cooking for 2-3 people, or at least cooking with the intention of leftovers, that I’m really not at all used to judging how much I’ll want to eat in one sitting. There’s no fridge here though, and no microwave. I suppose I could reheat things on the hotplate, but I need to get better at using it before I want to try that.
Veggies (at least the ones in the supermarket where I shopped yesterday) are cheap. My eggplant was 3 mao, which is less than 1 yuan, which is in turn less than 20 cents. My garlic was 1.2 yuan for 2 bulbs, my ginger was 4 mao for a knob about the size of toddler’s hand, my peppers (two relatively small red and two long and thin “spicy” greens) were 1 yuan total, and my broccoli was 1.5 yuan for a huge crown. So, I spent a grand total of 4.4 yuan, or 65 cents, according to the 6.75 exchange rate I saw last time I checked. In contrast, the “chocolate milk peanuts” (I had to try them—not bad, but they didn’t taste like chocolate or milk) were 1.9 yuan for a small package. Still cheap compared with the US, perhaps, but more expensive than my most expensive veggie. A chicken sandwich at the knockoff KFC-type place we passed by in Lincang was 15-20 yuan, which is pricy even by American standards, what with “dollar menus.”
In Lincang, I indulged in a lot of 2-4 yuan ice cream bars and 6.8 yuan packs of oreos, because CEI gave us “debit cards” of sorts to use at the school store, but I’ve decided that I want to avoid such purchases as much as possible here in Heqing (I have half a pack of oreos left from Lincang and will not allow myself to buy more). When I studied in Beijing, I lost some weight, mostly, I think, because I ate far less sugar than at home. I’d like to reduce my sugar this time too. It’s easy to see why prices like those above (1 dollar oreos and 22 cent broccoli) are one of the reasons there are far fewer overweight folks here in the Chinese countryside than in the US. I do wish they did more whole grains here though—not gonna lie. And, as always, I would like an oven.
Also, check out my newest batch of pictures! http://anamericaninheqing.shutterfly.com
For lunch on Friday (today, at the time of this writing), I decided it would be a lovely idea to break into my cooking supplies and the food I bought in Heqing yesterday and try to make some lunch. I should explain that I really lucked out in terms of kitchen inheritance here. My room has a hot plate, a kettle, a wok, a medium sized pot with a lid, a steamer, a knife, a cutting board, and several cooking utensils, as well as a few bowls and a plate. Yesterday, I replaced the rice cooker that was already in here, because it was cracked on the bottom and generally did not inspire confidence as far as cooking safety was concerned. Now I have a new one (recommended by Ma LiJun) that came with a steamer of its own. Convenient indeed! I can’t wait to make mantou (steamed buns). I also bought some chopsticks, a glass mug for tea, and a trivet (which, in retrospect, seems rather unnecessary, considering that I don’t exactly have a dining table/chairs).
The girl who lived here before left containers of cooking oil, soy sauce, rice wine, and a couple other things I haven’t gotten around to translating yet. Yesterday I bought eggplant, broccoli, peppers(hot and not, although the hot ones weren’t actually hot), garlic, ginger, and sesame oil. For lunch I put together a stir fry of sorts. I don’t usually fry eggplant, so I used more oil than I intended to, and I didn’t bother to look up what each of the buttons on the hotplate means, but altogether I think it came out relatively well. I also over or undercooked the rice or something, but then, I almost never use rice cookers (or cook white rice—I use brown at home), so I think that’ll just take a bit of adjusting to
I will need to get better at cooking for one person; I made too much rice (which I saved), and a little too much stir fry (which I ate, since I have no real means of keeping it/reheating it). I’m so accustomed to cooking for 2-3 people, or at least cooking with the intention of leftovers, that I’m really not at all used to judging how much I’ll want to eat in one sitting. There’s no fridge here though, and no microwave. I suppose I could reheat things on the hotplate, but I need to get better at using it before I want to try that.
Veggies (at least the ones in the supermarket where I shopped yesterday) are cheap. My eggplant was 3 mao, which is less than 1 yuan, which is in turn less than 20 cents. My garlic was 1.2 yuan for 2 bulbs, my ginger was 4 mao for a knob about the size of toddler’s hand, my peppers (two relatively small red and two long and thin “spicy” greens) were 1 yuan total, and my broccoli was 1.5 yuan for a huge crown. So, I spent a grand total of 4.4 yuan, or 65 cents, according to the 6.75 exchange rate I saw last time I checked. In contrast, the “chocolate milk peanuts” (I had to try them—not bad, but they didn’t taste like chocolate or milk) were 1.9 yuan for a small package. Still cheap compared with the US, perhaps, but more expensive than my most expensive veggie. A chicken sandwich at the knockoff KFC-type place we passed by in Lincang was 15-20 yuan, which is pricy even by American standards, what with “dollar menus.”
In Lincang, I indulged in a lot of 2-4 yuan ice cream bars and 6.8 yuan packs of oreos, because CEI gave us “debit cards” of sorts to use at the school store, but I’ve decided that I want to avoid such purchases as much as possible here in Heqing (I have half a pack of oreos left from Lincang and will not allow myself to buy more). When I studied in Beijing, I lost some weight, mostly, I think, because I ate far less sugar than at home. I’d like to reduce my sugar this time too. It’s easy to see why prices like those above (1 dollar oreos and 22 cent broccoli) are one of the reasons there are far fewer overweight folks here in the Chinese countryside than in the US. I do wish they did more whole grains here though—not gonna lie. And, as always, I would like an oven.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
“The Power of the Juice Cup” and Other Tales
One week ago, the principals, vice principals, and a spattering of teachers from our schools came to Lincang’s for three days to participate in CEI’s not-so-accurately-titled “Principals’ Week.” The purpose of this, to my understanding, was to allow us fellows to form a solid foundation for understanding and working with our school staff. Of course, what actually emerged from our time together were a series of incredibly awkward and frustrating interactions interspersed with moments of hilarity. Since arriving in Heqing, I’ve continued to find myself in very interesting (and sometimes very awkward) situations. I’ve learned a lot about Chinese culture, American culture, my current limitations, and a host of other topics I can’t name separately right now.
At any rate, I think the best way to illustrate my recent activity is through a series of short stories. Please enjoy.
The Power of the Juice Cup
Last Monday afternoon/evening, the day before most of the Lincang folks departed for their schools, the Lincang Educational Bureau sponsored a “Beer Party” for CEI and the staff of our placement schools. No, don’t think Oktoberfest. However, there was a fair amount of beer and a fair amount of “ganbei”-ing (the Chinese equivalent of toasts which, when properly executed, necessitates emptying one’s glass entirely). During dinner, the drinking and toasts continued. Drinking is a very important social thing here in China, but, as a woman I am luckily much less pressured towards consuming copious amounts of alcohol than my testosterone-laden companions. This does not mean I am exempt from participating in toasts, and by the end of the evening toasts had been made by basically every principal of every school to every other principal (and the table where he was sitting).
At the time of each toast, whoever was offering it would go around pouring beer into eggcup sized glasses (Chinese teacups, for those who are familiar). The only way to avoid being “beered,” as it were, was to have a cup full of something else. This is where juice saved the day.
Although I was not hugely enjoying the unidentifiable-except-for-sugar flavor of juice on our table, I greatly enjoyed being able to partake in all of toasts without drinking what would likely have amounted to at least 4-5 cups of beer. For those properly gambei-ing, and thus finishing a cup with each toast, I hesitate to imagine the number of beers sloshing around their stomachs by night’s end.
So, a word to the wise (or at least those with low alcohol tolerances). When it comes to Chinese parties, remember always the Power of the Juice Cup.
Americans will be Americans
Monday night was the last that we CEI fellows had together before setting off for our schools. I had originally thought, despite it being our last night, that we’d have a relatively chill evening—perhaps watching a movie or something along those lines—because Tuesday morning we still had events and meetings going on.
Nope.
Instead, most of the American fellows, a number of Chinese fellows, and quite a few staff members ended up going out, hanging at a bar, and playing the eccentric mix of American and Chinese drinking games that tend to typify our group in the same way as Chinglish. Later that evening, CEI managed to take over the bar’s (very small) dance space. The locals were mostly amused, luckily, and everyone seemed to be having a good time. Bars and dance spaces aren’t usually my thing, and I’m not the only one in CEI who wouldn’t normally find him or herself out until 1:30 AM before having to get up at 6:30 AM the following morning, but there was just a feeling of abandon in the air. For all of us, it was a last opportunity to spend time as Americans do rather than being concerned with behaving properly. Plus, after so much time trying to be formal and extra extra polite with our principals, we wanted to let loose.
Oh. You’re the new teachers from CEI.
On Thursday morning, the fellows from all three Heqing schools met up in Heqing city to get Heqing phone numbers and generally orient ourselves to the town. On the way in, our principal insisted that another teacher accompany us (despite protests that it was very easy to take the bus and that we wanted to practice going in on our own). However, on the way home, we had no escort, and as we all crammed onto the bus we realized that we were not positive exactly where we had to get off.
(I should explain that the buses we can take to and from Heqing proper are not like American buses with set stopping points. Instead, you wait by the side of the road, pretty much wherever, to get picked up; you pay one yuan; and when you want to get off you yell “stop!”)
I was personally cool with just looking out the window and yelling stop when I saw aI’ familiar part of the road. Ma LiJun, however, being practical, asked a few of the locals jammed into the space next to our seats if they knew where Pengtun Middle School was. They did. Moreover, they knew that we were the new CEI fellows who would be teaching at the middle school. It’s sort of amazing how quickly word travels. I’ve certainly run into people since I got here who have no clue who I am, but Colin was saying on Thursday that CEI is “a known commodity” within Heqing. And that’s with the ten Americans here last year. Ten Americans being more or less known within a whole city. I’m not sure yet if I’m pleased or displeased with that situation, but it’s certainly interesting.
White People are Scary
My second night in Pengtun (and my first out to eat without the principal and other VIPs), Ma LiJun, Mark, and I went to a restaurant around 6:45, which is quite late for China. As such, we were the only ones there, with the exception of the family that runs the place. This family included 2 little boys (one perhaps 4 or 5, the other less than a year). While we waited for our food, Ma LiJun decided to go over and say hi to the kids, and I followed suit. The five year old seemed happy enough with this situation. The baby (who had seemed quite content enough) immediately started crying. And this is why white people are scary. Or perhaps it was the curly hair.
Long Walks and Local Interest
Yesterday (Saturday) morning, I decided that I really needed to get off campus, so I went for a walk. There’s a lake/marsh thing behind our school with a pathway alongside it, so I took that for a ways, meandering randomly and figuring I’d be able to make my way back to school eventually. As I walked, I came up alongside these older two ladies and they tried to talk to me. I say “tried” because they had to repeat basically every question at least once and half of them I didn’t understand at all. But we had a lot of smiling and whenever we reached a fork in the road they gave me advice on which way I should go to see pretty things. Eventually we parted ways.
After that, I ended up walking through rice paddies on the concrete strips that border the irrigation lines, and I cut through a village on the other side. I was trying to get to the mountains, which were very close by, but everywhere I walked there was a lot of corn between me and them, and I wasn’t sure about the etiquette of cutting through someone else’s crops without a set path like in the rice paddies.
My wanderings brought me within earshot of what sounded like a recording of Beijing Opera, so I followed a very muddy, very wet path to what turned out to be a spring with some pretty bridges and pagodas and places to sit. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a water bottle with me, but it’s nice to know where the spring is and how to get there.
After that, I started trying to make my way back. All along the roads and paths, people were staring, of course. Kids were the most fun. Usually, they would stare and stare, and then as I got closer they’d giggle and look away. I’d smile and say “ni hao,” and then a lot of them would giggle again and, in a fit of sudden bravery, yell “Hello!” before turning away once again. Also, I apparently do not always make babies cry, because one little guy was just fascinated with me. So that made me feel better.
At any rate, I think the best way to illustrate my recent activity is through a series of short stories. Please enjoy.
The Power of the Juice Cup
Last Monday afternoon/evening, the day before most of the Lincang folks departed for their schools, the Lincang Educational Bureau sponsored a “Beer Party” for CEI and the staff of our placement schools. No, don’t think Oktoberfest. However, there was a fair amount of beer and a fair amount of “ganbei”-ing (the Chinese equivalent of toasts which, when properly executed, necessitates emptying one’s glass entirely). During dinner, the drinking and toasts continued. Drinking is a very important social thing here in China, but, as a woman I am luckily much less pressured towards consuming copious amounts of alcohol than my testosterone-laden companions. This does not mean I am exempt from participating in toasts, and by the end of the evening toasts had been made by basically every principal of every school to every other principal (and the table where he was sitting).
At the time of each toast, whoever was offering it would go around pouring beer into eggcup sized glasses (Chinese teacups, for those who are familiar). The only way to avoid being “beered,” as it were, was to have a cup full of something else. This is where juice saved the day.
Although I was not hugely enjoying the unidentifiable-except-for-sugar flavor of juice on our table, I greatly enjoyed being able to partake in all of toasts without drinking what would likely have amounted to at least 4-5 cups of beer. For those properly gambei-ing, and thus finishing a cup with each toast, I hesitate to imagine the number of beers sloshing around their stomachs by night’s end.
So, a word to the wise (or at least those with low alcohol tolerances). When it comes to Chinese parties, remember always the Power of the Juice Cup.
Americans will be Americans
Monday night was the last that we CEI fellows had together before setting off for our schools. I had originally thought, despite it being our last night, that we’d have a relatively chill evening—perhaps watching a movie or something along those lines—because Tuesday morning we still had events and meetings going on.
Nope.
Instead, most of the American fellows, a number of Chinese fellows, and quite a few staff members ended up going out, hanging at a bar, and playing the eccentric mix of American and Chinese drinking games that tend to typify our group in the same way as Chinglish. Later that evening, CEI managed to take over the bar’s (very small) dance space. The locals were mostly amused, luckily, and everyone seemed to be having a good time. Bars and dance spaces aren’t usually my thing, and I’m not the only one in CEI who wouldn’t normally find him or herself out until 1:30 AM before having to get up at 6:30 AM the following morning, but there was just a feeling of abandon in the air. For all of us, it was a last opportunity to spend time as Americans do rather than being concerned with behaving properly. Plus, after so much time trying to be formal and extra extra polite with our principals, we wanted to let loose.
Oh. You’re the new teachers from CEI.
On Thursday morning, the fellows from all three Heqing schools met up in Heqing city to get Heqing phone numbers and generally orient ourselves to the town. On the way in, our principal insisted that another teacher accompany us (despite protests that it was very easy to take the bus and that we wanted to practice going in on our own). However, on the way home, we had no escort, and as we all crammed onto the bus we realized that we were not positive exactly where we had to get off.
(I should explain that the buses we can take to and from Heqing proper are not like American buses with set stopping points. Instead, you wait by the side of the road, pretty much wherever, to get picked up; you pay one yuan; and when you want to get off you yell “stop!”)
I was personally cool with just looking out the window and yelling stop when I saw aI’ familiar part of the road. Ma LiJun, however, being practical, asked a few of the locals jammed into the space next to our seats if they knew where Pengtun Middle School was. They did. Moreover, they knew that we were the new CEI fellows who would be teaching at the middle school. It’s sort of amazing how quickly word travels. I’ve certainly run into people since I got here who have no clue who I am, but Colin was saying on Thursday that CEI is “a known commodity” within Heqing. And that’s with the ten Americans here last year. Ten Americans being more or less known within a whole city. I’m not sure yet if I’m pleased or displeased with that situation, but it’s certainly interesting.
White People are Scary
My second night in Pengtun (and my first out to eat without the principal and other VIPs), Ma LiJun, Mark, and I went to a restaurant around 6:45, which is quite late for China. As such, we were the only ones there, with the exception of the family that runs the place. This family included 2 little boys (one perhaps 4 or 5, the other less than a year). While we waited for our food, Ma LiJun decided to go over and say hi to the kids, and I followed suit. The five year old seemed happy enough with this situation. The baby (who had seemed quite content enough) immediately started crying. And this is why white people are scary. Or perhaps it was the curly hair.
Long Walks and Local Interest
Yesterday (Saturday) morning, I decided that I really needed to get off campus, so I went for a walk. There’s a lake/marsh thing behind our school with a pathway alongside it, so I took that for a ways, meandering randomly and figuring I’d be able to make my way back to school eventually. As I walked, I came up alongside these older two ladies and they tried to talk to me. I say “tried” because they had to repeat basically every question at least once and half of them I didn’t understand at all. But we had a lot of smiling and whenever we reached a fork in the road they gave me advice on which way I should go to see pretty things. Eventually we parted ways.
After that, I ended up walking through rice paddies on the concrete strips that border the irrigation lines, and I cut through a village on the other side. I was trying to get to the mountains, which were very close by, but everywhere I walked there was a lot of corn between me and them, and I wasn’t sure about the etiquette of cutting through someone else’s crops without a set path like in the rice paddies.
My wanderings brought me within earshot of what sounded like a recording of Beijing Opera, so I followed a very muddy, very wet path to what turned out to be a spring with some pretty bridges and pagodas and places to sit. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a water bottle with me, but it’s nice to know where the spring is and how to get there.
After that, I started trying to make my way back. All along the roads and paths, people were staring, of course. Kids were the most fun. Usually, they would stare and stare, and then as I got closer they’d giggle and look away. I’d smile and say “ni hao,” and then a lot of them would giggle again and, in a fit of sudden bravery, yell “Hello!” before turning away once again. Also, I apparently do not always make babies cry, because one little guy was just fascinated with me. So that made me feel better.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Goodbye to English/Welcome to China (for real this time)
Hey everyone! Long time no post. I moved down to Heqing four days ago and haven’t had internet access until now. A lot’s been happening, and I really want to share it with everyone, but I also don’t want to overwhelm people with the posts that have been building up in word. So I think what I’m gonna do is post one of the three or so posts I’ve written every day or two. We’ll begin with this one. Also, in case I hadn’t been clear enough about this, I’d love to hear what any and all of you think about what I’m writing. I know a lot of it is pretty opinion-based, so if your opinions differ or whatever…yeah. Anyway, here’s my first backlogged post:
For all of the Summer Training Program, CEI billed itself as a bilingual organization, and there are many ways in which this is true. Announcements and emails were almost always given in both Chinese and English, many of the staff (although certainly not all) speak some Chinese, and the fellows communicated, during the STP, in a pidgin Chinglish. Generally speaking, the Chinese fellows speak much better English than the American fellows do Chinese, and thus many of our training sessions in the later part of the summer were not translated into Mandarin as thoroughly as they ought to have been. During Principals’ Week, however, we experienced the opposite phenomenon.
Suddenly, everything—every meeting, every announcement, every speech—was in Mandarin. For me, this was a ridiculously challenging situation. As I said above, in general the fellows, both American and Chinese, communicated in Chinglish—which meant that I could say things like “在我看来，STP 跟大学的orientation 有一点儿象 and probably be understood. With the principals and other school staff, no such luck—especially considering that when speaking Chinglish I tend to put the most complicated words in English.
Needless to say, many of the awkward moments during Principals’ Week were a direct result of this sudden crash course in all-day-Chinese. Even during my time in Beijing, we didn’t often have situations like this, because we only had class for 4-5 hours a day, and during the off time I hung out with Americans a lot (probably more than I should have). We spoke Chinese to each other a lot because of the language pledge, but we also spoke English when we needed to. Besides, it’s way easier to speak a language with other learners of that language than it is to speak with native speakers. I spoke Chinese with my roommate too, obviously, but if there was a word I didn’t know how to say and I said it in English, there was a good chance she’d either know it or be patient enough to wait while I looked it up. Usually, whenever I was in a situation where I had to speak only Chinese, I had more than one other non-native speaker with me, and we could help each other out more than Mark and I have been able to with just the two of us.
The first morning of principals’ week was so intense, and so frustrating, that I ended up getting back to my room and (unintentionally) bawling my eyes out to YanMei. It was the first time I’d cried in front of anyone since getting to China, and, even though I wasn’t happy about it, in some ways it felt good. The entire morning I’d felt trapped and stupid for not understanding, and I felt like I had to make a really good first impression, which was really hard to do when I couldn’t talk or understand what was being said. I did get the gist of a lot of it, but missing the nuance made complete comprehension a rare commodity. Talking to YanMei, who’s seen my progress from the first week through the STP, reminded me of where I’d started and gave me some hope for the future. That being said, I’m still super frustrated with my language ability, and I’m scared about how quickly I’ll be able to improve without proper, formal classes. I like to talk way too much to not be able to communicate fluently with anyone around me except Mark (who, although an awesome guy and great teacher, is not a chatterbox). I’m pretty sure the lack of English speaking companions is one of the reasons I’ve been writing so, so much. I actually finished my old journal last week (which had about 75 pages in it when I got to China) and had to start my new one.
It’s interesting, because when I was studying abroad I was pretty convinced that, with the exception of western toilets and washing machines/dryers, I was really living a Chinese life. Sure, I knew I had American friends and probably watched more American TV and stuff than I should have, but I also had a truly inflated notion of how much I was “roughing” it. The fact is, despite being very Chinese, Beijing maintains a certain aroma of western existence that isn’t echoed throughout the rest of the country (with the obvious exceptions of Shanghai and Hong Kong, if that counts). There are 10,000 expats in Beijing—most clustered in the Chaoyang district—and hence there’s a wide variety of food/retail offerings.
Most of the people here in Heqing have probably never been to Beijing or anywhere beyond Yunnan. Many might never have met a foreigner outside of last year’s CEI fellows (although they’ve probably seen some traveling between Dali and Lijiang, two big tourist destinations). Here, instead of trying to accommodate to you by speaking what little English they know, people expect you to accommodate to them. That’s how it should be—don’t get me wrong—but it does mean a more difficult day-to-day existence than I experienced in Beijing, where I on multiple occasions fought back against people speaking English to me by speaking only Mandarin. Plus the Heqing accent is quite different from what I’m used to up north, so even if people I’m talking with use vocab I know, there’s no guarantee I’ll understand.
Beyond language, there are innumerable customs and pieces of etiquette I am as of yet unfamiliar with. Ma LiJun and Li YiMing have been really helpful in that regard, but of course they don’t know everything either. Everything from what constitutes proper teaching attire to how to acknowledge/ignore people when you walk by them in the bathroom is utterly different from what I’m used to.
Colin (my OSM) put it really well yesterday (Thursday) when we were sitting in a plant shop in Heqing City, waiting for the rain to stop. We were discussing adjustment periods and things of that sort, and he said, “The circumstances will not change, but you will change.” Simple enough, of course, and a fact I already understood about my time here, but he articulated it well. I really do wonder who I’ll be at the end of this. Time will tell.
For all of the Summer Training Program, CEI billed itself as a bilingual organization, and there are many ways in which this is true. Announcements and emails were almost always given in both Chinese and English, many of the staff (although certainly not all) speak some Chinese, and the fellows communicated, during the STP, in a pidgin Chinglish. Generally speaking, the Chinese fellows speak much better English than the American fellows do Chinese, and thus many of our training sessions in the later part of the summer were not translated into Mandarin as thoroughly as they ought to have been. During Principals’ Week, however, we experienced the opposite phenomenon.
Suddenly, everything—every meeting, every announcement, every speech—was in Mandarin. For me, this was a ridiculously challenging situation. As I said above, in general the fellows, both American and Chinese, communicated in Chinglish—which meant that I could say things like “在我看来，STP 跟大学的orientation 有一点儿象 and probably be understood. With the principals and other school staff, no such luck—especially considering that when speaking Chinglish I tend to put the most complicated words in English.
Needless to say, many of the awkward moments during Principals’ Week were a direct result of this sudden crash course in all-day-Chinese. Even during my time in Beijing, we didn’t often have situations like this, because we only had class for 4-5 hours a day, and during the off time I hung out with Americans a lot (probably more than I should have). We spoke Chinese to each other a lot because of the language pledge, but we also spoke English when we needed to. Besides, it’s way easier to speak a language with other learners of that language than it is to speak with native speakers. I spoke Chinese with my roommate too, obviously, but if there was a word I didn’t know how to say and I said it in English, there was a good chance she’d either know it or be patient enough to wait while I looked it up. Usually, whenever I was in a situation where I had to speak only Chinese, I had more than one other non-native speaker with me, and we could help each other out more than Mark and I have been able to with just the two of us.
The first morning of principals’ week was so intense, and so frustrating, that I ended up getting back to my room and (unintentionally) bawling my eyes out to YanMei. It was the first time I’d cried in front of anyone since getting to China, and, even though I wasn’t happy about it, in some ways it felt good. The entire morning I’d felt trapped and stupid for not understanding, and I felt like I had to make a really good first impression, which was really hard to do when I couldn’t talk or understand what was being said. I did get the gist of a lot of it, but missing the nuance made complete comprehension a rare commodity. Talking to YanMei, who’s seen my progress from the first week through the STP, reminded me of where I’d started and gave me some hope for the future. That being said, I’m still super frustrated with my language ability, and I’m scared about how quickly I’ll be able to improve without proper, formal classes. I like to talk way too much to not be able to communicate fluently with anyone around me except Mark (who, although an awesome guy and great teacher, is not a chatterbox). I’m pretty sure the lack of English speaking companions is one of the reasons I’ve been writing so, so much. I actually finished my old journal last week (which had about 75 pages in it when I got to China) and had to start my new one.
It’s interesting, because when I was studying abroad I was pretty convinced that, with the exception of western toilets and washing machines/dryers, I was really living a Chinese life. Sure, I knew I had American friends and probably watched more American TV and stuff than I should have, but I also had a truly inflated notion of how much I was “roughing” it. The fact is, despite being very Chinese, Beijing maintains a certain aroma of western existence that isn’t echoed throughout the rest of the country (with the obvious exceptions of Shanghai and Hong Kong, if that counts). There are 10,000 expats in Beijing—most clustered in the Chaoyang district—and hence there’s a wide variety of food/retail offerings.
Most of the people here in Heqing have probably never been to Beijing or anywhere beyond Yunnan. Many might never have met a foreigner outside of last year’s CEI fellows (although they’ve probably seen some traveling between Dali and Lijiang, two big tourist destinations). Here, instead of trying to accommodate to you by speaking what little English they know, people expect you to accommodate to them. That’s how it should be—don’t get me wrong—but it does mean a more difficult day-to-day existence than I experienced in Beijing, where I on multiple occasions fought back against people speaking English to me by speaking only Mandarin. Plus the Heqing accent is quite different from what I’m used to up north, so even if people I’m talking with use vocab I know, there’s no guarantee I’ll understand.
Beyond language, there are innumerable customs and pieces of etiquette I am as of yet unfamiliar with. Ma LiJun and Li YiMing have been really helpful in that regard, but of course they don’t know everything either. Everything from what constitutes proper teaching attire to how to acknowledge/ignore people when you walk by them in the bathroom is utterly different from what I’m used to.
Colin (my OSM) put it really well yesterday (Thursday) when we were sitting in a plant shop in Heqing City, waiting for the rain to stop. We were discussing adjustment periods and things of that sort, and he said, “The circumstances will not change, but you will change.” Simple enough, of course, and a fact I already understood about my time here, but he articulated it well. I really do wonder who I’ll be at the end of this. Time will tell.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
On Culture
‘Evening, everyone. Or morning. Or whatever time it is wherever you are. I have, as promised, a post discussing things that I knew to expect when I came back to China. I have two categories: “things I’m already used to from last time,” and “things I was exposed to last time but never actually had to get used to.” These lists may expand as I remember more tidbits. But, without further adieu….
Things I’m used to already from last time:
Hocking loogies everywhere and often- this is a fact of life in China, wherever you are. Spit happens. Men are more likely to do it in public than women are, but the girls’ bathroom in Beijing still held a loogie chorus most mornings and evenings.
Belly shirts for men-Belly shirts for women aren’t big here, but men with the Chinese equivalent of beer bellies (and maybe they are beer bellies—I dunno) enjoy rolling up their shirts and letting them rest on the “shelf” of their bellies whenever it’s warm.
Many people wearing the same clothes for 2+ days in a row- I remember being so utterly confused by this when I first came to Beijing. My roommate would wear an outfit for 3-4 days, changing her underwear daily, and then she’d change into a new outfit. So weird, right? Actually, though, as somebody who often wears a shirt twice without washing it, I can appreciate this manner of dressing. After all, why stick a worn shirt back in a drawer with all the clean ones? (That’s still what I do though—even in China, old habits die hard)
People washing their underwear (if not their whole outfits) nightly- This was another confusing part of my first weeks in Beijing, I didn’t understand why my roommate didn’t just wait and do a lot of laundry at once, but if you’re hand-washing your clothes anyway, you may as well get a head start, right?
People who shower with a basin instead of under the faucet- My Chinese roommate here in Lincang takes what we would call “showers” regularly, but many others don’t. They sponge bathe instead, and wash their hair in the sink, showering only occasionally.
Chinese cabbies (and traffic in general) are insane- Like American cabbies, Chinese cabbies have thick accents, crazy stories, and absolutely unbelievable driving practices. They actually make American cab drivers look quite tame, but I actually hear that Chinese cabs are nothing compared to the horror of those in other Asian countries.
Public transit is freakin’ crowded-- Be ready to spoon standing up with whomever you happen to be next to. – Beijing subways are insane, and buses are super crowded. I’ve not experienced public transit in Lincang, but if the buses here aren’t also crowded I will be quite surprised.
Chinese bread is strange and sweet and fluffy and often filled with stuff- American bread is hard to come by in these parts. There is bread, but if it is not steamed it is usually very sweet and usually flavored in some way. And yes. Fluff. Oh so much fluff.
Jiaozi, baozi, mantou, and sesame balls are awesome— Actually, a lot of Chinese foods are awesome, and since I’ve lived in China before I know what some of them are. There’s still a lot yet to be discovered, especially as regards Yunnanese cuisine, but at least I’m not starting more or less from scratch this time.
Chinese bars are weird but can still be fun-- They’re just not typical. Not that I am an expert on bars, but most of the ones here are strange and dark and just…odd.
Soy milk is served warm- I think you can get cold soy milk, maybe, but for the most part soy milk is served at breakfast and warm. It’s also (usually) unflavored and thus less sweet than its American counterpart. I’m learning to like it a bit more, but I’m still not a huge fan.
A lot of milk isn’t refrigerated—From what I understand, the packages of milk sitting on room temperature shelves are perfectly safe—sorta like parmalait in the states—but I still don’t feel comfortable drinking them. Maybe that’ll change.
Food is slurped or eaten with chopsticks—When I came to study abroad, I simply could not use chopsticks. I’d tried to teach myself in the states but with no success. Needless to say, eating was hard for the first few weeks until I figured it out. But now I know exactly how to use chopsticks, I’m accustomed to the practice of using chopsticks to take food from communal dishes, and I know that it’s not at all rude to slurp in most situations.
Pants for unpotty-trained babies don’t have crotches, which allows for their parents to easily hold them up and let them pee/poop outside—This is a big one. While I’m sure diapers are available in China, many parents don’t bother. Instead, they dress their children in “buttless pants,” as many expats have christened them. It is not at all uncommon to see a mother holding a small child over a gutter.
China smells—good and bad—but it smells- In the states, a lot of scents are covered up somehow or another. Even in NYC, there’re a lot of places that just smell like air. In China, almost everywhere smells like something distinct. And maybe I smell it more because I’m not Chinese—I don’t know.
As a foreigner, you will be stared at, and people will try to rip you off when you shop—I feel like I’ve covered this one already, and I’m sure it’ll come up many times in this blog over the course of the year.
Being followed around in stores—It is not at all unusual, in Chinese shops, for the shopkeeper to follow customers around, sort of like how teenagers get followed around in the mall. It’s annoying, but what can you do?
Chinese women use “sunbrellas”—basically, the parasol is back in style. Chinese women feel about pale skin the way many American women do about tans, and thus they work as hard as possible to keep themselves from being exposed to sunlight.
Almost everything is cheaper here than in the states, but at the same time there are quite a few things sold at American-like prices, which many locals can’t possibly afford—I think of China as really having two economies: the one for the wealthy, and the one for everyone else. My breakfast each morning costs from 1-3 kuai, and lunch and dinner are both 4-6. That’s less than a dollar. I can also go to restaurants with “western” food that cost 40 kuai a person for an entrée. That’s about 7 bucks, so still cheap compared to American food, but for people who make not so much to begin with it’s an impossible expense. That’s just one example, and I wouldn’t be surprised if an extended post on this topic pops up sometime.
Being illiterate—This is a big one, and one that I’m having to get re-used to. I hate not being able to read. I can understand some words but not nearly as many as I’d like. The last time I felt this way with English, I was about seven and didn’t actually need to read outside of school. Being, as I am, 23, I kinda need to know how to get around in the community I’m a part of, and that’s made much more difficult when I am pretty much illiterate.
Things I had some exposure to last time but didn’t actually get accustomed to:
Washing clothes by hand- CET (my study abroad program) had washers and driers in the dorms that we could pay to use. I might have hand washed small things once or twice, but generally I used the machines.
Squat Toilets- While I was exposed to many a squat pot while abroad, and while I used many a squat pot, they were not my normal bathrooms because CET had Western toilets in their dorms.
Whitening Lotions I knew that Chinese women liked their skin to be as pale as possible, but I brought my own lotion from the states last time and thus avoided the issue of having to find lotion, somewhere in China, without bleach in it. So far, no luck, but that goes back to the illiteracy thing.
Things I’m used to already from last time:
Hocking loogies everywhere and often- this is a fact of life in China, wherever you are. Spit happens. Men are more likely to do it in public than women are, but the girls’ bathroom in Beijing still held a loogie chorus most mornings and evenings.
Belly shirts for men-Belly shirts for women aren’t big here, but men with the Chinese equivalent of beer bellies (and maybe they are beer bellies—I dunno) enjoy rolling up their shirts and letting them rest on the “shelf” of their bellies whenever it’s warm.
Many people wearing the same clothes for 2+ days in a row- I remember being so utterly confused by this when I first came to Beijing. My roommate would wear an outfit for 3-4 days, changing her underwear daily, and then she’d change into a new outfit. So weird, right? Actually, though, as somebody who often wears a shirt twice without washing it, I can appreciate this manner of dressing. After all, why stick a worn shirt back in a drawer with all the clean ones? (That’s still what I do though—even in China, old habits die hard)
People washing their underwear (if not their whole outfits) nightly- This was another confusing part of my first weeks in Beijing, I didn’t understand why my roommate didn’t just wait and do a lot of laundry at once, but if you’re hand-washing your clothes anyway, you may as well get a head start, right?
People who shower with a basin instead of under the faucet- My Chinese roommate here in Lincang takes what we would call “showers” regularly, but many others don’t. They sponge bathe instead, and wash their hair in the sink, showering only occasionally.
Chinese cabbies (and traffic in general) are insane- Like American cabbies, Chinese cabbies have thick accents, crazy stories, and absolutely unbelievable driving practices. They actually make American cab drivers look quite tame, but I actually hear that Chinese cabs are nothing compared to the horror of those in other Asian countries.
Public transit is freakin’ crowded-- Be ready to spoon standing up with whomever you happen to be next to. – Beijing subways are insane, and buses are super crowded. I’ve not experienced public transit in Lincang, but if the buses here aren’t also crowded I will be quite surprised.
Chinese bread is strange and sweet and fluffy and often filled with stuff- American bread is hard to come by in these parts. There is bread, but if it is not steamed it is usually very sweet and usually flavored in some way. And yes. Fluff. Oh so much fluff.
Jiaozi, baozi, mantou, and sesame balls are awesome— Actually, a lot of Chinese foods are awesome, and since I’ve lived in China before I know what some of them are. There’s still a lot yet to be discovered, especially as regards Yunnanese cuisine, but at least I’m not starting more or less from scratch this time.
Chinese bars are weird but can still be fun-- They’re just not typical. Not that I am an expert on bars, but most of the ones here are strange and dark and just…odd.
Soy milk is served warm- I think you can get cold soy milk, maybe, but for the most part soy milk is served at breakfast and warm. It’s also (usually) unflavored and thus less sweet than its American counterpart. I’m learning to like it a bit more, but I’m still not a huge fan.
A lot of milk isn’t refrigerated—From what I understand, the packages of milk sitting on room temperature shelves are perfectly safe—sorta like parmalait in the states—but I still don’t feel comfortable drinking them. Maybe that’ll change.
Food is slurped or eaten with chopsticks—When I came to study abroad, I simply could not use chopsticks. I’d tried to teach myself in the states but with no success. Needless to say, eating was hard for the first few weeks until I figured it out. But now I know exactly how to use chopsticks, I’m accustomed to the practice of using chopsticks to take food from communal dishes, and I know that it’s not at all rude to slurp in most situations.
Pants for unpotty-trained babies don’t have crotches, which allows for their parents to easily hold them up and let them pee/poop outside—This is a big one. While I’m sure diapers are available in China, many parents don’t bother. Instead, they dress their children in “buttless pants,” as many expats have christened them. It is not at all uncommon to see a mother holding a small child over a gutter.
China smells—good and bad—but it smells- In the states, a lot of scents are covered up somehow or another. Even in NYC, there’re a lot of places that just smell like air. In China, almost everywhere smells like something distinct. And maybe I smell it more because I’m not Chinese—I don’t know.
As a foreigner, you will be stared at, and people will try to rip you off when you shop—I feel like I’ve covered this one already, and I’m sure it’ll come up many times in this blog over the course of the year.
Being followed around in stores—It is not at all unusual, in Chinese shops, for the shopkeeper to follow customers around, sort of like how teenagers get followed around in the mall. It’s annoying, but what can you do?
Chinese women use “sunbrellas”—basically, the parasol is back in style. Chinese women feel about pale skin the way many American women do about tans, and thus they work as hard as possible to keep themselves from being exposed to sunlight.
Almost everything is cheaper here than in the states, but at the same time there are quite a few things sold at American-like prices, which many locals can’t possibly afford—I think of China as really having two economies: the one for the wealthy, and the one for everyone else. My breakfast each morning costs from 1-3 kuai, and lunch and dinner are both 4-6. That’s less than a dollar. I can also go to restaurants with “western” food that cost 40 kuai a person for an entrée. That’s about 7 bucks, so still cheap compared to American food, but for people who make not so much to begin with it’s an impossible expense. That’s just one example, and I wouldn’t be surprised if an extended post on this topic pops up sometime.
Being illiterate—This is a big one, and one that I’m having to get re-used to. I hate not being able to read. I can understand some words but not nearly as many as I’d like. The last time I felt this way with English, I was about seven and didn’t actually need to read outside of school. Being, as I am, 23, I kinda need to know how to get around in the community I’m a part of, and that’s made much more difficult when I am pretty much illiterate.
Things I had some exposure to last time but didn’t actually get accustomed to:
Washing clothes by hand- CET (my study abroad program) had washers and driers in the dorms that we could pay to use. I might have hand washed small things once or twice, but generally I used the machines.
Squat Toilets- While I was exposed to many a squat pot while abroad, and while I used many a squat pot, they were not my normal bathrooms because CET had Western toilets in their dorms.
Whitening Lotions I knew that Chinese women liked their skin to be as pale as possible, but I brought my own lotion from the states last time and thus avoided the issue of having to find lotion, somewhere in China, without bleach in it. So far, no luck, but that goes back to the illiteracy thing.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
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.
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.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
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.
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.
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