This post was actually in draft before I posted the Continuum trilogy, and chronologically it belongs before them because in Continuum 1 I describe that I am old hat at navigating buses. This is how it happened.
Of all the things I anticipated upon moving to China, depression was the least of them. I knew I would suffer some dislocation discomfort, and missing everyone in the States would definitely be a factor, but I reasoned that, with email, video-chat and the like, along with the excitement of being in the country of my dreams, these manifestations would be manageable.
I did not reckon on living in the armpit of China - Wuhan, where everything is ugly and dirty, and I didn’t reckon that I would be confined to quarters after dark. I reasoned that shopping would be difficult at first, at least until I learned to read enough Chinese to decipher labels, but I didn’t figure on the absolute unavailability of products I had heretofore considered essentials of life. I didn’t reckon I would have to learn how to navigate the bus system on my own before I could go anywhere and I didn’t reckon on having to ride a ‘standing room only’ bus, all the time mindful of my bag against crafty pickpockets. I certainly didn’t anticipate riding over bumpy roads while sandwiched between all manner of people before I could get to anywhere I could walk decently. I didn’t know I would be made so uncomfortable by the constant scrutiny of those who had never seen a foreigner before, and those who had, but felt the need to stare all the same.
Those things tipped the scales into the ‘unmanageable’ region. There is nothing I can do about where I live; the university is situated where it is at, and I live on campus, and that’s that: nothing I can do about it.
I can’t force people to accept me and not gawk. I simply have to learn to live with it, and the more I explore the far reaches of this city, the more I have to deal with it. Nothing I can do about it.
I am contractually obligated to uphold Chinese culture and principles as long as I am working at this university. That means no walking around at night unescorted. Nothing I can do about that, either.
The bus system I could do something about, if I had a little help. A bus schedule maybe, or someone to explain how the buses run. Or, maybe there would be a website in English that I could peruse that would be of some use. No help forthcoming, and no website found.
With so much free time – I only teach an hour and a half on Monday and Wednesday, surely there could be some exploring I could do. But it just seems so daunting to have to 1. Put on clothes, 2. Walk to the bus stop, 3. Make sure I have enough money to ride a bus (2yuan per boarding), 4. Be able to find my way home that, on some days it just isn’t worth the bother. On top of all of the other ills like separation anxiety, dislocation, missing everyone, and wondering if I can actually do this job and do it well, I decided that staying home would not be such a bad thing at all.
I can feel the depression creeping in. It is not that I am powerless to stop it, it just seems too overwhelming a task to fight it.
I took to my bed and started sleeping the clock round. I figured that being awake for 12 hours was plenty when there was nothing to do but go out, score a little food, review a lesson plan or two and write emails.
Which was the cause and which the effect? I didn’t make a conscious decision to be depressed and sleep, but on the other hand I was kind of a victim of circumstance. One day, when I woke up at 1:30pm, I decided I had had enough of this nonsense. This is NOT what I came to China for.
Battling my lethargy, I forced myself out of the house and to the bus stop. I boarded the first bus that came by - #906, and made it to the train station. I walked around some and found that the train station is a major transportation hub: most buses terminate there, and then resume their routes all over the city. I made notes of all the bus numbers, went back home and jumped on the Internet with the intention of googling each individual bus number in conjunction with ‘Wuhan, China’ and lo and behold! My first hit: a website that not only told me where each bus went, it gave me the option of planning a route to a certain destination.
As always, if you only ask the right question, you get the answer you are looking for.
I have that website saved. Now, if I want to go somewhere, I look up the destination and find the various buses that will take me there. Or, if I have no particular destination in mind, I just go to the train station and jump on a random bus to see where it will take me and what is along the way.
Sometimes it is still nice to stay home, especially on a rainy day. But it is even better to know that I have the option of leaving home should I so desire, because the bus system is no longer so intimidating. I’ve made several forays out into the city without getting lost, and only once have I not made it back to campus before dark.
Furthermore, I’ve met many nice people in my jaunts that are just thrilled to talk with me. One young woman in particular, Susan, is studying traditional Chinese medicine at the college a few miles away. She started the conversation, and we talked until my stop. Fortunately she speaks very good English, We exchanged contact information. True to her word, we are still in touch and she has invited me to tour her campus.
I no longer sleep in 12-hour shifts. Now it is quite the opposite: I look forward to getting out of my jammies and going exploring!
Saturday, October 9, 2010
Cookie Cutter Girls
Sam is a big help to me, and a good friend. Sam is a busy man, teaching his set of classes and taking care of administrative affairs, let alone taking care of the foreign teachers. To say nothing of the fact that his wife just had a baby and he needs to be there for her and to enjoy his child. And… far be it for me to stereotype, Sam is male and in this culture, men have mostly not been trained on certain essentials like shopping. So, even though he is more than willing to go the extra mile to make my transition into my new life as pain-free as possible, for some things he would rather I forge relationships with my students to help me with.
Thus I made the acquaintance of the Cookie Cutter Girls. They are a group of 6 young women, all students here, three of which are in one of my classes. They have decided to take me under their collective wing and show me around town, help me buy some essentials for my apartment and generally be my friend.
I call them Cookie Cutter Girls because they are all approximately the same size: height, girth and most likely weight. And, they are all absolutely adorable. They are between 18 and 20, and none has ever had a boyfriend. They are completely unfettered by life’s burdens: no love relationships, no jobs, no bills to pay. Their only obligation is to succeed in school and bring honor to their family. They do so with the casual ease only self-assured young women can muster.
I do not use the term ‘girls’ pejoratively. Their manner and disposition is indeed quite girlish. They love to play, and I do mean play: climbing trees, pushing and tickling each other, giggling while pointing at a good-looking boy. They also love to have their picture taken and will gather and pose as soon as the camera is out. Although quite intelligent, they lack a certain worldliness young women with more life experience might have. In the sense that they have, so far at least, been untouched by adult concerns, ‘girl’ seems appropriate.
They each have both a Chinese name and an English one, nevertheless, I have taken the liberty of giving them a name of my own. Allow me to introduce you to my girls:
Zhanni: Her English name is Jenny and she is the ringleader. She was the first to plan an outing and grab my hand while crossing the street (to ensure my safety, not hers – how cute is that?). She makes sure I am properly fed and hydrated by providing me with a constant array of snacks and drinks. She coordinated my birthday surprise (which you’ll read about in another post) and she picked out the gift. I call her my Little Chinese Mommy.
Wen Yu: English name – Lily. She was the first to offer me a gift for Teacher’s Day: a lovely heart-shaped box containing tea. She is the more serious of the group, and more down to earth… although she did insist on having her hair done for our first outing. We had to wait for her to emerge from the salon, but she was absolutely lovely so it was worth the wait. The name ‘Lily’ actually suits her rather well, gracious as she is, but in my mind she is Pinky because she so favors the color pink.
Xue You: English name – Cancy. She had to leave before the outing was over, but she made it a point ask permission by getting her friend on the phone to ask me if I would be offended if she left to celebrate a birthday with another group of friends. The next day she came by to give me a laminated picture of our outing. For this I dubbed her Sweetie Inc.
Fashion Plate: I am ashamed to say that I do not know her Chinese or her English name. But she chose to go on our outing wearing a dainty little blouse, leggings and heels. Oh, the walking we did! How did her feet not hurt?
Shyia: I also do not know her Chinese or her English name. She spoke the least of everyone and was quite shy, but was enthusiastically present in all of the pictures I took. Her nickname is based on her shyness. She stayed close to Dash most of the time.
Dash is one of my students. Her full nickname is 50-Meter Dash, but Dash is good enough. The most petite of the girls, she suffers from motion sickness and can hardly afford to throw up any food she ingests. It took all of her self-control to not throw up on the bus, and as soon as we got off the bus, she stumbled to the nearest place to sit down – a tree border, and rested her queasy stomach. It seems like, throughout the outing, she would rush on ahead about 50 meters, and then rest wherever there was a place to sit. Hence her nickname.
Because these young women are so kind they see to my welfare so enthusiastically, and they come by my apartment frequently, especially my Little Chinese Mommy and Dash. Sometimes they bear gifts and sometimes they just want to check up on me to make sure I’m OK. They will not accept any type of token gift from me or allow me to pay my way for anything.
I guess I will have to ambush them. When they come back from their National Holiday celebration next week, I will invite them out, and present them each with a small gift. There will be nothing they can do about it, but enjoy my sincere appreciation of their sheer girlishness and enjoy the outing. I’ll be sure to have my camera ready for their many poses.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Continuum Break 3 – Personally…
“Chinese people are like porcupines: they get close enough to huddle for warmth, but too close and they will prick each other.” – Song Xian Sheng, AKA Sam.
My good and faithful friend and advisor Sam and I were having a conversation about personal space while we were out one day. I explained to him that in America, the idea of personal space is that each person is entitled to approximately one square meter of space around him/her. Any crowding results in an invasion of personal space and constitutes a grave insult or an act of aggression. That is when Sam told me about the ‘Porcupine Theory’ above.
After years of living in America I understand, and have even come to accept the idea of personal space even though I think a whole square meter for each person is a little bit much. However, America is a big country…
Instinctively I expect to have less personal space, and thus all of the crowding and hand-holding and arm-holding that I’ve experienced here does not bother me. What I’m having a hard time dealing with is the ‘invasion’ of my psychical space.
I am a loner. Always have been, most likely always will be. I don’t want to be a loner, most of the time. I yearn to have company, I like being around people, I enjoy being social. But I don’t know how to be social. It just drains me to be around people all of the time.
I was not ‘socialized’ during that crucial window of growth in childhood. My mother had disdain for society in general and relationships in particular, and she raised us with that disdain. Cuddling? Not on your life! Playing games together? When the moon tumbles from the sky! Invite friends over? Are you insane? (Besides, did we really want to show potential friends what our home life was really like?) How does one even be a friend? As a result I do not know how to reach out to people or ask for (or accept) help, and I certainly do not know how to share or accept goodness, warmth, honesty and open friendship. At least not comfortably.
I moved here with the intent of learning how to do this. Note: This should not reflect badly on the good, dear friends I have made over the years who live in America. You understand me and allow me my quirks and my space… and maybe that is the problem. Too much space.
This society minimizes the space between people. Here there is not only but a blinking regard to the concept of personal space, but there is sometimes a downright invasion of space that forces one to accept said invasion, or deny the invader ‘face’ (respect).
When my students started inviting me out I was immediately tempted to duck and hide behind my position as teacher. ‘Why, we couldn’t possibly fraternize together: a teacher and some students? NEVER!’ But I came here to learn how to accept warmth and friendship and return it in kind – not just the appearance of it. So I accepted these invitations.
When one student or the other grabbed my hand to walk with me, as is the custom here, I allowed it even though it disturbed me profoundly. I don’t think it was because my personal space had been invaded, I think it was because they were freely, openly and publicly demonstrating warmth and affection for me, and it frightened me. So badly that I nearly withdrew my hand and reclaimed my space.
I am officially between a rock and a hard place: I will either learn to accept and return warmth and affection, or I will disrespect those that offer it to me. To learn this lesson means to unlearn 40+ years of conditioning in the art of being an island, to disrespect means to ignore the rules of this society and insult the very people I came here to learn from and teach. I deliberately set myself up to be in this position because I want to stop being alone, but I am finding that this education is much more difficult than I had anticipated.
Another very personal observation: These past 30 days I have caught myself perpetuating incredible acts of selfishness. Besides feeling the overwhelming need to withdraw my hand from being held: Sam and his wife had a baby recently and I have yet to buy them a gift, but I have indulged myself in all the junk food I wanted. My grandson just had his birthday but I’ve yet to find him a gift, let alone try to mail it to him. And its not like I haven’t had the money.
Sure, some of this can be blamed on my feelings of dislocation and my efforts to seek comfort, but still: I find my behavior to be very selfish, which begs the question: Am I selfish because I never learned to share or do I not share because I am selfish?
That is a question I came here to answer. Of all the people in the world that I know of, the Chinese are the least selfish. Not very long ago, their very survival was predicated on sharing: food, scarce material goods, shelter, warmth from the coal stoves in the winter. To this day a standard greeting here is ‘Have you eaten?’ If I can’t learn to share here, I may well have to declare myself hopeless in learning to share.
I do not want to be hopeless in the art of sharing because there are so many people whom I genuinely care about that have shared true and positive emotion with me over the years that I have been incapable of returning, even though I feel great affection and caring for them. I hope you know who you are.
In these past 30 days, I have learned the exact depth of my problem. I have done nothing to fix it yet. I have to learn how. That will be the focus of the next 30 days: forced sharing, until sharing comes as naturally as breathing.
Whew! These last two posts were incredibly difficult to write! I’m going back to light-hearted observations in the next one. It is more fun to write them, and more fun for you to read them.
My good and faithful friend and advisor Sam and I were having a conversation about personal space while we were out one day. I explained to him that in America, the idea of personal space is that each person is entitled to approximately one square meter of space around him/her. Any crowding results in an invasion of personal space and constitutes a grave insult or an act of aggression. That is when Sam told me about the ‘Porcupine Theory’ above.
After years of living in America I understand, and have even come to accept the idea of personal space even though I think a whole square meter for each person is a little bit much. However, America is a big country…
Instinctively I expect to have less personal space, and thus all of the crowding and hand-holding and arm-holding that I’ve experienced here does not bother me. What I’m having a hard time dealing with is the ‘invasion’ of my psychical space.
I am a loner. Always have been, most likely always will be. I don’t want to be a loner, most of the time. I yearn to have company, I like being around people, I enjoy being social. But I don’t know how to be social. It just drains me to be around people all of the time.
I was not ‘socialized’ during that crucial window of growth in childhood. My mother had disdain for society in general and relationships in particular, and she raised us with that disdain. Cuddling? Not on your life! Playing games together? When the moon tumbles from the sky! Invite friends over? Are you insane? (Besides, did we really want to show potential friends what our home life was really like?) How does one even be a friend? As a result I do not know how to reach out to people or ask for (or accept) help, and I certainly do not know how to share or accept goodness, warmth, honesty and open friendship. At least not comfortably.
I moved here with the intent of learning how to do this. Note: This should not reflect badly on the good, dear friends I have made over the years who live in America. You understand me and allow me my quirks and my space… and maybe that is the problem. Too much space.
This society minimizes the space between people. Here there is not only but a blinking regard to the concept of personal space, but there is sometimes a downright invasion of space that forces one to accept said invasion, or deny the invader ‘face’ (respect).
When my students started inviting me out I was immediately tempted to duck and hide behind my position as teacher. ‘Why, we couldn’t possibly fraternize together: a teacher and some students? NEVER!’ But I came here to learn how to accept warmth and friendship and return it in kind – not just the appearance of it. So I accepted these invitations.
When one student or the other grabbed my hand to walk with me, as is the custom here, I allowed it even though it disturbed me profoundly. I don’t think it was because my personal space had been invaded, I think it was because they were freely, openly and publicly demonstrating warmth and affection for me, and it frightened me. So badly that I nearly withdrew my hand and reclaimed my space.
I am officially between a rock and a hard place: I will either learn to accept and return warmth and affection, or I will disrespect those that offer it to me. To learn this lesson means to unlearn 40+ years of conditioning in the art of being an island, to disrespect means to ignore the rules of this society and insult the very people I came here to learn from and teach. I deliberately set myself up to be in this position because I want to stop being alone, but I am finding that this education is much more difficult than I had anticipated.
Another very personal observation: These past 30 days I have caught myself perpetuating incredible acts of selfishness. Besides feeling the overwhelming need to withdraw my hand from being held: Sam and his wife had a baby recently and I have yet to buy them a gift, but I have indulged myself in all the junk food I wanted. My grandson just had his birthday but I’ve yet to find him a gift, let alone try to mail it to him. And its not like I haven’t had the money.
Sure, some of this can be blamed on my feelings of dislocation and my efforts to seek comfort, but still: I find my behavior to be very selfish, which begs the question: Am I selfish because I never learned to share or do I not share because I am selfish?
That is a question I came here to answer. Of all the people in the world that I know of, the Chinese are the least selfish. Not very long ago, their very survival was predicated on sharing: food, scarce material goods, shelter, warmth from the coal stoves in the winter. To this day a standard greeting here is ‘Have you eaten?’ If I can’t learn to share here, I may well have to declare myself hopeless in learning to share.
I do not want to be hopeless in the art of sharing because there are so many people whom I genuinely care about that have shared true and positive emotion with me over the years that I have been incapable of returning, even though I feel great affection and caring for them. I hope you know who you are.
In these past 30 days, I have learned the exact depth of my problem. I have done nothing to fix it yet. I have to learn how. That will be the focus of the next 30 days: forced sharing, until sharing comes as naturally as breathing.
Whew! These last two posts were incredibly difficult to write! I’m going back to light-hearted observations in the next one. It is more fun to write them, and more fun for you to read them.
Continuum Break 2 – Re-evaluating the Yuan
Catchy title, no? Not only is it currently a topic of global discussion – what with America accusing China of not stabilizing its currency and all, but it has a profound meaning to my exploits as I learn to live here. I’ll elucidate:
I consider it very expensive to live in the Western world, and all of you who pay taxes and buy… anything might feel compelled to agree with me. The current estimate is that a person must save approximately $1 Million by retirement age in order to live comfortably in America after retirement, and even now the experts are saying that is not enough. Furthermore, at my age, I would not make that target no matter how frugally I lived in America.
By contrast it is very inexpensive to live in China. With the Yuan currently trading at a rate of 6.78 to 1 against the dollar, and with the knowledge that one can eat on less than 10yuan a day, that loosely translates to the idea that one can eat well for a little over $1 a day. Follow the logic?
I made this move with my focus partly on my finances by retirement time. My plan is to allow what money (dollars) I have in my retirement and various savings accounts accrue interest while saving as much money as possible while I work here. By the time society says I am too old to work (in any country) I should have a tidy sum of Yuan to live cheaply on between my savings here and my savings there.
I get paid a little over 4000yuan to teach here. My apartment and utilities are covered by the University, as well as my medical insurance. With no car, insurance or taxes to pay, I postulate I can live off a quarter of what I earn here and save the rest. 2800 to 3000yuan saved over the year makes for a net savings of 36,000yuan: a handsome profit for the work I do. Make sense? Bear with me, I’m getting to the point!
In thinking about these past 30 days, I remember that Sam had taken me to exchange money within my first few days of being here. I was able to exchange $140. So, I started my life here with a little over 900yuan in my pocket. I’ve had minimal capital expenses: a SIM card for my cell phone, a few household goods… and everything else went to food. I finished this 30-day period with 250yuan still unspent.
I’ll admit I was seeking to alleviate my depression and culture shock. When I reached for that pack of Chinese Oreos (3.8yuan), when I bought all that comfort food, when I bought food simply because it had a brand name that was familiar to me and familiarity was of paramount importance to me this past month, I wasted a lot of money. The junk food that I bought did not taste the same and indeed was not conducive to comfort or good health. I wouldn’t buy such food in America.
Yet my thinking was: 3.8yuan for 14 Oreo cookies – less than a dollar! Great! I’m buying! What I failed to connect is that I gave up the right to think of my money in American currency when I formulated my plan to come here. As a matter of fact, should I continue to automatically convert every Yuan I spend into U.S. Dollars my plan will backfire and I will not have the tidy sum I expect to have in a few years.
I bought a high quality dustmop for 58yuan – about $8.65. A great price in American currency… but would I pay $58 for a dustmop? Probably not. I spent 26yuan in a restaurant eating Western food – about $3.87, which sounds very reasonable. But think of it this way: would you pay $26 for a fast food meal? That’s downright unreasonable.
The point of all of this is: I’m still living as though I have a $75K/yr income and retirement is far over the horizon. Furthermore, I’m thinking of the Yuan as ‘not a real currency’ and maintaining the Dollar as my base currency. Realistically I only have maybe a good 20 years until society declares I am too old to work, and quite frankly, I don’t want to have to work that long. Even at this gravy job! That was kind of the whole point of my moving here, from a financial perspective. If I persist in my thinking about the Yuan, I will be a burden to my children and to society because I will not have enough money to live self-sufficiently come retirement time.
I need to think differently about the Yuan. Maybe I need to think of it in terms of Dollars. Not converting it to Dollars, but as though I were actually spending Dollars instead of Yuan. At least until I get used to the Yuan being my principal currency.
I lived on $140 dollars for one month. Not bad at all. Until you consider that all of my expenses save food were met by the University and I had nothing else to spend that money on but food. Until you consider that $140 is 938yuan.
Who spends $938 in one month with nothing but a few Oreo crumbs to show for it?
I consider it very expensive to live in the Western world, and all of you who pay taxes and buy… anything might feel compelled to agree with me. The current estimate is that a person must save approximately $1 Million by retirement age in order to live comfortably in America after retirement, and even now the experts are saying that is not enough. Furthermore, at my age, I would not make that target no matter how frugally I lived in America.
By contrast it is very inexpensive to live in China. With the Yuan currently trading at a rate of 6.78 to 1 against the dollar, and with the knowledge that one can eat on less than 10yuan a day, that loosely translates to the idea that one can eat well for a little over $1 a day. Follow the logic?
I made this move with my focus partly on my finances by retirement time. My plan is to allow what money (dollars) I have in my retirement and various savings accounts accrue interest while saving as much money as possible while I work here. By the time society says I am too old to work (in any country) I should have a tidy sum of Yuan to live cheaply on between my savings here and my savings there.
I get paid a little over 4000yuan to teach here. My apartment and utilities are covered by the University, as well as my medical insurance. With no car, insurance or taxes to pay, I postulate I can live off a quarter of what I earn here and save the rest. 2800 to 3000yuan saved over the year makes for a net savings of 36,000yuan: a handsome profit for the work I do. Make sense? Bear with me, I’m getting to the point!
In thinking about these past 30 days, I remember that Sam had taken me to exchange money within my first few days of being here. I was able to exchange $140. So, I started my life here with a little over 900yuan in my pocket. I’ve had minimal capital expenses: a SIM card for my cell phone, a few household goods… and everything else went to food. I finished this 30-day period with 250yuan still unspent.
I’ll admit I was seeking to alleviate my depression and culture shock. When I reached for that pack of Chinese Oreos (3.8yuan), when I bought all that comfort food, when I bought food simply because it had a brand name that was familiar to me and familiarity was of paramount importance to me this past month, I wasted a lot of money. The junk food that I bought did not taste the same and indeed was not conducive to comfort or good health. I wouldn’t buy such food in America.
Yet my thinking was: 3.8yuan for 14 Oreo cookies – less than a dollar! Great! I’m buying! What I failed to connect is that I gave up the right to think of my money in American currency when I formulated my plan to come here. As a matter of fact, should I continue to automatically convert every Yuan I spend into U.S. Dollars my plan will backfire and I will not have the tidy sum I expect to have in a few years.
I bought a high quality dustmop for 58yuan – about $8.65. A great price in American currency… but would I pay $58 for a dustmop? Probably not. I spent 26yuan in a restaurant eating Western food – about $3.87, which sounds very reasonable. But think of it this way: would you pay $26 for a fast food meal? That’s downright unreasonable.
The point of all of this is: I’m still living as though I have a $75K/yr income and retirement is far over the horizon. Furthermore, I’m thinking of the Yuan as ‘not a real currency’ and maintaining the Dollar as my base currency. Realistically I only have maybe a good 20 years until society declares I am too old to work, and quite frankly, I don’t want to have to work that long. Even at this gravy job! That was kind of the whole point of my moving here, from a financial perspective. If I persist in my thinking about the Yuan, I will be a burden to my children and to society because I will not have enough money to live self-sufficiently come retirement time.
I need to think differently about the Yuan. Maybe I need to think of it in terms of Dollars. Not converting it to Dollars, but as though I were actually spending Dollars instead of Yuan. At least until I get used to the Yuan being my principal currency.
I lived on $140 dollars for one month. Not bad at all. Until you consider that all of my expenses save food were met by the University and I had nothing else to spend that money on but food. Until you consider that $140 is 938yuan.
Who spends $938 in one month with nothing but a few Oreo crumbs to show for it?
Continuum Break1 – 30-Day Checkup
Today marks the one month anniversary of my arrival in China. Although it is out of sequence, I thought it would be appropriate to take time to review these last 30 days. What have I learned? What have I done? How far do I have to go before being able to be self-sufficient in Chinese society? This will again be a 3-parter, as there are 3 distinct areas of observation to be discussed. This first one concerns general observations.
My job: I do not think I am the be-all and end-all of teaching English. I do think I have a long way to go before I can say I’m good at this job. This is one of those things that will come with experience so I’m not beating myself up too terribly about it. I am more impressed with my progress gaining my students’ trust than I am about my teaching ability. Or maybe they are just naturally trusting? Besides, with no benchmarks to evaluate my teaching, how do I even know I’m a good teacher?
Getting around: I am now old hat at getting around town now that I have figured out the bus system. If I’m looking for a specific destination – say Wal-Mart, I simply look it up online and get an address. Then, I plug that address into a website I found that tells me which bus to take, complete with transfers. If I have no specific destination but want to bum around anyway, I simply go to the train station, a main transportation hub, jump on any given bus and see where it takes me. I have bought a bus schedule that tells me which bus goes where and where it stops in between; with the few characters I can read I can generally muddle my way through. Recently I’ve figured out how to interpret the bus itineraries so that now when I’m at a bus stop I am not totally clueless about which way a bus runs and what side of the street I should be on. Getting home is the inverse of going out: this is a very logical bus system; if a given bus runs up the street it also runs down the street. If all else fails, I know/understand enough Chinese to ask someone where bus #??? (whichever bus I’m looking for) stops, or which bus goes back to the train station. I can always get myself home from the train station! Extra bonus points: I’ve not gotten lost or stranded yet!
Reloading the bus pass: As in certain cities in America, Chinese cities have a bus pass system. Purchasing a pass costs 20yuan, and then you ‘preload’ it with a certain amount of money. Each bus has a ‘speedpass’ type card reader that you wave your bus pass in front of and it not only deducts the current ride’s fare but also tells you how much is left on your card. It is cheaper to ride busses with a bus pass – each boarding costs 1.2 to 1.8yuan no matter how far you travel, depending on which bus you ride. If you pay cash for your bus ride, each boarding costs a flat 2yuan. Minimal savings I grant you, but we’ll discuss this topic in the next post. For now, I have ridden so many busses that I have depleted the 30yuan that my bus card was pre-loaded with and must wait for someone to come back to campus to show me how to recharge it.
Grocery shopping: I can now grocery shop for myself with a minimum of pain and embarrassment. I’m still a bit clueless about vegetables and how to use them, but fruit and eggs are a cinch. Same for the occasional piece of meat I might buy to flavor my assays into cooking. The sauces and condiments are still a little difficult, so for now I stick with cooking simple dishes flavored with soy sauce, cooking wine and that odd chicken seasoning that the Chinese use instead of salt. Also, I’ve had enough visibility in the local stores that the merchants help me and do not try to up their prices. I’ve got Sam to thank for that for that last part.
In the kitchen: I’ve figured out how to use my electronic hot plate as well as my washing machine (you’ll remember that the legends for both appliances are strictly in Chinese). I am able to fix simple meals, and to that end have bought a new wok because the old one’s bottom was warped. I’ve learned that I have to wipe down my countertops (and other horizontal surfaces) every day as grit and dirt blows in constantly. I’ve also learned to not leave water in the kettle overnight unless I want silica-flavored tea in the morning.
Postal/Bank protocol: I know virtually nothing about how to conduct business at either one of these establishments. I know that only Construction Bank of China can exchange currency, and then only select, larger branches. I have yet to step foot in a Chinese Post office and couldn’t tell you how to buy a stamp or mail a letter. I’m seriously going to have to get on learning that. On the other hand, I know that receiving a package is an exercise: the postmen do not deliver packages, couriers do. They do not come on campus, they call your cell phone and ask you to meet them at the front gate of the school to pick up your package. I do not know if they expect a tip, but from my one encounter with this procedure, I get the feeling they do.
Health: My stomach has stabilized and gotten conditioned to the food and the environment. As long as I stay with Chinese food, I do not have to reach for any Tagamet. If I gobble Western food such as KFC or the dreaded McDonald’s, I will swell up and bloat.
There is less of me than there was when I first came here. I don’t think Montezuma is exclusively responsible for that; Chinese food being oddly filling even in small amounts, I am not compelled to eat as much as I was eating in the States, or eat as fast. Another reason for the slow eating is chopsticks: it is difficult to shovel food in your mouth with two thin pieces of bamboo -–unless you tilt the bowl to your mouth and use the chopsticks to rake food in.
I’m pretty much done with my forays into Chinese junk food aisles. None of it tastes very good even though some of it may bear familiar brand names, and it is very expensive. More on this in the next post as well.
The final reason I believe my girth is shrinking: climbing stairs. Each of my classes are on the 5th floor or above, so at least twice a week I am climbing 5 to six flights of stairs. And, I walk all over campus and if I’m not on campus, I’m walking all over town.
My size 12s, which were admittedly snug when I got here are now comfortably loose. If I keep this up, I might actually be able to wear thermal underwear beneath them come winter!
Waste: I find I am rather wasteful, especially in the kitchen and where money is concerned. I’ll address money in the next post, so for now, let’s discuss kitchen waste. Rice is an excellent case in point: I will generally cook 2 cups of rice at a time – about enough for 4 meals. However, due to improper storage or simply deciding the street vendor fare is more appealing for my next few meals than cooking for myself, the cooked rice will go bad and I have to throw it out. Granted, rice is not terribly expensive, but it is terribly wasteful of me to just let all that rice go to waste, right? This is a habit that I carried over from my life in the States. I’ve got to do better.
These are general observations. Have I forgotten anything? Do you have any questions? If not, the next two posts will deal with more specific issues. BEWARE!
My job: I do not think I am the be-all and end-all of teaching English. I do think I have a long way to go before I can say I’m good at this job. This is one of those things that will come with experience so I’m not beating myself up too terribly about it. I am more impressed with my progress gaining my students’ trust than I am about my teaching ability. Or maybe they are just naturally trusting? Besides, with no benchmarks to evaluate my teaching, how do I even know I’m a good teacher?
Getting around: I am now old hat at getting around town now that I have figured out the bus system. If I’m looking for a specific destination – say Wal-Mart, I simply look it up online and get an address. Then, I plug that address into a website I found that tells me which bus to take, complete with transfers. If I have no specific destination but want to bum around anyway, I simply go to the train station, a main transportation hub, jump on any given bus and see where it takes me. I have bought a bus schedule that tells me which bus goes where and where it stops in between; with the few characters I can read I can generally muddle my way through. Recently I’ve figured out how to interpret the bus itineraries so that now when I’m at a bus stop I am not totally clueless about which way a bus runs and what side of the street I should be on. Getting home is the inverse of going out: this is a very logical bus system; if a given bus runs up the street it also runs down the street. If all else fails, I know/understand enough Chinese to ask someone where bus #??? (whichever bus I’m looking for) stops, or which bus goes back to the train station. I can always get myself home from the train station! Extra bonus points: I’ve not gotten lost or stranded yet!
Reloading the bus pass: As in certain cities in America, Chinese cities have a bus pass system. Purchasing a pass costs 20yuan, and then you ‘preload’ it with a certain amount of money. Each bus has a ‘speedpass’ type card reader that you wave your bus pass in front of and it not only deducts the current ride’s fare but also tells you how much is left on your card. It is cheaper to ride busses with a bus pass – each boarding costs 1.2 to 1.8yuan no matter how far you travel, depending on which bus you ride. If you pay cash for your bus ride, each boarding costs a flat 2yuan. Minimal savings I grant you, but we’ll discuss this topic in the next post. For now, I have ridden so many busses that I have depleted the 30yuan that my bus card was pre-loaded with and must wait for someone to come back to campus to show me how to recharge it.
Grocery shopping: I can now grocery shop for myself with a minimum of pain and embarrassment. I’m still a bit clueless about vegetables and how to use them, but fruit and eggs are a cinch. Same for the occasional piece of meat I might buy to flavor my assays into cooking. The sauces and condiments are still a little difficult, so for now I stick with cooking simple dishes flavored with soy sauce, cooking wine and that odd chicken seasoning that the Chinese use instead of salt. Also, I’ve had enough visibility in the local stores that the merchants help me and do not try to up their prices. I’ve got Sam to thank for that for that last part.
In the kitchen: I’ve figured out how to use my electronic hot plate as well as my washing machine (you’ll remember that the legends for both appliances are strictly in Chinese). I am able to fix simple meals, and to that end have bought a new wok because the old one’s bottom was warped. I’ve learned that I have to wipe down my countertops (and other horizontal surfaces) every day as grit and dirt blows in constantly. I’ve also learned to not leave water in the kettle overnight unless I want silica-flavored tea in the morning.
Postal/Bank protocol: I know virtually nothing about how to conduct business at either one of these establishments. I know that only Construction Bank of China can exchange currency, and then only select, larger branches. I have yet to step foot in a Chinese Post office and couldn’t tell you how to buy a stamp or mail a letter. I’m seriously going to have to get on learning that. On the other hand, I know that receiving a package is an exercise: the postmen do not deliver packages, couriers do. They do not come on campus, they call your cell phone and ask you to meet them at the front gate of the school to pick up your package. I do not know if they expect a tip, but from my one encounter with this procedure, I get the feeling they do.
Health: My stomach has stabilized and gotten conditioned to the food and the environment. As long as I stay with Chinese food, I do not have to reach for any Tagamet. If I gobble Western food such as KFC or the dreaded McDonald’s, I will swell up and bloat.
There is less of me than there was when I first came here. I don’t think Montezuma is exclusively responsible for that; Chinese food being oddly filling even in small amounts, I am not compelled to eat as much as I was eating in the States, or eat as fast. Another reason for the slow eating is chopsticks: it is difficult to shovel food in your mouth with two thin pieces of bamboo -–unless you tilt the bowl to your mouth and use the chopsticks to rake food in.
I’m pretty much done with my forays into Chinese junk food aisles. None of it tastes very good even though some of it may bear familiar brand names, and it is very expensive. More on this in the next post as well.
The final reason I believe my girth is shrinking: climbing stairs. Each of my classes are on the 5th floor or above, so at least twice a week I am climbing 5 to six flights of stairs. And, I walk all over campus and if I’m not on campus, I’m walking all over town.
My size 12s, which were admittedly snug when I got here are now comfortably loose. If I keep this up, I might actually be able to wear thermal underwear beneath them come winter!
Waste: I find I am rather wasteful, especially in the kitchen and where money is concerned. I’ll address money in the next post, so for now, let’s discuss kitchen waste. Rice is an excellent case in point: I will generally cook 2 cups of rice at a time – about enough for 4 meals. However, due to improper storage or simply deciding the street vendor fare is more appealing for my next few meals than cooking for myself, the cooked rice will go bad and I have to throw it out. Granted, rice is not terribly expensive, but it is terribly wasteful of me to just let all that rice go to waste, right? This is a habit that I carried over from my life in the States. I’ve got to do better.
These are general observations. Have I forgotten anything? Do you have any questions? If not, the next two posts will deal with more specific issues. BEWARE!
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Montezuma’s Family Reunion
Being over the moon at finally living in China, naturally I embraced all aspects of being here with gusto. Eating traditional foods from street vendors was my main manifestation of such elan.
Oh, did I pay for that!
I am not blaming my gastrointestinal woes on that single bite of fish from the luncheon, or even on all the beer. I am blaming myself for not taking it easy, for not giving myself time to acclimate, for not remembering that, even before leaving the States I was having stomach problems. That sounds all very honorable now, but I was not so rational while writhing in pain from stomach cramps and not being able to eat anything for days. Self-evisceration was more like the thoughts that crossed my mind during those days.
I normally have a very healthy constitution. I usually can eat anything with no negative impact or any suffering of any type. For that reason I was completely taken by surprise at the violence of my stomach ills, and at the longevity of it.
You see, I didn’t know that Montezuma had a family reunion planned, and the selected location was my gut. For days my abdomen was distended, painful, cramping with such force as to wake me up from sleep. Fearing accidents, I found myself running to the bathroom every time I felt a twinge in my stomach, no matter what time of the day or night. It was quite fortuitous that I did.
I found no solace in Gas-X or Tagamet, both medications that I had remembered to bring ample amounts of. I did not need the laxatives that I had brought; I needed the opposite of a laxative, which I had brought none of.
In agony I forsook the street vendor stalls in favor of something milder to eat: bread and fruit. That’s when Montezuma’s grandchildren visited. Their contribution to the reunion was my total inability to be any further than 25 feet from a bathroom at all times. Anything I ate manifested itself in a near-immediate discharge; sometimes painful, always humiliating. Silly me for thinking bread and fruit were rich in fiber, substance and bulk!
As I could not think of anything more innocuous to eat than bread and fruit, in desperation I elected to swear food off completely. The great-grandchildren of Montezuma then put on their show. Dehydration became a real concern. So far, this had gone on for 5 days. Sam stopped by, only to find me sweating and wrung out. He was so concerned he thought he should take me to a doctor. Fever set in; chills caused me to dive into a hot bathtub, with my overhead heat lamps burning (it was 27 degrees Celsius outside that day).
For some reason, while in the tub, the thought of a ginger infusion popped in my head. A hot ginger beverage is an excellent homeopathic remedy for stomach ills; I had read that somewhere, not too long ago. After my bath brought my fever down, I felt strong enough to stumble out to the farmer’s market and buy some fresh ginger to make the infusion with.
Finally, some relief! Within the first few sips I could already feel the calming effects of the ginger. For my third or fourth cup I decided to add a spoonful of honey to the brew, to help with my sore throat. Surely all that hacking and coughing I was doing because of the air quality was not helping my stomach muscles rest.
I can’t exactly say that I felt like a new penny the day after sipping the ginger/honey mixture but I am pleased to report that I made it to class without falling on my face from the exertion of climbing 6 flights of stairs on an empty stomach. Furthermore, I made it all the way through the class without having to run to the rest room. I did have my trusty bottle of ginger water though, and I sipped it regularly, as a religious devout would chant a mantra.
The end result was that, after class I discovered I was ravenous! Always one to listen when my body tells me something, I mentally ran through my food options. Bread and fruit weren’t going to cut it. I was out of eggs and had no rice cooked, so I had to venture out to shop. As long as I had to go out, I decided to explore those options. All street vendor fare was ruled out. Ditto the local sit-down restaurant: too many unknowns on the menu. There was this chicken fast food place that had roast chicken… that would probably be the best choice. And it is in fact chicken, smaller than chickens in America but recognizable as edible fowl of the barnyard kind. NOTE: that restaurant also has fried chicken that is recognizable as such, but I thought it prudent to stay away from the fried variety.
Consensus: roast chicken!
I was nearly salivating as I walked the quarter mile or so to this restaurant. I had never actually patronized it; just looked at the menu board while walking by – I must have been planning for this. Now comes the acid test: ace-in-the-hole food source, or another disappointment?
My friends, this little chicken restaurant did not disappoint! I was fairly moaning with anticipation by the time I made it home with my little chicken, and I did grunt with pleasure as my body responded – nearly instantly, and favorably to the food.
Thus ended the siege of Montezuma and his relations. All it took was a lot of ginger water with honey, and an undersized roast chicken which I ate all in one sitting. I’m still careful about what I eat, but I have been venturing back to the vendor stalls.
There’s this one guy that makes these stuffed batter cakes… they resemble crepes, and they’re stuffed with egg, green onion, crispy fried tofu, sausage and lettuce, all wrapped up like a burrito.
Oh, Lordy! I’m hooked again!
Oh, did I pay for that!
I am not blaming my gastrointestinal woes on that single bite of fish from the luncheon, or even on all the beer. I am blaming myself for not taking it easy, for not giving myself time to acclimate, for not remembering that, even before leaving the States I was having stomach problems. That sounds all very honorable now, but I was not so rational while writhing in pain from stomach cramps and not being able to eat anything for days. Self-evisceration was more like the thoughts that crossed my mind during those days.
I normally have a very healthy constitution. I usually can eat anything with no negative impact or any suffering of any type. For that reason I was completely taken by surprise at the violence of my stomach ills, and at the longevity of it.
You see, I didn’t know that Montezuma had a family reunion planned, and the selected location was my gut. For days my abdomen was distended, painful, cramping with such force as to wake me up from sleep. Fearing accidents, I found myself running to the bathroom every time I felt a twinge in my stomach, no matter what time of the day or night. It was quite fortuitous that I did.
I found no solace in Gas-X or Tagamet, both medications that I had remembered to bring ample amounts of. I did not need the laxatives that I had brought; I needed the opposite of a laxative, which I had brought none of.
In agony I forsook the street vendor stalls in favor of something milder to eat: bread and fruit. That’s when Montezuma’s grandchildren visited. Their contribution to the reunion was my total inability to be any further than 25 feet from a bathroom at all times. Anything I ate manifested itself in a near-immediate discharge; sometimes painful, always humiliating. Silly me for thinking bread and fruit were rich in fiber, substance and bulk!
As I could not think of anything more innocuous to eat than bread and fruit, in desperation I elected to swear food off completely. The great-grandchildren of Montezuma then put on their show. Dehydration became a real concern. So far, this had gone on for 5 days. Sam stopped by, only to find me sweating and wrung out. He was so concerned he thought he should take me to a doctor. Fever set in; chills caused me to dive into a hot bathtub, with my overhead heat lamps burning (it was 27 degrees Celsius outside that day).
For some reason, while in the tub, the thought of a ginger infusion popped in my head. A hot ginger beverage is an excellent homeopathic remedy for stomach ills; I had read that somewhere, not too long ago. After my bath brought my fever down, I felt strong enough to stumble out to the farmer’s market and buy some fresh ginger to make the infusion with.
Finally, some relief! Within the first few sips I could already feel the calming effects of the ginger. For my third or fourth cup I decided to add a spoonful of honey to the brew, to help with my sore throat. Surely all that hacking and coughing I was doing because of the air quality was not helping my stomach muscles rest.
I can’t exactly say that I felt like a new penny the day after sipping the ginger/honey mixture but I am pleased to report that I made it to class without falling on my face from the exertion of climbing 6 flights of stairs on an empty stomach. Furthermore, I made it all the way through the class without having to run to the rest room. I did have my trusty bottle of ginger water though, and I sipped it regularly, as a religious devout would chant a mantra.
The end result was that, after class I discovered I was ravenous! Always one to listen when my body tells me something, I mentally ran through my food options. Bread and fruit weren’t going to cut it. I was out of eggs and had no rice cooked, so I had to venture out to shop. As long as I had to go out, I decided to explore those options. All street vendor fare was ruled out. Ditto the local sit-down restaurant: too many unknowns on the menu. There was this chicken fast food place that had roast chicken… that would probably be the best choice. And it is in fact chicken, smaller than chickens in America but recognizable as edible fowl of the barnyard kind. NOTE: that restaurant also has fried chicken that is recognizable as such, but I thought it prudent to stay away from the fried variety.
Consensus: roast chicken!
I was nearly salivating as I walked the quarter mile or so to this restaurant. I had never actually patronized it; just looked at the menu board while walking by – I must have been planning for this. Now comes the acid test: ace-in-the-hole food source, or another disappointment?
My friends, this little chicken restaurant did not disappoint! I was fairly moaning with anticipation by the time I made it home with my little chicken, and I did grunt with pleasure as my body responded – nearly instantly, and favorably to the food.
Thus ended the siege of Montezuma and his relations. All it took was a lot of ginger water with honey, and an undersized roast chicken which I ate all in one sitting. I’m still careful about what I eat, but I have been venturing back to the vendor stalls.
There’s this one guy that makes these stuffed batter cakes… they resemble crepes, and they’re stuffed with egg, green onion, crispy fried tofu, sausage and lettuce, all wrapped up like a burrito.
Oh, Lordy! I’m hooked again!
A Great Honor: the Formal Luncheon
On Monday, after teaching my first class, Sam informed me that the school’s officials would like to have a luncheon the following day in our honor – mine and Victor’s honor. Victor is the other foreign language teacher. Dirty apartment notwithstanding, I was excited and touched at the lengths the school was going to make me feel wanted and welcome.
Although I had anticipated some sort of formal meeting with the school’s officials, I did not anticipate a luncheon. Planning for such an occasion while still in the States, I had remembered to pack at least one formal outfit: a skirt with matching blouse, hose and appropriate shoes. My friend Lisa and I also had gone shopping to buy small gifts for any dignitary or official I might meet. It is proper Chinese custom for visitors to offer such gifts, and she and I had a great time selecting a variety of key chains and lapel pins depicting Texas for me to offer my hosts. Come time for the luncheon I loaded my trinkets into my purse and Sam escorted Victor and me to the teacher’s cafeteria, where the feast was to be held in a private dining room.
Finally, I learn where the teacher’s cafeteria is!
But that’s beside the point.
A server asked what I would like to drink; erring on the side of moderation (and culture), I asked for hot tea. Victor quickly sided with my choice, and then we were immediately trumped by an official looking man who had just entered the room and proclaimed that we would all drink beer. Who am I to argue with the man that turned out to be the Communist Party Chairman assigned to the school? As he was the most important figure, I presented him with one of the nicer key chains Lisa and I had selected after shaking his hand.
In short order, the other dignitaries arrived: the University President – harried and pressured, the Dean of Languages - a gracious and beautiful woman, the Secretary of Foreign Teacher Affairs who struck me as rather bawdy but fun to be around, and, to my delight and surprise, the Head of Maintenance. Only a former maintenance technician knows how often maintenance is overlooked! Each got a Lisa-picked trinket, their importance within the school hierarchy denoting the substance of the gift they received.
After that, beer flowed like water. We toasted each other, our joint venture, our friendship, my being left-handed, our apartments and the promise that, if Victor and I stay next year we would get new apartments. We toasted the Chairman’s recent return from France, and the fact that he and I could speak French together. We toasted the English language… we might have even toasted the flies buzzing around; I’m not exactly sure. After so many toasts, I, a non-drinker, ended up pretty toasted myself! I do remember toasting the maintenance man and telling him we have a similar background. I even ventured a toast to the whole group in Chinese: Let’s drink to our friendship!
Poor Sam! He is also a non-drinker, and it showed: his youthful face suddenly grew haggard and red around the eyes; spots of red also bloomed on his cheeks. He whispered on the sly if I could tell he was getting smashed; I took one look at him and gravely nodded my assent. We made a pact to help each other down the stairs and back to our apartments after lunch was over. Victor is maybe of hardier stock, he did not appear to suffer from all of the drinking.
And then came the food. This private dining room boasted a typical Chinese large-gathering set up: a big, round table with a glass lazy susan covering most of it; allowing just enough room for each diner’s place setting comprising of a tea cup, a glass, a rice bowl, a sauce dish, chopsticks and chopstick rest – a little bench for your chopsticks to rest on when you’re not using them. The food was placed on the lazy susan one dish at a time, the glass was then gently spun and another dish brought in and placed. As is customary, the dishes stop in front of the guests so that they might have the first sampling of the food being offered.
Oh, bad news! The first dish was fish! A whole fish, pan-fried and cut up in chunks: head, tail, fins, bones and all. Familiar dread coursed through me: fish has not crossed my lips but maybe a handful of times since I got so horribly sick as a child after eating a bad piece of fish and being sick for days afterward. As the glass turntable advanced past the maintenance man, past Sam, slowing… slowing… in front of me I decided to ‘give my hosts face’ and eat at least one bite of this local specialty, prepared for this special meal.
I grabbed my chopsticks and reached for the smallest piece possible, which to me looked like a huge chunk. Everyone was thrilled that I knew how to use chopsticks; I heard their approving comments and felt their eyes on my suddenly sweating face as I put the bite of fish in my mouth…
And I discovered a unique problem that will forever absolve me of eating fish! It is a condition completely beyond my control! Much to my joy and relief, I am prevented from eating fish because I cannot feel the bones in my teeth. I wear full dentures and anyone knows that dentures are insentient pieces of plastic held in your mouth by suction. If the inside of my mouth had been stabbed by 20 fish bones I would not have known it, protected as I am by my dentures. Elation! Rapture! I have discovered a reason to never attempt to eat fish again!
Maybe my hosts thought I was drunk, careless or foolish as I ate the fish with no regard for bones. They urged Sam to caution me of the bones. Bones? What bones? I didn’t feel a thing… in my mouth! But I was giddy with relief that I had passed the ‘fish test’ almost as much as with the fact that I will never have to eat fish again.
The rest of the meal passed uneventfully. The officials made conversation; it turns out that they do not get to see each other very often as they are busy with important matters while running the school, and this get-together was as much for them as for Victor and I. Sam, Victor and I entertained ourselves. The food was delicious – fish notwithstanding, and after a time, we wrapped things up by… you guessed it: toasting each other farewell!
I went back to my apartment and napped substantially. After a meal like that, who wouldn’t? Poor Sam still had a lot of work to do, so no nap for him!
Normally that would be my closing line, but I have to add one more: Lisa, you were on my mind that day, and a shadow of you was by my side as I reflected on your good sense in suggesting the variety of key chains. I’m very glad I went with your choices; you have great taste and sure know how to pick out a gift! Thanks for being there with me, in spirit.
Although I had anticipated some sort of formal meeting with the school’s officials, I did not anticipate a luncheon. Planning for such an occasion while still in the States, I had remembered to pack at least one formal outfit: a skirt with matching blouse, hose and appropriate shoes. My friend Lisa and I also had gone shopping to buy small gifts for any dignitary or official I might meet. It is proper Chinese custom for visitors to offer such gifts, and she and I had a great time selecting a variety of key chains and lapel pins depicting Texas for me to offer my hosts. Come time for the luncheon I loaded my trinkets into my purse and Sam escorted Victor and me to the teacher’s cafeteria, where the feast was to be held in a private dining room.
Finally, I learn where the teacher’s cafeteria is!
But that’s beside the point.
A server asked what I would like to drink; erring on the side of moderation (and culture), I asked for hot tea. Victor quickly sided with my choice, and then we were immediately trumped by an official looking man who had just entered the room and proclaimed that we would all drink beer. Who am I to argue with the man that turned out to be the Communist Party Chairman assigned to the school? As he was the most important figure, I presented him with one of the nicer key chains Lisa and I had selected after shaking his hand.
In short order, the other dignitaries arrived: the University President – harried and pressured, the Dean of Languages - a gracious and beautiful woman, the Secretary of Foreign Teacher Affairs who struck me as rather bawdy but fun to be around, and, to my delight and surprise, the Head of Maintenance. Only a former maintenance technician knows how often maintenance is overlooked! Each got a Lisa-picked trinket, their importance within the school hierarchy denoting the substance of the gift they received.
After that, beer flowed like water. We toasted each other, our joint venture, our friendship, my being left-handed, our apartments and the promise that, if Victor and I stay next year we would get new apartments. We toasted the Chairman’s recent return from France, and the fact that he and I could speak French together. We toasted the English language… we might have even toasted the flies buzzing around; I’m not exactly sure. After so many toasts, I, a non-drinker, ended up pretty toasted myself! I do remember toasting the maintenance man and telling him we have a similar background. I even ventured a toast to the whole group in Chinese: Let’s drink to our friendship!
Poor Sam! He is also a non-drinker, and it showed: his youthful face suddenly grew haggard and red around the eyes; spots of red also bloomed on his cheeks. He whispered on the sly if I could tell he was getting smashed; I took one look at him and gravely nodded my assent. We made a pact to help each other down the stairs and back to our apartments after lunch was over. Victor is maybe of hardier stock, he did not appear to suffer from all of the drinking.
And then came the food. This private dining room boasted a typical Chinese large-gathering set up: a big, round table with a glass lazy susan covering most of it; allowing just enough room for each diner’s place setting comprising of a tea cup, a glass, a rice bowl, a sauce dish, chopsticks and chopstick rest – a little bench for your chopsticks to rest on when you’re not using them. The food was placed on the lazy susan one dish at a time, the glass was then gently spun and another dish brought in and placed. As is customary, the dishes stop in front of the guests so that they might have the first sampling of the food being offered.
Oh, bad news! The first dish was fish! A whole fish, pan-fried and cut up in chunks: head, tail, fins, bones and all. Familiar dread coursed through me: fish has not crossed my lips but maybe a handful of times since I got so horribly sick as a child after eating a bad piece of fish and being sick for days afterward. As the glass turntable advanced past the maintenance man, past Sam, slowing… slowing… in front of me I decided to ‘give my hosts face’ and eat at least one bite of this local specialty, prepared for this special meal.
I grabbed my chopsticks and reached for the smallest piece possible, which to me looked like a huge chunk. Everyone was thrilled that I knew how to use chopsticks; I heard their approving comments and felt their eyes on my suddenly sweating face as I put the bite of fish in my mouth…
And I discovered a unique problem that will forever absolve me of eating fish! It is a condition completely beyond my control! Much to my joy and relief, I am prevented from eating fish because I cannot feel the bones in my teeth. I wear full dentures and anyone knows that dentures are insentient pieces of plastic held in your mouth by suction. If the inside of my mouth had been stabbed by 20 fish bones I would not have known it, protected as I am by my dentures. Elation! Rapture! I have discovered a reason to never attempt to eat fish again!
Maybe my hosts thought I was drunk, careless or foolish as I ate the fish with no regard for bones. They urged Sam to caution me of the bones. Bones? What bones? I didn’t feel a thing… in my mouth! But I was giddy with relief that I had passed the ‘fish test’ almost as much as with the fact that I will never have to eat fish again.
The rest of the meal passed uneventfully. The officials made conversation; it turns out that they do not get to see each other very often as they are busy with important matters while running the school, and this get-together was as much for them as for Victor and I. Sam, Victor and I entertained ourselves. The food was delicious – fish notwithstanding, and after a time, we wrapped things up by… you guessed it: toasting each other farewell!
I went back to my apartment and napped substantially. After a meal like that, who wouldn’t? Poor Sam still had a lot of work to do, so no nap for him!
Normally that would be my closing line, but I have to add one more: Lisa, you were on my mind that day, and a shadow of you was by my side as I reflected on your good sense in suggesting the variety of key chains. I’m very glad I went with your choices; you have great taste and sure know how to pick out a gift! Thanks for being there with me, in spirit.
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