I had written this post sometime toward the end of September but, being a ‘glass half full’ kind of girl I resisted posting it. At the time it seemed rather negative and downtrodden… but I saved it anyway. I’d like to post it now, in conjunction with the next post to show how things have turned around in barely one month.
This morning I woke up with the certainty that I don’t belong here. That was strange.
I had class this morning, the first after the seven-day holiday. Its not that I dreaded facing my students, it is just the lack of direction, support and materials that is, by this time, sending me in a near panic every time I have to teach. I literally have no idea what to do with and for these kids.
Can anyone blame me for thinking that I would have at least some resources? Some materials? Some sort of guidelines? Some help or support in the classroom?
The sad thing is that, the way I have been indoctrinated into teaching is how these kids are being taught English. I learned that from a bull session we had today, when I asked the students – by force – how I could possibly help them learn English. What kind of problems are you having? What is the most difficult thing for you? These are questions I asked them, and I solicited an answer from individual students by tossing a ball at them, one at a time. That’s what I mean by ‘by force’. They tend not to talk unless I call on them by name.
Beside the student whom I made cry I got some pretty interesting feedback. Basically, they have a text book, their English teacher reads from the book and assigns work whether the students understand the assignment or not. They are still at a stage where they are hearing English, translating it into Chinese to understand it, and then translating it back into English to interpret or use it. As Sophomore English majors, they should have long been past this method of learning.
Incidentally: the student I made cry had just been called on, and I’m sure she has something else going on – not just the stress of being called on. I did excuse her from class. I hope she resolves her issues and can again partake of lessons.
Attendance is not falling off, but I honestly have to say: the bloom is off the rose. The honeymoon is over. My charming personality and my students’ curiosity of me can only carry things so far. I have to get good at this job, and quick. How?
I’ll ask Sam if I can sit in on his class to see what he teaches, and how he teaches. That might help.
Interesting occurrence: a student who is not in my class showed up at my apartment door asking for help. She has a major test on October 24th that will determine whether she can go to Hong Kong to further her studies and get her dream job. Apparently, not only did someone reassure her that I would be able to help her, but also gave her directions to my apartment. I wonder how all that came about? Nevertheless… I am eager… no! anxious to help and be effective. How?
The problem of trying to figure out how to manage and teach my classes is exacerbated by the fact that I’m trying to learn how to live in this country. The social rules, the practical aspects like shopping and cooking and negotiating everyday transactions… those are all still things that I am not totally comfortable with. Some I’m even still completely in the dark about. I’ve yet to learn how to live in a world that doesn’t know of the existence of paper towels and other common products that I took for granted in America. To say nothing of learning how to reload money onto my bus card or make use of the post office.
Another interesting occurrence: Since 2008 – my first time walking on Chinese soil and breathing Chinese air, I have sought to live as ‘Chinese’ a lifestyle as possible: cooking Chinese food, eating with chopsticks, watching Chinese movies, studying for hours how to speak/read/write this beautiful, poetic language. Since I’ve been here, I have studied not one lick. Instead I have sought out all things Western. Wal-Mart (and any Western product I might find there), how to make potato soup and croutons (that was actually quite successful; they both turned out delicious), occasionally indulging in a hamburger even.
Imagine my dismay when one of my students confided today that she actually saw me eat a hamburger!
Do I belong here, where mop handles are only 4’ long and where I have to stoop over my counter tops?
There is no doubt of my love for China and its people. Especially the people. But… maybe I’m in love with the idea of China?
Too many unanswered questions, and too much frustration for one day. I’m going to go do what I usually do when I am angry or frustrated beyond belief: cleaning.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Monday, November 1, 2010
Mille Bornes – The Rules
In the game of Mille Bornes, the object is to be the first to drive 1,000 km. The practice of driving in China is much the same, except driving to your destination is the objective, not driving 1,000 km.
I realize that people usually set out with a destination in mind so that point might seem redundant, but not to this narrative. In China everyone sets out with the goal of being first to get to his or her destination, whether everyone has the same destination or not is a moot point. In order to be first, the driver of any given conveyance must cut other drivers off, take up as much of the road as possible, drive the wrong way down one way streets, and even drive into oncoming traffic if that will help them get where they’re going faster.
I do not know which city is being photographed in those pictures that accompany the occasional traffic write-ups the Western media presents of China, but I can assure you it cannot be China. The simple fact is that lane markings, even those that separate the road into two way traffic do not matter at all to the drivers here. There is no such thing as staying in one’s lane or on one’s side of the road. It is common, if you see an obstruction in your lane to swerve into the next lane over without so much as a blinker.
The game of Mille Bornes provides each player the opportunity for perpetual hazard protection; they are called ‘Coup Fourre’ (pronounced k-ew phew-ray) and they are denoted by a bold green stripe down the face of the card. The four Coup Fourre are: accident prevention, inpucturable tires, a bottomless gas tank and emergency vehicle status.
With emergency vehicle status, red lights and speed limits do not matter. In China, they don’t matter either. Drivers routinely ignore red lights in favor of cramming themselves through intersections, and there is no point to having speed limits if everyone has to send stock still because of traffic tie-ups.
The bottomless gas tank would be a very useful Coup Fourre on Chinese roads. It would prevent all of those cars from stalling out because they ran out of gas waiting for traffic to clear up, or all of the scooters to now have to be pushed down the road because the batteries have drained. Every Chinese driver should have this Coup Fourre in real life.
Impucturable tires should also be a must for Chinese drivers. With the roads the way they are, it is simply impossible to guarantee that a tire will not simply rupture, leaving a car stranded on the road and causing even more traffic delays. Although I have yet to see a flat tire be the cause of tying up traffic, I can imagine all of the tire damage that cars could sustain because of these terribly maintained roads. Perhaps it is because no one can drive fast that tires do not puncture like they would on a road where speeds higher than 10km/hr is attained.
In Mille Bornes your opponents plague you with road hazards: at any given time a player can impose a speed limit, give you a red light, give you a flat tire or cause you to run out of gas or have an accident. In China, that is never the case: Chinese drivers are very tolerant of each other’s driving. They do not yell at each other or curse that stupid so-and-so who is endangering an entire road full of people by his or her crazy driving… being as they all drive the same way. However, everyone makes use of their horn to demand priority (except for dogs and pedestrians, who have no horns), so no points are accorded for that.
I will mention one stupendously funny incident in which a bus passenger accused the bus driver of being a bad driver. It happened when the driver did not make the most of an opportunity to pass another vehicle. The bus driver instantly got very angry and shouted at the passenger that he should drive the bus if he felt more capable. If the passenger in question did not want to drive the bus he should just shut up, because bus drivers in Wuhan are actually excellent drivers, fully qualified to even fly F-14s. After that, the bus driver was very angry and his driving reflected it. The passenger, unable to ‘top’ the F-14 comment, left well enough alone.
I have to concur that the bus drivers in Wuhan are very skilled. I have yet to see a driver have an accident or even so much as nick another road occupant, even though their vehicle is overloaded and they are under pressure to convey passengers from one end of the city to the other safely. And over terrible roads, at that. Of special merit are the drivers of double-decker buses who have twice the passenger load.
As in Mille Bornes, eventually everyone arrives at his or her destination – except perhaps those meandering dogs. I don’t think they have the intellectual capability of actually selecting a destination, and if they did have that capability, they probably would also realize that taking to the roads is a very bad idea, indeed.
At the end of the game, how is it scored? If you arrive first, you get extra points. That is the goal of every single Chinese driver. Hence their atrocious manner of driving.
If you can do it without using a 200km/hr card, extra points are accorded. Every Chinese driver falls in that category too, as speeding is impossible. Dogs and pedestrians are exempt of this category; they would not be able to attain that speed anyway.
If you reach your destination with no Coup Fourre in your hand you win extra points too. No problem there, every Chinese driver plays every advantage they have behind the wheel each chance they get.
If you catch other drivers with point cards in their hand? Those points are deducted from that driver’s score. And such is also the case in China, where not getting to your destination on time is counted against you.
I realize this blog is supposed to be about life in China and the Chinese culture and I’ve just spent the last two entries explaining a French card game. But, if you look at it, we are part of a Global Village and now you not only know how to play a French card game, but also you know how to drive in China.
Rather clever, no?
Mille Bornes – The Game
Mille Bornes – pronounced ‘Meel Born’, is a French card game that simulates driving. Sounds strange, I know, but it is a very cleverly crafted game in which you must ‘drive’ 1,000km (the meaning of Mille Bornes), and protect yourself against road hazards, speed limits or that crazy fool who insists on driving 200km/hr regardless of road conditions. The first to attain 1,000km wins.
I know I’ve told you about the terrible traffic conditions here and I’ve been trying for some time to figure out a way to graphically paint that picture for you. I think, using Mille Bornes as an example – explaining traffic as I would explain the game might be effective. As I sense this might be an unduly long post, I think I’ll write it in two parts: First, we’ll go over the game components: what you might see on the road. I’ll rank them in order of horsepower.
Dogs: I am aware that dogs are not a conveyance but the idea is to communicate everything that vies for space on the road and dogs, singly or in packs can be found trotting down the road and fearlessly weaving through traffic. All vehicles brake for dogs in China. I do not know to whom these dogs might belong to as I’ve yet to see a dog with a collar on, but they do impede traffic, and they should be a part of the ‘game’ – just like the Mille Bornes card that has a snail on it.
People: I accord pedestrians a medal of bravery (or foolhardiness) for the way they mingle with their powered counterparts. Whether they are walking along the side of the road or actually facing oncoming vehicles, people affect traffic flow. Some people pull a two-wheeled cart laden with coal, vegetables or buckets of seeds, others are relatively unencumbered and just want to get to the other side of the road, whether there is a car coming at them or not. Please: no jokes about the chicken crossing roads, there are definitely no (figurative) chickens here.
Two-cycle engine tractors: Many people still use these to transport all manner of goods and even passengers across town. Their maximum speed probably could not exceed 30k/hr but they also claim their share of the road, often to the ire of buses and trucks. It seems drivers of such tractors do not like to drive through mud puddles or over potholes, thus they seldom confine themselves to driving on the sides of the road, rather they claim the middle of the road.
Bikes/trikes: Bikes? In China? Well, OK, bikes are pretty much a given. Both bikes and trikes can be seen going down the road laden with just about anything from stupendously balanced loads of styrofoam to refrigerators. A nifty contraption is a bike with a sidecar to tote anything from building supplies to bottled water. Surprisingly enough, there are not that many human powered bikes. Most erstwhile bikers seem to prefer…
Scooters: These zippy little contraptions, either battery- or gasoline powered have no problems threading through traffic snarls and the riders of these cunning little conveyances act as though they are Dobermans in a Wienerdog world: they want as much of the road as possible… and they take it! Bikes, trikes and scooters can be seen laden with up to 4 people – sometimes the whole family just jumps on for the ride, the mothers keeping her hands over the kids’ mouths to keep the road dust out. No one wears a helmet.
Motorcycles: I’m being deliberately vague where these conveyances are concerned because it is not very often one sees ‘ye average’ motorcycle. To be sure they are ridden and do take up space on the road, but most often they have been modified to accommodate more than passenger – there is a type of caboose built onto it, or it has been turned into a service vehicle, complete with a bed that can haul… anything that needs hauling. Very ingenious.
POVs: Again, pretty much a given. China being the latest country to catch driving fever, POVs abound. All manner of POV, from high end SUV to modest little QQ, a Chinese economy car approximately the size of a SmartCar. Among POVs I’m going to include taxis because they fall approximately within the same range of horsepower as a privately owned car even though they actually deserve their own category.
Light Trucks: Rather an oxymoron, no? I cannot pick up a so-called light truck, nor can anyone I know. However, there is a distinction between these light trucks – 2 axles, hauling relatively light freight, and their tractor-trailor counterpart. They are in a different category of horsepower altogether.
Tractor-trailer: These are relevant for two reasons. One, because they deliver the much needed construction materials such as steel and pre-fab’ed concrete barriers, and two, because they tend to tie up traffic a lot, trying to negotiate these treacherous roads, as big as they are. You can see tractor trailers everywhere, chugging their way down the road or blocking it altogether.
Buses: Normally I would rank buses as having less horsepower than a tractor-trailer, but as these buses are usually loaded to the gills with people – even double decker buses, I have to conclude that they just might have more horsepower than a semi. That’s just my guess; I could be wrong.
These are the players in our little game of Mille Bornes; on the next post I will explain the rules, and how the game is actually played.
Get set to have fun! (or get horrified…)
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Metro: The Store of my Dreams!
Yesterday was such lovely weather, I decided it would be a good idea to set out in search of Metro again. Before leaving the house – in high spirits, I might add, I consulted with the website I use to verify which bus to take to this alleged shopping Mecca and how many stops I should count before expecting to get there.
Got it: Metro is on Xu Dong Road (pronounced Shoe Dong), #48. That would be 18 stops on bus 402, thank you and have a nice day. I shut down the computer, made sure I had everything needed for a day out and grabbed a Chinese hamburger at one of the street vendors for breakfast. Please do not lecture me about the evils of fast food for breakfast until I tell you about Chinese hamburgers, which consists of a home-baked roll stuffed with stewed meat and fresh vegetables, prepared right there in front of you. YUM!
Thus sated I began the interminable journey into town by boarding bus 202 – standing room only, of course. Not that I minded standing, but not when the bus itself is standing still. When the traffic did not move for over 10 minutes I decided to get off the bus and walk around the traffic jam. Surely I would get to the train station much quicker on foot than by staying in stalled traffic.
And I did. After only 15 minutes of walking in which I shamelessly wove through the parking lot this road of nightmares has become, the road was perfectly clear and I soon boarded another bus that would take me to the train station, where I would make my connection to bus 402. Except for my shoes being once again muddy, things were really going well and I took that as a sign that I would finally meet with success in finding the elusive Metro store.
I saw many things of interest while riding bus 402 that, normally, I would get off and investigate but today my goal was specific: Metro. I was not getting off the bus until I got to the 18th stop, and I was not going home until I found that store. So, I made a mental note to investigate all of the interesting things I saw today at a later date.
Eighteen stops later I debark. I am now in a construction zone – again! Construction everywhere! Nevertheless I gauge by the fact that this bus dropped me off in front of building number 92 that Metro must be down the road a little ways. I start walking…
And find the Home Store! Interesting… I decided to check it out, as it was on the way. The Home Store is a lot like Home Depot: they sell furniture, household things, complete kitchens, hardware and DYI supplies. They also sell appliances, so naturally I checked out that department to see if they had ovens. They had quite a nice one for 698 Yuan… but again things did not feel right in my gut. It just did not feel like MY oven. Besides, I didn’t bring enough money with me to plunk down that kind of cash.
However I did find pipe insulation, which was a good thing seeing as my hot water pipes are not only exposed, they are not insulated, and run along an outside wall – the North wall of my apartment, to be specific. Ever the maintenance tech, I’m thinking I should insulate my pipes before winter really gets here; otherwise I’m going to be hard-pressed to stay clean and sanitary with only cold water. A few Yuan spent on pipe insulation and I leave the Home Store and keep walking.
The next thing I run into is a shopping plaza with a Wal-Mart Supercenter. Another interesting development: maybe I’ll find some duct tape for my insulation project, and I need some stuff for my class room. Off I go, into Wal-Mart. It was nice, it was interesting and I did find some of the things I needed. Again a few Yuan well spent and again, off I go.
By this time I decided I was hungry and, as though conjured up from my foreigner’s mind, there stands a Pizza Hut. I decided to partake, being as it has been so long since my last slice of pizza, and since my last meal. The gracious hostess seated me in a nook where I heard gentle murmurs of conversation… in English! There were more foreigners in Wuhan! In America this might have been rude but I’m not in America, so I just walked right up to those foreigners, introduced myself and gave them my contact information. Then I asked if they knew where Metro was.
They told me it was down several blocks and I should consider taking a taxi, as the ‘blocks’ were rather long. Instead I decided to get back on bus 402 and go one more stop. Surely the bus can take me there as well as a taxi, right? I finish my pizza, pay the bill and, once again fueled for adventure, I go back to the bus stop.
One more stop is exactly what it took. Unfortunately I rode bus 402 for 2 more stops and had to double back. No problem: at least I found The Elusive Metro (in my mind, it had been elevated to Capitals status).
Metro! Like a mirage it shimmers before me! Metro! The store everyone talks about but no one seems to know how to get to! Metro! I stand before your portals with a shopping cart, poised to see what you have to offer. But first, a bathroom break, in the bathrooms conveniently provided next to the entrance.
I don’t know if I can convey to you the joy of Metro. Under its corrugated roof I found so many things I have been looking for since I came here: butter, cheese, fresh meats, ‘foreigner foods’ and YES! MY OVEN! My oven is here!
I will return to Metro on Monday afternoon to purchase what has got to be the most precious, the most darling, the most beautiful oven in the world. It is stainless steel with a black face and a glass door. It will roast a whole chicken, bake a dozen cookies and broil a piece of meat… not all at the same time, but it has all of those capabilities. It will look perfect next to my microwave on the shelf. The best part is it will only cost me 399 Yuan!
I literally floated through the store with a dopey grin on my face. My Oven!!! Soon I will have my oven. And then, things will be alright. I barely registered the fact that Metro also sells all manner of butter, cheeses, actual milk, an assortment of crusty breads, and boasts a fine meat selection, to say nothing of Western dry and canned goods. Knowing that I would not be able to shop decently and get things home on the crowded weekend bus, I put off shopping but…
I definitively decided Metro was the store for me when I found GASP! Paper Towels! I had to buy them right then and there, crowded bus or no. Come tomorrow, when I buy my oven, I will have 2 additions that have been seriously lacking in my kitchen.
Yes, Sophia: Metro really does exist. And, everything you heard about it is true!
Got it: Metro is on Xu Dong Road (pronounced Shoe Dong), #48. That would be 18 stops on bus 402, thank you and have a nice day. I shut down the computer, made sure I had everything needed for a day out and grabbed a Chinese hamburger at one of the street vendors for breakfast. Please do not lecture me about the evils of fast food for breakfast until I tell you about Chinese hamburgers, which consists of a home-baked roll stuffed with stewed meat and fresh vegetables, prepared right there in front of you. YUM!
Thus sated I began the interminable journey into town by boarding bus 202 – standing room only, of course. Not that I minded standing, but not when the bus itself is standing still. When the traffic did not move for over 10 minutes I decided to get off the bus and walk around the traffic jam. Surely I would get to the train station much quicker on foot than by staying in stalled traffic.
And I did. After only 15 minutes of walking in which I shamelessly wove through the parking lot this road of nightmares has become, the road was perfectly clear and I soon boarded another bus that would take me to the train station, where I would make my connection to bus 402. Except for my shoes being once again muddy, things were really going well and I took that as a sign that I would finally meet with success in finding the elusive Metro store.
I saw many things of interest while riding bus 402 that, normally, I would get off and investigate but today my goal was specific: Metro. I was not getting off the bus until I got to the 18th stop, and I was not going home until I found that store. So, I made a mental note to investigate all of the interesting things I saw today at a later date.
Eighteen stops later I debark. I am now in a construction zone – again! Construction everywhere! Nevertheless I gauge by the fact that this bus dropped me off in front of building number 92 that Metro must be down the road a little ways. I start walking…
And find the Home Store! Interesting… I decided to check it out, as it was on the way. The Home Store is a lot like Home Depot: they sell furniture, household things, complete kitchens, hardware and DYI supplies. They also sell appliances, so naturally I checked out that department to see if they had ovens. They had quite a nice one for 698 Yuan… but again things did not feel right in my gut. It just did not feel like MY oven. Besides, I didn’t bring enough money with me to plunk down that kind of cash.
However I did find pipe insulation, which was a good thing seeing as my hot water pipes are not only exposed, they are not insulated, and run along an outside wall – the North wall of my apartment, to be specific. Ever the maintenance tech, I’m thinking I should insulate my pipes before winter really gets here; otherwise I’m going to be hard-pressed to stay clean and sanitary with only cold water. A few Yuan spent on pipe insulation and I leave the Home Store and keep walking.
The next thing I run into is a shopping plaza with a Wal-Mart Supercenter. Another interesting development: maybe I’ll find some duct tape for my insulation project, and I need some stuff for my class room. Off I go, into Wal-Mart. It was nice, it was interesting and I did find some of the things I needed. Again a few Yuan well spent and again, off I go.
By this time I decided I was hungry and, as though conjured up from my foreigner’s mind, there stands a Pizza Hut. I decided to partake, being as it has been so long since my last slice of pizza, and since my last meal. The gracious hostess seated me in a nook where I heard gentle murmurs of conversation… in English! There were more foreigners in Wuhan! In America this might have been rude but I’m not in America, so I just walked right up to those foreigners, introduced myself and gave them my contact information. Then I asked if they knew where Metro was.
They told me it was down several blocks and I should consider taking a taxi, as the ‘blocks’ were rather long. Instead I decided to get back on bus 402 and go one more stop. Surely the bus can take me there as well as a taxi, right? I finish my pizza, pay the bill and, once again fueled for adventure, I go back to the bus stop.
One more stop is exactly what it took. Unfortunately I rode bus 402 for 2 more stops and had to double back. No problem: at least I found The Elusive Metro (in my mind, it had been elevated to Capitals status).
Metro! Like a mirage it shimmers before me! Metro! The store everyone talks about but no one seems to know how to get to! Metro! I stand before your portals with a shopping cart, poised to see what you have to offer. But first, a bathroom break, in the bathrooms conveniently provided next to the entrance.
I don’t know if I can convey to you the joy of Metro. Under its corrugated roof I found so many things I have been looking for since I came here: butter, cheese, fresh meats, ‘foreigner foods’ and YES! MY OVEN! My oven is here!
I will return to Metro on Monday afternoon to purchase what has got to be the most precious, the most darling, the most beautiful oven in the world. It is stainless steel with a black face and a glass door. It will roast a whole chicken, bake a dozen cookies and broil a piece of meat… not all at the same time, but it has all of those capabilities. It will look perfect next to my microwave on the shelf. The best part is it will only cost me 399 Yuan!
I literally floated through the store with a dopey grin on my face. My Oven!!! Soon I will have my oven. And then, things will be alright. I barely registered the fact that Metro also sells all manner of butter, cheeses, actual milk, an assortment of crusty breads, and boasts a fine meat selection, to say nothing of Western dry and canned goods. Knowing that I would not be able to shop decently and get things home on the crowded weekend bus, I put off shopping but…
I definitively decided Metro was the store for me when I found GASP! Paper Towels! I had to buy them right then and there, crowded bus or no. Come tomorrow, when I buy my oven, I will have 2 additions that have been seriously lacking in my kitchen.
Yes, Sophia: Metro really does exist. And, everything you heard about it is true!
Oven Lust
Naturally I need to not go on wild shopping sprees while living here. Not only is that counter to the idea of living the minimalist life I’m trying to embrace, but imagine trying to move again! And this time, with more stuff! No, the list of acquisitions needs to remain small. I was hoping to not even have a list, but since being here I’ve realized I will have to buy a few things.
Like a heater. The heaters in my apartment are woefully inadequate; I can tell just by looking at them. They are mini heat pumps, one in each main room whose air handlers are situated high on the wall, approximately 30cm from the ceiling. Being as heat rises, how efficient are these things going to be? Especially if you consider the walls are 20cm thick concrete and the windows are single-paned. The walls alone sap the apartment of any heat inside.
Another appliance I will have to furnish for myself is an iron. Whereas usually there is a proliferation of cleaners who would ‘do’ my clothes for next to nothing in China, in this neighborhood of dust and diesel fumes we can’t even spell clean, let alone have a cleaner to iron my work clothes for me.
An appliance I did not have to buy is a blow dryer. That was one I had anticipated shopping for; strangely enough, there was one furnished with the apartment. Maybe I should not anticipate things so much…
I never really expected this, but I miss my toaster oven. Knowing that the standard Chinese kitchen does not come so equipped, while I was in the States I had originally planned to ship my toaster oven over and just use a transformer to convert power for it. But my oven proved too cumbersome and I reasoned: how often do I use it anyway? Funny how you never know how useful an oven is until you don’t have one.
I have a microwave oven, but it is just not the same. Not when you are faced with a steady diet of fried foods from the wok and soggy, overly soft, sweet bread from the local bakery. In short: when you wake up dreaming about brownies, the only thing you can really conclude is that you miss having an oven.
All that changed for me on the day I got a phone call from a friend. There was going to be a birthday celebration and she confided that, rather than buy a cake, she was going to bake one.
WAIT A MINUTE!!! Ovens do not exists in China! How… I actually spluttered this part… How are you going to BAKE a cake???
Come to find out ovens can be bought in China. Very nice ovens that bake, broil and roast whole chickens, all while looking very efficient and modern in these traditional Chinese kitchens. And it just so happens Della has one.
Since that day I have been possessed with oven lust. I long to purchase the oven of my dreams, and when I’m in my own kitchen I glance longingly at the space my oven will one day occupy. Part of the reason I took that very long walk (when I ended up in the mud puddle) was because there are several appliance stores along that stretch of road that might… just MIGHT have my oven.
I have been to Carrefour – a quarter way across town; Walmart – halfway across town; and every appliance store in between. I have found ovens, but they are not quite of the caliber I’m dreaming of. I have been to Chicone’s – a high-end department store, and Renrenle – a low-end department store; even they cannot seem to satisfy.
I conclude my only hope for finding my oven will be at Metro, the elusive, German-owned major store chain. I’ve set out to find Metro on 4 different occasions and each time I was thwarted. Even though the Metro website tells me exactly which bus to take in order to arrive at its welcoming portals, somehow I cannot seem to find the place. Maybe the store is just a myth and the website one of those prank sites… but then I think: No, that is where Della bought her oven. Surely Metro must exist somewhere in this town!
I know it is wrong of me to put all of my hopes into one basket. Maybe, if I make it to Metro and get a good jolt of disappointment at not finding MY oven, I’ll go to Wal-Mart and settle for one of theirs. Wal-Mart actually does have a fairly interesting ‘convertible’ oven, in which the chicken roasts standing up, and then you pivot the roasting element from the side of the oven to the top and turn it into a broiler.
Sigh! If I HAVE to make do…
Like a heater. The heaters in my apartment are woefully inadequate; I can tell just by looking at them. They are mini heat pumps, one in each main room whose air handlers are situated high on the wall, approximately 30cm from the ceiling. Being as heat rises, how efficient are these things going to be? Especially if you consider the walls are 20cm thick concrete and the windows are single-paned. The walls alone sap the apartment of any heat inside.
Another appliance I will have to furnish for myself is an iron. Whereas usually there is a proliferation of cleaners who would ‘do’ my clothes for next to nothing in China, in this neighborhood of dust and diesel fumes we can’t even spell clean, let alone have a cleaner to iron my work clothes for me.
An appliance I did not have to buy is a blow dryer. That was one I had anticipated shopping for; strangely enough, there was one furnished with the apartment. Maybe I should not anticipate things so much…
I never really expected this, but I miss my toaster oven. Knowing that the standard Chinese kitchen does not come so equipped, while I was in the States I had originally planned to ship my toaster oven over and just use a transformer to convert power for it. But my oven proved too cumbersome and I reasoned: how often do I use it anyway? Funny how you never know how useful an oven is until you don’t have one.
I have a microwave oven, but it is just not the same. Not when you are faced with a steady diet of fried foods from the wok and soggy, overly soft, sweet bread from the local bakery. In short: when you wake up dreaming about brownies, the only thing you can really conclude is that you miss having an oven.
All that changed for me on the day I got a phone call from a friend. There was going to be a birthday celebration and she confided that, rather than buy a cake, she was going to bake one.
WAIT A MINUTE!!! Ovens do not exists in China! How… I actually spluttered this part… How are you going to BAKE a cake???
Come to find out ovens can be bought in China. Very nice ovens that bake, broil and roast whole chickens, all while looking very efficient and modern in these traditional Chinese kitchens. And it just so happens Della has one.
Since that day I have been possessed with oven lust. I long to purchase the oven of my dreams, and when I’m in my own kitchen I glance longingly at the space my oven will one day occupy. Part of the reason I took that very long walk (when I ended up in the mud puddle) was because there are several appliance stores along that stretch of road that might… just MIGHT have my oven.
I have been to Carrefour – a quarter way across town; Walmart – halfway across town; and every appliance store in between. I have found ovens, but they are not quite of the caliber I’m dreaming of. I have been to Chicone’s – a high-end department store, and Renrenle – a low-end department store; even they cannot seem to satisfy.
I conclude my only hope for finding my oven will be at Metro, the elusive, German-owned major store chain. I’ve set out to find Metro on 4 different occasions and each time I was thwarted. Even though the Metro website tells me exactly which bus to take in order to arrive at its welcoming portals, somehow I cannot seem to find the place. Maybe the store is just a myth and the website one of those prank sites… but then I think: No, that is where Della bought her oven. Surely Metro must exist somewhere in this town!
I know it is wrong of me to put all of my hopes into one basket. Maybe, if I make it to Metro and get a good jolt of disappointment at not finding MY oven, I’ll go to Wal-Mart and settle for one of theirs. Wal-Mart actually does have a fairly interesting ‘convertible’ oven, in which the chicken roasts standing up, and then you pivot the roasting element from the side of the oven to the top and turn it into a broiler.
Sigh! If I HAVE to make do…
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Rolling up the Welcome Mat
Part of the problem and frustration of being a sitting duck in my apartment is the fact that I am available to whomever wishes to knock on my door. I’ve touched on that before, now let’s explore the topic in detail.
For guys, a surprise knock on the door is no big deal: they just slap a ball cap on their head and answer the door. For women it is so much more involved: hair and make up must be done, clothing and supportive undergarments must be worn. It is a bit like when the paparazzi catch stars without their makeup and make a big deal out of it for women to answer the door in a state of unreadiness. To avoid ‘bad press’, or, in my case bad representation, the particulars of my situation dictate that I must be ready for company at all times.
I’m not presuming I am of the caliber of Angelina Jolie or Halle Berry, but my students expect a certain amount of ‘presence’ when they see me, because that is what they are used to. And, as a role model on campus I am compelled to present myself well. However, I do not like the idea of having to sit around the house with perfect hair and make up in case a student decides to show up. To say nothing of having snacks available, as it is the custom in China to greet your guests with some sort of food and drink to make them feel welcome. And, custom is, if you open your door you are welcoming a guest.
This is another aspect of my recent rebellion: I have decided over this past weekend to not make myself so available to the students. After all, it is not part of my job and there is nothing that compels me to do so. A friend had suggested that I post visiting hours and posting visiting hours sounds like a good idea, but I think maybe it conveys the impression that I welcome visitors for at least part of the night. That is not necessarily the case: What if I’m not feeling well? What if I'm already in my jammies (because they are substantially warmer than my street clothes) and do not have make up on or my hair done? What if I'm doing something like blogging or watching a movie or eating my dinner? What if I don’t have snacks? What if my house is not in shape to receive company?
I always used to tell my daughter that I do not live in suspended animation until she needed something from me; I actually have interests and activities that I pursue, completely independent of her. Same situation here, don't you think?
There was a group of girls - not the Cookie Cutters - who were enraptured by the fact that my apartment was air conditioned (this was in the summer, of course). Their dorms are not climate controlled at all and they do not even have hot water to bathe in. We had gone out and spent the day together, and as a natural extension to that I invited them in for a light snack. Next thing you know they are in the kitchen doing my dishes, going through my things, prowling through the whole house, and saying how they could come over every night and watch movies and study. And then they said how poorly they sleep in their dorms because of the lack of air conditioning... Definitely time to nip that one in the bud.
Of course, I realize I can't have it both ways: either I give up a measure of privacy and allow the students to help me get around town, or I give up the students' help and maintain the sanctity of my home. After a short debate with myself, I've decided on the latter. I can surely learn how to cope and survive around town alone and thus preserve a measure of privacy in my life. Furthermore, now that the school year has taken off and the students are more and more involved in their activities around campus, they are less and less available to spend a weekend day showing me around Wuhan. Besides: the bloom is off the rose; we've been working together for 8 weeks now. They are more familiar with me and do not feel as compelled to satisfy their curiosity about me by hanging out so much. Of course, coming by my apartment is a convenient middle ground... depending on whose side you look at. Certainly not mine.
No, I think I should discourage the practice altogether. The students should not have the liberty to just come up and knock on my door. I think I will encourage them to send a text message to see if I'm available to meet with them, and we can meet at some neutral place on campus during daylight hours: a library, the park or some such. For my more endearing students, going to a local eatery would be acceptable. My home is my home, not a crash pad... as it may well turn out to be if I continue to allow this practice.
What do you think?
For guys, a surprise knock on the door is no big deal: they just slap a ball cap on their head and answer the door. For women it is so much more involved: hair and make up must be done, clothing and supportive undergarments must be worn. It is a bit like when the paparazzi catch stars without their makeup and make a big deal out of it for women to answer the door in a state of unreadiness. To avoid ‘bad press’, or, in my case bad representation, the particulars of my situation dictate that I must be ready for company at all times.
I’m not presuming I am of the caliber of Angelina Jolie or Halle Berry, but my students expect a certain amount of ‘presence’ when they see me, because that is what they are used to. And, as a role model on campus I am compelled to present myself well. However, I do not like the idea of having to sit around the house with perfect hair and make up in case a student decides to show up. To say nothing of having snacks available, as it is the custom in China to greet your guests with some sort of food and drink to make them feel welcome. And, custom is, if you open your door you are welcoming a guest.
This is another aspect of my recent rebellion: I have decided over this past weekend to not make myself so available to the students. After all, it is not part of my job and there is nothing that compels me to do so. A friend had suggested that I post visiting hours and posting visiting hours sounds like a good idea, but I think maybe it conveys the impression that I welcome visitors for at least part of the night. That is not necessarily the case: What if I’m not feeling well? What if I'm already in my jammies (because they are substantially warmer than my street clothes) and do not have make up on or my hair done? What if I'm doing something like blogging or watching a movie or eating my dinner? What if I don’t have snacks? What if my house is not in shape to receive company?
I always used to tell my daughter that I do not live in suspended animation until she needed something from me; I actually have interests and activities that I pursue, completely independent of her. Same situation here, don't you think?
There was a group of girls - not the Cookie Cutters - who were enraptured by the fact that my apartment was air conditioned (this was in the summer, of course). Their dorms are not climate controlled at all and they do not even have hot water to bathe in. We had gone out and spent the day together, and as a natural extension to that I invited them in for a light snack. Next thing you know they are in the kitchen doing my dishes, going through my things, prowling through the whole house, and saying how they could come over every night and watch movies and study. And then they said how poorly they sleep in their dorms because of the lack of air conditioning... Definitely time to nip that one in the bud.
Of course, I realize I can't have it both ways: either I give up a measure of privacy and allow the students to help me get around town, or I give up the students' help and maintain the sanctity of my home. After a short debate with myself, I've decided on the latter. I can surely learn how to cope and survive around town alone and thus preserve a measure of privacy in my life. Furthermore, now that the school year has taken off and the students are more and more involved in their activities around campus, they are less and less available to spend a weekend day showing me around Wuhan. Besides: the bloom is off the rose; we've been working together for 8 weeks now. They are more familiar with me and do not feel as compelled to satisfy their curiosity about me by hanging out so much. Of course, coming by my apartment is a convenient middle ground... depending on whose side you look at. Certainly not mine.
No, I think I should discourage the practice altogether. The students should not have the liberty to just come up and knock on my door. I think I will encourage them to send a text message to see if I'm available to meet with them, and we can meet at some neutral place on campus during daylight hours: a library, the park or some such. For my more endearing students, going to a local eatery would be acceptable. My home is my home, not a crash pad... as it may well turn out to be if I continue to allow this practice.
What do you think?
I Have a Box
It is an unassuming thing: white and measuring approximately 20” by 14” by 10”. There is some tape holding it closed, and various markings on it. It is a bit heavy, and a tad beat up from all of its travels.
It is my very first care package.
Sam happened to be visiting with me when he got the call that I had a package waiting. He was thrilled at my excitement and so happy to be the bearer of such good news he forgot to tell me exactly when and where and how to rendezvous with this package, only vaguely gesturing toward the campus’ entrance gate.
I had been expecting this package. Marjorie and I had colluded on it. I needed some pharmaceuticals that I’ve found are not available in China and ordered them online, to be sent to her house. She then added a few things of her own and found out that the cost of mailing a box to China is prohibitive. We split the postage and she let me know when she shipped it and when it should arrive.
Receiving a package or a letter in China is a bit different than in the States, as I’m sure I informed you. In this instance, my parcel was not delivered by courier but by the Post office, and it was dropped off at the main gate. There is a small building to the right of the entrance gate that signs for all incoming packages and then phone calls are made to the proper recipients to come pick them up. I was ready to pick my package up the minute I found out it was waiting for me, but Sam instructed me to wait until the afternoon.
I didn’t know about that small building wherein the packages lie.
At 4:00PM I sent Sam a text message asking if now were a good time to go get my package; he responded to the affirmative. With all of the glee of a small child at Christmas I set out to a nearby store that advertised it was an outlet for ChinaPost. I asked about my package and they looked at me like my nose was on upside down. They directed me to the post office, again vaguely gesturing up the street.
By now it had started raining, and I had forgotten my umbrella. No matter, my smile was my umbrella as I trudged though the mud to the next friendly store that advertised itself as an outlet for China Post and asked them where I’m supposed to go pick up a package. I should inform you that my Chinese has not substantially improved in the two months I’ve been here, and I still can’t manage the local dialect so again I got looks like I was possessed.
Finally a kind student helped me out by indicating that the post office is in fact across the major road. By now I’m a little unsettled and not exactly happy I’m getting rained on, smile or not. Arriving at the post office I ask about receiving a package only to be informed I never had to leave campus to receive it. Reversing my course through the rain and the mud, and mildly cursing Sam for not being more detailed in his explanation on how to receive packages, I trudged back to campus.
Serendipity saves me a lot of trouble around here, I’ve found out. It just so happens that the Postal Clerk I talked with had called ahead to let the campus mail clerk know I was on my way. She flagged me down as I entered the gate, otherwise I would never have known about the small building wherein packages lie. The clerk ceremoniously indicated which box I should pick up and take home with me.
As though I wouldn’t recognize a Parcel Post box, sealed with priority tape. As though I wouldn’t recognize the huge address label Marjorie printed out from her computer and affixed to the top of it. As though I didn’t hear the choir of angels singing at me when my eyes lit upon it. As though I really needed her to show me my box. Now I’m happy with Sam, the Post Office and the whole world again. I have my box.
You can imagine my excitement – not at receiving the items I had ordered, but at seeing what Marjorie had padded my order with. All I knew to expect was Oreos. I barely got my front door open for all my excitement, and stared reverently at this wonder, this unassuming container that had so recently been in the presence of my best friend and was now in my company.
The staring lasted all of about 5 seconds, and then I ripped into it. The tape hindered my animal efforts to liberate the contents so I ran to the kitchen for a knife and unceremoniously cut the offending binding. I was literally holding my breath until I touched the first packing peanuts concealing my treasures. One by one they emerged as I pawed through stryrofoam: a bar of chocolate, the promised Oreos – 2 bags!; a bag of Dove candies, a box of breakfast bars, a monster bottle of Listerine – the biggest money could buy. And the stuff I had ordered – but that was academic; I knew that stuff was going to be in there.
I sat down on my hideous couch, cradling my bottle of Listerine, with tears running down my face. My friend remembered I love Listerine. Running my fingers over the chocolates I imagined her standing in the candy aisle at Wal-Mart, trying to decide what might please me the most. I pictured her heading toward the checkout with all of these things she would never buy for herself (except the breakfast bars and the Listerine), trying to decide if she had bought enough stuff to send me. I imagined her at the checkout, a small smile playing on her lovely face as she paid for the things she knew would bring a smile to my face.
Oh, my friends: if you know of anyone who is far from home, either by their own decision or on order of a Supreme Commander – i.e. our Service Men and Women, please send them a care package. It doesn’t really matter what you put in it, it is the ‘care’ that matters. The idea that someone ‘back home’ is thinking of them. The idea that, no matter what they’re doing in a foreign country, they matter to those they left behind. The fact that, even though they are isolated they are thought of and loved and missed.
I stuffed an entire Oreo cookie in my mouth and drooled chocolate crumbles to mingle with my tears. Nice visual, right? Finally getting up from the couch I decided to leave my treasures on the coffee table all night, so that I could behold them every time I walked through the living room. And I passed through the living room often that day on my way to get tissue to wipe my tears with.
Later that night I found myself pawing through the packing peanuts one more time because I just couldn’t believe Marjorie would send a whole package and not include at least a card. Come to find out, there was one final gift in this care package Marjorie so lovingly prepared: a news article detailing her as a role model for men and women everywhere. Marjorie is in fact a Weight Watchers top 100 role model, and is currently enjoying a bit of fame for it. We had talked about it on the phone; she knew I wanted to share in her great success and thoughtfully included this article. I kicked myself for nearly having missed it, and then settled down to read the whole thing.
Marjorie, you are not just a Weight Watchers’ role model, you are a model friend and human being. You have taught me many things over the years, but now you’ve added a most important lesson: the value of caring.
It is my very first care package.
Sam happened to be visiting with me when he got the call that I had a package waiting. He was thrilled at my excitement and so happy to be the bearer of such good news he forgot to tell me exactly when and where and how to rendezvous with this package, only vaguely gesturing toward the campus’ entrance gate.
I had been expecting this package. Marjorie and I had colluded on it. I needed some pharmaceuticals that I’ve found are not available in China and ordered them online, to be sent to her house. She then added a few things of her own and found out that the cost of mailing a box to China is prohibitive. We split the postage and she let me know when she shipped it and when it should arrive.
Receiving a package or a letter in China is a bit different than in the States, as I’m sure I informed you. In this instance, my parcel was not delivered by courier but by the Post office, and it was dropped off at the main gate. There is a small building to the right of the entrance gate that signs for all incoming packages and then phone calls are made to the proper recipients to come pick them up. I was ready to pick my package up the minute I found out it was waiting for me, but Sam instructed me to wait until the afternoon.
I didn’t know about that small building wherein the packages lie.
At 4:00PM I sent Sam a text message asking if now were a good time to go get my package; he responded to the affirmative. With all of the glee of a small child at Christmas I set out to a nearby store that advertised it was an outlet for ChinaPost. I asked about my package and they looked at me like my nose was on upside down. They directed me to the post office, again vaguely gesturing up the street.
By now it had started raining, and I had forgotten my umbrella. No matter, my smile was my umbrella as I trudged though the mud to the next friendly store that advertised itself as an outlet for China Post and asked them where I’m supposed to go pick up a package. I should inform you that my Chinese has not substantially improved in the two months I’ve been here, and I still can’t manage the local dialect so again I got looks like I was possessed.
Finally a kind student helped me out by indicating that the post office is in fact across the major road. By now I’m a little unsettled and not exactly happy I’m getting rained on, smile or not. Arriving at the post office I ask about receiving a package only to be informed I never had to leave campus to receive it. Reversing my course through the rain and the mud, and mildly cursing Sam for not being more detailed in his explanation on how to receive packages, I trudged back to campus.
Serendipity saves me a lot of trouble around here, I’ve found out. It just so happens that the Postal Clerk I talked with had called ahead to let the campus mail clerk know I was on my way. She flagged me down as I entered the gate, otherwise I would never have known about the small building wherein packages lie. The clerk ceremoniously indicated which box I should pick up and take home with me.
As though I wouldn’t recognize a Parcel Post box, sealed with priority tape. As though I wouldn’t recognize the huge address label Marjorie printed out from her computer and affixed to the top of it. As though I didn’t hear the choir of angels singing at me when my eyes lit upon it. As though I really needed her to show me my box. Now I’m happy with Sam, the Post Office and the whole world again. I have my box.
You can imagine my excitement – not at receiving the items I had ordered, but at seeing what Marjorie had padded my order with. All I knew to expect was Oreos. I barely got my front door open for all my excitement, and stared reverently at this wonder, this unassuming container that had so recently been in the presence of my best friend and was now in my company.
The staring lasted all of about 5 seconds, and then I ripped into it. The tape hindered my animal efforts to liberate the contents so I ran to the kitchen for a knife and unceremoniously cut the offending binding. I was literally holding my breath until I touched the first packing peanuts concealing my treasures. One by one they emerged as I pawed through stryrofoam: a bar of chocolate, the promised Oreos – 2 bags!; a bag of Dove candies, a box of breakfast bars, a monster bottle of Listerine – the biggest money could buy. And the stuff I had ordered – but that was academic; I knew that stuff was going to be in there.
I sat down on my hideous couch, cradling my bottle of Listerine, with tears running down my face. My friend remembered I love Listerine. Running my fingers over the chocolates I imagined her standing in the candy aisle at Wal-Mart, trying to decide what might please me the most. I pictured her heading toward the checkout with all of these things she would never buy for herself (except the breakfast bars and the Listerine), trying to decide if she had bought enough stuff to send me. I imagined her at the checkout, a small smile playing on her lovely face as she paid for the things she knew would bring a smile to my face.
Oh, my friends: if you know of anyone who is far from home, either by their own decision or on order of a Supreme Commander – i.e. our Service Men and Women, please send them a care package. It doesn’t really matter what you put in it, it is the ‘care’ that matters. The idea that someone ‘back home’ is thinking of them. The idea that, no matter what they’re doing in a foreign country, they matter to those they left behind. The fact that, even though they are isolated they are thought of and loved and missed.
I stuffed an entire Oreo cookie in my mouth and drooled chocolate crumbles to mingle with my tears. Nice visual, right? Finally getting up from the couch I decided to leave my treasures on the coffee table all night, so that I could behold them every time I walked through the living room. And I passed through the living room often that day on my way to get tissue to wipe my tears with.
Later that night I found myself pawing through the packing peanuts one more time because I just couldn’t believe Marjorie would send a whole package and not include at least a card. Come to find out, there was one final gift in this care package Marjorie so lovingly prepared: a news article detailing her as a role model for men and women everywhere. Marjorie is in fact a Weight Watchers top 100 role model, and is currently enjoying a bit of fame for it. We had talked about it on the phone; she knew I wanted to share in her great success and thoughtfully included this article. I kicked myself for nearly having missed it, and then settled down to read the whole thing.
Marjorie, you are not just a Weight Watchers’ role model, you are a model friend and human being. You have taught me many things over the years, but now you’ve added a most important lesson: the value of caring.
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