Ambulant Vendors

Here lately The Street has been filling up with vendors of all types that sell all kinds of things: clothing, jewelry, socks and shoe inserts, fruits and vegetables; everything from little knickknacks to computer accessories to bread. They crowd the sidewalk and the street, making it nearly impassable at its narrowest point. They reserve their place by throwing down tarps or blocking off a section of sidewalk or road with bricks and boards. Come sundown, just as the students are going out strolling these vendors set up shop and start hawking their wares. Their cries and the vigorous bartering that ensues lend a human counterpoint to the cars that honk their horns, hoping to drive past and get home.

This is part of the charm and magic of living in China. It simply wouldn’t be China if there were no vendors at every turn of the road. Quite frankly I have missed this scene because, until recently, the only ‘official’ night market in Wuhan was a 2 hour bus ride away. That night market is so crowded and so far from campus that I’ve only been there once. It is a regimented affair with official stalls set up and no one squatting on the ground with their goods spread out on a tarp. Unlike the casual vendors who just find a street corner and throw their tarps down to lay out their ‘store’, the night market was not a delightful experience for me. However, I find these smaller trade areas are quite charming and a lot of fun. The Street, being a mere 1/4 mile long does not afford a lot of room for such vendors to set up shop. Also, construction on the main road kind of kept our area isolated and vendors did not like to head this way for such a limited market – college students and the small neighborhood behind campus.

As the school year wore on more and more vendors set up shop. The more the weather warmed up the more vendors found their way to The Street. Is there some sort of Vendor Underground Network where untapped markets are communicated and vendors are dispatched to fill the sidewalks? Is this a coordinated effort on the part of Trinket Sellers LLC where, in their office there is a huge map of the city with red flags denoting where vendors are already deployed and potential new markets are marked with blue flags? It is hard to believe that this sidewalk filling activity is done independently, by vendors who have no network or communication at all with each other. I wonder if there is a periodic vendor convention where such information is passed on.

One could liken the vendors to flies. How do flies know where to go and end up there en masse? I think maybe even scientists do not have the answer to that question. If flies have a sense about where to go for a meal, couldn’t one say that vendors also have such a sense that communicates an available stretch of sidewalk to crowd on and sell? OK, well maybe the ‘fly’ analogy is not flattering but it certainly is apt.

Please note that these vendors are different from the ones that line Snack Street, which is located in the alley behind campus. The Snack Street vendors have paid a licensing fee for permission to stand in the alley and sell their food, and they pay a monthly maintenance fee for permission to keep doing so. You could say that they are legitimate vendors renting their little part of Snack Street, as opposed to the ones who throw tarps down and lay their goods out after sundown.

I had gotten used to the vendors lining The Street starting dusk and shouting and crying late into the night. After all, this is their livelihood: if they do not sell, they do not eat, so they shout and barter vigorously. I actually found it convenient to be able to buy fruit and veggies from them on the way home rather than stopping at the farmers’ market up the road. Usually these vendors’ goods were a bit cheaper than at the farmers’ market. Bartering was certainly more fun with them; most had never dealt with a foreigner before. I got a lot of good deals from these vendors.

One day, I hit The Street to go buy a roast chicken. I do not like to cook after my long day of teaching; a nice roast chicken and baked potato or rice and salad makes a nice, effortless meal on such days. I buy the chicken and provide the rice or potato and salad. Imagine my surprise to see The Street flooded with police shooing the vendors away. Most had already marked their area and were squatting in anticipation of nightfall, although they had not unfolded their tarps or unpacked their goods yet. From body language and gestures – and the outraged tone of the vendors I guessed that the vendors were being shooed away like so many flies.

Why were the police cracking down on the vendors all of a sudden? Has someone complained? Does a contingent of policemen live in the neighborhood behind campus and got fed up with having The Street blocked every night when they came home?

Just like I don’t know how illegal street vendors know where to set up shop, I couldn’t begin to tell you how the police knew that The Street was suddenly a haven for such vendors. I can tell you that The Street is now much quieter and a lot less fun to walk come sundown. I miss all of the activity and I’m sure the students do too.

The vendors got the last laugh though. Instead of throwing down a tarp to set up shop they now conduct business from the back of their bikes or scooters, with the more affluent ones having a tricycle bed to work off of. They are now ambulant, so that all they have to do is mount up and ride away ahead of the police. They must have a lookout posted somewhere.

I’m glad they’re back, if only in limited numbers.

I’m Going to be Arrested!

With a mere 6 weeks left to teach and about 7 weeks left to live in my beloved China, my thoughts are turning more and more to my visit in the States. I have to admit: as much as I’m looking forward to seeing everyone, there is a bit of panic induced by thoughts of being stateside.

I don’t know how to be American anymore! From the start I’ve felt so at home here that instances of culture shock were rare phenomena. Looking out the bus window and seeing Chinese characters on street signs and shop advertisements served only to indicate that I had finally arrived to where I’ve wanted to be all along. Eating with chopsticks is now so commonplace that a fork and knife feel funny in my hands. I know; I’ve tried them recently.

Pressing close to strangers does not bring on blushes. Wrangling onto public transportation is part of my exercise regimen, as is walking nearly everywhere, standing for long periods of time and carrying my groceries. Holding a young girl’s hand while walking is a pleasurable activity, not unnatural at all. Taking another woman’s arm is so commonplace I don’t even think about it anymore. Seeing boys go about arm in arm is a matter of course. Ditto for men with exposed bellies and women wearing negligees out in public. By the way: men wear their pajamas out in public too. And not just around their neighborhood, they jump on their scooter and drive across town in pajamas.

Driving! How am I ever going to get used to people staying in their lane and obeying the speed limit and not honking their horn and not jockeying for most advantageous position? What is that funny, red and white, 8-sided sign with that word ‘STOP’ on it? What does it mean? What do you mean, jaywalking is a crime? How am I going to get used to using crosswalks instead of challenging oncoming traffic and double decker buses? Where will I find any double decker buses, anyway?

And what about when I stoop down to talk to and play with a stranger’s child? Somebody is going to think I’m trying to kidnap their baby and scream for the law! I’ll have to run, with cops in hot pursuit down a side street where I must first obey that stop sign! I’ll never get away!

I’m going to be arrested if, in America, I practice some of the behaviors that are so commonplace here.

At the very least, I’m going to be looked at funny for offering everybody cigarettes. Here, that is considered an icebreaker; a way to make friends and a way to cement friendships. In America I might get thrown out of places for doing that, especially in California. Heaven forbid I do it to any of the many cops I anticipate will be arresting me this summer!

“No officer! I’m NOT trying to bribe you! It is custom in my country!”

“You have an American passport. That means America is your country.”

“Oh, officer! I’m so confused!”

And I will be, too.

When I board that first Greyhound out of San Diego I’ll get pulled off the bus for shoving my way onto it. I’ll have to walk to Denver. Maybe without my luggage.

Men in white coats are going to approach me slowly in McDonald’s because I’m eating my french fries with disposable chopsticks that I pulled out of my luggage.

I’ll try to lay off the chopsticks at McDonald’s, but if, after my repeated calls for ‘fuwuyuan! – waitress!’ brings no chopsticks I’ll HAVE to get a set out of my bag. Of course, I might get thrown out of the restaurant for shouting ‘fuwuyuan’ to begin with, especially if I’m in the South. They might think I’m speaking in tongues, or, at the very least that I suffer from a strange variation of Tourette’s Syndrome. Either way, here come the mental health professionals! Or a charge of disturbing the peace.

If I manage to evade the doctors and/or policemen, night patrolmen are going to detain me because I’m spray-painting ‘Welcome to our Establishment’ in Chinese all over the doorways in the business part of town. I might be able to stop myself before attempting to train cats to wave though.

Here it is common to have a huge banner, greeting customers by telling them ‘Welcome to our Establishment’. The sentiment is reinforced by a golden ceramic kitty waving its paw, inviting you to come in. I’ll stop at the kitties, but there is no guarantee that I won’t welcome people to establishments. That is too quick and easy to do, and it seems so polite, don’t you think?

And playing! The word ‘wan 玩’ – to play, is used in so many contexts over here! One invites adults over to play, or out to play. It sounds nasty but it only means ‘let us go hang out somewhere’! Heaven forbid if I invite a child over to play; I’ll be called lewd and obscene names and get a referral to a psychiatrist! Or arrested for allegedly attempting to harm a minor.

What about calling ‘em like I see ‘em? Here it is common to point, stare and openly comment on appearances, as you well know from all of my talking about having been designated ‘foreigner’, ‘tall’, ‘big-nose’ and the like. What if, while in Walmart or out and about, I start pointing my finger and saying ‘Fatty!’ or ‘You’re Black!’ or ‘You’re a badly behaved child!’ Or, if someone starts pummeling the tar out of me for making such comments and I start screaming ‘I didn’t know you would understand me!’ At the very least I could end up with an emergency room bill to pay that I won’t have the money for. I’ll have to go to jail for being destitute. If I don’t go to jail for causing a disturbance, first.

What if it just so happens I’m out and about in my negligee when I get arrested? And with my umbrella open to protect me from the sun to boot? First off, wouldn’t using an umbrella on a sunny day be a dead giveaway that there is something wrong with me? And then, isn’t it considered indecent exposure to go about in a negligee in America? And what will happen to me in prison if I go there in a negligee and they take away my umbrella? I’ll have no way to defend myself! And, if I’m in one of those holding cells where you can see everything the prisoner is doing, and they watch me squat down over the drain to use the bathroom and throw the paper in the trash? I will have to get psychiatrically evaluated all over again!

I’m scared.

I’m so scared I won’t know how to stop being Chinese. I’m really going to need your help.

Or maybe just bail money.

There is a New Man on Snack Street

First there is Battercake Man and Sandwich Girl whom I’ve always gone to for a quick meal. Oh, sure there are other culinary delicacies on Snack Street, some as overspiced as the rest of the food in Wuhan – to the point that you wonder if you are eating spices with a few noodles thrown in, instead of eating noodles that are supposed to be only mildly spicy.

And, let’s not forget that spice particular to Wuhan that tastes like dirt. That one is particularly unpleasant.

Mind you, Snack Street is a misnomer. For a few ‘kuai’ – a few Yuan, buying such a snack can constitute a quick meal, especially when rounded out by a side salad and a piece of fruit for dessert. These so-called snacks are pretty nutritious and very filling. They do fall short of a sit-down meal but they get the job done when I don’t feel like cooking.

Back to battercakes and sandwiches. At first my loyalty was divided between those two, side by side with their vendor carts and their tasty, efficient treats. They know how I like my food and I don’t have to ask them to prepare anything special. Just a battercake or a sandwich, hold the ‘lao dong’ – the super spicy hot pepper powder.

But now, there is a new man on Snack Street. He is a small, merry man who looks perpetually surprised. His smile, beaming out, welcomes customers and commentary. He likes to wander up and down Snack Street, chatting up his fellow vendors and store keepers. He always has a cigarette dangling from his mouth – a seemingly near impossible feat with that perennial smile of his.

His vendor cart is relatively new and the baskets thereon are new. Each basket, standing about 2 feet tall and 18 inches in diameter at the top, is labeled with the treat it contains. Every time I have been by his cart there are never more than a few snacks in each basket.

Of course there are plenty other new vendors on Snack Street. There is the woman who produces an exquisite breakfast sandwich consisting of a fried egg and some sort of wafer-thin sliced meat that I’ve yet to identify but that tastes suspiciously like bacon, topped off with lettuce and a savory brown sauce that taunts the plain bread she spreads it on with its richness. By the time she squeezes those two pieces of bread together and wraps the bag tightly around her creation my mouth is watering. Oh, how I love her breakfast sandwiches!

And then there is Steamed Bun Woman, busting hunger with her meat filled steamed buns. She and her vendor cart occupy its allotted space for the entire production day – 16 hours each day she can be seen creating buns and filling up her bamboo steamers. She offers buns with beef or lamb meat filling, 8 of them for 2.5Yuan. A better bargain cannot be found on Snack Street if you are looking for value for the money. Although her food is good and filling, it is rather bland.

That is why, after paying a visit to Steamed Bun Woman I always visit Fried Bread Man. He prepares what might be termed a bagel or a donut, but it is not sweet. He has a special, donut-shaped ladle that he scoops dough into and then plops it into the grease and deep fries it. I drool as I watch the plain white dough puff up into a golden ring that, while scrumptious, probably is not doing my arteries any good. The dough has some herbs in it and that is certainly a redeeming factor; I have been able to identify shallots and garlic in the flavor of his bread. After eating a few steamed buns it is really just the crispiness I’m looking for. Hence the marriage of Steamed Bun Woman with Fried Bread Man. For 4Yuan I get nearly twice the food I get from Battercake Man or Sandwich Girl, who each charge 3.5Yuan for their specialties.

But this entry is about the new man on Snack Street; he of the new, nearly empty baskets. I first made his acquaintance while buying some pineapple to make fruit salad with. He was loitering around the fruit stand at the corner of Snack Street and was completely surprised to first see a foreigner, and then to hear said foreigner speak Chinese. Of course I tower over this tiny little man, but his smile outdoes my size by a country mile. He and I soon engaged in a language exchange project, in which he would tell me the Chinese names of various foods and I would give him the English version.

I didn’t know at first that he had a cart on Snack Street. I only found that out because his cart was set up next to Breakfast Sandwich Woman’s cart. Of course, the first time I saw his cart he was chatting someone else up and was nowhere to be found, so I asked Breakfast Woman who that cart belongs to. Just then here he comes a’running, with his impossible cigarette dangling and shirttails flapping. He showed me what he had in his baskets. Oh! When he took the top off one of his baskets I thought I had died and gone to Street Food Vendor Heaven! The aroma wafting up from that basket would have been enough to make Gandhi break his hunger strike. Too bad I had already bought a breakfast sandwich; I surely would have partaken of one of his treats.

Of course, I have since visited his basket laden cart. Equally understood was the fact that Breakfast Sandwich Woman had to shout for him to come, as he was off meandering somewhere. When he saw that his customer was the tall foreigner his smile grew extra wide and he made sure he selected the very best meat filled bun he had to offer. After exchanging pleasantries I went on my way and he disappeared again, the Snack Street Social Butterfly.

The crust is light and flaky, baked to a golden brown. The filling has the ideal combination of texture, taste and temperament; the perfect complement to the crust that it nestles in. I finished it in four bites – it is not a big snack. Size wise, that is. In taste and culinary value it is at the top of my list. And now I understand why there are only a few in each basket. If they had to wait, steaming in their woven containers, they would not be as good.

Well? Are you hungry yet?

The Price of Drinking

Drinking has never been a problem in China. It is a socially acceptable activity and there are several indigenous beers and liquors available for consumption. The problem is not that more people are drinking. No, drinking has only become a problem since more people have become car owners.

Over the last 10 years, as the economy has boomed, more and more people are driving. Alcohol related vehicle accidents and deaths have increased accordingly. Lawmakers have had their hands full with deciding policy: what should the legal blood alcohol limit be? What punishments should be imposed? How should these new laws be communicated and how to enforce them?

This is yet another aspect of China’s changing society. With all of the influx of wealth at the individual level, the government is faced with social problems heretofore unseen in this country and lawmakers are scrambling to make decisions to meet these evolutions before the next facet of change manifests itself.

This being a holiday weekend, International Labor Day, people are off work and out celebrating. In various major cities across China, roadblocks have been set up to catch offenders of the newly written drunk driving laws. As in America if a driver is suspected of being drunk he submits to a Breathalyzer test. However, here things go a little differently, depending on the Breathalyzer results. If he fails, the driver goes to jail, no discussion about it.

The penalty for a first time DUI is a 6-month mandatory jail term and loss of driving privileges for 5 years. When I say loss of driving privileges, I mean the offender’s license is revoked. At the time the crime is committed, the offender’s license is taken away. It is not like in America, where an offender gets to keep possession of their license and only have to count the months until they can drive again. Here, after 5 years a DUI offender must apply for his license, take all of the schooling and pay all of the fees again. Because the law is so new, I have no information about what happens to repeat offenders. Perhaps there have as yet been no repeat offenders because the law and enforcement of it is so new.

I do not know what happens with the perpetrator’s car.

Watching the news tonight I saw a segment on DUI and how it is handled. Among the snippets of information were interviews with offenders. One offender, now sober after a few hours in jail, hung his head and said: “I took other people’s lives in my hands by my actions. I have no right to do that. I deserve to be punished.” What a refreshing change from the pervasive attitude I’ve experienced from DUI offenders in the States! Another offender commented “I am such a fool to think I could safely drive my car after drinking! I should not have done that.” Maybe they were coerced into saying that for the sake of the interview, or maybe that was their genuine sentiment. From my experience, what these remorseful men expressed is pretty much in keeping with cultural standards.

There were only male offenders being shown. Don’t get me wrong: women in China do drink; they just tend to not do it in public. Therefore it is not likely to find a female who has been drinking at the wheel of a car. And it is even more unlikely to find a woman out in public who has been drinking to excess. At least not one who is old enough or rich enough to drive.

Here too is another change. A few days ago, while preparing a late snack I saw a young girl outside my kitchen window who was so drunk she could not walk. The male student who was with her kept trying to pick her up – physically pick her up off the ground. She was so inebriated that he could not get her pins back under her. She ended up getting sick in the small grass border under my window. After that he cleaned her up and was able to carry her away.

Another instance of drinking on campus: one evening while Sam and I were walking we saw a student walking with her young man. Her eyes were closed and her head was lolling on his shoulder. He had one arm around her waist and the other hand was clasping her arm, guiding her. Sam pointed this couple out to me and asked me if I thought she was drunk, or were they just madly in love? Having seen a student throw up under my window just a few nights before, some of my naiveté had been stripped away and I came to the obvious conclusion: the girl was drunk out of her mind and she had to be half carried, half guided back to her dorm.

How long before women who drink take to the roads? Good question. I couldn’t tell you. But, if this group of students, more privileged than any other generation in China has been is any indication, I would have to guess that, maybe in 5 years lawmakers and enforcers are going to have another problem. Where and how to incarcerate female DUI offenders.

What I don’t understand is that, in China driving truly is a privilege, and a costly one at that. The average car costs more than one year’s salary for most people and financing is virtually unheard of in this cash-based society. Earning a driver’s license is the work of two years, and a huge expense. Why would anyone risk all that by drinking and driving?

What I do understand is the severity of the penalties. I think they are wonderful. Let’s not give DUI offenders a chance behind the wheel again. Oh wait, you say: just because they lost their license they are not going to drive?

No, my naivete is not showing again. Remember that offenders are incarcerated for at least 6 months. No time to wait before a trial, because there is no trial. The Breathalyzer is proof enough of guilt. Immediately after being caught, you go to jail. No probation and no time off for good behavior. No being out and about and able to drink and drive for at least six months.

On top of that, it means that they will most likely lose their jobs and their families will lose their means of income – if the man was the sole breadwinner. If the man is single, he could lose his apartment as well as his job, and he would have to start things all over again. It is not simply a matter of officially losing driving privileges; it is a matter of losing everything you’ve built up in life. I don’t see anybody risking that more than once, do you?

Be My Friend, Go Out With Me!

You know, it seems like I've gone from boredom and loneliness verging on insanity to a revolving door of companionship and activity, seemingly overnight. Somehow it is hard to recall the winter months, when I would sometimes go for days without talking to someone, or someone directing conversation at me.

Is it because of Spring? Maybe because of the Teacher Seminars? Now I am busier than a one-armed paper hanger! Dinner engagements, badminton games followed by walks at twilight... my calendar fills up faster than I can keep track of it.

I am not complaining; I am marveling.

What I thought this experience should have been all along is turning out to be... the experience I sought. Nearly every day there is an invitation for something to do, ranging from dinner to a stroll around the ‘playground’ – the sports complex on campus. I am accepting them all, and making a few myself. I am reveling in the company that I’ve so long hoped and wished for, leaping from activity to activity until, replete, I fall into bed, only to get up and do it all again the next day.

I have to say: it is about time. It is not that I think people should have taken notice of me a long time ago and been inviting me out all along. However, as I pointed out in a recent Teacher’s Seminar and have mentioned before in this blog (see Meet ‘n’ Greet entry), I wouldn’t have known an English teacher on this campus if he or she came up and slapped my face. Thanks to these seminars, the teachers and I are finally communing and communicating. That, I believe is what is paving the way for a lot of these invites that I’ve been so eager for.

Of course, the students have been inviting me out all along. I’ve written about our outings and how happy I am to partake in their activities, difficult as it sometimes is to communicate or even find common ground with them. Other than typical Jiu Ling Hou behavior – some rudeness and arrogance, my beef is not with the students.

Yes, there is a beef in here. Not a whole side of beef, maybe just a filet mignon sized beef. In other words just a small complaint.

Now that the teachers and I are pursuing activities together, going out and about town, they seem overwhelmingly concerned with my welfare. How could I possibly get around town by myself? And what about communicating? Not everyone can speak English, you know. Do I know how to get on a bus, how to get to where I’m going and how to get home? People are so worried that I’ll get lost and stranded, a lone foreigner trampled into the gutters of Wuhan and swept away by those ever-diligent sweeping women with their twig brooms.

Where was this concern six months ago, when I needed help understanding the bus system and trying to learn where everything was at?

I’m not blaming anyone. Let’s be clear on that. The English teachers may well have been curious about me and may well have wanted to invite me out but, for whatever reason, didn’t or couldn’t. That is nobody’s fault. I didn’t know any English teachers so I couldn’t have invited anyone out. Again, no one’s fault.

No, the fault lies in the fact that now, even though I have demonstrated proficiency at boarding and riding buses and getting around town while in the company of my new companions, they still insist on treating me as though I were a newcomer to the system. They tell me which bus to take, which stop to get on and off at, general safety rules and, for pity’s sake, how to hang on to the handles so I don’t fall down when the bus makes its sudden stops.

Even though I have demonstrated proficiency at speaking and reading enough Chinese to get by, I get treated as though somehow I would probably still get lost and end up maimed or killed on the street because they believe in my inability to ask for help directions. Therefore I must be accompanied every second, even if it means that my companion must go all the way back to the school to see me safely home.

Newsflash, everyone! I’ve been navigating the streets of Wuhan alone pretty much since I’ve been here! Please stop treating me as though I were 5 years old and helpless!

Helen, a wonderful woman in every respect is one who is guilty of ‘protecting’ me. We had gone out together and had a great time. We went to Guiyin Temple that I had visited recently on my own. Not only had I been to the temple by myself, but I had gotten there and home by myself. Apparently the assertion that I could get around by myself did nothing to convince her. She felt compelled to point out which bus we should take (we did not take the right one, bus 907 from campus would have gotten us there directly).

When I tried to reassure her that I would be just fine getting home alone, she expressed doubt. I even pulled the bus schedule out of my purse and demonstrated that I could read it. Her comment: ‘But, it is in Chinese!’ I couldn’t help it… with a bit of sarcasm I replied: “Really? Thank goodness! I would hate if it were written in Korean; that would mean we are not in China anymore!” My tone went over her head. She had to quiz me by testing my Chinese reading ability. And do I know which stop to get off at? Well, if the bus driver calling out the name of the stop is not enough to clue me into the fact that I’ve reached my destination, I could always look out the window. Once I see the blue buildings on the left-hand side of the road, I know it is time to get off the bus.

Another instance of unnecessary mothering came when I invited Daisy and Martina to dinner at my house. I’m not sure what they were expecting but, judging by their expressions they certainly did not expect me to know how to cook Chinese food. ‘Where did you learn to cook Chinese food?’ Daisy asked me. I told her I had been cooking Chinese food since I lived in America and, now that I actually live in China, it is that much easier for me to do so. Apparently cooking Chinese food is supposed to be so difficult that a foreigner couldn’t possibly master the intricacies thereof. Daisy and Martina had to go inspect my kitchen. Might there be a secret Chinese chef hiding in my cabinets? I showed off my staple goods: cooking wine, both light and dark soy sauce, vinegar, various meat marinades. And, I displayed my supply of fresh ginger, garlic and onions, all bought recently at the farmer's market. They Ooh’ed and Ah’ed at all the proper places.

My façade never slipped but inside I was saying: “oh, come on now! It is not so hard to buy ginger and garlic! It is not that hard to mix a few ingredients in a pan and serve them! Could we please just go sit down and enjoy our meal now, before the food gets cold?”

Here is the beef: I am eager for companions. I welcome invitations and I look forward to making a few invitations myself. I am delighted when they are accepted, and look forward to having a great time once we are in the thick of things. But please… PLEASE!

Do not treat me as though I was helpless and I need people to guide me everywhere and speak for me. Please do not think that I have been hiding in my apartment, terrorized over those big bad buses for the past 7 months. Please do not act as though you have been accorded corporeal responsibility of me and every facet of my well-being.

Just be my friend. Hang out with me. Trust me to ask for your help if I need it. Until then, let’s just enjoy each other’s company.

Isn’t that a fair enough request to make?

Friday the 13th, Part 2

Ozgur waved as she passed me by, riding her bike. I, still grinning about the fortuitous meeting, waved back. She turned left and I went right, to the grocery store. I bought my pasta and a few other little things and boarded the bus back to campus to wait for Helen.

WOW! This bus is brand new! I didn’t get up and check the odometer or anything but I could tell: the seats were all clean, the hand rails still had tread marks on them and weren’t worn down to the metal and it didn’t squeak and groan like all the other buses. Not only did the air conditioner work, but the driver had turned it on. All the seats were taken though, so I did have to stand.

No, wait! Someone is waving me over! He had his bags occupying the seat next to him but pulled them onto his lap so I could sit down. How nice! Now I get to ride home seated in air-conditioned comfort. That is when I started thinking about things.

I had a seat on the bus on the way to Hanyang, and a seat on the way home. A good day for transportation. Somehow, my change of plans due to Helen’s phone call and all of my dilly-dallying put me in a position to re-meet Ozgur, a woman so open, friendly and kind. Is this serendipity again, or was I simply meant to have a good day?

Who knows what the Fates have planned?

Somehow, in spite of the auspicious start to my day a niggling bad mood was rising. I think, because of all of my recent social activity, I really needed some downtime. The idea of meeting with Helen was causing me stress even though she is very nice to help me negotiate the purchase and tailoring of that dress. Even though I really enjoyed talking with Ozgur and her friends, it was in the back of my mind that I just really wanted quiet time. I can tell I’m going to have to plan on some quiet time, and soon!

So, having only been home for a few minutes, when Helen shouted through my window that it was time to go, I reluctantly put my book down and grabbed my purse. She is helping me after all; it is not like I can tell her to go away. I was just going to have to make sure that this is a quick, short outing. Not something that is going to turn into a dinner and a return to campus after sunset.

On our way to the security gate Helen told me that I had two packages waiting at the building by the gate. Could I sign for them before we leave campus? Well of course! That is great news, and it picked my spirits up. I had been waiting for these packages and they’ve finally arrived! And on Friday the 13th, at that! Fully aware that Helen was waiting for me at the gate I still took a minute to cut open the bigger package to make sure the books I had ordered were inside. Nothing like getting a new book you’ve never read before!

Now I’m in a better mood. Other than Helen attempting to nursemaid me through the bus ride and across town it was a pleasant outing. My new dress fits me very well and is very flattering, and I even bought a hat to go with it. However, when Helen suggested that I go to her house for dinner and revealed all of her plans for the evening I did tell her that I had other business to take care of. It was not a lie: I did have to verify my bank account so that my patient and kindly friend/tax preparer could finalize my tax returns. It was simply a matter of sticking my card into the ATM machine and seeing if I could access my account, but still: as long as I was in that neck of the woods and the bank is right there, why not take care of the business and buy my downtime while I’m at it?

All is well with the bank, and all is well with Helen. Of course I had to show her that I actually had an ATM card for that bank before she accepted that I might have business there, but all is well nevertheless.

Getting to a bus that would eventually take me home was just a matter of minutes. However, this being rush hour I anticipated having to stand all the way home. So, imagine my pleasure at finding a nearly empty bus that would take me to my connection stop, and then getting off that bus only to find that my next bus had pulled up right behind me and I got to be the first person on? I got seats on every bus I took on Friday the 13th, even in rush hour!
Riding home I decided on a light, crisp cucumber/tomato salad for dinner. That would involve a short stop at the farmer’s market but that caused no pain. I’m always happy to chat with the farmers and they get their little bit of cachet when they are seen chatting with me. Evening brings a whole different crowd of shoppers to the market so the farmer whose stall I always visit got double the ‘guanxi’ she normally would from my visit.

Dinner could not have been better. Frying up a bit of leftover steak to go with the salad and sauteeing some garlic, green pepper and mushrooms with it rounded out the meal. Thus energized I did my dishes and went on a mosquito killing rampage. Then I took pause and reflected on my day. In all, it was an excellent day.

So much for ugly superstitions about Friday the 13th.

Friday the 13th

I didn’t even notice it was Friday the 13th. I just remembered that this would be the first day that I won’t be able to talk to Gabriel for one month. His family is in transit to the East Coast and he won’t be anywhere near a computer for that long. My heart is feeling tiny little fissures of breakage from missing him so, but now I can get out of the house early, instead of waiting until after noon for our conversations to be done.

There’s always a bright side, even when things are so dark.

Although I was ready to leave the house at 10AM, I still dilly-dallied around until a little after 11. Force of habit; I’m not supposed to leave before I can talk with my Gabe-Gabe. I made myself walk out before noon. Boy, is this habit going to die hard.

My original plan was to go to Hankou, to Computer City and look around, and then walk to Helen’s for a pizza. Helen’s is a Western restaurant run by a charming woman who is a student at the nearby University. She owns/runs the restaurant in her spare time… what spare time? I don’t know how she does everything she does. It is not like she’s going for an easy degree; she is studying medicine! She has internships to do, as well as write papers and attend classes. And, oh by the way, she runs a restaurant that serves some of the best food I’ve had since living in Wuhan.

My plans got scrapped before they got started. One of the English teachers, also named Helen needed me to meet her at 3PM on campus to go have a fitting for a dress I was buying. As she had coordinated the purchase, I felt her request had weight over my plans. I decided to go to Hanyang and buy Western style pasta for next week’s Teacher seminar instead of going to Hankou. I’ll be making pasta salad for the seminar.

Do any of you have a good recipe for pasta salad? I could use it; I haven’t made it in a while.

Because my original plans included lunching, I had brought a book. The trip to Hanyang was not as long as the trip to Hankou normally is so I was not hungry yet. I sat on the boardwalk, enjoying the sun and reading my book. An hour or so later I started making my way to the grocery store that sells Western goods but looked to the right and spied an Italian restaurant. ‘I can have my pizza there’ I thought. Off I go, trying a new restaurant.

The restaurant is rather small at this foyer level, although there is more seating available upstairs. All three small tables were taken; the only table not occupied was a long, bench type table that would have comfortably seated 6. Not sure whether upstairs was open for seating at lunchtime, I stood at the bar to order my food. After the waitress had noted my selections she encouraged me to make myself comfortable at the long table. I turned to do that and… why! There is Ozgur!

OK, I know you’re going to ask: what is an ‘ozgur’?

Not what, who. Who is Ozgur? She is a woman I met several months back, when life was hard and I was doing my best to only give you light-hearted news so you wouldn’t see the depth of my despair. I didn’t write about meeting Ozgur, her daughter and her brother in a Pizza Hut over the winter break because I was embarrassed.

I had gone to Pizza Hut for a meal even though it is so expensive to eat there because I craved human companionship, and Pizza Hut is one of the few restaurants where it is socially acceptable for a woman to dine alone. Even though the waitresses are not my friends, at least they speak to me and there is something to be said about being spoken to when you are so abysmally lonely. I ate my pizza and my salad with my eyes glued to my book, only looking up when the waitress was talking to me or when I needed to call her for something. As I was paying my bill I looked over and noticed people who did not look Chinese. Boldly I walked over to their table and introduced myself.

With no hesitation whatsoever, Ozgur smiled and introduced herself, her daughter and her brother. She invited me to join them for their meal. Ashamed and embarrassed as well as full from having just eaten a pizza and salad, I declined her offer but stuck around, talking with them until their food arrived. By that time we had exchanged names and phone numbers.

In the intervening months I did not call her. I was simply too embarrassed to have barged in on a family enjoying their outing, and I didn’t want to be reminded of that terrible, lonely time when I had to pay for people to talk with me. She didn’t call me, either. She has a full life with a husband, a child and a complete circle of friends to keep her fulfilled.

But, to my amazement, here she is in Hanyang, in another part of town and in another pizza restaurant! Our eyes met and our mouths broke into smiles of recognition. Quickly we embraced and exclaimed at the coincidence. She invited me to join her for her meal, this time I accepted joyously. She said she was waiting for 2 other friends and with me, it would make us a foursome for lunch. While waiting for everyone else we got caught up on each other’s doings.

The pizza was not fantastic but the company was. Very seldom have I ever participated in a women’s luncheon so I took careful notes in case the occasion ever arises again. We parted company after about an hour and a half. Ozgur and I promised to stay in touch. I intend to keep the promise this time.

There is more to be said about Friday the 13th, but I don’ t want to overdo the length of this post so… here we go again: a post in two parts!