On A Tear

Considering the topic of my last article, the perverse desire of Chinese to hang on to inaccuracy, it might seem that my new pastime is ranting about everything I might perceive as wrong with China: the language, the customs... everything!

I assure you I am not. I am simply compiling a series of observations made over the years of living here. In no way am I intimating that I alone should be the catalyst for change in Chinese vernacular or society. I hope I am offering up food for thought, though.

Besides, with my schedule this semester, there is not much else to write about. So, here goes!

Sons, Daughters, and People of Dark Skin

In Mandarin, sons are called 儿子 (the first pictogram, 'er' meaning 'son' and the second, 'zi' also meaning 'son'). Nothing wrong with that. Daughters, however, are called 女儿 ('nü' meaning 'female' and... I already told you what 'er' means). From a purely linguistic standpoint, daughters are designated 'female sons'.

Understand the lesser social position that females have traditionally held in China – indeed, all over the world, and you might reason why girl children were called female sons. Could that tradition's stigma enshroud the 'female sons' of today?

There is evidence of that. Female children, historically and today, are not listed on family registers until they marry, and then, only their husbands' names qualify for entry. That is just one example of unspoken social disparity against females.

I am not accusing China of deliberately lessening female impact on society, nor am I suggesting that females have fewer rights (although, there is rampant discrimination against females in the workplace, something China is working very hard to eradicate).

I am aware that language is not static. It evolves. Words and phrases change meaning as the times change. Perhaps now, 'nü er' does in fact mean 'daughter' – with no lingering history of how baby girls were less desirable than male children. With no implied denigration.

The reason I pounce on this example of misused language is because there is a more balanced and fair substitute. 孩 – 'hai', the word for 'child', can be combined with 男 – 'nan', male; or 女 – 'nü', female, to give a less biased description of one's progeny: 我的男孩 – wo de nan hai, meaning 'my boy-child', or 我的女孩 – wo de nü hai, meaning 'my girl-child'.     

A comparable example in English would be the eradication of the word 'n i g g e r', now considered one of the most offensive words in the language, and with good reason: that is what plantation slaves were called. However, at one time, this word was not only socially acceptable, people were encouraged to use it in describing those with dark skin and kinky hair. We find examples of this word, casually bandied about in such classics as Mark Twain's Tom Sawyer/Huck Finn novels. If you've seen the movie Twelve Years A Slave, you'll know that slaves were referred to as 'N-word' .

Another example of offensive English vocabulary, mercifully archaic these days, are the many words used to refer to women, 'broad' being perhaps the worst. Movies made as late as the 1960s refer to women as broads, a term generally accepted as being derogatory. Its meaning, 'coarse, gross, indelicate' was everything a woman was not supposed to be. Today it is chiefly used as an insult: “What a dumb broad!”

if we accept that language evolves, shouldn't we also hold that words which reflected the values of a society once upon a time should be discarded if those values have changed? Especially if a more equitable/acceptable synonym is available?

On Getting Colder

Without fail, every autumn/winter I have been in China, people have advised me of dropping temperatures, and that I should put on more clothes - as though I had no idea winter was approaching. As though I were confused about what to do when I start getting cold.

This week, the temperature dropped precipitously in Wuhan. Tina messaged: “It is cold today. Wear more clothes.” I wonder if, in her imagination I am sitting in my house, lightly clad and shivering, clueless as to what I should do. 

I know that such utterances are expressions of caring in China, but what does it really say?

I am incapable of discerning temperature changes. I have no knowledge of the concept of keeping myself warm, comfortable or healthy. I absolutely need someone to tell me what to do when the weather changes.

Compare Tina's 'wear more clothes' with 'stay warm!', a standard a standard sign-off  in English used texts and phone calls, when the weather turns cold. That phrase credits the person to whom the idiom is directed with enough brains to bundle up against the chill. 

Can you see why I find Tina's intent kind, but her message offensive? And I am not the only one: elders all over China, who get fussed and clucked at, irritably push against their well-meaning carers, who try to drape them in blankets and quilts at every slight gust of wind.

I have often written about how the elderly in China are treated. It is a hot topic for me because, apparently, I am also elderly, by Chinese standards. Never mind what abilities I demonstrate and that I am obviously in full possession of my faculties, of prime concern for everyone is my supposedly declining mental abilities – to wit, that I must be told to wear more clothes.

Again, tradition trumps common sense and decency. It is traditional for parents to sacrifice everything for their young, even food and comfort and warmth. And it is traditional for grown children to take care of their parents, gently suggesting the parents should don their clothes, rather than saving them to perhaps swaddle chilled children in. And this is accepted as caring, rather than being seen for the offense that it is.     

Well-meaning infractions, such as mentioned above, happen everywhere around the world, and on all levels of society. The trick is to recognize its intent while not bristling at its obvious insult. And, of course, to highlight that such instances are offensive and insulting. And try to bring about, or at least hope for, change.  

Do You Have an English Name?

T'is the season, again, for freshmen to hit the classrooms. Tanned from their 2-week military stint, they eagerly await their foreign teacher's dispensations: of tales from the west, of ways to learn English better, of a name they can proudly boast. One of the most common questions my freshly minted students ask: “Can you give me an English name?”

I most certainly can, but the range of names that originate in England or other English speaking nations is pretty small. Considering I have upwards of seventy students in each of my freshman classes, I would have several 'Cate's, 'Bartholomew's, and 'Winston's per group. That might get confusing.

Names in China are endowed with special power and meaning. Naming a child is a significant responsibility (and honor). Traditionally, the most venerated family member is tasked with naming the newcomer, and coming up with just the right name can take several weeks. Some families would even consult monks and fortune tellers, paying heftily for a most auspicious name because of the belief that one's name forecasts one's fortune.

Here, the story of one girl who was particularly unruly in her youth. Her behavior was puzzling because her parents had consulted a fortune teller shortly after her birth, and named her according to that mystic's suggestion. By 5 years old, she clearly wasn't living up to that name – she was so naughty! Again, they went to the temple. Another soothsayer exclaimed that she had been given the wrong name at birth and suggested another name. The girl, now 9 years old and constantly in trouble, was again dragged to the temple. Another horrified exclamation over her misnaming, and another name given.

In all, that poor child was renamed 4 times. She finally chose her own name (and her own fortune) after graduating college.

These days, with Chinese tradition melting faster than polar ice caps, parents, uncles and even family friends can author names. When I first came to China, my students revealed that their grandparents (or a monk) gave them their names; these days it is parents or uncles/aunts, and nobody claims any monk named them. Still, Chinese names have special significance. 

If names are indeed that important in China, why would the Chinese think names are any less important in the west?

They are. I am sure you have heard people correcting a speaker on how their name is said. Maybe you have done it yourself. Surely you have asked a person to spell their name, or have been asked to spell yours. It is a measure of respect to say and write someone's name correctly. Should that respect extend to that name's origin, as well?

“Do you have an English name?”

No, I don't. My name originates from Greece. In fact, most names commonly used in the west, that are called 'English names' in China, stem from Latin, Hebrew, French, German, Greek, Spanish and various countries in Africa. So, the blanket phrase 'English name' – 英文名字 (ying wen ming zi), so commonly used in China, is inaccurate.

And here is where I run into trouble.

When I point out and try to correct that inaccuracy, I am told: “'English name' is just the way we refer to all names in the west. There is nothing wrong with that.” In other words, just accept the error and move on. It is unimportant.

I beg to differ.  

Not only because names are as important in the west as they are in China, but because of pride of heritage. Just like the Chinese, westerners are proud of their origins. Quite often, their name reflects that. And because it suggests all western names are just names with no meaning or tradition attached. And because implying all western names are English names extends the misbegotten idea that 'the west' is synonymous with America – an idea that plagues most Chinese.

I can understand why foreign names are all considered English, thinking about the historic impact that English-speaking 'invaders' have had on the country: Americans settled Shanghai; British took over Hong Kong; and that today, English speaking nations are most politically impactful and English-spoken movies and TV shows are most commonly watched.

Still, other countries have had influence on China: cars from Germany and France, a flood of students from various African countries, trade partnerships with South America. 

So, why is it that China insists western names are English names? Wouldn't it be equally easy – and more correct to say: “你的西方名字叫什么？” (ni de xi fang ming zi jiao shen me?) - “what is your western name?”

If supermarkets are filled with sales people urging you to buy Spanish olive oil, Danish cookies and German chocolate; if car lots are filled with Renaults, Peugeots and Citroens (and VWs, BMWs and Audis); if entire college dormitories are filled with students from all over the world, why stick with 'English names'? Names, too, come from all over!  

C'mon, China! Let this foreign teacher do the job you hired her to do: correct misperceptions and broaden perspectives. Please don't limit yourself only to 'English names'; that denies the rest of the world and its many wonders, including meanings of exotic names like: Jasmine ('flower of the olive family', from Africa), Erica ('Honorable Ruler' in Danish) and Linda ('beautiful' in Spanish).

Hilarious Moments in Teaching

I've often expounded on the mirth, merriment and joy of teaching in China but I have never compiled a collection of such moments even though I've written individual articles about some of those times. Now seems a good time, just starting out my seventh year of leading classes, to reflect on some of the funnier (and more embarrassing) times in the classroom. I hope you will end up gasping for breath from laughing, like I did, and still do as I recall these most funny moments.

Getting to Class:

With the ink barely dry on my TESOL certificate, I set about finding my new job. In short order I was fortunate to be accepted at Wuchang Institute of Technology. I had only ever done on-the-job safety training in an industrial setting, with plenty of modern technology to aid in presenting material. Teaching an academic subject was going to be all new. 

Teaching in China was going to be all new. Only having a blackboard and a supply of white and colored chalk was going to be all new, too. Not having any materials to teach from or any other teaching aids was definitely going to be a challenge. But by far, the biggest challenge was going to be finding my classroom.

Sure, directions to my first class looked simple: teaching building 2, 6^th floor. It was easy enough to find building 2; it had a big, golden '2' on it. Already anxious over how things were going to be, I followed the tide of students up the stairs. 4^th floor, 5^th floor... and that's where the stairs ended! How to get to the 6^th floor?

I went back downstairs to ask the security guard, sitting at the desk in the lobby, how to get to the 6^th floor. Even though I used my best broken Chinese – I barely spoke a few words of Mandarin when I first got here, he could not understand what I was saying. I was ready to die of embarrassment: how can I lead a class when I can't even find the room? One of my students, going to class herself, volunteered to lead me to our room... up the stairs located in the BACK of the building!

A Day at the Zoo:

I was guest lecturing in another university. As usual there was no curriculum to follow and the stress of encountering a new group and what to do with them were crushing. The way around that is to get the students to talk. “What was your first experience with a foreigner?” I asked them.

One girl timidly raised her hand, offering up her story. “I was 10 years old. My father took me to the zoo...” and that's as far as she got, because I burst into laughter In my imagination, this girl and her father went to the zoo, only instead of animals, all manner of foreigners were in the cages! Some looked bored, some looked lonely, some prowled around their cages restlessly. A few slept, while eager Chinese tapped on the bars to elicit some reaction from the caged foreigners.

As my laughter grew, so did the image in my head. Outside each cage, signs advertising what type of foreigner was inside, where they come from, what they like to eat, and their normal way of life. A few lucky zoo visitors got to witness foreigner feeding time and some excitedly drew to the big tent, where the foreigners would put on a show (as in an animal zoo). In a special building, a foreigner nursery, where baby foreigners were being cared for.

Meanwhile, this poor, brave girl looked mortified. Obviously, she thought she had done or said something wrong. All of my explanations did nothing to relieve her of her worries, especially because I couldn't quit laughing long enough to explain why I was laughing so hard!

The Exploding Students:

I am often invited to judge speech competitions. The problem is that all of the instructions and judging tally sheets are in Chinese. Usually I ask another teacher/judge to tell me what criteria I am to judge but, this time, I was the only judge! Thus it came that Felix, one of my students and president of the English club, translated that vital information for me.

“You should judge on content, fluency, time and...” he paused to check his phone... “explosions”

What??? Students are supposed to explode? I don't want to judge that contest! 

After much laughter from my imagined scenarios in which blood and gore spattered the ceiling while the audience clapped, he realized he had mistranslated 爆发力 – explosiveness.

What Did You Say?

Each team of students was to research their favorite movie, using English resources that we had explored in class, such as: IMDB, TMZ, Wikipedia and other sites. The teams were to put on a performance of their favorite movie by any means possible: song, dance, acting, PPT, pictures...

One super-confident group stole the show! Not because their performance was explosive but because of what happened.

This girl is a very competent speaker: not only comfortable with English, but so assertive that she can project her voice without the aid of a microphone. I didn't know that when I handed it to her. She stood at the podium, with her hands clasped behind her back (and the microphone in her hand), talking away...

when, suddenly, she passed gas! And, because of the microphone, the sound was amplified much louder than a bodily function should be!  

The class erupted with laughter. Our speaker, till then confidently addressing her peers, sunk into a squat behind the podium. Not sure if she was laughing or crying back there; I was too busy doing my level best to not guffaw, all while thinking that I am so glad that such a misfortune has never happened to me! 

Holy Pants!

It is an entertainer's worst fear: facing their audience while somehow being less than decently dressed. I didn't know I had ripped my pants while getting off my bike, but apparently I did it so spectacularly that it was all my class could focus on.

After class, my usual train of thought – 'this went well and that wasn't so good. Should improve...' was interrupted by a group who approached me timidly.

That's odd; they're normally effusive in their farewells.

They didn't come to thank me for a good lesson or otherwise wish me well; they wanted to tell me I was revealing more than I should. My turn to be red-faced!

And I hope your face is red from laughing so much!

Monkey Mountain

It's not actually called Monkey Mountain, but Qian Ling Shan (pronounced tchee'en ling shahn). Qian is the old name for the province this mountain is in, 'ling' means 'spirit of' and 'shan' is 'mountain'. So, I suppose the most accurate meaning of this mount's name is: Spirit of Guizhou province.

There could be a really good pun in there because that mountain is where monkeys cavort freely, and humans are guests.

I was excited about this outing. I wanted to see macaques up close and personal. This was my chance!

And it was my chance to assert my independence from this family who assumed I could not so much as find a bus stop on my own. The night before, while making arrangements for this jaunt, I suggested meeting at the park – me from my hotel and them from their home, rather than my going all the way to Alan's house by taxi, and then going to the park together. Or, Alan coming to get me (by taxi) and escorting me to the park. Either way would have been circuitous and expensive. Fortunately, the family saw it my way and dubiously trusted me to secure my breakfast and find my way to the attraction on my own.

The only problem came when I followed Alan's instructions: take bus 72, ride 2 stops. The park should be on the directly in front. Eager to prove my worth, I rode that bus for 2 stops...

right past the park. I got off at the second stop and walked back, texting Alan  that I was on my way.

Unbeknownst to me at that time, Alan's parents had taken leave from work to accompany us to the mountain. They are the epitome of kindness and gentility. Even though that very spirit can be overwhelming at times, I was glad for another chance to enjoy them. However, their concern that I was lost or worse put a damper on the outing. Alan told me via text message that he would come find me, at their suggestion. Fortunately, they were reassured by the pictures I was sending as I progressed toward them and Alan was relieved he wouldn't have to hunt for me on this exceedingly muggy day.

The only other wrinkle came when I noticed Alan's mom carrying a bag of snacks and Jared carrying a bag of full of bottled water, one for each of us. 'How silly!' I thought. 'My empty backpack will serve to unburden them so that they can better enjoy walking around the park.' Just before buying our tickets to the chairlift that would take us up the mountain, I unslung my pack and offered to take their burdens. Gratefully, they piled their packages in.

And then, they took my pack, averring that it would be too heavy for me to carry.

I tried and failed to keep my cool. After routinely being subjected to such 'concern' the whole time I have been in China and growing more frustrated every time I encounter it, I lost my temper. Alan's mother is older than me but nobody sought to relieve her of her bag of goodies. Jared is also a foreigner, but everyone seemed fine with him carrying 6 bottles of water. What is so special about me that I cannot carry my own backpack, loaded or not?

A slow count to 10, several times, and I was again balanced and agreeable come time to board the gondola that would take us to the top of the mountain. I rode up with Alan's nephew – Olivia's son. My backpack rode up with Alan and Jared in the next gondola. Alan's parents rode in front of us.

At the top there is a lovely temple and a viewing platform where one can get a panoramic look at the city below. Here you can see the pavillion extending down the mountain, looking like a dragon's back and the city, hazy in the background.

 

No monkeys yet.

Midway down the mountain is Hongfu temple, built in 1672. We contented ourselves with looking down on it; touring that facility would have cost extra.

Down, down, down the mountain we walked. Alan and Jared took turns offering their shoulders because a new and bothersome fear sees me tumbling down any time I walk down a slope; probably because I was down-sloping when I broke my leg year before last. And, my vertigo chose that most inconvenient day to manifest. As long as we had stairs to walk down, I was leaning on them – but asking them to descend at a normal pace.

I have GOT to whip this phobia!

After the temple, no more stairs or narrow pathways whose sides open up to nothing. The ground sloped gently and the way was wide and paved. I was OK with that. It seems to be paths/stairs with no guard rails that get to me.

Now we come to the monkeys!

There was one cool customer, perched on a trash crate, presumably so that he can have first dibs on whatever is tossed in. I dubbed him Case.

these frisky monkeys thought that man was a climbing post!

This thieving monkey latched on to a woman's purse, digging for snacks.

As Alan walked by, my pack on his back and his water bottle in the pocket designed for it, this monkey snatched that bottle out and helped himself!  

 

Monkeys bite the bottom of the bottles they 'steal' and 'shotgun' the drink.

Indeed, outside of the aggravations heaped on, the shame of having lost my temper and a brief rain shower, it was a wonderful outing.  

The Last Mad Dash

In light of the latest travel regulations for foreigners (see last entry), I vowed I would curtail my travels so as to not incur any more expensive hotel charges. However, I had promised Alan, a dear young man I befriended via ChinaDaily's blog page, that I would visit his home town this summer. Never make a promise you can't keep being my motto – well, one of them, I made arrangements for a 3-day stay in Guiyang (pronounced g'way yahng), even though I didn't particularly feel like traveling or visiting, after hearing those outrageous disclosures of Sam's.

You might be interested to know: I am a contributing writer to ChinaDaily's op-ed and blog page. If you are interested, here is the link: http://blog.chinadaily.com.cn/space-uid-1372409.html

Alan offered to put me up at his sister's house. I could have avoided paying for a hotel by staying there, but it was of paramount importance to me to find a room. You see, I'd done that before: accepted an invitation to someone's home, only to be taken prisoner, even if the cage was gilded and my keeper most solicitous and well-meaning. (see Country Chicken entry, posted August, 2013). Also, it is difficult to endure the scrutiny of a people who have never seen a foreigner, up close and personal. Everything, down to bathroom habits, gets observed and discussed.  

NOTE: that's when I called around, and found that foreigners can only stay at 4- and 5-star hotels, as reported in the Touchdown in Beijing entry.

I was able to find lodging in one of the 2 hostels that city boasts. I 'let' Sam help me arrange everything including train tickets, seeing as he was going to report in anyway. After all, he has a virtual wallet and can pay for everything online.

Can you tell I am very angry about that?

Alan was dismayed that I would not stay at his sister's house and attempted to cancel my room reservation. Only disclosing that Gary had paid for the room with his business credit card and would be able to write my trip off on his taxes kept Alan from ensuring I would have no choice but to occupy a room at his sister's.

Ok, so the bit with Gary paying for everything was a lie (but the part about him writing my travel off as a tax deduction is true. This is not necessarily dishonest because I have traveled for Gary's business in the past and, apparently it is acceptable to help somebody's business). I feel justified in telling this lie because otherwise, I would be under fire and uncomfortable.

It seems China and her people have put me on the defensive. How sad!

In spite of the overall disappointment in my staying elsewhere, everyone was happy to meet me, and all of the standard questions and preconceived notions about foreigners applied. That first evening, only immediate family came to the luscious dinner prepared by Alan's sister, the lovely Olivia, and I was treated to an argument between Alan's parents because Mom had not heard her phone when Dad called. It was funny and touching all at the same time, to watch them go at it. Obvious concern on Dad's part, irritation on Mom's because Dad always calls, and woven through their harsh sounding words, evidence of the deep love they share.

I say 'harsh sounding words' because Alan's parents speak only their local dialect. Whenever they engaged me, Alan or his sister had to translate. I got what I did of their disagreement from body language.

The next day, the whole family would turn out for a barbecue at a nearby park. Although the distance was not great it took forever to get there because the road was either too narrow and potholed to be careened down, or it was under construction and we constantly had to stop for heavy equipment or oncoming traffic. I worried that the food Olivia's husband had prepared – a lot of it meat, would spoil in the heat or get coated by the dust flying around the open-windowed van.

Olivia and her husband raised the family from poverty single-handedly. She ended her schooling after compulsory requirements were met, when she was fourteen years old. She then left her village to make her fortune in the big city. For several years she sent most of her money home from whatever work she could find: cleaning hotel rooms, clerking in shops, selling vegetables at the farmer's market.

That's where she met her husband. He had a fledgling business, supplying one hotel restaurant with fresh fruits and veggies. They soon fell in love and married, and now service 4 major hotels. They both get up around 2AM to get the best picks from the farmer's market where Olivia used to work in order to fulfill by 6 AM the orders the hotels call in the evening before.

This is a woman of valor. In telling this story, Alan confided that, prior to Olivia's hard work, they lived in a one-room dirt hut, deep in the country. He acknowledges that he would not even be attending college were it not for his sister. She deserves the pedestal Alan puts her on. I am honored to know her.

And the family enjoys the wealth and status this couple provides. Olivia's husband, a cheerful, rotund man, amateur chef, purveyor of this bounty, returned home from his deliveries with several kilos of meat and fish, which he marinated prior to leaving the house. In typical Chinese fashion, a shopping bag serves as both a mixing bowl and transport container, without the benefit of a cooler. Thus my concern for the meat getting contaminated before we had a chance to eat.

My fears proved unfounded. The amateur chef cooked while the rest of us cavorted. The first few portions went, of course, to the foreigners: Jared – Alan's friend, and I. Once assured we were enjoying our meal, the rest of the family tucked in. A few even enjoyed my contributions: potato salad, corn bread and peanut butter cookies, carefully conveyed from my home in a cooler.

The park boasted many wonders: a dam, a playground for kids and even a temple, high atop the mountain. Another, less pleasing wonder was the garbage being strewn about. In fact, a group that was leaving the picnic area as we arrived actually left all of the garbage from their meal on the ground and on the tables they occupied!  

As is my habit, especially when out in nature, I started picking up litter. Not from that now forlorn looking area, but from the paths we were walking and around our site. Immediately, the bag I was collecting garbage in was taken from me: “there are people whose job it is to clean up. You don't have to do it!”

How can China expect her youth to learn respect for the environment if the adults treat it that way?

We had 5 children in our group. I thought this would be a great teaching opportunity. I took Alan aside and explained why I was picking up garbage. He agreed with me, vowing to explain my actions to his clan, and offering to help me clean up.

I don't know if he actually did reveal my mindset because he spoke in his family's native dialect. I do know that, come the end of our time at the park, I was ushered away from the picnic area with reassurances that everyone else will do the clean up. As we left that area, Alan's hand firmly on my back – presumably to keep me from turning around, I noticed the pigsty area from the first group had yet to be cleaned up. And, when the rest of our group appeared at the parking lot mere minutes after we got there, I couldn't help but doubt that our area had been policed at all.

“When in Rome...” and all that is not a valid excuse for tolerating environmental abuse. But there was nothing I could do about it, except savor the bitter taste the experience left me with.

That, and look forward to Monkey Mountain, tomorrow's planned excursion. 

The 7-Year Itch

Thus began my disenchantment with China: not being able to get a hotel room (see previous entry).

No, that's not true. I've been suffering minor irritations for a while. The staring. The touching. The taking my picture without asking. The shouting HELLO! inches from my face. The questions: “Where are you from?” “How old are you?” “How much money do you earn?” “Where is your husband?” - as though it would be inconceivable for a woman to travel to China without one, or that a woman would dare to live without a man by her side.

The people wishing to practice their English with me, no matter where I am (on a bus, in a restaurant) or what I am doing (reading, shopping). People at the supermarket, looking into my shopping cart, as though I were buying something exotic that they would be denied. Vague distrust, as though I might suddenly burst into flames, or attack. Other random impositions on myself and my time.

My practically useless bank account, when the rest of China is progressing to a cashless society by loading their virtual wallets via online banking, something that I've longed to participate in but couldn't. Nor could I reserve accommodations when traveling, or shop online... not that I have ever done much online shopping. Try as I might, I couldn't, and couldn't get Sam to help me fix my bank account so that I could progress, along with the  Chinese.

I am fed up with it all. The joy of discovering China is almost not worth all of the aggravation. And now, discovering China has been made much more difficult now that I have to lodge like a rich person instead of the vagabond that I am. 

The irony doesn't escape me that this is my seventh year in China.

Seven-Year itch: a psychological term that suggests that happiness declines after around year seven of a marriage. The term has been expanded to cover any relationship or even a job, or where you live. Is this why I was contemplating moving on while flying back from Germany? 

Gary met me at the train station, coming back from Beijing. Such a happy homecoming! And such a great friend to welcome me! Would I have that anywhere else, save for my loved ones in the states? Coming down the train station escalator, eyes moist and grinning widely at Gary's wild waving, I banished all thought of leaving China. Of leaving Gary, my friend who would battle traffic at nine-thirty at night to drive me home, even though he has to get up early the next day. Of leaving Sam, Penny and Erica. Precious little Erica, who has become my ersatz granddaughter.

That misty 'forget about leaving China' feeling persisted for exactly 2 weeks.

I couldn't wait to catch up with Sam! Germany is his favorite country. He studied German for his Master's degree. Finally, first-hand, he could receive an accounting of what that country and its food is like: I prepared a traditional German meal, using what ingredients I could find at Metro and home made bread. In return, he dished out 4 courses of outrage:

·         A new rule states that foreign teachers must validate their college degree by presenting at the Chinese embassy in their home country with a notarized copy of their transcript. The cost of this venture runs in the hundreds of dollars, and it does not get reimbursed either by the Chinese government – the sole beneficiary of this mandate, or by the institution that hires you.

·         The 'five-year' rule: foreigners who have been in China for five years must take a 6-month sabbatical and reapply for a visa. I have feared this rule since I learned about it my first year here, but the school took care to see me approved for another visa, even beyond the 5-year limit. Sam stated that there would be a distinct possibility that, when next he submits my passport for visa renewal, it would get rejected because I've been here too long. Or because I haven't had my diploma validated. Or both.

·         The school's leaders fearing I am too old, and that my bones will spontaneously break. Apparently my broken bone from last year created a climate of fear on this campus and, even though I never missed a class or an extracurricular activity, the general concensus seems to be that I would soon be too lame to even hobble to class.

◦    Since last year, there has been talk of replacing me because of my uncertain but most likely weak skeleton. However, no other foreign teacher can be found because of the new diploma validation rule. Thus I continue to be the only foreign teacher in this school. In spite of a heavier course load than even Chinese teachers, who are younger than me, the attitude prevails that I might (literally) fall apart at any moment.

·         Sam's obligation to report my every move to the school leaders. Unbeknownst to me until now, Sam has the duty to report in when/where I travel (to), when I arrive at my destination and when I return to campus.

No doubt that last extends to disclosing any health conditions I might need a doctor for, seeing as Sam must accompany me to the doctor, per my contract. He has my medical insurance card, and even if I should ask for the card so I can go to the doctor by myself, my need for a doctor would surely be reported. IF I were permitted to go to the doctor by myself.

It's not Sam's fault, and I am not angry at him for it. He has his duty, just as we all do. Unfortunately, I feel his duty is a violation of my privacy. What I was sharing with him as a friend – where I travel and how I feel physically, he was compelled to report to the ever-scrutinizing school leaders.

The sad thing is: for the love of being here, I would have endured all the petty annoyances of being a foreigner in China, and I might have even reconciled myself to limiting my travel to destinations that have hotels permitted to welcome me. However, I find the intrusions on my personal life and the regulations foreigners must comply with in order to live and work in China offensive and demeaning.

Is it coincidence that I had just returned from Germany,  and was actively contemplating moving there when I learned all this?

 

Touchdown in Beijing

It was not the best flight I've ever had. The plane arrived in Berlin an hour late. After we boarded, we were further delayed by a maintenance issue that kept us on the tarmac for nearly 2 hours. No entertainment system usage,  or food or beverage service during that time, and no restroom usage. We were a planeload of unhappy, restless passengers.

Oh, well. At least it was easy to get to the airport in Berlin, and getting through security was a breeze. And, I had scored an aisle seat! How lucky!

Lucky because, for some reason, my leg chose that time to act up. Have you ever heard of Restless Leg Syndrome? It is a condition that causes your leg(s) to twitch, painfully and uncontrollably. Episodes can last for hours. I am only mildly afflicted and, usually I can abate the spasms by drinking water and walking around, neither of which I could do on this grounded airplane. Even after we took off and regular service started, my leg kept twitching. Thanks to aisle seating, I could get up and walk around...

when the flight wasn't turbulent. Mostly, the seatbelt sign stayed on. Then, I just twitched (and moaned). 

The memory of pounding on my leg (to make it stop twitching), sleeplessness, terrible food and stingy drinks faded as soon as we touched down in Beijing, at 10:40 AM. I'm more than halfway home! I can now commit all that I've experienced to paper and share it with you!

As soon as I navigate the Beijing subway again and find a hotel to stay at. I did not yet have a train ticket back to Wuhan and, by the time I made it across Beijing, it would be too late to board a train that would get me to Wuhan at a decent hour. Besides, with no sleep during the flight, I wasn't in any shape to wrangle passage on a bullet train and travel another 5 hours.

I had a hotel in mind, right close to Bejing Xi train station. I'd lodged there before; the rooms are comfortable and the price is accommodating. All I had to do was get there.

When I did, they turned me away, pointing to a hand-written sign: “We are not accepting foreign guests”. The hotel next door also refused me.

Color me astounded! A hotel, turning certain guests away? I'd only ever heard of that in America, when segregation was in force, and in South Africa, during Apartheid. And why now? There'd never been a problem with my getting a room in either of those establishments before!

FLASHBACK: on my way out of Beijing, all of those hotels around Dong Zhi Men that turned me away, and the rental of a super expensive room because nothing else could be found (See On To Germany entry). Would the same thing happen now? Would I be forced into accommodations much costlier than necessary?

The second hotel desk clerk pointed me to a concern that would accept foreigners. 333 Yuan per night for a windowless room. On the brink of exhaustion, I handed over my cash card, silently cursing the fact that that amount was about 180 Yuan more than I had paid at the first hotel I had tried.

I won't tell you about getting ripped off at the restaurant but I will divulge that buying a train ticket the next morning, after breakfast (where again, I was ripped off) was a snap. I would be in Wuhan that evening! 

It was time to reach out to all my friends who had been frantically messaging me, to tell them I was on my way home.

Sharing with Alan the tale of getting turned away at hotels, he messaged back that his foreigner friend had gotten turned away from several houses too, in Hangzhou. Idly, we speculated that it was because of the G20 summit. But that didn't make any sense...

Two weeks later, I was planning another trip. Wary of being turned away, I called several hotel chains I would normally frequent in my travels, asking if I could lodge there. “No”, “No Foreigners”, “No way”.

“Where can foreigners stay?” I asked the 7 Days Inn clerk, the 4^th hotel I contacted.

“4- and 5-star hotels only.” she replied.

Three different cities, all the same result: foreigners getting turned away from all budget hotels.    

In my opinion, this new 'rule' is a mistake on China's part. Many people come here to explore the country; being forced to pay way more than necessary for accommodations is a great way to discourage traveling. For all of those 'foreigners' who wish to discover and enjoy the true flavor of China, in small towns and out-of-the-way places; for backpackers and budget travelers, that option is now off the table.

I suppose I should be grateful that foreigners are not required to stay in terrible hotels.

I simply can't see the reasoning behind forcing foreign guests to pay more than any other traveler. What is the purpose of this new rule?