Finally, Work!

I taught my last class for the 2013/14 academic year on June 2^nd. Since then I've lollygagged, lounged, traveled about, and visited friends. I was master of myself with no obligations to anyone or anything. That type of freedom is exhilarating, but it has its downside.

If I had an endless supply of money I would travel more. As I am not rich, perpetual travel is impossible. The alternative is to lay around, indolent, with each day melting into the next, as they did toward then end of this long summer. I got tired of it, and was relishing the start of the school year. 

First day of class: Wednesday, September 10^th. Tuesday night at 10PM I choose my clothes and prepare my class materials. With everything laid out, I hit the hay at 10:30. A little after 4AM I finally fell asleep. My alarm roused me at 6:30. I knew it was going to be a rough day.

Rough in more ways than one. The students I was welcoming back to class are last year's freshmen. They had Victor for a teacher Spring semester and their exuberance at my leading their class again was obvious. Not only was I greeted with a rousing “Good Morning, Teacher!”, but there was a large bouquet of flowers on my podium.

I had forgotten it was Teachers' Day.

They hadn't. They made sure to show their appreciation in word and deed. I was bowled over and, sleepy as I was, couldn't stop the tears. We had a great class. I did most of the talking, being considerate of this being their first class on their first day back in school. The statement: “I'll bet all of you used English every day during your summer break!” was met with derision. I told them they could do the talking next week. I'd do the talking this week.   

After dismissal I strapped my flowers to my bike's rack and took them home. I met Sam along the way, who exclaimed over the gift: surely I must be a well-loved teacher. I couldn't say anything without breaking down. Later he told me I was the only teacher that got any sort of token for Teachers' Day. I felt so honored.

My next class was in a building across campus: a snap to get to astride my Bikey-bike. Again the moving greeting. Again a gift, this time a plant in a lovely ceramic pot. How to thank such an outpouring?

I told them about the only other plant I've managed to not kill, given to me when my beloved Gabriel was born. When I moved to China I could not take Planty-plant with me so I repotted it: half to my son and the other half to my daughter. Every year when I visit they make sure I see Planty-plant is growing strong. Now I have another significant plant to love, and love what it represents. The kids helped me name it: Guanyin (g'wan yin).

After another great session I put my new plant on the back of my bike and rode across campus. Oh, wait: an incoming text message! Yes, more accolades and well-wishings from students present and past. That is when I discovered my prepaid phone had run out of money. I was simply too tired to go back out, find a phone store – which, no doubt would be crowded with the influx of students, and buy more minutes. I used the computer to log into QQ, China's premier chat program.

By now I am completely wiped out, but my inbox was overflowing with greetings. I could have ignored them, but why would I? These are people who, even a year or several removed from my class, remember the great times we had and paid tribute. It took me more than 3 hours to respond to every single message.

I am the richest person: so fortunate to have so many good people and so much love in my life.

I'm running out of words to describe how worn out I felt.

The message I most wanted to respond to was Sam's invitation for Erica's birthday party, to be held at 6:30 that night. Quite frankly I wasn't sitting with any aplomb and couldn't see how I would manage a birthday party with hordes of little children and even more adults but I wasn't about to miss my Little Buddy's birthday. Beyond weary I set out, making it there just in time. 

It is amazing how, in the company of friends, one forgets things. I forgot how tired I was as soon as Erica rushed to throw her little arms around my knees. Sam and Penny's warm greetings were also a balm and, for the first time, Penny's mother and I had a conversation. She is normally quite reserved around me because I am the first foreigner she's come  into close contact with. Now that I speak the language better, we're becoming friends.

A body could do a lot worse than being a part of Sam and Penny's family/social circle.

At the very end of my rope I made it home after 9PM and was in bed about an hour and a half later. Among all the messages from my students that day, my Jenn had also snuck a tender message in: “Just thought you should know I love you. Have a good day.” I couldn't bear to put myself to bed before connecting with her, on the other side of the world.    

Thursday wasn't half bad, except for the fact that the shirt I was wearing was not appropriate for the weather. Stifling mugginess does not go well with a button-down blouse. Within the first 20 minutes in my non-airconditioned classroom, where not so much as a fan twirled my shirt was saturated. How embarrassing! How uncomfortable! During the break between classes I again rode home, fully aware of the irony of riding in such humidity that would exacerbate my sweaty condition but I felt much more comfortable in a cotton shirt than I did in that blouse.

And so it goes. At dismissal I quickly policed my room, wiped the board down and gathered my things. I had forgotten about the computer cabinet access card in my back pocket. I had not signed the card out; my class monitor did. I did not  use the computer, but I did put my books and phone in it for safekeeping while I rode home during the break, so I had use of the card. I simply forgot about it.

Upon Sam's reminder – again via QQ because I've still not paid for more minutes, I set my alarm to wake up before first class so I could return the key card in case a teacher using the room that day needed the computer. I messaged Sam that accomplishment, to which he sent a reminder to be at the ground floor of the library by 8:30AM to take part in the Freshman welcoming ceremony tomorrow.

Argh!!! Another day of waking up early!!! Will it never end???    

What's In This Stuff, Anyway?

I've long been in the habit of wearing gloves to wash dishes. Naturally I wash my hands when needed but they do not suffer prolonged immersion in water. For obvious reasons I cannot wear a body glove while showering, so I do expose myself to water. I wondered why, at times my skin would break out into lesions. Not painful, discolored or otherwise bothersome. It just struck me as odd that these little bubbles of dry skin would manifest themselves while living here when I've never had this problem living anywhere else.

And then, I heard the same complaint from others: Daisy's sores actually bled. Evan needed an application of Neosporin (provided by his loving American mom: me) on his blisters. The hands of the women from the OTW community are permanently raw. Gary's are much like mine. 

I conducted a test. For one week I would do dishes without the benefit of gloves to see what condition my hands would be in. I didn't need to wait that long: within 2 days I had small blisters of dead skin on my fingers, especially my index fingers.

Made me wonder: what is in this water?

 To avoid replay of The Great Ant Smackdown (see eponymous entry posted August 2013), when ants started manifesting themselves again this year I quickly reached for what might repel them or, better yet, keep them out of my home altogether. By accident I found that a certain dish washing liquid, White Cat, sent  ants scurrying! One day I inadvertently let a droplet or two fall on the countertop. Immediately, crazed ants fled every which way. Since then, I've made a solution of this soap to spray my counters down at night.

NOTE: I have black granite countertops. Very hard to see ants on it.

It just so happened that I had left a meat cleaver in the sink one night. Not wanting to take the time to wash  that lone cutter, I left it where it was. I made sure to spray it down with  ant repelling White Cat solution, as well as the drain filters, where ants like to congregate whether I clean them out or not. The next morning I had rust spots both on the sink and the cleaver. It seems White Cat ate through the stainless steel coating to the metal, and then proceeded to further attack. I had to scrub the rust off and then oil the blade. My sink still gets rust spots, even though I scrub it every day.

Sure would like to know: what is in that soap?

As you may know, I am now the proud owner of a beautiful bike. I love it! It has opened whole new vistas for me and has gotten me the jump on being physically active again. I'll take any chance to ride  but one thing is for sure: I do not ride in the rain. Not just for safety reasons but because I don't want to subject my Bikey-bike to the rain.

The  first time I rode to Sam's house, I got caught in the rain on the way home. It was not an unpleasant experience overall. It was late enough at night that traffic was sparse. The problem is that that one exposure to rain caused the handlebar goose neck to rust. Not the visible, exposed parts; the part that is uncoated steel, that secures the goose neck to the bike. A quick blast of WD-40 and a scrub with a wire brush took care of it, but I am ever-vigilant against further incursions of rust.

Imagine my surprise when, finally able to go for a ride in this oppressive summer heat, I look my bike over and find light rust on the handlebars. Not on the uncoated steel but right there, next to the grips!

I promise I have not taken my bike out in the rain since that first time, months ago. If I'm not riding, she stays in my apartment – not on the balcony but inside, safe from the elements. How in the world could the coated steel be rusting?

Although it had been quite warm, I had resisted turning on my air conditioner until absolutely necessary. Keeping the drapes pulled and using a small fan was enough to maintain comfort unless I was doing something that would result in elevated body temperature, like strenuous exercise or cleaning house like a maniac – something I avoid at all costs. While my poor bike was exposed to all the humidity, I lounged in front of the fan, not suffering at all. I have no other explanation for why my handlebars would start rusting months after her only exposure to rain. 

Wouldn't you puzzle: What is in that rain and moisture?   

I never use my bathroom sink. Not because it only offers cold water but because the drain is an open hole in the floor that bugs crawl or fly out of. I've capped that drain and turned the water supply off to that sink, and it has been that way since I've lived here. So how come the bathroom tap is rusting?

For that matter, how did the shower water spigot spring a leak in the tap's body? I could understand at a joint, but the crack was on the face of the tap and the whole thing had to be replaced. 

What is in all this stuff???   

UPDATE: My good friend and fellow bike enthusiast George suggested applying a light coat of car wax to my handlebars after scrubbing the rust away. I had to strip my handlebars – take off all the components I have attached to them, but applying the wax was easy as pie. And a much better idea than my initial thought: a thin coat of silicone, or his first idea: handlebar tape. Thanks, George! Now, only time will tell if my lovely bike will be protected.

   

Why Not in America?

I am a self-professed vagabond. If I could, I would make a life out of traveling: seeing and experiencing the new, the strange, the colossal and the minuscule, the... everything. I waited a long time to discover this about myself and even longer to act on it.

I've been to at least twenty cities in the 4 years I've lived in China, and loved every bit of it. The trains, the discovering, the hotels, the people, the food. I can't describe to you the feeling of anticipation and excitement that fills me upon holding a train ticket for someplace I've never been. As I crawl into my bunk on this sleeper coach, thought crosses my mind: why did I wait so long to do something I love to do?

And why didn't I do it in America?

America: the dream destination of millions in China. America, with her rolling plains, soaring mountains and stark canyons, her wilderness and waters. There is so much to see and do and experience in America. I lived there long enough: more than a quarter century. Except for one time – a 2-week sojourn, alone in the Chihuahuan desert, I never set out simply to see what there is to see and do what there is to do.

Wouldn't you ask yourself 'why', if you were me?

In respect to travel, China is vastly different than America. Here, a train ticket can take you just about anywhere in the country. Add a long distance bus fare to that and you just might get to the farther reaches. In America there are trains, too. Their range is limited – up and down the east or west coast, and limited passage throughout the middle states. And they are expensive! It is actually cheaper to fly than to take a train. Besides, by flying you can get pretty much anywhere.

What is flying for this vagabond? True, I get where I want/need to go quickly, but I miss the entire travel experience by making the journey several thousand feet in the air. I can positively attest that Death Valley is stupendous from the air, but equally strongly aver that it is even more magnificent when driving through it.

Besides flying, driving is the #1 mode of long distance transportation in America. That is not a bad thing, I assure you. The privacy and privilege of piloting your own, comfortable vehicle. You can stop and start when and where you want. You can drive fast, if you so desire – and can pay for the ticket, should you get nabbed. I enjoy long distance driving. Several times I've criss-crossed the country, usually to a visit someone or in order to attend a specific event. Because that is how my life was, in America.

I am the luckiest vagabond in the world! I have a dream job that affords me more than enough money for my needs, and my bare bones schedule – teaching only about 6 hours a week gives me plenty of time to pop off here and there. In America, time was in short supply for me. I worked sometimes more than 60 hours per week, but even with the standard 40-hour/week schedule, this seemingly aimless wandering I enjoy now was impossible. I had to see to my wardrobe being work ready and take care of my house. I had to grocery shop and spend time with my friends. I had to earn my college degree, and that only after raising my children.

Please don't misunderstand: I'm not blaming my kids for holding me back from my travels. They are in fact blameless through and through. They did not ask to be brought into this world. The very least I could do is wait until they were successfully launched into their lives before I began mine.

And then there is the financial aspect to consider. No matter how you slice it, travel in America is expensive. Even the poorest hotels generally go for no less than $45 per night, and good luck finding those prices along a highway. Gas, while cheaper than anywhere else in the world, still comprises perhaps the largest chunk of a traveler's budget. Eating on the road can be pricey, too. A truck stop or diner meal will run about $12-15 just for a sandwich and a side of fries. The quality of that food might  be questionable, leading you to have to pull into one rest stop after another.

The Eisenhower Interstate system is a marvel! It is easy to navigate: even numbers run east-west and odd numbers north-south. Highway number designations increase the further a traveler heads west, with the exception of Highways #s1 and 95: #1 runs down the west coast and #95 down the east coast. Rest stops are themed to the region: adobe constructions in the desert, saltboxes in the northwest and cedar or pine constructions along the southern routes.

I preferred driving at night, when traffic was lighter and temps were cooler. In doing so I missed what probably should have been seen during the day. If I had been traveling freely, in the spirit I now travel in, I would have most likely made the most of the daylight and pulled in to every attraction (I could afford). Can't really berate myself, though. Most of my driving for travel was mission-bound: visiting friends and family, and attending weddings and graduations.

The one time I did drive by day was my 2 weeks in the desert. No cellphone towers, no conference calls, no one else but me. Hour after hour, mile by mile I enjoyed the vast nothingness and the empty road. I don't think I talked with more than 20 people during that entire time, most of them being campground managers – no motels for me. I had brought my food, so I didn't need to shop for anything.

That trip completely changed me. In the middle of that vast nowhere I was forced to realize how small and defenseless I really am. All the meetings, the demands for my time or expertise at work, social exigences, all appearances... none of that mattered to the deer that nosed her way through the brambles I camped by and stood 3 meters away, looking at me. Silent and still, I returned her gaze. We communed at sunrise, oblivious to the world around us. After she left I broke camp, loaded up the car and drove on, windows down  for the wind to swirl around me.

It is that feeling of peace, of not being in control or even having to be in control that assails me every time I hit the rails to a place I've never been in China. I don't conduct the train. I'm not in charge of anyone or anything and I have no expectations of my destination. I only have myself to look out for, and I'm no more important than anything else I might encounter along my way.

Maybe it takes being in timeless, beautiful China where my time is free and all my defenses are down to allow myself to be a true vagabond.            

Could I Live There? Part 2

The first time I wrote an entry with this title, it was with the idea of reviewing some of the cities I'd visited from the perspective of seeking a possible new home. Looking back, that screening proved unnecessary because here I am 4 years later, still in Wuhan, and still loving it. That doesn't stop me from traveling around and, with each visit considering: Could I live there?

Wenzhou: Seemed to me a rather mean town, where people drink the beer and eat the glasses. Industry  is king there, with factories of all sizes – from mammoth, fume-disgorging concerns to hole in the wall, piecemeal and no doubt poorly paid work. This relatively small town gets virtually no government money and I saw no repair work or new construction, even though it was sorely needed. There is a bus system, but they run infrequently and the vehicles are sad, tired things, belching smoke. However, the people I met (through Gary) were nice and welcoming. CILT? No. No foreigner commodities that I saw and hardly anything to do.

Hangzhou: Now there is a gem of a town! Hangzhou has a lot to offer. In fact, it is an up and coming financial center whose focus is fashion. Someone looking for work could do well there. Beyond that: public transportation is more than adequate and there are plenty of foreigner conveniences. For entertainment and relaxation, one can take in the tea plantations and temples, and ride a cable car to the top of the mountain to see the whole city spread out at their feet. Lots of shopping, nice restaurants and funky cafes to while away an afternoon. Abundant, lush vegetation and clean air. CILT? Yes. But not so much that I'm enticed to leave Wuhan.

Qingdao: a lovely coastal city with a lot of history. Plenty to see and do, but food choices seem to be lacking if you are not into seafood. In spite of its German heritage, I found virtually no German influence (no German restaurant!), which was kind of disappointing. Maybe I didn't look hard enough. Public transportation is widely available and the city is easy to navigate. The people are very friendly and accommodating. There are some foreigner concessions and vigorous sea air. CILT? Probably not, because of the chilly, damp climate and the food.  A nice place to visit but I wouldn't want to call it home.

Wudang: For me, a mystical place. While no great shakes, the people more than make up for what the city lacks. Public transportation is adequate for a town its size, and everywhere there are cars for hire. No foreigner concessions that I know of. The temple of Wudangshan – the birthplace of Shaolin Kung Fu  and this burg's claim to fame is a must. The higher up the mountain, the better the air but at street level, beware of dust. CILT? Perhaps. It is close enough to Shiyan and Wuhan that I could ride the train to make a day out of shopping and dining. 

Suzhou: Beautiful! I couldn't help but repeatedly exclaim over its loveliness. Wide avenues where the many buses trundle along efficiently. Her 2 subway lines are clean and well maintained. This city is not as crowded as some, and seems to beckon visitors. Water villages Zhou Zhuang and Tong Li lie nearby, and there is a riverwalk to dally around in the evening. The food was good. Plenty of foreigner concessions. People seemed a bit reserved, though. CILT? Probably, but not my first choice of places to hang my hat if I had to leave my current digs.

Wuhu: EVERYTHING about this city is perfect for me! Plenty to see and do, and the food is fantastic! What really crowns it are the people: they radiate happiness! Plenty of public transportation, and -  surprise, surprise: courteous drivers! I couldn't help but notice: cars stayed in their lanes, did not cut each other off and did not continuously honk their horns. There are some foreigner restaurants but not many concessions... which really doesn't matter because Wuhu is only 2 hours by train from Nanjing. CILT? Yes. YES!!! A thousand time YES!!! If not for my loyalty to my school I would be packing my bags right now.

Hefei: to be perfectly frank, I did not give this city a fair shake. Coming from my perfect Wuhu, the dirt, the cacophony, the rudeness of the people I met in Hefei did not make a favorable impression. This town seems to be undergoing a rebirth and everything is topsy-turvy. Renegade traffic, torn up sidewalks, people aggressively hustling. Objectively: there are some foreigner restaurants but not much in the way of concessions. However, it is close enough to major cities where those outlets abound. The air is dirty from all of the construction. I was not impressed with the food. CILT? No. In spite of my optimism at the outset of my visit, I found little that might convince me to want to hang my hat there.

Jingdezhen: the porcelain capital of China. Active archeology digs make it interesting to me, but there is not much else there besides Pottery Row where one can buy wholesale china. It gets virtually no government money and suffers from that lack. There is a mass transit system but traffic seems to be a nightmare. I imagine it might be difficult to get around. Few foreigner concessions and the people seem reserved. I did not care for the trademark food: sour noodles. CILT? No. Even if I had to, I wouldn't want to.

Ezhou: a mostly rural, quiet little town one hour outside of Hubei province's capital city. It is easy and cheap enough to get to Wuhan that the lack of foreigner goods and concessions doesn't matter. The people are very friendly and kind. For being a smallish, industrial town the air is fairly clean. Public transportation is adequate and the city is easy to navigate by bus. Plenty to see and do outdoors. CILT? Yes. I'd like to retire in Ezhou.       

Shanghai: I probably don't need to give anyone a description, do I? I can share my thoughts, though.

Plenty of foreigners and foreigner conveniences. Plenty to see and do. The subway system is a marvel and buses abound, but they are unreliable. For such a large city the air is remarkably clean. Food tends toward the sweet, although I did have some super salty dishes. In the right district Shanghai is indeed a 24-hour city. CILT? Well, I could but I don't want to. Shanghai felt deceptive to me, with the pretty, rich Eloi playing while the Morlocks toiled away, unrecognized and unacknowledged.

Twenty cities in 4 years. Not bad, I'd say. Makes me wonder...

     

Whore Cards

I'm neither naïve nor a prude. I'm well aware that the sex trade is a booming business, even though it is illegal most everywhere, including China. So why do I keep getting business cards depicting lovely young ladies shoved under my door at every hotel I stay at, even nice ones?

When I first started traveling around China this phenomenon was unknown to me. It was only when I traveled with Gary to Wenzhou (see Wen Zhou entry, posted August 2012) that I/we received our first whore cards. We had done a bit of traveling together before and had never gotten any, but Wenzhou was a different kettle of fish – if you'll remember, I said it was a brutal sort of town. I figured Gary was the intended recipient of those cards just because he is a handsome, refined guy and somebody made note of him at check in, even though I don't remember anyone else being in the lobby at that time.

I teased him about it. He got embarrassed. I apologized. Balance was restored. 

Since then I've been traveling mostly on my own and have had whore cards intended solely for me pushed under the door. I have to assume they are for me because I am the only person in the room. I started questioning whore sensibility, considering they would offer up their services to males and females indiscriminately. Idly, I wondered what would happen should I call one of those numbers.

It was on one of my jaunts – can't remember where I was, that I had a chance to find out, without my having to call any numbers. As I'm getting settled in (and hear the shoosh of cards being slid under the door), someone knocks. I thought it might be a desk clerk. Perhaps I had neglected to sign something, or left something downstairs? Before opening the door I asked: “Who is it?” A seductive voice replied: “Open the door to see.” I said I wasn't interested and she asked me how I knew, being as I hadn't laid eyes on her. I told her I was female. She apologized and I heard a knock on a door down the hall, indicating she had moved on.

If I had been such a person who would accept such an offer, I would have selected her simply for her industriousness. Personal effort beats a business card any day!

As much as the Chinese government prefers her citizens to be moral, and as hard as they try to deter prostitution, the fact is that it is rampant in China. While not exactly espousing an 'if you can't beat them, join them' mentality, the powers that be have opted for education before prosecution. Sex education is all over the news: getting over the embarrassment of talking about sex – heretofore a taboo subject, which direction it should take, how young children should be when starting their education in this matter. Even migrant workers are being educated.

Condoms are widely available these days, whereas when I first came to China I didn't notice them being so prevalent. Most hotel rooms now offer them as a concession, right along with colas, teas, snacks and playing cards.

I only have limited acquaintance with the female side of the sex industry, from one of my students who, sadly, became a part of it. About a year after her fall from grace she asked me to help her purchase 500 FC2 female condoms from an American website. I am morally opposed to contributing to the delinquency of anyone and thus had no desire to help her. However, realizing she and 'her girls' – she was the team manager, would continue with or without protection I reasoned I should help protect their health, but have a sound discussion with her. Fortunately I was absolved from abetting because the website she gave me was inaccessible. I still gave her a stern talking to. She didn't heed then,  but she is ruing it now. Poor kid. I'd like to know if it is her job to distribute those cards? I'm not going to ask.     

I have to wonder: how does the whore card thing work? At every instance, within 30 minutes of check-in, I get cards. I'm fairly certain nobody is lurking in the lobby when I check in making note of which room I'm in in order to entice me later. If, in fact there were such a person they probably wouldn't want to entice me, seeing as I'm female. Without fail, all of the cards depict women for hire. I've yet to see a man offering himself for a fee.

Do these cards get pushed under doors indiscriminately? Is there a certain time of day when someone makes the rounds, promoting his/her stable of lovelies by peppering every room with cards? Not likely. I've yet to check into a room  already carded. And, considering I check in at random times in various cities, the odds of my consistently checking roughly 30 minutes prior to scheduled card delivery – in any town, in any hotel would be staggering.   

Is hotel management in on it? It could be a symbiotic relationship: the house would allow a certain stable of girls in return for a cut of the take. That would involve the desk clerk providing the card pass-out person a list of occupied rooms. That seems the most likely scenario but: if s/he is in on it, why wouldn't s/he not indicate which rooms would not summon a girl? Say... a room occupied by a female? Or a room with a family? And, if hotel management is in on it, why not just place a stack of cards in the room, by the condom display?

Whore cards became a running joke between Gary and I. Now that he is a drudge grunt – working full time, he does not have the opportunity to travel with me as much. Sometimes he asks, but I never fail to report to him how many whore cards I receive in my travels. Till now, I only ever got 1 or 2 – as opposed to his 5, that time in Wenzhou. In Hefei I got no fewer than 11 cards!

What to do about this constant barrage of cards?

I used to just leave the cards on the floor, by the door. And then, I had the bright idea to kick them back into the hall for all to see. In Wuhu they got snatched up fairly quickly: by the time I opened my door about an hour later, they were gone. This latest group: I had to pick them up and arrange them for the picture. And then, I stacked them neatly by the condom display. The next morning I noted the people in the room next to mine had kicked them into the hall. I guess I'm not the only one who is sick of those cards. Or, maybe sick of what they imply.     

I certainly don't wish to degrade these ladies by calling them whores. I'm  sure they are all pure young women who seek only to pat my brow and serve me tea... while wearing provocative garments and projecting wide-eyed innocence.

While I deplore these attractive women earning their living by selling themselves, there is not much I can do. I failed to redirect my student. I suspect a talk of dignity and morality would fall on these strangers' deaf ears. I wonder if, years from now, should one of them have a daughter... what would  she think of her daughter earning her living in such a way?