Delectable Diction

This year, I will be teaching 7th, 8th, and 9th grade for a grand total of... 12 students. Yep, after the earthquake last year, half of the families packed up and went home (back to South Korea and Pakistan and Australia and the U.K.) The school is still transitioning from this loss of students as well as a switchover in management. It's possible that more companies will open up over the course of the year and bring in more foreign students, but for now, here's the breakdown:

7th grade - 2 students
8th grade - 5 students
9th grade - 5 students

We had our first two days of school this week, and I got to meet all of the kids. They're awesome. I first realized just how awesome they are when I explained the "Delectable Diction" wall, where they can post words from their reading, words from everyday conversation, and even random words they find in the dictionary. The words are on index cards so we can move them around like Magnetic Poetry. My 7th graders pored over their dictionaries and came up with words like "mugwump". My 8th grade future doctors added hyper-opia and hydro-phobia. The 9th graders wanted to know the longest word in the English language. They crowded around the computer (as much of a crowd as 5 kids can make) and giggled at all of the Wikipedia entries about long words. It was like a dream.

Of course, there will be challenges. The administration wants all of the students to prepare for an IB program when a lot of them are still struggling to learn English. I have a wide range of skill levels in my class even though there are so few kids. But, I'm also really excited about what this diversity will conjure up in terms of discussions and compositions. The students' first journal was to write about their Name, and many of the students wrote about how their English name was chosen by an elementary school teacher. They talked about how frustrating it is when English-speakers can't pronounce their Korean or Chinese names. Some said their name denotes birth order and means nothing more than "second" or "third". I am going to learn so much from these kids. I can't wait.

The Acorn and the Oak Tree

Earlier this week, a mosquito whispered in my ear as I was trying to fall asleep. He cooed, "What are you doing here, sweet-smelling white girl?" My air-conditioner rumbled, someone else's water trickled down the bathroom pipes, and he kept on asking, "Why did you come? What's here for you but whistling mosquitoes and inscrutable sounds, wide-eyed child?" I almost let him get to me. I almost gave in to his relentless questioning, threw my covers back, and spent the night trying to come up with an answer, but instead, I turned on a light to distract him and reclaimed my rest. After all, school started this week, and I needed my energy. I didn't have time to ponder such existential questions as What am I doing here?

He made a good point, though. Lately, I have been a bit murky in the head about my goals here. Although I have begun setting up a life, it is in some ways a strange copy of old routines. I make tea and cook eggs. I plan lessons and go for runs. I listen to NPR. At the same time, there are unexplored parks and temples all around, and everywhere I go, there are new smells and strange streets and unidentified meats (ahem). When I think of what I am doing here, it seems a strange mix of settling in and adventuring, and I feel almost certain that neither will ever be done.

I just finished reading the book Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. It was a treat for myself from one of the English-language bookstores in town, and though it sounds cheesy, it is actually full of wisdom and has been a wonderful companion for the past week. It also gave me an excuse to put off reading the Arthurian legends I'm supposed to teach my 7th graders, but that's another story. I thought one of the last passages in the book was especially apt for my time here:

My thoughts turn to something I read once, something the Zen Buddhists believe. They say that an oak tree is brought into creation by two forces at the same time. Obviously, there is the acorn from which it all begins, the seed which holds all the promise and potential, which grows into the tree. Everybody can see that. But only a few can recognize that there is another force operating here as well - the future tree itself, which wants to badly to exist that it pulls the acorn into being, drawing the seedling forth with longing out of the void, guiding the evolution from nothingness to maturity. In this respect, say the Zens, it is the oak tree that creates the very acorn from which it was born (439).

Right now, I feel very much like the sapling. There are so many things I want to see and do, and I am afraid to blink and miss them. At the same time, I know that there is a future self there, watching, observing as I make choices that will take me closer to who I will be. I think that living in a strange land for a while will help me get there. I think teaching in a school full of interesting, diverse kids and a supportive, caring staff will help me get there. I think there will be many adventures (especially when Bill gets here!) For now, when I feel like a scared sapling, I will try to remember that I am in the shadow of an oak that is waiting to be.

Hot Pot-errific!

If you are a new arrival in Chengdu, the first question everyone asks is, "Do you like spicy food?"

"I'm working on my spice tolerance," I shrug in response, which inevitably leads to the next question:

"Have you tried Hot Pot?"

Hot Pot is a standard of spiciness everyone here understands. It is a spicy that surpasses the maximum number of chili peppers punctuating the menu of an Indian restaurant. It is a spicy that pierces and numbs your tongue all at once.

It is a spicy that I have survived. Oh yes.

I went with a couple of other teachers, another American and her Kiwi fiance, for an authentic Hot Pot experience. We slogged through the rain toward a well-lit, crowded restaurant filled with wooden tables, wooden benches, and aromatic cauldrons in the center of each table. The waitress led us to a table where the previous diners' broth was still bubbling like lava in the huge, metal pot. Luckily, my friends knew how to ask for the "yin-yang" version of Hot Pot, which has one spicy side and one side with a milder soup.

The waitress brought us our ying-yang pot, complete with a fish head floating on the top, and she turned on the propane stove underneath it. While we waited for the broth to heat up, we selected skewers stacked with dumplings, eggplant, quail eggs, various meats, and potatoes. We dipped all of these in the soup and waited for the flavor to sink in.

Like many experiences in China, it wasn't as bad as it sounded. My mouth went numb pretty quickly after eating the skewers out of the spicy side, but there was a coconut beverage that helped cut the spice. I don't know how much I enjoyed the meal, but at least I can claim to have survived the ultimate spice test.

Later in the week, I got to go to a Fish Hot Pot restaurant where we picked a live fish from a tub for the chef to slice up for our stew. At that restaurant, we had plates full of ingredients rather than skewers, and we got to add our own spice to our individual bowl. They even threw in long strips of dough that turned into noodles in the broth! Once it starts getting cold, I'll probably opt for Fish Hot Pot more often than not, but the yin-yang spicy stuff was definitely an experience.

My Chinese Physical, or Assembly Line Medicine, or Want to Trade Pee?

"Cheers," said one of the South African teachers as he got in line behind me holding his pee cup. It was a long line, and no one was really monitoring what people were doing with their uncapped urine samples. Oh China.

Even though I had gotten gobs of medical work done in the States (an EKG and chest Xray), China wouldn't accept the paperwork. So, I hopped in the school van along with a few other teachers to go get another so-called physical. Pretty much all medical work in China is done in the hospitals because clinics are so expensive to maintain. When we walked inside the hospital lobby, it felt more like a bowling alley than a medical facility.

I went through the lobby line and was handed my application form and a sheet of bar codes. This bar code became my identity as I passed through the blood sample line, the urine sample line, the ear and throat line, the chest x-ray line, and the sonogram line (no idea why I needed a sonogram). At each of these stops, they stuck the bar code on my sample and the next person in line stepped up. During the ear and throat check-up, everyone in line watched as the doctor told me in English, "you have dirty ears".

The whole thing was pretty surreal. I wondered if the final step would be packaging me and sticking a bar code on the outside. I felt that much like a commodity. Bedside manner doesn't really exist in China, but at the same time, they were able to "process" a bunch of people in a short period of time. I decided to ponder our countries' healthcare differences during a nice hot shower back in my apartment.

How living in China is like camping

1. Standing Toilets

My quads are going to be much stronger after living here because of all the squatting. I don't understand why standing toilets are still the norm here. Is it some strange form of cultural preservation? Do the Chinese actually prefer to squat rather than sit? Does it have something to do with the plumbing? This is something I'm going to have to look into. Luckily, my apartment has a Western-style sit-down toilet, but everywhere else, even the McDonald’s across the street, you have to squat. I was surprised that McDonald's didn't have Western toilets since it's brand new and, well, Western, but even though the porcelain hole said "American Standard,” it was still just a hole.

2. Tooth-brushing from a bottle

The water here isn't potable, which means I get all of my water for drinking and tooth-brushing from an office-style water cooler. The guy who replenishes each apartment's water supply carries the tanks up the steps on a bar carefully balanced across his shoulders. Every once in a while I hear Luke's voice telling me to let the tap water boil for three minutes before throwing in my dumplings, or Lucy's voice asking if she'll get gonorrhea from drinking the water. Ha.

3. You eat it, you carry it

I think this is true of city life in general, but since Chengdu is the first city I've lived in (aside from a three-week sojourn in Philly, thanks PIRG), I will probably always associate sore arms after shopping with China. After I go to the market, I carry home eggs in a plastic bag. There's also this sweet stand at the market where you can buy all of the ingredients for soup (cut vegetables, broth, spices, sliced meat) and then come home and cook it. Campbell's roll over.

4. Finicky gas stove

Gas is used to heat everything here from the take-home soup to the hot water for my shower. The flame of my gas stove can get so large it engulfs my pot, so I have to be super careful when turning the knob. When I take a shower, I can hear the flame ignite, and then I know it's time to brace myself for boiling water from the spout.

5. Rain, rain go away

It rains a lot here, which means that if I've just done laundry, I have to run outside and bring my clothes in off the line. If I've planned to go into the city, I might curl up with a book on my 70's throwback sofa instead. If the air conditioner is on full blast, I might open the windows and use the remote control to switch off the air (that's right, I have remote-control air-conditioners!). Today, I went into the city in spite of the rain and discovered two spots that might become some of my favorite havens: The Bookworm and Grandma' s Kitchen. Good thing I got that sweet raincoat before I left, though.

6. Mosquito bites!

There are lots. And they itch!

I feel the earth move under my feet...

Things which are taken for granted as stable in the States seem much less so here. Chengdu is the largest city in Sichuan Province, which is where the May earthquake hit, and though I haven’t noticed much damage in the city, several nearby towns were devastated. The majority of coverage I’ve seen estimates that roughly 60,000 people perished. Several of the teachers who have been here a while recognized that most of the torch bearers in the city were earthquake heroes (and Coca-Cola executives). Of course, this recognition came when they saw the torch being passed along on TV, not on the street in front of us, because we weren’t invited L

Since I have been here, the earth has shivered twice. Both tremors left me gazing down at the floor and wondering about the trustworthiness of the tiles at my feet. I was watching a movie on HBO (I don’t remember exactly which one, but odds are it was Blades of Glory) the afternoon of the first tremor. My couch shook as if it were sitting on top of a large elephant, taking quick steps across a circus ring. I looked outside, instinctively searching for some clue as to the duration or scale of the quake, but all I saw were the skyscrapers going up across the street from the school. The same countless cranes were poised to pile more rafters upon rafters – plate tectonics be damned.

The second tremor was during a staff meeting. Our principal didn’t miss a beat in his discussion of “the sustainable use of school resources,” but we all shot each other troubled glances across the room. One teacher piped up, “It’s an earthquake!” And our principal calmly replied, “Yes, I know that,” and continued his monologue. Note to self: acknowledge earthquake and pause for shaking to stop before continuing with class. Students will not listen while worrying about whether or not the building is going to crumble down around them. (Don’t worry, though, Mom… so far the tremors have been short and slight, and no one expects any catastrophes in the near future.)

There are other aspects of daily life in China (so far) which challenge my Ameri-centric notions of safety and stability. Yesterday, I was walking back from lunch with a group of Pakistani teachers, all of whom are incredibly qualified, beautiful, brilliant women, when one of the teacher’s legs slipped through a storm drain on the side of the road. Luckily, she was only badly bruised, but it could have been much worse. In the road here, manhole covers are often be missing entirely. One teacher told me she once noticed a child’s shoes beside one of the manholes and has been haunted ever since by the idea of a child who fell undetected.

Another aspect of Chinese life which is more mutable than in the States is the authority of road signs, lane lines, or really any obstacle preventing you from getting to where you want to go. I would love to get an electric bike and have total independence to go into the city, but I have been warned to spend at least a month observing the Chinese “road mentality” before attempting to navigate it myself. Supposedly, the road in front of the school is one way – but cars go down in the other direction quite frequently. Supposedly, pedestrians have the right of way – but don’t expect a car to slow down just because you’re walking in front of it. Supposedly, there should only be on car in a lane at a time - but somehow the Chinese bend space and time to fit up to three cars in one lane. Supposedly, red lights mean stop - but most taxi drivers only see them as a suggestion to slow down and look both ways.

The effect that all of these quakes and slips and “cross at your own risks” have on my psyche is interesting. To a degree, I do feel less protected. I feel less of a cushion of safety between myself and the world, but it’s also exhilarating at times. The earth shakes! You have to watch out for yourself! No one is going to give you a “fair price” because it’s the right thing to do… you have to earn it (haggling will have to wait until a later post). I’m sure there will be times when I miss living in a society that is governed by rigid traffic laws, and that is literally much less tumultuous, but right now it’s all so exciting…

The Olympic Torch in Chengdu! (supposedly)

When I first arrived at the school and was shown into my apartment, I was also handed a notice:

Dear foreign teachers,

According to requirements of the Police Security Bureau, all people living in our school are required to stay in apartments on next Tuesday morning (5th August) from 0am to 12pm. Please do not arrange any business outside of campus on that period.

Sorry for any inconvenience! And thanks for your understanding and cooperation.

Cultural Exchange Department

Apparently, just watching the Olympic torch is invite-only. Even though it will be passing right in front of our campus, I may not be able to see it unless they allow us to sit on the rooftop balconies.

Tea and Company

Yesterday was my first time venturing into the “small” town south of the school – Huan-yang. A narrow, two-lane street leads into the town, and as I walked the roughly 2-3km, I was passed by petty cab drivers, buses, and other, more brisk pedestrians. Because it was close to noon, the street sweepers, who are mostly women, were eating lunch. They called out ni hao and flashed friendly smiles as I passed. One group of women had propped their large brooms against their electric bikes, and they were all curled up in exactly the same position napping in the shade on the side of the road. It was adorable.

Once in town, I did not see any other foreigners. I successfully purchased a mop and a fluffy pillow by pointing, motioning, and making confused faces until the shopkeepers understood my requests. Pedestrians definitely gave me the stares and curious glances that I had read about, but surprisingly, it did not feel uncomfortable or intrusive. I smiled and said ni hao or hello, and people were generally amused. After I bought the mop, people shamelessly pointed and nudged their friends when I walked by. Who was this waiguoren, carrying a mop like a chimney sweep and whistling (unconsciously) “I like Chinese” by Monty Python?

On the way out of town, I noticed a park beside the river. I started out for a stroll and came upon one of the places I had been most excited to experience: a tea house! An entire house dedicated to delicious hot beverages! I went over to the waitress and motioned that I wanted to drink. She pointed me to a table, where I sat down and smiled at the other patrons, who were all unabashedly watching me. When the waitress came over, she had a tall glass filled with clear water, a straw, what looked like ice at the bottom, and flowers floating at the top. Lovely, I thought, but if it were cold, I couldn’t drink it! To my surprise, the water was hot. At the bottom were sugar crystals, and you had to drink with a straw to avoid a mouthful of flowers.

As I sat drinking my tea and writing in my journal, I had many visitors. One woman, about my age, came over and placed three small apples on my table. She said something in Chinese, but when I just shrugged, she giggled and walked away. An old beggar with a well-groomed beard and wearing a nice collared shirt bowed and held out his hand. What a contrast from the rowdy, aggressive beggars elsewhere! I wasn’t sure if I should give him money with all eyes on me… would that just confirm that foreigners were rich? Given his incredible respect, though, I couldn’t help myself and handed over an rmb.

A group of teenage girls were selling a green, stalk-like food that looked like it had a seed-filled plunger attached to the end. When I declined to buy one, they gave it to me anyway and were then harassed by a couple of boys their age who had paid. It was all in good fun, though, and soon the boys and the waitress were showing me how to pluck a seed from the plunger-end to eat it. The old street sweeper pointed to the river, with its wilted reeds and trash strewn banks, and gestured that they had grown nearby! I almost spit it out immediately, but managed to hold the seed under my tongue until she wasn’t looking.

Deposit the beard know

This was a hilariously translated sign above the bag-check counter at one of the department stores in the city. If you have shopped at other stores, you have to check those bags before entering. I’m guessing it should say either: Deposit the bag now, or Deposit the bag here. Either way, hilarious. I’ll try to keep a running list.

For all the (well-deserved) crap China has been getting about air quality and pollution, one sweet policy they’ve enacted is to do away with plastic bags. Shoppers have to bring their own bags or purchase cloth bags at the counter. With ______ billion people, every little bit counts.

Hello Mudda, Hello Fadda. Here I am at Chengdu, China!

Hey everybody, I made it! Thanks for all of the rides, lodging, help, and love as I made my way over polar icecaps and halfway across the world to begin this crazy adventure. From house-cleaning to box-moving to last-minute visas, I couldn’t have done it without all of you. As you can see, I finally chose a blog name, but I do have to give props to some of the other hilariously clever submissions. The runner-up is the title of this post. Some of my other favorites include:

My China Blog: Red it?
Sino-the-Times: Mao say blog
Chengdu’s and don’t
Jeneral Tso’s Chicken
Chengdulicious

Amazingly, none of my fears about the flight or arrival came true. I had packed exactly 100.5 pounds of clothes, meds, toiletries, and school supplies, so I didn’t have to pay any exorbitant fees. The flight went by quickly. In the States they served us pot roast at noon, then we moved onto lasagna at midnight, and finally ramen-ish noodles right before landing in Beijing.

The Chinese woman in the seat beside me helped me practice pronunciation and showed me how to count on my fingers in Chinese (even counting on your fingers isn’t the same as in English!) I felt sorry for my spunky Chinese seatmate, sitting next to her overbearing, obese American husband, until the duty-free cart came around and she spent more on cosmetics in 5 minutes than I spend in 5 years! Clearly, she and her husband were both having to make some sacrifices for the marriage!

When we landed in Beijing, I could hardly see from one end of the airport to the next. The brand new Terminal 3 that was built just for the Olympics is HUGE! The roof of the terminal has sky-lights that look like a dragon’s scales, and when we stepped out into the air, my eyes immediately began to sting. Luckily, there were Olympic-uniformed volunteers all over the airport who helped me catch my flight to Chengdu in spite of my blindness.

So, what’s it like finally BEING here, you ask? I should start by explaining my direst of expectations and the pleasant surprises I have come upon so far. Based on all I’d read, the worst case scenario was that Chengdu would be a sunless land where I’d have to wear a mask over my mouth to protect myself from the air, where I’d starve due to an intolerance for spicy foods, and where I’d be reduced to communicating only in charades because of the difficulty of the Sichuan accent (and, of course, my complete lack of Mandarin skills). Let’s deal with each of those expectations in turn.

Although the air is overcast and gloomy most of the time, the pollution isn’t too bad until you go farther into the city. I actually saw a patch of blue sky yesterday! As for food, I haven’t ventured out with any of the Chinese-speaking teachers yet, so I’ve been kind of a wimp so far when eating in restaurants. When I work up the courage, I’ll try Hot Pot, an extremely spicy strew filled with all kinds of goodness. There’s a Tex-Mex place in the city if I get sick of noodles, and they just opened up a Hooters?!?

Yesterday, I had breakfast at the school cafeteria for the first time and was served a bowl of soupy rice. A Chinese teacher came and sat down across from me, and I was about to be grateful for the friendly gesture when she plucked the chopsticks out of my left hand and tried to show me how to eat with my right hand. I had been so proud of my skills at eating the soupy-rice cereal with chopsticks, and here she was totally unimpressed because of my backwardness. I think trying to eat with my right hand would be about equivalent to when I tried to pole vault right-handed: dangerous. I’d probably starve within days. I stubbornly switched the chopsticks to my left hand and tried to show her how superior my skills were then, but she just shook her head and moved to another table. I had anticipated some degree of discrimination due to my blond hair and blue eyes, but now I also have to content with left-handed prejudice! Ah geez.