virus leave me now

So I’m sick; got a cold. Nasty virus. I’m in China. Nasty air. Bleeeeech…

I’ve been sick here before: colds, a flu, and even food poisoning. (Pretty much the standard welcome to a foreign country.)

I’m sitting here, on my bed, listening to life happen outside my window, too worn out to teach class, too annoyed with sleeping or attempting to, but too bored to just sit without occupying my mind in some way. Hence, this post.

Just listening to the sounds outside has made me realize how accustomed to them I am. I’ve been keeping a sort of tally or list of what sounds happen when, as well as, due to my overall irritation with my health at the moment, my level of irritation with said sounds.

(Let me clarify something: for me, there is a fine line between irritation and amusement. Most days, I’m amused by the sounds, sights, and smells I experience. But this virus has blurred the line and muddied the distinction. I'm hyper-aware and unfriendly.)

Starting at 5:30am, on most mornings (work weeks are all day every day for many Chinese), I hear chopping for breakfast, doors opening and closing, and heavy, tired footsteps echo throughout the all concrete structure which is my apartment building. One set of footsteps in particular is quickly followed by a melodic, rhythmic car alarm being deactivated. (MUSIC NERD: ¾ time; 3 quarter notes followed by 3 eighth notes of Do Re Mi Do-Re-Mi.) My wooooord it’s as bad as the ticking of a clock.

Once the morning bustles have faded, grandmothers watching their grandchildren come out to converse about anything and everything. It is approximately 8:15am. They have probably already had breakfast, done their Tai Chi for the day, grocery shopped and sent their son and daughter-in-law off to work. Their grandkids are really cute, and as we walk by, they wave awkwardly, saying, “ai-ee ai-ee!” which is an affectionate term for auntie, I believe.

Now this isn’t necessarily irritating, until they hang out right under your second story window, laughing and cajoling with each other at 8 am as your medication begins to wear off, cruelly leaving you in a sleep deprived, virus compounding, post advil-cold-and-sinus stupor as your nose begins to run and your hand blindly gropes, because you don’t yet have the sense to put your glasses on, for that d-word, grade ‘f’ toilet paper roll that you are forced to use because you ran out of tissues. When you do finally wipe your chaffed nose, while unfolding and placing your glasses on your face with your free hand, you realize the women are talking about the foreigners who live on the first, second, and third floor. Then your sweet, purely curious, class monitor from your 2 o’clock class texts you asking if they will have class cancelled like their roommates did the night before.

These events were not amusing.

As the women return to their respective apartments to begin the chopping for lunch, the magpies begin. Oh what horrid, odious birds. These things are big and loud and they don’t chirp or tweet or do anything in the realm of ‘pretty’. Close your throat up really tightly, imagine you’ve been smoking for at least 10 years, and then push air out of your throat a little bit higher than your normal talking register: THAT’S WHAT THEY SOUND LIKE. No lie. They click-click-click and then make that guttural, smoker’s scream, then click-click-click again. Ogden Nash should have had a second verse to his famous poem:

God in his wisdom made the fly
And then forgot to tell us why.

God in his wisdom made the magpie

So that, near death, we wish to die

…a bit melodramatic in retrospect, but this was how I felt this morning.

Every once in a while, maybe once a week when the weather is nice, we have a man, riding a three wheeled contraption that has two to four large plastic jugs on the back, making his rounds throughout our neighborhood. He shouts, repeatedly, that he is bringing honey, and honey is here. When I studied advertising, we spent time looking at jingles and repeated phrases as techniques for ideas and products to ‘stick’ in an audience's mind. Whether or not this man has consciously adopted these techniques is irrelevant- what he says, repeatedly, in the same intonation everytime, sticks like, well, honey. (sorry.)

In Chinese, it is: Fengme lai le!! Or, literally, Honey is here! And with the emphasis added, I hear it as: FuuuuuUUUUUNG ME lie luh!!

Over.

And over.

Again.

If I go on, I will be encroaching on my needed naptime and on the afternoon sounds, which aren’t nearly as exciting. So, good night. My medication has kicked in.

Vase Chase

It was International Women’s Day a few days ago, giving our foreign languages department a reason to show us a random and poorly communicated act of kindness. After a standardly awkward phone call, I had a tall, fan-like bouquet of roses, gerber daisies, and chrysanthemums (I totally spelled that correctly on the first try- can I get a ‘kudos’ please?) sitting in my living room. They stuck the flower stems in a chunk of green foam, which teetered precariously on my coffee table under the weight of the flowers, sending me on a quick search through my apartment. The only option I had for an appropriate container was my tea pot…

I needed a vase.

So, yesterday, after a fulfilling and substantial lunch at our favorite diner (I use the word ‘diner’ very loosely), Heidi and I pass a woman selling vegetables and other knick-knacks on the street.

(Vendors on the street are very different from what we are accustomed to in the U.S. If I’m at the farmer’s market, and I make eye contact with a vendor, I will receive a nod and smile, perhaps a hello, depending on their level of extroverted-ness, and I will walk by unscathed. If I show a remote amount of interest in their product, then a few behaviors are possible: small talk about the weather, a scarf I’m wearing, a hat they are wearing, a polite inquiry of what I’m looking for, how they can help, a ‘let me know if I can help you with anything’, maybe a sampling if it is food, or indifference about my presence until I actually want to buy something. I’m in my world, they are in theirs, and that’s the American, private, polite way.)

Being tall, white, and blonde, I already draw enough attention to myself in the street. I DON’T NEED HELP IN THIS ARENA. So they were already aware of my walking by. But as I was walking by, I noticed some awesome, dried, hollowed out gourds for sale. Much to my chagrin, I glanced down, slowed my gait, and went, “hmm.” Rooooookieeee.

She instantly started talking to me, and I said I wasn’t interested, and quickly walked away.

When I caught up to Heidi, Heidi goes, “You DO want a vase, don’t you? Get the gourd!” I had let my strong aversion to being heckled take me away from something I actually wanted. So we headed back, two strong.

Heidi picked up a small one, and I was checking out the bigger ones as the vendor was making small talk. She barely came up to our shoulders, and was quite sweet, with a bubbly laugh and rough, overworked hands. When she saw Heidi pull out her wallet, the women goes “NO NO NO! just take it, it doesn’t matter, they are so cheap and little. No big deal no big deal!” I don’t know about you, or what you would do in this situation, or even what would have been the most appropriate or most polite for something that little and insignificant like a gourd. But to Heidi and me, it was the principle of the exchange, not the price.

We engaged in a battle. She was forcing the money back into our pockets, we were taking it out again and shoving it into her hands, back and forth, back and forth as her giggling grew to an overwhelming guffaw. Finally, reluctantly, Heidi and I conceded. But as the woman’s back was turned, we shoved the money into a box that held bags and other supplies right before we took off.

We got her. We won. Neener.

As we were congratulating ourselves for our counter-intuitive bargaining skills and morally superior victory, we hear some soft footsteps behind us- the woman was about a yard away from our purses, money in hand, ready to slip it in- we never heard her coming! We backed our butts and purses away so she wasn’t able to reach them as her giggling began again.

“You keep it you keep it!” And we took off running with her silent scuttling following us. She slowed down and gave up quickly, but we were already completely impressed. We never heard her coming… and for a woman of over 60 to move that quickly and silently? What do these woman eat? Super rice?

So fun. After a semester and a half in this country, province, and city, I feel as though I finally have a hint of an understanding of the existing M.O. of the people here, and understanding that has made me much more comfortable in interactions and conversations. This vase chase was a sign of that.

Another Victory.

More Pieces of my China: Everyday Apartment

This is a simple post to show you followers out there what my everyday living space looks like. This is my apartment, minus my bedroom. I need to clean that.

This first picture is what you would see as you walk through my apartment door. My 'lobby' as I like to call it. I cook here on my hot-pot (my teapot is sitting on it here), make my French press coffee in the morning (thank you, Arends, for making that possible), and where I have also set up my pantry.

Through this door you see my refrigerator, my 'cupboards' with my plates, cups, and silverware, and through that second door is my porch. Across from the refrigerator is a sink and a washing machine that I rarely use. You wouldn't either if your team mate had a brand new washing machine made in the last year. See that pastel drawing? That's the pistachio nut from the 13 hour train ride. ... :)

I LOVE INK. I have been experimenting with it since October, and have had a ton of fun. Andrea sent me these photos in maybe September...? and I just got them in the mail. I had a blank wall, and viola.

When you turn right after walking into my 'lobby', you walk through a doorway and see this. The sun is shining more and more as the Spring approaches. P. T. L. I didn't paint that painting. But I DID paint that floor!

I painted this mirror in the beginning of the year because my apartment needed SERIOUS help in the 'attractive' department. However, when you look into the mirror on the right side, your waist widens and your self-image goes down. When you shift your weight to look into it on the left, your figure resumes it's original shape. I didn't know I was purchasing and painting a fun-house mirror, but it does the job, I guess.

I like this. :) Truth.