A Few Things

I'm sure many of you feel the same, whether you're in the U.S. or in a land farther away (if that's possible) : THIS SPRING WENT BY SO UNBELIEVABLY FAST. March 1 hit, and it has been full throttle ever since. IT STILL IS. So the first short, however very sincere, thing is that I apologize. I apologize for not writing as much as I should have, and for not giving you the appropriate amount of updates that I, at one point, promised I would.

Second thing: i've been in China for approximately nine months total by this point, yet sights still do not cease to amaze me. Among some horrible things that I won't put in a blog post, I have also seen things that tickle me- most often they occur right outside my apartment, on the street with all the food vendors. Most recently, the cabbage truck is my favorite. This tall, tipsy truck decides to pick an arbitrary spot on a lawn who's owner is ambiguous enough that it feels comfortable enough to park, and it parks. WIth it's back end facing the street, the door unlatches to reveal a 10 foot high WALL of cabbage, perfectly lined up and stacked, like a tessalation or pattern of those blocks you get in elementary school that lets you make those really sweet designs. People just come by, and participate in a shady looking interaction, and then proceed on their way- if there was a cabbage black market, this would certainly belong.

Buuuut I don't have a picture, because everytime I have seen said truck, I am on a run, and I don't take my camera with me. Sorry.

Third thing: Pig not in a blanket. in a VAN. Stay with me on this street, but just turn around and head east for about 10 yards. You will see a meat vendor at a stand with slabs of butchered animal hanging behind him. Not a rare sight, (actually it's ALL rare!! I didn't try to do that, it just happened) so I don't even blink as I pass. But two nights ago, Heidi and I went for a walk, and they must have been recieving a delivery or something, because there it was. A pig in a van. Not a live one, but if you took the two halves you saw, that were cut nose to navel, just laying on the floor of the van and super-glued them perfectly back together, you could have mistaken the pig as perhaps sleeping??

It was such a fascinating sight that I just stopped, back tracked, and inspected as the vendors commented on and laughed about the american looking at a dead pig. At least it didn't smell of formaldehyde... Don't worry, I've never bought meet from them before, nor do I plan to. :)

Fourth thing: At our school, Northeast University at Qinhuangdao, the foreign teachers have a cooperating teacher that answers our culture questions, takes care of our apartments, organizes and works on our provincial and city visas, accompanies us to our doctor's appointments (if needed), and is the liaison during the hiring process. This person's English name is Henry. Henry is one of the most mellow, relaxed, soft spoken people I have ever met in my life. So chill, in fact, that when he smiles it seems as though it takes a LOT of effort, and that when one's cheeks would normally pull up, his pull out and stretch to the side, making it look a bit strained. Whatever, each to his own... (I guess) but due to this odd stoicism juxtaposed next to our team's happy-go-lucky m.o., we decided to make it our goal to make him laugh.

I succeeded.

It was so simple: I was excited to play with the foreign language department in the annual volleyball tournament at our school. Henry asked me how I was at volleyball, and if I was planning on joining them for the games. Without considering cultural norms/boundaries, or his general demeanor, I exclaimed loudly, in rapid-fire style, in an echo-y hallway, "YES I can't WAIT. I love playing volleyball- are we good? are you playing, Henry? Yeah, BRING IT ON!" ...as I bounce on my toes and playfully punch the air like a boxer warming up.

His eyes widened, he opened his mouth, and LAUGHED. A bonified LAUGH.

cool. I'll take it.

But then the conclusion to that interaction ended as awkwardly as any other conversation between a native Mandarin speaker and a native English speaker could. He stopped laughing as quickly as he started, turned abruptly into the room he was unlocking, and I, sensing the conversation had stopped, walked away. Later than comfortable, I hear him quietly say, "see you then. Yes, have a good night."

You too, Henry. You too. (oiy)

CHINA: fallen and/but redeemed/redeemable

China, and more specifically my city, Qinhuangdao, has proven to me that the title of this blog is absolutely true, in many many ways. I have been unintentionally compiling a list of reasons I make this claim that directly apply to my experience here. Most of this is tongue in cheek, but for all of the reformed thinkers out there, 'ta panta,' right? :)

Signs that China is fallen

a. the spitting

b. overselling of tickets around holidays so that trains are absolutely packed, too hot, and impossible to get on or off.

c. pigs feet as a snack. (did it once, won't do it again.)

d. when one is running, and that one is clearly listening to one's ipod, in one's own world, shouting hello and putting your hand in one's face in order to get that one's attention (because that one isn't hyper-aware enough to know you're there already but is choosing to ignore you) is assinine. and more proof.

e. crazy taxi rides that only God could save one from

f. KTV

g. chipmunk techno music in crazy taxi rides that only God could save one from

h. how hard my students study in order to stay at average

i. the real-estate bubble

j. the closing of the Beijing church on Easter Morning

k. the bird that flew into one's bedroom at 6am due to the perfect sized hole in one's wall

l. the coal dust. ...so much coal dust.

m. when one blows one's nose it's a color that is new this year per 'l.'

n. the beeping of horns and shouts of 'hello!! ...hello?' while one is running

o. all of the oil in the food that makes one's pants tighter

p. Kunming airport closing at night, making comfortable couches and chairs easily seen but unavailable, closing all vending stations, and taking away luggage carts while one is spending the night there due to a layover.

q. the rats

r. how sinfully good the snacks on snack street are

s. glitter, bows, hello kitty, and sequins

Signs that China is redeemed/redeemable

a. the strawberries

b. the pineapple

c. the mangoes

d. the fast trains on non-holiday weekends

e. the beach near Dongda, and how close it is

f. my students, and how intelligent, sweet, considerate, curious, loving, caring, and funny they are.

g. my coworkers at my school. supportive and helpful, despite language barriers

h. basketball tournaments and winning them

i. NanDaiHe

j. BeiDaiHe

k. being the tallest on the court during basketball tournaments

l. a dear friendship I have with a student who is exactly like me. essentially me, but Chinese

m. students cooking food in my apartment

n. meals out at restaurants with my students

o. discussions with my students

p. my students in class

q. my students

r. how divinely good the snacks on snack street are

s. how close Beijing is for necessary clothes shopping and cheese. ...and cereal

Obviously this is a very narrow scope, and almost 100% is tailored to my comfort level and my desires. Buuuuuuuuut i think my claim still stands.

Love you all <3

linds

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.

China oops. My foibles and follies causing damage to be seen decades from now.

Yes I'm back and I'm alive. A few emails showed me more shock from my loved ones than I ever thought I was giving them reason to have- ma baaaad. I have been traveling around Northeast China, covering ground there and checking off lists. I will tell tales of one trip in particular, the trip to Haerbin, in the next post. THIS post was inspired by my return from said travels, when I happened upon everyday items in my apartment that, with time away giving me better clarity of thought and an even better sense of humor, are perfect indicators of my 'foibles and follies'.

I love Korean food. It is fresh, spicy, and includes lots of vegetables- at least in my limited experience. Korean Culture is pretty prominent around our city and the other cities in the Northeast, due to proximity and people fleeing... So my affinity for those flavors has increased.

We went grocery shopping one day, and I came across a red tub with Korean on it, and other visual indicators that this is kimchi, therefore I should buy it and enjoy it at home. It was heavy, felt like kimchi ( like I really know what kimchi feels like), and was red, just like kimchi...

It was kimchi sauce. straight up, the spicy stuff that seasons the kimchi. With that much sauce, I could make like, 10 pounds of pickled cabbage... maybe... really not that big of a deal, but it displays my irrational cravings. And if you know me really well, you can imagine the immensity of my disappointment when I opened the box to find only a thick liquid. wuh wuh....

A sign of beauty in China is pale skin. Each major cosmetic and bathroom product brand has catered their products to appeal to this Chinese standard of female (and at times, male) standard of beauty. Overall, it is counterintuitive based on my ingrained standard of western beauty being tanned and rosy. And at times, the paleness is creepy.

Sometimes the girls here overdue it- just like a girl may wear too dark of foundation in the states, a Chinese girl may wear too much lightening powder or whitening lotion on their face, almost to the point of looking like a porcelain doll, or like a geisha, or worse, near dead. It causes me to stare, and at the very least, do a double take.

So one would assume that with this knowledge in mind and a need for body wash pending, that I would have my radar on for something that would make me feel ugly according to Western standards.

I'm looking through the options at a small shop across the street from my school, and find 'Nivea', a brand I'm familiar with in America. I smell one, like it enough, and buy it in a hurry.

When I'm ready to use it, out of curiosity I read the small section of English on the back:

"New NIVEA White Jade Shower Gel makes your skin moisture balanced and radiant white as white jade."

Whaaa... mygoodness. So, uuuhhh... how 'white' is white Jade? And, um, does this mean I'll be white from neck all the way down? What chemicals makes this possible, if it actually indeed HAS this ability? (Crossing my fingers it doesn't. 12 kuai is a large enough price to force me to use this body wash until it's done.)

I'm halfway through the bottle, and so far, I don't notice a change- however, my Summer tan is fading at the same time I'm using it, so I really cannot tell. Really, by the time I return, I just may end up looking like that western girl wearing too much and too dark of foundation.

The food here is cooked with a lot of oil and a lot of MSG. No matter what you do to the food, as long as you include those two things, it will taste good. Never mind the long term effects.

I like food. At the very beginning we were brought out to eat almost everyday in celebration or with students treating us. Indulging was easy, or at least, ignored, due to the heavy amount of culture shock I was processing. The effects of this pattern of eating showed itself when I couldn't button my jeans after washing them. Not having a scale or a mirror that showed lower than my belly-button proved to contribute to this depressing surprise. This could have been something that I anticipated, but shoot. I LOVE EATING. sigh... So, I worked hard, returned to my older, healthier, eating habits, and viola, back to my old weight. But that was another perfect example of how I enjoy life, and that later, how that blinding love could be my downfall.

*no pictures included to indicate the appearance changes in my physique.*

And lastly in this post, is the story of how I probably lost a sizable chunk of my brain and olfactory capabilities.

My floors are all concrete. One of the teachers a couple years prior felt the urge and followed through with that urge to rip up all the tile in the second floor apartment, where I currently am.

I was an art major. Aesthetics are important to me, and I feel, to a degree, the looks of my apartment reflect who I am as a person. SOoooo I was instantly searching for a solution to this crime against my degree and my instincts.

I asked some students of mine if they knew of a store in town that sold paint that was safe for my floors, durable for furniture to potentially slide around on, and was non-toxic, emphasis on the NON.

I soon got an address, and asked again about the toxicity of the paint, and they said that what this store sold should be safe. AWESOME. Let's go get it.

At the time I was thinking really creatively, and wanted red in my living room, a dark blue in my front room, and a fun combo in my bedroom- if he can rip up my tile, I can paint his floors, right?

The night I was going to begin, I get dressed, move things around, and waited for Brett and Heidi, who volunteered to help. Typical for me, I got impatient and decided to open the first can to begin the project. As I peeled the cover back, a thick, noxious fume floated up and invaded my nostrils. It was awful.

I started to paint.

About five minutes into my headache, I opened the window and door to get a draft going. Brett came up soon after that, and was shocked by simply stepping out of his apartment; it was as though he walked into a wall of fumes. Heidi could smell it through her window up on the third floor.

This smell was invading the entire building!

I told them when they arrived that I didn't think it was that bad- it smelled awful, sure, but whatever- my floors were getting painted :) It wasn't until I was getting dizzy, and that Brett and Heidi's heads began aching, that we stopped. Only 60% of the floor was painted by that point, so I was antsy to continue, but too dizzy to do so.

I went for a short walk to breathe some new air, which helped the headache, but accentuated the contrast between fresh air and poison. When I returned, I tried my hardest to seal the door to my living room with towels and sheets, and when I shut my bedroom door, I stuffed those cracks too. Even in my bedroom, the side of my bed near the window had fresh air, and when I rolled over to the other side that's closer to the door, I could smell the gas.

In the end, I only finished my living room. The smells were so noxious and presumably toxic that my fellow team members urged me to quit after that room. I put up a pitiful fight, and lost. I had hated the smell so much that I abandoned every painting rule I had ever learned: taping the base boards, putting two coats down, straight lines, not touching it/walking on it, etc. I just wanted to get that done.

Now when I go for runs in my city, and I pass construction sites or a blue-collar district, I smell that paint, and want to voooooomit. But, at least a third of my vision came true... even though the dust is so intense here, it's now more of a brown with a hint of rust...

Travel Trials and Related, Relevant Tidbits

Hello, and Happy New Year! Happy Spring Festival! Happy February 2!

The Chinese New Year follows the lunar calendar, placing this year's Spring Festival today and tomorrow. It's a fascinating experience; the magnitude of this holiday is comparable to our Christmas and New Years holiday festivities. Traffic is awful, malls are packed, restaurants are full, students are home, and everyone has off of work. Now, take that magnitude, subtract the green from the holiday colors, replace it with much more red, add lanterns and violent, eardrum shattering fireworks starting at 8am, substitute dumplings for sugar cookies or whatever holiday food tradition you have, and you have the Chinese New Year. (Over simplification, but that has been my experience thus far.)

I did not take this picture, but this is a perfect representation of what some of the main shopping streets look like in Beijing and in Qinhuangdao. When night falls, these lanterns are lit along with rows and rows of trees and bushes with their own decorative, ethereal version of lights and glowing. I have never seen so many lights and red... things... all together, for one purpose, in my life! It's pretty awesome.

Due to this being the biggest family celebration for a developing country that has 1.3 billion people, travel is chaotic at best, cutthroat and unpredictable for train tickets, and frustratingly pricey because of the high demand for said tickets, for lodging, and sometimes food. With most of the country relying on train travel to get from point A to point B, and with over 500 million migrant workers vying for these tickets because this is their only chance during the entire year to see their family and children, vacationing is a bit... precarious... aiiiiaaaa... and laced with guilt, especially if my buying of a ticket prevents a worker from getting home sooner- or at all.

So... we looked at plane tickets. We asked for advice. We called travel agents. We appealed to our Chinese friends to guide us. We finally put something down on paper: Harbin, by hard sleeper train, overnight travel, stay for 4 days to see the famous ice sculpture and light show, and take a train back. Us leaving after the New Year Holiday (on the fourth) gives us much more possibility. :) (and me much less guilt.)

In two days, Becca, Brett, and I will head out to one of the coldest locations I have ever been to, followed by a short trip to Tianjin, a city close by famous for Beijing Opera, it's seafood, and its form of comedy acts and stand up comedians (not that I'd understand it at all). I will write and reflect on that when the trip is over. But OH my GOODNESS what an arduous journey to our final plans. yikes...