Three cheers for the red, um...
Well, tomorrow is National Day. The 56th anniversary of the founding of the People's Republic of China. Banners are going up and classes are off for the following week. (I'm hoping that the cafeteria and/or grocery stores are open...) People are heading off here and there for a five day weekend.
Me, I don't know how to act. I mean, sure, I know what to do with time off of work. (We're heading off to Kunming on Wednesday night.) But what about the holiday itself? Do I cheer? Do I wish people a Happy National Day? Do I hide quietly in my room? I mean, when I was a kid, I don't think anybody in America would celebrate October 1st. Communists were the bad guys, after all. Sure, Nixon went to China, but the President
has to do that sort of thing.
Okay, I'm getting a little facetious here. I guess the issue here is the thought of celebrating another country's national holiday. I've never done that before. Well, I have wished Canadians a Happy 1st of July, but Canada and the U.S. are buddies. China and the U.S., on the other hand, have issues. If I go to a parade and start waving a little Chinese flag, I'll get that niggling feeling of being disloyal. (Not that I've heard about any parades. Can you even
have a parade without little Tootsie Rolls? Haven't seen any Tootsie Rolls around here.) Ahh, I'm probably analyzing it too deeply. I'm sure that if I go out tomorrow and people are happily waving their flag, I'll just smile and wish them well. Maybe it's all just feeling a bit out of place.
Don't quit your day job
Just got back from the second gig on our China tour. Ga Dai was wunnerful with her violin solo. As for our family rendition of "The Garden Song".... eh. Both Yau Neih and I blanked on some of the lyrics. (Ga Dai didn't, but then again, Ga Dai had the lyric sheet.)
The "party" was essentially a talent show. There was your usual selection of acts--singers, dancers, instrumentalists and skits. It seemed that the routine was that the act would be announced and applauded, then about one minute into the act, they'd get more applause. The more popular acts might get intermittent applause at the appropriate high points and the
really popular performers would see fans run up on stage to give them a flower or twelve. Most acts would end rather abruptly--for example, the sound guy would cut the music using the stop button rather than a fader. Overall, the acts were well done. The singers usually knew their lines, the dancers were, for the most part, in step.
Since we were an hour early the last time we arrived on time, we took our time getting to this party. We arrived about a quarter after 8, with our neighbors Michael and Joan. Wouldn't you know it, the festivities had already started. What really surprised me is that we were applauded when we arrived. It was like LaoWei-mania or something. Michael, of course, was the most popular one. We were also formally introduced and welcomed, as if it were some great honor to have us among them. I appreciate the sentiments, but really, if anyone should feel honored, it should be me for having been invited. Next time I'll have to wear a tie and try to memorize my lyrics better.
When the cat's away...
Would you believe that I've finally seen my blog here in China? No, the powers that be haven't lifted the block on Blogspot's server. I discovered, via Sinosplice's
China Blog List, a little site called
Anonymouse. Near as I can figure, it loads up a requested webpage and channels it through their own server. It plops an ad in the window and is as slow as all get out, but I can actually respond to comments and, more importantly, check out other blogs hosted at blogspot. I am quite the happy camper....
Time was on my side
Ah, life in China is settling down and routines are being established. We're starting to really meet people and my bad habit of volunteering before checking the schedule is threatening to return. Well, actually, it never went away, it's just that my schedule was all but cleared of responsibility and nobody was around to ask for my time. This weekend, however, some brave souls ventured to seek a favor from this foreigner.
Actually, the first two are more like business propositions. On Friday, we ran into a senior-year student with the English name Lionel, whom we had met at a couple of English corners. Extremely likable fellow. Anyway, he mentioned that he was looking to earn some extra cash and offered his services as English tutor. To me, this sounded like an opportunity worth pursuing, but Yau Neih wasn't as eager to make such a time commitment. Instead of treating Lionel to an argument, we deferred the lessons to a later time.
The next day, I met another one of our neighbors who lives in a flat across the hall. He is a philosophy teacher and made the friendly offer of "you help me with my English and I'll help you with my Chinese." In his pitch he added that he spoke the standard dialect unlike the locals and that I would be better served learning from him. I suppose there is some logic to his argument, but since my accent is bound to be horrible, I can't see how it would make much difference. Anyway, I made no commitments. On one hand, I'm inclined to give Lionel the business, on the other, I wouldn't like to alienate a neighbor.
Then finally, on Saturday night, we were returning from English corner with our usual entourage of students. As we reached campus, one of them asked me if we were busy this weekend. I politely replied that Sunday was pretty much free, expecting that she wanted some sort of visit. Instead she asked if I could proofread an essay that she had written. Having no logical reason to refuse, I accepted the assignment, fearing that I may have kicked open the floodgates of obligation. On the contrary, the essay would probably fill a single page if typed and I was able to polish it off maybe fifteen minutes. Of course, if I
other students start asking....
Of course, then there's also the social commitments. We arranged to go out to dinner tonight and then were invited to a party to welcome the freshmen. That invitation, of course, comes with a singing engagement. So now I have to try to memorize "
The Garden Song."
Pulling weeds, picking stones.
We are made of dreams and bones.
uh.....rats.
Once was lost, now is found
The box is here! The box is here! Oh, frabjous day! Calloo! Callay!
I never bothered posting about the box, as I never knew how to write it up. Technically it wasn't my problem, but it was my wife's problem, so it
was my problem, if you know what I mean. Anyway, now that it's here, I can risk telling the tale. If my attitude of days past sounds callous, I can now always excuse it as confidence that China Post wouldn't let us down. Anyway, the tale:
Back in June, Yau Neih packed up two boxes containing almost all of the homeschool books and materials needed for this first year. She shlepped it to the post office and sent it off to our future residence via surface mail. She wasn't real confident of the boxes' safe passage, but money was tight and we thought this was the most economic way to go. Fast forward to August. We start inquiring of the folks in China if they had heard aught of our box. Nobody had, but when we arrived on campus we found
one of the boxes had preceded us.
In the days that followed, we hoped each day for news about the second box. It had now become
the box. We had Thad ask the post office for information. We tried to trace the box. We asked other foreigners about their experience with receiving packages in China. We heard nothing regarding the whereabouts of the box, but were continually assured that China Post is very good. With one exception, our fellow ex-pats told us that they had never had a package lost in transit, though some were very late.
September came and it was time for schooling to start. Thankfully the box that did arrive contained the teacher guides, kids' notebooks and the math and science materials. (Okay, the kids weren't thankful for the math books.) What we were missing was all of Ga Dai's literature books and Siu Wan's geography/craft materials. We figured that Ga Dai could easily catch up on her literature and as for the geography, well, there was plenty about "foreign lands" that Siu Wan could pick up in our daily life. So on Labor Day we commenced with the home schooling.
While the kids' education didn't suffer too much, our home life was indeed hurting. Yau Neih
hates losing anything and she cares passionately about her children's education. This missing box gnawed at her and her expressions of frustration were echoed by Ga Dai, who not only empathized with her mother but also was aching for something to read. Now I really had none of my own angst. To me, it was a matter of sitting tight and waiting or going online to reorder the books we needed. (Not that money isn't any less tight than it was in June. But I can be pretty prodigal when the need is there.) I tried to sympathize, but since I couldn't share in the anxiety nor could I offer an optimistic view of the situation, I'm afraid the support I offered was second-rate at best. We finally made plans to order the books needed for this school year by the end of the week.
Then today, as noon-time approached, we were starting to get ready to go to the canteen for lunch. There was a knock at the door. Our next-door neighbor, Joan was outside, saying that Matthew had called her and told her that he had been at the post office earlier and had seen a box there with our name on it. We excitedly thanked her and started getting our shoes on. Then the phone rang. Thad was on the phone saying that Marty had called him and told him that we had a box at the post office. (Oh, what a bunch of gossips we are!) Marty had also offered to drive us over there this afternoon to check it out. Of course, Yau Neih had no intention of waiting that long. She asked Thad if the post office observed rest time. (from noon to 2:30 pm) When he replied that they didn't, we were out the door. Now we usually limit our taxi usage to hauling major purchases or traveling outside of town. Today, however, Yau Neih wasn't even willing to take the time to walk downtown. We hailed a cab and I was thankfully able to pronounce the phrase for "post office".
As we drove along, we were all steeling ourselves for the possibility that the box that had arrived was not
the box. After all, people had threatened to send us care packages and it was quite possible that the box was from someone else. We arrived and marched into the post office. Yau Neih eagerly asked that phrase she had learned so well, "Yo may yo mei guo syung zir?" The clerk she had asked started to say no, when the other clerk interrupted and pointed over to the parcel window. We hurried over there and Yau Neih quickly scanned a stack of four boxes. Sure enough, there was
the box at the bottom of the stack. (Where else are you going to put a box full of books?)
After signing the receipt and a short taxi ride home, Yau Neih and the children tore into the box, rejoicing over its contents. Me, I grabbed a hunk of bread, since I knew that nobody else was going to be interested in lunch. Why the boxes got separated and why
the box eluded our attempts to trace it will probably remain a mystery. (A letter to Michael and Joan was attached to the box, so I suspect that served to mask its paper trail.) But it's a mystery that can remain unsolved. The only question that really concerns us is, "Now what do we fuss about?"
Where everybody knows your name
Well, on Thursday morn, Yau Neih taught her first solo class. (She's team teaching the class she had on Wednesday.) I was in attendance in order to photograph all the students so Yau Neih can have a visual record of who's who. (a wonderful chance to use up my camera batteries and exercise my unused DTP skills) The class session itself was a typical introductory session: "Hi, I'm your teacher, here's the rules, who are you?" However, most of Yau Neih's time was taken up by going around bestowing English names upon her students.
Apparently the norm here is that English students get tagged with "English" names that become their identity in English class. (I have heard of students here with names like Fernando, so I have to qualify the "English".) I don't remember doing such a thing in Spanish class, but then "Juan" is so unremarkable that I might have forgotten it. In this case, Yau Neih went to each student and asked if they had an English name. If not she offered to either choose a name for them or let them choose one for themselves off of a list of names. (I think 98% of them either didn't understand or wanted Yau Neih to handle the task.)
As I watched the process occur again and again, I was a bit surprised to discover that I have a bit of name prejudice. I mean, there are certain names that I would never give a kid. Some names are, to me, Grandma names. They're names that I will always associate with my Grandmother's generation. Mabel, Della, Esther, Henry. Those names have all been officially retired in my mind. Then there's the Yuppie-kid names. Ashley, Paige, Courtney, Thurston--the ones all my contemporaries have been handing out to their offspring. I never could do such a thing myself, as I would be afraid that the kid might grow up and start frequenting Starbucks.
And finally there's the Hippie-kid names. Sunshine, Moonglow, Stonebreaker. Actually, there's part of me who wanted to bestow such names, but I never had the guts. And doing it to unsuspecting English students, that would be a tad unethical. Actually, in that sense, those kids were lucky I wasn't the one passing out names. I wouldn't necessarily tag anyone with Dweezil or Poodlepums, but I might be tempted to name a Jake and Elwood, or Lucy and Ethel, or even a Leonard, Arthur and Julius. (Yeah, I know, some of those are Grandma names, but I'll sacrifice all sorts of standards for a joke.)
Seriously, when I think about the whole naming process, I'm of two minds. On one hand, it seems a tad degrading to have to surrender one's name to the conventions of a college program. Especially since the name is handed out by a teacher who may have just met you. On the other hand, I can see how it might be fun to get into the whole course of study and establish oneself with another identity. I mean, I have had plenty of nicknames myself. And when you get right down to it, whatever the name used, when it's spoken with love and respect, will smell so sweet. Or something like that.
Lunar revels
Sheesh.
Anita Rowland compliments me for "
keeping up on the posting" and then I go and fall silent. (Thanks anyway, Anita!) Ah, well, what can one do? Anyway, as I mentioned Monday, we received an invitation to a Mid-Autumn festival party. Well, actually, Yauh Neih received the invitation. The girls and I were her "date". It was extended by Tori, a geography teacher, who was having the bash with her class. Why the English department didn't have a party, I don't know. (Well, I can't complain too much. The English department did have a dinner for Teacher Appreciation Day, which was the preceding weekend.)(Hmm, sounds like China is party central, doesn't it?)
Anyway, as seems to be the norm here, we were extended the invitation and then the details were communicated a few days later. Sunday, 7:30 pm. Oh, and we were expected to give a performance. That was something that we were warned about. People are often expected to perform at parties, even if they're sober. So we had a family brainstorm over what we could do. We resisted the temptation to have Ga Dai do all the performing for us. That would be quite unfair to the child. The problem is, Ga Dai knows about zillion songs and Yau Neih knows about a zillion different songs and I know, oh, two or three. (not counting Christmas carols. When Christmas comes, I'm covered, but for now I'm the musical loser....) We finally managed to agree on "River of Jordan", which we have on
Atwater-Donnelly's The Blackest Crow release. There was some argument over whether we should move or not while singing it. Yau Neih thought it would be a nice, authentic touch. Ga Dai and I, being true to our Germanic roots, didn't want to. Or were afraid to. Something like that. Anyway, Yau Neih must be mellowing out here, since she gave in.
Sunday evening we made our way to the designated classroom, more or less at 7:30. There was a flurry of activity as students were finishing up decorations and monkeying with the karaoke machine. It seemed like the karaoke machine had two settings: reverb and reverbreverbreverb. But I digress. Tori welcomed us and a couple of students hurried to wipe off some of the desks in front. Oh, I should describe the classroom. Think
Little House on the Prairie school desks, sized for two people with benches behind upon which they sit. They had those desks running along the side and back walls, and then a few rows of desks lined up in the middle. So we were given front row seats from which we could view the preparations. They treated us very well. First they gave each of us some water, then a nice pile of candy. Then some peanuts and sunflower seeds. Then an apple. Then a pear. Then a mooncake. Actually, at some point between the seeds and the mooncake, they started putting such piles at every seat. We just got served first because we had arrived early. After about a half hour or so, Michael and Joan arrived. They likewise received an honored welcome and front row seats.
The rest of the students didn't arrive and the festivities didn't start until about 8:30. Everybody sat in their seat, chatting and eating, while people took their turn coming to the front row and performing. I don't know how, or even if, this was organized. For the most part the singers of the group performed first, either solo or in groups of varying sizes. There was an accordion off to one side and at one point a young woman strapped it on. But instead of performing, she stayed in the corner and played there, while the students started playing "hot potato" with a bottle of water. (She did do give an actual performance later on.) When the music stopped, the person holding the bottle would have to give their performance. This happened twice, but they seemed to end it when Michael got caught. He got up and gave a little demonstration of the evolution of English--from an ancient language akin to Welsh, through Chaucer and Shakespeare. I don't know how well it went over with the students, but I enjoyed it.
The Hamburger Clan's debut followed a few turns after Michael's. Ga Dai played two tunes on the tin whistle and then we did our song. The students did seem to enjoyed it, clapping along as we sang. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Yau Neih and Ga Dai swaying a little bit along with the tune. (Siu Wan was out of my peripheral vision, so I couldn't see what she was doing.) I didn't dare try to join them, as I was having enough trouble singing the right words. ("
some of these days, not "one" of these days, you chowder head!) Anyway, our performance was soon over and we got to go back to eating peanuts and fruit.
About halfway through, the entertainment seemed to switch to recitations. Some students tried out their English and seemed to simply be introducing themselves and giving their greetings to the foreign guests. I had no clue as to what the other students were saying, so I don't know if everybody was simply "toasting" the class or if the English speakers were just showing off. None of us were asked to offer our greetings, so if it was the former, we had some sort of exemption.
Finally, at some point after 10, Tori announced to us that the party was over. Since we naturally tend to stay until the last dog is hung, we made no immediate move to leave. Nor did anybody else. Then Tori reiterated that the party was over and we could leave. It finally sunk in that they were waiting for us to leave first. Whether that was some Chinese custom or they just wanted us gone so they could break out the keg, I don't know. So we got up to leave, but not before they loaded us up with a big pile of the fruit and candy we hadn't finished eating. If they were giving us the bum's rush, they sure did it generously. Anyway, after sharing mutual thank yous, we returned to the flat and enjoyed a good Mid-Autumn night's sleep.
The next day, the party was indeed over. In the class she helped with, Yau Neih had to give a repeat (solo) performance of "River of Jordan", and students had peppered her with questions about her Mid-Autumn celebrations. (Some were surprised to learn that the Festival wasn't a big thing in the U.S. It's kind of like finding out that people outside of the U.S. don't celebrate Thanksgiving Day.) But other than that, the Mid-Autumn festival had vanished. When we went marketing, the displays had been taken down and nary a mooncake was seen. (You would have thought there would at least have been a clearance sale.) Even the bakeries were closed up. (Of course, maybe they all took off to eat up all the mooncakes.)
Update: Siu Wan is looking over my shoulder and
she says that we had the option to leave the party or stay a bit longer. She's probably right, since Siu Wan is far more observant than I could ever hope to be.
Bugs!
We suffered a major insect invasion last night. No, I'm not talking about ants. The ants have been living here as long as we have, if not longer. We try to discourage them, washing down the kitchen with soap and bleach water twice a week. But it seems like as soon as we have finished hosing things down, the Lewis and Clark ants set out to blaze new trails in the wilderness. No, these bugs were not our familiar friends. These were new bugs, about half an inch long with wings about twice that length. (The wings seemed to pop off quite easily, as i suspect they were designed to do.) We had about a million of them show up right after dinner.
Okay, maybe not a million. But certainly a few thous-, er, hundred, okay, it
seemed like a hundred but it was probably closer to dozens... well, one dozen, maybe, but I'm sure eight of them got into the apartment, for crying out loud! And they buzzed against the light and one landed on the Mid-Autumn fruit and one snuck beneath the refrigerator and probably left behind bug cigarette butts and they all definitely were laughing at me...
Sigh. Okay, deep breath. Here's what happened. We were washing up the supper dishes--Yau Neih washing and I drying. Since I was drying, my attention was able to wander all over the place and I noticed some activity outside the window. It looked like the resident spiders (I love spiders. Spiders are my friends.) had reaped a bountiful harvest and had two (I thought) small dragonflies wiggling in their webs. I stoically accepted this insectoid tragedy of nature when I noticed a number of other long-winged insects bumping against our screen. Then I noticed that they were crawling on our screen. Then I noticed that the stupid screen had a big, honkin' gap between it and the window (who designs these things?) and that one of the stupid bugs had gained entrance into the kitchen
and that more were crawling towards the gap. My "flight-or-fight" instinct must be a bit defective, because while I successfully released my pent-up fury at the initial intruder and dealt it the full might of my dish towel, I then spent the next few crucial seconds watching the subsequent immigrants venture into my domicile.
Fortunately, that invasion brought some more sense to my brain, because I quickly closed the sliding door between the kitchen and the rest of the apartment. (Or maybe Yau Neih did that. It all blurs together.) I then commenced to smacking and cracking, leaving long bug wings scattered all over. Somewhere in there I started thinking about the source of the problem. The crux of it was that in order to close the window, you needed to
open the screen. See what I mean about the design? Anyway, I ended up snapping my finger against the screen to knock away the remaining bugs, then hurriedly opened the screen and slammed shut the window. All that remained then was to hunt down the remaining invaders and to sweep up the bug corpses. (Not that they were all corpses--some of them were still wiggling.) The next time, I said to myself, I'll be better prepared.
Unfortunately, that turned out to be five minutes later. The window in the girls' bedroom was the
exact same model as that in the kitchen and the bug party had simply moved itself next door. At least three bugs had gained access before I could repeat my window closing procedure. One I caught in flight, the other two I dispatched while they were crawling, having apparently discarded their wings.
So, we went to bed with all the windows sealed shut. Ga Dai, having been raised on
Ranger Rick and
Your Big Backyard, being slightly irritated with me and my savage ways.
To the moon, Alice!
Belated Mid-Autumn Festival greetings to you all! We experienced our first Chinese holiday yesterday. Well, the first experienced in China, that is. Sunday was the Mid-Autumn Festival, to use the local (translated) parlance. In Seattle, we called it the Moon Festival. Why the discrepancy, I don't know. Maybe "Moon Festival" is the Hong Kong/Cantonese phrase, or maybe that's just an Anglo name that stuck.
I saw the Mid-Autumn decorations go up about a month ago, in a store in Kunming. For some reason, I thought that the festival was right around the corner. I should've realized that China and the U.S. aren't
that different. Anyway, as the weeks passed, I saw more and more displays, mostly hawking
mooncakes, the traditional Mid-Autumn delicacy. Finally, in this final week, bakeries and corner markets were blocking the sidewalk with their displays and temporary booths were erected by the major open air market.
As we got closer to the festival day, we realized we didn't know quite how to behave. I mean, we've been on the receiving end of mooncakes before, back in Seattle. That part's pretty easy. What we didn't know if we were required to
give mooncakes or any other sort of gift. We did run into a couple of our fellow expats as they were making their own mid-Autumn deliveries. They suggested that we give a gift to our dean and lifeline, Thad. So, on Thursday, while we were at the store I call the Not Wall Market, we pored over the Mid-Autumn gift boxes and, ignoring the horrendous English marketing type (a post in itself), we selected something we hoped Thad and his family would like. When we presented Thad with the gift, he didn't seem to be overwhelmed with gratitude, but he didn't stop talking to us either.
Back on the receiving end, we
did get our own box of mooncakes and an invitation to a Mid-Autumn party. But maybe I'll save that tale for tomorrow.
Arrrr!
Avast! It be
International Talk Like Pirate Day! And I spent o'er half the day in ignorance of it, talking like a lubber! Arrr! I be really tempted to go out for food and grog and lay some pirate talk on the locals. They'd be no more confused then when I talk regular with them.
Hello! How are you?
Ah, I'm slowing down. China is becoming routine. I either need to get out more or start surfing in search of interesting websites.
We've started to participate in "English Corners". Basically an English Corner is a gathering of English students for the purpose of practicing their English with one another and with any foreign speaker that may show up. I don't know how common this is. The first I heard about it is when we started training for this here venture. We definitely never had "Spanish Corner" when I was studying Español in college. (But then again, that
was over twenty years ago.) But whether it's new or old, common or unique, we're participating and having a good time.
There are actually two English corners in town. The Wednesday night one is here on campus, a production of the foreign English teachers here. It seems to be more structured, with Michael and Joan setting the activities and watching the clock. (Yau Neih is planning on starting her own corner in a few weeks, teaching songs.) The Saturday night corner is led by Marty, one of "the Americans". Marty's day job is agricultural work, but he's doing some English work on the side. (The English Teacher's Union is so lax in these parts.) For that one he introduces a topic and then cuts the kids loose to "discuss among themselves". We foreigners try to distribute ourselves among the groups to lend our expertise, such as it is.
When I first heard of the concept, I thought it would be quite fun and relaxed. Actually, it's a bit of work. The corner is by nature quite noisy, so it's a challenge to hear (not to mention understand) what is being said. I've also found that the kids tend to look to me as a discussion leader when I join their group, so I've found myself obliged to keep things moving. But I can't complain too much. It's great to meet people and I do feel a bit more useful helping folks with their English.
Now if I could only find the local "Chinese Corner"....
Take me to the river
On Saturday we once again sought to reach the stupa that was our objective of our second hike. Ah, the stupa. I first noticed it on our second day in town. I wondered if I'd ever get to climb up to it, or if it was surrounded by private estates, jealously guarded by high brick walls with ADT signs prominently posted. I wondered if an infidel like myself would be allowed a respectful peek at the structure. Anyway, on Saturday my dream came true.
This time around, the lineup changed a bit. Joan was well enough to join our excursion and a fellow teacher named Paul also added to our number. Matthew, on the other hand, had another engagement, and so missed out. We began our journey as last time, following the canal by the college and then crossing the river. We skirted the construction site, rather than passing through, and ventured up to the village from where we had turned back on our previous hike. We readily found the right path, along the irrigation ditch, and were soon treated to more views of farms and the not-so distant city. It was still mid-morning and a morning haze stubbornly clung to the lowlands. As we trudged along, Paul, who is from the province, mentioned that the stupa was actually Thai in design, though he didn't know any history of the structure.
We finally reached the point where our path broke from the path along the ditch. (Actually, by this point the "path" was actually the top of the retaining wall.) Joan opted to sit and rest for awhile, having already seen the stupa before. The rest of us ventured over, passing one more rice field. Unlike the shrines we visited on our first hike, the stupa didn't seem to attract any regular devotees. There were weeds growing all over the thing. Still, as a pile of bricks goes, it was worth the jaunt.
As we made our way back to Joan, we discovered that some people had gathered in the rice field that we had just passed. It was harvest time! We watched as four women, scythes in hand, started cutting down the rice plants. Four men followed behind, grabbing a armload of stalks and beating them against the side of a wooden box in order to removed the grain from the stalks. It kind of blew my mind, watching a group of people--barefoot and wearing straw hats--harvest a rice field by hand. It was not something I expected to see. It did not make me feel superior, however, because these folks were obviously pros. The women just tore through the field, cutting a wide swath and laying out the cut stalks very methodically. The men followed in their wake, clearing each armful with just two blows against the crib. I didn't have to try my hand at their work to know that any attempt I would make would fall far short of their efforts.
Anyway, as delightful as it was to watch the harvest, we soon decided to walk onwards. Since it was early yet, we decided to return to the irrigation ditch and follow that a bit further. After the stupa, the ditch followed the curve of the mountain and took us away from cultivated fields. On our right was wild foliage--mostly bushes going all the way to the top. On our left was the river as it wound it's way around the peaks. There was factory down by the riverside, way down in the valley floor. I think Michael had said it was a cement factory. It comprised of an older looking stone structure in the foreground, and a newer looking factory building further down the river. The older building reminded me of some old castle, with the river as its moat. Of course, the trucks driving in and out of the compound kind of spoiled that picture, but what can you do?
We heeded the call to see what was around the next corner for a while, but soon it became evident that if we wanted to hit the college cafeteria for lunch, we needed to turn back. We did an about face and I got to lead the hike for a change. (I'm usually trailing behind, delayed by photo opportunities.) When we reached the stupa trail, Michael offered us a choice. We could retrace our steps and take the easier and longer trail back through the village, or we could head down to the river from the stupa--a route that Michael called a "bit of a scramble". The majority of us opted for "scramble" so back to the stupa we went. The farmers had made good progress on the field and there were some other guys who had joined the party, carrying baskets of the reaped grain down the trail. They were taking the same trail we were, so I congratulated myself on voting for that route.
When we got down towards the river, however, we discovered the true cost of our decision. There were more rice fields by the river bank, and the paths alongside of them were but the top of the narrow mud walls that bordered each paddy. Emphasis on the mud. I know knew why these folks were barefoot. Even they had paused along the route, looking for safe footing. At this point Joan and Paul opted to climb back up to the stupa and take the dry route home. The rest of us decided to risk the mud and sallied forth. Shoes were muddied and Siu Wan got a bit cross. I tried to follow the rice haulers, as my hiking boots are fairly water and mud resistant. The rest followed the path on the other side of the paddy, a bit higher and perhaps dryer. However, it was not quite dry enough. As we were making our way along, I heard Ga Dai cry out. I turned and saw her sprawled along the wall of the paddy, her arm buried in the mud. I really should have take a picture of it, but instead I let parental concern get the better of me and I hurried over to where she was. We managed to help her extricate herself and her shoes from the mud. She had managed not drop the leaves or whatever it was that she had gathered on the hike. I knew then that even had she tumbled down the mountainside, her life and well being would have been preserved by her determination to gather appropriate craft materials.
Anyway, the rest of our journey along the river was uneventful. The rice fields soon gave way to a rocky river bank. The opposite bank of the river had a much nicer path, again atop a retaining wall, but none of us were brave enough to try the log bridge that was our nearest option to cross over. (I suppose we could have tried to ford the river, like the kids who were skinny dipping, but our shoes were wet enough.) As we walked along, we could look up the mountainside and make out Paul and Joan, making their own way back. When we reached the concrete bridge, Michael opted to head back towards the village to meet up with them, while we decided to take our dirty and crabby children home for lunch and a bit of washing.
Be all that you can be
I remember, before I came out here, hearing on the radio about people protesting the presence of military recruiters on campuses across the U.S. Well, those folks would not want to be here at the Education College. From what I gathered, military service is mandatory here in China. If you're a young man or woman, you're obliged to do a hitch in uniform. Now I don't know the details. I don't know if one is obliged to put in a length of time as a soldier (as it was for the draftees of my father's generation) or if you simply have to go through military training in the off chance a war breaks out. All I know is that all the freshmen here seem to be in uniform and are doing drills on the streets and basketball courts.
It makes sense, actually. You've got a large gathering of young people on college campuses. Since all of those people have to go through military training, why not just train them where they're at, rather than shipping them off to some military base? So everywhere I look this past week and a half, I've seen young folks in bright green camouflage. Especially at lunchtime in the cafeteria.
One interesting thing about it is our reactions. Nobody I know of is really bothered by the military presence on campus, but Yau Neih says she felt a flash of, oh, I don't know. Not really fear. Just a flash of negativity--which is a poor word for an emotion. Anyway, this reaction harks back to our upbringing in the era when the Communists were the boogie man. Our British neighbor, Michael, also has a childhood reaction. He says he's a bit uncomfortable when he sees a squad perform a
goose-stepping drill. It reminds him (and us) of the German army under Hitler. Me, my first reaction is to think how young these soldiers are. My Western eyes tend to underestimate the age of Asian folks, so when I see a group of soldiers walking down the drive to grab some lunch, I immediately think of a bunch of kids in costume. Of course, in one sense, that's the description of just about any group of recruits in any army. (And, of course, any one of those "kids" could undoubtedly whup my aged butt...)
Anyway, one last thought. Michael had said something to the effect that the possibility exists that one day these soldiers may be fighting against American soldiers. I'm not too worried about that possibility, but it is a good reason to try and leave a good impression while I'm here, eh?
Weekend roundup
(with apologies to
Joel Sax, who has the original, more interesting roundup)
I've got too many little tidbits to report, so instead of trying to invent blog posts for them all, I'll just give each a brief mention.
On Monday, we finally went down to the police station to get registered as foreign residents. (It took awhile to get all of the paperwork assembled.) What was kind of funny was when we drove into the station parking lot, a number of officers were exercising in front of the building--jumping rope or whapping a badminton birdie about. Somehow I just can't picture American cops doing that. One thing we did discover is that bureaucracy is universal. They had raised the fee on the registration process and we were told that they wouldn't be done until Tuesday afternoon.
On Tuesday, I successfully withdrew money from our bank account (for the fee) and mailed some homemade cards to my parents and sister. (China has yet to get the Hallmark thing. Instead, every grocery store seems to have an aisle devoted to gift baskets.) At the post office, we saw our stalker from a few posts back. He saw us first and waved. I, being a lot more laid back this time, waved back and said "Ni hau!" He came into the p.o. and as we were just leaving, dramatically motioned for us to precede him out. Or so I thought. He stayed in the post office, so either he's bored with us or just had business of his own to attend to.
On Wednesday, Yau Neih did her first "English corner". Word of us has spread around campus somewhat, and some students had asked her about my role in schooling the kids. After Yau Neih explained, they said, "We do not have that condition in China."
On Thursday, ... ah, Thursday was boring. No, wait. I should mention that my previous assessment of the home schooling process was somewhat, ah, prematurely optimistic. Ga Dai and I have had a handful of disagreements over the past two weeks. Apparently, I'm a real hard-nose when it comes to teaching.
On Friday, we saw our stalker again. This time he greeted us and slapped me on the back. I'm expecting a dinner invitation any week now. He followed us for a few blocks for old time sake, then dropped out as we walked over by the street dancing. Did I mention the street dancing? Almost every night, a few blocks from campus, people gather at an intersection and do circle dances while somebody blasts recorded music. Friday night we sat and tried to watch them. I say tried, because as I attempted to take some low light pictures, a few little kids jumped in front of my camera. I amused them for a bit by taking their pictures and showing them the image on the camera back. Then we amused them by trying to talk with them and generally laughing at their antics.
Oh, I also found out that Thad and his family enjoyed our "pig-bread". Of course, I also found out that the baker all but ignored Joan's instructions. Oh, well....
And that's that. The third hike and the military invasion of the campus I'll write up in their own posts.
All trespassers will be shot on sight
Before we embark on our third hike (tomorrow), I suppose I should recount our second. I didn't post as many pix, but it's worth a post.
As I mentioned previously, Michael, Matthew, my family and myself had gone on another hike up in the hills surrounding the city. This time we ventured towards the north, in search of yet another shrine. I think Michael called it a stupa. Anyway, the plan was to venture north along a canal, cross the local river, make our way through a new housing development, then through a village and finally travel a ridge to reach the stupa. We started with the aforementioned chat in Michael's flat, and then almost cancelled the walk as a short cloudburst passed overhead. But that let up and Michael was quite eager to venture out despite the threat of rain. We all were of like mind, so umbrellas in hand, we headed out.
Some more rain came along as we hiked along the canal and river. The canal runs along the east edge of campus and once you get past the college entrance, there are a number of shacks along the canal's edge. There's also a couple of rickety looking bridges built over the water. (There's no photos, since it wasn't worth dampening the camera.) We didn't attempt to cross any of those. Instead we followed the sidewalk (actually the top of the canal wall) to where it intersected with the river. After a short walk we crossed over on a viaduct and then ventured into the new housing development.
New was right. The whole thing was still under construction. For a while we skirted the edge of the development, but then Michael led us right in the middle of the construction. As we walked through, I noticed a number of shacks throughout the site, some with laundry hanging on the outside. Michael spoke with a couple of workers and confirmed that they were from the Sichaun province, having come south for work. The site itself seemed a mixture of old and new, with trucks and backhoes working alongside shovels and wheelbarrows. The workers were decked out in regular clothes, shirt, pants, canvas shoes or sandals. I don't recall seeing any hard hats or other safety equipment. Indeed, the fact that we could waltz right through the site without objection proved that they had never heard of OSHA or union rules. It was a delight for us, because it allowed us a close view of the whole site. Of course, I would have felt quite differently, had a stray brick fallen down and smacked one of my kids on the head.
The highlight of this leg--indeed of the whole hike--is when we encountered a group of ladies who were hauling bricks into one of the buildings. Each one had a wooden yoke which the carried atop their back and shoulders. A wire loop dangled from each end of the yoke and they would load up about ten bricks on each side and then carry them up a wooden ramp into the second story of the building. They gestured for us to head up into the building and take a peek for ourselves. The ever-unreserved Matthew went one better and attempted to handle one of the ladies' yokes. A couple of the women put the yoke across his back and loaded him up with bricks. He had one false start when the bricks started slipping off the wire, but eventually, with some effort, he was able to stand upright. He didn't venture to carry the load into the building, however. It just goes to show that a job looks quite easy when done by a professional.
One of the workers was also curious about Siu Wan and attempted to engage her, and then us, in conversation. After a lot of gestures and broken Chinese, we were able to communicate that Siu Wan was our adopted daughter and not a tour guide or new apprentice.
After we were done playing with bricks, we continued on through the site. It seems like your typical Chinese apartment building has a bunch of garage like spaces on the ground floor. I've mostly seen them used for shops of one sort or another. On the buildings we passed, I saw that some of them had laundry hanging on the outside of the door. I wonder if the workers hadn't taken advantage of the space and set up house in one of those garages. Anyway, we soon ventured out of the construction site, walking past a couple of grazing water buffalo. At this point we suffered our gravest injury--Siu Wan and Matthew both trod into some wicked mud, covering their shoes in the stuff. Providentially, there was a lady washing clothes at the edge of the road where there was a hose. She lent us use of the hose and we were able to somewhat clean the shoes.
Where the construction stopped, the village started. It was an older place--with narrow, winding streets. The homes varied in quality. Some made of mud bricks, others of fired. Some had newer doors, others were noticeably older. (oddly enough, the older doors all seemed to have a little decoration, made of woven straw, affixed above them. If it had some spiritual significance, it was odd that the newer doors
didn't have them. Of course, it could just be that woven straw decorations are just cheaper...) Matthew and I both were taking pix and so lagged behind the others. At one point we had lost sight of them and tried to guess at which route they took. There was a guy with a wheelbarrow ahead of us. At one intersection we started following him, and he kindly pointed us down the other street. I don't know if he actually knew which way the rest of our party had headed or if he just didn't want a couple of big noses dropping in for tea...
Past the village, we found the others and our intended route along an irrigation ditch. We followed the path along the ridge, which led towards a grove of trees. Once it got into the trees, however, the ditch fell away and the path became quite narrow and overgrown. Once again we had seemed to have lost our way. We attempted a couple of side paths and eventually encountered a lady walking along a parallel path higher up the hill. We tried to indicate our desire to find the stupa. She motioned that we should follow her, and when we tried to backtrack she indicated that we should just tramp up the hillside. We couldn't see a path, exactly, but we obeyed. The plants we walked over looked cultivated, and Matt quipped that it probably belonged to a neighbor against whom our guide held a grudge.
Our new guide led us along a path heading upwards and we soon found yet another path and another irrigation ditch. She helpfully pointed us back to the village in which we came. We were lost, but not that lost. We pointed along the path in the other direction and tried to ask if it was the right path to the stupa. Communication had pretty much broken down at this point. We finally made it clear that we were
not heading back to the village and the lady then took it upon herself to guide us onward. The path curved around a gorge and past some fields. It then ran along what looked like a creek. Though for all I know, it's a manmade ditch that's incredibly old. Being a Yankee, it's hard for me to conceive that people could have been living in these villages for thousands of years. Anyway, we finally came to another village. Here our guide indicated the road back into the city, and she was quite insistent that we take it. We finally assented to her wishes, wondering if perhaps she might have a religious motive for us
not to head towards the stupa. On the way back, however, we figured that she really just thought that we were trying to find our way home. We figured we'd be satisfied with our day's outing and try for the stupa again some other day.
Not by bread alone
We went to the bakery today, to see the results of our bread experiment. Thad didn't come with us this morning--whether he was asked or not, I do not know. So it was just Joan, Michael and the four of us, strolling over to our favorite bakery. The same woman who was running the shop yesterday was in charge today and with a smile she brought us two plastic bags full of bread. Each bag held about six or seven small loaves. It looked like they made half into oblong loaves, topped with sesame seeds, and the other half into round, poppy-seed topped loaves. One bag of each. It seemed like a rather small amount, given the amount of flour we had brought in, but they looked and smelled good.
Now yesterday, Joan had tried to ask that 3/4 of the flour be made into whole wheat bread and the other quarter be cut with white flour before baking. Basically she was out for the whole grain stuff, while I had recalled that Yau Neih made her bread back home with the half and half mix. So the split was supposed to be 75-25. Joan tried to ask which kind of bread was which recipe, but had little success. Both Michael and I had forgotten our phrase books, so we were limited to Michael's command of Mandarin. While he puts us all to shame with his skill, his vocabulary didn't include too much bakery jargon. We did get the impression that all of the flour had been mixed with white, much to Joan's disappointment. However we chalked it up to experience and made a note that next time we'd only order one recipe. Anyway, we were about to settle accounts when the bakery woman gestured behind her. Through the window to the back room we could see the rest of the bread.
I had been correct in thinking that the two bags were a small amount. We had eleven bags--over sixty small loaves--to share amongst the six of us. Brains started whirling, trying to recall how much freezer space we had available. The bakery lady started bringing out our bounty as we started divvying out the bags of bread for transport home. Michael and Joan had wisely brought an empty backpack and shopping bag. All we had brought were our kids. (well, I have to admit that they do have some uses when it comes to schlepping stuff) The bakery woman offered a cardboard box, which allowed me to carry five of the bags at once. So after paying her for the bread--70
yuan--and an impulse buy of marmalade jam--5
yuan--we trooped back to the campus.
Finding space for our horde was a bit more challenging. We managed to secure five bags in our fridge, they managed only two or three. (For once being the new kids on the block paid off--we haven't found too many groceries worth freezing.) We then tried to brainstorm over how to dispose of the rest. Pawning it off on the students wouldn't work. Being offered a loaf of "pig bread" might be seen as an insult rather than a gift. "The Americans"--a group of at least three families involved primarily agricultural work--all reportedly have their own ovens and homemade bread. The idea was floated that we might offer it to some of the folks who dig through the local trash heaps. But that was never acted on. In the end we managed to give one bag to Flora, the lady who works at the orphanage, and Matthew, our fellow hiker, seemed quite interested in taking some more of the bread off our hands.
By this point, it was time for lunch, so we took leave of Michael and Joan, fetched some food from the cafeteria and headed back to our own flat. We sampled our first loaf of the bread and found it quite tasty--certainly an improvement over the one brand of bread on which we had been subsisting.
How I'll feel after we've been eating this stuff for a couple months, I don't know. I suppose it depends on how soon I can find some butter. Anyway, now we have to see if the baker can make us up some waffles....
Our daily bread
This morning I was roped into a conspiracy to bring western culture to Yunnan. Specifically whole wheat bread.
A friend of ours from Thailand once said of rice that it "fills his soul". Well, for us, that soul filler is bread. I think I might of mentioned that we've only found one source for bread here--a supermarket a half hour's walk away. It's okay, as far as bread goes. A bit too sweet for my tastes, but beggars can't be choosers. I was pretty much resigned to eating this stuff for the next two years. But then, our next door neighbor, Joan, knocked on the door.
Joan, from all accounts, is quite willing to break the prime directive and try and change a few things here. Apparently she has a scheme to try obtain some whole wheat bread out in the hinterlands. She came by this morning to tell us that Thad, the ever helpful dean of the English department, was going to be taking her out to the mill today to obtain some whole wheat flour. Her plan was to get the flour from the mill and then get one of the local bakeries to bake her up some loaves. Apparently she and her husband Michael had attempted some baking with their microwave oven, using flour purchased in the provincial capitol. Not quite soul filling. So hence her attempt to involve others in her quest for bread.
Anyway, she invited us to become partners in this venture, so without much forethought we said we'd come along with her. Actually, Yau Neih was going to be sitting in on a class, so it was just me and the girls who tagged along. Our ride, the official college SUV, soon arrived and we rushed out of the door. We first had to run a couple of errands--a common occurrence when you beg rides from people--and then we headed out of town. Distance-wise, it wasn't that far. But what a difference a kilometer or so makes. We turned off of the highway onto a dirt road. To say it was a washboard road would have been a unwarranted compliment. The last time I was on such a road was when we were headed to a trailhead in the Olympic National Park. (Actually, the park road was better.) Around us were fields and pools of water, small wood and brick shacks and, of all things, a military base.
We arrived at the mill--a large barn-like building--and climbed out of the truck. A group of soldiers were sitting on the ground nearby and were giving us that typical "who let the big noses in here" look. I imagine I would do the same if I saw a foreigner in such an out of the way place. In one sense, the mill is nothing exciting. About an eighth of the building is a grain bin, and on the other side of the building are about five or six milling machines. There were two guys (or was it three? I really should have bothered to count) working the machines, and one lady who seemed to be in charge. Thad discussed things with her and eventually she brought out a handful of flour. Joan and Thad inspected it (They showed it to me, but what do I know about flour?) and deemed it acceptable. The mill lady then provided us with a nice pile of flour (10 lbs, maybe?) in a huge sack. She seemed to want to refuse payment, but Joan tried to pay her 20
yuan. (that's $2.50 US) The mill lady balked vociferously and finally accepted 10. Thad later suggested that her generosity stemmed from the fact that Thad's mother-in-law is a noodle manufacturer and a customer. So anyway we tossed our precious flour sack into the back of the SUV and made our way back to town. As we bumped along, Joan asked Thad what the mill usually did with this fine, whole wheat flour. "Pig food" was the reply. We all had to laugh at that one.
There was some discussion as to our next step. Thad was inclined to take the flour to the supermarket that is our current bread supplier. ("Wall Market", he calls it.) Joan was thinking more along the lines of an independent bakery. Her will prevailed, so the driver headed to a nice bakery in a nice section of town. It smelled delicious, as we walked in with our sack of pig fodder. It reminded me of good ol' Lichter's Bakery, back home in Illinois. (Note to self: try to get some of that butter pecan coffee cake, next time you visit the folks) The manager, however, was not willing to be our bread supplier. Nothing personal, it was just that it didn't seem to be enough profit in it. We started heading back to the college to inquire at the cafeteria when Joan mentioned a bakery a few blocks from the school. We detoured there and once again unloaded our precious sack. Unfortunately, at that same moment, Thad got a phone call and he ducked into an alley. So Joan confronted this bakery manager directly with our request. Unfortunately, Joan's Mandarin vocabulary is only twice as much as mine and we ended up waiting a couple minutes for Thad to finish his call. This bakery was not as aromatic as the other, but the cookies sure looked good.
Anyway, Thad soon finished up and was able to be our interpreter. It took a phone call to the bakery lady's superior, but they agreed to take on our task and asked Joan for the recipe she desired. She hadn't brought it along, but gave a rough outline from memory. I had a brief moment of doubt, wondering if I had made a mistake in joining this venture. But then I figured that everyday brings a new taste here, so what's a couple loaves of possibly not so good bread? Besides, if we can find the flour and baker, we can always work on the recipe. Of course, I will wait until tomorrow, after we sample our loaves, before I start designing the marketing materials for our new brand of bread.
Eh Toi!
Hey, I just had a song dedicated to me! One of the things I miss from home is the
Eh Toi! show on
KBCS-FM. Fortunately, KBCS broadcasts online, so thanks to the miracle of the internet, I was able to "tune in" on my laptop and enjoy the show. I was so tickled that I shot an e-mail to the DJ and
he was so tickled that he dedicated a song to my and the family. Just one of those little pleasures that make life good.
Amusing an Australian
I found out an interesting tidbit of information the other day. The Wa's Hometown Hiking Club (WHHC) had gathered and were having a chat before our latest hike. Okay, the WHHC is actually a figment of my imagination. What was going on is that the same group of people from our first hike--our family, Michael and Matthew--had gathered for a second hike together. (more on that in another post) We were sitting in Michael's office/sitting room chatting with each other and his wife, Joan, who was a bit under the weather. At one point Joan had asked what everybody missed from home. Yau Neih replied that she really could go for some waffles. At this Matthew burst out laughing. Apparently we Yanks (Matthew, for the record, is Australian) are stereotyped as eating big pancake or waffle breakfasts. The fact that an American actually did desire a big batch of waffles was, to him, incredibly amusing. Me, I'm just glad we're upholding up the reputation of our people. (mmm, waffles....)
Water, water everywhere
"Don't drink the water!" You've heard that cliché, right? Well, we've taken it seriously and stick to boiled or bottled water. In fact, the college has provided a water cooler for our use, and that's our source of drinking water at home. Of course, bottled water runs out and one must obtain more. Therein lies the tale.
Our latest water bottle ran out today, and we wanted to order another 5 gallon jug. (It is indeed a 5 gallon container. Why it's not an even 20 liters or something, I don't know.) Now Thad, our bilingual lifeline, had written down what I was to say when ordering water. This is the second time I've tried it, and like the first time, Thad was on hand to save my bacon. Basically I dialed the number and said my little spiel. Then the lady on the other end started saying something, I panicked and handed the phone to Thad. He completes the conversation and hangs up. Then he tells me that the lady on the other end did understand me. Okay, whatever. Anyway, last time, the delivery guy came within the hour and changed our water jug. Piece of cake.
Today, however, was a bit different. The call goes through like I described it. Thad, having had finished his business, then departs. In less than five minutes, there's a knock on the door and there's the water guy. He swaps the jugs, I give him 5
yuan, and off he goes. About fifteen minutes later, there's a knock on the door. There's another guy with a water jug slung over his shoulder. I sheepishly indicate the new, full jug atop the cooler and he departs. A couple of minutes later the phone rings. There's a lady speaking at me in Chinese and I try the old "I don't speak Chinese.
mei guo!" routine. Now usually, when we pull that, the person on the other end quickly hangs up. This lady, however, is determined and keeps it going for about a minute and a half. She even impresses some other lady into service who speaks about twice as much English as I do Chinese. Which is to say, not a lot. I try to tell her that the water has been delivered, thank you very much. (Well, I was hardly that eloquent, but that was the gist of my end of the conversation.) Another five minutes pass, and there's a knock on the door. This time there are two young women--students here, perhaps--who try to lay their basic English on me. They start talking about water and suddenly the second delivery man appears behind them. I try to explain to them that the water has already been delivered. Then Yau Neih comes over and tries to explain it. (much better than I, I must admit.) The man nods and takes off while the women wait at the door, watching down the hallway. Yau Neih goes back to her work and I stand there with the women, wondering what the heck they're waiting for. Suddenly it dawns on me. I ask them if he's bringing another bottle of water up and they nod. I start to take a step down the hallway when he rounds the corner with a different water container--like a large gas can--on his shoulder. Before I can voice my protest,
another woman rounds the corner with a 5-gallon jug on
her shoulder. At this point I'm reduced to my last resort. I laugh out loud and then run and call Thad on his cell phone. I should call it the "Thadphone", I guess. Anyway, I briefly explain the situation to Thad and then hand the phone to the water toting lady. (I think she may be the one to whom I spoke on the phone.) A few words were exchanged and then she hangs up. She pleasantly bids me
adieu and everyone leaves, taking their water with them.
I really need to learn more Chinese.
Little House on the Mekong
(or the obligatory apartment post)We've left most of our books in storage (a loss I'm beginning to feel keenly, let me tell you), but we did bring along a handful for the girls. Among the volumes that accompanied us was
Little House on the Prairie by Laura Ingalls Wilder. You've probably all read it. If you haven't (all you Americans, that is), turn off the computer right now, go to the library and get a copy. Your education has been deficient.
Anyway, I don't know exactly why this book is sitting on our shelf here in China. I'm tempted to think it's providential. It's been a near perfect book to read after just having picked up the family and moving to unfamiliar territory. Not that we've had to build our own house in the middle of the open prairie or anything. The college has provided us with a rather nice apartment. But there's enough that's unfamiliar that settling in has taken some effort.
When we arrived, we schlepped our bags up to our second floor flat. (I'm going to start calling it a flat. I keep dropping the second "a" when I type "apartment".) We didn't have any specific expectations, but since we had focused on all the challenges of overseas life during our training, we were sort of expecting something poorer. We've got three main rooms--set up as two bedrooms and a living/dining room. The girls bedroom was furnished with a set of bunk beds, a wardrobe, a vanity/dresser and a desk. The furniture seems to have been used, but it's all in very good condition. Our room had what looked to be a new queen size bed and a couple of night stands and a small, two shelf bookcase. There was brand new bedding provided for all the beds. Neither room had a closet, which proved to be one of our early adjustments. We ended up buying an inexpensive metal and canvas wardrobe and a plastic set of drawers to contain all of our clothes. (All I have to say is that it better get cold enough in the winter to justify my shlepping along heavy winter clothes.)
The living room came with a couch, coffee table, TV, DVD player, TV stand, dining room table and 4 chairs. This is where we start to feel the pinch for space, as we have to keep the table (it looks like a gaming table with the leaves placed in) against the wall in order to have easy access to the kitchen. For meals, we pull it out and set the chairs all around, then shuttle everything back when we're done. Not a great hardship but not as easy as back home where all we had to do was clear all of Ga Dai's junk off of the dining room table. (Then again, maybe we don't have it so bad after all.)
TV, to go off on a side note, has been somewhat frustrating. The supplied equipment is nice--better than what we left at home. However, it's all been in Chinese. The programs, the controls--everything. (Apparently we can't get the signal for China's English language station, CCTV9, in these parts.) We've borrowed some DVDs from fellow teachers, but haven't been able to play most of them on the DVD player. Either I can't work the controls to change to the English language track, or the vocal track fails to play completely. (Watching a bit of
The Princess Bride with only the music track was interesting...) For some reason, the only DVDs that seem to work are older programs like
The Dick Van Dyke Show and
The Mouse that Roared. Fortunately, the laptop is equipped with an A/V out port that lets us use it as DVD player. Weird.
Now I've been saving the fun rooms for last. In case we're tempted to think that we're still in America, we've been provided with a bathroom, kitchen and laundry room to remind us otherwise. Actually, I shouldn't dis the laundry room, as none of the apartments I ever had stateside even
had individual laundry rooms. Our laundry room is actually our balcony. It's equipped with a washing machine, a drain in the floor and two metal poles in which to hang your clothes to dry. Actually, I'm told that's the status quo in these parts.
Everybody has to hang out their clothes to dry. It's been kind of cool, figuring out the best way to hang things out and learning which bits of clothing will require more air-time.
The bathroom has been cool, too. The hot water only seems to run in the evenings... usually. It seems that the hot water is actually piped in from a hot spring. Why it's not hot in the mornings, I don't know. I've started to change my habits and have taken some showers in the evening. Some nights, however, I've been too tired and chose to brave the morning chill instead. Another odd thing about the shower is that there's no stall. (Oh, and also no bathtub. Which is ironic, considering that I spent most of the last 10 years in a house with a tub but no shower.) On one wall of the bathroom, there hangs a shower fixture and directly beneath is a drain in the floor. While I enjoy the roominess of the setup, I hate it when the whole bathroom floor gets wet. We ended up buying a bath mat and putting it outside the bathroom door.
And at last we come to the kitchen. Back home, we've bemoaned our small kitchen, with it's lack of counter space. Here in Yunnan, we're lucky if the kitchen is half of the size of our old one. Of course, our appliances are likewise smaller. We've got a small fridge, a microwave oven, a hot plate and a gas burner for those moments when the electricity is unreliable. (So far the whole electricity thing has sounded worse than we've actually experienced.) The sink is likewise smaller, and shorter. When doing dishes, I've switched from washing to drying because bending over to do the washing makes my back ache. I've tried sitting down to wash, but, it's only slightly less awkward. Probably the biggest adjustment has been the lack of storage space, refrigerated or otherwise. We've gotten in the habit of shopping almost every day, in part because there's no space to put a week's worth of groceries. But that's really part of the culture here, where the trip to the market is just one of the daily chores.
Anyway, it's been interesting--sometimes fun, sometimes annoying--to make some changes in the daily lifestyle. When I read
Little House, I'm reminded that I don't nearly have it so bad. But I'm also reminded that folks have survived "so bad" and that it is possible to break the status quo and adapt to something new. I'm hoping that in years to come, I can look back on these days with a bit of fondness and thankfulness.
