Back to the minors
This is weird. I just received a notice that my
Flickr pro account is expiring. I tried to renew, but PayPal refuses to process my payment. It says that since it has my credit card number in its system, I have to log in. When I try to log in, it says my account is "permanently locked".* Now, I've never been fond of PayPal, only using it when necessary. I dimly recall having some problem with it a while back, but given my status as a part-time resident of China and all that, I just ignored it. Now it looks like PayPal may be ignoring me. That would be ironic. Anyway, if you want to look at any of my old photos, you better do it before May 9th.
*For the record, on the off chance a future lender might be reading this, my finances are truly in order and, while I have made late payments a handful of times in my life, I do pay my bills.
Watered
Last weekend was the Dai Water Splashing Festival. This year we were in Kunming for two of the three days. We returned home on Monday morning to discover that classes had been cancelled for the day. That didn't affect me, so we just unpacked and began to go through our day. We decided to go get some noodles for lunch, so we strolled over to our favorite noodle restaurant. Earlier in the day, I noticed that there wasn't much splashing activities. On the way back from the restaurant, we noticed that a few "bucket brigades" were strolling about, just like
last year. We kept alert as we walked home, mostly looking for boys heading Ga Dai's direction. They left us alone, though one group of kids gave us a sprinkle as we walked past.
About halfway home, however, our luck changed. We met a group of Yau Neih's students, who were headed towards the park to indulge in aquatic mischief.
They had no compunctions about "watering" us and gave us a few good splashes. I had a bottle of water with me, so I sacrificed some to give a few sprinkles back. The students didn't get us too wet, however, and it felt kind of nice in the hot, noontime sun. We crossed Qishan Road and headed down the street stretch to the campus gate--a splash-free zone. Along that stretch, we encountered another group of people who weren't afraid to splash foreigners. Three kids about five years old or so were squirting passers by with super soakers. They saw us and gave us a shot as well. Joining in the spirit of the day, I tried to retaliate with my water bottle. This was quite amusing to my assailants, and they attacked in earnest. The little girl wearing the raincoat (cheater!) was especially vicious. By the time I made it to the campus gate, I was rather wet.
On the campus driveway we encountered many students heading off campus, buckets in hand. I discovered, to my dismay, that the "no splashing" rules had been rescinded since last year. Or maybe they just weren't enforcing them. Whatever the case, my dampened state was interpreted by some to indicate that I needed more splashing. A group of guys--total strangers to me--really soaked me. One even dumping a half liter or so down my back. I made a few feeble attempts to empty my bottle, but it was obvious that I was outclassed. I sloshed into my apartment, regretting that I still had an afternoon of lessons to teach. Hopefully someone at the park was able to wreak vengeance on my behalf.
Personal space
We had a bit of a surprise on Sunday. We had been out to a nice Easter dinner and had just hustled through a rain shower to get home. (Like an idiot I forgot to pack the umbrellas.) I walked into our bedroom to put away my backpack and there, on our balcony, was a man. He was bent over the railing, with his back to me, and working on a sign. Our building, like many in China, has space for little shops on the ground level. They recently opened a clothing shop directly under our neighbor's flat and apparently they had decided to add a sign above their establishment. Since our second floor balcony is right next to the space where they had affixed the sign, the guy had set up his ladder and climbed up to get a perch from which to work.
After the initial surprise, I had mixed feelings about the whole affair. On one hand, I recognized the situation and did not begrudge the worker a place to stand and do his job. On the other hand, I did feel a slight resentment that this guy just climbed up on our balcony without asking any sort of permission. It was an unreasonable resentment, I know, bred from my American upbringing. We weren't home to grant any sort of permission, and truly, it isn't
our property. In America, work might have been delayed until we had given our consent, or even just had a warning of what was going to happen. Of course, this isn't America. The concept of trespassing/personal property is different here. It seems like if people need to use your space, they'll go ahead and do it. Mountain paths wind past people's homes, fields, and even graves. People cut through and it's no big deal. I've done so myself, many a time. So it's ironic that when its my turn to give a bit of personal space, I have a slight gut reaction against it. Ah, well, even I am not innocent of having double standards.
Of course, the real offense is not that the worker happened to use my balcony for a half hour or so. What really bugs me is that, months ago, I was smirking at some of the other foreigners on our floor who had a grating/cage installed around
their balcony. I thought they were being a bit paranoid, that no one was going to go climbing up onto their balcony. I guess they were right after all.
I'll fly away
We took a trip out to the airport last Saturday. No, we didn't grab a flight to anywhere. We just went to the airport. You see, there's this freshman student named Jack who's become one of our "teacher's pets". (I know, teachers are supposed to be fair and even handed and all that. Well, when it comes to teaching, Yau Neih is all that. But there
are certain students with whom you tend to develop a bit of a friendship.) He's a bold kid, and from the start of the year he's made it a point to talk with us. That
chutzpah was evident the other week when he said that he wanted to go to the airport with us the next time we went. He had never seen an airport before and wanted to check it out. (No doubt in preparation for the time when he becomes a successful entrepreneur and starts accumulating frequent flyer miles.) I chuckled and said that we might arrange something. I didn't muse too much on the idea until a few days later when he asked me if we were going to the airport that coming weekend. It then became obvious that he was dead serious, so I told him that I would definitely take him to the airport one day soon. In truth, I had warmed to the idea myself. It brought back memories of my childhood when we had pulled to the shoulder along Irving Park Road and watched the planes come in for a landing at O'Hare field.
Anyway, I finally picked last Saturday as the date to make a field trip to the airport. I checked it out with Jack and he was agreeable. It promised to be a nice, relaxed Saturday outing. Of course, this is China, where situations have a tendency to change. About the same time I was making plans with Jack, one of the classes on campus was inviting us to come along on a class picnic. Since we usually hike on Saturday morning, it wasn't a big problem. We would probably be out longer than normal, but if we watched the clock, we could easily get back to town in time to catch the 3 o'clock airport bus. Then, on Thursday, came another complication. There's a group of Americans doing agricultural development work outside of town. They invited us to come out to the farm on Saturday evening for one of their regular dinner parties. Logistically, it could fit in with our plans. The farm is only four kilometers from the airport, so we could simply watch the afternoon plane arrive and then walk over to the party. The question was, do we just dump Jack on the bus back to town, or do we try and finagle an invitation for him as well? We chose the latter, naturally, and the folks at the farm we quite agreeable to him coming. The schedule was a busy one, but quite workable.
So Saturday came and the morning went just as planned. We got home in plenty of time to change our clothes and pack up some cookies to take to the party. About twenty after two we called Jack and asked if he was ready. We also asked him if he wanted to come along to the party. Surprisingly, he declined the party idea, but said he was coming over to our building to meet up with us. As we headed downstairs, we decided that we'd ask him again and make sure he wasn't just being overly polite. Soon Jack arrived and asked if it was okay if he "brought some girls" along. It was a bit of a surprise, but I supposed adding a couple of friends could hurt too much. (I had been planning to pick up the bus fare, of course, but even though the outing had expanded from me and Jack to me, the whole family, Jack and Jack's friends, it was still within budget.) Jack ran off toward the dorms, to hurry his friends along.
A couple of minutes later I could see Jack heading back towards us along the landscaped walkway. I could see a couple of umbrellas following him. The funny thing was, it looked like quite a number of umbrellas following him, but of course, that was probably just a few girls walking in the same direction as him. Jack quickly reached us and introduced us to his sister. And her friends. All seven of her friends. Yau Neih greeted them all while I was busy doing math in my head. Eight girls, one Jack, four
lao wai that's thirteen people at 8
kuai a head... yeah, I think I could afford bus fare for everyone. I decided that I would wait for them to ask, though, before offering to pay. So off we all went on our grand adventure.
The trip itself turned out to be quite amusing. We reached the bank from where the bus departs. All thirteen of us piled aboard, pretty much taking up the extra seats. Two guys actually got on after us and then turned around and hailed a cab. I felt a bit guilty, though I would have gladly offered them my seat if given the chance. When we arrived at the airport, I tried to give the students the nickel tour. Of course, all of the girls were math majors and most of them didn't speak much English. Jack wasn't really interested in the airport itself. He just wanted to see the plane and take pictures. The students scouted around a bit and decided to snap a picture with the family in front of a banyan tree at the edge of the parking lot. Yau Neih and the girls then elected to rest in the shade, having been sapped by the sweltering bus. I stuck with the students as we headed out the gate to the sign out front. They decided this was a prime photo location and started taking everyone's picture, both individually and with the
lao wai. (I'm starting to marvel just how many people are going to have my ugly mug in their photo albums by the time I leave here. I wish I could hear them try to explain it to their kids years down the road.)
After we exhausted the photographic potential of the sign, we headed further down the hill to some big sculpture set amidst some small trees in front of the airport. As the kids started snapping more pictures, it struck me that it was very Western--some fancy landscaping designed to be admired from a distance. The status quo here seems to be that any swath of greenery becomes a mini-park. As I was musing on how I preferred the Yunnan way, we heard the sound of jet engines. I had been keeping an eye to the north, the direction from which the plane usually comes. Of course, the wind was blowing from the north, so the plane naturally approached from the south. I don't know what I was thinking. The kids immediately cancelled the photo session and hustled back to the terminal.
I have a sneaking hunch that Jack, at least, was expecting to be able to get his photo taken right next to the plane. Of course, even in laid back Yunnan, one doesn't get that close without a ticket. Fortunately, the plane was parked only a hundred yards from the security fence, so the kids at least got a bit of a photo-op. Once again everybody got their picture taken, both individually and as a group.
By this time, we had to get going. I was again afflicted with feelings of guilt, this time by abandoning my young charges so I could head off to the party. (Jack definitely had not been interested in coming with us. I mean, if you had to choose between hanging with your teacher or with seven members of the opposite sex, which would you choose?) Like a worried mother, I warned them not to miss the bus and then we headed off down the highway. It was a pleasant, downhill walk and an even more enjoyable party. I felt like collapsing when I got home, of course, but it was definitely worth the effort.
Change
My first encounter with Chinese money occurred, naturally enough, on my first trip to China in 1997. The basic units in the currency is the
yuan and the
jiao, with one
yuan equalling ten
jiao. I thought it was kind of cool, as far as money goes. Each note was a different color, rather than the drab uniformity we must endure in the U.S. Instead of dead presidents, all of the Chinese currency had
pictures of different ethnic groups or working classes. (The exception being the 100
yuan bill.) One oddity I discovered, once I got in country, was that not only did China issue
jiao coins, but they also used
jiao bills as well. I found this out the hard way, as I mistook the five
jiao note for an older version of the five
yuan one. The vendor to whom I was trying to give the bill wouldn't accept it. Fortunately I had a translator on hand who could give me a quick explanation.
Anyway, fast forward to 2005. I return to China and am slightly disappointed that while Chinese currency retains its nice colors, the face of the notes now uniformly depict Mao Zedong. ("If you go carrying pictures of Chairman Mao...") Ah, well, what can you do? There was also a redesign of the
jiao coins. However, once I got out here to the Yunnan hinterlands, I discovered that the
jiao notes are still alive and well. In fact, I end up saving all my coins For trips to Kunming. I was mildly surprised to see that it was fairly easy to adapt to using bills rather than coins. (Of course, I was also adapting to
not using my credit card, which was a bigger adjustment.)
So life went on, month after month. Then, back in December or so, I read an article about the
change in China's currency. The article said that on April 1st, the
jiao notes would be completely replaced with the coins. 'Twas an end of an era. I lamented the loss of the little bills, and stashed away a souvenir set for my scrapbook. As far as taking my old
jiao notes to the bank to exchange for coins, I figured I'd just try to get rid of as many
jiao notes as possible at the end of March and keep the remaining few as bookmarks.
Of course, the folks here are not cooperating. At the beginning of the year, I started seeing more coins in the tills of the local supermarkets, but that sort of petered out. Even the big new Tian Shun supermarket, which was using coins exclusively when it first opened, seemed to switch over to the bills. And it didn't change as April approached. Everybody was going along, using
jiao notes as if nothing was happening. April 1st came and Yau Neih went out to the vendors to get breakfast. As I was starting to suspect, the pork and taters lady handed her a five
jiao note in change. The bus driver accepted
jiao notes as fare and even the grocery store still had the notes in the till. Ah, well. Maybe back in Beijing they've got rid of the paper, but here it's business as usual. It'll be interesting to see when the change actually takes place, assuming it does before we leave. Either way I'm prepared, with a stack of bills in my wallet and coins in my pocket.
