Maoxians

How to help people struggling after the Yushu Earthqake

2010-04-16T15:14:00.006+08:00

Recently, a beautiful place called Yushu, home to some of my dear friends, was hit by a serious earthquake that has destroyed over 70% of the buildings in the area and killed over 600 people and injured over 10,000.

Yushu is a beautiful place up in the mountains in Qinghai Province, China (at about the elevation of Lhasa). Its population is about 90% Tibetan and mostly very poor. I spent 2 weeks this last summer under the hospitality of some of the loveliest people I've met abroad.

(These pictures are of Yushu and some friends before the earthquake.)

And now I'm worried for their lives. I haven't heard from them yet. Phone lines are all down.

But right now, what the survivors really need is food, water, shelter and warm blankets (which are having trouble getting there because of the altitude and isolation of the area).

PLEASE HELP: I have found a few grassroots organizations that foreigners (aka. us) can donate to that I would trust with being efficient and trusted by the locals:

The Tibetan Village Project

Machick

If you can donate, any small amount would be appreciated. Also, please pass on this information to others who you think would be interested in donating and helping out.

Thank you so much for your help.

Sincerely,
Anne

Little acts of kindness

2010-04-16T15:09:00.002+08:00

I can’t imagine coming here as a tourist. My opinions of people here would be radically different. As a local in this small town, people see a foreigner and they don’t have the experience to think—oh this person has lots of money, lets see how many ways I can get their money from them. I have almost never had that experience in here in rural Taigu, and have been surprised when it happens in touristy towns, where people yell at you to buy everything in sight and charge you twice the price the locals pay.
There was one time in Beijing where I had heard a Chinese roommate bought pineapples for 5 yuan and was determined to buy one myself. But when I asked a vendor how much a pineapple was, he told me it was 5 yuan for one pineapple. As an innocent, freshly-arrived American, I was furious that he would lie to me. I yelled at him that someone had bought two for 5 yuan just down the street and stormed off. Luckily for me I’m not very good at yelling, and my angry Chinese just tends to sound like clearer, louder, carefully enunciated Chinese. He probably thought I was just bargaining, so he yelled at me as I walked away, “Okay, Okay, 5 yuan for 2, 5 yuan for 2.” I turned around and went back to him and got my pineapple. The other vendors around him were twittering and giggling. “You are a China expert, huh?” the vendor said. I didn’t feel like a China expert at all. He had looked at my face and tried to cheat me because of it. That I knew it was wrong didn’t make me a China expert.

But here in this small farm town, people haven’t met enough foreigners to think of such things. Vendors, (besides the traditional three wheeled carts that go around selling soymilk or porridge or other specialties with a loudspeaker yelling out their product a muffled, thickly accented voice) don’t yell at anyone in this town. We get treated exactly the same, if not better than other locals. We get charged the same as everyone else, and in fact, some restaurants, if we often frequent them, give us free appetizers, like a dish of roasted peanuts or a discount on the bill.

Strange that some American customs, like saying thank you after buying, or forgetting to bargain or question the seller about the accuracy of their scale or their calculations of the price come off as us being rather polite. I’ve had vegetable vendors mutter to themselves as I left their surprise at my courtesy. Perhaps our hesitant Chinese is somewhat endearing too. It makes our alien-looking faces seem more human.

The number of times the people have proved their honesty and care for us are just uncountable. People always ask if you miss home and have you adjusted to the food here, and don’t your parents miss you, and isn’t America much better than China anyway? (This is their way of showing their concern for you being homesick, far away from home, etc.)

And then there are those random little acts of kindness. I had one fruit seller run after me with the extra yuan I accidentally gave him. Another seller of porridge and soy milk held my change at the side of the booth (they were serving other people) until my friend reminded me I had forgotten to take it and I ran back. More often, I forget to bring change or enough cash to buy fruit or make copies for class. Every time, the vendor would tell me (because I often go to the same vendors), “don’t worry about it, you can pay next time.” So I would. Or sometimes, because I made so many copies, I wouldn’t have enough to print a couple extra pages and they’d just tell me don’t worry about it. It’s really a tiny amount, but that a vendor knows you well enough that they will let you not pay for some things is quite admirable.

I’ve gotten really attached to some of the vendors here. One lady who owns a small mom-and-pop store with her husband has tried to learn all of the names of all the foreigners (to no avail—she often forgets or mixes up our names). But we all forgive her forgetfulness because she’s so sweet to us. People always ask me why I take so long buying flour and rice and really it’s cause the owner of the shop is so happily talkative.

I cant tell sometimes if people are so nice because they feel bad that we are so far away from home, or because they want us to think well of china, or they are just curious and figure that talking with us is a way to understand us better. Or maybe people are just plain friendly here. Who knows. Whatever the reason, I'm really grateful for it.
It's like that sweet smile from the milk-tea lady that keeps me happy all day.

Suicide hits taigu

2010-03-30T14:00:00.005+08:00

Last week a boy threw himself off the top of Building Number 4 at 10:40pm.

They brought him to the hospital but he was already dead.

We found out the next day, when Gerald told us a student of his asked for permission to miss class, because he was going to see a roommate in the hospital. Gerald was confused, because none of his students were missing.

Then, we heard that it was a first year English major. I was jolted. I had taught first years last semester, but they had been switched to Dave this semester. Dave was sure it was his other class that had had Nick the semester before. So we waited to hear. Dave prepared himself to talk with Nick's former class, but it turned out that it wasn’t that class either. I suppose we all put off thinking about it over the weekend until Dave had my former class on Monday.

Last night he told me. We were in the middle of German party—a lighthearted gathering of students and foreign teachers that happens every Monday at our only German teacher’s house. Dave motioned to me in the middle of the party. I had seen Bryce, another first year in that class, come in, but had just casually said hello to him without really looking at his face. Suddenly, looking at Dave, standing next to Bryce, I noticed how red Bryce’s eyes were. “That student who jumped was Leo,” Dave said solemnly to me. I held onto the couch next to me as the names of my former students rushed through my head. I assumed it had been the student who I had criticized for copying in his journal and who I had given the lowest grade to, but no, that was Mark, not Leo. Leo...Leo had been the best student in that class, the one who always participated and always knew the answers to everything. “Jesus.” Was all I managed to say. Dave nodded, “I didn’t see that coming at all.” He replied. I could only agree with a silent nod.

I moved closer to Dave and Bryce. Bryce had never been a star student, but he had always had a good attitude and was eager to participate, usually in ways that made the rest of the class burst into laughter. He was one of those students that could always get a joke in, even when he was unsure of the English he was using. It was unnerving to see him looking so hopeless and sad. Bryce was trying to explain to Dave with mixed Chinese and English (and the help of another English major whose English was a little better) what he knew.

They thought it was family pressure. His family was very poor. “He was from Taiyuan,” Bryce began in Chinese with his reddened eyes glistening with tears he wouldn’t let fall, and choked up a little, “His father sold fruit.” He tried again in English. “They were poor.” English seemed to provide a reason for him to concentrate on something besides whatever was eating him inside and although his English wasn’t very good, his voice was calmer. A combination of his English and the female student’s translation of his Chinese words brought the story together: Leo’s family couldn’t afford the tuition. They had to borrow money and take out loans. He had a lot of pressure. He was always studying and working hard. Dave asked if they were roommates. Bryce explained that Leo had been roomed with some others in another class. “We didn’t know what he was thinking. We don’t really know what happened.”

Dave and I both told Bryce that if he needed to talk, or if any of the other students wanted to talk about it, we were there for them. I told Bryce in Chinese I had a had a good friend from High School who had killed himself at college, and, as my Chinese broke up into incomplete sentences, tried to explain, generally, that I understood it was really hard to loose someone and that I wanted to be there for them all. He replied that he recently had lost an elementary school friend the same way. This friend had been married for just 49 days before he took his own life. Two friends in a month. I couldn’t believe it. All I could do was put my hand on his shoulder and try to make some sort of facial expression that showed I was sorry. The appropriate response was beyond what I knew how to say in Chinese or English.

The female student who was helping Bryce finally said she couldn’t deal with this topic any more. Her stomach was hurting. So we tried to turn the subject to something more light-hearted. I don’t remember exactly what we were talking about, I just remember trying to laugh and smile for Bryce’s sake. He seemed eager to change topics. But while they were talking all I could think of was Leo. His friendly round face and bright eyes, his funny voice that always had the right English word ready, how he was the only student who understood everything I was saying, how he had dedicated his journal to me, his “favorite foreign English teacher” (I was his first foreign English teacher).

Suddenly the anonymous student-who-had-jumped-off-building-4 had a face. A face I cared about. My stomach destroyed itself as visions of the loneliness and desperation Leo must have felt before jumping rushed through me, and I tried not to look horrified as an image of his broken body being found on the ground ran unwittingly through my head.

I had gotten really attached to that class because I was their first foreign teacher and they were all so enthusiastic and sweet. I had them write in journals too, and their honesty about their troubles and thoughts made them seem more like younger siblings than students. Bryce finally went to sit with some Chinese friends on the couch and I was left standing with Dave and some students who weren’t ours. My face must have been easy to read, because Dave seemed concerned. He seemed to try to justify that I could take it harder: “You had them a whole semester; you knew them longer than I did.” And then a pause, “Are you going to be okay?” I couldn’t deal with such an honest question directed at me. “Eventually.” I replied. But as he put an arm around me, I couldn’t hold it in, and I ran into the bathroom.

Daniel followed me in, and held me while I cried for a while. I couldn’t say anything. There was nothing to say. He knew how hard I had taken the suicide of my high school boyfriend in my senior year of Oberlin. I had no idea how I would react to another suicide. When I had found out about that High school friend’s death, the news was also a week late and I had also been at a party. But it seemed that initially, now ,as it was then, it was all the same visceral upset—uncontrollable tears and uncontrollable thoughts.

I, of course, ended up leaving the party early. And as I moved from the darkness of Dave’s room into the bright and active living room, I tried to walk quickly, briefly tapping my friend Lynn on the head as I left, telling her I was going now. She responded that she would go with me, and as I passed many concerned faces watching me, I hoped they wouldn’t see how swollen my eyes were.

Outside she asked, “Are you okay?”

Again I couldn’t keep it in, “No.” I replied, and burst into sobs.

“He was my student.” I told her, as though that could explain everything. She looked at me, concerned.

“He was the best student in that class.” But that didn’t seem to explain things for either of us either. I told her that he had a lot of pressure from home, that his parents were really poor and had to borrow money.

“But that isn’t a reason either,” she replied. “He should be able to pay back his loans much later.”

I nodded. “I guess we don’t really know why.” I answered.

“Just too much pressure.”

I nodded. This was the simple answer I have heard given for almost all the suicides I’ve heard about in China. I think I still don't really know what it means.

Dust storms: There is a yellowing glaze between me and the house beyond mine

2010-03-22T16:51:00.013+08:00

I just realized that I haven't even talked about the pollution here on this blog yet.

From my window, everything is glazed over with dust. Most of it is on the glass, but the color outside is drab too.

Let's just put it this way, normally when you step outside the gates of our campus, you can see the mountains that are about a 20 minute bike-ride away. Today you can see nothing but a grayish-yellow white. Heck, you can barely see the flaming, ugly steel mill that is about a 5 minute bike-ride away.

There's no wind today, not the way it was a couple days ago, when even all the street vendors packed up and went home early because the blowing of the sand was so severe that you couldn't walk straight into the wind without being blinded. We came back home from dinner tasting the a thin layer of sand on our lips, and I had to stand in front of the mirror for a minute just dusting the sand out of the corners of my eyes and eye lashes.

In our house, dust came through the cracks in our windows and doors and coated our floors, tables, chairs and beds with a thin layer. (Not that this is anything unusual--leave our house uncleaned for a week and it will also accumulate a clear layer of sand, soot, and coal dust mixture. But that layer is accumulated in a day with a dust storm.)

They call these phenomenon "dust storms." They happen a lot in the spring when the wind starts to blow, and the soil of Inner Mongolia other northern provinces (including Shanxi) is literally blown off the ground and into the air. South Korea and Japan both blame China for the yellow dust that blows into their countries too.

My Chinese teacher, a professor of about 30 years, said that when he was a child in Taigu, he only remembers one or two sandstorms in the whole of his young childhood. He said that it must have been unusual, because he remembers, as a young boy, being amazed at one rare time, when, during the day time, the sun looked green because of all the dust blowing in front of it. But now, he explained, they are very common in the spring. This is probably as a combination of the destruction of grasslands and forests in Northern China. After over 4000 of years of human habitation, the area is finally a desert.

Not to say the sand storms are the only cause of pollution in Shanxi. Shanxi is known for it's coal mining, and industry. Taiyuan, the capital of our province, used to be one of the 20 most polluted cities in the world in 2007. And although it has cleaned up its act a bit, now, the most polluted city in the world according to some sources is Lingfen, about 200 km away from our little town.

When I first came to this province I was amazed at the number of people I saw with disabilities of some sort. I couldn't figure out if it was because America just has fewer people and so the likelihood of seeing someone a disability is less, or because there were actually more people with disabilities in China. However, it turns out it is not just a Chinese phenomenon, this is a phenomenon especially unique to Shanxi. Shanxi's rate of birth defects is 6 times higher than China's national average. Now whether this mainly of poor healthcare or pollution is debatable. But I would argue it is certainly some combination of the two.

It's strange to live in a place where this much pollution is normal. I, myself have almost become used to a grey haze over everything. Although, like the locals here, am relieved when the putrid smell permeating the campus is that of the local specialty vinegar rather than that of burning trash or strange fumes from the hazy air. I tend to believe that if the sky directly above me is a little blue, even if I can't quite make out the horizon, I am safe to go for a run outside. In fact, many of my students have told me the campus air is much better than the air outside because there are many trees on campus. (Interesting logic when the campus walls are about 10 feet high.) But these days, the basketball courts and the two tracks on campus, normally filled with people, are pretty empty. Dust storms are not taken lightly here. And the cold in our throats and noses that we blamed each other for spreading may turn out to be just a reaction to the air...

About my Aunt, Adoption, Registered Residence, Orphanages and Girl children in China

2010-03-17T14:49:00.003+08:00

I've always liked my aunt in Beijing (she's actually my grandfather's nephew's wife, but let's call her aunt for simplicity's sake--that's what I call her in Chinese for the same reason), but I discovered the other day some more reason's why.

She told me she could help me find some jobs in China after my fellowship is done, and when I asked her what kind of jobs, she showed me a series of international NGOs in Beijing and Shanghai. They encompassed everything from Rotary in China to an organization in Shanghai that helps educate and better prepare teachers working in isolated, poorly supplied, rural mountain towns, to an organization that helps orphans and other disadvantaged children have more opportunities. I was very interested and very impressed.

With the organization helping children, my aunt has more personal experience, because it was through this organization that she and her husband decided to help Chenrong, a now 17-year-old orphan from Guizhou. They have a son of their own, but they clearly wanted to mean something in another child’s life too. Originally they just sent Chenrong money to help with her studies. But when she finished middle school and was forced to start looking at jobs because she couldn't afford to go onto High School, they changed their approach. They decided they would bring her to Beijing to live with them and finish her studies there. So she has been living here with them for the past 3 years and attending a very nice girls boarding school in the Southern part of Beijing.

ADOPTION IN CHINA

Now, to give a little background, you cannot legally adopt a child in China if you already have one because of the One Child Policy. (Don't ask me why, I have yet to find someone who can explain it to me too.) So my aunt and uncle seem to have "adopted" Chenrong in all ways except legally. She lives at their house, and they pay for her schooling. And, more significantly, every time I saw this aunt and Chenrong together it was clear that the girl had found a mother-figure and a dear friend in my aunt.

The first time I met Chenrong in 2007, she had just arrived in Beijing and she was a slender, quiet girl who seemed quite intimidated by my loud Chinese family. She was a darker complexion than my other cousins and quite pretty. I remember how she watched her surroundings with gentle, dark eyes that carried a seriousness and awareness of everything that made her seem much older than her age. At the restaurant surrounded by us, her body seemed to disappear into the couch and blend in with my aunt, who was, even then, sitting proud, concerned and protective by her side. Even then it was clear that the two of them from now on would be inseparable. I met up with them 2 years later in 2009, and I remember how the two of them would babble and giggle together in the back seat of my uncle's car like two young playmates. Although Chenrong had a bedroom of her own, my aunt told me that sometimes the girl was lonely and scared at night, so the two of them would share the big guest bedroom bed, which was usually reserved for grandparents when they visited.

COLLEGE TESTING BASED ON YOUR REGISTERED RESIDENCE

Chenrong is now back in Guizhou because she wants to take the gaokao, the College Entrance Examination that is required for all Chinese High School seniors. Chinese people all have a hukou, which is a sort of residence permit that comes from where they were born and where their parents are from. You must take the gaokao where your hukou is from, so Chenrong decided to go back to Guizhou for the year to prepare for the test there.

The reasoning behind the testing where your hukou is from is that each place is given a different test. So places like Beijing, where the schools are better, have harder tests, while poorer provinces like Guizhou are given easier tests. Minority ethnicities (like the Tibetans, Mongolians, Manchurians, Naxi, Yi people, etc.) are given a certain number of extra points, because the assumption is that Mandarin is not their first language. I suppose the idea is similar to affirmative action. Except that I have also heard that students who test in Beijing are given some extra points to assure that they have an advantage in going to a University in their home city. So, yes, the effectiveness of this affirmative action is debatable...

ORPHANS IN CHINA

I asked my aunt and uncle about orphanages in China, and told them that it seemed that a lot of Americans were adopting Chinese children. They explained that the orphanages in the big cities like Beijing, Shanghai and Kunming had quite a bit of money. "A lot, a LOT of money" my aunt emphasized. But many of the orphanages in the countryside had nothing. I told them I though foreigners should adopt from those orphanages instead. They explained that they can't, because the Chinese government won't let foreigners see the ones in the countryside. The orphanages, like where Chenrong comes from, aren't "clean" enough.

All this talk of orphanages made my aunt bring out some pictures of when they first took in Chenrong, and some other pictures of other orphans who had come to Beijing for fun, through the same organization that had introduced them to Chenrong, for Chinese New Year. Chenrong's boarding room at the orphanage where she sullenly posed didn't seem unclean. It wasn't large, but it certainly wasn't inhumane. They asked, somewhat jokingly, if I would be interested in going to Guizhou to see the orphanage. I told them emphatically yes, I would love to. They seemed a little surprised, but pleasantly so.

There were many other pictures of little girls and boys posing with a few Americans who had also come, through the organization. 3 of the children had stayed at my aunt and uncles house. She pointed them out to me in the pictures:

"This little boy," she pointed to an adorable little boy grinning broadly with his arm around a young American man "Is also from Guizhou, from a different orphanage than Chenrong. He stayed with us. His father used to beat his mother and so one day his mother killed the father."

My uncle tried to add to the story, but my aunt wouldn't let him.

"His mother is now in jail and this little boy is at the orphanage."

"This little girl," she pointed to a girl shyly looking at the camera as she stood by herself to the side of a group of other children gathered with their arms around a foreigner, "also stayed with us. She was a sweet girl. Her father didn't want her. Especially after her younger brother arrived," She looked at me to see if I understood why. She didn't seem satisfied with my reaction, so she continued, "Because rural families don't want girls. He didn't want her, and so her mother killed their father. Her mother was given a life sentence"

Here, my uncle successfully intervened and helped translate "life sentence" into English.

My aunt continued, "After, her mother was put in jail, the little brother died. Her father was killed, her mother's in jail and her little brother is dead. Now she has no one." She looked at the picture again. "We mostly took pictures of the kids who stayed with us." She paused while looking at the girl's face, "She really was a good girl."

The next picture had the third child who stayed with them, another little girl.

"She was one of three sisters. Her father didn't want them. Any of them," she said, not really hiding her bitterness.

"Girls aren't wanted," she explained, "because they just grow up and get married off.”

“When I was little,” she continued, “I wasn’t able to sit at the dinner table with the others. I would have to wait until they were finished. My little brother was allowed to eat with guests, but I had to eat in the kitchen. Even when my parents met my husband, I wasn’t allowed to sit with them at the table.”

I couldn’t think of any reaction to this. I could merely sit and wonder at this woman’s resiliency—her ability to admit how girls aren’t valued enough in China, and yet to become a successful business partner with her husband anyway and adopt a girl daughter when it was illegal to have a second child.

Myself, I am the only child of the eldest son of the eldest son of the eldest son. In China I would have been quite the disappointment, being the final ending of our family name along the most important branch. But in America, I never knew. Perhaps my grandfather was a little disappointed at first, but he never let on. Especially with my grandmother’s liberalism, and when it turned out that I was the only granddaughter they would have. I ended up growing up in my Chinese side of the family feeling special because I was the youngest and the only girl. Perhaps this is why I look up to the women in my Chinese family—I have always associated Chinese women with strength and importance.

My Great Aunt Pearl

2010-01-07T06:41:00.001+08:00

I always thought I would get oral histories from my Chinese family here too. But the idea of "oral history" doesn't really exist here. And there's a different way of remembering when a lot of what you remember are tough times.

When I ask her if she has written down some of her stories, Great Aunt Pearl says she’d rather be happy now in life. She’d rather have people bring her food and gifts now than wait until she’s dead and gone. What will those things be worth to her then? When I’m dead, that’s it, she says.
She’s like my Granny who passed away a year and half ago. Except her body matches her gutsy mind. She just had surgery and she’s not infected and dying like both grandmothers did. She lies on her bed and when we need help, she pulls herself up, tells her Parkinson’s-forgetful husband not to bother, and shows us what to do. She admits she’s in pain, but she remains the strong and independent woman she’s always been. Her doctor told her not to do the operation without asking her children first—after all it was they who would have to care for her, he said. But she said no, she would decide to have it and hire a helper herself. Hiring help was something my grandparents could never agree to and so it’s my father who is unemployed and commuting once a week to take care of my grandfather. Strange that he’s the one in America.
Sometimes I do get stories from Aunt Pearl though. She told me this time that when my grandfather left China, even though they were in the same city at the time, she didn’t know he had gone until he was in Hong Kong. It was too dangerous for her to know, my grandfather would say.

So my grandfather snuck into Hong Kong in 1950 and then applied for scholarships to study Engineering abroad. He was accepted by Cornell University and met my grandmother there.

He didn't see his sister or the rest of his Chinese family again until 1979.

Finding roots in China

2010-01-07T05:12:00.007+08:00

When I lived in the U.S. I never really identified much with being part-Chinese. It was as though a quarter-blood and two generations later was not enough to claim a likeness. Sure, I knew my father's father was from China (山东，济南）, but I didn't realize that he looked different from other people's grandparents until my classmates pointed it out to me in Third Grade. I didn't even realize that he had an accent until my classmate from college tried to imitate the way he talked. I knew my grandmother was born in China too, to missionary parents. Maybe that was why I didn't think anything of my grandfather's face being American--faces say nothing about where you come from.

But I remember how my tallit (a special shawl that Jewish people where once they become adults in the Jewish community) was made by my mother out of silk she brought back from China, how most of my friends in High School were either born in China or Taiwan or their parents were, and how we always had at least 3 Chinese trinkets on our shelves for the 1 American or other country's trinket. And yet, that's just how it was--somehow it never fully registered. I felt bad writing on applications that I was mixed ethnically, because it felt like 1/4 just wasn't enough to claim I wasn't white. Sure, sometimes people asked where I was from and would ask again even after I told them I was from Boston, and friends have outright told me I look "exotic" (not my favorite comment by the way). But nobody could peg me as part-Asian. If I hung out with my Chinese American friends at a restaurant, I would be the one stared at by everyone else in the restaurant. It was as though I could feel their question shooting out their eyes, "What's that White girl doing with all those Chinese girls?"

But now, after coming to China and seeing my grandfather's sister in Beijing and his little brother in Jinan, and all of their children and children's children, I will never ever question that I'm part-Chinese.

Living in rural Shanxi has given me a whole new perspective. For the first time in my life, people ask me as soon as they meet me, "Why do you look Asian?" I hear arguments behind me as I walk down the street. Within the first week that I was here, the store owners just outside of the campus were discussing and one asked me, "What are you? Foreign or Chinese?"

One young man told me that the first time he saw me playing badminton, he said to his friend, "why does she look so foreign?" The friend replied, laughing, "Because she IS foreign."

When I tell people here that my father's father is from Shandong, they are so proud. "Chinese people trace their ancestry by their fathers," said one taxi cab driver, "that means you're 60% Chinese."

If I'm not with other foreigners can sometimes get away with pretending I am Chinese until they ask. Especially on trains with dim lighting and with older men who don't see very well or don't inspect you very closely. On trains people seem more unsure, because I say excuse me in Chinese and have started mumbling to myself in my second language. Even when I pull out an English book and start reading, I've still had people ask me, "Where are you from?" instead of "What country are you from?" because, as they will explain to me after I reassure them that I'm foreign, "I wasn't sure if you were Chinese." A couple of times an older man has babbled to me in Mandarin (usually in a very thick accent) about this or that for about 10 minutes before realizing. This is somewhat common, because older men and women are quite respected by the younger and they know if they would like to talk and give advice, young people are a safe and (at least superficially) attentive audience. And who better to talk with than a young woman who is rather quiet but seems to be listening intently with lots of smiles and nods. (My giggle is a blessing and a curse, as my friends have figured out that a giggle doesn't mean I know what they're saying, it means I'm watching other Chinese smile around them or it means I'm completely lost.) And so goes this one way conversation with this older man: him telling me what he thinks about this or that and me smiling and nodding, struggling to understand his thick country-side accent and wondering how I can gracefully insert into the conversation that actually, I am a foreigner and could he please speak a little slower? Eventually, a younger man sitting across from me, who has been watching me intently the whole time, asks me where I'm from and I am given a moment of silence in the conversation in which to tell the truth. Then the older man turns his head toward me and inspects my face as if wondering why he still didn't see "AMERICAN" written in Neon letters across my forehead before. He nods and settles back into the stiff seat and conversation, asking me how I adjusted coming back to China after being in America for so long. The young man across from me looks with soft, dark eyes at my face and then back to the old man, seemingly shrugging at the whole situation with his gaze.

I continue to be questioned by people. Many have asked if I am from XinJiang (the large Northwestern Province of China where Turks and Kazakhs are common) because of my deep-set and lighter-colored eyes. The other day at the subway stop in Beijing I started chatting with some vendors by the parking lot while I waited for my cousin dad's cousin to pick me up. Within the first few sentences of the conversation, one of the young men leaned forward and peered at me through the dark: "你是什么民族？“　"What ethnicity are you?" As soon as I explained that I wasn't a Chinese ethnicity, I was an American, it took them (as it takes many people) a minute to register:
"But you speak standard Mandarin..."
"You are very pretty..."
"You have pretty Mandarin."

And then as it sunk in that I was a real American who could speak Chinese I was bombarded with the usual questions we get every day here:
"How did you learn Chinese?"
"How long have you been living here?"
"Which place is better?"
"What is America like?"
"How many Yuan to a Dollar?"
At which point, my cousin arrived, observed what was happening, motioned to me (with the same emphasis that grabbing my arm and pulling me would have had), and we left quickly with me shouting out a polite goodbye! ...

But really, I think knowing and having family and close friends in China makes me far more Chinese than any sort of thing I've inherited from my blood. When a Chinese friend, Bobby, told me, you now know enough about Chinese people to kill a Chinese, I was horrified.
"What does that mean?!" Lynn, another Chinese friend, and I exclaimed at the same time.
He explained that it meant that I knew the subtleties of face, of culture enough so I could hurt a Chinese person very deeply if I wanted to.
"But she would never want to!" Lynn exclaimed.
"But I wouldn't want to!" I echoed.
"True," he accepted, "but what I mean is that Anne has become very Chinese herself."
I couldn't completely disagree with that. Taigu had changed the way I interacted with people a lot, and I found myself acting "Chinese" in ways that surprised strangers I met and made my foreign co-workers laugh.
"If you stay here for a few more years," he told me, "you will know everything about Chinese culture and people."
I wasn't sure what that meant, or how I could possibly know everything in a few more years, and since I had become at least that Chinese, I certainly wasn't going to accept the complement and instead I proceeded to insist it certainly wasn't true. But I was secretly complemented that he thought I could understand something about Chinese people.

I myself have often doubted that I'm actually understanding Chinese people and culture better considering how much I still ask myself "did I just do something wrong?" after seeing things play out not exactly as I had planned...but it is reassuring to hear that at least my friends thought I understood something.

I've had other friends follow the comment, "You are more Chinese than the other foreigners" with, "you should marry a Chinese man."
"...Or" they add as though giving me a little more leeway, "a half-Chinese man."

I smile and laugh politely at this. It's kind of a funny statement when, when by definition, I'm not even half-Chinese myself.

Why I haven't been posting on this blog for 6 months

2009-11-15T22:27:00.002+08:00

dearest all,

I apologize for how long I have not posted on this blog. blogspot has been censored in China now for the past 6 months or so, and thus I have not been able to add to it. I am now using a friend's computer who has managed to make a tunnel to an American network to post this message.

However, I just recently started a blog on a very popular China-based website in the hopes that there is no way that qq in China could possibly be censored. (People put their qq numbers on their business cards, that's how big it is in China.)

the address is:
http://794411470.qzone.qq.com/

the main site is in Chinese, but the posts are (mostly) in English. If you can't read Chinese, I'm sorry. See if you can navigate by guessing. :)

In the meanwhile I will try to use other people's computers to post on this site and see if I can figure out this tunnel business.

thanks for your patience,
Anne

The sky is always blue in China

2009-04-28T10:25:00.002+08:00

I was asked by a Chinese friend the other day if I ever noticed that every essay I was given by my Chinese students was about the same. I hadn’t really thought much of it. I guess I assumed it was because of their limited English vocabulary and grammar. But suddenly I realized why discussions were also so difficult—because almost every Chinese student had the same opinion. Or rather, every one of them would say, “Chinese people think...” And when I replied with, “but what do you think?” they would look confused and fumble for words.

My friend explained this to me: When the students of our generation were children, she told me, we were always taught to repeat whatever the teacher said. If the teacher said "the sky is blue," then the sky was blue. It didn’t matter if the sky was grey when it rained, the teacher’s word was truth. If a student spoke up and said, "But teacher, the sky is grey when it rains," the teacher would be mad, the student would be chided. So everyone just says the sky is blue (no matter what color it might actually be when it rains.)

So I am mostly stuck with a discussion limited to the difference between what “Chinese people” think and what “Americans” think. Unfortunately I’m not very good at speaking for all Americans. Though now I understand why they always ask me what “Americans” think about this or that. It is an absurd question to ask an American, but they seem to believe it is a reasonable question to ask a Chinese person.

NOTE: And this is not meant to say Chinese people are without creativity. I have met many open-minded and creative Chinese youth. And in class, my students will often surprise me. Like one time, when I assigned my Graduate Students to do a skit about marriage counseling. And most of them came up with the standard Chinese marriage problem story: the husband has a lover, or the wife thinks the husband has a lover, or the husband or wife work too much so they don't have enough time for the other or housework or children. Then, the last skit completely surprised me: it was of a lesbian couple who were fighting because one of them wanted to adopt a child and the other thought a child would prevent them from traveling and enjoying their youth. The solution the "counselor" came up with was that the couple should try adopting a pet, or if they were ready for a bigger step, adopting an older child who only needed a couple years in a home. None of them used a script. It was all improvised. I was stunned. I thought I was back in Oberlin for a moment.
So yeah, you really never know who or what ideas you will meet here.

The Taigu Whole Day Triathalon

2009-03-28T23:36:00.003+08:00

Just finished the Taigu Whole Day Triathlon. It does not take much training, but it is a blast. Here's what you do:

Hear knocking at your door at 8:30am in the morning on Saturday and pretend you are still sleepin because you know the only people knocking this early are your students or your housemates students. (You hope they are your housemate's.) Hear knocking at your door at 9:30am and pull on some pants over your boxers because you recognize the voices outside your door and they are definitely your students. Find out that they want to you to come with them on a trip to a nearby hill--they are going to leave in 10 minutes. You agree and throw on some real clothes. Bike, using a purple, rusty, single speed bike a little too small for you, through dry farm fields, dusty roads, country towns and past the occasional coal factory to get to a large hill. Climb the hill, with 14 grad students all carrying some barbecue ingredients including fresh meat, potatoes, green beans, steamed buns, a large Chinese knife, a cutting board, a nine pack of large bottles of beer (if you've seen Chinese beer bottles you know how big I mean), and of course, a mini grill and a lighter and some coal. And make sure to take the steepest path possible, preferably not very well worn, something that looks like what would be a deer path in the U.S, and once you get to the temples, take a picture of yourself and others about every 7 steps or so, or every time you think the view has changed. Once you finally make it to the top of the hill, eat a lot of barbecue and crackers and drink a bottle of beer. And make sure to take more pictures of this whole process. Spend a good amount of time at the top, spend some time playing cards on the cutting board afterward too. And on the way down, make sure to take a slightly wider path (because we do learn) but make sure it is still the kind of path that if you sat on your but you would slide all the way down. Then, ride your bike back to the campus with the large chaotic group, while forgetting turns along the way, and make sure to drop off your bottles at a grocery store to get the refund (yes, you did just bring them back down the mountain). Then, as soon as you go back, off to the school swimming pool, which should be a milky green color, because you have just been told that although it just opened there seem to be a lot of algae that they say are too hard to remove. Spend maybe one fourth of the time swimming laps and the other 2/3 of the time talking to people at either end. Then, take a massive shower with over 30 naked Chinese women (or men, if that's where you would go), get your body stared at and commented about as usual, and then put your clothes back on (which will also get stared at and commented about as usual because as usual, you wear a full layer less than everyone else, because, yes, it's warm outside and westerners don't wear long underwear in the spring, even if it is "spring" long underwear.) Then, wait an hour for friends, who you just saw at the swimming pool, to come to your house to go out to eat. And in the meantime prepare for a dance party. Go out to a nearby restaurant, eat a ton of delicious Chinese food, buy paper cups, run back to the house to meet people for the party. And then, put up the disco ball, set up the stereo, get together the music (probably get help from the other foreigners to do this, and most likely some of this is being done after the guests have arrived). Feel awkward for your students who have never been to your foreign parties before. Try despirately to make people feel comfortable by dancing like a fool. Then, try despirately to get your friends who you know can dance like fools too to dance. Then relax as you realize they are enjoying it, and dance crazily for the next two or three hours.

whew. I didn't plan for any of that to happen before hand except the party. But it was all really fun.
And now it's really time for bed.

Remembering February: A final encounter

2009-03-24T19:13:00.005+08:00

I met a young man on the bus back to Guilin from Yangshuo. I found myself looking in his direction and smiling. He smiled back and I worried that he had taken my accidental smile the wrong way and perhaps thought I was another loose foreign woman. But I was wrong. The baby in the seat behind me started crying and he smiled at him too. In fact, he used this excuse as a nice way to move into the open aisle seat next to me and in front of the crying child. We started talking after it seemed that nothing could satisfy the little one.

He was from Yangshuo, grew up there, and graduated from elementary school--no more no less. His parents were poor farmers. He was just about my age. He was going into Guilin to have fun for a night and then look for a job the next day. He asked my plans--I told him I was leaving for Beijing in the morning, but tonight, I had no plans. He told me he could take me around to see things in Guilin. I figured, why not? As long as we walked and were near many people (which it was almost impossible not to do in China) I could always find my way back to the hostel.

He wondered at my independence and fearlessness in a strange place. He asked me, what would I do if I lost the way? I told him I would ask someone. He asked, aren't you afraid? I said no. He told me there were many bad people in these places, in the city. I told him I knew. (Meanwhile the baby behind us had quieted.)

So it was decided. He walked me to the hostel (although he seemed afraid to actually go inside--he waited for me at the bottom of the stairs) and I dropped of my stuff. And we started out up the street I had walked along by myself a number of days earlier.

Guilin is a much bigger city than I expected when hearing about the place. Foreigners hear all about the mountains surrounding the city, but when you get there, to the center of the city all you can see is the tips of the surrounding hills and the buildings and shopping centers and street vendors. It's a big city. At night, the touristy spots are lit up with bright almost christmas like lights (This is a common phenomenon in China at toursit sites...apparently it is in Korea too, cause I saw it there also.) The lights will outline the river edge, the trees, the fence, the bridges, the famous pagodas. There will be spotlights meanwhile lighting up the trees and various parts of the scenery. I suppose it is meant to be romantic, but it seems a little overdone to jadded American eyes. It's just a little too Disney.

We stopped at one spot and he asked if I wanted to take a picture of the lit-up pagodas, which represented the sun and moon in the middle of a small pond. I told him I had lost my camera. He exclaimed how horrible that was, being in all these beautiful sites. (Although I had been having my friends take pictures for me for all those days I was visiting with a Chinese friend in Nanning and with Beth in Yangshuo.) So I said, sort of joking, but I can draw them. I have my notebook. So he encouraged me. Sit and draw. Don't forget. So I sat there and tried to draw the pagodas with pen. Meanwhile a bunch of young Chinese tourists came up to me and started talking about me in Chinese. I replied to them when they asked each other what I was doing. They were surprised at my Mandarin and started asking me more questions. Soon I was nervous and couldn't get any drawing done with them continually watching me draw. So I asked my new friend if he was ready to go. They all exclaimed, "Can you speak the Guilin dialect too?" I said "no." He was from Yangshuo anyway, which probably had a different accent. And I had just spoken Mandarin to him.
So my new friend brought me to a quieter place but made me finish drawing the temples. He told me it would be a pity if I started and didn't finish. So I did. But I just finished one of the temples, before I got impatient and swore I would bring a camera in the future so I wouldn't have to prove I could use other, more tedious methods of recording places next time.

I asked the young man where he would stay the night. He said he would stay at an internet bar. It was cheaper that way, he explained. Plus he could play on the computer if he wanted or sleep if he wanted. (He said he couldn't write, but he could type with pinyin.)

We walked around a park I had been walking around for a while. I told him I had come to this park by myself on Valentines day. He asked if I had someone (I believe that was literally what he asked if there was a ren--a person). I told him no, a boyfriend of a long time and I had just recently broken up. I explained that the problem was distance. He said that he too had just recently broken up with a girl he had been with for a long time. I asked him why and he said, because his family was poor, he had no job and no money, and he was fat, so she and her family disapproved. I told him the fat part was not true (because it sure didn't seem to be--he was slender...although he still insisted on not eating dinner that night because he said he was on a diet), but I couldn't say anything about the other things. My reasons for ending a relationship were thousands of miles away from his reasons--in culture, in logic and in freedom. There was nothing I knew how to say to comfort. Sometimes things just are in China. 没办法。(there's no way) and as an ordinary Chinese, you just have to accept them. 将就，将就。

He left me at the hostel with his QQ number and his e-mail address and told me if I came back to Yangshuo and let him know. He would give me a real tour of the countryside. I wondered why I hadn't met him at the beginning of my time in Guilin and Yangshuo. But he left the hostel so quickly after leaving the numbers, I couldn't even think to wish him good luck. He seemed really out of place in that hostel of hip Chinese and foreigners.

Remembering February: starting to head back from Yangshuo

2009-03-22T23:31:00.004+08:00

Leaving Yangshuo was a bit sad. Grey skies. And I knew I was leaving traveling for a while. So many people had been in and out of my life in the past couple days. Some I would never see again.
I would love to describe, to draw, to inscribe in stone each person I passed, but I could not replicate them. Like the way, waking up that morning and wondering if the young man in the bunk next to me from Australia (we saw from his suitcase tag) would resemble someone I knew, and when the slender figure woke, his narrow nose and face led me to think of a friend of mine who had died a year and a half ago. Like the cheerful, eager young man from Guandong who exchanged some reading lessons with me--we opened up the hostel's little book of notes from travelers, and I read Chinese to him, he the English to me, late into the night at the hostel. And his darker, deep-sweet-eyed, serious companion who he met as he met me--by chance of staying at the same hostel. And like the way the darker, older of the two seemed to speak excitedly and then sadly of his age, 28, and how he must enjoy this traveling while he is young, before he gets old and must think too much, must be overcome by thoughts. He told me he already cannot sleep without first drinking alcohol, because of his thoughts. Like a young man from Poland whose boyish face and mannerisms seemed familiar, and who, in the 20 minutes before had to go catch his train asked me what the Chinese think about their situation, because he cannot speak Chinese and he is awfully curious. And after 20 minutes of facinating conversation, he is gone to catch the train to Shanghai. And like Roary, the 6 foot tall, curly-red-haired, nice Irishman who I kept running into, on the tops of a mountain in a park, and then on the streets in Yangshuo with Beth. And the sweet couple from England and Wales traveling the world for a year who share with me a bit about their travels and made me late picking up Beth from the airport because I was so fascinated by them. Yes, most of the other travelers are young men or couples. I seemed to be one of the few single women traveling on my own. Even among the traveling community. But it didn't matter, people were kind to me, no body asked me why it was just me. Just too many faces going by...

And the countryside bike ride that morning that I left, amongst the strange green and rocky hills thrusting up from flat green and yellow farm fields with a clear river twisting downt he middle, was incredible. I can't even begin to do the place justice. It was too real and surreal to register how beautiful it really was. And while we were biking through majesty, we were also biking through poverty--isolated farming villages. But in such a beautiful place. Bikes pumping, skin hiving (for who knows what reason), toes numbing by the end--but lovely adventure, really interesting, beautiful place, fare enough away from people to feel it, with just enough to help find the way...
It was definitely sad to leave Yangshuo. And I wasn't at all ready or excited quite yet to get back to teaching.

Remembering February: When I collide with 99 Qinghai Tibetans in Guizhou

2009-03-22T22:50:00.008+08:00

"我们有缘分。" (We are fated to be brought together)
So says the Tibetan leader of the 99 touring Qinghai Tibetans I met on a train from Guilin to Nanning. I didn't know if it was yuanfen (fate) or not, but I was sure thankful for whatever strange forces had worked to make me take the same train as these lovely people.

I was going to Nanning to visit a friend I had made in Kunming. She was studying traditional medicine there, but her home was in Nanning. As I was waiting in the smoke-filled (the "smoking room" consisted of a hallway that connected to the main waiting rooms), hot trainstation, a large group of mostly older men began crowding the asiles by the gates that would open to let us to the platform. They were wearing thick layers of clothing and all of them were sweating profusely. Their skin was darker than other Chinese, and many of their eyes a light honey brown, and their hair slightly curly. A couple of older men caught my eye, realizing how I too didn't look like the rest of the people--mostly Han Chinese--in the waiting room, and smiled at me. I even got videotaped for a moment as one older man did a circular view of everyone crammed into the train station waiting room. Most of them were older men, so I offered my seat to one while we were waiting. He refused at first, but after much insistence on my part and encouragement by bystanders, he shyly and gratefully took my seat. The tour guide, a Han Chinese man, asked me where I was from and started up a conversation with me. He told me that the group were all Qinghai Tibetans on a tour outside of their village. Once I got my seat, he said, I should come find them. He told me there were 99 of them and these people loved 热闹（renao. Again, this Chinese word I can't translate that means something like: "bustling with noise and excitement"). He asked what car I was in so he could come find me once they were settled. I showed him my ticket, but I assumed he was joking, so I just smiled in response.

Soon, they were opening the gates to let us onto the platform and after the chaotic mass migration that always occurs before you get on a train in China, I found my respective seat and settled in. I sat next to some Guilin ladies who chattered away in their dialect while I slept through the next hour. But sure enough, after woke up from my nap, the tourguide came into my car. Okay, he said, follow me. I figured, why not, so I grabbed my stuff and followed him. I was so glad I did.

The guide sat me down next to the leader of the group who spoke to me in his strongly accented Mandarin (although his pronunciation was probably one of the best of the men in the group). Most of them were speaking Tibetan to eachother. The leader asked me how to say a few things in English (including his phrase about 缘分, or fate which I struggled to translate）and I in turn asked him how to say some things in Tibetan. Soon, he pointed to a young, pretty woman sitting across the asle. She should be your teacher, he said. And out of her mouth came the most perfect English I had heard out of anyone in China--Hello. How are you? I liked her right away.

She was an English teacher in their village, and with her almost flawless English she helped explain to me more about who this group was in ways I couldn't understand in 普通话（standard Mandarin). She explained that the village had organized an outing for all the village leaders to go outside of Qinghai (for many their first time outside the province and first time on a train). So they had come from Xi'an and Guilin and now they were headed to Beihai (which they heartily encouraged me to come with them). And all of these older men were extremely, extremely excited (if a little shocked by the warmth--home was full of snow) about this trip and they loved seeing these places. Although she said that they had had some trouble with barganing, because, she explained, Tibetans are so trusting, that they assume that everything someone tells them is the truth. So when the vendors tell the older men that they absolutely must have these things and this absolutely is the best price you can find, the old men will believe them. And in spite of her and the other young people's protests that they should try to ask for a better price, they will buy the thing. (Some of the men ended up proving this phenomenon true at the end of the trip. As we were reaching our station, the workers on the train advertised a kind of flexible toothbrush in a two for one deal that almost all the older Tibetans immediately bought up. Although interestingly enough, on the way back from Nanning I found that a number of Han Chinese people also bought the same toothbrush. It made me feel better to know that it wasn't just us foreigners from outside of China who were tricked by "deals.")

They kept inviting me to go to their hometown. I kept saying how much I wanted to. Then, as I continued talking with the woman, a young man came up, and told her to introduce him as handsome, but say that he was shy around beautiful ladies. At which I of course laughed. They told me I was pretty, which seemed funny to me in my sweaty glasses, pigtails and plaid shirt. (I always wonder if people just say this in China because I am foreign and thus exotic, or just to be polite or nice to me.) The young people seemed to talk with bits of Mandarin and bits of Tibetan (and with these people, some English), while the older people predominantly spoke Tibetan, unless they were talking to me or the guide.

One of the older men started singing to me (after much joking and encouragement). My new friend explained that Tibetans love singing, and it was common for a man to sing to a woman, and her back to him. I don't know if you have ever heard Tibetan songs or a Tibetan sing before, but you should make sure it is something on your list of things to do before you die. His voice was clear, true and almost eirie in the way it sounded like it was echoing in the mountains. Our half of the car quieted down the moment he began. The teacher translated the song for me: the man was comparing me to the moon--so beautiful, but so far away and unreachable. It was really lovely sounding. And then he stopped singing, and she explained, they will not continue, unless I sing in reply. I looked to my new friend for suggestions, and she offered, "You are my sunshine" which I sang and which she then translated for them into Tibetan. They enjoyed that translation. After more encouragement "handsome" also sang a song for me. He too had a beautiful voice. I sang back 甜密密 , one of the few Chinese songs I can sing all the way through, and a well-known favorite in China. It was the best time I've ever had on a train.

I was so excited the entire time I spent with them on the train, I was enthralled by their excitement, their culture, their language, their songs, their warmth and automatic acceptance of me. And I got to talk with this one English teacher quite a bit. I learned things from her all sorts of things I didn't know about Tibetans, like how conservative their culture is in terms of marriage age. Or, more relevant to my own life, how one of her English teachers from University was sent back to the U.S. for teaching too many Tibetans. And how now her school has trouble getting enough foreign teachers because the government won't accept their VISAs. Of course, she explained this all in English. The leader of the Village later asked me if I wouldn't come and teach English in their village. I thought how amazing that would be--beautiful mountains, a new language to learn, a facinating culture to surround myself in--and then I remembered that I still have a year and a half of a fellowship to complete. Visiting is probably the best bet at this point. Although I was so tempted to just continue to follow them on their trip to Beihai.

There was another woman who sat next to me who was a divorcee, but rather young-looking. She was reading one of those older American "manners" books for "proper ladies" that had been re-published in a modern looking Chinese version. She asked me if I had read the book and told me I was the first foreigner she had ever met. Funny. So lovely.

I told them I would visit them this summer. I hope it works out. I would love to see where such lovely people call home.

Remembering Chinese New Years: Second New Years, a Second Home

2009-03-14T14:53:00.003+08:00

China, I think, grows on me after I return. At first, everytime I come back, there is a terror of throwing myself into a stifling culture with so many people and such a history. And then, with smiles, and curiosity and eagerness, the Chinese people win me over again. Koreans are shy but, generally friendly if you approach them. But they don't put in the effort to approach you the way that Chinese people do. I forgot about the people here who have their children say "Hello" to you and who sing English songs on the subway while casting glances in your direction, and who try out saying "foreigner" in all the different languages they know to see what kind of reaction they can get out of you--or maybe that is just Beijing. But I don't think so. Everywhere I will see young Chinese women who when we catch the other's eye, will smile symultaneously. But I find that it is usually I who is shy and will first turn my eyes away.

I think of the way Koreans celebrate their New Years and the way Chinese celebrate theirs. Korean New Years means that people go home and spend time quietly with their family--eat food together and pray and give offerings to their ancestors. Chinese people, however, love 热闹。 And I really wish there was a way to translate this word, because it is the essence of Chinese celebrations--warm, festive, loud, noisy, almost chaotic, but in a good way. And that is how they celebrate the New Years--explosions, the color red, money for children, lots of people all making dumplings together, parades, traditional dances--of course, they also mostly just spend time at home with family, but unlike neat and carefully organized Korea, they set off fireworks in the streets! And not just little sparklers--Beijing was absolutely brimming with crysanthamums of color bursting in every allyway, every courtyard, every street, raining down ash and bits of fiber on the happy observers below. The fireworks are set off to scare away the bad spirits of the past year and make room for the good, new ones. Apparently, it is thought that the more fireworks you set off, the more good luck you will have. So this year, because of the economic recession, tons of businessmen had boxes full of 20 or more fireworks (that I was told cost thousands of yuan) and set them off, greatly pleasing the rest of us passersby watching below.

I don't know what it is about China, but it is as close to a second home as I may ever find in another country. People are just so friendly. And it isn't just me, who speaks Chinese, who has found this. A number of foreign travelers who I met in Guilin also agreed. One young Irish man told me, he had been told ahead of time that Chinese people were really unfriendly. So he was completely shocked to find that wherever he went, inspite of his inability to speak, everyone offered to help him. They made do with hand gestures and making faces and him pointing to the Chinese on his tickets and them pointing to the place the tickets indicated. They would even walk him all the way to wherever he was supposed to go and then leave without asking for money or even his name. These strangers helped him on every leg of his journey. He says now he's decided that Chinese are the friendliest people he's ever met.

There's a way people look out for you here, so that you never quite feel completely lost. Just a little unsure of the exact place you are, not unsure that there will be friendly, helpful people there to guide you along the way.

Remembering Travels from February: Mannequins

2009-03-03T21:37:00.005+08:00

While I am walking through an underground market in Guilin, I suddenly realize that I am the only "white" face walking around in the sharp, unflattering, yellow light. Strangely enough, the only white face, but my language is written on all the T-shirts--English letters assembled in incomprehensible words that almost look like "America" or famous clothing brands, and strange words assembled in sentences that a native speaker wouldn't understand.

And then I see her--a woman with light, wavy, hair and big eyes--her facial features vaguely reflecting mine. And I see more of us--they are standing outside of every other store entrance--mannequins. Their frozen Caucasian features are the only ones in this place that echo mine. I realize my isolation--my tall stature, deep-set eyes, naturally lighter hair, large backpack, walking around slender, small, dark-haired Chinese young women and men who walk arm in arm slowly looking at clothing and shoes. My face blends only with the posters of models wearing the clothing being sold, and with those of the strange mannequins--frozen, prisoners of this underground market.

Completely creeped out, I walk quickly towards the exits surface again.

Remembering travels from February: South Korea

2009-02-28T16:49:00.011+08:00

Korea is quiet. Much quieter than China. Even densely-packed-over-10-million-people Seoul is quiet. I don't notice at first because I speak loudly with my American friends, but then glares from surrounding elders make me realize the quiet that hangs over everyone else. It's almost required on the buses and subway. Or at least of the English-speaking foreigners. Everyone else already knows the unspoken rule and is quietly texting, playing electronic games, listening to music. Quiet or beeping, everyone here is wired.

An interesting difference between China and Korea is the background music in public places. In China, they play smooth jazz, otherwise known as elevator music, everywhere. And maybe traditional Chinese flute music in the parks, and then Chinese pop or American 90s pop outside of shops. In Korea, they play classical music--distinguished, elegant, secure--in the trees in the parks, in the shops, on the sidewalks outside shops, in the airport, at the train station, even in the bathrooms at rural tourist sights. I remember stepping into one isolated-looking bathroom and being surprised as a full orchestra suddenly welcomed me with Vivaldi's Four Seasons.

It's funny how small Korea is compared to China. And you can still see the difference between the rich, hip people who live in Seoul and the people who live in thatch-roofed, cracking houses in the countryside--but what separates China and Korea is that even the thatch-roofed houses have high-speed internet.
I have to say I am partial to small countries. They seem easier to manage.

South Korea is certainly more modern than the vast majority of China in many ways, and Seoul seems to emulate what China wishes its cities would become--modern, hip, tightly packed, active, but clean, pretty, neat, tidy. But China has very little chance of getting there anytime soon except for the exception of parts of HongKong. Why? Many reasons I'm sure. But it seems that China's biggest hold back seems to be its population (one Seoul is possible, but how could they possibly make 200 Seouls?) and then, of course, there is the difference in government. Korea is small. And so clearly a Democracy. I saw at least one protest each day I stayed in Seoul. and they were huge. With huge numbers of young policemen patiently standing with shields and helmets around the groups. Strange for an American to see that the protesters were older, perhaps middle age or so, and the policemen, because of the required military service, were almost all younger than I by a number of years. An almost perfect reversal of most protests in the U.S.

It was also a funny place because of how safe it was. It was as though everyone (at least professed) to trust everyone else. No real fear of pick-pocketing. even in Seoul. they didn't even check your tickets on the train...or at least they only checked randomly. I heard numerous accounts of people losing things and then having them (wallets included) returned to the police station by some nice civilian. (Unfortunately, I lost my camera in a rural tourist town and although we went to the police station and they treated us super sweetly and diligently wrote down all the details of the camera and where we had been, no nice civilian has come upon it yet.)

The Korean language is really interesting in comparison to Mandarin too. Mandarin has no conjugation for verbs, which, I think, makes it a simpler language to learn. Korean, however, has a ton of different forms for each verb based on how old the person you are addressing is in comparison to you. It makes sense for such a Confucian culture. So was China, historically, but somehow, although Korean used to be written using traditional Chinese characters, the language itself is so crazily different. Where as Mandarin has really firm syllables and tones, Korean has no tones and almost sounds like mumbling to me--many sounds get almost slurred together. It is really pretty though--quiet and soft, where as standard Mandarin sounds more harsh and loud.
But the Korean alphabet, I think, is one of the coolest alphabets ever. Each sound has a certain shape--you can learn how to read Korean in a couple days if you are studious. The alphabet gives a flexibility to the Korean language that Chinese lacks. Many words in Korean are borrowed from English--they just reconstruct them with Korean pronunciation. Chinese people have to use already existing words to create a new word--like electric talk for telephone, or electric brain for computer. (I've heard some theories that this absolute "unchangingness" of the Chinese language is part of the reason creativity is hard to come by in Chinese education. I'm not sure about that though, because as soon as my students are given the opportunity and some practice, they come up with some pretty brilliant stories and skits.)

Seoul is interesting in terms of the foreign population, because they are almost all soldiers or English teachers. (it is usually pretty easy to guess who is who) And you see a lot of foreign men with Korean women (who seem to get disapprovingly ignored by other Koreans), but not the other way around. Will (a foreigner also) and I hardly got stared at at all (an interesting change from the places I'm used to in China). But when I walked around with Alex, a Korean American, I was stared at quite a bit as people tried to figure out what I was and what I was doing hanging out with a Korean who spoke fluent English. When I was by myself, mostly just the foreigners stared at me. And a couple times, when I was wearing glasses, people started speaking to me in Korean first, until I looked absolutely confused, and they looked at my face closer. Gosh, I'll just never fit in in any country except for America now.

Most of the tourists in Korea seemed to be Japanese or Taiwanese, along with some people from Singapore. There were some Chinese in Seoul, but mostly they were going to school or working. I had a couple of times where I accidentally spoke Chinese to someone and she replied back! That was always a shock for me--wait, we are in Korea, that was a mistake! You aren't supposed to understand Chinese--and even more for her--How does this white person in Korea know Chinese?! I even communicated with a couple Koreans who had studied Mandarin or who grew up in China with Chinese--they couldn't speak English very well, and I (like almost all the other foreigners there) couldn't speak any Korean.
Overall, it was really strange being in a country where I couldn't even speak two full sentences of the local language--quite an adjustment from China and the U.S., the past two countries I had been traveling in. It was isolating and liberating at the same time. Isolating, because suddenly it was harder to talk to strangers and understand the lives of local people, and liberating because I realized that even without knowing a word of a language there were ways to communicate and ways to get around on ones own. People again, just like in China, thought I was crazy when they found me navigating the subways, streets, or speed trains on my own, without a word of Korean to help me (even the foreign soldiers and business people who lived in Seoul always seemed to be escorted by a Korean friend). But it is surprisingly possible when you have a few friends to introduce you to the place, give you a few tips, and the absolute fascination with every color, shape, face, and aspect of a new place that comes naturally almost wherever I go.

Woah...

2009-02-24T16:46:00.004+08:00

Back in Taigu after 2 months of life-changing travel.
Back here in my little room with a little white cat (who was put here because apparently, while we were away, the rats took over the house) in my lap and looking outside at the hazy air and the saffron-tan tint over everything, I wonder just how far away I am from all that I just left behind.

I found out recently that my Chinese zodiac sign is the Ox instead of the Tiger, because I was born just before Chinese new years in 1986. All my life I thought I was a tiger. A week or two makes me a year older in China. I am 24 years old by the lunar calendar and Chinese tradition. And this New years, 2009, is special for me they say, the year of the ox too--my year.
Strange, because, all of a sudden, I feel as though I am much older than I should be.

Going back to the U.S. was important to do. Back to the world that hasn't changed, back to the people who haven't aged, to realize that I have. Back to realize that when people asked me where I was living, I said China. (At which I would laugh because it seemed like it should be a joke, but wasn't.) Back to where the tap water was drinkable, where I could eat food off the table (and sometimes off the floor), where I could rely on the electricity, and hot water, and water pressure to not give out, where the grocery stores were stocked with over 50 kinds of cheese and 20 kinds of butter, where everyone spoke my native language, where I my chest didn't hurt after a run in the outdoor air, and where nobody had any idea what rural china was like and how it had become such an intricate part of my understanding of the world. And back to public protests, police violence, news about all the horrors of the world, free speach, controversial movies, and an inspiring, newly elected president. It was all rather overwhelming.
And at the same time, I was back to realize how many people my age were jealous of the opportunity I had snagged. It made me awed at the opportunity I had been given. I appreciated all the luxuries and rights the U.S. provided, but didn't feel like I belonged in the U.S. anymore. I belonged in China.

But perhaps part of why I feel so much older is that every Chinese person I ran into on while traveling in China (my Chinese family included) was surprised that I was a single, young (and really so very young, they all seemed to believe) woman traveling and teaching on my own in a strange country. Did I really come by myself? Didn't I have someone meeting me at the next train station? Wasn't I afraid of getting lost? Wasn't I afraid of bad people? Weren't my parents worried about me? What about my boyfriend? And as soon as I explained I didn't have one, the next series of questions would come--shouldn't I have one, and shouldn't I be finding one, and what about finding a Chinese one, and shouldn't I be getting married soon?

Only, in Chinese, especially from people much older than I, these statements were not questions. In English it would be polite to ask these things as questions, so that is how I translate them. But in Chinese, they are statements or "shoulds": you are so independent to come on your own, there are many bad people, you should be careful, you are very brave, maybe you should find a Chinese boyfriend, or you should go back to the states after you finish teaching and find a boyfriend to marry. It is not meant to be rude, it is meant to show you are concerned or care. So I smiled and nodded to all of their observations of me.
But mostly it just really entertained me. And reminded me that there were not many young, single women who had this opportunity. Or who took advantage of it.

They must see me so strangely, I thought--an independent, stubborn, unafraid, adventurous, friendly, educated but almost stupid, foreign young woman. Or, probably more accurately, just a strange young woman.

Perhaps strange, but loving it.

( I will write more entries about the travel, but gotta go lesson plan now.)

Chinese TV News and American TV News

2008-12-08T19:05:00.003+08:00

There's an interesting difference between American and Chinese TV News:

American TV news spends the vast majority of its time talking about disasters, crimes, potential problems that you will run into in life, and then spends most of the rest of its time talking about what other sensational thing they are going to show next in order to get you to keep watching.

Chinese news spends the vast majority of its time talking about its developing economy.

Often, Chinese news doesn't make me feel as awful about the world after.

But that doesn't mean that Chinese news is always positive. Or sometimes it means to be positive but rubs my American-raised mind the wrong way. For example, when they are showing this burning hot steel being heated up enough so that it can bend into the correct form, and there, maybe 20 feet away or less is a worker with a hardhat on. Besides the hardhat, he is wearing nothing particularly special to protect himself. Nothing to protect his eyes from the blinding white light that is coming from the furnace and nothing to protect his face from flying metal sparks that seem to be flying everywhere. The news reporter continues to report on the success of the business as the worker looks blankly at you from the side of the screen.
The next news topic is the pearl markets. The camera shows people individually sorting through piles and piles of harvested pearls. That kind of tedious work might outrage the average American. They would never agree to do that work themselves. And I don't know how many would like seeing that sort of work being done on TV. (But I'm sure they'd still go to the pearl market and buy pearls for their friends...along with their clothing and just about everything else we buy from China that is tediously put together. Many of these factories don't seem to have as many machines as we assume. I've seen documentaries showing a woman spending day after day poking a hole through a small plastic part and the woman after her in the assembly line squirting water through the hole to make sure the hole is complete. They weren't protesting on the documentary, they were just working. Work in China, for the ordinary people, is just work.)

It's still nice to watch more positive news than American news, but there are so many special words related to the development of the economy that I have trouble following the news here. I'm hoping by watching it every other day or so for half an hour, my listening comprehension will get tons better. Because right now, they speak way too fast for me to absorb exactly just what sort of economic progress is happening...

A warm fuzzy

2008-10-29T22:51:00.006+08:00

There's this sweet stray dog that lives on campus that seems to turn up whenever I'm feeling down or lonely.
She seems young, with yellow lab-colored fur. She's got these sweet pointy ears that flop and a face somewhere between a chihuahua and a terrier. She’s a little taller than a terrier, but mostly because she has longer legs and a longer neck, and a slightly curled long blonde tail. She’s pretty slender, and her most defining characteristic is that her hind hips seem a little out of alignment so that she swivels her back feet a little when she walks. She sits funny too, with her two hind legs pointed to one side below her. But the best part is that when her tail wags, her whole rear behind goes crazy.

So i’ll be wandering around feeling a little down and then I’ll see her somewhere. And if I call her...usually with “Baby!” She comes running, or more like wobbling, her tail a wagging and shaking her behind all over the place. She doesn’t seem to do this to just anyone either. I’ve never seen her run up to another person. She comes and nuzzles against my legs and I scratch her neck and back while she tries to lick me (which I try to politely avoid by letting her lick my jeans and sweatshirt). She will sit herself down next to me and will continue to sit there nuzzling my jeans until I decide I have to go.
And she’s dirty too, no doubt. Whenever I’m done petting her, my fingertips are black with dirt and who knows what else. She’s a stray dog and probably ends up in the garbage more often than not...but I figure as long as I wash my hands thoroughly afterward I am basically safe. Afterall, the same stuff that’s on her is also on my shoes too, and all thought I don’t pet them, I for sure handle them all the time.

There’s just something so soothing about having a warm fuzzy creature who enjoys your company. She has a way with me that calms me and reminds me of the simple lovely things in life. I think it is in return for the scratches.

Halloween is coming

2008-10-29T16:20:00.003+08:00

I think Taigu is probably the only place in all of Shanxi that will celebrate Halloween.

We've all been teaching our students about the American holiday in class. Each class gets to celebrate differently, some of us hand out candy and tell ghost stories, some of us talk about what we are afraid of, some of us share American superstitions in exchange for Chinese ones.

We will also have a Halloween party on Friday for all of our students. That's about 600 students. It's in an old classroom building. It is going to be crazy. These Halloween parties have a history of being crazy in Taigu. They all have to be in costume too.

I'm still trying to think of a costume. If you have ideas, you should tell me.

But my favorite thus far is that Ben and Nick have both had their classes carve pumpkins. (The pumpkins here are green on the outside instead of orange.) And they are awesome. Much more creative and clever than a lot of pumpkins I've seen in America. Some are faces, some are patterns, some have English carved on the side, and some of them are smoking cigarettes.
Nick has put them on our porch. And the best part is watching other students walk by the outside of our house and stop suddenly and stare at the strange carvings. Some smile, some step closer to get a better look, some look confused, some seem to shake their heads, others point to show their friends, most have never seen a carved pumpkin in their life.

My students are my saviors

2008-10-22T22:30:00.002+08:00

I love Nong Da University students. Why? Because they are so sweet. And so eager to learn. And so willing to do silly things. And so dorky, but in the coolest and most love-able way ever.

For example, there was today. It was a dreary rainy day, and many of them looked really tired, until they looked up at me when I walked in. They started cheering and clapping when I walked in today. I had worn an absurd amount of clothes to class including a brightly colored stripped skirt on top of jeans that they claimed was pretty. The theme of the class was pretty obvious--clothes. I had gotten the idea from Beth and Ben who had used a fashion show in previous classes. I had my students say the names of everything as I took them off. (Don't worry I still had a t-shirt, sweater, and jeans by the end. Most of the stripping was accessories and jackets.) They were clearly tired still, some of them were nodding off after the initial show. But even their nodding off was more respectful than the nodding off in America. It consisted of a subtle closing of the eyes followed by a quick opening and determined stare in my direction and a wild writing down of the name of some article of clothing I was listing.

The fashion show, however, was what made my life. At first when I explained that pairs would have to do a fashion show, with one person as the announcer and the other as the model, the girls giggled and the guys grumbled. But as soon as the fashion show started, the cheers and clapping overflowed. The modeling and announcing was amazing. Male students, no matter their level of cool or awkwardness, were seen strutting down the classroom aisles convincingly tousling their hair, throwing off scarfs, pulling off sunglasses to flash a dashing glance at the audience and throwing jackets over one shoulder. Ordinary young women flaunted them selves as movie stars, with the confidence to match. The imagination and acting ran wild. It was great to see.

American students are sometimes too cool to have such fun. A group of American students, besides perhaps an acting class, would never be able to pull off such a stunning performance as my students presented.

Our classes seem to be one of the few creative outlets these Graduate Agricultural students have. And they live it up.

I'm gonna follow their example, live it up too while I can, and enjoy these wonderfully enthusiastic students.

难过 and 过了（sadness and getting through)

2008-10-20T14:42:00.006+08:00

China, for me, has a perpetual, essential sort of sadness that permeates everything in the countryside.

There is a sense, especially when a Chinese person finally gets close to you and starts opening up, that people here have a lot of difficult things that they deal with and have to keep hidden. And so I think the earth, building and streets start breathing sadness instead.

I’ve had a number of students already ask for leave to see doctors for various surgeries and conditions. It is not as easy to be open about having a disease here. The U.S. is sometimes rough for sure, but here, students often won’t even tell their close friends that they are suffering from a serious chronic illness. A chronic illness can prevent people from getting the job they want, and word about it will spread like wildfire on a college campus. A few people have opened up to me about their illnesses because I am foreign and they know we have different standards about such things. To suffer from an illness and not be able to ask for the support of your friends seems crazy. As does the number of 20 year old students in this small population that I've already found out are dealing with some chronic disease.

That doesn’t begin to talk about the sadness of young women who have given up playing basketball because they are girls. They now sit on the sidelines and watch the handsome boys make the shots instead. Or the sadness of young women who are afraid to be outspoken in class because they believe that the men really are smarter. Or the sadness of the young men and women working on the streets serving all the young students street food because they never graduated high school or never passed the Gao Kao (the College Entrance Examination). Or the sadness of the man old enough to be my grandfather who sells fruit on the corner and who probably has his whole life and probably will for the rest of his life.

Then there is the sadness that you feel when you walk out on the streets in Taigu. It is written in the dust, the faded plaster on the houses, the lines on people’s foreheads, the tired way the waitresses toss the dishwater out on the street, and in the wobbly slow way the bicycles make their way down the street. Beth and I talked about both having felt it—this common sadness that seems have a presence all over the countryside.

And the Chinese version of "sadness," like many emotional words in Chinese, is much more specific than its equivalent in English. The usual translation in Chinese is 难过（nanguo) which literally means hard going or hard to go through. That is the kind of sadness that permeates everything here.

But then, as clear and present as the sadness is the persistence, calm, acceptance and even joy in the face of it all. People continue, people 过了. People don’t seem to complain about their work, they just do it. Women don’t complain much about their status, they just keep doing their studying and all the things they are allowed to do. And there isn’t a student who isn’t proud of China. Their faith in their people and country, in spite of their knowledge of fraud mines causing mudslides into villages, failed milk that has poisoned children, and knowing first hand of all the poor people still struggling in the countryside, is incredibly strong. Even my friends struggling with illness, who sometimes explain to me their frustration with Chinese cultural norms, continue to impress me with their pride in their country. There is a patriotism and faith in family and country here that is stronger than anything I’ve met in the U.S. It’s pretty incredible.

And then there’s the friendliness here. The average American would not think to be half as friendly as the ordinary Taigu person is to us. In spite of the stares and comments about us wherever we go, I feel really welcomed and completely safe here (well except maybe from the traffic). People here are by and in large honestly curious and really tolerant of our differences from them. I find that I can sooth any stare with a friendly smile. I’m so grateful that smiles and laughter are international. I’m really good at those. And they are accepting of me playing basketball with the young men (I even got a few of my female students to join me), of me as a teacher, of me talking with the storekeepers and ordinary folk on the street. There’s an interesting line that I walk that has them viewing me with something between tolerance or respect, between viewing me as just crazy or acceptable. I rather like it actually. And I’m pretty grateful the people here allow me to walk it. It’s a privilege I’m willing to accept.

I have also realized that part of what drew me to the people in China this ability—this extraordinary ability to face a country and history of sadness and continue to smile and hold their heads up. I’m still always amazed. Our young, proud country could learn a lot from these people.

The American Team: or when Anne, Nick, Ben and Yue get to pretend they are super 厉害（lihai)

2008-09-29T23:58:00.002+08:00

(For those of you who don't know, lihai sort of means really amazing or awesome at something. Basically it doesn't have a really good English translation, which is why I used it.)

So we heard there was a large martial arts event being held at a High School in Taigu. It was for a special kind of marital arts, similar to Taiqi that had been started in Taigu. (I believe it is called Xingyi quan.) Ben, Nick, Yue (my Chinese teacher and new friend), and I all decided to go see the opening ceremony.

At the gate to the field, everybody was crowded and pushing and nobody was being let in. But the moment the guards saw Ben and Nick’s face, they asked what country they were from. “America” they responded, to which the guards let them in and pointed to a side of the field. Yue (my Chinese teacher and new friend) and I quickly yelled that we were with them, and with my foreign-looking face and Yue locked on my arm, we made it in too. The organizers pointed us to a series of High-school aged girls dressed in pink, sparkly short dresses holding signs with names of countries and Chinese provinces on them. We were pushed behind the United States sign. Ben and Nick were smiling, Yue and I were horrified. They thought we were participants! We got to march around the stadium representing “The American Team.” Yue hoped that no one who knew her was in the audience, I reassured her that she spoke English well enough to be an ABC (which was true) so she might as well march with us. It was entertaining, until we had to stand in front of the bleachers and listen to 5 officials give speeches about the significance of the event. Then things got exciting again as the fireworks went off, hundreds of students did a large performance on the field and the competitions began.

It was fun, for sure, but it felt really strange to have the doors wide open to us just because of the faces we were born with, when the people who grew up in the city were not allowed into this exciting event unless they had special invitation. I wanted to take the almost one hundred patient, ordinary Taigu people standing with their faces pressed against the fence and tell the guards they were American so they could also use the strange backseat passes our faces allowed us.

Adventure Run #1

2008-09-27T04:30:00.002+08:00

When I am in a new place I feel that part of my way of figuring out where I am is to get lost in it. Running is usually my mode of transportation.

So one morning before my classes, instead of my usual route around the border of the campus, I decided to step outside the walls. (The entire University--like almost every other school in China, from Elementary school to University—is surrounded by a large cement wall). I could just feel the excitement under my feet as I headed out of the gates under the curious stares from the guards, the taxi cab drivers waiting at the gate and every other person who walked or biked along the dirt road that went by the entrance. I headed around the wall, followed it a ways just to see where it went, found how to get to North Yard (the small neighborhood full of restaurants and shops right next to the university) without going through the gates, ran along through the corn fields, past stares from farmers and bikers and the large group of people constructing a house. I ended up on a main road that I hoped headed back towards the campus, but as I followed it, I realized that the tall apartment buildings where the teachers stayed were sinking further and further to my left. I realized that the train tracks on the bridge above the road were headed in the right directions so I ran up some stone steps built into the wall and ended up on a small path running next to the railroad. I followed the path for a ways and was pleasantly surprised by how alone I was, until a train went by and got some good stares from at least a hundred Chinese people. Suddenly Nong Da was again moving slowly to the left as I ran and I had to find a way down. The tracks took another overpass over a road that I knew was really close to the entrance, but there were no convenient steps this time. I followed the top of a cement wall that led down from an overpass, got barked at by a small dog that came up to my mid-shins and only got one surprised stare from a woman who happened to be looking up from her bicycle as I was walking down. I made it back safe, tired, contented and extremely excited that I had finally been comfortable and brave enough to have had a run by myself outside the walls in Taigu. I realized that I didn't have to go very far outside of campus to find a little adventure.

Terror set in though when Zhao Hong, the teacher in charge of us foreign teachers here gave me a call soon after I came back. “I need to see you in my office” was the approximate translation of what she said. Oh no, I thought, someone who saw me on the train or the lady who was on the bike knew her, or maybe the guards mentioned that I had been outside the gate running for almost an hour. I was in trouble. I went into her office and she began, “Anne, there are certain traditions in China revolving around teachers...” Alright, I thought, preparing myself to be yelled at, here comes the explanation of why teachers are not allowed to be out running all over the countryside. “...and one of them is Teachers Day. Here’s your bonus.” She handed me 200 yuan. I must have looked a little stunned because she reassured me, “Take it. All the teachers receive the same amount.” I couldn’t believe how well the morning was going. I thanked her and left to finish getting ready for my first class.

Yelling English, Military Training and Losing Weight

2008-09-23T22:29:00.002+08:00

Today was really cold for the first time. It was raining this morning and instead of getting warmer as the day went on, it got colder. By the evening it was cold enough that I was wearing a scarf and 3 shirts when going outside. (It wasn’t actually that cold--I’ve just been spoiled with nice weather.) Outside, “Crazy English” (as I discovered the groups practicing English by yelling every night are called) continued to go on in spite of the cold. Only this time, the students were all dressed in camouflage military uniform. To a person who wasn’t familiar with the Universities in China, it was pretty intimidating looking—a large group of young people dressed in military uniform repeating loudly after a single leader: “If!” “IF!” “I!” “I!” “were!” “were!” “WERE!” “WERE!!”....
But to those of us who now knew how things worked, we saw that the entire group, based on their military uniforms, was made of freshmen who had just arrived at the University. All the freshmen were required to have a week of military training before starting school. So we would see them all for a week or so, all dressed in their camouflage uniforms, starting from early in the morning yelling chants, marching in time, and sitting on little stools listening to some speaker yell something through a loudspeaker in Chinese. Even at 10pm they were all walking around in their military clothing. Most of them are a fair amount smaller than I, but that didn’t stop me from being spooked when I went around a dark corner and a person dressed in camouflage comes striding around the bend. I had to remind myself that they were the same students who when I was running in the morning, parted a path for me, called out a timid, Hello? and then whose faces broke into big, smiles and laughter when I smiled and said hi to them. They all looked really young and quite in wonder at everything, including the exotic foreigner running by them.
Later tonight at the underground supermarket I ran into one of my English majors. Another side of these young people’s lives was exposed when I asked her about what she was up to tonight. The slender girl replied cheerfully that she and her roommates were going running because she needed to lose weight. I almost gagged, but I held it in, “But you are so skinny!” I exclaimed instead. “Maybe in your eyes” she said with a smile, looking my body up and down, “but in Chinese people’s eyes, I am fat.” Oh, I thought, well in that case, I am obese by Chinese standards. But I said nothing, smiled and listened to her finish talking about running being good for losing weight. I was happy when she changed the subject to the upcoming vacation.
I have realized that everyone thinks I’m running because I want to lose weight. It seems like the idea of running for fun is quite foreign here. Just like me and my body type.

Chinese Dog Culture

2008-09-23T22:28:00.000+08:00

Even the stray dogs here have a different culture. Instead of the solitary, tough street dogs of the cities in the U.S., these dogs have a different way of survival. If they see you and you say something to them or stop, they stop for a moment and check you out. The cute dogs know their positive adaptations and they will sit down, tilt their head and give you puppy eyes. I have gone up to many the (somewhat clean looking) puppy, put my hand near them and they lick it, and then let me rub their neck for a bit. I know the warnings about rabies, but these dogs have no signs of aggression. They sit down when you come close, or grovel with a tail between their legs. They are not ashamed to take handouts. They know that the way to get good food around here is to look cute. And most of them do it really well.

Curiosity Terrified the Teacher

2008-09-17T22:40:00.002+08:00

So I was curious, as most people are, about large gatherings of people. Mistake number one. I was also curious, as English speakers might be, about why they were yelling English. Mistake number two. I was also curious if I could manage to stay behind everyone and pretend to be a Chinese student without being noticed. Mistake number three. It took maybe a minute for someone to come around, pass me a flyer and then gawk at my face as I tried to avert my eyes. (You know the normal if I can’t see them, they can’t see me approach.) In a moment, 3 people jumped by my side and asked if I was a foreign teacher, while a circle of students pulled out of the mob and surrounded me. I knew I was done for. Question after question came out of the students (and one student in particular who seemed more interested in practicing speaking than practicing listening.) And I awkwardly answered one after the other with a word or two. At one point the young man who was doing most of the talking (a very gutsy, and skilled freshman) asked me if I had some words of advice to give everyone, and I semi-unconsciously said “wo mei zhunbei hao le” (I haven’t prepared well.) And everyone laughed. That lightened things a little.
It is just terrifying when you are suddenly in the midst of the kind of people who idealize you. (And by idealize you I mean they idealize English-speaking foreigners, and you are one of them.) You are the holder of this thing they are trying to attain. It’s terrifying. You have all these eyes on you and ears listening to every word you say like it may be the gospel. I felt like I wanted to shrink into myself. “Surely you have taught many people...” the young man was saying. Did he even know that I was only a few years older than him? That I had just graduated from university? That I had only been here three weeks? Well, that he knew, because I had just told him, but that didn’t seem to register. I was sure I must have looked terrified. But one of the young women was nice enough to tell me that I was very charming, that I had a very charming smile. Oh that’s good. At least I look like a nice person even if I had only been able to get out the total of two sentences worth of words.
A couple of my Graduate students passed by, and I grabbed a desperate hello at their blessed familiar faces. They asked what I was doing. I wanted to know too, but instead I told them I had never seen such a group of people and came to see what was going on. They smiled and said they had been walking along and had also been interested by the groups, they had never seen it before either. They told me it looked like I was quite the interest here (well, that in simpler words), and all I could do was nod helplessly. They took their leave politely and with smiles. I wished it was so easy for me.
Soon enough I realized that it actually was that easy for me too. I apologized to the circle of stares and told them I had to go because I had class tomorrow morning. They smiled and nodded enthusiastically, yes of course. All I had to give them was my name, a brief excuse that I had just gotten here as reason why I couldn’t give them my address, and smile politely and leave. It was just as simple a trap to get out of as to get in.
Classrooms are fine for staring at the teacher. That I'm used to. In everyday life, groups of people you've never met watching your every movement can be quite intimidating. I cannot tell you how relieved I felt to slide into the shadows again.

Stranger in a Strange Land

2008-09-11T16:13:00.002+08:00

It struck me last night walking in the cool moonlight how amazing it is for me to be where I am. A dream really.

Sometimes, I look at night at the pink, green dancing neon signs saying “Shanxi Agricultural University” and wonder where I am. The smoke coming from the nearby building turns purple in its strange light and the illumination from the almost full moon. With these strange tall buildings radiating light and colored smoke and the moonlight making even the darkest buildings look sharp and clear and full of geometric shapes, I wonder if this China I’m standing in is fake. At other times, the fountains turn on and loudspeakers blast Kenny G or the latest Chinese pop song, and the water dances up and down to the music, and I wonder if they are trying to make China fake.
And then sometimes, I see the quiet corner of a restaurant sharply illuminated in the moonlight, strange geometric shadows making the dirty scene look strangely neat and tidily drawn, and I wonder if I am in a museum. And then, walking along in the dark, I see a young girl sitting on a young man’s lap, the tree shadows carefully covering the places in their face their mouths would be, and I wonder if I am in Oakland, California again.

But sometimes, walking along a dirt road, hearing the quiet sounds of friends giggling and speaking Mandarin together, walking arm in arm, watching others hurry off to their dorms for the evening, with the feeling of a light autumn wind brushing my face and the moonlight illuminating my path, and I remember where I am and I am awed.

Mooncakes!

2008-09-11T16:13:00.001+08:00

The Mid-Autumn Festival is this Sunday, which means that I have been stalking up on mooncakes in hopes of distracting myself from the topic of the festival—home. For everyone who cannot be at home for the festival (and that is a lot of people in China), the festival is about remembering and missing the people you love who are far away. There are a ton of famous poets who have written famous poems about missing family for this holiday. (I have yet to see a poem that is about being with your family and enjoying it. It seems as though all these poets were quite the travelers.) All I can think of all this is that I don’t need a holiday to remember this...
But I do love mooncakes, whether it is the Mid-Autumn Festival or not. I already tried like 4 different flavors in search of a Red Bean one. (I still haven’t quite figured out how to read the ingredient characters yet.) One of the cakes I had no idea what flavor it was, even after I tried a bite. Nor did the Chinese person who tried a piece. I think it was like an everything mooncake. There were peanuts and rose flavor and some other strange things...it was like the fruitcake of mooncakes. But not bad tasting. I could get used to Chinese style fruitcake.

Privilege

2008-09-11T16:12:00.002+08:00

I am really struggling with this sense of privilege here that is sometimes quite overwhelming. I’ve always been seen as a pretty average in America. It’s been difficult to stand out as much as I do here in Taigu. I think it is as close as I will ever come to celebrity status—everyone knows our faces, our names, watches our every move, wants our patronage, wants to visit us and ask us about our everyday lives. And we live in these houses that are so much nicer than those of the average teacher here, and have our own bathroom, a kitchen and shower (with water pressure that does not turn off at 11pm like in the dorms). Moreover, everyone knows we are young, but have enough money to come visit here, have enough privilege to come visit their country with nothing more than a VISA (when it is nearly impossible for them to visit America), and that we get paid a lot compared to the average Chinese wages.
It takes a good conversation with a Chinese student to remind me that I am human too. But sometimes even then I realize that I have been born into speaking the international language that they will always struggle to speak smoothly. I much prefer speaking Mandarin with Chinese friends here. It reminds me that I will always struggle with some things. :)

Conditions of Living

2008-09-11T16:12:00.001+08:00

In general I have no complaints about our living conditions. We live really well considering the place. But sometimes the water pressure goes out. And that’s all fine and well for an hour or so here or there. But 6 hours like it was yesterday was too much. Especially when you have stomach problems from dinner the night before and end up having to run to the bathroom in the closest classroom building. The food here is good, but often a gamble as to its cleanliness. mmm. yeah, you know what I mean.

Not quite a celebrity

2008-09-11T16:11:00.000+08:00

Yesterday, I went to eat by myself at a noodle place. So I was wearing glasses (which seems to hide my eyes enough to deceive people at least at first glance that I am Chinese) and this middle-aged couple and college age son sat down next to me. The server who had seated them next to me seemed completely comfortable with who I was. (I’m pretty sure she’d seen me come enough with the foreigners that she knew what category I fell into). But the couple wasn’t so sure. I reassured them in Chinese that they could sit next to me after the mother asked. I ordered my dishes in Chinese, and the couple still seemed uncertain. The woman kept staring at the side of my face when I turned to look at some paperwork I had brought. I wanted to laugh, but decided to hide it. She clearly wanted to ask where I was from, but didn’t know how to say it. The son was clearly a new student because he didn’t know where the chopsticks were in the restaurant. I showed him and explained in Chinese. She took a good stare at my face every time I looked at my bowl of noodles. I decided I’d rather not explain this time, so I kept quiet, and they seemed busy enough slurping up their noodles. I wondered what they would say about me once they got out of my ear-range.
It’s entertaining to be on that border of people’s perceptions of Foreigners and strange-looking Chinese.

Sometimes I forget about being an obvious foreigner until I join up with Ben, Beth, or Nick, because their light hair and complexion elicits an English phrase from every passerby.

Fast Food meets Taigu

2008-09-11T16:09:00.000+08:00

Ben and Alex discovered a new restaurant. It’s called Manhattan and it’s like a KFC/McDonalds fake. I’ve never seen everyone so excited about a restaurant here. (There’s not even a McDonalds or KFC in downtown Taigu.) We all went there today. I was still stomach sick from some strange food a day or two before, so I didn’t order much of anything, but it sure looked like American food to me. Beth said it stuck to your ribs like American food too. The moment we walked in, the people working at the counter got really excited. “Welcome!” one of the young ladies proclaimed proudly in English. (I believe the pride was in her ability to remember the English word, not necissarily out of pride for the restaurant.) We all laughed at the strangeness of it. They didn’t have beef this day, but they did have the fried chicken, which looked pretty authentic. (hah. authentic, who ever thought I’d use that word to describe fast food?) The entire time we were eating we laughed about the irony of it—of these imported people eating this imported-style food. And the fact that if we kept eating here we would actually become fat Americans. They came up to us after we had finished eating and told us to come there tomorrow again for a free meal. Free meal? We were celebrities. It felt really strange and uncomfortable to me. But like Ben explained to me, it was easy to live like a rockstar in Taigu (he, for example, had an amazing sound system and an electric guitar). Easy, if you were a privileged foreigner. Especially because you wore your ID on your face everywhere you went. Everybody wanted your business.

Dance Partay!

2008-08-30T10:18:00.002+08:00

Nick, Alex and I were introduced to our first Taigu dance party at Ben and Beth’s place last night. It was super fun. We listened to dance party music from a decade ago (some of which I hadn’t heard in maybe 5 years) and many of us danced our hearts out. The Chinese students who came were mostly graduate student friends of Beth and Ben and Morgan and Mike from the previous years. There were also some undergraduate English majors from some of their classes. Most of them were much more shy, and many left soon after they came and introduced themselves, but some had no inhibitions about dancing and stayed for the entire party. They were all super friendly and excited to meet us new foreign teachers. Although it was clear that these students weren’t necessarily joining us to practice English. I wore my sparkly blue sequined party hat, which all the students told me in English was “cute.” That was a new one for that crazy hat.
The experience reminded me how much I enjoy dancing with Chinese college students. American college students have too much sexy dancing. Chinese College students get their crazy-fun on. It was fantastic. We jumped and flailed around to everything from Madonna to Michael Jackson to Britney Spears to some Chinese pop star I’ve never heard of. Absolutely lovely.

Sports and socializing

2008-08-30T10:15:00.003+08:00

So turns out a big way to socialize on this campus is sports.
Maggie and Peter were sweet enough to take me to play badminton and tolerate my horrible skills and be patient enough to teach me how you really are supposed to hit the birdie. It was super fun. They thought it was funny that I laughed each time I messed up. Oh yes, I get the comments all the time here, just like in America: wow, she really laughs a lot. What can I say, it’s one of my trademarks in English or Chinese (or any other language I might attempt).

Swimming is also another way to meet people. Ben goes swimming consistently because a lot of his guy friends go all the time. It’s pretty entertaining. At first it was a little terrifying because I am pretty horrible at swimming. And by horrible I mean I know how to swim, but can’t get anywhere fast, and always feel like I’m drowning when doing freestyle. And then I discovered that the Chinese version of swimming is socializing with a few laps in between. You swim a couple laps and then talk for 10 minutes and then swim a couple more and talk some more...It’s pretty fun. Plus, right now in the pool there are lots of children because school hasn’t started. They are very curious about us and once they figure out that we speak Chinese (although they have more trouble understanding our strange accent than most of our college age friens) have a blast playing with us and following us around. The other day Beth and I made friends with a bright little 10 year old girl who insisted on following us back and forth down the lanes and even escorted us back to the showerroom when we were done. She told us we were the first foreigners she had ever met. I always forget that we are so uncommon in Taigu.

Teller tried to teach me how to do freestyle correctly. Now I don’t feel like I’m drowning, but I go about ¾ of the length of the Olympic sized swimming pool and am too out of breath to keep it up. Breaststroke is my savior.

The shower room was another thing of terror initially. Here I was, already stared at with clothes on, and I was pretty terrified to take them off in front of Chinese women. For better or for worse though, I guess I look surprisingly like a Chinese woman naked if they can’t see my eyes. I heard a couple arguments between people about whether I was foreigner or not. (It is really entertaining here the amount of discussion about you that goes on right in front of your face.) The usual conclusion was foreigner as soon as I looked over at them.

I keep up my running occasionally, but running is difficult because the air gets pretty bad pretty quick after the morning. Also, it is not a thing to do when I am feeling shy--I get stared at incessantly wherever I run. In spite of the fact that they have two tracks here, no body seems to run but me.

Desperate to make music

2008-08-30T09:59:00.000+08:00

What have I been doing in this crazy place? Well, it was really quiet until about 3 or 4 days ago when all the students started coming back so I tended to hang out and sometimes go into Taigu to check it out. It has been only a week and I already bought 2 instruments. I went to an er hu store as soon as I found out from Ben where it was in Taigu. It was a sweet little shop in one of the allyways lined with little stores selling just about anything you could want. They took me into the back and put together a cheap er hu for me. It was awesome to watch the guys put it together. Their shop was full of pieces of er hu and another similar instrument that is special to Shanxi province. I sort of hoped I could maybe come back sometime and watch them assemble an er hu from scratch...but although they were nice and somewhat impressed with my Chinese (once they figured out I was a foreigner) it was really one of the other customers who took an interest in me and showed me how you really play it and helped me check out the instrument. But he wasn’t from the area, so he couldn’t give me lessons.
I went 2 days later to get a guitar cause I desperately needed to express myself in some sad song longing for California (and someone in particular) so I ran off thinking I could get into the city, buy a guitar and come back in an hour to meet some friends for lunch. I had been to the store before, but he said all the guitars were 500 yuan or more. That was more than I wanted to pay for something that I might not bring back to the states, so I left. But I was back cause I desperately needed a guitar, and the store owner seemed like a nice enough guy, so I figured at most I would pay 300 or 400 at most (that was all I put in my pocket) for a good guitar plus nice case. I figured if he wouldn’t lower it that much at least I wouldn’t have enough to pay and I could just leave. Turns out he was happy to see me back and said he had one that was nice and for 400, but he’d let me have it for cheaper. It had a nice little dent on the bottom too, to make it more affordable for me. But he of course reassured me that the most important part—the neck--would not break off, as it had for a cheap 100kuai guitar that he had in the back. Turned out though, that he didn’t have a guitar bag that fit the guitar so he gave it to me for 300. He asked if I was a student at Nong Da (as everyone seems to assume I am) and I said, no I teach English. Immediately, he was more interested. Do you teach outside of the university? He asked. Not yet, I said, I just got here. He explained that he had a son and would like some lessons for him. Possibility I said, but not right now. So he gave me his phone number, name (I told him I didn’t have one yet...not quite true, but at least I had not memorized it yet...) and we will see. Perhaps if I’d like some guitar lessons, I could trade with English lessons. We’ll see. As it is, it was a nice deal, cause not only have I been enjoying it, but every time people come to the house Nick and I live in, somebody picks up the guitar and starts fiddling with it. Great. That was exactly what I wanted.

SO WHAT'S THE DEAL, YO?!

2008-08-30T09:49:00.003+08:00

Here’s what my situation is as I know it thus far.

I’m at Shanxi Agricultural University (山西农业大学) otherwise known as NongDa to the people in the area. I am teaching English to two classes of Graduate students, one class of PhD students and one class of Undergraduate English Majors (the Graduate and PhD majors have various concentrations...but mostly related to agriculture). The Graduate and PhD classes meet 2 times a week for two hours, the English Major class meets once a week for two hours. (I'll admit that I'm a little terrified, especially of teaching the PhD classes, but super excited too.)

There are 5 of us foreign teachers: Ben Reitz, Beth Rogers, Nick Hatt, Alex Paik and I. (Full names for those of you who are/were Obies and know these characters.) Yes, we are all from Oberlin, and Ben, Beth, Nick and I are on the same 2 year commitment to the Shansi Fellowship. Alex came on his own so he will probably only stay for a year. Ben and Beth share a house and each have an individual apartment in it (as in there is a shared livingroom, but each has a separate bedroom/study, kitchen and bathroom). Nick and I have a simliar housing situation, and Alex, as of yet, has no housemate, but has a similar apartment in a house.

As for the classes themselves, well, we aren’t guided too much at all. Basically they tell us when and who we are going to teach and the rest is up to us. English is the goal. I assume oral English since that is our specialty, but who really knows. Luckily, both Beth and Ben were here last year so they have been preparing us and reassuring us that the students are super respectful and really nice. You have to work hard to make them not like you. (Apparently it has been done before though...although not by a Shansi Fellow.) We start class on Monday, September 1st. As in 2 days from now.

The school has a beautiful campus, full of trees, gardens, and lovely old buildings. It’s pretty unusual in China to have a big famous University in a small town (small in China is 40,000 people), and so NongDa is exceptional in many ways. The University was founded by a Chinese man (H.H. Kung) who grew up with some Oberlin Missionaries. He himself, after the Boxer Rebellion and the death of those Missionaries, later went to Oberlin College to study and then to Yale. He came back to China and became a wealthy businessman (well, he was already wealthy to begin with) and founded this school. He also invited Oberlin missionaries (through the Shansi Memorial Foundation—the same organization that sends us here now) to come back and teach at the school. During the Communist Revolution, the school was taken back by the government. In the early 80s, NongDa and Shansi started talking with each other again, and again Oberlin graduates, no longer religiously affiliated, were invited to come and teach there. (Some NongDa teachers also go to Oberlin to study and teach through Shansi.)

The town of Taigu is a typical, dusty, dry, small Shanxi Province town that holds lots of little secret spots of historical interest. It is full of dirty streets, lots of small shops and some lovely old (and mostly falling apart) buildings with courtyards, old carvings and all. It has no city wall remaining, the way that Pingyao, its famous, touristy nearby neighbor, has. But it does have some old stone streets, lovely old buildings, some old houses that used to belong to some wealthy merchants, a few temples nearby, the old drum tower and a-thousand-year-old pagoda downtown. Apparently, 100 years ago, Taigu was full of wealthy merchants (mostly bankers). Now, it seems to be full of pretty ordinary, perhaps relatively poor people.

Shanxi Province is known for its baijiu (a strong kind of alcohol), its noodles, its vinegar, and its coal mines and coal processing plants. The province is dry and in the mountains to the west and slightly south of Beijing. The weather, they say, is similar to Oberlin, but a lot dryer. The Province is relatively poor compared to its wealthier coastal neighbors, but there are a few absurdly rich people who own the mines and factories. We are lucky because the campus is so green and Taigu itself is not a coalmining city, but we get some nice pollution from the neighboring capital of Shanxi—Taiyuan. We are about an hour bus ride or train ride from Taiyuan, (which we only go to if we are crazing luxuries like cheese, pizza and good chocolate, because, though modern, is not a particularly beautiful city).

Basically, overall, I feel really lucky to be here. It will be an experience unlike what many foreigners would ever get to experience when traveling in China. It will be tough at times I know--I’ve already heard stories—but I also have heard that it is super hard to leave here after two years. So I'd better start enjoying it now.

Getting to know Taigu August 21-23

2008-08-22T20:37:00.001+08:00

The campus is beautiful. Especially because after the rain, the sky was blue, the temperature perfect and the air clear. There are plenty of trees and small parks for a tree hugger like me, and an unusual amount of grass for China (but still probably less grass than most American Universities require.)

There is no other foreigner but me here thus far, which makes things a little more lonely, and me a little more terrified that I have less than 10 days to prepare for a semester class of Masters students that I've never taught before. But it also forces me to walk around on my own and get up my confidence.

Apparently we were given a cook. Being the middle class American that I am, I was terrified of this at first. And then I met her. She immediately won me over with her big smile and sweet face (is there a common theme in what I like in people?). And then won me over even more because one evening she sat down at my table and started talking with me. It turns out that she is brand new, and has never cooked except for her own family before. She seems a little terrified of the prospect of pleasing all these foreigners, but pleasantly surprised that I am so easy to please.

SEEING THE CITY OF TAIGU
There is also a young man (a senior in college), who is the son of some of the people in charge of the university, that the Foreign Affairs people have assigned to show me around the campus and the area. Today we went into Taigu and I finally got to see this little city that I'm going to live in for two years.
It's definitely a small city, they say 40,000 people. (Based on some websites, the University has about 11,000 students, undergrad and graduate.) The tallest buildings are...well...there aren't really any tall buildings, unless you consider 7 stories tall.
We saw a pagoda in the center of town that is over 1000 years old, 7 stories tall. Really cool, except that there were pieces of the wooden stairs that appeared to be missing. I hoped the internal structure was not the original. We could see the mountains next to the city from the top of the structure and I'm super excited to figure out how to get to them and hike.
We also went to the drum tower, which is still intact, unlike the bell tower and the old wall, which have long been taken down to make room for development. There were plenty of old houses surrounding, which my new tour guide/friend, Jack, explained were a common thing for foreigners to come study. He explained that the houses were really well insulated; cool in the summer and warm in the winter. He said it was because they were made of soil. I didn't quite understand until we watched for a minute the men working on a roof on a nearby house. They were taking thick globs of mud and using it as mortar and then spreading a thin mortar-type mixture into it, and then putting the traditional half-cylinder tiles on top. I laughed and explained to Jack that they are re-learning how to build houses made of mud in the U.S. now--it's part of a movement to do better to the environment. Jack said he heard the U.S.'s environment was a lot better than China's. In a land that has very few trees left, my friend explained that wood cannot be used in building anymore. It used to be that traditional buildings were made with huge timbers and without nails. Now, nobody can make such buildings anymore--most buildings are brick in the countryside and concrete in the city.

ZHONGGUOREN OR WAIGUOREN
It's funny to see what people think of me as a foreigner here in Taigu, where the only foreigners seemt to be teachers at the University. But again, I appear not to be a good example of a standard foreigner. One woman, asked me as we came down from the drum tower if she and her friend were allowed to go up. She looked at me closer as I came down the stairs and laughed, "Ah, ta shi waiguoren!" (Oh, she's a foreigner!) Most people stared at me only after taking a second look. We got onto one bus and the busdriver took a closer look. He asked Jack, "Ta shi waiguoren ma?" Jack replied positively, and the busdriver smiled excitedly and gave me a thums up. I wasn't sure what for, but I smiled back. Later, I was looking for some fruit and a little lunch in the area between the teacher's section of the school and the main campus where all the little restaurants and stores were, a woman was much more blunt with me. As I walked into a dumpling place, she yelled to me from the next store over, "Ni shi zhongguoren haishi waiguoren?" (Are you Chinese, or a foreigner?) For a moment I thought I should just tell her I was Chinese for kicks, but then I realized my accent would probably give me away. "Waiguoren" I replied. I secretly hoped that wouldn't mean that the dumpling place would try and charge me more...
Night time is easier to walk around and not be taken for a foreigner or an odd-looking Chinese. I have dark enough and straight enough hair, and luckily for me, most of the women in Shanxi are taller and stouter than in places like Kunming where the people are really small and I always felt like a giant. I was still a slight bit taller and stouter than what was probably normal for a young woman, but in the dark, no body paid me any attention. It felt pretty nice.

I saw the stars out tonight too. Another good sign.

arrival in Taigu August 20

2008-08-22T20:27:00.000+08:00

wow. lovely. I knew I would like the place before I got there because it was raining hard in Taiyuan, and the woman who met me at the airport didn't speak a word of English and had a robust smile. As we drove from the airport to Taigu, she spoke quickly to the man driving. But I liked her immediately because not only could I understand a fair amount of what she said, but she was super animated when speaking--you could tell she was a gutsy woman just from the way she spoke. I liked the man driving too, because even though he spoke to her in a thick accent that sounded like Vietnamese to me, he spoke slowly and clearly to me in Mandarin when they figured out I could speak it.
It was dark and wet when we got in, so I just washed up and conked out in bed.

August 19th

2008-08-21T21:07:00.000+08:00

I met up with my former Chinese roommate from CET. It was absolutely wonderful to see her. We picked up right where we left off. She always understands everything I'm trying to say in Chinese even if I say it wrong. Plus, I'm used to her vocabulary, so I can keep up with what she's saying (in spite of the fact that she speaks very fast). We had a meal and went to Bei Da (Peiking University), which I hadn't been to last time. My grandfather went to Bei Da back in the day, and it was pretty awesome to see it. I assumed it was easy to get in like most American colleges and followed my roommate in past the gatekeepers, but she told me afterwards that they let us in because we looked like students. It was actually not easy to be let onto the campus. Oops. Bei Da was beautiful and I took a ton of pictures. Hopefully I can post them soon.

That evening my family took me to one of the track and field Olympic games. Funny, I swore I wasn't going to the Olympics when I went to Beijing, but I had a blast (actually I think more of a blast than my family did...three hours of track and field is pretty tiresome when it is not your favorite sport.) It was pretty entertaining--when they first told me we were going I had no idea what event we were going to see (I didn't know the word for track and field in Chinese), so I figured I would nod and smile and be surprised when I got to the stadium. I wasn't only surprised I was super excited. Track and field and cross country are the only sports I've ever competed in. I wasn't very good at them, but I know the challenge of them, and to see these superstars in their game was amazing. Actually, when we first got there, I was surprised at how small the competitors were (we were on the 3rd tier up). They seemed a lot more human from the balcony and through binoculars than when they are on the TV screen. That is, until they started running, jumping or throwing.
Turns out, the track and field tickets are sort of like buy one get 15 free. You pay for one event and you get to see a ton of other ones. This is what we saw:
Trials for: Women's 200m, Women's 5k (my favorite), Men's 150m hurdles
Semifinals for: Men's 200m, Men's 400m
finals for: Men's high jump, Men's discus, Women's 400m, Women's 100m hurdles, and Men's 1500m.
and award ceremony for: men's long jump, men's hurdles (forgot which length--they were all Americans), women's pole vault, men's high jump and Women's 400m.
(whew.)
these were all interspersed and usually a track and field event were going on at once. (I kept being afraid that the men high jumpers were going to be run over by the women 5k-ers.)
The most amazing thing was the size of the stadium and the power of the crowd. As the runners ran around the track a giant wave of cheering followed them. Each country had their little group of fans (mostly the European countries and U.S.) that were wearing all the right colors and carrying flags and crazy hats and jumped up and went wild when someone from their county got on the field. And when a Chinese competitor (there were only 4) was on the track or field the crowd went wild. A chant of jia you (which means literally add oil, but is used to encourage people to do well, work hard, etc.) would start quietly and rise up and swallow a whole side of the stadium until the large video screens on both sides of the stadium would post in Chinese and English "Please be quiet for the start of the competition." Pretty incredible support considering these Chinese competitors were not the most famous or the most likely to get a metal. That certainly didn't stop the majority of the crowd from bringing Chinese flags, putting stickers on their faces and chanting their hearts out. What a time for China. The Olympics seem to take up the majority of the TV stations on Chinese TV, and every day the upbeat songs played while showing a review of the Olympics seem to be able to incorporate one more recent Chinese gold metal into their series of images. Amazing.
I didn't think I'd like watching the Olympics, but I did. It means a lot to a lot of people. And it was pretty awesome to see that even countries that were paid very little attention in international politics were paid a lot of attention in international sports competitions. It's amazing how much pride is in these games. And a decent amount of respect, too. Everyone gets cheered for, no matter the country.

August 18

2008-08-21T20:43:00.000+08:00

We went to the Great Wall--to a section that normally only Chinese know about and go to. But this time, there were a ton of foreigners there too. It was the first time I got asked, "Do you speak English?" I got to translate for someone who didn't quite understand how to buy tickets. It was fun to see the guy's reaction when I spoke in Chinese with my uncle (because I didn't really know how to buy tickets either). He asked me if I was from here. I laughed and said, no I'm from America. He, who sounded like he was from Europe, gave me a look that seemed to say, now why would you be from there, and accepted our advice.
I think I'm starting to like saying that I'm American. The only time I feel American is when I'm not in America. And plus, I enjoy breaking people's stereotypes of the blonde, blue-eyed, stubborn, monolingual American.

The mountains at that re-built section of the Great Wall were incredible. It was like the Sierras only smaller and sharper peaks. Also greener, a lot greener. And there are the remains of a wall that stretch miles upon miles up and down the peaks. Okay, so by "like the Sierras" I mean they were incredible and awesome and mountains, but really different.

It was super hot on the wall. We took a lift (as in a ski lift) up and walked a ways on the wall and then hiked down. (You can also take a slide down, but it's quite expensive and the wait was like 45 minutes in the hot sun. It did look pretty fun though.) There were plenty of exhausted tourists on the wall. And quite a few complaining Americans who just wanted some Coronas.

That evening I went into town to see my cousin who had been studying Chinese at ACC in Beijing. It was crazy to speak English again. And she speaks quickly, so it was quite fun to feel at home in a language again. I thoroughly enjoyed sitting with her at a jiaozi fangguan (a dumpling restaurant) and chatting away in English too fast for anyone in the restaurant to understand. Plus it was so wonderful to see a familiar face and catch up. NOTE TO ANYONE PLANNING TO VISIT ME: Please come. It will be fun. Trust me. You will be thoroughly enjoyed.

Arrival. August 16th and 17th

2008-08-21T18:03:00.000+08:00

The first and most shocking thing I noticed when we landed:
There was blue sky in Beijing, and you could see the blue-gray outline of the mountain range surrounding it.
Last spring and summer, I never saw the mountains even once from the city. The influence of the Olympics is apparent even without going to the stadium.

The countryside just outside of Beijing is really beautiful when the sun is shinning. I didn’t remember the area around the airport being so green. I was pretty sure it was rather dusty last time I was here in the summer. I thought perhaps they had washed all the plants near the airport like they did for the trees in downtown Beijing. And then I remembered that they can make it rain if they want to. And if they want the Olympics to be clear, that can be planned. We turned down a side road and there were people squatting in the green shade of the trees playing chess and others wobbling by on bicycles with a large load or another person sitting on the back of their bikes in and out of the sunshine and splotchy green shade. It looked the same as it might have 20 years ago. Except the people would have never believed you could make it rain, let alone that the world was coming to see their city.

The housing complex where my grandfather's nephew and his family live is called Watermark, Longbeach. (Does anyone know if there is actually a Watermark, Longbeach, in California?) I actually like the Chinese translation better—watershadow. The houses where my family live are about the size of an average American house. Normal for an American, they are huge for an average Chinese family. Funny, the neighborhood is a replica of those fancy houses in California, with red tiled roofs, intricate carved wooden doors and everything. There is even well-maintained grass, a small park, and some large, American-size dogs.

I know many people from other countries, especially us Americans, criticize China for its rapid modernization and worry how it will use up the world's resources by having things like cars (oh wait, which country owns the most cars in the world?). But there are some differences in the way China immitates and modernizes. For example, in this community, what separated it from the equivalent wealthy Califorian community was that the lawns were small (compensated by a park in the middle of everything, the houses, though well-made, were not excessively large, they only had a one-car garage, if that, and in the evenings and mornings there were always quite a few people walking themselves, their children, and/or their large dogs about. There was also a beautiful, long mural of what I assumed was an interpretation of Longbeach, which never would have been allowed in a wealthy American community. It was an old Longbeach—there were ships that looked like the Mayflower, and people dressed like old fishermen. The mountains in the background really looked like California hills, and, as Longbeach may have been in the U.S., the people in the mural appeared Caucasian. In spite of the setting being out of time and place, the quality of the painting was impressive for an outside wall. The U.S. communities could learn something from that, and realize that blank walls are boring. They should also hire crazy people like me to paint them.

My family was lovely. They treated me well, and were so patient with me as I struggled with my Chinese. They figured out how to ask simple questions of me in order to keep conversation up, and I remembered enough Chinese to answer some questions and ask some questions. Cooking, traveling and children also helped bridge some language gaps. Plus smiling and laughing are international and I'm pretty good at those things.

Another aunt and uncle took me and my great aunt out for a car ride into the nearby mountains. The scenery was beautiful. The sun was still out and a breeze coming through. We might call them hills in America, but they had the sharp jagged peaks above the green trees proved that they were mountains. They pulled over next to what appeared to be an orchard of chestnuts to step out and look. They walked across a small steam right into the orchard (I followed them eagerly, assuming that this sort of thing was therefore acceptable in China) and went up to the woman working there to ask her what she was doing. (I thought it was pretty apparent--she was kneeling on the ground pulling up weeds. But I think the question was a precursor to asking more about the orchard.) She said she was clearing beneath the trees so that they could more easily find the chestnuts that fell. (Good answer for what I would have just impatiently called pulling weeds.) She was surprisingly friendly and talkative considering she was on her knees on the ground doing what many Americans really dislike doing, and considering she had probably been doing it since the early morning. My aunt and uncle were also very respectful and talkative considering the difference between their situation and the woman's. I liked the message of the encounter--be respectful, know that the other knows more than you about something and learn from each other. Sounds good to me. The farmers around Taigu have to watch out though, I might come up to them in the middle of their work day and think it's polite to start asking them lots of questions. Maybe it's a good distraction.

As we walked along the dirt road by the orchard a little ways I noticed another borrowing from America. They had three plants growing together: beans, corn and squash. The woman had said they grew the beans, corn and squash as food for themselves. Nice use of Native American knowledge. Too bad modern agriculture in the U.S. forgot about it.