Discovering the true meaning of Christmas

The true meaning of Christmas, while being a hyper-cliché in Western cultures, is genuinely foreign to the Chinese people. I can say this with titanium-grade certainty because these words are being proffered by one seriously disillusioned Santa Claus.

Allow me to zoom out a bit and provide you, the weary holiday reader, some context. My Chinese friend Amy (a super-classy lady that runs her own juvenile English school here in LianYunGang and who’s also dating another foreign teacher here at the HuaiHai Institute of Technology) asked for foreign volunteers to come to a Christmas party at a local Kindergarten. “The more the better,” Amy said. And while I weighed the invitation, I was forced to consider the zealous generosity that Amy had shown to me and the other foreign teachers since I’ve been here. Also, I realized that my attendance at this party, while being a nice favor to Amy on the one hand, might make this Christmas more memorable for the children. Because—at the end of the day—you do it for the children.

Now, to make one thing perfectly clear: I don’t work with children on a daily basis. Some of my colleagues here in China have prior experience outside of the University setting; they’ve taught young’uns at home or abroad. My CV is relatively thin when it comes to early education, though. I suppose the psychology of dealing with the younger crowd is much more straightforward. I can wrap my head around that—no problem.

But the thing that a naïve University teacher fails to realize is this: the kids aren’t the problem; it’s the parents. I’ll get to this point in a moment.

Back to the so-called party. I was joined by Phil, Amy’s boyfriend and a colleague of mine at the University. We met Amy as she was closing up her school on Thursday night. En route to the party, Amy asked me if I would like to be Santa Claus. “Well, Amy…,” I said, “that’s a very enticing offer. But I’m not not exactly what you would call ‘jolly,’ nor do I have the…(cough, gesture towards my stomach) appropriate physique.” I was confident that Phil would be filling out the big red suit anyhow. He had agreed beforehand—I was witness to this. But then Amy informed me that she had extra Santa outfits. Phil’s eyes lit up when he heard this. “Now listen Rory,” Phil started in his heavy Dublin accent, “if I’m gonna be makin’ an arse outta meself yer gonna be there beside me. No two ways about it.” Ah shit.

I could feel my stomach churn in anticipation for one of the most humiliating ordeals of the year, let alone the decade. I was soon to discover that the absolute chaos of the situation would override any concerns I had about looking silly.

After arriving at the school I was led to a small closet, and Amy introduced me to the school’s headmaster. She gave me sparse instructions. “If the kids hand you a red or green ticket, then you give them a present from the bag,” she said. Pretty straight forward. When I exited the small utility closet that the school had set aside as “Santa’s Workshop,” wherein I donned the suit and loaded up Santa’s bag full of toys, the throng of people outside was enough to derail even the most stalwart of Ol’ Saint Nicks. I can’t tell you the exact number of kids that attend this Kindergarten; but judging by the amount of people crowding the halls and shoving past one another, I would estimate that anywhere between 500 and 50,000 kids attend this school.

Very soon I was caught up in the whirlwind of a commercially-driven farce of a holiday celebration; this was complete with a weak and unenthusiastic facsimile of Father Christmas, who was doling out cheap gifts to an un-appreciative crowd of youngsters. Sound familiar? Believe it or not, this happens in China too.

I was quickly surrounded on all sides by clamoring children, and if I failed to immediately take their tickets and exchange them for a gift then the parents wouldn’t hesitate to intervene. Like I said before, they’re by far the worst. I was besieged by pushy and insistent parents, some of them having the gall to tug on my sleeves and pry their hands into the bag. I had to lay down some Santa boundaries. I looked round for Phil in the hopes that we could make a united front. He was being swept in the other direction by the crowd, and I soon lost sight of him. On my own and faced with the mob, I tried to maintain a steady pace of gift dispensing and cheer spreading. I did my best rendition of the voice; I waved to the kids; I pretended to ignore the unintelligible shouts coming from parents who were apparently unsatisfied with the gift that I had given their child. There were moments where I very nearly lost my composure. I distinctly remember saying, more than once, to a sea of completely deaf ears that, “Hey! It’s about giving, not taking!”

And then after another hand tried to force its way into my bag, “Cut that out! That’s not Christmas, dammit!”

All in all, I believe that I was made to be less of a fool than some of these parents. Perhaps the school should’ve equipped their would-be Santas with riot gear instead of polyester bags filled with cheap plastic toys. But as fervent as I was in imposing the cheery and charitable spirit of the holidays, sometimes quite forcefully, the Chinese still understand very little about Christmas, Santa Claus, and the whole scene really. What mattered most for the school, in the end, was having a white face behind that fake white beard.

Trying as it was for me, my Welsh friend Michael had a worse time of it…somehow. He showed up a bit later on, and in a courageous act of selflessness he donned a Santa suit to provide some late-inning relief. He was bright as a supernova at first, throwing himself into the role with aplomb and cheer to spare. But then he made a fatal mistake when he knelt down to hand out gifts to some forlorn-looking tots. The resulting scramble for the open bag nearly trampled seven kids and knocked over a fully-articulated Christmas tree. It was a sad moment for Santa impersonators everywhere.

Future Perfect

Greetings from the world of tomorrow!

This city doesn’t fit the profile for the clean and sterile utopia of Huxley’s[1] imagination. I’d say it more closely resembles the decaying and crumbling not-so-distant future of Caurón[2] or Scott[3]. In all fairness though, for every site of baffling urban decay there is a shiny new façade to draw the eyes of the skeptic visitor. Honestly, I think these flashy new steel and glass monoliths are part of a thin veneer to cover up…well I’m still not exactly sure what there is to hide. All the remnants of a truly ancient culture are eroding in the face of unrelenting progress.

However, in the spirit of tomorrow there are several fascinating devices and customs that have developed in this not-so-distant landscape of the future. These have started to appear more and more as the mercury has dipped (A brief aside about the weather: when I first arrived in China the temperature was hot but not intolerable. Now, nearly midway through December, I walk outside and I think that it could be any month in the late fall or winter. There aren’t nearly as many of the weather hazards that I’ve grown accustomed to during my life in the Midwest USA). That being said, I find that the Chinese are far less tolerant of the cold than Midwesterners of good stock. Many of these aforementioned devices in the world of tomorrow are related to the declining temperature.

I’ve noticed that the locals have an affinity for keeping their forearms warm. In some instances, this desire to protect the forearm is entirely logical and necessary. Take for example some nifty forearm-guards that I’ve seen on the motorcycles and bicycles. These fur-lined mittens will cover the handlebars of any bike, and from there they extend to cover the arm well past the wrist. These make sense to me; I can appreciate the ingenuity and necessity behind such an invention. But then there is another incarnate of the Chinese desire to keep the forearm toasty; and unfortunately, I see very little logic or reason behind this accessory. The forearm smock, or extra sleeve, is the confounding piece of apparel that I’ve discovered. What drives people—outside of food services—to wear a pair of these hideous sleeves? I cannot say. But I see students wearing them sometimes; and I must admit that when I see someone wearing these pointless sleeves outside their winter coats, I feel genuine contempt for that person. They may have done nothing to offend me outside of wearing these obnoxious sleeves, but that’s all it takes.

In other news, my Welsh friend Michael was back in the hospital last week. Michael has, by his own admission, pissed away his health for the better part of the last ten years. He’s only twenty-four, but twice in the last month he’s had to go to the hospital to treat air pockets in his lungs. These uncomfortable ailments stem from his regular smoking habit since age twelve. I make no judgments about Wales based on my one Welsh friend, but it’s fair to say it’s a different world where smoking is picked up by twelve year olds. Anyway, the hospitals are a real comic experience. In the one location of this futuristic world where one would expect to see a clean and sterile environment, quite the opposite is true. Any Ding, Zhou, or Wang from the street can bring in his oversized fruit cart or motorized tricycle. They’ll wheel their buggy right into the lift, bring it up to the floor where their relative is being treated, and carry on as if this isn’t an egregious encroachment on everything medical. The hospital staff will just work around these obstructions. Nobody bats an eye, even though untold bacteria are being carted in with these mechanical beasts of burden. I suppose it’s more sanitary than allowing the donkey-driven cart into the hospital ward, but it’s still a curiosity. And of course smoking goes un-checked by the nurses and doctors, even in the respiratory ward.

So those of you reading this yesterday, do your best to protect your future. It is not perfect.

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[1] Aldous Huxley, author of Brave New World and Island

[2] Alfonso Caurón, director of Childrend of Men (2006)

[3] Ridley Scott, director of Blade Runner (1982)

Nothing is written!

Good grief, has it really been this long since I’ve updated this register of raucous China-related revelries? Well, dear Reader, please accept my earnest apologies. You must understand, gentle Reader, that the final exam season is upon us here at the HuaiHai Institute of Technology. And while this time of the academic calendar heralds the approach of the long-awaited winter holiday, this season also carries with it a lot of work.

One of the tasks set to teachers is writing final exams. In a fashion that follows suit with the school’s laissez faire approach to classes, attendance, and well..pretty much everything else, the guidelines for concocting these exams are rather vague. In essence, the teachers are expected to create something more or less similar to the previous year’s exam. Copies of the old exams are distributed, but these are to be viewed merely as suggestions. It would be well-advised to adopt a format similar to the previous exam, but when it comes to content alls fair. At least, that’s the impression I got. The nitty-gritty details of the exam process are more intricate and confusing than this general overview I’ve provided. But you, fair Reader, needn’t concern yourself with the big plastic hassle; just appreciate the fact that I’ve been given a considerable amount of leeway when it comes to drafting these climactic quizzes.

Here’s a sample of some exam questions I’ve come up with so far:

1) Common purposes of communicating include

a) Entertainment, wealth, and desire.

b) Survival, co-operation, and personal needs.

c) Disinformation, stealth, and clandestine activities.

d) Extortion, racketeering, and organized crime.

2) Based on in-class lecture, three cultural values that are common in the U.S. are

a) Low fuel prices, high wages, and extended vacations.

b) Fast food, hard work, and television.

c) Independence, hard work, and convenience.

d) Life, liberty, and the pursuit of celebrity status.

3) Which of the following can be defined as a cultural response?

a) Sleeping when you are tired.

b) Saying “God bless you” when someone sneezes.

c) Sneezing.

d) Giving birth.

(think you know the answers? Test your knowledge! Leave answers in the ‘comments’ section of this blog)

All these sample questions came from the exam that I’ve written for my fourth-year students. These fourth-years are at the end of the road here at HHIT, and they’re set to be released into the wide world like a pack of voracious smelling hounds ready to sniff out decent work wherever it might be available. But the sad truth here in China is that good work is just as scarce for the recent graduate as it is back home in the States. I can only hope that the rigorous instruction that I’ve provided over the last four months will serve them well in the future.

Illinois Keane and the Temple of Hoops

11/20/08

HuaiHai Institute of Technology

Today I had the pleasure of teaching some second-year students the intricacies of the sentence. I expounded on the endless joys and functions of this fundamental mode of communication. My students now have far more knowledge about the sentence than they could ever hope to put into good use. Sometimes this job is just too much fun…

In my free time I’ve been lending two paddle-sized hands to the woeful Foreign Language Teachers’ basketball squad. Throw in a couple of size thirteen galoshes and nearly two meters of raw American power, and you’ve got one totally revamped basketball squad. I was counting on my natural advantages (impressive frame, athleticism, youth, toughness, etc.) to at least intimidate the other teams in this interdepartmental hoops league. But I think my nationality only served to stoke the competitive fire of the other teams. Remember Beijing? The U.S. handed China an embarrassing loss in the gold medal game. I know the Chinese certainly remember that one.

And I was pretty much running out there alone. I mentioned that youth was one natural advantage that I had working for me. Of course, I’m not that young anymore—the shin splints alone had me walking like John Wayne the day after our first game. In comparison with the other guys out there, I was by far the youngest. It wouldn’t be presumptuous for me to say that I was the most concerned with fitness either. Some of my teammates liked to warm up their lungs before the games with a couple top-grade Chinese cigarettes. Lord only knows what kind of horrors they allow in their smokes over here. That issue aside, I was usually the only one playing defense, grabbing rebounds, passing the ball, hustling, caring at all about keeping the score close, desperately wanting to save face for my country…maybe this last point is saying enough.

I never really felt the competitive drive pump so furiously through my veins as I did when playing ball against these jokers. This is a huge cultural difference between the U.S. and China. Whenever my team missed an open shot or failed to crash the boards I found myself tasting bitter disappointment rising in the back of my throat. Or maybe that was acid reflux? I may have discovered the inherent competition that comes from an American upbringing; and along with that I found an insatiable thirst for victory. It’s safe to say that I haven’t discovered a peaceful center in the tradition of Buddhism or Taoism. But at least I’ve grown more tolerant of chili peppers since being here.

Nightclub Roulette

11/8/08

This city has relatively unpredictable nightlife. It seems that everyone in this modestly-sized[*] metropolis will call or text one another on the happening nights. There must be some mutual consent among the locals that business will be slow the next day; because it seems like the only explanation for such sporadic coordination of club-going is the work of a very organized local network.

For instance, the clubs here in LianYunGang may be packed to the gills on a Tuesday night. I mean queues going out the door. Whereas a Saturday night trip to the club might very well turn out to be a bust. Maybe it has something to do with the presence/absence of entertaining live acts in the clubs. Some random nights of the week will feature kung fu masters doing feats of strength, singing dwarves that balance fire on their chins, or outrageous transvestites in full drag. This is no shit.

But then, other times are just plain un-cool. I would liken these experiences to being in the fan section of a Montreal Expos game (of course I mean when the Expos were still around). And you know what’s even stranger? Some of the crowds on Friday nights are akin to the number of die-hard fans at a Washington Nationals game. Wow, I should lay off that beleaguered MLB franchise. After all, if the team formerly known as the Devil Rays can reverse their fortunes anyone can.

Speaking of fortunes, I was having a conversation with a couple of my students the other day and they were asking questions about astrology. You know, the Daily Horoscope, “today is an 8,” etc. I explained to them that some people do put faith in this notion that the constellation that you were born under—Leo, Gemini, Cancer, Sagittarius, et al—in some way influences your fortune for better or for worse. My students were quick to pick up on that belief, but they were especially focused on the aspects of astrology that pertain to personality. They were very quick to accept the idea of pre-determined character traits for the separate signs of astrology.

It should come as no surprise, I guess. I’m sure there are many similarities to this perpetual zodiac of western culture and the perennial zodiac of Chinese culture. People born during the year of the dragon act a certain way, and people born during year of the tiger act a particular way, and so on and so forth.

However, being the academic authority figure[†] in the discussion, I had to act as the voice of reason. I think they mistook my stance—which was of course a complete dismissal of the zodiac symbols—as a bit cynical. But given the results of the 2008 election, cynicism is definitely out of style. Now is the time for hope. And I’ve been dutifully spreading the message of hope to all of my classes. Except for my class last Friday; I canceled that one because it was raining. And it was all the way over in Donggang. And I would’ve had to take a taxi to get there. My chances of hailing a vacant taxi on a rainy day were as minuscule as the average attendance for Nationals home games. Oh geez, there I go again.

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[*] A modest city in China, such as LianYunGang, has about 5 million residents

[†] Not only an authority on the English language, but also the acting authority on western culture as well

The Undiscovered Country

10/22/08

LianYunGang Airport

Bound for travel yet again. I took up an enticing offer to hit the road. The whole journey was arranged by the office of foreign affairs at the HuaiHai Institute. For a mere 700 RMB I could join in the fun. On tap for this trip: a visit to Putuo Mountain (one of four holy Buddhist mtns in China) and a trip to HangZhou as well. I never would’ve had the conviction to visit these places on my own; I’m convinced that much is true.

As usual, though, I accepted the invite without hesitation knowing full well that all the details had been sorted out already. This trip was difficult to turn down, considering the circumstances. We had a four-day weekend due to some sports events on campus. The university cancelled classes on Thursday and Friday of that week to allow students to fully participate in the sports competitions. As a matter of fact, I was invited to participate in the competitions as well.

The foreign languages department came to me for help in bolstering their (apparently) lackluster hopes in winning any of the events. They asked for my assistance with the 100-meter relay. I was flattered by their offer, so I accepted. But the offer for the trip was soon to follow the sports recruitment, so I reneged on my verbal commitment to the school and left town instead. In the aftermath of double-booking myself and subsequently abandoning the school, I did feel a little twinge of guilt.

For whatever reason, I had allowed the flattering offer from the athletically beleaguered foreign lang. department to boost my ego. I actually started to believe that I could deliver victory for our team. Probably an illusion, I’m sure. But I had been spending some time running on the school’s track lately; and based on what I saw, there weren’t many top-tier runners around. So as part of the illusion and my over-inflated ego, I had this vision in my head of me and my teammates hoisting the 1^st place trophy over our heads. Then we would go out on the town to celebrate (which I probably would’ve done regardless of the outcome).

But as it turns out, the opportunity to assert dominance on the track had passed. Perhaps it was for the best. The unrealized dream of victory is a much more satisfying state-of-mind than the crushing disappointment found in actual defeat. In a rational analysis of my chances to deliver victory, the chances were slim. So I’ll be content to hold on to the pleasant illusion instead.

The Road Warrior

10/16/08

I’ve been invited to join a biker gang. The gang, which uses the handle of “The Wolverines,” consists of the younger ex-pat teachers here in LianYunGang. I should be clear in stating that there are no actual motorcycles in this gang; in fact the most powerful bike in the gang would be an electronic scooter. But since I bought a bicycle earlier this week, I’m now eligible to ride with the big boys. Besides, I can always use a playing card on the rear spokes to make it sound like I’m tearing up the asphalt on a motorcycle.

Speaking of hopeless attempts at being cool, I felt particularly awesome last night. Not only because I was in the company of a particularly gorgeous Chinese lady (who wants to be my friend merely because I speak English; can you believe it? I don’t have to be charming or funny, I can just open my mouth and I’m guaranteed to have the company of beautiful women); mostly I felt awesome because I gave her a lift on the bicycle in hilarious fashion. My bicycle, like most here in China, is equipped with a carrying rack that sits over the rear wheel. This is convenient for carrying things like books or packages, but also for carrying lightweight people. Back home I never had a bike with one of these rear carrier racks, so I never explored the charming possibilities of taxiing girls and other friends on the back while I pedaled.

So there I was, pedaling my bike while transporting a very attractive cargo and I was just waiting for the opening verses of “Raindrops keep fallin’ on my head,” ala Butch Cassidy & The Sundance Kid. But instead I settled for the very satisfying mental image of the whole scene. It was truly one of those situations where you wish a camera was handy. Oh well, but that doesn’t mean my eyes will soon be turning red. Because I’m free, nothing’s worrying me…

Beijing

10/4/08

Notes from Beijing

1) If you’re looking at the prospect of a 13 hour train ride, always be dubious of the ticket that cost a mere 100 RMB. For that price, the journey is guaranteed to be an uncomfortable ordeal. Think about it: a ticket that was purchased for 100 Chinese RMB amounts to 14 USD. If you break down that price over a timetable, you’re looking at roughly $1/hr in traveling fees. Very economic, no doubt about that. But that $14 will only secure you a hard seat in an over-crowded, over-booked trunk carriage. Good luck getting comfortable, or keeping your sanity for that matter. In the end, it’s best to throw down the extra 100 RMB to purchase the sleeper carriage.

2) After the obligatory visit to the Great Wall, Colm and I set out for the obligatory taste of Beijing roast duck. Our circuitous search for an ideal restaurant didn’t want for results; nearly every corner in Beijing has a roast duck restaurant. However, we were being somewhat particular in our search. We ignored the places that looked incredibly upscale, and we also avoided joints that had a queue out the door. Eventually our time and budget constraints forced us to concede defeat—for that night anyhow—and settle on a small restaurant that didn’t have roast duck on the menu.

At dinner, I couldn’t help but remark to Colm that the Great Wall hike was still surreal in my mind. Eventually the reality would set in, given the hefty amount of photo evidence and the physical toll of the 10K hike. But at that moment in the restaurant, I was more consumed by my hunger and a pressing need to visit sights that remained unseen. It was as if I couldn’t even take a breath and realize, “Hey wow, I just walked for 10 kilometers on a man-made object that’s visible from the moon.” I was more or less frustrated with my inability to live in the present. The only immediate thought that I was able to truly comprehend was the glib realization that our vegetables were slightly overcooked.

3) Beijing exists as a city of contrasts. It is simultaneously a clean city and a filthy city. At once it is awe-inspiring and under-whelming; celebrated yet disdained; enthralling but terribly frustrating. These contradictions are bound to exist in any large city. For every Yin there is the inevitable Yang. Of course this fits well with the Chinese principle of symmetry; but beyond that Beijing seems to follow the blueprint for all large cities. From the center point the city expands outward in concentric circles. At every point along that circle, there exists a counterpoint within the city’s walls. Maybe across the invisible radius of that circle, maybe one meter to the east or west.

The city is home to many things, but it is impossible to live there. Beijing is one moment the city of your dreams, but then it is also the place of nightmares.

The A-List

9/27/08

I had dinner with the mayor the other night. I should clarify that it wasn’t a personal one-on-one deal, but rather a banquet for all the foreign teachers and businesspersons in LianYunGang. But nevertheless, the mayor was the host. All the foreign teachers from my university were driven to the posh Yuntai Hotel, wherein we proceeded to the banquet room to enjoy our evening with the city’s top tier of public officials. In a party of such elite public servants, there is a list of usual suspects in attendance. This list almost always includes the mayor, the secretary general of the city council, the deputy mayor, and the chief of police.

There was a good number in attendance for the banquet, so it was necessary to divide the guests into separate tables. This arrangement was very similar to a wedding reception or any other type of formal dinner. But I had the fortune of being seated at the table with the top cop, so when it came time for the introductions and toasts at the table, I didn’t miss a beat. The city’s official interpreter was also sitting at our table, so when the introductions were being made by the foreign teachers—in English—the interpreter would translate for the police boss and the other Chinese at the table. It was my turn, so I gave a brief bio for myself (very typical, “Hi I’m Rory and this is my first time in China. I’m teaching at the HuaiHai Institute, blablabla…), but I also made sure to note that I was very impressed by the hospitality in LianYunGang. Not only did I compliment the friendliness of the city, but I took it one step further and complimented the outstanding security of the city. The chief, after receiving the Chinese translation, got a kick out of this and quickly offered to Ganbei (“drain the glass” in Chinese). He would later note, through the interpreter, that LianYunGang is in fact the safest city in all of Jiangsu Province. Good to know. And to be honest, I think this marks the first time that I’ve managed to get on the good side of a cop. Just one of the advantages of being a foreign “expert” I suppose.

A quick note about the Ganbei: it is very common for the host of an event to propose a toast to all individual members at the table, and for each of these toasts he must drink. The drink of choice for the toast is almost always Baijo, which is basically Chinese moonshine. This crystal clear firewater was flowing freely at our banquet, and after the first round of toasts the small shooter glass specially designated for the Baijo was being refilled with alarming frequency. Luckily there was enough foodstuff available to absorb the liquor. And of course, the essential part of any Asian gathering is the tomfoolery of karaoke. Our Japanese colleagues proved to be rock stars in disguise. I’m sure that the plentiful consumption of liquor actually had no influence on the guests’ eagerness to take the microphone. It’s just that popular over here.

I must admit that I’m developing an affinity for the Chinese style of dining, and the banquet style is especially favorable. All the dishes are placed in the center of the table on a Lazy Susan, or a rotating wheel. This allows the guests to simply spin the giant glass plate and voila, their preferred dish is right in front of them. No passing required! I also figured out that the fish plate can be an auspicious portend at the dinner table (there is always at least one type of seafood in these dinners, and given that LianYunGang is a coastal city, the seafood dishes are very popular and quite good). Apparently, the fish’s head and tail determine Ganbei buddies. So if the fish points at you, be prepared to drink with the person at the tail end.

After all the festivities at the banquet came to a close, we were driven back to the university. But this didn’t put an end to my night, oh no not by a long shot. All the Baijo drink fueled a night that could only be characterized as an entirely different kind of wild. I won’t get into the details here; this is a family blog after all. And lord knows what kind of example I would be setting for future expats if they knew the sordid events that unfolded. Ironically enough, all the madness was inspired by a dinner with the chief of police.

Better Luck Tomorrow

9/19/08

So I’ve noticed that these posts are becoming more and more infrequent. But that should be expected; as I become more acclimated to my surroundings, I am less likely to point out the bizarre, fascinating and shocking things that I encounter. The formerly jolting aspects of everyday life here in China are becoming commonplace.

When taking bus rides through LianYunGang’s bustling downtown streets, I casually peer out the window with a bemused grin. Whereas a week ago, I might have been strained from doing double-takes as I watched the herd of bicycles and motor scooters engage in their relentless game of chicken with the buses and other autos on the road. The vehicles on the streets and the pedestrians in every direction weave an invisible tapestry of chaos. At any given moment, the threads can untangle in a snag and there you have it: the inevitable collision. I’ve yet to see one live, but I’ve witnessed the aftermath. For instance, the tow truck hoisting the front axle of a sedan with a shattered windshield—and judging from the glass all over the dash and interior of the car, the object shattering the windshield came from outside.

Yes, it’s always an adventure getting about.

It would be nice staying within the insulated bubble of Huaihai’s campus, but alas, my teaching duties require a bit of commuting. And this is local commuting, mind you. Two of my classes are at the outlying Donggang campus, which is a ten minute bus ride from the main campus. Sweet Jesus, what an uninspiring place. The bus is free, luckily, for teachers and other University personnel, so I’m not being taxed by making the trip. However, the psychological strain is hefty. So far, about fifty percent of my visits to that God-forsaken Donggang campus have been in vain. Twice in one day I made meaningless trips to Donggang, only to discover that the free shuttle bus back to the main campus wouldn’t be running for another two hours. This was frustrating to a point, but it did afford me some valuable time to think.

One of the classes I teach over at Donggang is called Business English. This is a rudimentary introduction of business-type lingo for the younger students. And in this particular class, it’s myself and about one hundred Chinese students. No audio-visual hookup, no listening equipment, no interactive multi-media whatsoever; just a spacious lecture hall and me. So I’ve been jotting down some good standup material to fill the time, but I find that most of these jokes go right over the heads of my students. Keep in mind their English is not that good. I may have to resort to physical comedy. This is not only for the benefit of the students, but for me as well. There’s only so much elementary grammar that you can tolerate in a ninety minute span.

TsingTao Beer: The gateway to passion, dreams & success

Can I just say that I love TsingTao beer? There. I hope someone from the TsingTao brewing co. is reading this blog, because I would gladly do commercials for them. I think that I would be a huge hit as the brewery's token foreigner spokesperson. I have a winning smile, and I enjoy the hell outta this beer. I could even come up with clever slogans for TsingTao beer. The one above is an existing slogan that I saw on one of their cans, but there are endless possibilities.

Here are a few I have been working on:
TsingTao is the beer of champions.
TsingTao beer, why not?
You've worked hard, unwind with a delicious TsingTao brew.
Wrangle your chi into a winning form by drinking TsingTao!
TsingTao, it helps you drain the glass!
See through the wonder of amazement, drink TsingTao.

I plan on visiting the sea tomorrow, so maybe I'll bring along a video camera and film my own commercial for TsingTao. I'll need to find some basic editing software to add music and effects, so I can send a polished final product to the TsingTao brewing co. With any luck I will become the most popular spokesperson in China, and I can retire from the hard-scrabble life of a University teacher.

On gift receiving

9/11/08

Lianyungang

The seventh morbid anniversary of the attacks went by un-announced, un-noticed, and generally un-appreciated here in Lianyungang. Ironically enough, I was receiving gifts on this date.

Yesterday was teacher’s day here in China. I received a text message on my China Mobile phone during class on Wednesday. It was from the foreign teachers’ coordinator in the Foreign Affairs office. A bright and cheerful, “Happy Teacher’s Day!” appeared on my mobile’s screen while I was in the middle of lecture. I paused to confirm this text with my students.

“Hey, is today teacher’s day?” I asked.

“Yes,” they replied.

“Well bully for me!”

The day went by without many other significant texts or events. I did get an unofficial walking tour of Lianyungang’s city center. One of my students (English name Richardson) volunteered his services in showing me the hidden gems of the city. These hard-to-find goldmines included a small grocery store that carried American brand-name products, such as Hershey’s Syrup and Heinz Tomato Ketchup. I was mildly amused by the stockpile of American goods; I was ecstatic upon discovering the cache of Tennessee whiskey, though. Sure enough, Jack Daniels “Old No. 7” was sitting atop one of the shelves, where it was collecting dust and just begging for some thirsty boozehound to take it home, not unlike a sad puppy in the pet shop window. Richardson would later lead me to a DVD shop in town where one can purchase extremely cheap and extremely illegal movies. Alas, the DVD shop was closed and I also passed on the opportunity to give the whiskey a good home, thinking it best to wait until I receive my first paycheck following the mid-autumn festival.

Speaking of the mid-autumn festival, wasn’t I describing some gifts I had just received? My students were kind enough to present me with a gift in appreciation of teacher’s day. You can see the lovely token in the picture there.

The coordinator of the Foreign Affairs office was also in the giving mood, and she supplied all the foreign teachers with “Moon Cakes” in honor of the mid-autumn festival. These “Moon Cakes” are a most valued and exquisite traditional gift during the festival. This is groovy, because I like my sweets just as much as the next man. And honestly, I prefer the treats much more to the other valued and exquisite traditional gift of the mid-autumn festival: stamps.

Donghai, or The Kingdom of the Crystal Hot Springs

9/7/08

Donghai

A satellite county of greater Lianyungang, Donghai has an abundance of riches. One of the primary things that Donghai is rich in: crystal. Those seeking a precious artifact or souvenir from their visit(s) to Jiangsu Province would be well-advised to stop by Donghai.

Let me be clear, by first saying that it was not entirely my idea to visit Donghai. I was coaxed in to visiting by one of my fellow foreign teachers, Karine. It has been a slow process of meeting the other foreign teachers here in Lianyungang (one might think that they’d stand out just as much I do, right?). So naturally, I jumped at Karine’s invitation to take a day-trip out to Donghai to browse the crystal markets and visit one of their many hot springs. The weather is not altogether demanding for us to take a visit to an 82° C hot spring (that’s hot), but I thought the healing powers of a natural spring might at least clear up this obnoxious hacking cough that has been afflicting me. Besides, I wanted an opportunity to socialize with other teachers.

So Karine arranged all the travel details and convinced myself and another foreign teacher, Colm, to join her. Karine is a Quebecois who is deceptively fascinating. A Tai-Chi enthusiast with over 500 skydiving jumps in her young lifetime, she is very low-key about her adventurous lifestyle. She has also spent the last year or so traveling around southeast Asia. Colm proved to be another great resource, as he has been living and working here in China for the last 6 months. Colm, an Irishman from Limerick, has figured out some brilliant coping mechanisms for any whitey that is fresh to the madhouse of China. Colm says that you shouldn’t get anxious when you perceive any ridicule coming from the natives. Rather, he offers, just proceed to insult them in English. This makes any insecure person more self-assured and prepared to deal with heckling. Most often times the locals won’t understand your return volley of barbs, so just go ahead and lay it on thick, Colm suggested.

I digress, apologies. Back to Donghai. We took a 30-minute train over to the satellite town and then proceeded by bus to the hot springs. We were all feeling a bit Hungary upon arrival so we found a swanky hotel restaurant to satisfy our appetites. The meal was good; and then afterwards we went about trying to locate the actual hot springs themselves. After being led to what appeared to be a very normal pool attached to one of the hotel/resorts, we were all starting to believe we’d been duped. As it turns out, I wasn’t the only member of our party who had this mental image of hot springs as some sort of naturalistic oasis tucked into some mountainside, surrounded by natural beauty, etc. So the pool wasn’t what we were expecting, but the staff assured us that it was in fact a natural hot spring. After entering the steaming pool, our doubts were quickly dispelled.

It was very peaceful at first; just us three foreigners lounging in and around the cauldron-like pool. But as the day moved onward and the sun tracked across the sky, more and more Chinese visitors began to arrive at the pool. This was entertaining. It affirmed Karine’s belief that most Chinese are not good swimmers.

After drying off and catching a bus back into the town of Donghai, we grabbed a bite to eat at a small noodle shop with outdoor seating. This was a plus, because the street had a drive-in movie atmosphere. The street came to a T-intersection, and at the end of it was a jumbotron television that played movies for the benefit of pedestrians and diners. After eating, we browsed some of the crystal shops and then caught our train back to Lianyungang proper. The night concluded with a wild taxi ride. Karine, seated in the front seat, actually feared for her life as our driver swerved in and out of lanes to deliver us back to the University with great expedience. Funny, I don’t recall any one of us telling him we were in a hurry. To scare an individual who has jumped out of a moving plane hundreds of times and who was a member of the Canadian national skydiving team takes a very white-knuckle experience. But Colm and I thought it was great fun—having the rear seat view—and he was quick to state his desire to hire this man on as his personal driver.

I'm a Rocket Man

8/29/08

Chicago-O’Hare

Preparing to depart from O’Hare to Shanghai’s Pudong airport, I went to the check-in counter to get my boarding pass and check my bags. I was at Terminal 3, which is the universal check-in point for all American Airlines passengers. The lady at the counter told me my gate.

“Your plane will be leaving from L8.”

“Gee, hope I won’t be late,” I punned in return.

She glanced at her watch and glibly said, “Only 8:40 now, still nearly two hours before take-off. I think you’ll be alright.”

Wow. So I’m not even out of the country yet and already I’m failing to communicate. Granted, people who work at the airport all seem to check their sense of humor at the door. But I thought that ‘L8’ quip was gold. Perhaps I thought wrong.

Later, as I’m waiting by the gate to board the plane, I hear the number one most dreaded noise a traveler can hear: the shrill wailing of an infant child. I look over at the hapless couple that the child belongs to, and they’re exchanging nervous glances. This cannot be good. How long is this flight? 14 hours, oh Christ. I hope they packed some child-strength Ambien in their carry-on luggage, because there might be a mid-flight riot if things carry on in this fashion. Because China ain't the kind of place to fly with a kid, in fact, the flight is long as hell.

Luckily, the child was nary heard from again after take-off. In fact, neither the babe nor his parents were anywhere in sight during the trip. These are large planes, mind you. Large enough so that if you are fortunate and have a seat in the middle section, which is five seats wide and usually under-populated, you can lay across the unoccupied seats and rest in relative comfort.

Yes, it was a marathon flight. Glad that I won’t have to do it again until next year, that’s for certain. I thought I was relatively accustomed to lengthy, trans-continental flights. Given that I had flown across the Atlantic four times collectively over the last four years, I felt confident in my ability to conquer this epic flight. But when you think about it…Okay, so Ireland (that’s right, I flew to Ireland and back just last summer. My parents wouldn’t have any of my insisting that I do it the old-fashioned way and sail across the Atlantic) one-way is only seven hours. And then coming back the flight usually catches a jet stream or some type of wind current phenomenon that reduces the return trip by about an hour. All together that’s thirteen hours in the air, still shy of even one leg of this behemoth journey. All this science I don't understand. But it's just a job, five days a week.

Duo Shou Qian? (How much money?)

9/2/08

Lianyungang, Day 2

Nothing is convenient. The idea of convenience seems foreign. When it comes to the Chinese, convenience and expedience always take a back seat to the economic bottom line. How much does it cost? This is the question.

My living quarters are modern, although they are somewhat cramped. I don’t need space, because I don’t have many material trappings. I have everything I need, fundamentally speaking. I still lack some cooking utensils that would make life more convenient, but until I scrape together more cash to purchase cookware I have to settle for the miscellaneous items I found in the kitchen. I’m also missing some personal grooming effects, namely nail trimmers. You would think that I might have had the presence of mind to pack such a thing along with me; but it must have slipped my mind. Had I known how inconvenient it would prove to buy nail clippers in China, especially when you don’t know the mandarin word for “nail clippers,” I probably would’ve taken more care to pack some with me. Oh well, I suppose I can keep my nails trim by steadily digging a tunnel back to America.

They drive me into town in an old limousine. The black sedan has a peculiar hood ornament. A long, cherry-red fin protrudes from the hood. Apparently this denotes the limousine as an old-fashioned governmental transport. They were used for carrying VIPs. It’s a bit flattering, I suppose. However, riding about in the red-flag limo is one of the only times I feel conspicuous. Perhaps conspicuous isn’t the right term...I’m always conspicuous in this country, it’s true. But when I walk along the crowded streets and pathways of Lianyungang, I feel invisible. There is simply too much going on to notice one awkward American. And I do my best to downplay my greenness. But as soon as I utter a word to any person, there it is: that helpless gaze that returns my imploring looks as I butcher the language and wave my hands about in futility. But I smile nonetheless, even when my attempts at communication fail utterly.

Shanghai, or My Little Corner of the World

8/31/08

Shanghai

A city caught between the traditions of yesterday and the technology, progress and smog of tomorrow. When walking the streets, one must certainly watch their step. Keep your ears perked up as well, because the multitude of vehicles on the street—which frequently and unexpectedly spill over onto the sidewalks—will announce their presence and intentions with a cadence of honks. Different patterns of honks denote different things, such as: passing, turning, overtaking, and a friendly reminder that yes, there is a car bearing down on your puny bike so you’d best be advised to move it! But there is also an encoded system of communication in these honks. Entire dialogues can be played out in a series of honks. For example: One long honk followed by a series of staccato horn taps means, “Hey, haven’t seen you in a while, how are you doing?” The appropriate response is usually three brief horn taps followed by a quick rev of the throttle, otherwise denoting that, “I’m fine but business has been slow and I’m also feeling a bit under the weather…” The dialogue usually concludes by each party peeling out in opposite directions as they wave goodbye to one another. This type of dialogue gets played out pretty often on the street, and there are numerous variations.

If you survive long enough to browse the sidewalk vendors, you feel as if you’re walking through a shopping mall that has been turned outwards. All space is precious, so oftentimes a tiny shop (these are usually no larger than a single room) will overtake a good portion of the sidewalk to display its goods. Along a single stretch of road, you can discover bootleg DVDs, shoes and sandals, knock-off jewelry and watches, grills charring fresh skewers of mysterious meat, fruit stands, massage parlors, beauty salons, and restaurants with outdoor dining. I began to see why the Chinese people might instantly feel at ease in any town in America that has a mall. Despite the language barrier, the Chinese are consumers at heart. This materialistic side of the Chinese is prominently displayed on the streets.

But the city is not all about consumption. Throughout the city of Shanghai, there are neat little parks that are designated as green recreational zones. Citizens can peruse the grounds or kick about the soccer ball on the finely manicured lawns. These green havens are sequestered from the traffic, noise and confusion of the streets by stately stone gates.