When I heard we were having Sports Day at THIS (my school, Tsinghua International School), I was thrilled. I thought of Field Day at my last school, a day where students gather together on a big field outside, run around, and get to have fun all day. When one parent told me she would be keeping her son at home because no academics were taught, I assured her that Sports Day was a valuable way for the students to collaborate and enjoy school in a non-academically focused experience.
Right from the beginning, I should have known that I was wrong. By now, I should realize that my frame of reference means nothing over here, where second graders are first graders, traffic lights are mere suggestions, and almost anything put on a stick is considered food.
My school is a small Primary school in its second year that is on the campus of one of the largest and well-renowned school, Tsinghua University. We were honored to be invited by the Chinese Tsinghua School to join their Sports Day.
The whole day was unorganized, and in fact, unplanned even by the time we showed up at the field. We were told that my students were competing with the fourth graders from the other school. I am getting used to the feelings of frustration that I feel when I’m trying to negotiate anything in my outide life. In school, however, it was a new and even more frustrating feeling to be so unable to communicate. All of the other teachers spoke Chinese, and I was told second or third hand by my assistant. My kids actually overheard this frightening news before me, and then they were scolded by the Chinese teacher for making noise during the uber-serious “Opening Ceremony.” (I told her not to talk about it in front of them as if they can’t hear, which I’m sure she didn’t understand.)
Eventually after my insistent protests we were allowed to compete with the second graders at the Chinese school. First we had to wait for the entire opening ceremony, which consisted of serious marching and many long, serious speeches. What I saw at the second grade relays was unlike anything I have ever seen in an educational setting in my life. My students were indiscriminately broken up by the Chinese teachers into the 6 lines of second graders, each of which had about 40 students.
The “relay” consisted of the first student putting a hoop over each of the kid’s heads, which they stepped out of, until he or she made it to the end of the line. The rest of the students are supposed to stand in line and just wait for the hoop to pass through 40 second graders, until each has had a turn. Instead of waiting, however, the students from the other school were running around and physically fighting, punching and kicking each other. None of their teachers seemed to care: every once and a while, telling them to get back in line, and then letting them karate-kick each other in the chest while they were there. I’ve never been more appreciative of my wiggly kids and their apparently incredible self-control.
After that relay they chose 6 kids from each line to do the following relays, while the rest of the 200 kids who weren’t included ran around like maniacs.
The day culminated in a Closing Ceremony, filled with more boring speeches and an award ceremony where they gave every class a certificate for participating. They asked me to choose someone from our class to receive our award, which I did. Then they never called our class in the ceremony, which left my little ones literally kicking the air in frustration and disappointment. The icing on the cake was that on the way to the bus, some older kids handed out balloons to 5 of my 13 children, causing those left out to actually start crying.
What could I do? I took away all of the balloons and said we were going to have something for our whole class to share. (That made for an excellent atmosphere on the bus ride back.) Once in our classroom, I quickly printed out our own award,( thanks to Microsoft Publisher), and told them how proud I was of them for not following those other kids and for letting that school make a mistake like forgetting to give us our award. I told them that I thought Sports Day would be more fun, and then gave them playground until their parents picked them up.
Scariest Part of the Day: Physically restraining a 7 year-old, who had no idea what I was saying, so that he would stop punching and spin-kicking his classmate. This isn’t the picture of an obedient Chinese student that I’d been expecting from America.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Beware of Menu-Pointing
Kelly and I went on a date to a self-proclaimed Korean-influenced Japanese Restaurant (a Japanese restaurant on the little Koreatown-like stretch of a street between my place and Wudaokou.) Choosing a new restaurant is always a gamble, but we get by when there are picture menus. This way with pointing and my extremely limited Chinese (a.k.a. numbers, how much, rice, I want a beer, and check), we can usually make it through a meal.
One dish that we ordered was called Chicken Oka-some-Japanese-word Style. Based on the picture, we guessed that it was chicken kabob with some flakes on top that I guessed was some sort of Korean-influenced tempura. What was set on our table was nothing like I’d ever seen. Yes, there was what could have been chicken on sticks. Wrapped around the meat was indeed flaky looking, moth-wing thin pieces of …something…and it was moving.
I feel like a horror novelist as I write that: “and it was moving, dun dun dun.” Each flake was part of a long, thin, transparent strip that had been wrapped around each skewer. They smelled oddly like bacon, but could not possibly have been, sliced as thin as they were. The dish was brought out on a sizzling pan, much like fajita meat, and at first I thought it just appeared to move because of the heat. But then they kept moving. As I watched them(it?) move and weave around, I was reminded of a video I’d seen of my friend eating live squid, whose tentacles moved with the same sweeping, curling motions. My least favorite movements are of squirmy worms, and Kel’s are of moths. How rightly then, were we served this dish of squirmy, moth-thin mysteriousness.
Eventually, the movements slowed and slowed, and finally stopped.
I have to say, it tasted damn good.
One dish that we ordered was called Chicken Oka-some-Japanese-word Style. Based on the picture, we guessed that it was chicken kabob with some flakes on top that I guessed was some sort of Korean-influenced tempura. What was set on our table was nothing like I’d ever seen. Yes, there was what could have been chicken on sticks. Wrapped around the meat was indeed flaky looking, moth-wing thin pieces of …something…and it was moving.
I feel like a horror novelist as I write that: “and it was moving, dun dun dun.” Each flake was part of a long, thin, transparent strip that had been wrapped around each skewer. They smelled oddly like bacon, but could not possibly have been, sliced as thin as they were. The dish was brought out on a sizzling pan, much like fajita meat, and at first I thought it just appeared to move because of the heat. But then they kept moving. As I watched them(it?) move and weave around, I was reminded of a video I’d seen of my friend eating live squid, whose tentacles moved with the same sweeping, curling motions. My least favorite movements are of squirmy worms, and Kel’s are of moths. How rightly then, were we served this dish of squirmy, moth-thin mysteriousness.
Eventually, the movements slowed and slowed, and finally stopped.
I have to say, it tasted damn good.
You CAN Teach an Old New Yorker New Tricks
By 4 p.m., I’d had enough. It was the last real day before a week long break, and helping my 13 wiggly kids to keep it together took more energy than I had woken up with. I spent a 40 min. block just to tell my kids their homework over break. (I began with “Why do we have homework?” and “What homework do you think I have over break?” to try to calm the groaning I was sure to receive.)
At 2:45, just fifteen sweet minutes before the end of the day, my kids came trickling in from PE, instead of in a line, with the L, the T.A. in front (as usual). Bad signs. I found the rest of them outside, throwing their water bottles into the fish pond and generally running around. There’s nothing like an end of the day discussion with 6 and 7 year olds about what NOT to do with a water bottle to feel like a successful teacher.
I met Kelly, the Agent and the Landlord at the Police station at 4. It was our second attempt at getting another residency card, now that we finally have our multiple entry VISA (another long story of lines and paperwork that I’ve spared you.) Finally, after an hour of calls from L (who thankfully takes being my Chinese interpreter as her second job) to the Landlord and Agent, this time we had all of the people and documents.
Of course, the God of Apartments smites me again: our gas is broken…conveniently, when we have an entirely full fridge of fresh veggies. I can’t tell if it’s Chinese custom, or that everyone in China just thinks that we are idiots, but no one will take our word for it. We checked the gas. We tried using a match. We put even more money on the card. It’s broken. I had all of this written out in Chinese this time, as an attempt to skip right to the “let’s fix this problem and call the professionals” part.
Therefore, when I found myself walking my bike with the agent and the landlord on the 25 min. trek back to my apartment, I was seething. I said every silent complaint and groan I could think of as I walked. “Why am I even doing this? I should stop right now and call someone who will beg them to just call the fixer guys from here! I’ll just stop. They can’t make me walk to my apartment. They can just go on without me, I don’t care. No one would even notice if I wasn’t here, I can’t say anything! &@#^@ CHINA!”
Soon down the road, the landlord sent the agent home, and it was just us walking in silence, side by side. It was uncomfortably awkward and slow going, as walking a bike down the busy street, with cars and bikes and people swerving in and out, is actually the slowest way to go. Eventually the landlord made a gesture towards my handlebars. I took this in pantomime that he wanted to walk my bike for me. I made the laugh, smile, soft shake head of “no need”, but the second time he offered, I acquiesced. I figured that if we were going to be this awkward, I might as well let him feel chivalrous.
After a short while, though, he stopped. He looked at me, hit the thin metal grate over the rear tire, and then looked at me again. He wanted me to hop on. Most of my motivation was to end this growing silence, but part of me just wondered, can I do that?
Next thing I knew I was sitting side-saddle, holding my legs at a 90 degree angle and pretending there was an apple on top of my head. The landlord (yea, I don’t know his name), was whizzing down the street, taking corners without stopping and weaving past other bikes. I was thinking, “Can I hold on to him? What’s the line?” The line for me was swayed by a life-and-death need, so I compromised by gently resting one hand on the side of his jacket.
As he rode, I watched trees and buildings blur past. I took deep breaths and tried not to flinch as scooters going the wrong way on the street nearly brushed my knees.
I could feel all the stress of my day brush off me, and I thought: I’m having an experience.
At 2:45, just fifteen sweet minutes before the end of the day, my kids came trickling in from PE, instead of in a line, with the L, the T.A. in front (as usual). Bad signs. I found the rest of them outside, throwing their water bottles into the fish pond and generally running around. There’s nothing like an end of the day discussion with 6 and 7 year olds about what NOT to do with a water bottle to feel like a successful teacher.
I met Kelly, the Agent and the Landlord at the Police station at 4. It was our second attempt at getting another residency card, now that we finally have our multiple entry VISA (another long story of lines and paperwork that I’ve spared you.) Finally, after an hour of calls from L (who thankfully takes being my Chinese interpreter as her second job) to the Landlord and Agent, this time we had all of the people and documents.
Of course, the God of Apartments smites me again: our gas is broken…conveniently, when we have an entirely full fridge of fresh veggies. I can’t tell if it’s Chinese custom, or that everyone in China just thinks that we are idiots, but no one will take our word for it. We checked the gas. We tried using a match. We put even more money on the card. It’s broken. I had all of this written out in Chinese this time, as an attempt to skip right to the “let’s fix this problem and call the professionals” part.
Therefore, when I found myself walking my bike with the agent and the landlord on the 25 min. trek back to my apartment, I was seething. I said every silent complaint and groan I could think of as I walked. “Why am I even doing this? I should stop right now and call someone who will beg them to just call the fixer guys from here! I’ll just stop. They can’t make me walk to my apartment. They can just go on without me, I don’t care. No one would even notice if I wasn’t here, I can’t say anything! &@#^@ CHINA!”
Soon down the road, the landlord sent the agent home, and it was just us walking in silence, side by side. It was uncomfortably awkward and slow going, as walking a bike down the busy street, with cars and bikes and people swerving in and out, is actually the slowest way to go. Eventually the landlord made a gesture towards my handlebars. I took this in pantomime that he wanted to walk my bike for me. I made the laugh, smile, soft shake head of “no need”, but the second time he offered, I acquiesced. I figured that if we were going to be this awkward, I might as well let him feel chivalrous.
After a short while, though, he stopped. He looked at me, hit the thin metal grate over the rear tire, and then looked at me again. He wanted me to hop on. Most of my motivation was to end this growing silence, but part of me just wondered, can I do that?
Next thing I knew I was sitting side-saddle, holding my legs at a 90 degree angle and pretending there was an apple on top of my head. The landlord (yea, I don’t know his name), was whizzing down the street, taking corners without stopping and weaving past other bikes. I was thinking, “Can I hold on to him? What’s the line?” The line for me was swayed by a life-and-death need, so I compromised by gently resting one hand on the side of his jacket.
As he rode, I watched trees and buildings blur past. I took deep breaths and tried not to flinch as scooters going the wrong way on the street nearly brushed my knees.
I could feel all the stress of my day brush off me, and I thought: I’m having an experience.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
My Time as a Polar Bear
One goal that I’ve had for years is to start swimming again. Everywhere I live I bring my one piece and goggles, just in case. Apparently, China can finally bring that dream alive.
It makes sense, for a number of reasons. 1. I’m healthier in China than I’ve ever been. (I’m biking daily, sleeping more, and eating vegetables at an unstoppable rate.) 2. I’m a baller in China. It’s this crazy world over here where I can afford anything. It’s all poorly made crap that I don’t want, but I can afford it all! Everything runs in cash here, even though their largest bill is 100 RMB, which is about $15 (just divide by 6.8). Kelly and I live in this magical world where we grab a few 100 RMB bills out of our hiding spots to start our day.
So when my friend told me about a gym with a pool in WudaoKou (15 min. bike from my house or school) I knew this was it. It costs 300 RMB for 20 visits of unlimited pool time. I had L, my T.A. write out that I wanted this deal, and that I needed to buy a swim cap, in Chinese. My friend drew me a rough map on notebook paper and I set out with confidence.
My first mistake was going into the wrong building. I saw a sign with a wave on it, and went for it. After handing them my note and embarrassingly miming swimming for a longer period of time than I’d like to admit, another foreigner told me that this was an internet wireless company. Right.
He pointed me in the right direction, and I handed my paper over to the gym workers. One of the guys took it, looked at me, and then disappeared into the back room. He never came out again. (So much for that plan. The next time I feel prepared in China I should just kick myself immediately in the foot.)
Eventually some Australian guy came over and helped me buy a card. Success! Next I mimed swim cap (which basically looks like me hitting my own head) for a while to a man who turned out to be the janitor. Finally, armed and ready, I walked into the locker room. The locker room was bumpin’ with some techno, whose only words were “You’re my sexy man” on repeat.
Swimming was everything I hoped it could be and more. I had a lane to myself and cool chlorine water. I felt like a polar bear at the zoo on a hot day, (who I’m always jealous of as they splash and play on those fake ice cube floaties.)
Note: One should not get into water without knowing how to dry oneself upon exiting.
I blame my American-hotel-spa frame of reference, but I thought there had to be towels there. I did my best to use an extra shirt to dab myself while “You’re my sexy man” played again on repeat. (China actually does this a lot. At Lush, a somewhat happening bar/restaurant for expats, I heard that Usher song “Yea” play three times in a row. Really?)
Needless to say, biking home in sticky-wet jeans with “You’re my sexy man” stuck in my head was not one of my favorite rides.
Favorite Part of the Pool: After five min. I thought I’d run out of ideas. Then I found a little floatie, probably made for a child. I had a blast playing with it, just pulling with my arms, or trying to stand on it. (However, the grumpy Chinese men in the next lane were slightly less thrilled by my discovery.)
It makes sense, for a number of reasons. 1. I’m healthier in China than I’ve ever been. (I’m biking daily, sleeping more, and eating vegetables at an unstoppable rate.) 2. I’m a baller in China. It’s this crazy world over here where I can afford anything. It’s all poorly made crap that I don’t want, but I can afford it all! Everything runs in cash here, even though their largest bill is 100 RMB, which is about $15 (just divide by 6.8). Kelly and I live in this magical world where we grab a few 100 RMB bills out of our hiding spots to start our day.
So when my friend told me about a gym with a pool in WudaoKou (15 min. bike from my house or school) I knew this was it. It costs 300 RMB for 20 visits of unlimited pool time. I had L, my T.A. write out that I wanted this deal, and that I needed to buy a swim cap, in Chinese. My friend drew me a rough map on notebook paper and I set out with confidence.
My first mistake was going into the wrong building. I saw a sign with a wave on it, and went for it. After handing them my note and embarrassingly miming swimming for a longer period of time than I’d like to admit, another foreigner told me that this was an internet wireless company. Right.
He pointed me in the right direction, and I handed my paper over to the gym workers. One of the guys took it, looked at me, and then disappeared into the back room. He never came out again. (So much for that plan. The next time I feel prepared in China I should just kick myself immediately in the foot.)
Eventually some Australian guy came over and helped me buy a card. Success! Next I mimed swim cap (which basically looks like me hitting my own head) for a while to a man who turned out to be the janitor. Finally, armed and ready, I walked into the locker room. The locker room was bumpin’ with some techno, whose only words were “You’re my sexy man” on repeat.
Swimming was everything I hoped it could be and more. I had a lane to myself and cool chlorine water. I felt like a polar bear at the zoo on a hot day, (who I’m always jealous of as they splash and play on those fake ice cube floaties.)
Note: One should not get into water without knowing how to dry oneself upon exiting.
I blame my American-hotel-spa frame of reference, but I thought there had to be towels there. I did my best to use an extra shirt to dab myself while “You’re my sexy man” played again on repeat. (China actually does this a lot. At Lush, a somewhat happening bar/restaurant for expats, I heard that Usher song “Yea” play three times in a row. Really?)
Needless to say, biking home in sticky-wet jeans with “You’re my sexy man” stuck in my head was not one of my favorite rides.
Favorite Part of the Pool: After five min. I thought I’d run out of ideas. Then I found a little floatie, probably made for a child. I had a blast playing with it, just pulling with my arms, or trying to stand on it. (However, the grumpy Chinese men in the next lane were slightly less thrilled by my discovery.)
Monday, September 27, 2010
Toto, You’re not on the Upper East Side Anymore
As the elevator doors were closing I saw a little white dog. Dogs in China don’t have leashes, and they’re used to wandering to distances from their owners that would be considered dangerous by most Americans. I pushed the “hold doors” button, waiting for my neighbors, and found that the hall was empty beyond this little pup and his wagging tail. After, looking closer with the bright from the elevator, I could see the darkness around his eyes, and the dirt clinging to his fir. Of course, it’s just a street dog who wandered into my apartment building and nearly into the elevator. How silly that I didn’t realize that at first.
It was another reminder, when I feel most set in my routine: I’m in China.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Summer Palace, the Hamptons of China
It’s Thursday, the second day of the Mid-Autumn Festival. I worked on Sunday to Tuesday and then had Curriculum Afternoon, where my parents (who Kelly referred to as “sharks”) came to school. We have Wednesday to Friday off, which I’ve referred to as a long weekend, because that’s the only way my brain can make sense of it. Today is “Sunday.”
Today Kelly, Roxanne, and I met at our gate at the ungodly hour of 6 a.m. in an attempt to see the Summer Palace before the horrific crowds we’ve read about in all 50 of our Beijing guidebooks. This is an especially tricky time to visit any landmarks, as holidays are a time when everyone in China is on vacation and ready to sight-see. The Summer Palace, from the little to no research that I did, is a place where the Chinese emperor in the 1700’s used as a summer home.
Maybe it was my lack of sleep, but at first when we walked around, breezing by the ancient Chinese architecture and stone statues behind metal gates, I didn’t feel much of anything. Then I caught a glimpse of some water through a window pane. When I went around the corner, the view literally took my breath away. The lake stretched out father than I could see. All around the edge were stone carved railings with temples, houses, arches, and bridges interspersed. Giant lotus plants, with their Lilli pad leaves collected in my nearest corner, stretching and twisting four and a half feet tall. Mountains lined the farthest stretches of the horizon. No one else was in sight.
The sun hung high above the lake and beamed down over it all. I was told by my director that last year there was talk of the Chinese government altering the weather so that the sky was amazingly clear for this holiday. All I know is that Sunday and Monday were rainy and miserable days to bike to school, but yesterday and today have had the clearest skies I’ve seen yet. It was so clear yesterday that Kel and I were able to see a whole mountain range from our dining room table that we’ve never seen before.
We hiked up the “Hill of Longevity” and around the lake, passing temples and illegally climbing rocks to get a better view. At 8:30 we stumbled upon a boat rental dock and decided to go for it. We signed up for a four person battery-powered boat, and that’s what we were given, no questions asked. (Not even, say, have you ever driven a boat? Do you have a license? Do you have any idea what you’re doing?) As we climbed in we were told, “if the boat go slow, go backwards.” I volunteered to be the first driver, nodded to the woman even though I had no clue what she was talking about, and took off.
It was incredible. For 60 RMB (less than $10) we were tooling around on the giant lake. We steered under a 6-arch bridge and right up to many of the other temples and archways we hadn’t made it to on foot. By the end we discovered that the warning had meant, “When you’re not moving because you’re stuck in seaweed and low water, put the boat in reverse and try to get the hell out.” We nearly paid for another hour when we were stuck just 50 yds. from the dock, but luckily we were able to make this translation just in time.
High Point in the Summer Palace: The Temple of Buddha’s…, which reminded me of temples from Malaysia and had a strong energy
Low Point in the Summer Palace: Forgetting to pack food AGAIN! (a.k.a. trying to buy a “hot dog” on a stick from the fast-food counters inside and being waved away by an unsympathetic hand).
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
The Great Wall's not a Wall
Why didn’t anyone tell me?? I’ve seen plenty of walls in my day. Plenty! A wall is a rectangular-shaped object made of horizontal lines. Those rules do not apply to the “great” wall.
Ok, I’ve seen pictures. It’s big windy road of gray stones in what I know realize is a mountainous region. What I didn’t quite realize is that more than horizontally windy, the Great Wall is more like the spine of a giant Chinese dragon, a seemingly endless rollercoaster of vertical curves.
We had a mini-field trip to the wall: my director, Debbie, Roxanne, Kel, Corey, the fourth grade teacher (who lived around the corner from me in Pslope and I’m still not convinced isn’t a lesbian), and her 4-year old child, Xin Xin, who she adopted from China two years ago. It was Tsinghua Primary School takes on the Great Wall (minus Erica, who has lived in Beijing before and is “so over” the great wall that “it’s a pile of rubble” to her.)
Of all the sections close to BJ (haha), we went to Badaling, the part referred to as the wall’s “Disney Land.” Now I’ve never been to Disney Land myself, but I could imagine that it wasn’t the type of crowd I wanted to be stuck with in a stone corridor up in the mountains. Our first climb was just as I’d feared, and we ended up scaling the stone-paved hill amid hoards of people, many of whom were stopping on the side to take pictures and blocking the hand rails. I had the uneasy realization that, were I to slip, I’d not only tumble down this 80 degree incline over grey stone, but I’d take crowds of innocent people with me.
Luckily for us, though, it was only ultra crowded at the beginning, and we soon broke off to the right to less and less crowded sections. It was interesting, however, to see Chinese tourists for the first time. I’m so used to being the odd person out, while everyone around me is bristling by at the pace of I-do-this-every-day. It was somewhat refreshing to see a crowd of Chinese people, pausing by the railing and hearing the count “ee-ar-san” before a camera click.
The wall was broken into many different sections, and at the end of each section was a watch tower. This helped to break up the climb, and gave way to amazing views of the other sections in the mountains. The climb, like I alluded to at the beginning, was intense. I don’t know why I figured that walking on the Great Would be like walking on stone pavement, just elevated and winding to the right or the left. When there were stairs, they came up to my knee. Many sections were just a stone slide or hill for us to slip on. Most of the time I was clutching the metal hand rail for all I was worth. (This became increasingly difficult, as the heat of the sun soaked right into these, I think, to add a bit more excitement for us all.)
Even so, by the time we finally found a stairway that would lead us down and off of the wall, I was loving every minute of it. We all went on a little farther, and Debbie and I decided to climb one last set of mountain stairs to the watch tower. When we finally reached the top, we found two Chinese men smoking cigs. Thanks, China. It’s been real.
(Ok, so this entry is super overdue. I went on 9/12, but with Kel’s bday and crazy weird school scheduling/getting ready for Curriculum Afternoon , I never wrote it. Whoops! This is why the rest of my entries read like a stream of conscious garble that I’ve never proof read. That is, because they are, and because that’s how I keep this this up to date!)
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Delivery!
Getting water is one thing that's tricky in Beijing. You can't drink the water from the faucet. Instead we have a Poland-spring style giant blue jug of water in a dispenser in our kitchen.
I never realized how often I use faucet water, for washing vegetables, cooking, brushing my teeth. Even fruits with skin aren't a great idea because it's hard to get the skins clean. Eating grapes has become a tiring process of squishing them one at a time and then peeling them out of their skin.
One of my biggest successes is when this water is actually delivered correctly to our apartment. The first time I had my assistant, Linda, call in Chinese and she said that it was all set for him to deliver the jug to our apartment. When the guy showed up, however, he insisted on talking/shouting (it's so difficult to tell which in Chinese) until we called Linda and asked her to translate. He talked for 10 min. while we had no idea what was wrong, and when I got the phone back she told me he needed to take the old water jug, and 20 Yuan, or we could keep the useless empty jug, and we had to give him 50 Yuan. I still don't understand why this was a deal, but we gladly gave 20 Yuan and he became our water guy.
The first time I had to call myself I spoke at some Chinese voice, saying, "I'd like water. Water please. Well, I don't think you know what I'm saying, so that's fine." When some water girl showed up at our apartment 10 min. later, Kelly and I literally danced around at her arrival. She must have never seen people so happy. I'm sure that here it's like dancing around the pizza delivery guy, but to us it was a miracle.
Today we had another strange delivery. I'm still weary of opening the door to randoms, but these guys kept shouting something in Chinese and seemed persistent. They had a giant box of grapes in their hands, and what looked like forms. Afraid to accidentally sign up for a grapes of the month subscription, I almost closed the door when they shoved the box at me, smiled, and left. Startled, I thanked them and then brought the giant box into the apartment. Inside were 8 bunches of grapes and a card that read: "Dear Households: The Mid-Autumn Festival approaching, Chang Cheng Property wish you: Happy Mid-Autumn Festival, a happy family and good luck."
Apparently I live under Chang Cheng Property. China's getting better every day.
I never realized how often I use faucet water, for washing vegetables, cooking, brushing my teeth. Even fruits with skin aren't a great idea because it's hard to get the skins clean. Eating grapes has become a tiring process of squishing them one at a time and then peeling them out of their skin.
One of my biggest successes is when this water is actually delivered correctly to our apartment. The first time I had my assistant, Linda, call in Chinese and she said that it was all set for him to deliver the jug to our apartment. When the guy showed up, however, he insisted on talking/shouting (it's so difficult to tell which in Chinese) until we called Linda and asked her to translate. He talked for 10 min. while we had no idea what was wrong, and when I got the phone back she told me he needed to take the old water jug, and 20 Yuan, or we could keep the useless empty jug, and we had to give him 50 Yuan. I still don't understand why this was a deal, but we gladly gave 20 Yuan and he became our water guy.
The first time I had to call myself I spoke at some Chinese voice, saying, "I'd like water. Water please. Well, I don't think you know what I'm saying, so that's fine." When some water girl showed up at our apartment 10 min. later, Kelly and I literally danced around at her arrival. She must have never seen people so happy. I'm sure that here it's like dancing around the pizza delivery guy, but to us it was a miracle.
Today we had another strange delivery. I'm still weary of opening the door to randoms, but these guys kept shouting something in Chinese and seemed persistent. They had a giant box of grapes in their hands, and what looked like forms. Afraid to accidentally sign up for a grapes of the month subscription, I almost closed the door when they shoved the box at me, smiled, and left. Startled, I thanked them and then brought the giant box into the apartment. Inside were 8 bunches of grapes and a card that read: "Dear Households: The Mid-Autumn Festival approaching, Chang Cheng Property wish you: Happy Mid-Autumn Festival, a happy family and good luck."
Apparently I live under Chang Cheng Property. China's getting better every day.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Biking by Myself in Beijing
Today I decided to stay late at school and meet Kelly at the apt. Of course, I thought this was a great time to try a new way home through this dark underground tunnel. Even though I survived, I realized that I had no idea where I was on the other side. I decided to ride around anyway for a while to guess. (Even though I admit that special reasoning is not one of my intelligences.) Totally lost, and losing sunlight by the second, I realized that I had to turn back and try to find the tunnel again. All told it took my an hour to bike home, instead of 15 minutes, but I did make it back before dark!
Things I learned:
Even though bikers will go the opposite direction into biking traffic, this is not advisable for ex-pats who look like little wobbly white girls. Fact: Every bike, moped, and car will play chicken with you and only when you feel you must be wrong and nearly leave the curb will they pull away to pass.
Biking by yourself lets you set your own pace, which makes even getting lost a more enticing experience.
When Chinese people get off their bikes, get off your bike.
When Chinese people swerve quickly to the side, you are going to be hit by a bus.
Eventually, when waiting for your turn to cross the street, you have to just make a break for it through the rows of bikes, cars, and people. Fact: If you decide to go, you have to fucking GO!
All of this is possible while wearing your work skirt.
ps...I just realized now that my last entry (aka last Sat.) was Sept. 11. So weird being out of the U.S.A.
Things I learned:
Even though bikers will go the opposite direction into biking traffic, this is not advisable for ex-pats who look like little wobbly white girls. Fact: Every bike, moped, and car will play chicken with you and only when you feel you must be wrong and nearly leave the curb will they pull away to pass.
Biking by yourself lets you set your own pace, which makes even getting lost a more enticing experience.
When Chinese people get off their bikes, get off your bike.
When Chinese people swerve quickly to the side, you are going to be hit by a bus.
Eventually, when waiting for your turn to cross the street, you have to just make a break for it through the rows of bikes, cars, and people. Fact: If you decide to go, you have to fucking GO!
All of this is possible while wearing your work skirt.
ps...I just realized now that my last entry (aka last Sat.) was Sept. 11. So weird being out of the U.S.A.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
The Apt. Saga Continues...
On Wednesday of this week Kelly and I got a call from our friend Michael, who had hooked us up with the original broker for the fake apt, and who now acts as our contact for this shady deal that should have been over and done with. The crazy landlady decided that we stayed at that apt for 16 days (which is a lie) and we learned that she was demanding we pay for the extra fictitious stay + utilities. We also learned that she knew where we lived could possibly show up at our door to demand it.
My kids were wiggly little munchkins all damn day, and the last thing that I wanted to do was come home and deal with more of this lady’s insanity – especially since it seemed that we’d have to give her even more of our money that she doesn’t deserve. I flew off the handle (like I sometimes do) and decided we would pay her nothing because she’s crazy and threatening our mental health. Kelly took the lead (as she sometimes does) and worked out a deal that we would pay for the 1 extra day that we were there and the utilities, only if the landlord and broker agreed to never bother us again. It took hours of calling and haggling and waiting and sweating and pacing for the deal to be worked out. Eventually we got the call that the deal was accepted. All told we spent another 200 RMB, which is about $30.
Friday after school Kel and I came home to find our electricity out, again. It happened once before, which left us huddling by candlelight for hours until Agent Kathy finally called the management. They re-plugged a wire in our hallway in 1 second and it was fixed. This second time the agents caught us on our way out to “the Wu” (Wudaokou) for some much needed weekend-starting drinks, and made us go back to our apartment so they could see for themselves that we are not idiots. Yes, our meters do have money. Yes, we did flip that switch. Yes, we did try everything you said. Yes, the electricity is STILL out, but thanks for wasting our time.
Then, in true time-wasting fashion, we stood around the center of our complex for nearly an hour while they called everyone from our landlord to the management to the electrical company. Even with a translator telling them “It is the wire that has come loose in the hallway” over and over, they still insisted we wait for the landlord…(and his magical ability to fix electricity??) One of the most frustrating things for me in China is not being able to communicate. Even with someone translating, no one listened to what we were saying.
Eventually my friend Erica came with us back to the apartment to get the card and she fixed our problem by putting the wire back herself. We snuck out to have a night of fun in the Wu. I ate a burger that sounded awesome but tasted too strange to eat. We got a “buy 2 get one free” deal on the strongest dirty martinis. Some crazy drunken Chinese girls let me try their drink (some blue concoction that I saw everywhere) and then pretended to jump out of the window to the dismay of the waiters and acoustic guitarist. We ended up at a bar called Pepper, which most closely resembled a NYC bar with lighting, old-school hip hop and hookah. The entire night Agent Kathy txted me about the problem with electricity in my apt., not in the hall.
Sure enough, the next morning I became the host of Kathy, the landlord, his wife, his 10 year-old daughter, and two electric workers. The entire time I held my breath for them to put together that there is one bed in this apartment, and two ladies. Lalas, we’re called in China. I suppose it didn’t help that I accidentally left out an article Erica had given me about LGBT China from Time Out NY. Whoops
I know what you’re thinking: this bitch is crazy. Moving to China. Being locked in apartments and living by candlelight. I swear, every other person that I know used an agent (even Agent Kathy), signed a lease, and has been living drama-free since day one. Sadly, this isn’t Beijing. It’s just my luck.
Success of the day: Bartering a sick hookah, coals, and strawberry tobacco for 195 RMB ($28) using Chinese numbers and my new phrase: doi shaow /How much.
My kids were wiggly little munchkins all damn day, and the last thing that I wanted to do was come home and deal with more of this lady’s insanity – especially since it seemed that we’d have to give her even more of our money that she doesn’t deserve. I flew off the handle (like I sometimes do) and decided we would pay her nothing because she’s crazy and threatening our mental health. Kelly took the lead (as she sometimes does) and worked out a deal that we would pay for the 1 extra day that we were there and the utilities, only if the landlord and broker agreed to never bother us again. It took hours of calling and haggling and waiting and sweating and pacing for the deal to be worked out. Eventually we got the call that the deal was accepted. All told we spent another 200 RMB, which is about $30.
Friday after school Kel and I came home to find our electricity out, again. It happened once before, which left us huddling by candlelight for hours until Agent Kathy finally called the management. They re-plugged a wire in our hallway in 1 second and it was fixed. This second time the agents caught us on our way out to “the Wu” (Wudaokou) for some much needed weekend-starting drinks, and made us go back to our apartment so they could see for themselves that we are not idiots. Yes, our meters do have money. Yes, we did flip that switch. Yes, we did try everything you said. Yes, the electricity is STILL out, but thanks for wasting our time.
Then, in true time-wasting fashion, we stood around the center of our complex for nearly an hour while they called everyone from our landlord to the management to the electrical company. Even with a translator telling them “It is the wire that has come loose in the hallway” over and over, they still insisted we wait for the landlord…(and his magical ability to fix electricity??) One of the most frustrating things for me in China is not being able to communicate. Even with someone translating, no one listened to what we were saying.
Eventually my friend Erica came with us back to the apartment to get the card and she fixed our problem by putting the wire back herself. We snuck out to have a night of fun in the Wu. I ate a burger that sounded awesome but tasted too strange to eat. We got a “buy 2 get one free” deal on the strongest dirty martinis. Some crazy drunken Chinese girls let me try their drink (some blue concoction that I saw everywhere) and then pretended to jump out of the window to the dismay of the waiters and acoustic guitarist. We ended up at a bar called Pepper, which most closely resembled a NYC bar with lighting, old-school hip hop and hookah. The entire night Agent Kathy txted me about the problem with electricity in my apt., not in the hall.
Sure enough, the next morning I became the host of Kathy, the landlord, his wife, his 10 year-old daughter, and two electric workers. The entire time I held my breath for them to put together that there is one bed in this apartment, and two ladies. Lalas, we’re called in China. I suppose it didn’t help that I accidentally left out an article Erica had given me about LGBT China from Time Out NY. Whoops
I know what you’re thinking: this bitch is crazy. Moving to China. Being locked in apartments and living by candlelight. I swear, every other person that I know used an agent (even Agent Kathy), signed a lease, and has been living drama-free since day one. Sadly, this isn’t Beijing. It’s just my luck.
Success of the day: Bartering a sick hookah, coals, and strawberry tobacco for 195 RMB ($28) using Chinese numbers and my new phrase: doi shaow /How much.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Success of the Week: Biking!
That’s right. I’m back on the bike. I’ve been biking to and from work, which takes about 15-20 min. I switched to use Kelly’s bike, which is smaller, so that I can actually stop and get off when I need to. Kelly’s jazzed about it because she gets to ride around on my giant pink bike. It’s win-win.
I really don’t know why I decided that Beijing, one of the craziest and busiest cities in the world, was where I would learn to bike on the street. Growing up I never really biked. I had a bike, but the longest I ever rode was maybe 5 min. when I was 10. It’s not any wonder that the first time I got on my bike here, in the land of “I can fit through that tiny space next to you” that I got into a minor incident (aka hit a parked car.) But that’s behind me now. I even rode past that same spot twice this week, to be sure that I won’t let it block me.
It is scary though. Bikes, motorbikes, electric bikes, cars, buses, and taxis all fit on these curvy roads within inches of each other. Girls sit sidesaddle on the backs of guy’s bikes, their dangling feet swinging dangerously close to the spokes of others passing. Whole families will fit on mopeds, children standing in between the driver’s knees and unstrapped on the back, swerving past bicycle traffic.
Some of the roads we ride on have wide bike lanes, which is great until cars realize they can fit on them- so they do. The worst part of my ride home is this intersection where I have to cross this crazy V-shaped intersection (by miracle and playing chicken) and then I ride on the narrowest, no bike lane, where other bikes still squeeze past me, to cross the train tracks. Yesterday I was at the corner of the narrow, no bike path part, and two buses whizzed by me in a row, literally brushing my left leg. It was everything I could do to calm my shaking body as I kept peddling over the train tracks.
Things that I really like about biking: getting to work faster without having to wait for a bus or flag a taxi, saving money, actually doing something active on a daily basis, feeling the breeze (ok, dirty Beijing air. But some parts of the ride have bridges, ponds, and willow trees which I enjoy).
Why I decided to learn to ride in this city, through its gravel piles on every street, with no helmets in sight, I can’t really say. I’m just glad to have at least one success this week.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Finding Out I Live in Jersey, Minus the Shore
Sorry to leave you all with ranting about hostage situations. It’s Sunday night here and I just finished my first two consecutive days in Beijing without going into my classroom. Woot! The fun begins now!
I really did have a great weekend. There was a staff gathering Friday night with NY-style pizza that ended with a 20 person Tequila shot round, which included the director of the Middle School. (Is it Beijing, or are people just more laid back when they direct older kids?)
Saturday morning I went to “the biggest Ikea outside of Sweden,” which is apparently in Beijing. I don’t know if it was the size of the rooms, or the tremendous amount of stuff, or the huge crowd, but I got so incredibly motion sick just from looking around I had to end early and sit outside with my hands over my eyes. On the upside, Kelly and I got some fun things that make our new apt. even cozier. We’re finally not living out of suitcases!
Saturday night was my first experience of Beijing’s night life. Kelly stayed home to reenergize herself and to help us show the other people here that we are capable of doing our own thing. I went out with Erica and Roxanne to an area downtown , where I quickly realized I live in the Jersey of Beijing. Stepping out of that cab was one of the most comforting moments I’ve had here. It looked so much like NYC, with a giant Apple store, Starbucks, Coldstone Creamery, & more. There were vendors on the streets selling food, cigs, and even bongs (there is hope for MJ in BJ*) and then tons of bars and clubs.
*Yeah, I still think it’s hilarious that they call Beijing BJ. . .
We went into one called Red Club, a super-smoky, lights-blaring, maze of a place. By the time we made it to the dance floor we realized there was a big circle of people. I thought it was breakdancing, but when I looked closer, I realized there was a pole in the middle of the room. I had a flashback to clubs I saw in Vegas, but with one major difference: it was all guys. Guys, taking turns working this pole, and more guys, standing around, just digging it. There were girls too, standing around their men and giving them googly eyes as they went for their turn, hooking one knee on the pole and spinning around, or hanging nearly upside down, arms outstretched. The bro-mance was thick as the smoke in the room, echoing in heart-felt high fives and hair tosses after each successful trick. I felt truly story for my friends, who were hoping to meet guys.
For me, it was just another Saturday night where I was glad to be a lesbian.
Biggest Surprise This Weekend: Riding the subway. Even without being able to say the stops, Beijing’s subway made sense. None of this damn A,C,E, & you guess which is express. None of this “D running as a F” but the digital sign inside it says it’s a B. The trains actually go where they say they go. It’s a miracle!
I really did have a great weekend. There was a staff gathering Friday night with NY-style pizza that ended with a 20 person Tequila shot round, which included the director of the Middle School. (Is it Beijing, or are people just more laid back when they direct older kids?)
Saturday morning I went to “the biggest Ikea outside of Sweden,” which is apparently in Beijing. I don’t know if it was the size of the rooms, or the tremendous amount of stuff, or the huge crowd, but I got so incredibly motion sick just from looking around I had to end early and sit outside with my hands over my eyes. On the upside, Kelly and I got some fun things that make our new apt. even cozier. We’re finally not living out of suitcases!
Saturday night was my first experience of Beijing’s night life. Kelly stayed home to reenergize herself and to help us show the other people here that we are capable of doing our own thing. I went out with Erica and Roxanne to an area downtown , where I quickly realized I live in the Jersey of Beijing. Stepping out of that cab was one of the most comforting moments I’ve had here. It looked so much like NYC, with a giant Apple store, Starbucks, Coldstone Creamery, & more. There were vendors on the streets selling food, cigs, and even bongs (there is hope for MJ in BJ*) and then tons of bars and clubs.
*Yeah, I still think it’s hilarious that they call Beijing BJ. . .
We went into one called Red Club, a super-smoky, lights-blaring, maze of a place. By the time we made it to the dance floor we realized there was a big circle of people. I thought it was breakdancing, but when I looked closer, I realized there was a pole in the middle of the room. I had a flashback to clubs I saw in Vegas, but with one major difference: it was all guys. Guys, taking turns working this pole, and more guys, standing around, just digging it. There were girls too, standing around their men and giving them googly eyes as they went for their turn, hooking one knee on the pole and spinning around, or hanging nearly upside down, arms outstretched. The bro-mance was thick as the smoke in the room, echoing in heart-felt high fives and hair tosses after each successful trick. I felt truly story for my friends, who were hoping to meet guys.
For me, it was just another Saturday night where I was glad to be a lesbian.
Biggest Surprise This Weekend: Riding the subway. Even without being able to say the stops, Beijing’s subway made sense. None of this damn A,C,E, & you guess which is express. None of this “D running as a F” but the digital sign inside it says it’s a B. The trains actually go where they say they go. It’s a miracle!
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Glimpse of my Life as a Chinese Hostage
That’s what I got yesterday. It’s awesome that I was complaining about just the idea of moving, when by the end that was the easiest and simplest part.
Kelly started looking for apartments at 12. Unfortunately because of the newly returning students, every apartment she tried to buy was taken by the time she tried to sign the lease an hour later. Apartments were literally slipping through our fingers to a rush of Americans. Damn them all!
I joined her at 4 and we finally decided on a place. We were about to sign the contract when our new Real Estate Agent, English-speaking “Cathy”, told us that the landlord had ordered another bed for the second room. What followed was a 90 min. debate where we tried our best to explain why we not only didn’t want the damn bed, but would refuse the apartment if the extra furniture was put in our soon-to-be-yoga/meditation room. We tried everything from, “She’s an artist, she likes sleeping on the floor” to “This couch is great – You should see what she slept on in NY!” Needless to say they didn’t understand why, and eventually we had to take all of our stuff and start to walk out the door before the landlord agreed to keep his offending furniture.
With that finally settled it was 6:30 and we rushed back down the street to our old apartment. We called our friends, Erica and Roxanne, to quickly help us pack. Cathy said that the van was coming in 20 min., and we still had to pack! We rushed around throwing things in bags as quickly as possible and managed to get ready in time.
I’m not sure, really, why what happened next actually happened, but somehow Kelly and I were in the middle of a serious Chinese scam. Cathy came to the apartment and told us that the guards at the front gate would not let us leave unless we have permission from the landlord. (The same landlord who had been missing for four days, and refused to come and sign us into a real lease, or bring us to the police station as he is supposed to.)
After more than an hour had passed, and we were still not able to leave, panic started to set in. Some woman who claims to be the landlord kept calling and berating us for leaving instead of waiting another 7 days to sign the lease with her. People were calling and pretending to be our old Real Estate Agent. Cathy kept insisting that we were not allowed to leave, and should wait until they find another person to take over the apartment. None of us had eaten dinner, Kelly hadn’t had more than a banana all day, we only had half a bottle of drinkable water -though we did crack open some pi geo (beer),- and we all still had to work at 7 in the morning the next day. We brought up calling the police and demanding to leave, but Cathy insisted that we would be punished for staying in the apartment without a lease.
Eventually, we called our director and she called any random Chinese person who happens to work at our school. That person called the police and told us that it is illegal for them to keep us from moving out. When we shared this news Cathy pretended to take a phone call and jetted out of the apartment, even leaving behind her Chinese-speaking coworker who realized minutes later and was pissed.
Finally, we just took our stuff and left. No one stopped us or questioned us at the gate after all. By the time we were down the street in our new place it was 11 pm.
Times I wished I was in America yesterday: 19298343093290+
Kelly started looking for apartments at 12. Unfortunately because of the newly returning students, every apartment she tried to buy was taken by the time she tried to sign the lease an hour later. Apartments were literally slipping through our fingers to a rush of Americans. Damn them all!
I joined her at 4 and we finally decided on a place. We were about to sign the contract when our new Real Estate Agent, English-speaking “Cathy”, told us that the landlord had ordered another bed for the second room. What followed was a 90 min. debate where we tried our best to explain why we not only didn’t want the damn bed, but would refuse the apartment if the extra furniture was put in our soon-to-be-yoga/meditation room. We tried everything from, “She’s an artist, she likes sleeping on the floor” to “This couch is great – You should see what she slept on in NY!” Needless to say they didn’t understand why, and eventually we had to take all of our stuff and start to walk out the door before the landlord agreed to keep his offending furniture.
With that finally settled it was 6:30 and we rushed back down the street to our old apartment. We called our friends, Erica and Roxanne, to quickly help us pack. Cathy said that the van was coming in 20 min., and we still had to pack! We rushed around throwing things in bags as quickly as possible and managed to get ready in time.
I’m not sure, really, why what happened next actually happened, but somehow Kelly and I were in the middle of a serious Chinese scam. Cathy came to the apartment and told us that the guards at the front gate would not let us leave unless we have permission from the landlord. (The same landlord who had been missing for four days, and refused to come and sign us into a real lease, or bring us to the police station as he is supposed to.)
After more than an hour had passed, and we were still not able to leave, panic started to set in. Some woman who claims to be the landlord kept calling and berating us for leaving instead of waiting another 7 days to sign the lease with her. People were calling and pretending to be our old Real Estate Agent. Cathy kept insisting that we were not allowed to leave, and should wait until they find another person to take over the apartment. None of us had eaten dinner, Kelly hadn’t had more than a banana all day, we only had half a bottle of drinkable water -though we did crack open some pi geo (beer),- and we all still had to work at 7 in the morning the next day. We brought up calling the police and demanding to leave, but Cathy insisted that we would be punished for staying in the apartment without a lease.
Eventually, we called our director and she called any random Chinese person who happens to work at our school. That person called the police and told us that it is illegal for them to keep us from moving out. When we shared this news Cathy pretended to take a phone call and jetted out of the apartment, even leaving behind her Chinese-speaking coworker who realized minutes later and was pissed.
Finally, we just took our stuff and left. No one stopped us or questioned us at the gate after all. By the time we were down the street in our new place it was 11 pm.
Times I wished I was in America yesterday: 19298343093290+
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