Wo Shi Mei Guo Ren.

I’ve been in China for almost 10 months now, but I started taking Mandarin lessons about one month ago. By that I mean, I’ve been to four one and a half hour-sessions, where I’m mostly learning to read pinyin. By now, my big accomplishments are seeing “xi” and saying, “see”, and “zh” and saying, “j.”

We’ve also started to learn a few of the basics, like ordering in restaurants. This is when I learned that the few phrases I thought I knew (and have been using since August of last year), were in fact wrong.

Some mistakes are small enough. I’ve been ordering two “units” of rice, (liang ge mi fan), instead of two bowls (liang wan mi fan). I did the same with beer, ordering “units” or ge, instead of bottles, which is ping.

I also found out that when I thought I was ordering two bottles of beer (pi jiu), I was actually asking, “Do you have or not have two units of beer?” (You may you liang ge pi jiu?).

After that I started saying, “I want two bottles of beer” (Wo yao liang ping pi jiu), which turns out to be pretty rude. It took me weeks to learn the actual ordering phrase, which turns out to be, “Please, bring two bottles of beer.” (Qing wen, lai liang ping pi jiu.)

As you can see, the topic of beer comes up a lot in class. I also learned to say, “I like to drink beer,” (Wo xi huan he pi jiu) and “Do you like to drink beer?” which is “You like to drink beer, question?” (Ni xi huan he pi jiu, ma) or “You like or don’t like to drink beer?” (Ni xi huan bu xi huan he pi jiu). I’m starting to think the Chinese teachers know me too well…

The phrase I may be most excited to learn, even though it’s so late in my stay, is “Where is the bathroom?” They use the bathroom symbol here, or man and woman in Chinese, which I can recognize, but following signs is not so easy. I never thought of arrows as being cultural, but I’ve been more lost in Asia following signs than ever before.

An arrow pointing down means, more often than not, that the item is behind the sign. An arrow pointing up often means it’s behind you. I’ve been in the strangest allies in China and Malaysia, thinking I’m on the right path until I’m left stranded without a sign in sight. (The other strange thing is that bathrooms are often hidden in the smallest, dirtiest hallways and corners, through parking lots and streets, not necessarily connect or anywhere near the restaurant or shop. )

The worst part, though, is having to go up to a waiter or maître de at a fancy restaurant and ask, loudly and clearly, “Toilet?!?” This is the word they use for bathroom, and the only way I’ve found that communicates your need, as much as I start with the usual, “Excuse me, is there a restroom or bathroom?”

Not anymore! The phrase literally translates to “Please, bathroom where?” “Qing wen, wei sheng jian zai nar?” Yess!!

With any luck, I’ll get these simple requests…when it’s time to go back to America!

Who, Me?

It’s not difficult to see that my life in Beijing is far different than the life I was leading in New York. Being here, I’ve made a few minor life-revelations. The first is simply that being Malaysian is actually important to my cultural heritage. I guess it seems silly, but I think I need to be in China to figure that out.

The second revelation is that…I like doing things. In New York, my most..ok one of my only forms of recreation was going out on a Saturday night. (Ok ok, Tuesday or Wednesday, but it’s not my fault that’s when the girl parties are…) That is not to say that I’m not going out over here and that I don’t intend to keep that up. What I’ve also realized, though, is that I like doing other active things.

If you know me, you know that of all the things I’ve been classified as, “sporty” has never been one of them. I can’t play any organized sports, I don’t play frizbe at the park, and when Kel convinced me to try tossing a ball with her at the beach it was much closer to playing fetch than catch.

That being said, I’ve always thought of myself as fairly active. Back in the days of my youth, I was involved in all sorts of female-gendered, individual-best sports. So when I asked if I could join dragon boating and was told with no hint of sarcasm, “Well….it’s athletic”…I realized in the last 6 years, I had let myself go.

That may be what prompted the rocking climbing, but it’s definitely not what’s kept me going back every week. I love figuring out routes, and the game of which to hold. I like trying to balance and just falling on mats whenever I need to. It’s nice to feel like ballet wasn’t a waste of time that I’ve all but forgotten.

This spring I’ve been rock climbing every weekend, and during the week if I can swing it. I’m also swimming once a week and biking to and from school. It’s not much, but it’s a nice addition to dancing in the clubs!

Rock Climbing Note: I definitely like Bouldering better than the belay wall. I’ve never been afraid of heights before, but there’s something about hanging 40 feet in the air by your fingertips and tip toes that stirs up some sizeable fear.

Rain Rain Go Away

It started out like any other work day. Kelly and I were biking to work at 7:00 in the morning. Ok, I noticed that it was a little darker out than usual, but I didn’t think much of it. (This may be since Kelly has become “The Girl Who Cried ‘Rain.’” She’s always calling “rain”, even when we live in a desert and it didn’t rain for
five months. More often than not, it’s just another day of thick pollution smog.)

You can probably see where this is going. It started as a light drizzle when we were already on campus, just five minutes away. Within 30 seconds it was a thick downpour. It’s amazing how wet you can get in just a few minutes of heavy rain.

I don’t own an umbrella yet, but I do have an over-the-bike rain poncho, courtesy of my awesome assistant. I’ve had it since September and never used it. How was I to know this was the one day to NOT keep it at home?

Luckily I was wearing a dark dress that day, but it did make for a rather uncomfortable beginning of school.

Because of the unpredictability of the weather, (or my bad luck in the universe), it was sunny all day until the minute I was ready to leave. I actually took my kids out to the playground during the day without a problem, (other than some large puddles), and walked through campus to the cafeteria in bright sunshine.

I had swimming, so I still had to ride my bike. They were giving out super thin garbage bag-esque ponchos, so I grabbed one. Even though it didn’t cover below my waist, it did keep my backpack dry. When I got out of swimming, it was not only pouring, but with the added finesse of thunder and lightning.

It was kind of exhilarating, pedaling through the streets of Wudaokou in a crazy storm wearing just a dress and a yellow garbage bag. I thought at least I’d have the run of the streets, but I should have known better. All the usual traffic was still out, just more properly attired than myself. There were just as many carts and bikes, and the cars drive just as damn fast, with the added oomph of spewing water from their wheels. There were massive flooded parts of the street, with no way to go around them. By the time I got to my complex in Liudaokou, I was as soaked as when I was in the pool, and thoroughly laughing. I got some of the weirdest looks and double-takes since I’ve been in China, and that’s saying a lot.

Lesson Learned: I should really start checking the weather.

Thanks, Coach!

Kelly and I have a swim coach. He’s technically our school’s swim coach, but he spends at least a much time (if not more) giving us instructions as he does with the few students who randomly show up to “practice.” (Ok, he’s also so attentive because we’re closer to his age, and he’s asked us more than once, in broken English, if we have boyfriends.)

Other than that, he’s a great coach and a really nice guy. Apparently he was an Olympic swim coach before coming to THIS. He doesn’t know much English, but it gives him a chance to practice, the kids a chance to interpret, and me a chance practice my Chinese “Phrase of the Week”, even if it’s “Bring me a pot of tea.” It’s also another place that we get to use our Chinese names while we still can.

One of the strange things about my school is the allotment of resources. In some areas, we don’t have the things we need. I’ve been trying to get black construction paper for months now, glue sticks that really sick, and a pencil sharpener that isn’t shaped like a puppy or fish, never mind books in English. On the other hand, we have an Olympic swim coach for a scraggly pseudo-team, and we have practice in a gorgeous, Olympic-sized pool.

The pool is giant, and divided into two sides. On the other side there is daily diving practice. Six and seven-year olds do the most finely executed dives, summersaults, and backflips off of the highest boards I’ve ever seen. These are the diligent Chinese children I had half-expected to find in my classroom.

Even though we just started going in the spring, we’ve somehow become THE teachers of the swim team. There are pictures of us, decked out in suits, swim caps with goggles on our heads, which are apparently being used in the yearbook and for the schools’ advertisement!

Latte

In terms of Beijing night life, the most common area to head for dancing is Sanlitun. There are a lot of different types of bars, restaurants, brand-name shops like Esprit, Roxy, and a giant Apple store. At this point I’m used to going out there and partying with the foreigners. Last night was different.

I was with a new group of people that I’ve met through friends, and one of them, a recent transplant into Beijing from London, insisted that we bypass the usual clubs and check out Latte. He promised that if the music wasn’t better, it was still worth it “for the experience.” I didn’t realize until we got there that what he meant was the experience of seeing how Chinese people do Saturday night.

We took the elevator up to “Latte”, a giant one-room club. The walls were all laden with golden machines, I suppose to simulate the mechanics of a Latte-maker, but with an excess of pipes, pumps, and fans. The ceeling was coverd with giant bronze chandilers and a disco ball in the center. There were TV screens intersperced on the walls and hanging in the middle of the room which showed images like neon dancing robots to blue skies, dependeing on the song.

When we walked in the self-proclaimed “Chinese-Lady Gaga” was performing. There she was on stage in a eopard-print uni-tard, stripper pumps and aviators, fiercely punching the air to accentuate the words of some song in English I’ve never heard before. Her backup dancers included two women in silver uni-tards with bedazzled ski goggles, two men with gemstone bling designs on their face. It was hilariously amazing.

When that ended the DJ’s music resumed. People rushed the tiny stage to get a spot. Beyond the stage, the “dance floor” consisted of a three feet border between the stage and the first set of tables. In fact, most of the room was lined with tall tables, with groups of people leaning around them. As the only foreigners in the place, we stuck out even without having a table to lean on. There were waitresses buzzing around bringing bottle service, peanuts, and giant fruit platters to each table. The poor cleaning ladies worked their way through the strip of dance floor with a dustpan and broom.

We danced in the tiny space allowed, creating a new move called the “Latte”, where you basically move as little as possible, so as not to bump the table or the stage. The music ranged from “G-6” to techno with random words in English like, “I want to fight you” repeated over and over again. The lights went from rave/gay club neon to bright white as if we were in a coffee shop.

Best-Dressed: One guy was wearing a tiny-T that said, “Will you sleep with me?” I couldn’t help wonder if he knew what it said, or if it’s the same phenomenon where Americans will wear Chinese characters without giving too much thought to what it means.

Back to Beijing

It could have been difficult to readjust to Beijing. Many times during the weekend, while eating cheese and bread from the grocery store or finding buyable dresses, I thought, “Why do I live in Beijing?”

There were three reasons, luckily, that answered my question.

The first thing that stood out was the money. Shanghai is crazy expensive at every turn. Ok, it’s still not as expensive as New York, but in New York, I’d be in NEW YORK. Why would I pay next to NYC prices to live in China? At the rooftop “beer garden” at my hotel (the quotes are there because they only offered Tsingtao and Heineken), they charged ¥30 for a small Tsingtao! I can get a double-sized Tsingtao from my deli for ¥5. Even with a gorgeous view of The Bund and the rooftop all to ourselves, it was a little painful to fork that over.

The second off-putting element for me was the pretention. I love a fancy city, but I’m not really a fancy girl. Kelly and I went out for a fancy dinner one night. The steak was absolutely amazing, melting like butter in my mouth. You can imagine my joy, as I haven’t had American-style steak in almost a year.

The problem was, we weren’t allowed to share a pot of tea.

I can guess that you’re not exactly dropping your jaws and flailing your eyes in shock and horror. That’s fine, but this was a moment for me where I realized how good Beijing has been for me. The idea of having to order two pots of tea for two people goes beyond the price (which, of course, was ridiculous.) The point was, we’re in CHINA, Land of Tea-Sharing. China is built on family-style food for every meal, from dim sum to dinner, never mind the drinks. When you order a beer in Beijing, it comes out the size of a 40 and they bring small glass cups for your whole party, whether you’ve asked for it or not. That is the China I know and love.

The third reason came to me later, once I was back in my own city. I went to the Temple of Heaven, one of Beijing’s most well-known attractions. Set in the middle of a large park where, unlike the windy paths of others, everything was made in controlled squares. Unlike the youngsters hanging out on the grass in People’s square, crowds of Chinese locals gathered to dance, sing, and play games. As I stared at the intricate three-tiered cylinder, rising circular out to represent heaven out of the squares of Earth, I was as glad as ever to be living in Beijing. I didn’t move to China to eat delicious cheese and overpriced beer, or to pretend I’m in New York. Shaghai may have that Western feel down, but Beijing has history.

PROPAGANDA MUSEUM

We heard about the museum from our colleague in the tennis tournament. It’s a small collection in the basement of an apartment complex, but it was incredibly worth seeing. The museum was arranged chronologically, with descriptions in English about China’s influences starting in 1949, through Mao’s rule, and to the present day. It was crazy to see the way that countries changed and influenced the minds of the masses before Fox news and the mass media.

These are the posters that really stuck out for me:

1. Advertisements for The Great Leap Forward, -----
The poster showed a giant dragon boat with the caption, “Strive all efforts to advance the Big Leap Forward for the East and make the West worried.”

2. 1957-1962: One poster showed giant pink and tan fists with a background of smaller black fists all about the crash down on an old Chinese sailor with the caption, “Oppose US imperialism to invade and interfere the socialist camp.”

3. Then, later in 1963-1965, they took a different approach. “Support US black people’s justice struggle. Oppose racial discrimination.”

It wasn’t until 1976, with Nixon’s visit, that China stopped the anti-US propaganda. The other aspect that really blew my mind was the way Mao was portrayed in more recent times. Even though it was politically recognized that he was the Chinese equivalent of Hitler, decades after his death and the execution of the gang of 4, the modern posters showed, “Chairman Mao with Children.”

Yu Garden

If you’re in Shanghai, the Yu Garden is a must-see.

(How do you like my practicing for travel-writing?) Honestly, though, it was not only beautiful and tranquil, with moon-doorframes and giant fish-ponds, but it was the kind of China that you come to China to see. The garden was a winding maze of different stone paths leading to open hutongs and corners just perfect for contemplation.

The main path of the garden was considerably crowded for 9 am. Kelly and I were sitting on some stones, watching the unbelievably-large goldfish, when we were approached by a 13 yr-old girl. She said, “You are beautiful. I want to take picture with you.”

I’m not used to being such an American-oddity in Beijing, but I was happy to give the girl a picture. She climbed onto the rocks and sat in the middle of us. The woman with the camera chanted, “yi, ar, san” and clicked. Almost instantaneously the girl got up and the two middle-aged men who were with them sat down on either side of us for another “yi, ar, san.”

As they got up to leave one of the men turned and said, “Sank…you.” Everyone in his family laughed heartily.

After Yu or “fish” garden, we walked to the flower and bird market, which is just as it sounds, plus more animals. There was loud chirping from every corner, both from the birds and, surprisingly, crickets. I saw the largest crickets of my life all in tiny cages, boxes, or woven balls.

Why is it when someone says, “Don’t look!”, we immediately look? I recommend NOT looking, or you could end up face to face with a giant tray of silk worms, and another of their cocoons…still moving. Then, heaven forbid, you could remember the drunken night you thought it was a good idea to EAT a silkworm cocoon from a street vendor.

I love... Shanghai

My friend Emily noted how casually I mentioned that I was traveling to Shanghai for the weekend. To explain this, Kelly and I spent the whole trip there trying to think of the appropriate US comparison. True, it’s a plane ride, so it can’t be like Boston to NYC. Chicago seemed too far, so we finally decided that NYC to D.C. felt right. It’s definitely a trip, and a new city to explore, but it’s not a big leap. One of our co-workers goes to Shanghai so regularly that he couldn’t meet up with us while we were there because his tennis lesson turned into a tournament that lasted into the night.

Nevertheless, being there did feel like a trip…back to America. I’d expected it to have a more western feel because in the 30’s it was built up by foreign businessmen. (In addition to the fact that Beijing, being the conservative, Mao-centered capital, has long held out from western influence.) Regardless, I was shocked at how much more cosmopolitan and orderly it felt on the streets of Shanghai. There were no giant piles of brick and dirt on the broken sidewalks. I was asked to wait on the sidewalk instead of in the street. I even saw a traffic cop stop a bicyclist who had “too many” cardboard boxes, (when in Beijing terms he had barely begun to stack.)

I was never more convinced of the different feel of Shanghai than in People’s Square. Walking around the pathways in the park, looking at groups of people hanging out on the grass, I remembered Central Park for the first time in a long time.

Outside the Museum of Modern Art, which is in the square, we were stopped by some young Chinese tourists who asked us to take their picture. They asked us where we were from, and we said New York (for lack of a long conversation.) Their reaction was, “Ahh! Welcome to China’s New York!”

After the square we walked to The Bund, which is the downtown area of the city that faces the river. I’ve compared this view to the sculpture park in Astoria, as it faces the Pudong area of Shanghai.

Comment from Inside the Museum: I’m not one to comment on art, but one exhibit that struck me was an instillation of five shelves with broken eggshells. Inside the artist had written “random words from the English Language Book.” Each word was repeated many times in its shell in blue pen. I couldn’t help but wonder if this is how Chines people feel when we use their characters without regard to their meaning.

French Concession

Kelly and I carried our serious tourism mode to Shanghai, hitting the ground running from the moment we landed. We stayed in an area of Shanghai called the French Concession. It’s a really cute, downtown area of the city, with lot of shopping boutiques, parks, coffee shops and restaurants. We checked in around 11 am and went walking around our area. Although there are tons of restaurants in the area, we kept turning the wrong corners and didn’t find a place to eat until 1 pm (when I was moments away from caving and getting McDonalds.)


Traveler’s Note: Look up at least one restaurant/street name with restaurants in the area BEFORE arriving at lunchtime.

We managed the subway, which is easy enough to navigate once you can figure out how to get tickets. They use ¥1 coins a lot in Shanghai, which is shunned in Beijing. I kicked myself, thinking of the giant jar of coins in my apartment as I walked away from machine after machine with masking tape over the bill-insert slot.

At one point I broke down and went to a window asking for a ¥3 card. The woman told me I had to wait in a different line down the hall because she only had ¥4 cards. When I told her I didn’t mind and would take 2 she looked at me like I was crazy. I hate being an American stereotype/money waster, but I’ll take it over trying to find random windows and waiting in two lines just to save 35 cents.

Cash Only!

We had a three day weekend for May Day. Not only did we get May Day off, (who knows why) but it’s also apparently such an important holiday that we didn’t even have to make it up! This is unprecedented in our breaks, as China loves giving “days off” and then scheduling 8-day weeks, (which, by the way, work really well with small children. Note the sarcasm.)

Deciding to go to Shanghai was easy. It’s the other major city in in this part of China. I’d wanted to go since my sister gave me a joint Bejing/Shanghai guidebook last February. Actually getting there, unfortunately, was another story. It took 2 Chinese people to assist me, 5 hours after school, 20 calls to Customer Service, and one 2 hour trip to the bank to open up an online account, spread over two weeks.

It’s crazy how, in China, they make it so difficult to spend your own money. In America, it is nearly encouraged and (or at least incredibly easy) to get a piece of plastic and chalk up any expenses that you may or may not be able to pay back in the immediate future. In China, it’s the opposite. They’re incredibly skeptical of online payments. Paying rent for multiple months makes us all feel like drug dealers, as we hand over to our land-lords stacks of bills six-inches thick. Even when booking flights online, the preferred methods of payment are arranging for someone from the website to pick up the cash payment from your apartment, or making a cash transfer into a random bank account.

As charming as I find those options, I couldn’t even utilize them, as I don’t speak Chinese. Even using a translator wouldn’t help much, as I don’t have an address to direct a messenger to. I decided that getting an online account would be the best option. That’s where the 2-hour trip to the bank came in, where they repeatedly told me (through L, my assistant/life translator), that there were serious limits, which, of course, were less than the price of even one ticket to Shanghai.

Eventually, I was given a Bank-USB, which I have to put into my computer if I want to access my own money and pay for the things I want online. Even with the extra hour it took to set up the online account (which has no English option), booking the flight took me and the woman who was helping me at least 30 tries and until 6 pm at night to figure out the myriad of passwords and extra steps needed to buy the tickets.

After all that, I got on the plane and realized Kelly and I were both sitting in middle seats next to women with babies on their laps in the aisle seats between us.

I’ll say it though. Shanghai was definitely worth it.