dearest all,
I apologize for how long I have not posted on this blog. blogspot has been censored in China now for the past 6 months or so, and thus I have not been able to add to it. I am now using a friend's computer who has managed to make a tunnel to an American network to post this message.
However, I just recently started a blog on a very popular China-based website in the hopes that there is no way that qq in China could possibly be censored. (People put their qq numbers on their business cards, that's how big it is in China.)
the address is:
http://794411470.qzone.qq.com/
the main site is in Chinese, but the posts are (mostly) in English. If you can't read Chinese, I'm sorry. See if you can navigate by guessing. :)
In the meanwhile I will try to use other people's computers to post on this site and see if I can figure out this tunnel business.
thanks for your patience,
Anne
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
The sky is always blue in China
I was asked by a Chinese friend the other day if I ever noticed that every essay I was given by my Chinese students was about the same. I hadn’t really thought much of it. I guess I assumed it was because of their limited English vocabulary and grammar. But suddenly I realized why discussions were also so difficult—because almost every Chinese student had the same opinion. Or rather, every one of them would say, “Chinese people think...” And when I replied with, “but what do you think?” they would look confused and fumble for words.
My friend explained this to me: When the students of our generation were children, she told me, we were always taught to repeat whatever the teacher said. If the teacher said "the sky is blue," then the sky was blue. It didn’t matter if the sky was grey when it rained, the teacher’s word was truth. If a student spoke up and said, "But teacher, the sky is grey when it rains," the teacher would be mad, the student would be chided. So everyone just says the sky is blue (no matter what color it might actually be when it rains.)
So I am mostly stuck with a discussion limited to the difference between what “Chinese people” think and what “Americans” think. Unfortunately I’m not very good at speaking for all Americans. Though now I understand why they always ask me what “Americans” think about this or that. It is an absurd question to ask an American, but they seem to believe it is a reasonable question to ask a Chinese person.
NOTE: And this is not meant to say Chinese people are without creativity. I have met many open-minded and creative Chinese youth. And in class, my students will often surprise me. Like one time, when I assigned my Graduate Students to do a skit about marriage counseling. And most of them came up with the standard Chinese marriage problem story: the husband has a lover, or the wife thinks the husband has a lover, or the husband or wife work too much so they don't have enough time for the other or housework or children. Then, the last skit completely surprised me: it was of a lesbian couple who were fighting because one of them wanted to adopt a child and the other thought a child would prevent them from traveling and enjoying their youth. The solution the "counselor" came up with was that the couple should try adopting a pet, or if they were ready for a bigger step, adopting an older child who only needed a couple years in a home. None of them used a script. It was all improvised. I was stunned. I thought I was back in Oberlin for a moment.
So yeah, you really never know who or what ideas you will meet here.
My friend explained this to me: When the students of our generation were children, she told me, we were always taught to repeat whatever the teacher said. If the teacher said "the sky is blue," then the sky was blue. It didn’t matter if the sky was grey when it rained, the teacher’s word was truth. If a student spoke up and said, "But teacher, the sky is grey when it rains," the teacher would be mad, the student would be chided. So everyone just says the sky is blue (no matter what color it might actually be when it rains.)
So I am mostly stuck with a discussion limited to the difference between what “Chinese people” think and what “Americans” think. Unfortunately I’m not very good at speaking for all Americans. Though now I understand why they always ask me what “Americans” think about this or that. It is an absurd question to ask an American, but they seem to believe it is a reasonable question to ask a Chinese person.
NOTE: And this is not meant to say Chinese people are without creativity. I have met many open-minded and creative Chinese youth. And in class, my students will often surprise me. Like one time, when I assigned my Graduate Students to do a skit about marriage counseling. And most of them came up with the standard Chinese marriage problem story: the husband has a lover, or the wife thinks the husband has a lover, or the husband or wife work too much so they don't have enough time for the other or housework or children. Then, the last skit completely surprised me: it was of a lesbian couple who were fighting because one of them wanted to adopt a child and the other thought a child would prevent them from traveling and enjoying their youth. The solution the "counselor" came up with was that the couple should try adopting a pet, or if they were ready for a bigger step, adopting an older child who only needed a couple years in a home. None of them used a script. It was all improvised. I was stunned. I thought I was back in Oberlin for a moment.
So yeah, you really never know who or what ideas you will meet here.
Saturday, March 28, 2009
The Taigu Whole Day Triathalon
Just finished the Taigu Whole Day Triathlon. It does not take much training, but it is a blast. Here's what you do:
Hear knocking at your door at 8:30am in the morning on Saturday and pretend you are still sleepin because you know the only people knocking this early are your students or your housemates students. (You hope they are your housemate's.) Hear knocking at your door at 9:30am and pull on some pants over your boxers because you recognize the voices outside your door and they are definitely your students. Find out that they want to you to come with them on a trip to a nearby hill--they are going to leave in 10 minutes. You agree and throw on some real clothes. Bike, using a purple, rusty, single speed bike a little too small for you, through dry farm fields, dusty roads, country towns and past the occasional coal factory to get to a large hill. Climb the hill, with 14 grad students all carrying some barbecue ingredients including fresh meat, potatoes, green beans, steamed buns, a large Chinese knife, a cutting board, a nine pack of large bottles of beer (if you've seen Chinese beer bottles you know how big I mean), and of course, a mini grill and a lighter and some coal. And make sure to take the steepest path possible, preferably not very well worn, something that looks like what would be a deer path in the U.S, and once you get to the temples, take a picture of yourself and others about every 7 steps or so, or every time you think the view has changed. Once you finally make it to the top of the hill, eat a lot of barbecue and crackers and drink a bottle of beer. And make sure to take more pictures of this whole process. Spend a good amount of time at the top, spend some time playing cards on the cutting board afterward too. And on the way down, make sure to take a slightly wider path (because we do learn) but make sure it is still the kind of path that if you sat on your but you would slide all the way down. Then, ride your bike back to the campus with the large chaotic group, while forgetting turns along the way, and make sure to drop off your bottles at a grocery store to get the refund (yes, you did just bring them back down the mountain). Then, as soon as you go back, off to the school swimming pool, which should be a milky green color, because you have just been told that although it just opened there seem to be a lot of algae that they say are too hard to remove. Spend maybe one fourth of the time swimming laps and the other 2/3 of the time talking to people at either end. Then, take a massive shower with over 30 naked Chinese women (or men, if that's where you would go), get your body stared at and commented about as usual, and then put your clothes back on (which will also get stared at and commented about as usual because as usual, you wear a full layer less than everyone else, because, yes, it's warm outside and westerners don't wear long underwear in the spring, even if it is "spring" long underwear.) Then, wait an hour for friends, who you just saw at the swimming pool, to come to your house to go out to eat. And in the meantime prepare for a dance party. Go out to a nearby restaurant, eat a ton of delicious Chinese food, buy paper cups, run back to the house to meet people for the party. And then, put up the disco ball, set up the stereo, get together the music (probably get help from the other foreigners to do this, and most likely some of this is being done after the guests have arrived). Feel awkward for your students who have never been to your foreign parties before. Try despirately to make people feel comfortable by dancing like a fool. Then, try despirately to get your friends who you know can dance like fools too to dance. Then relax as you realize they are enjoying it, and dance crazily for the next two or three hours.
whew. I didn't plan for any of that to happen before hand except the party. But it was all really fun.
And now it's really time for bed.
Hear knocking at your door at 8:30am in the morning on Saturday and pretend you are still sleepin because you know the only people knocking this early are your students or your housemates students. (You hope they are your housemate's.) Hear knocking at your door at 9:30am and pull on some pants over your boxers because you recognize the voices outside your door and they are definitely your students. Find out that they want to you to come with them on a trip to a nearby hill--they are going to leave in 10 minutes. You agree and throw on some real clothes. Bike, using a purple, rusty, single speed bike a little too small for you, through dry farm fields, dusty roads, country towns and past the occasional coal factory to get to a large hill. Climb the hill, with 14 grad students all carrying some barbecue ingredients including fresh meat, potatoes, green beans, steamed buns, a large Chinese knife, a cutting board, a nine pack of large bottles of beer (if you've seen Chinese beer bottles you know how big I mean), and of course, a mini grill and a lighter and some coal. And make sure to take the steepest path possible, preferably not very well worn, something that looks like what would be a deer path in the U.S, and once you get to the temples, take a picture of yourself and others about every 7 steps or so, or every time you think the view has changed. Once you finally make it to the top of the hill, eat a lot of barbecue and crackers and drink a bottle of beer. And make sure to take more pictures of this whole process. Spend a good amount of time at the top, spend some time playing cards on the cutting board afterward too. And on the way down, make sure to take a slightly wider path (because we do learn) but make sure it is still the kind of path that if you sat on your but you would slide all the way down. Then, ride your bike back to the campus with the large chaotic group, while forgetting turns along the way, and make sure to drop off your bottles at a grocery store to get the refund (yes, you did just bring them back down the mountain). Then, as soon as you go back, off to the school swimming pool, which should be a milky green color, because you have just been told that although it just opened there seem to be a lot of algae that they say are too hard to remove. Spend maybe one fourth of the time swimming laps and the other 2/3 of the time talking to people at either end. Then, take a massive shower with over 30 naked Chinese women (or men, if that's where you would go), get your body stared at and commented about as usual, and then put your clothes back on (which will also get stared at and commented about as usual because as usual, you wear a full layer less than everyone else, because, yes, it's warm outside and westerners don't wear long underwear in the spring, even if it is "spring" long underwear.) Then, wait an hour for friends, who you just saw at the swimming pool, to come to your house to go out to eat. And in the meantime prepare for a dance party. Go out to a nearby restaurant, eat a ton of delicious Chinese food, buy paper cups, run back to the house to meet people for the party. And then, put up the disco ball, set up the stereo, get together the music (probably get help from the other foreigners to do this, and most likely some of this is being done after the guests have arrived). Feel awkward for your students who have never been to your foreign parties before. Try despirately to make people feel comfortable by dancing like a fool. Then, try despirately to get your friends who you know can dance like fools too to dance. Then relax as you realize they are enjoying it, and dance crazily for the next two or three hours.
whew. I didn't plan for any of that to happen before hand except the party. But it was all really fun.
And now it's really time for bed.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Remembering February: A final encounter
I met a young man on the bus back to Guilin from Yangshuo. I found myself looking in his direction and smiling. He smiled back and I worried that he had taken my accidental smile the wrong way and perhaps thought I was another loose foreign woman. But I was wrong. The baby in the seat behind me started crying and he smiled at him too. In fact, he used this excuse as a nice way to move into the open aisle seat next to me and in front of the crying child. We started talking after it seemed that nothing could satisfy the little one.
He was from Yangshuo, grew up there, and graduated from elementary school--no more no less. His parents were poor farmers. He was just about my age. He was going into Guilin to have fun for a night and then look for a job the next day. He asked my plans--I told him I was leaving for Beijing in the morning, but tonight, I had no plans. He told me he could take me around to see things in Guilin. I figured, why not? As long as we walked and were near many people (which it was almost impossible not to do in China) I could always find my way back to the hostel.
He wondered at my independence and fearlessness in a strange place. He asked me, what would I do if I lost the way? I told him I would ask someone. He asked, aren't you afraid? I said no. He told me there were many bad people in these places, in the city. I told him I knew. (Meanwhile the baby behind us had quieted.)
So it was decided. He walked me to the hostel (although he seemed afraid to actually go inside--he waited for me at the bottom of the stairs) and I dropped of my stuff. And we started out up the street I had walked along by myself a number of days earlier.
Guilin is a much bigger city than I expected when hearing about the place. Foreigners hear all about the mountains surrounding the city, but when you get there, to the center of the city all you can see is the tips of the surrounding hills and the buildings and shopping centers and street vendors. It's a big city. At night, the touristy spots are lit up with bright almost christmas like lights (This is a common phenomenon in China at toursit sites...apparently it is in Korea too, cause I saw it there also.) The lights will outline the river edge, the trees, the fence, the bridges, the famous pagodas. There will be spotlights meanwhile lighting up the trees and various parts of the scenery. I suppose it is meant to be romantic, but it seems a little overdone to jadded American eyes. It's just a little too Disney.
We stopped at one spot and he asked if I wanted to take a picture of the lit-up pagodas, which represented the sun and moon in the middle of a small pond. I told him I had lost my camera. He exclaimed how horrible that was, being in all these beautiful sites. (Although I had been having my friends take pictures for me for all those days I was visiting with a Chinese friend in Nanning and with Beth in Yangshuo.) So I said, sort of joking, but I can draw them. I have my notebook. So he encouraged me. Sit and draw. Don't forget. So I sat there and tried to draw the pagodas with pen. Meanwhile a bunch of young Chinese tourists came up to me and started talking about me in Chinese. I replied to them when they asked each other what I was doing. They were surprised at my Mandarin and started asking me more questions. Soon I was nervous and couldn't get any drawing done with them continually watching me draw. So I asked my new friend if he was ready to go. They all exclaimed, "Can you speak the Guilin dialect too?" I said "no." He was from Yangshuo anyway, which probably had a different accent. And I had just spoken Mandarin to him.
So my new friend brought me to a quieter place but made me finish drawing the temples. He told me it would be a pity if I started and didn't finish. So I did. But I just finished one of the temples, before I got impatient and swore I would bring a camera in the future so I wouldn't have to prove I could use other, more tedious methods of recording places next time.
I asked the young man where he would stay the night. He said he would stay at an internet bar. It was cheaper that way, he explained. Plus he could play on the computer if he wanted or sleep if he wanted. (He said he couldn't write, but he could type with pinyin.)
We walked around a park I had been walking around for a while. I told him I had come to this park by myself on Valentines day. He asked if I had someone (I believe that was literally what he asked if there was a ren--a person). I told him no, a boyfriend of a long time and I had just recently broken up. I explained that the problem was distance. He said that he too had just recently broken up with a girl he had been with for a long time. I asked him why and he said, because his family was poor, he had no job and no money, and he was fat, so she and her family disapproved. I told him the fat part was not true (because it sure didn't seem to be--he was slender...although he still insisted on not eating dinner that night because he said he was on a diet), but I couldn't say anything about the other things. My reasons for ending a relationship were thousands of miles away from his reasons--in culture, in logic and in freedom. There was nothing I knew how to say to comfort. Sometimes things just are in China. 没办法。(there's no way) and as an ordinary Chinese, you just have to accept them. 将就，将就。
He left me at the hostel with his QQ number and his e-mail address and told me if I came back to Yangshuo and let him know. He would give me a real tour of the countryside. I wondered why I hadn't met him at the beginning of my time in Guilin and Yangshuo. But he left the hostel so quickly after leaving the numbers, I couldn't even think to wish him good luck. He seemed really out of place in that hostel of hip Chinese and foreigners.
He was from Yangshuo, grew up there, and graduated from elementary school--no more no less. His parents were poor farmers. He was just about my age. He was going into Guilin to have fun for a night and then look for a job the next day. He asked my plans--I told him I was leaving for Beijing in the morning, but tonight, I had no plans. He told me he could take me around to see things in Guilin. I figured, why not? As long as we walked and were near many people (which it was almost impossible not to do in China) I could always find my way back to the hostel.
He wondered at my independence and fearlessness in a strange place. He asked me, what would I do if I lost the way? I told him I would ask someone. He asked, aren't you afraid? I said no. He told me there were many bad people in these places, in the city. I told him I knew. (Meanwhile the baby behind us had quieted.)
So it was decided. He walked me to the hostel (although he seemed afraid to actually go inside--he waited for me at the bottom of the stairs) and I dropped of my stuff. And we started out up the street I had walked along by myself a number of days earlier.
Guilin is a much bigger city than I expected when hearing about the place. Foreigners hear all about the mountains surrounding the city, but when you get there, to the center of the city all you can see is the tips of the surrounding hills and the buildings and shopping centers and street vendors. It's a big city. At night, the touristy spots are lit up with bright almost christmas like lights (This is a common phenomenon in China at toursit sites...apparently it is in Korea too, cause I saw it there also.) The lights will outline the river edge, the trees, the fence, the bridges, the famous pagodas. There will be spotlights meanwhile lighting up the trees and various parts of the scenery. I suppose it is meant to be romantic, but it seems a little overdone to jadded American eyes. It's just a little too Disney.
We stopped at one spot and he asked if I wanted to take a picture of the lit-up pagodas, which represented the sun and moon in the middle of a small pond. I told him I had lost my camera. He exclaimed how horrible that was, being in all these beautiful sites. (Although I had been having my friends take pictures for me for all those days I was visiting with a Chinese friend in Nanning and with Beth in Yangshuo.) So I said, sort of joking, but I can draw them. I have my notebook. So he encouraged me. Sit and draw. Don't forget. So I sat there and tried to draw the pagodas with pen. Meanwhile a bunch of young Chinese tourists came up to me and started talking about me in Chinese. I replied to them when they asked each other what I was doing. They were surprised at my Mandarin and started asking me more questions. Soon I was nervous and couldn't get any drawing done with them continually watching me draw. So I asked my new friend if he was ready to go. They all exclaimed, "Can you speak the Guilin dialect too?" I said "no." He was from Yangshuo anyway, which probably had a different accent. And I had just spoken Mandarin to him.
So my new friend brought me to a quieter place but made me finish drawing the temples. He told me it would be a pity if I started and didn't finish. So I did. But I just finished one of the temples, before I got impatient and swore I would bring a camera in the future so I wouldn't have to prove I could use other, more tedious methods of recording places next time.
I asked the young man where he would stay the night. He said he would stay at an internet bar. It was cheaper that way, he explained. Plus he could play on the computer if he wanted or sleep if he wanted. (He said he couldn't write, but he could type with pinyin.)
We walked around a park I had been walking around for a while. I told him I had come to this park by myself on Valentines day. He asked if I had someone (I believe that was literally what he asked if there was a ren--a person). I told him no, a boyfriend of a long time and I had just recently broken up. I explained that the problem was distance. He said that he too had just recently broken up with a girl he had been with for a long time. I asked him why and he said, because his family was poor, he had no job and no money, and he was fat, so she and her family disapproved. I told him the fat part was not true (because it sure didn't seem to be--he was slender...although he still insisted on not eating dinner that night because he said he was on a diet), but I couldn't say anything about the other things. My reasons for ending a relationship were thousands of miles away from his reasons--in culture, in logic and in freedom. There was nothing I knew how to say to comfort. Sometimes things just are in China. 没办法。(there's no way) and as an ordinary Chinese, you just have to accept them. 将就，将就。
He left me at the hostel with his QQ number and his e-mail address and told me if I came back to Yangshuo and let him know. He would give me a real tour of the countryside. I wondered why I hadn't met him at the beginning of my time in Guilin and Yangshuo. But he left the hostel so quickly after leaving the numbers, I couldn't even think to wish him good luck. He seemed really out of place in that hostel of hip Chinese and foreigners.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Remembering February: starting to head back from Yangshuo
Leaving Yangshuo was a bit sad. Grey skies. And I knew I was leaving traveling for a while. So many people had been in and out of my life in the past couple days. Some I would never see again.
I would love to describe, to draw, to inscribe in stone each person I passed, but I could not replicate them. Like the way, waking up that morning and wondering if the young man in the bunk next to me from Australia (we saw from his suitcase tag) would resemble someone I knew, and when the slender figure woke, his narrow nose and face led me to think of a friend of mine who had died a year and a half ago. Like the cheerful, eager young man from Guandong who exchanged some reading lessons with me--we opened up the hostel's little book of notes from travelers, and I read Chinese to him, he the English to me, late into the night at the hostel. And his darker, deep-sweet-eyed, serious companion who he met as he met me--by chance of staying at the same hostel. And like the way the darker, older of the two seemed to speak excitedly and then sadly of his age, 28, and how he must enjoy this traveling while he is young, before he gets old and must think too much, must be overcome by thoughts. He told me he already cannot sleep without first drinking alcohol, because of his thoughts. Like a young man from Poland whose boyish face and mannerisms seemed familiar, and who, in the 20 minutes before had to go catch his train asked me what the Chinese think about their situation, because he cannot speak Chinese and he is awfully curious. And after 20 minutes of facinating conversation, he is gone to catch the train to Shanghai. And like Roary, the 6 foot tall, curly-red-haired, nice Irishman who I kept running into, on the tops of a mountain in a park, and then on the streets in Yangshuo with Beth. And the sweet couple from England and Wales traveling the world for a year who share with me a bit about their travels and made me late picking up Beth from the airport because I was so fascinated by them. Yes, most of the other travelers are young men or couples. I seemed to be one of the few single women traveling on my own. Even among the traveling community. But it didn't matter, people were kind to me, no body asked me why it was just me. Just too many faces going by...
And the countryside bike ride that morning that I left, amongst the strange green and rocky hills thrusting up from flat green and yellow farm fields with a clear river twisting downt he middle, was incredible. I can't even begin to do the place justice. It was too real and surreal to register how beautiful it really was. And while we were biking through majesty, we were also biking through poverty--isolated farming villages. But in such a beautiful place. Bikes pumping, skin hiving (for who knows what reason), toes numbing by the end--but lovely adventure, really interesting, beautiful place, fare enough away from people to feel it, with just enough to help find the way...
It was definitely sad to leave Yangshuo. And I wasn't at all ready or excited quite yet to get back to teaching.
I would love to describe, to draw, to inscribe in stone each person I passed, but I could not replicate them. Like the way, waking up that morning and wondering if the young man in the bunk next to me from Australia (we saw from his suitcase tag) would resemble someone I knew, and when the slender figure woke, his narrow nose and face led me to think of a friend of mine who had died a year and a half ago. Like the cheerful, eager young man from Guandong who exchanged some reading lessons with me--we opened up the hostel's little book of notes from travelers, and I read Chinese to him, he the English to me, late into the night at the hostel. And his darker, deep-sweet-eyed, serious companion who he met as he met me--by chance of staying at the same hostel. And like the way the darker, older of the two seemed to speak excitedly and then sadly of his age, 28, and how he must enjoy this traveling while he is young, before he gets old and must think too much, must be overcome by thoughts. He told me he already cannot sleep without first drinking alcohol, because of his thoughts. Like a young man from Poland whose boyish face and mannerisms seemed familiar, and who, in the 20 minutes before had to go catch his train asked me what the Chinese think about their situation, because he cannot speak Chinese and he is awfully curious. And after 20 minutes of facinating conversation, he is gone to catch the train to Shanghai. And like Roary, the 6 foot tall, curly-red-haired, nice Irishman who I kept running into, on the tops of a mountain in a park, and then on the streets in Yangshuo with Beth. And the sweet couple from England and Wales traveling the world for a year who share with me a bit about their travels and made me late picking up Beth from the airport because I was so fascinated by them. Yes, most of the other travelers are young men or couples. I seemed to be one of the few single women traveling on my own. Even among the traveling community. But it didn't matter, people were kind to me, no body asked me why it was just me. Just too many faces going by...
And the countryside bike ride that morning that I left, amongst the strange green and rocky hills thrusting up from flat green and yellow farm fields with a clear river twisting downt he middle, was incredible. I can't even begin to do the place justice. It was too real and surreal to register how beautiful it really was. And while we were biking through majesty, we were also biking through poverty--isolated farming villages. But in such a beautiful place. Bikes pumping, skin hiving (for who knows what reason), toes numbing by the end--but lovely adventure, really interesting, beautiful place, fare enough away from people to feel it, with just enough to help find the way...
It was definitely sad to leave Yangshuo. And I wasn't at all ready or excited quite yet to get back to teaching.
Remembering February: When I collide with 99 Qinghai Tibetans in Guizhou
"我们有缘分。" (We are fated to be brought together)
So says the Tibetan leader of the 99 touring Qinghai Tibetans I met on a train from Guilin to Nanning. I didn't know if it was yuanfen (fate) or not, but I was sure thankful for whatever strange forces had worked to make me take the same train as these lovely people.
I was going to Nanning to visit a friend I had made in Kunming. She was studying traditional medicine there, but her home was in Nanning. As I was waiting in the smoke-filled (the "smoking room" consisted of a hallway that connected to the main waiting rooms), hot trainstation, a large group of mostly older men began crowding the asiles by the gates that would open to let us to the platform. They were wearing thick layers of clothing and all of them were sweating profusely. Their skin was darker than other Chinese, and many of their eyes a light honey brown, and their hair slightly curly. A couple of older men caught my eye, realizing how I too didn't look like the rest of the people--mostly Han Chinese--in the waiting room, and smiled at me. I even got videotaped for a moment as one older man did a circular view of everyone crammed into the train station waiting room. Most of them were older men, so I offered my seat to one while we were waiting. He refused at first, but after much insistence on my part and encouragement by bystanders, he shyly and gratefully took my seat. The tour guide, a Han Chinese man, asked me where I was from and started up a conversation with me. He told me that the group were all Qinghai Tibetans on a tour outside of their village. Once I got my seat, he said, I should come find them. He told me there were 99 of them and these people loved 热闹（renao. Again, this Chinese word I can't translate that means something like: "bustling with noise and excitement"). He asked what car I was in so he could come find me once they were settled. I showed him my ticket, but I assumed he was joking, so I just smiled in response.
Soon, they were opening the gates to let us onto the platform and after the chaotic mass migration that always occurs before you get on a train in China, I found my respective seat and settled in. I sat next to some Guilin ladies who chattered away in their dialect while I slept through the next hour. But sure enough, after woke up from my nap, the tourguide came into my car. Okay, he said, follow me. I figured, why not, so I grabbed my stuff and followed him. I was so glad I did.
The guide sat me down next to the leader of the group who spoke to me in his strongly accented Mandarin (although his pronunciation was probably one of the best of the men in the group). Most of them were speaking Tibetan to eachother. The leader asked me how to say a few things in English (including his phrase about 缘分, or fate which I struggled to translate）and I in turn asked him how to say some things in Tibetan. Soon, he pointed to a young, pretty woman sitting across the asle. She should be your teacher, he said. And out of her mouth came the most perfect English I had heard out of anyone in China--Hello. How are you? I liked her right away.
She was an English teacher in their village, and with her almost flawless English she helped explain to me more about who this group was in ways I couldn't understand in 普通话 （standard Mandarin). She explained that the village had organized an outing for all the village leaders to go outside of Qinghai (for many their first time outside the province and first time on a train). So they had come from Xi'an and Guilin and now they were headed to Beihai (which they heartily encouraged me to come with them). And all of these older men were extremely, extremely excited (if a little shocked by the warmth--home was full of snow) about this trip and they loved seeing these places. Although she said that they had had some trouble with barganing, because, she explained, Tibetans are so trusting, that they assume that everything someone tells them is the truth. So when the vendors tell the older men that they absolutely must have these things and this absolutely is the best price you can find, the old men will believe them. And in spite of her and the other young people's protests that they should try to ask for a better price, they will buy the thing. (Some of the men ended up proving this phenomenon true at the end of the trip. As we were reaching our station, the workers on the train advertised a kind of flexible toothbrush in a two for one deal that almost all the older Tibetans immediately bought up. Although interestingly enough, on the way back from Nanning I found that a number of Han Chinese people also bought the same toothbrush. It made me feel better to know that it wasn't just us foreigners from outside of China who were tricked by "deals.")
They kept inviting me to go to their hometown. I kept saying how much I wanted to. Then, as I continued talking with the woman, a young man came up, and told her to introduce him as handsome, but say that he was shy around beautiful ladies. At which I of course laughed. They told me I was pretty, which seemed funny to me in my sweaty glasses, pigtails and plaid shirt. (I always wonder if people just say this in China because I am foreign and thus exotic, or just to be polite or nice to me.) The young people seemed to talk with bits of Mandarin and bits of Tibetan (and with these people, some English), while the older people predominantly spoke Tibetan, unless they were talking to me or the guide.
One of the older men started singing to me (after much joking and encouragement). My new friend explained that Tibetans love singing, and it was common for a man to sing to a woman, and her back to him. I don't know if you have ever heard Tibetan songs or a Tibetan sing before, but you should make sure it is something on your list of things to do before you die. His voice was clear, true and almost eirie in the way it sounded like it was echoing in the mountains. Our half of the car quieted down the moment he began. The teacher translated the song for me: the man was comparing me to the moon--so beautiful, but so far away and unreachable. It was really lovely sounding. And then he stopped singing, and she explained, they will not continue, unless I sing in reply. I looked to my new friend for suggestions, and she offered, "You are my sunshine" which I sang and which she then translated for them into Tibetan. They enjoyed that translation. After more encouragement "handsome" also sang a song for me. He too had a beautiful voice. I sang back 甜密密 , one of the few Chinese songs I can sing all the way through, and a well-known favorite in China. It was the best time I've ever had on a train.
I was so excited the entire time I spent with them on the train, I was enthralled by their excitement, their culture, their language, their songs, their warmth and automatic acceptance of me. And I got to talk with this one English teacher quite a bit. I learned things from her all sorts of things I didn't know about Tibetans, like how conservative their culture is in terms of marriage age. Or, more relevant to my own life, how one of her English teachers from University was sent back to the U.S. for teaching too many Tibetans. And how now her school has trouble getting enough foreign teachers because the government won't accept their VISAs. Of course, she explained this all in English. The leader of the Village later asked me if I wouldn't come and teach English in their village. I thought how amazing that would be--beautiful mountains, a new language to learn, a facinating culture to surround myself in--and then I remembered that I still have a year and a half of a fellowship to complete. Visiting is probably the best bet at this point. Although I was so tempted to just continue to follow them on their trip to Beihai.
There was another woman who sat next to me who was a divorcee, but rather young-looking. She was reading one of those older American "manners" books for "proper ladies" that had been re-published in a modern looking Chinese version. She asked me if I had read the book and told me I was the first foreigner she had ever met. Funny. So lovely.
I told them I would visit them this summer. I hope it works out. I would love to see where such lovely people call home.
So says the Tibetan leader of the 99 touring Qinghai Tibetans I met on a train from Guilin to Nanning. I didn't know if it was yuanfen (fate) or not, but I was sure thankful for whatever strange forces had worked to make me take the same train as these lovely people.
I was going to Nanning to visit a friend I had made in Kunming. She was studying traditional medicine there, but her home was in Nanning. As I was waiting in the smoke-filled (the "smoking room" consisted of a hallway that connected to the main waiting rooms), hot trainstation, a large group of mostly older men began crowding the asiles by the gates that would open to let us to the platform. They were wearing thick layers of clothing and all of them were sweating profusely. Their skin was darker than other Chinese, and many of their eyes a light honey brown, and their hair slightly curly. A couple of older men caught my eye, realizing how I too didn't look like the rest of the people--mostly Han Chinese--in the waiting room, and smiled at me. I even got videotaped for a moment as one older man did a circular view of everyone crammed into the train station waiting room. Most of them were older men, so I offered my seat to one while we were waiting. He refused at first, but after much insistence on my part and encouragement by bystanders, he shyly and gratefully took my seat. The tour guide, a Han Chinese man, asked me where I was from and started up a conversation with me. He told me that the group were all Qinghai Tibetans on a tour outside of their village. Once I got my seat, he said, I should come find them. He told me there were 99 of them and these people loved 热闹（renao. Again, this Chinese word I can't translate that means something like: "bustling with noise and excitement"). He asked what car I was in so he could come find me once they were settled. I showed him my ticket, but I assumed he was joking, so I just smiled in response.
Soon, they were opening the gates to let us onto the platform and after the chaotic mass migration that always occurs before you get on a train in China, I found my respective seat and settled in. I sat next to some Guilin ladies who chattered away in their dialect while I slept through the next hour. But sure enough, after woke up from my nap, the tourguide came into my car. Okay, he said, follow me. I figured, why not, so I grabbed my stuff and followed him. I was so glad I did.
The guide sat me down next to the leader of the group who spoke to me in his strongly accented Mandarin (although his pronunciation was probably one of the best of the men in the group). Most of them were speaking Tibetan to eachother. The leader asked me how to say a few things in English (including his phrase about 缘分, or fate which I struggled to translate）and I in turn asked him how to say some things in Tibetan. Soon, he pointed to a young, pretty woman sitting across the asle. She should be your teacher, he said. And out of her mouth came the most perfect English I had heard out of anyone in China--Hello. How are you? I liked her right away.
She was an English teacher in their village, and with her almost flawless English she helped explain to me more about who this group was in ways I couldn't understand in 普通话 （standard Mandarin). She explained that the village had organized an outing for all the village leaders to go outside of Qinghai (for many their first time outside the province and first time on a train). So they had come from Xi'an and Guilin and now they were headed to Beihai (which they heartily encouraged me to come with them). And all of these older men were extremely, extremely excited (if a little shocked by the warmth--home was full of snow) about this trip and they loved seeing these places. Although she said that they had had some trouble with barganing, because, she explained, Tibetans are so trusting, that they assume that everything someone tells them is the truth. So when the vendors tell the older men that they absolutely must have these things and this absolutely is the best price you can find, the old men will believe them. And in spite of her and the other young people's protests that they should try to ask for a better price, they will buy the thing. (Some of the men ended up proving this phenomenon true at the end of the trip. As we were reaching our station, the workers on the train advertised a kind of flexible toothbrush in a two for one deal that almost all the older Tibetans immediately bought up. Although interestingly enough, on the way back from Nanning I found that a number of Han Chinese people also bought the same toothbrush. It made me feel better to know that it wasn't just us foreigners from outside of China who were tricked by "deals.")
They kept inviting me to go to their hometown. I kept saying how much I wanted to. Then, as I continued talking with the woman, a young man came up, and told her to introduce him as handsome, but say that he was shy around beautiful ladies. At which I of course laughed. They told me I was pretty, which seemed funny to me in my sweaty glasses, pigtails and plaid shirt. (I always wonder if people just say this in China because I am foreign and thus exotic, or just to be polite or nice to me.) The young people seemed to talk with bits of Mandarin and bits of Tibetan (and with these people, some English), while the older people predominantly spoke Tibetan, unless they were talking to me or the guide.
One of the older men started singing to me (after much joking and encouragement). My new friend explained that Tibetans love singing, and it was common for a man to sing to a woman, and her back to him. I don't know if you have ever heard Tibetan songs or a Tibetan sing before, but you should make sure it is something on your list of things to do before you die. His voice was clear, true and almost eirie in the way it sounded like it was echoing in the mountains. Our half of the car quieted down the moment he began. The teacher translated the song for me: the man was comparing me to the moon--so beautiful, but so far away and unreachable. It was really lovely sounding. And then he stopped singing, and she explained, they will not continue, unless I sing in reply. I looked to my new friend for suggestions, and she offered, "You are my sunshine" which I sang and which she then translated for them into Tibetan. They enjoyed that translation. After more encouragement "handsome" also sang a song for me. He too had a beautiful voice. I sang back 甜密密 , one of the few Chinese songs I can sing all the way through, and a well-known favorite in China. It was the best time I've ever had on a train.
I was so excited the entire time I spent with them on the train, I was enthralled by their excitement, their culture, their language, their songs, their warmth and automatic acceptance of me. And I got to talk with this one English teacher quite a bit. I learned things from her all sorts of things I didn't know about Tibetans, like how conservative their culture is in terms of marriage age. Or, more relevant to my own life, how one of her English teachers from University was sent back to the U.S. for teaching too many Tibetans. And how now her school has trouble getting enough foreign teachers because the government won't accept their VISAs. Of course, she explained this all in English. The leader of the Village later asked me if I wouldn't come and teach English in their village. I thought how amazing that would be--beautiful mountains, a new language to learn, a facinating culture to surround myself in--and then I remembered that I still have a year and a half of a fellowship to complete. Visiting is probably the best bet at this point. Although I was so tempted to just continue to follow them on their trip to Beihai.
There was another woman who sat next to me who was a divorcee, but rather young-looking. She was reading one of those older American "manners" books for "proper ladies" that had been re-published in a modern looking Chinese version. She asked me if I had read the book and told me I was the first foreigner she had ever met. Funny. So lovely.
I told them I would visit them this summer. I hope it works out. I would love to see where such lovely people call home.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Remembering Chinese New Years: Second New Years, a Second Home
China, I think, grows on me after I return. At first, everytime I come back, there is a terror of throwing myself into a stifling culture with so many people and such a history. And then, with smiles, and curiosity and eagerness, the Chinese people win me over again. Koreans are shy but, generally friendly if you approach them. But they don't put in the effort to approach you the way that Chinese people do. I forgot about the people here who have their children say "Hello" to you and who sing English songs on the subway while casting glances in your direction, and who try out saying "foreigner" in all the different languages they know to see what kind of reaction they can get out of you--or maybe that is just Beijing. But I don't think so. Everywhere I will see young Chinese women who when we catch the other's eye, will smile symultaneously. But I find that it is usually I who is shy and will first turn my eyes away.
I think of the way Koreans celebrate their New Years and the way Chinese celebrate theirs. Korean New Years means that people go home and spend time quietly with their family--eat food together and pray and give offerings to their ancestors. Chinese people, however, love 热闹。 And I really wish there was a way to translate this word, because it is the essence of Chinese celebrations--warm, festive, loud, noisy, almost chaotic, but in a good way. And that is how they celebrate the New Years--explosions, the color red, money for children, lots of people all making dumplings together, parades, traditional dances--of course, they also mostly just spend time at home with family, but unlike neat and carefully organized Korea, they set off fireworks in the streets! And not just little sparklers--Beijing was absolutely brimming with crysanthamums of color bursting in every allyway, every courtyard, every street, raining down ash and bits of fiber on the happy observers below. The fireworks are set off to scare away the bad spirits of the past year and make room for the good, new ones. Apparently, it is thought that the more fireworks you set off, the more good luck you will have. So this year, because of the economic recession, tons of businessmen had boxes full of 20 or more fireworks (that I was told cost thousands of yuan) and set them off, greatly pleasing the rest of us passersby watching below.
I don't know what it is about China, but it is as close to a second home as I may ever find in another country. People are just so friendly. And it isn't just me, who speaks Chinese, who has found this. A number of foreign travelers who I met in Guilin also agreed. One young Irish man told me, he had been told ahead of time that Chinese people were really unfriendly. So he was completely shocked to find that wherever he went, inspite of his inability to speak, everyone offered to help him. They made do with hand gestures and making faces and him pointing to the Chinese on his tickets and them pointing to the place the tickets indicated. They would even walk him all the way to wherever he was supposed to go and then leave without asking for money or even his name. These strangers helped him on every leg of his journey. He says now he's decided that Chinese are the friendliest people he's ever met.
There's a way people look out for you here, so that you never quite feel completely lost. Just a little unsure of the exact place you are, not unsure that there will be friendly, helpful people there to guide you along the way.
I think of the way Koreans celebrate their New Years and the way Chinese celebrate theirs. Korean New Years means that people go home and spend time quietly with their family--eat food together and pray and give offerings to their ancestors. Chinese people, however, love 热闹。 And I really wish there was a way to translate this word, because it is the essence of Chinese celebrations--warm, festive, loud, noisy, almost chaotic, but in a good way. And that is how they celebrate the New Years--explosions, the color red, money for children, lots of people all making dumplings together, parades, traditional dances--of course, they also mostly just spend time at home with family, but unlike neat and carefully organized Korea, they set off fireworks in the streets! And not just little sparklers--Beijing was absolutely brimming with crysanthamums of color bursting in every allyway, every courtyard, every street, raining down ash and bits of fiber on the happy observers below. The fireworks are set off to scare away the bad spirits of the past year and make room for the good, new ones. Apparently, it is thought that the more fireworks you set off, the more good luck you will have. So this year, because of the economic recession, tons of businessmen had boxes full of 20 or more fireworks (that I was told cost thousands of yuan) and set them off, greatly pleasing the rest of us passersby watching below.
I don't know what it is about China, but it is as close to a second home as I may ever find in another country. People are just so friendly. And it isn't just me, who speaks Chinese, who has found this. A number of foreign travelers who I met in Guilin also agreed. One young Irish man told me, he had been told ahead of time that Chinese people were really unfriendly. So he was completely shocked to find that wherever he went, inspite of his inability to speak, everyone offered to help him. They made do with hand gestures and making faces and him pointing to the Chinese on his tickets and them pointing to the place the tickets indicated. They would even walk him all the way to wherever he was supposed to go and then leave without asking for money or even his name. These strangers helped him on every leg of his journey. He says now he's decided that Chinese are the friendliest people he's ever met.
There's a way people look out for you here, so that you never quite feel completely lost. Just a little unsure of the exact place you are, not unsure that there will be friendly, helpful people there to guide you along the way.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Remembering Travels from February: Mannequins
While I am walking through an underground market in Guilin, I suddenly realize that I am the only "white" face walking around in the sharp, unflattering, yellow light. Strangely enough, the only white face, but my language is written on all the T-shirts--English letters assembled in incomprehensible words that almost look like "America" or famous clothing brands, and strange words assembled in sentences that a native speaker wouldn't understand.
And then I see her--a woman with light, wavy, hair and big eyes--her facial features vaguely reflecting mine. And I see more of us--they are standing outside of every other store entrance--mannequins. Their frozen Caucasian features are the only ones in this place that echo mine. I realize my isolation--my tall stature, deep-set eyes, naturally lighter hair, large backpack, walking around slender, small, dark-haired Chinese young women and men who walk arm in arm slowly looking at clothing and shoes. My face blends only with the posters of models wearing the clothing being sold, and with those of the strange mannequins--frozen, prisoners of this underground market.
Completely creeped out, I walk quickly towards the exits surface again.
And then I see her--a woman with light, wavy, hair and big eyes--her facial features vaguely reflecting mine. And I see more of us--they are standing outside of every other store entrance--mannequins. Their frozen Caucasian features are the only ones in this place that echo mine. I realize my isolation--my tall stature, deep-set eyes, naturally lighter hair, large backpack, walking around slender, small, dark-haired Chinese young women and men who walk arm in arm slowly looking at clothing and shoes. My face blends only with the posters of models wearing the clothing being sold, and with those of the strange mannequins--frozen, prisoners of this underground market.
Completely creeped out, I walk quickly towards the exits surface again.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Remembering travels from February: South Korea
Korea is quiet. Much quieter than China. Even densely-packed-over-10-million-people Seoul is quiet. I don't notice at first because I speak loudly with my American friends, but then glares from surrounding elders make me realize the quiet that hangs over everyone else. It's almost required on the buses and subway. Or at least of the English-speaking foreigners. Everyone else already knows the unspoken rule and is quietly texting, playing electronic games, listening to music. Quiet or beeping, everyone here is wired.
An interesting difference between China and Korea is the background music in public places. In China, they play smooth jazz, otherwise known as elevator music, everywhere. And maybe traditional Chinese flute music in the parks, and then Chinese pop or American 90s pop outside of shops. In Korea, they play classical music--distinguished, elegant, secure--in the trees in the parks, in the shops, on the sidewalks outside shops, in the airport, at the train station, even in the bathrooms at rural tourist sights. I remember stepping into one isolated-looking bathroom and being surprised as a full orchestra suddenly welcomed me with Vivaldi's Four Seasons.
It's funny how small Korea is compared to China. And you can still see the difference between the rich, hip people who live in Seoul and the people who live in thatch-roofed, cracking houses in the countryside--but what separates China and Korea is that even the thatch-roofed houses have high-speed internet.
I have to say I am partial to small countries. They seem easier to manage.
South Korea is certainly more modern than the vast majority of China in many ways, and Seoul seems to emulate what China wishes its cities would become--modern, hip, tightly packed, active, but clean, pretty, neat, tidy. But China has very little chance of getting there anytime soon except for the exception of parts of HongKong. Why? Many reasons I'm sure. But it seems that China's biggest hold back seems to be its population (one Seoul is possible, but how could they possibly make 200 Seouls?) and then, of course, there is the difference in government. Korea is small. And so clearly a Democracy. I saw at least one protest each day I stayed in Seoul. and they were huge. With huge numbers of young policemen patiently standing with shields and helmets around the groups. Strange for an American to see that the protesters were older, perhaps middle age or so, and the policemen, because of the required military service, were almost all younger than I by a number of years. An almost perfect reversal of most protests in the U.S.
It was also a funny place because of how safe it was. It was as though everyone (at least professed) to trust everyone else. No real fear of pick-pocketing. even in Seoul. they didn't even check your tickets on the train...or at least they only checked randomly. I heard numerous accounts of people losing things and then having them (wallets included) returned to the police station by some nice civilian. (Unfortunately, I lost my camera in a rural tourist town and although we went to the police station and they treated us super sweetly and diligently wrote down all the details of the camera and where we had been, no nice civilian has come upon it yet.)
The Korean language is really interesting in comparison to Mandarin too. Mandarin has no conjugation for verbs, which, I think, makes it a simpler language to learn. Korean, however, has a ton of different forms for each verb based on how old the person you are addressing is in comparison to you. It makes sense for such a Confucian culture. So was China, historically, but somehow, although Korean used to be written using traditional Chinese characters, the language itself is so crazily different. Where as Mandarin has really firm syllables and tones, Korean has no tones and almost sounds like mumbling to me--many sounds get almost slurred together. It is really pretty though--quiet and soft, where as standard Mandarin sounds more harsh and loud.
But the Korean alphabet, I think, is one of the coolest alphabets ever. Each sound has a certain shape--you can learn how to read Korean in a couple days if you are studious. The alphabet gives a flexibility to the Korean language that Chinese lacks. Many words in Korean are borrowed from English--they just reconstruct them with Korean pronunciation. Chinese people have to use already existing words to create a new word--like electric talk for telephone, or electric brain for computer. (I've heard some theories that this absolute "unchangingness" of the Chinese language is part of the reason creativity is hard to come by in Chinese education. I'm not sure about that though, because as soon as my students are given the opportunity and some practice, they come up with some pretty brilliant stories and skits.)
Seoul is interesting in terms of the foreign population, because they are almost all soldiers or English teachers. (it is usually pretty easy to guess who is who) And you see a lot of foreign men with Korean women (who seem to get disapprovingly ignored by other Koreans), but not the other way around. Will (a foreigner also) and I hardly got stared at at all (an interesting change from the places I'm used to in China). But when I walked around with Alex, a Korean American, I was stared at quite a bit as people tried to figure out what I was and what I was doing hanging out with a Korean who spoke fluent English. When I was by myself, mostly just the foreigners stared at me. And a couple times, when I was wearing glasses, people started speaking to me in Korean first, until I looked absolutely confused, and they looked at my face closer. Gosh, I'll just never fit in in any country except for America now.
Most of the tourists in Korea seemed to be Japanese or Taiwanese, along with some people from Singapore. There were some Chinese in Seoul, but mostly they were going to school or working. I had a couple of times where I accidentally spoke Chinese to someone and she replied back! That was always a shock for me--wait, we are in Korea, that was a mistake! You aren't supposed to understand Chinese--and even more for her--How does this white person in Korea know Chinese?! I even communicated with a couple Koreans who had studied Mandarin or who grew up in China with Chinese--they couldn't speak English very well, and I (like almost all the other foreigners there) couldn't speak any Korean.
Overall, it was really strange being in a country where I couldn't even speak two full sentences of the local language--quite an adjustment from China and the U.S., the past two countries I had been traveling in. It was isolating and liberating at the same time. Isolating, because suddenly it was harder to talk to strangers and understand the lives of local people, and liberating because I realized that even without knowing a word of a language there were ways to communicate and ways to get around on ones own. People again, just like in China, thought I was crazy when they found me navigating the subways, streets, or speed trains on my own, without a word of Korean to help me (even the foreign soldiers and business people who lived in Seoul always seemed to be escorted by a Korean friend). But it is surprisingly possible when you have a few friends to introduce you to the place, give you a few tips, and the absolute fascination with every color, shape, face, and aspect of a new place that comes naturally almost wherever I go.
An interesting difference between China and Korea is the background music in public places. In China, they play smooth jazz, otherwise known as elevator music, everywhere. And maybe traditional Chinese flute music in the parks, and then Chinese pop or American 90s pop outside of shops. In Korea, they play classical music--distinguished, elegant, secure--in the trees in the parks, in the shops, on the sidewalks outside shops, in the airport, at the train station, even in the bathrooms at rural tourist sights. I remember stepping into one isolated-looking bathroom and being surprised as a full orchestra suddenly welcomed me with Vivaldi's Four Seasons.
It's funny how small Korea is compared to China. And you can still see the difference between the rich, hip people who live in Seoul and the people who live in thatch-roofed, cracking houses in the countryside--but what separates China and Korea is that even the thatch-roofed houses have high-speed internet.
I have to say I am partial to small countries. They seem easier to manage.
South Korea is certainly more modern than the vast majority of China in many ways, and Seoul seems to emulate what China wishes its cities would become--modern, hip, tightly packed, active, but clean, pretty, neat, tidy. But China has very little chance of getting there anytime soon except for the exception of parts of HongKong. Why? Many reasons I'm sure. But it seems that China's biggest hold back seems to be its population (one Seoul is possible, but how could they possibly make 200 Seouls?) and then, of course, there is the difference in government. Korea is small. And so clearly a Democracy. I saw at least one protest each day I stayed in Seoul. and they were huge. With huge numbers of young policemen patiently standing with shields and helmets around the groups. Strange for an American to see that the protesters were older, perhaps middle age or so, and the policemen, because of the required military service, were almost all younger than I by a number of years. An almost perfect reversal of most protests in the U.S.
It was also a funny place because of how safe it was. It was as though everyone (at least professed) to trust everyone else. No real fear of pick-pocketing. even in Seoul. they didn't even check your tickets on the train...or at least they only checked randomly. I heard numerous accounts of people losing things and then having them (wallets included) returned to the police station by some nice civilian. (Unfortunately, I lost my camera in a rural tourist town and although we went to the police station and they treated us super sweetly and diligently wrote down all the details of the camera and where we had been, no nice civilian has come upon it yet.)
The Korean language is really interesting in comparison to Mandarin too. Mandarin has no conjugation for verbs, which, I think, makes it a simpler language to learn. Korean, however, has a ton of different forms for each verb based on how old the person you are addressing is in comparison to you. It makes sense for such a Confucian culture. So was China, historically, but somehow, although Korean used to be written using traditional Chinese characters, the language itself is so crazily different. Where as Mandarin has really firm syllables and tones, Korean has no tones and almost sounds like mumbling to me--many sounds get almost slurred together. It is really pretty though--quiet and soft, where as standard Mandarin sounds more harsh and loud.
But the Korean alphabet, I think, is one of the coolest alphabets ever. Each sound has a certain shape--you can learn how to read Korean in a couple days if you are studious. The alphabet gives a flexibility to the Korean language that Chinese lacks. Many words in Korean are borrowed from English--they just reconstruct them with Korean pronunciation. Chinese people have to use already existing words to create a new word--like electric talk for telephone, or electric brain for computer. (I've heard some theories that this absolute "unchangingness" of the Chinese language is part of the reason creativity is hard to come by in Chinese education. I'm not sure about that though, because as soon as my students are given the opportunity and some practice, they come up with some pretty brilliant stories and skits.)
Seoul is interesting in terms of the foreign population, because they are almost all soldiers or English teachers. (it is usually pretty easy to guess who is who) And you see a lot of foreign men with Korean women (who seem to get disapprovingly ignored by other Koreans), but not the other way around. Will (a foreigner also) and I hardly got stared at at all (an interesting change from the places I'm used to in China). But when I walked around with Alex, a Korean American, I was stared at quite a bit as people tried to figure out what I was and what I was doing hanging out with a Korean who spoke fluent English. When I was by myself, mostly just the foreigners stared at me. And a couple times, when I was wearing glasses, people started speaking to me in Korean first, until I looked absolutely confused, and they looked at my face closer. Gosh, I'll just never fit in in any country except for America now.
Most of the tourists in Korea seemed to be Japanese or Taiwanese, along with some people from Singapore. There were some Chinese in Seoul, but mostly they were going to school or working. I had a couple of times where I accidentally spoke Chinese to someone and she replied back! That was always a shock for me--wait, we are in Korea, that was a mistake! You aren't supposed to understand Chinese--and even more for her--How does this white person in Korea know Chinese?! I even communicated with a couple Koreans who had studied Mandarin or who grew up in China with Chinese--they couldn't speak English very well, and I (like almost all the other foreigners there) couldn't speak any Korean.
Overall, it was really strange being in a country where I couldn't even speak two full sentences of the local language--quite an adjustment from China and the U.S., the past two countries I had been traveling in. It was isolating and liberating at the same time. Isolating, because suddenly it was harder to talk to strangers and understand the lives of local people, and liberating because I realized that even without knowing a word of a language there were ways to communicate and ways to get around on ones own. People again, just like in China, thought I was crazy when they found me navigating the subways, streets, or speed trains on my own, without a word of Korean to help me (even the foreign soldiers and business people who lived in Seoul always seemed to be escorted by a Korean friend). But it is surprisingly possible when you have a few friends to introduce you to the place, give you a few tips, and the absolute fascination with every color, shape, face, and aspect of a new place that comes naturally almost wherever I go.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Woah...
Back in Taigu after 2 months of life-changing travel.
Back here in my little room with a little white cat (who was put here because apparently, while we were away, the rats took over the house) in my lap and looking outside at the hazy air and the saffron-tan tint over everything, I wonder just how far away I am from all that I just left behind.
I found out recently that my Chinese zodiac sign is the Ox instead of the Tiger, because I was born just before Chinese new years in 1986. All my life I thought I was a tiger. A week or two makes me a year older in China. I am 24 years old by the lunar calendar and Chinese tradition. And this New years, 2009, is special for me they say, the year of the ox too--my year.
Strange, because, all of a sudden, I feel as though I am much older than I should be.
Going back to the U.S. was important to do. Back to the world that hasn't changed, back to the people who haven't aged, to realize that I have. Back to realize that when people asked me where I was living, I said China. (At which I would laugh because it seemed like it should be a joke, but wasn't.) Back to where the tap water was drinkable, where I could eat food off the table (and sometimes off the floor), where I could rely on the electricity, and hot water, and water pressure to not give out, where the grocery stores were stocked with over 50 kinds of cheese and 20 kinds of butter, where everyone spoke my native language, where I my chest didn't hurt after a run in the outdoor air, and where nobody had any idea what rural china was like and how it had become such an intricate part of my understanding of the world. And back to public protests, police violence, news about all the horrors of the world, free speach, controversial movies, and an inspiring, newly elected president. It was all rather overwhelming.
And at the same time, I was back to realize how many people my age were jealous of the opportunity I had snagged. It made me awed at the opportunity I had been given. I appreciated all the luxuries and rights the U.S. provided, but didn't feel like I belonged in the U.S. anymore. I belonged in China.
But perhaps part of why I feel so much older is that every Chinese person I ran into on while traveling in China (my Chinese family included) was surprised that I was a single, young (and really so very young, they all seemed to believe) woman traveling and teaching on my own in a strange country. Did I really come by myself? Didn't I have someone meeting me at the next train station? Wasn't I afraid of getting lost? Wasn't I afraid of bad people? Weren't my parents worried about me? What about my boyfriend? And as soon as I explained I didn't have one, the next series of questions would come--shouldn't I have one, and shouldn't I be finding one, and what about finding a Chinese one, and shouldn't I be getting married soon?
Only, in Chinese, especially from people much older than I, these statements were not questions. In English it would be polite to ask these things as questions, so that is how I translate them. But in Chinese, they are statements or "shoulds": you are so independent to come on your own, there are many bad people, you should be careful, you are very brave, maybe you should find a Chinese boyfriend, or you should go back to the states after you finish teaching and find a boyfriend to marry. It is not meant to be rude, it is meant to show you are concerned or care. So I smiled and nodded to all of their observations of me.
But mostly it just really entertained me. And reminded me that there were not many young, single women who had this opportunity. Or who took advantage of it.
They must see me so strangely, I thought--an independent, stubborn, unafraid, adventurous, friendly, educated but almost stupid, foreign young woman. Or, probably more accurately, just a strange young woman.
Perhaps strange, but loving it.
( I will write more entries about the travel, but gotta go lesson plan now.)
Back here in my little room with a little white cat (who was put here because apparently, while we were away, the rats took over the house) in my lap and looking outside at the hazy air and the saffron-tan tint over everything, I wonder just how far away I am from all that I just left behind.
I found out recently that my Chinese zodiac sign is the Ox instead of the Tiger, because I was born just before Chinese new years in 1986. All my life I thought I was a tiger. A week or two makes me a year older in China. I am 24 years old by the lunar calendar and Chinese tradition. And this New years, 2009, is special for me they say, the year of the ox too--my year.
Strange, because, all of a sudden, I feel as though I am much older than I should be.
Going back to the U.S. was important to do. Back to the world that hasn't changed, back to the people who haven't aged, to realize that I have. Back to realize that when people asked me where I was living, I said China. (At which I would laugh because it seemed like it should be a joke, but wasn't.) Back to where the tap water was drinkable, where I could eat food off the table (and sometimes off the floor), where I could rely on the electricity, and hot water, and water pressure to not give out, where the grocery stores were stocked with over 50 kinds of cheese and 20 kinds of butter, where everyone spoke my native language, where I my chest didn't hurt after a run in the outdoor air, and where nobody had any idea what rural china was like and how it had become such an intricate part of my understanding of the world. And back to public protests, police violence, news about all the horrors of the world, free speach, controversial movies, and an inspiring, newly elected president. It was all rather overwhelming.
And at the same time, I was back to realize how many people my age were jealous of the opportunity I had snagged. It made me awed at the opportunity I had been given. I appreciated all the luxuries and rights the U.S. provided, but didn't feel like I belonged in the U.S. anymore. I belonged in China.
But perhaps part of why I feel so much older is that every Chinese person I ran into on while traveling in China (my Chinese family included) was surprised that I was a single, young (and really so very young, they all seemed to believe) woman traveling and teaching on my own in a strange country. Did I really come by myself? Didn't I have someone meeting me at the next train station? Wasn't I afraid of getting lost? Wasn't I afraid of bad people? Weren't my parents worried about me? What about my boyfriend? And as soon as I explained I didn't have one, the next series of questions would come--shouldn't I have one, and shouldn't I be finding one, and what about finding a Chinese one, and shouldn't I be getting married soon?
Only, in Chinese, especially from people much older than I, these statements were not questions. In English it would be polite to ask these things as questions, so that is how I translate them. But in Chinese, they are statements or "shoulds": you are so independent to come on your own, there are many bad people, you should be careful, you are very brave, maybe you should find a Chinese boyfriend, or you should go back to the states after you finish teaching and find a boyfriend to marry. It is not meant to be rude, it is meant to show you are concerned or care. So I smiled and nodded to all of their observations of me.
But mostly it just really entertained me. And reminded me that there were not many young, single women who had this opportunity. Or who took advantage of it.
They must see me so strangely, I thought--an independent, stubborn, unafraid, adventurous, friendly, educated but almost stupid, foreign young woman. Or, probably more accurately, just a strange young woman.
Perhaps strange, but loving it.
( I will write more entries about the travel, but gotta go lesson plan now.)
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