To Be Fair...

Top 5 Things My Students Don't Worry About

5. Fights
4. Drugs
3. Muggings
2. Intimidation
1. Getting shot on the way to school

So they see a little (or a lot) of poo on the way to school. They are not afraid to walk to school. (If you discount crossing the street) neither am I. I'm not scared to take a taxi home at 4am. I no longer worry about what colors I'm wearing. I'm not sniffing them for pot. There are not threatening groups of males standing in black hoodies in a circle outside of the convenience store. In some ways, it's very nice around here.

Top 10 Things You Don't Want to See on the Sidewalk

10. Trash
9. Spittle
8. Dog poo
7. A dead mouse
6. A dead bird (probably from the bird sellers up the block)
5. A man peeing 
4. Human-sized poo
3. An old woman making herself puke
2. A woman with a baby almost hit by a car
1. The same human-sized poo the next morning, worse for the wear

Lessons from Mr. Fox

Although I admit to only have watched the film, I think there is something to learn from The Mosquito Coast. In this 1986 film based on a novel (by the same name?) by Paul Theroux, Allie Fox (played by none other than my childhood idol Harrison Ford) decides that what the Central American jungle needs is ice. He moves his family to the jungle, and, well, mayhem, death, and destruction ensue. Maybe the jungle didn't need ice after all.

However, I can't help but think that he had a pretty good idea there, because if there is one thing that China needs, it's ice. It's becoming less of an issue now that the temperature is dropping, but it is incredibly difficult to get cold beverages around here. Beer, for one thing, should be cold. There is nothing as unsatisfying as cracking open a nice warm bottle of pilsner on a hot summer day and have it drip foam before you even take a swig. Unless it's trying to get a glass of water in the same establishment to help dilute the beer you just drank.

I don't even use ice all that much, except in iced tea and warm soda, but I do sorta expect ice (and water) to be available in eating and drinking establishments. I expect that the coolers filled with beverages in the convenience store will be plugged in. Sadly, they are not.

The really great part is when they pour you a glass of hot water. Not tea, mind you, just hot water. 

I arrived in Beijing and was taken to my new apartment. I had already been up for about 22-24 hours at this point (I'm still not sure how long it really was). I had polished off my water on the airplane, but hadn't had too much to drink because I didn't want to have to get up every 5 minutes on the plane. Then, there were no water fountains in the airport. Then there was no drinking water available in my apartment. But, I am being taken out to dinner in half an hour, so surely I can get water at the restaurant -- I am beyond parched and dehydrated from travel and lack of sleep, but it seems that the request for ice water was the strangest thing ever. I got two glass, one filled with ice, and I had to mix the ice and the hot water to make cool water. Then, water wasn't just refilled. It was obviously  a hassle. I finally bought water at the store and chugged it when I got back home.

Imagine the things that could be done with ice: ice water, iced tea, liquor luges... the list is, well, maybe not endless, but certainly frought with fun (and danger). So, if anyone wants to help, I'm raising money to build an ice factory. I'm sure it will all turn out fine.

Escape from Poo River

I have been on some bad camping trips. Some were bad because of the weather (the time it flooded the tent on an overnight trip during summer camp, 10 days on a bicycle in the rain, the Olympic Coast ina  downpour), because of injury (10 days on a bicycle in the rain ending with a crash, the time I was in tears in the Smoky Mountains), or because of the company (the chowderheads on Saddle Mountain, my aging parents who had me petrified the entire time that there would be a trail wash-out and they wouldn't be able to get out of the way in time). (Sorry Mom and Dad, but it's true. I love you dearly, but that backpack was stressful.) I am not a stranger to disasters in a tent, but these last couple of days have given new meaning to disaster.

A bunch of us from work went camping with our Handler. He said he'd rent the gear and transportation and bring tons of beer and chicken wings. A bunch of us signed up; it seemed like a great way to spend the Mid-Autumn Festival. In retrospect, there were a few structural problems. We went as friends, but we really don't know each other all that well. We paid our Handler as a guide, except he's really not a guide. So we were a weird mix of paying customers and friends out on a trip together. We didn't bring out own things. We weren't really included in the organization, but we then had to help and take responsibility -- and that happened to a greater or lesser degree from different people.

The other problem was the amount of beer. Oh, it was fun having 10 12-packs of 20oz. beers and a bunch of crappy liquor, but it was a bit overkill. Most people got nice and drunk but managed to keep it decent. At least one camper went over the edge and became a very difficult drunk. Fires were built and destroyed. Grills were destroyed in the process. Chicken wings were trashed and potatoes stepped on. But that wasn't the worst part.

It all went south when we decided to go swimming. The day was hot and the water looked clear. I had seen little frogs along the edge and could hear ducks along the other bank. There were men fishing. OK, wildlife is a good sign. So I called over to my Canadian friend and he had already just said that he was going swimming. On went the suit and off we went to a rock overhang. I plopped in over the edge (but did not go under). It was cold and refreshing, ahhhhh. I tried to tell the Candadian not to jump in -- essentially, don't put your face in the water. "Don't, jump. Don't jump! Don't juuuuuuuuuuu" -- splash.

I was haning onto the rocks, trying to crawl back in. It was too high, though, and I couldn't mantle up. And then the smell hit us. We were swimming in Poo River. The Canadian started flailing for the edge, screaming. Then the hurling began. Imagine a couple of mildly intoxicated adults frantically trying to exit a river that smells worse with each footstep. I couldn't get out the way I came in, so I had to walk through the muck and weeds -- that then stole my flippy-floppy! "Man down! Man down! I've lost a flip-flip. Nooooooo! Oh, wait, it floats." Ew, now I have to touch the bottom. There goes the other flip-flop. All the while I was screaming at the Canadian to stop puking because he was making me wretch (think of the hurling scene in Stand By Me). One small hurl and a lot of disgusting weeds on the bottom later, and I was out and gasping for fresh air.

We ran back to the campsite and starting rubbing off vigorously with the baby-wipes that one of the Chinese staff had brought. I have never gotten out of my bathing suit so quickly. The Canadian (who had put his head under) took a swig of Stoli to kill anything in his mouth. I thought that a sound idea. Then he took a "shower" with some drinking water and hung out his bathing suit and towel on a tree. We continued drinking. (I have not been violently ill nor have I broken out in any sores, so I'm probably OK. My Handler told us not to. He went in a few years ago and discovered it was nasty, but he's OK, too.)

Turns out, no one brought any paper to use to light the fire. So the fire-starting for all the chicken wings (which had leaked all over the Candadian's backpack on the bus trip up and then had spilled on the ground when the Welshman thought the bucket was a chair and not a bucket and sat on it and broke it) was slow-going. The Canadian stepped up and took his fire-building seriously. He's such a good fire-started that I didn't have to do anything (unlike most camping trips where I become the expert on the fire). He even named the fire Jenny. Jenny cooked some good wings, until she was destroyed (as mentioned earlier) to build a campfire. Instead of just stealing coals, however, the Offender just through branches over the fire. At some point, while doing so, he managed to step on the grill and mangle it beyond use. None of us know why.

The hillarity continued with more jack-ass behavior and threats of fighting. Some of these people take their honor seriously. Ay caramba.

The true kicker came the next morning. I stumbled out of bed at 7am to use a bush. I was cold and wanted to put on my boots and have some water, except there was something wrong. My boots were missing. So was my Nalgene. And all the other drinking water. Maybe I was just confused and hung-over. Oh, I was confused and hung-over all right, but our stuff was also missing.

I lost my brand new hiking boots (about $60 for a pair of crappy boots) and my BPA-free Nalgene. Not only do I live with a Nalgene, I loved that it was BPA-free. I don't know how to say "BPA-free" in Chinese. It also had stickers on it. Irreplaceable stickers from my former students' band and kickball.

The Canadian lost his towel, his bathing suit, and his backpack. (Fortunately, my bag was in the tent. Earlier in the day, I had taken his wallet and keys and put them in my bag because he was a little drunk.) Another teacher had his bag stolen as well. His bag with his pants in it. (The pants he had taken off because it was so warm.) In his pants was his wallet and his keys. And his access card to school. And, well, yeah. I'm sad about my Nalgene, but it wasn't my wallet.

As some icing on the cake, somehow the chowderheads (face it, we were all chowderheads) managed to lose stuff sacks. Maybe they were taken with the other thieving, except the thieves only took things that were by the tables and nothing inside the tent ring. So why were stuff sacks anywhere not near where the tents and sleeping bags were? I am still confused by how they managed to lose stuff sacks. My tent went up easily and came down just as easily. All the mattress pads and stuff sacks for the the sleeping bags were present and accounted for.

When we came back from Poo River, I showered for a long time. I washed my hair twice and my body twice (once with my super exfolient scrubby thing). I washed all my clothes. And then I got a DVD player and had homemade spaghetti and meatballs for dinner. I was in bed by 8:15. 

Upon Reflection

One of the things that I am supposed to teach my students is how to reflect upon their learning. It's a not unheard of task in an American classroom, although depending upon the other standards bearing down upon the teacher (based -- of course -- upon their inclusion in various standardized tests) and the teacher herself, reflection can have a greater or lesser role in the classroom.

It is something that was an essential element of my own Master's program. And all you teacher- and teacher-education-program-haters can say what you will, but it is an essential component of being a teacher. Reflection was reinforced through my work with BTSA in California. Reflection is what I do at the end of each lesson, and each day, and each week, and each year, as I plan to improve myself the the experience that my students experience.

I assigned my students a reflection, and they were a bit overwhelmed. Confused might be a better term. They had no idea what a reflection was. Oh, I frontloaded the thing. I talked about mirrors and actual reflections and getting ready for a big date. I compared that with taking a look at yourself on the inside and your faults and weaknesses (and strengths) and what can be done to cover or fix the bad and draw attention to the good. But... reflecting is just not a part of their culture.

Ooooh. There, I said it. As I was walking home, I realized just how central reflection is to the entire idea of Western education. There is a profoundly individual role in the process of acquiring and keeping knowledge. It is up to me to think about how I learn and how I've done and then do better the next time. It's rather inner-directed, actually. Perhaps the last bastion of innter-directedness in our culture? (Don't force me to get too theoretical here, I neither have with me or can gain easy access to The Lonely Crowd nor Bowling Alone. I am not writing a thesis here, just a blog post.)

My students do tend to love praise from the teacher; they are rather other-directed. There is less a sense of a job well done for oneself, and more a sense of a job well done because of a grade or a comment from an authority. And this is a "Duh!" moment because we've all been told that an Eastern education is founded on learning what authorities have to say and memorizing it (Confucianism, anyone?). But this one activity really brought it into focus. They don't know how to analyze and evaluate their own learning.

(They also tend to relate good looks with good teachers, as in, "If you look good, you must also be a good teacher." Granted, I make out pretty well under this policy, but I do find it a bit odd that students are so concerned by -- and the Chinese staff tends to encourage their conern -- the appearance of their teachers. Anyhow.)

This is all a bit rambling, and I meant to write this about a week ago, but sometimes life gets in the way. (It's tough living in a town where the bars never close and you have to help other people figure out how to get home.) The experience made me reflect upon my own education and really start to see some of the essential differences between how I learn and how my students learn.

I guess we'll see if I get far in opening them up to evaluating themselves.

Follow the Leader

My first few days in China, I established myself as a leader of sorts. I spent a lot of time with a colleague (who happens to share my initials) who has taken the British personality to new heights. She is a follower. Brits, she says, love to queue up (stand in a line), to the point that they will stand in a line just because there is a line. She definitely does that. "Oh, look, a queue! Must be something good over there." She is also a shy and retiring person, and is very glad to let others do the communicating (especially in a foreign language). So, I took us to the McDonald's and the grocery store. I was the leader.

And then, I was usurped as leader. It was a bloodless coup, a velvet revolution, if you will, but another colleague stepped up as leader. He took us across the street and to KFC. Yes, being deposed as leader means you can no longer cross the street first or lead expeditions to American fast food restaurants. It's a heavy blow to handle, certainly.

But last night, I regained my place as leader! I led the trip to Ikea.

How did I regain such an important position? Two ways: 1) I purchased a completely awesome book that has popular destinations and addresses written in English and Chinese so you can give it to the cab driver and 2) I'd already been to Ikea once.

Yes, my friends, I made a trip to Ikea all on my own. I was feeling rather brave, and although I had thought that I would have at least one other person with me, plans fell through and it was just me. I talked to my handler, stared a map, and got on the subway. On the way, I stopped at the Foreign Languages Bookstore (that's its name) and found the cab driver handbook. Instead of then hailing a taxi and calling my handler to have him give the cabbie the directions, I handed the cabbie the book -- and it worked!

I spent a lovely afternoon tripping over Chinese families in the Ikea showrooms. I was astounded by the families using the various demonstration rooms as actual rooms -- you know, napping with the 2-yr-old in the bedroom or having coffee and talking on the phone in the living room. I also had a delicious meal of Swedish meatballs, mashed potatoes, and lingonberry compote with a green salad with 1000 Island dressing, tiramisu, and coffee that was brewed for me. Heaven, I tell you, heaven. I even managed to get a cab back home with all my Ikea purchases. I was on fire. 

So last night, when my girlfriends wanted to make the trip, I was their leader. I took them to the correct subway stop. I hailed us a cab. I used my book. I took us straight to the cafeteria. And then I walked us through the showrooms. I could point out the method for buying furniture (one woman had NEVER been to an Ikea, ever!). I knew where things were. I was, once again, the leader.

On the way out, I even knew enough to stop by the food store and purchase a box of crackers (we had been lamenting the sad state of crackers in this country) and a box of gingersnaps. Mmmmm.... gingersnaps. A cab ride back (and I even knew enough to point the cabbie to the exact location of our apartments) and my status has been cemented.

I am the leader.

Until the next thing we all try to do and someone else has done before. *sigh* It's a fickle crowd I roll with.

Safety Dance

A word about safety in China.

There is none.

Some of you have heard me complaining about people taking their kids on bicycle rides and not wearing helmets or going rock climbing and not wearing helmets. I like to remind people that it's not the free-wheeling '70s anymore. No one is doing lines of blow in the bathroom at some trendy club and having unsafe sex with multiple partners in the back room. We live in the age of insurance companies, medical bills, HIV/AIDS, lung cancer, "Just say 'no'," and helmets.

Well, there's one more thing that no one bothered to tell China about.

No one wears helmets. Anywhere. Ever. Not motorcyclists. Not bicyclists. Not the wives or girlfriends or children or babies balanced on the bike racks on the bicycles. And remember, traffic lights are a mere suggestion around here. Right on red WITHOUT stopping is the norm. Cars get first precedence and can and will turn in front of you. Bicycles seem to think the traffic lights don't apply to them. Bicycles ride the wrong way down the bike lanes (that cars also use as parking zones and frontage roads).

Yesterday, I saw one dude on a scooter with a helmet. One guy. It was the only helmet I've seen.

Seatbelts do not exist. Well, cars have them, but the taxis all have seat covers and the seat belts are jammed into the corners and edges so they might as well not exist. Even when they do, no one wears them. Even though buses will cut off cars and traffic will turn willy-nilly. Whatev.

Then there's the second-hand smoke. It's like being back in the 80s over here. It's not quite at 1950s level, and I don't see kids smoking (I don't SEE it). But people smoke everywhere, all the time. Teachers find a corner to smoke in at school, although technically they shouldn't. So far, no one has said anything. Smoking in taxis and restaurants and bars is SOP.

Oh, the school was refitting its dorms -- for all the earthquakes that don't hit Beijing. So there has been a huge construction zone in the middle of campus all summer. The sign is still there saying that it's a hard hat area (even I can recognize the pictures), but I haven't seen one hard hat anywhere. Not a few weeks ago and certainly not now. Maybe it's not really a hard hat zone anymore, but no one took down the sign.

Then again, the Chinese seem all to willing to warn you of danger. There's a great sign on the elevators that show's a person's finger with blood dripping from it... you know, don't stick your finger in the closing door. You see warning signs and mind-the-gap signs on the subway.

Speaking of the subway... there are threshholds everywhere -- including at the entrance to the subway stations. I am constantly tripping over doorways. The one to my subway stop is particularly nasty. A colleague tripped over it during the weekend.

Of course, there is a line of differently textured brick running the length of all the sidewalks so that blind people can walk along the road and not stray into traffic. I'm still not sure how they get across the intersections, though.

Electric Company

Hey, you guys! 

Utilities are handled in a different way here in Beijing. I hear it might be different in other parts of the country, but around here, you pay ahead using little cards. So, you go to a bank or a service company or a self-serve kiosk with some money and a card with an electronic chip in it. You put money on the card, and then you insert the card into a slot on your meter to add value to whatever the account is. 

So, I have a card for gas, for electricity, for reclaimed water, and for hot water. (The actual water water is the only thing that gets billed monthly. Actually, I think phone/Internet also just gets a monthly bill.) 

Getting money on the card is also a hassle. Since none of us have residency permits yet (it takes a good 3-4 weeks to get them set up), we don't have bank accounts. Without bank accounts, you can't use the self-serve kiosks. (And even then, maybe we won't be able to get whatever the credot/debit card you need to use them without spending more time and money in the country.) You wait in line at a bank, except maybe for water, which maybe you turn on in the office at the apartment complex... 

Are you confused yet? You and me both. 

Yesterday, the power went out. Oops. I guess I go through about 100 units of power in a week. (I don't know. I don't even know how much a "unit" is in any sort of scientific sense.) Maybe it's a lot, probably because it's hot and I actually have AC so I use it. I imagine my usage will decrease as it gets colder. (Maybe heat is procided by the building, which probably means it will be very, very cold inside.) 

So, I call my handler. It's Sunday, and it's not the best thing to do, but he'll get ready and come over. We get the card and walk to the bank. He decides he will show me how to do it myself. Great! We get a number and wait. (Imagine the DMV except sometimes the line moves.) We have number 365 and they are on 320. Grrr. So we wait. And wait. Some old woman gives me her number for some reason (maybe she got tired of waiting or had to leave?) so now we're 359. I get up to the window and give the man my card and some money. But he says something. 

The card isn't activated, so they can't put money on it without some serial number that's on the meter that's behind a locked door in my apartment. (For some reason, the electric meters are all in a supply closet in the hallway behind a locked door. My handler calls the apartment and they say they'll go look for the number. We leave, but take another number with us, but it doesn't matter because the bank closes at 5 and it's 4:50. We walk through the market and wait for the apartment complex to call back. They do, but they say the landlady put money on the card so the account is set up. 

OK. We go to the self-service kiosk, where my handler uses his credit (or debit) card to put money on my account and I give him the cash. Except there's an error message that the account hasn't been set up. 

So he needs to take the card to the place on the ground floor of his building that is maybe the actual electric company. I go home and get the man in the office to get the technician to get the number off the meter. (Actually, I call my handler and give the phone to the man in the office and he explains what I need.) 

I text the number to the handler. He calls back to say that the problem is that it's the wrong card. The landlady (for some reason) got two cards (she thought she lost one) and she left us with the card that hadn't been set up yet. So he's got to go to the office where he has the landlady's number and call her up and see if she can find the card. 

It's now about 6:30 at night. I made chicken stock last week and it's sitting in the freezer ... getting ready to thaw damnit! There's not much else to go bad (the milk is all in aseptic packaging juice box thingys), but I don't want to lose my chicken stock! 

I go to a colleague's to do set up his Internet and we watch Alice in Wunderland (not bad, but not Tim Burton's best). My handler calls to say that the landlady found the card, but she still has to take a taxi across the ciry to bring it to him. Then he has to put the money on it. Then he has to bring it to me so we can put it in the meter. It'll probably be 9-9:30 when he gets there. 

Anyway, I did get the power turned on. It was pretty simple once I had the right card. As soon as the man put it in the meter (behind the locked door) the power came back on. My stock didn't thaw (thankfully) and I could turn the AC (which, incidentally, all the Brits call air con) back on. 

It was quite an adventure. I have a lot more units of power now, and I hope (at least) it'll make it through the month. The trick is to always have some units on the card, so when it goes out, you just get the man to unlock the door. THEN you back to the bank to recharge it. Maybe, once we get paid at the end of the month...

Toilegami

Or, the ancient Chinese art of toilet-paper folding.

Here's something that makes no sense to me about the Chinese: they don't flush their toilet paper. Ever. There are little trashcans next to the can filled with bits of pee and poo paper. Besides the stink, there's the ick factor of seeing someone else's poo bits on the paper in the can.

In our staff meeting, the question of poo paper in the staff restroom came up. The Chinese principal was asked if one ever flushes toilet paper and her immediate response was, "Of course not."

Of course not? Really? Why not? It seems like a no-brainer to me. You have pipes that can handle poo and specially-designed paper that disintigrates easily... why NOT flush it?

So, when using a restroom, you have to try to fold and crush and hide the various things stuck to your paper before throwing them in the trash can. I thought it was pretty bad until one of the boys pointed out that he was staring at the trash can the entire time he was peeing. I guess that's the price you pay for standing up to pee...

Which brings me to another point. The bathrooms around here stink. I've heard from one fairly reputable source that the Chinese never got the memo about putting s-bends in the pipes to keep the methane from seeping back up into the room. So, all the bathrooms stink a bit, and some of them stink quite a lot. I refuse to use bathrooms in many places in the city. If the guy leaves the john and says, "That was interesting," you can be sure that I'm not even going near it. I will go home first. Or go to someone else's apartment. (Both things I have done.)

And then there's this: babies don't wear diapers. At all. Ever. They have clothes with a hole in the crotch, and when the kid starts peeing or pooping, you just hold them away from you and let it all come out. Seriously. I have witnessed these clothes. And little kids who are potty-training -- they just poop on the sidewalk. Yes, on the sidewalk at 6pm. The day after I heard a story about a man picking up his child's poo with a newspaper and THEN SETTING THE PAPER ON FIRE, I witnessed a 4-yr-old girl squatting on the sidewalk and taking a dump. Her father took a little packet of baggies (it looked like a travel pack of tissues) out of his pocket to pull out a baggie to pick it up. I guess taking your child for a walk is kind of like taking your dog for a walk?

I have seen two men taking leaks on the sidewalk in daylight. They had enough modesty to stand next to a building, but there was no doubt what was going on. 

Oh, and the toilets flush with "reclaimed" water. So the water is nasty. And I think they use the same water to water the lawn (which happens religiously around here). 

All of this leads me to believe that everything is coated with a thin layer of poo. Anyone want to come visit?

Jiao Shi Jie Kuai Le

Which translates as "Happy Teachers' Day"! 

September 10 is Teachers' Day in China. And let me tell you, this is no lip service to celebrating teachers. This isn't just a continental breakfast or taco bar in the staffroom. This isn't some baked goods dropped off by the PTA. This isn't a chintzy paper holder from the union or a pack of sticky notes from admin. Don't get me wrong, those things are nice, but this is like that but better. 

It started yesterday. Some students brought by a copy of the International Department photo with a card. Later, when I bought a few pencils and erasers from the school store, the stationary woman pulled a card off the wall and gave it to me. At the end of the day, a box of grapes and a box of mangos were delivered, not to the staffroom or to each office, but to each teacher. Yes, I have a BOX of grapes (that's six of the bags you'd buy at the store) and a BOX of mangos (there are 5 of them). Last night, the International Department took all the teachers and admin out to dinner -- with drinks. (Not crazy drinks, but beer and wine were provided.) The food kept coming and it was pretty good. The sweet-and-sour fish and the kung pao shrimp and kung pao chicken were great. We were supposed to get movie or karaoke afterwards, but I think everyone realizied it was too late for crazy shenanigans, so a few of us went out for a couple more drinks and light shanigans. 

And then there is today. My Chinese counterpart has been observing in my classes because she will take over a couple of my classes from me. She gave me a beautiful silk scarf -- she noticed that I wore a scarf last Friday so she gave me another one. It's gorgeous, and as an English teacher, I am contractually obliged to wear scarves on a regular basis. I'm wearing it now. Then, my first class gave me a card. Then my second class gave me an umbrella that they had all signed. It's pretty sweet. While talking to some other teachers, a swarm of my freshman (who I do not see today) gave me a handful of carnations. I'm not sure if my last class will come up with anything, but I hear there is another card in the works. 

I don't think there's anything else major in the works, but the way these last two days have been, anything could happen. I don't need anything else, but after yesterday's boxes of fruit, nothing would surpise me.

Finally

I have had a couple of mini-observations this week. (My company is rather keen on observations. They say there are only four, but it's four plus the two early min-observations plus the one more formal observation from a guy at HQ and maybe one or two more beyond that. Whatever.)

So, I pulled out all the stops, but not really. I taught the way I've been teaching for the last three (four) years. I move them from individual to group work, from group to individual, I write important points on the board while I deliver the material orally (thanks Al!), I give them the rationale behind the things we do, I praise the things they do well, I give them opportunities to get things better a second time. As far as I am concerned, these are best practices. It's just how I do.

Well, I got full marks on both my mini-observations. Some notes in particular mention that I show a lot of individual attention and that telling them that I know they have been sitting quiety is good. Maybe I, too, will become a spoiled and lazy teacher working with these kids, but I hope not. Those are the things you HAVE to do in order to have any semblance of learning in my old classrooms. I could never send the kids off on their own without skads of scaffolding and a few safety nets (and maybe a parachute and a back-up parachute). The activities certainly work better because the students try to do them (sometimes they are even textbook), but that doesn't change the way I want to teach.

Hell, I get bored when they sit quietly for 40 minutes. 

It's also nice that I get to bring in all these cool teaching techniques I learned in the States and share them with a bunch of Brits. Sure, some things are the same, but my principal had never seen a "whip" before. You might know the whip: Have all the students stand, ask them a question, then whip around the room. Each student gives an answer and sits down. 

It's nice to get the recognition and have it written down on a piece of paper.

I Want to Slow This Blog Down for a Moment

Amidst all of my raves and humorous posts about my exciting new living situation, I want to share something serious with you.

I must say that traveling here was one of the scariest things I've done. I've done some scary things, too. Hiring a lawyer and rappelling off the side of a mountain might be the only things that come close to how I felt sitting in the airport and on the airplane.

I had packed and prepared and psyched myself up for it, but nothing really gets you ready for the actual doing. I felt very small, and very alone. I did not feel brave in the least.

But then I thought of all of you, and how you all told me how brave I was. I began to believe you, too. I reaIized that even if something happened and I had to go back home, I had tried; I took the step. And wherever I end up, I will have all of you behind me, reminding me that I am brave, or friendly, or kind, or loyal and that those are the qualities that will see me through. 

You are the people who will see me through.

So, thanks. I can't do it without you.

A Warm Welcome

Every day, the Chinese staff is very good about asking me to lunch. It's not that the ex-pat staff is bad, just that I often am free at the same time as the Chinese staff. And unlike some places where I have worked in the past, they always ask me to come with them.

Today, I wanted to finish up something before lunch, so when my Handler said it was lunctime, I told him I would be down in a few minutes. As I was walking across campus, I ran into the Chinese principal of my school-within-a-school (within-a-school). She immediately started walking with me across and asked me about my experiences in China so far.

Now, as you all probably know, I can get a little excited about the things I do. My exuberance has definitely been noted. But hey, I can sit around and mope about the things that are strange or different, or I can enjoy myself and like what I'm doing. Things here are different, and they aren't all perfect, but they're not any worse, on the whole, than anyplace else I've been. I also get more expressive physically when talking to second-language speakers. It's easier to be understood if there is an obvious facial or body expression to help convey the meaning (I also have a rather large vocabulary, which can hinder communication). I'm also a ham.

The Chinese staff is always curious about what I've eaten, what I'm eating, and if I eat Chinese food. My principal walked me through the cafeteria, pointed out items and insisting that I try some things. I was forced to take a corn on the cob, even though I knew it would be lukewarm, unseasoned, over-cooked, and over-ripe (I was right). The baked, unseasoned, unbuttered sweet potato was better than the corn. Still, I don't recall anyone at a school making sure I was so well fed, and certainly not anyone in administration.

Then, if that were't enough, the ex-pat principal of my school came and sat down with us. I had lunch with both of my principals. Just, you know, whatever. Lunch at the cafeteria. It'd be cool if it weren't so disconcerting.

Absent-Minded Professor

In this school, students stay in one room and the teacher moves. This is a big change for me. I know that in many schools around the world, teachers are forced to share classrooms. Fortunately for me, up until now, that has not been the case.

But for the last two days, I have been roaming the halls like your sterotypical absent-minded professor.  "Doc" Brown from Back to the Future, Professor Farnsworth from Futurama, Mr. Marshall from geometry class... That's now me. I race through the halls, trailing whirlwinds of paper. I leave books in classrooms. I forget my waterbottle. I let the time get away from me.

It is not good.

I need an organizational system. I need a bookbag. (I bought a pencil case today -- and still left my new eraser in the classroom.) I know I managed to get through high school and college without daily angst, but somehow this is worse. I'm out of practice, for one thing. For another, there are no bells, so there is no external clue to time. Finally, even if there were bells, most classes run back-to-back, so I don't have a set 4-6 minutes to gather my belongings and calmly move to the next room. And, of course, I am beset by throngs of interested students at every turn (OK, maybe it's not quite that dramatic, but I still do have students asking me questions after class). 

I asked my students to reflect on what they needed to do better if they are to have a successful year, and here is my reflection: I need to get organized, and I need to do it now. I need to practice serentity at the start and end of each lesson so I do not forget important things. I need a watch that I can set to the school's time, because my phone is 2-3 minutes slower than the school's time (although the school has clocks, they are not yet in the classrooms). 

Wish me luck! Because this whole chicken-with-its-head-chopped-off thing is getting OLD.

A Word about My School

I am based out of one of the best middle/high schools in Beijing. And competition is fierce when it comes to education (even though everyone says the Chinese are far more cooperative in their thinking than Westerners and have little concept of the individual, they certainly know what it means to be the best). My school wants to become the premier school in Beijng, which is why they are expanding their international teaching section.

The school has 4,000+ students ranging from 6th grade to 12th grade (although it's divided into 6-9 and 10-12 and they call them different things, it's the same age of student). We were asked to come to the opening day ceremony. Through some changes and miscommunication, I arrived a few minutes late with some of the other teachers, so we snuck onto the back of the field behind all 4,000+ students lined up and standing at attention. They were silent and paying attention. I am not joking.

Things went on in Chinese. Speeches. Praise for students. More speeches. At one point, the loudspeaker started playing The Magnificent Seven. I know this because we played it in marching band when I was in high school and I can't forget it. There was a bit of cultural dissonance hearing the song in the context of the opening ceremony, but it made me smile.

Then, the flag raising. Some students (probably seniors) marched up with the flag. They went to the flag pole and all the other students turned to face the flag pole. And as the flag went up and what I can only assume was the national anthem played over the loud-speaker, all 4,000+ students saluted the flag. (It was not quite a finger-to-forehead salute and not quite an arm-raised salute, but something in between with an air of keep-the-sun-out-of-my-face.  I'll try to get a photo.) It was pretty amazing. I mean, U.S. kids will be quiet (mostly) for the Star Spangled Banner, but you couldn't get them to be so uniformly respectful.

The ceremony wrapped up with some sort of raffle. I think raffles are big. We had a raffle at the welcome ceremony for the international staff, a raffle for the whole-school ceremony, and another raffle for the students at the international department-only ceremony.

Then we took a picture. All (as in, by themselves without anyone worrying about them cutting) the students walked outside and LINED THEMSELVES UP BY HEIGHT! Then, they stood on a rather rickety riser-thingy. I had to stand on the lowest step and that was bad enough. I couldn't imagine being one of the boys on the 6th step.

All in all, it was an impressive display. A display that happens every Monday morning. I'm not sure if it can beat the gym class I saw later in the week, however. I was walking to the student store during a prep period (I have lots of them, it's pretty sweet) and saw hundreds of students lined up perfectly. They were standing in lines that would have made the afore-mentioned marching band jealous. The diagonals were even perfect. I will definitely get a picture of that for you.

And the kids themselves? They are totally sweet. They quiet down when I walk into the room. They rush to turn off the lights and the projector for me. They stand up to talk (I think I need to change that). The hang around my desk at the end of class just to be near me. If I tell them to take a 10 minute break in between two periods, they automatically gravitate back towards their desks after 9 and a half minutes. They cheer when I tell them they have no homework. They are on board when I ask them what their favorite class is (English, obviously).

The schedule has already changed 12 times since last Mondeay, but the kids make it all worth it. (Of course, they always have -- even my pains-in-my-butt were MY pains-in-my-butt.)

Shopping!

Today, I ventured out into the city all on my own. I had things to buy. So buy I did.

I took the subway 11 stops to one of the malls. Although it's a small thing, I got no small amount of satisfaction out of successfully negotiating the entire trip there. Walking up to the Oriental Plaza station exit was thrilling!

And then I was in the mall. Oh, the mall. I would give my right arm for a Gap. The mall is filled with expensive, shi-shi stores. DKNY and French places I haven't even heard of. So even though they're Western, they're still filled to the brim with skinny pants in tiny sizes. Damn small women! Damn you all and your wholesale take-over of women's fashion!!! And damn you skinny pants! Only twigs look good in skinny pants and few of us are actually twigs! When will the skinny pant die?!

I left that mall and walked up the street to the other mall. (I went here ealier with a couple friends to have Pizza Hut -- yes, Pizza Hut. They are everywhere and it's pizza. Leave me alone.) In that mall is a Gap that says it will open in 2010 and be the Beijing Gap flagship. It's still closed. :-( I love the Gap, if only because their pants fit me, and in ankle I don't even have to hem them. But it was not to be. However, I did manage to find pants that fit at two different stores. The salesladies are very helpful -- almost to the point of annoying. But a good one will help you find what you need. They mostly pointed out the price to me (I got one pair of pants for 70% off, so they only cost $15, the other pair from Esprit cost more, but I decided I'd do a dollar cost average for the two), when what I really needed was size. The nice thing about Esprit is that they print about 5 different sizes on the tag, so I knew I was getting a size 12. Later, at another store, I pointed out the size I needed to the saleslady, and she was convinced that the 10 would fit (because maybe it was the same as one of the European sizes listed); lo and behold, nothing in the size 10 fit over my monster thighs.

I also rewarded myself with a coffee from Starbucks. I know, I know. But I find myself patronizing all the places I studiously avoiding in the U.S. because they are from home. If Stumptown were here, I'd go there, but if Stumptown were here, I'd probably end up avoiding them in the U.S., too. I saw one other Westerner in the mall -- until I went into the Starbucks. There were a good 15 of us in there. It was spooky. I inhaled the coffee aroma and left with my coffee. (It's not that you can't get coffee, but generally you can only get instant coffee, which is just sad.)

Then, I was off to find the World Market. I need things like oregano and canned tomato product. (As a good Italian-American, I can not live long without spaghetti. There is no ailment that spaghetti can not cure.) Except you can't find those things on my side of the city. You can find a few crappy jars of premade sauce, but I hate that sh*t.

I had done some research, and the World Market was three stops down and then around the block. Off I went -- only I never found the World Market. I found a half-empty mall that maybe once had a World Market, or had a World Market that was hiding, but that wasn't getting me any tomato paste. So I kept walking to the next subway stop and walked down to where the Jenny Lou's was supposed to be. I though the World Market would be closer and less scary to walk to (the Jenny Lou's is off the 3rd Ring Road), but it wasn't too bad. (On the way back to the subway, I saw that maybe there is even an underground tunnel to the mall where it's located -- maybe.)

And then I found it. Western food. Overpriced, Western food. The first thing I saw when I walked in was Pepperidge Farm cookies. I got some Milanos. Then I went upstairs and there was and entire aisle of tomato product! I got tomato paste and crushed tomatoes and chopped tomatoes. And oregano and thyme. And Parmesan cheese. Oh, Parmesan cheese. And crusty bread. And decaf coffee beans. And a giant box of Cheerios that cost WAY too much ($7 or so), but it was giant (well, giant for the land of teacups). I feel better knowing I have this food in my cupboard and can turn to it in a moment of distress.

Then, it was an easy, but long considering I was hauling around eight cans of tomatoes, trip back on the subway. The pasta and bread and greasy meat products I am consuming might conspire to make me fat, but I am definitely doing a lot more walking than I ever did in Cali.

And except for a bum who touched my arm briefly, it was a very benign trip.

We Will Rock You!

We took a cab into the city last night to hang at one of the local ex-pat pubs. (Actually, the way I hear it, this place is THE ex-pat pub to be at. And it's certainly the place to be during rugby season. Not sure where the ACC basketball fans hang out yet, though.)

It's a long cab ride -- at least half an hour. At one point, we notice that the cabbie is playing a radio station with Western rock music. And then we hear IT -- the opening drum line to We Will Rock You. We start fist-pumping along and all three of us break into a spontaneous rendition of the first verse even though the the drum line was just a teaser and the station went to commercial.

Oh, but then it came back on, and all three of us were belting out the lyrics. (Some of you have had the misfortune of hearing me sing karaoke -- it was rather cacaphonous in the cab.) The cabbie, either to drown us out or to play along, turned up the volume. Yeah, it was on!

The song ended -- but we didn't. We went right into We Are the Champions. (The radio station is still turned up loudly now, but we ignored it.) Then, my fellow English teacher starting the "ching ching ching ching" and they went into the Flash Gordon song (which I really don't know). We ended our 4 song super set with none other than Bohemian Rhapsody.

It was spontaneous and awesome.

The larger school where we work has an annual party/talent show for the staff. Each department is expected to get up on stage and make fools out of themselves, much to the amusement of everyone else. Many of the foreign teaching staff are a bit shy, and are unwilling to really step it up. But, we have already got our act planned. Bohemiam Rhapsody, all the way.

Teacup Humans

In season 2 of True Blood, Eric -- the creepy (but good looking) vampire shariff of Area 5 -- has an interaction with human children. His assistant, Pam, does not like children -- she finds them creepy. Eric, on the other hand, thinks they are adorable, like "teacup humans". 

Ever since watching that episode, I have used "teacup" as a way to describe anything diminutive. 

It has never come in more handy than in China. 

It all began with the dishes that were provided for us. Awesome, I think. Cups and plates and mugs. I open the packages to wash everything, and I realize the mugs are, well, teacup sized. So are the plates. And the glasses. Everything, it seems, comes in teacup sizes. 

The teacups are just that -- teacups! 

And then we get a box of cereal. Ignore for a moment that the Cheerios are Honeynut (I prefer plain, non-sugary cereal), and consider the size of the box. I got three bowls of cereal out of one box. Three. Three normal, adult-woman-sized bowls of (Honeynut) Cheerios. 

Are you cereal? 

The glasses are maybe 8oz. The mugs are 6oz. The dinner plates are salad plate sized. The bags of potato chips (when you can find "Classic American Flavor" and not "Lemon Tea" or "Cucumber Lime" or "Cola" flavored chips) are laughable. 

But the teacup teacups are killing me. Once I make it to the Western side of the city, I've got my mind set on a nice 20oz mug -- or 10. After the land of the 32oz Big Gulp, 6oz just doesn't cut it.

(I haven't even attempted to try on a pair of pants.)

Lost in Translation

What do you do when two Chinese women knock on your apartment door at 8pm and they speak no English and you speak no Chinese?

It was a conundrum at first. One kept on pointing to the characters on her t-shirt -- as if my written Chinese were any better than my spoken. (It's not. I can say a few things in Mandarin -- hello, I'm sorry, I don't mean to be such a complete bother, and I can read a few things in Chinese -- the fire, water, and fermentation radicals (or roots) and from that I can construct alcohol and recognize words dealing with cooking. But none of that was getting me anywhere with these two.)

Ah-ha! I have a handler (some of us call him our personal assistant). His official title is "liason", but I prefer "handler". I called him up on my cellphone, and handed it over to the woman who appeared to be in charge. While she was talking to him, I noticed the word "census" written in English on her bag. (Pointing to that at first might have been handier, but I think we were all a bit surprised by the encounter. There are very, very few Westerners living in this part of town.) 

He sorted it out, and he told me he'd explain it tomorrow. She gave me a piece of a paper and I'll give that to him and then something will happen. Or not. But it will all be in Chinese.

Of course, I'm in the process of becoming an official resident (it's a 2-4 week process). All I can say is that I'm glad that my company is a stickler for details and I AM in the process of becoming an official resident. 

And I'm very glad for my Handler.

Internet, Glorious Internet!

What is worth the waiting for,
Why I work from eight to four,
All I ever want is email.

Everyday I say a prayer,
Can I pay my bill of fare,
All I ever want is email.

There is not a bit, not a byte can I find, can I beg, can I borrow, or cadge,
Still there's nothing to stop me from getting a thrill,
When I close my eyes and imagine...

Internet, glorious Internet!
Twitter, myspace, and facebook.
While I'm in the mood,
To blog, surf, and waste time.
Blogger, hulu, and NPR.
What next is the question.
Rich gentlemen have it boys on their iPhones.

Internet, glorious Internet.
I'm anxious to try it、
24-hours a day is my favorite diet.
Just picture a great big Lol: cats, failblog, or graphjam、
Oh, Internet, wonderful Internet, marvelous Internet, glorious Internet!

Internet, glorious Internet!
What is there more handsome?
Wired, cable, or wireless, still worth a king's randsom.
What is there to dream about?
What brings on a sigh?
Piles of cable strewn about, six feet high.

Internet, glorious Internet!
Type right through the URLs.
Research some new proxy servers,
Two minutes and then you 
Work up a new appetite 
In this interlude
Then Internet, once again,  Internet, fabulous Internet, glorious Internet!

Internet, glorious Internet!
Don't care how slow it is.
Dial-up, ISDN, firewalled -- don't mind an hourglass。
Just think of speeding up -- my senses go reeling
One moment of knowing that instantaneous feeling。

Internet, glorious Internet!
What wouldn't I give for
That extra bit more, that's all that I live for.
Why should I be fated to do nothing but brood
For Internet, magical Internet, wonderful Internet, marvellous Internet, fabulous Internet, beautiful Internet, glorious Internet!!


(Yes, I just got an Internet connection at my apartment.)