Cat Stevens once said that it's hard to get by on just upon a smile. Maybe he was right, but I've found that the addition of a shrug can help work out a lot of problems.
Last week, a colleague mentioned that I must know quite a bit of Chinese because I had gotten around the city so well. Not so, I countered. I can say hello and thank-you. I can point. And I can shrug and smile. It's amazing how much communication you can do with so little actual language.
Of course, I lie a little. I can now also say good-bye (I used to forget it all the time), I'm sorry, and something that translates roughly as "I don't mean to be such a big pain in the ass, but..." I have also recently added left and right (or a very near approximation) that is very useful in taxis as well as "the bill" -- not that the boys ever let me pay. I can also say "Yuquanlu! Beiteiping!" which is a rough approximation of my address -- also useful in taxis.
Today, a nice older man (the grandfather of the family) who lives on my floor got on the elevator with me. He seemed surprised to see me. In my mind, he asked me if I lived here. With a shrug and a smile, I told him I did. (I actually did say, "Yes, I live on this floor," but I don't think he understood my English.) We talked in different languages and smiled, and I shrugged.
Last week, a colleague mentioned that I must know quite a bit of Chinese because I had gotten around the city so well. Not so, I countered. I can say hello and thank-you. I can point. And I can shrug and smile. It's amazing how much communication you can do with so little actual language.
Of course, I lie a little. I can now also say good-bye (I used to forget it all the time), I'm sorry, and something that translates roughly as "I don't mean to be such a big pain in the ass, but..." I have also recently added left and right (or a very near approximation) that is very useful in taxis as well as "the bill" -- not that the boys ever let me pay. I can also say "Yuquanlu! Beiteiping!" which is a rough approximation of my address -- also useful in taxis.
Today, a nice older man (the grandfather of the family) who lives on my floor got on the elevator with me. He seemed surprised to see me. In my mind, he asked me if I lived here. With a shrug and a smile, I told him I did. (I actually did say, "Yes, I live on this floor," but I don't think he understood my English.) We talked in different languages and smiled, and I shrugged.
There is a guy who is one of the cleaners in my apartment complex that I see all the time. He often speaks to me, and I reply -- in English. Sometimes I have a more complete conversation in my mind, but it's still good fun to tell me friends about my one-sided conversations.
I live in the same building as the Canadian, and most of the locals who see us around think we're a couple. I mean, who wouldn't? Women do not spend time with men unless they're dating, right? We live in the same building. We sometimes go to the grocery store together. We sometimes grab a beer together. We're both white. Done deal, right? (I think both being white is the biggest selling factor to our couplehood among the locals.) Of course, when the mother-daughter at the convenience shed across the street say what a cute couple we are, and we both demur... and then he puts his arm around my shoulder and says, "No! This is my good friend!" it gets lost in translation.
It certainly causes consternation when we go shopping together and I make my own arrangements and pay for my own things. (What kind of jack-ass boyfriend doesn't do the wheelings and dealings AND makes his girlfriend pay?) We caused the water man an undue amount of stress because we dropped off one water bottle at my place and took the other one upstairs and it looked for a moment like he expected me to carry one. (He didn't, but I had loaned him one of my bottles while he had enough time to get his own delivered.)
Back to the cleaner. On Mid-Autum Festival he came across me and the Canadian having a beer down the street. He actually pulled up a stool and sat with us for a good 10 minutes. He spoke in Mandarin, I shrugged and smiled, and the Candian responsed in a weird mixture of Cantonese and English (he spent a couple of years in Hong Kong). Although he refused our offer of beer, the cleaner has spoken to me ever since. He's also convinced that the Canadian and I are a couple.
So, I will often leave the building early in the morning (I'm a get to school early kind of girl) and see the cleaner. He asks me where my boyfriend is, and I tell him that that lazy jack-ass doesn't get up that early. And he's not my boyfriend anyway. Or I'll come back from the grocery store and he'll ask where my boyfriend is, and I have to explain that the jack-ass is off drinking with the boys and he expects me to go to the store and having dinner waiting when he gets home. And he's still not my boyfriend. Such stories keep my friends in stitches.
It's quite fun, actually. Eventually, I'll learn some Mandarin, and then I'll have to have real conversations. Until then, I'm having fun with the shrug and the smile -- and ridiculous stories in English.
I live in the same building as the Canadian, and most of the locals who see us around think we're a couple. I mean, who wouldn't? Women do not spend time with men unless they're dating, right? We live in the same building. We sometimes go to the grocery store together. We sometimes grab a beer together. We're both white. Done deal, right? (I think both being white is the biggest selling factor to our couplehood among the locals.) Of course, when the mother-daughter at the convenience shed across the street say what a cute couple we are, and we both demur... and then he puts his arm around my shoulder and says, "No! This is my good friend!" it gets lost in translation.
It certainly causes consternation when we go shopping together and I make my own arrangements and pay for my own things. (What kind of jack-ass boyfriend doesn't do the wheelings and dealings AND makes his girlfriend pay?) We caused the water man an undue amount of stress because we dropped off one water bottle at my place and took the other one upstairs and it looked for a moment like he expected me to carry one. (He didn't, but I had loaned him one of my bottles while he had enough time to get his own delivered.)
Back to the cleaner. On Mid-Autum Festival he came across me and the Canadian having a beer down the street. He actually pulled up a stool and sat with us for a good 10 minutes. He spoke in Mandarin, I shrugged and smiled, and the Candian responsed in a weird mixture of Cantonese and English (he spent a couple of years in Hong Kong). Although he refused our offer of beer, the cleaner has spoken to me ever since. He's also convinced that the Canadian and I are a couple.
So, I will often leave the building early in the morning (I'm a get to school early kind of girl) and see the cleaner. He asks me where my boyfriend is, and I tell him that that lazy jack-ass doesn't get up that early. And he's not my boyfriend anyway. Or I'll come back from the grocery store and he'll ask where my boyfriend is, and I have to explain that the jack-ass is off drinking with the boys and he expects me to go to the store and having dinner waiting when he gets home. And he's still not my boyfriend. Such stories keep my friends in stitches.
It's quite fun, actually. Eventually, I'll learn some Mandarin, and then I'll have to have real conversations. Until then, I'm having fun with the shrug and the smile -- and ridiculous stories in English.
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