Perspective

While walking down the hall a couple of days ago, my Chinese principal told me that I should stay in China forever. She said I looked good, and China must be agreeing with me. I laughed and pointed to the roll around my middle. I'm certainly not losing any weight (no puking-from-food-poisoning diet for me); must be all the fried bread I eat in the cafeteria. Oh, no, she told me. You look so strong. You all look strong.

From my Western perspective, I am soft, squishy even. According to a doctor, I'm overweight. Not grossly so, but I count as a fat American girl. On a good day, I'm comfortable. On a bad day, I'm just fat. The Chinese, by contrast (my principal included), are thin and slight. They look good in any style of clothes. They brush down the sidewalk with grace and ease, opposed to my lumbering, sweating, hairy self.

From the Chinese perspective, however, my bulk means strength and health. Chinese thinness is fragile and breakable. They do certainly all seem cold all the time. And if you consider yourself breakable, a little bulk wouldn't seem like such a bad thing, I guess. 

Maybe I should stay in China. 

The Dragon Line

On Tuesday, I went on a guided tour to some of the highlights in the Beijing area. The Ming Tombs and the Great Wall were the headliners, but we also went to a jade, cloissone, and silk factory. The last three were mostly about getting us to spend money, and I will probably buy all of the three before I leave, but seeing as I live here, I don't need to rush into anything.

There were four of us: two fellow teachers and one of the teacher's brother-in-law. He was a big part of the reason why we went where we did. He will only be here for a week, so he has to see things before heading back to England. (He is currently off spending time with his brother a couple of hours north, so he had limited time in Beijing.) The leader of the day (sister-in-law) found a tour group online, and for a ridiculously small amount of money, we spent the day sight-seeing. (By ridiculously small, I mean that for about $25 U.S. each, we got picked up at our apartments, driven to all five locations, and were fed lunch. Oh, and then got dropped off back at our apartments.) 

The best part (besides the photos and brag factor to all you back home) was the tour guide. Andy didn't just sit up front and buy our tickets, oh no. He actually spent time explaining Chinese mythology and beliefs.

He explained the five elements (water, earth, fire, wood, metal). In the beginning, the raw energy was split by a great knife, and the energy began moving up and down, creating yin and yang. We discussed the two sides -- up/down; male/female; black/white; day/night; sun/moon. He explained how to begin to decipher what things are yin and which are yang. (Yang is male, rising, sun, strength, while yin is female, falling, moon, and fluidity. I found it interesting that the male/female ideals are fairly similar to ancient European beliefs about the nature of the sexes.) Yang is right; yin is left. He then went into the characters for 1, 2, and 3. From them you can create king, which leads to jade, which then creates country. 

Once we arrived at the Ming Tombs, he had us primed to stand on the Dragon Line. Much like a Ley Line in a Western construct, the Dragon Line is the line of energy that unlied the Emperor's power. The Tombs stand at the dragon's head, in the north. The Emperor is buried there, because although he is dead, he is not gone. Much like yin/yang, he has just moved to the other side of existence (as the sun moves to the other side of the earth every day). So, this is his home in death. This Tomb has not been opened, because to do so would essentially cut the Dragon's head and would be exceedingly bad luck for China. Even modern China doesn't mess with the Dragon Line.

We also discussed the three doors in the Chinese gates. The center door is for the Emperor, and lies on the Dragon Line. There is also a door to the right and one to the left. While you might think the door on the right is the one for the military generals, because right is yang and yang is strength, you'd be wrong. (I was wrong.) The academics entered on the right because the mind is stronger than the body. Oooooh. Suddenly Teacher's Day doesn't seem so strange. Teachers are yang. I like that.

The bottom of the Dragon Line (where we didn't visit on the tour) is at the Forbidden City. That is the Dragon's Tail. What you might not know is that the Bird's Nest (the Olympic Stadium that is tres cool) also lies on the Dragon Line. Look at a map, all three locations lie in a straight line. Why? Because it's good luck. It's feng shui. (Which means wind water, by the way -- add two more words to my lexicon.) We also discussed some feng shui and how it has much to do with the ancient Taoist beliefs. It is not superstition our guide was sure to point out. 

It was a wonderful tour. It was also really the first time someone had even attempted an explanation of the more traditional aspects of Chinese culture. Here in the big city, a lot of that gets lost in the hustle and the bustle. While the Chinese might have it as a part of their world view, they aren't really concerned with talking about it: we all have jobs to do.

The next day the four of us went to Tiananmen and the Forbidden City and walked at the foot of the Dragon Line. We then took a trip to the middle and saw the Olympic Stadium and again walked on the Dragon Line. It was a very lucky couple of days. 

You can check out some pics here, if you haven't seen them already.http://picasaweb.google.com/caroline.scott?authkey=Gv1sRgCLq4n7XwwaLrLQ

A Shrug and a Smile

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. 

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.

When Living Overseas...

..Small things take on a big significance.

In the last week, I have made the best salsa of my life, enjoyed the most delicious Indian lunch, and had the best brie I've ever tasted. I recognize that these things might not actually be the best ever, but they sure did taste like it.

The salsa has gotten a little bland in the last few days. But there I was, walking past the vegetable hawkers outside the grocery store when I saw them: tomatillos. The distinctive papery skins were enough to set my sights on salsa. Some red onion and cilantro and what I thought was a lime later, and I had the makings of salsa. A little searching through Joy (there are some cookbooks I don't leave home without) and I was shortly roasting the tomatillos in a dry pan on my super-hot stove. A few whirs in the blender with the rinsed onion and cilantro and cumin and red pepper (hot pepper is one thing it's easy to get in China) and I was in business. The biggest problem was that I had no corn chips to have the salsa with. Instead, I've been spooning it on eggs all week long. (Poached eggs on toast with shaved parmesan and tomatillo salsa was a particular highlight.) After a month without salsa, anything Tex-Mex was much appreciated.

For a month now, I've heard rumors of a French butcher in the eastern half of the city (where all the ex-pats live). Said butcher also sells wine and cheese. What a score! However, the man who told me about it is notoriously bad with directions. After multiple google map searches (all listings in China are "unverified", making finding anything a crapshoot -- even without the whole language barrier thing) and some wanderings, I finally decided I knew where it was. So, I went off with two colleagues for an afternoon of shopping and food. Meat and cheese were high on our list.

After the subway ride across the city and a trip to the DVD shop (where, incidentally, I found The Big Lebowski!!!!), we were a bit peaked. It just so happens that there is an Indian restaurant in the mall we were at, so off we went. Oh. My. God. Was. It. Ever. So. Good. Vegetable samosas with cilantro chutney and tamarind chutney (I love cilantro). Garlic naan. Spicy channa masala over basmati rice with raita. Some chicken things. Chilled white wine. You would have thought that we had all died and gone to Indian heaven. We might become their best customers. It was way better than the Indian restaurants in Portland (which always had crazy no-good cilantro chutney). We stuffed ourselves and I managed to still take some home.

Then it was time for meat and cheese. I was hoping for real bacon. Alas, it was not to be. But I got sausage (chorizo and plain pork -- I didn't see any Italian). And cheese. We walked straight to the cheese case and drooled over the cheese for a few minutes before actually ordering. I went with brie, blue, and cheddar. When he asked me how much of the cheddar I wanted, I just laughed and told him I wanted the whole thing. (It was about a 16 oz. chunk.) (There were three chunks, so we could all get one.)

Across the street was anothern Western grocery store, where I found the elusive corn chips, regular flour, yeast, decaf coffee beans, balsamic vinegar, and sage. Now, I just need an oven...

In other "it's the small things" news, I'm working on a stove-top cassoulet. I know, I'm crazy. Tell me something we all don't already  know. I made a delicious pork rib braise and cooked some white beans (of a sort, I don't think they're French). I got some Chinese sausage (one kind is very much like keilbasa) and everything has a slight air of Chinese about it, so I'm hoping for the best.

I forgot the duck, though. (gasp!) I remidied that this afternoon (after memorizing the character for duck and figuring it out by finding the whole duck (with head on) and comparing it with the other fowl parts surrounding that and pointing at some stuff with the man behind the counter). Tomorrow, I roast the duck. I also buy a sand pot. Then, I layer the beans and the duck and the meat and I cook it in the sand pot on the stove (simulating a Dutch oven). Breadcrumbs I have (from good bread I find but can never eat all of before it goes stale), but I'm not sure how brown they will be at the end of the cooking.

However, if it's like anything else I've made, it will be the best thing I've tasted in forever.

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.