That's right folks, it's census time in China! I have seen advertisements all around town, and even got a visit from some women a few months ago. I guess that was the advance team, however, and not the real peeps. Of course, people living with residency papers is a big problem in China, and I assume the census is in no small part an attempt to get a handle on the illegals. Sort of like living along the Mexican border, you know.
Well, today there was a pounding on the door. My Canadian friend had already left the building and there is still a lot of construction going on in the place, so I didn't think much of it. But it kept on... Wait, was there someone at the door.
Sure enough, two ladies in their census outfits were at my door. Suddenly, the whole floor was involved. The family across the hall were on their way out, and the man spoke a little English. I was supposed to fill in something, but I couldn't figure out if I was supposed to write down my current address (which I don't know) or my birthplace. Because frankly, the census women know my address. The form was partly in English, but it asked for things like "prefectures" and "townships" and whatnot. I don't even know what district I live in (I live across the street from school, but it's a different district. It's the "s" one -- but that doesn't cut it.)
So, as usual, I called my Handler. He talked to the women for 5 minutes and then they were very happy and thanked me profusely, and left.
After about 15 minutes, there was more knocking at my door. Huh? They were back with the same form. I filled out something on the inside, although I don't know if I did it correctly. There weren't check boxes. Was I supposed to write my name on every line? At least I know my birthday and my country of origin! I still ignored the front because I still don't know my address. (Seriously. I know where I live in the actual world, and I know my apartment number, but I don't know how to write it down -- or even say it. I can say my cross streets because that's what a taxi needs.) I signed the back, and then they gave me a present!
Yes, when you complete the census, you get a gift. It looks like a Swiss Army knife, but it has a spoon and a fork! Talk about useful. Strangely, though, it has no removable chopsticks.
And those ladies were absolutely wonderful. Once the one spoke with my Handler, both their attitudes completely changed. They went from slightly annoyed and confused to, well, deferential. It's got to be the teacher thang. I can only assume that my Handler said I taught across the street. I don't think the xi-xis (thank-yous) were for my filling out the form; I think it was for teaching their children. Well, in my Imaginary Universe of Chinese Conversations, that's what they were saying.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
That African American Man Is Still Laughing...
Every time I walk into a store in this town, a clerk watches me and shadows me. When it happens in the swank part of town, I'm never quite sure if it's because I dress like a slob and have a messenger bag so they think I'm going to slip something into said bag, or if it's because I'm white and they expect me to drop scads of money on things I don't need.
It's probably just that there are too many clerks (job creation) and they're bored silly.
Regardless, it makes me nervous.
It's probably just that there are too many clerks (job creation) and they're bored silly.
Regardless, it makes me nervous.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Somewhere in New York City...
... An African American man is laughing.
We headed over to the east side on Saturday night to meet up with my colleague's husband and get some dinner. We left at 6pm (always a mistake, even on a Saturday, by the way). We stood out front of our building, taxi book in hand and flagged down a taxi.
The woman pulled over, took one look at the book in my hand, and proceeded to tell us that she wouldn't take us anywhere. I guess three white women are dangerous and/or scary. I thought of taking down her taxi number and reporting her, but that's really a tactic you use when you need the taxi and no one else will stop.
She didn't want to pick us up so much, she made sure she told us so instead of just driving past. Fortunately, I didn't want to take her taxi anyway.
We headed over to the east side on Saturday night to meet up with my colleague's husband and get some dinner. We left at 6pm (always a mistake, even on a Saturday, by the way). We stood out front of our building, taxi book in hand and flagged down a taxi.
The woman pulled over, took one look at the book in my hand, and proceeded to tell us that she wouldn't take us anywhere. I guess three white women are dangerous and/or scary. I thought of taking down her taxi number and reporting her, but that's really a tactic you use when you need the taxi and no one else will stop.
She didn't want to pick us up so much, she made sure she told us so instead of just driving past. Fortunately, I didn't want to take her taxi anyway.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
The Cool Bar
My colleagues and I have some standard hang-outs in the neighborhood. We have cute nicknames for them — or at least I do, and the rest of them humor me by acknowledging what the nicknames stand for. These places are mostly where we go to drink the famous $.45 beer. There is the Pavement, so named because in good weather, it is a strip of pavement where the owners let us sit in their lawn chairs and drink beer without eating. There are two Pavements, just up the road from each other. The Bad Pavement has a bathroom so horrible the Boys won't let me go near it. The Good Pavement has a bathroom that is downright reasonable. It's a squatter, sure, but it's about as bad (or good, depending on if you're a glass half-full sort of person) as a restroom at your average small time gas station.
However, now that the weather has gotten cold, we can't sit outside. The Boys decided to try out a new location, a restaurant down the street in the other direction. I had not been there with them, but last night after the school Halloween party, we decided to try it out. The Boys had only ever had beer, but it was dinnertime, so we decided to eat.
Six of us walked into the restaurant. The place was crowded (always a good sign). They kicked a man who was sitting alone off a table and moved him somewhere else so we could sit down. They brought us two Chinese menus -- perhaps thinking we could speak Chinese since we knew to say "jiu" (six). I poured over the menu, picking out the various characters I know (I found "chicken"). They realized we were clueless, and brought us a picture menu. (The picture menu is the best invention.)
We looked and drooled. Peanuts. Sliced beef thing. Cucumber and mushroom salad. Chicken something. Pork something. But we also wanted meat on a stick, but that didn't come on the picture menu. I again poured over the piece of paper looking for chicken. I found chicken, but I didn't know what the rest was.
Then the manager came over. He spoke some English (we eventually discovered). We pointed again and again. Then we told him that we also wanted chicken wings (complete with arm flapping and bawk-bawk noises -- I never said I was suave). He went away.
About five minutes later, the food started arriving. First the peanuts, which were cold and covered with a sesame oil dressing. They were fantastic. Then the beef arrived. It was cold too, but it tasted like beef and also had a delicious dressing. The food started coming faster -- sauteed corn, chicken, pork in black bean sauce. The cucumber. Chicken wings. We gorged ourselves on the food. One guy said it was the best food he's had since he arrived. Now, I've had some good food here myself, but this was definitely near the top of the list.
We ate and drank. Drank them out of cold beer, even. (Because why put more beer in the fridge when you take some out?) Although, it's not the first time we've drunk an establishment out of their alcohol. Then, we were delivered a note, in English, along with some more cucumber. The manager thanked us for coming in and apologized for his poor English and gave us the cucumber. Crazy.
Then came the moment of reckoning: the bill. For all the beer and food for six people, we were charged a little less than 200 kwai. That's $30.
I am positive we will be going there again.
Oh, and the bathroom, while not "ridiculously clean" as stated by a colleague, is very adequate. A squatter is a squatter, and there was definitely some oversplash on the floor, but the toilet flushed, there was paper, and soap and water. In this neighborhood, that's pretty awesome.
However, now that the weather has gotten cold, we can't sit outside. The Boys decided to try out a new location, a restaurant down the street in the other direction. I had not been there with them, but last night after the school Halloween party, we decided to try it out. The Boys had only ever had beer, but it was dinnertime, so we decided to eat.
Six of us walked into the restaurant. The place was crowded (always a good sign). They kicked a man who was sitting alone off a table and moved him somewhere else so we could sit down. They brought us two Chinese menus -- perhaps thinking we could speak Chinese since we knew to say "jiu" (six). I poured over the menu, picking out the various characters I know (I found "chicken"). They realized we were clueless, and brought us a picture menu. (The picture menu is the best invention.)
We looked and drooled. Peanuts. Sliced beef thing. Cucumber and mushroom salad. Chicken something. Pork something. But we also wanted meat on a stick, but that didn't come on the picture menu. I again poured over the piece of paper looking for chicken. I found chicken, but I didn't know what the rest was.
Then the manager came over. He spoke some English (we eventually discovered). We pointed again and again. Then we told him that we also wanted chicken wings (complete with arm flapping and bawk-bawk noises -- I never said I was suave). He went away.
About five minutes later, the food started arriving. First the peanuts, which were cold and covered with a sesame oil dressing. They were fantastic. Then the beef arrived. It was cold too, but it tasted like beef and also had a delicious dressing. The food started coming faster -- sauteed corn, chicken, pork in black bean sauce. The cucumber. Chicken wings. We gorged ourselves on the food. One guy said it was the best food he's had since he arrived. Now, I've had some good food here myself, but this was definitely near the top of the list.
We ate and drank. Drank them out of cold beer, even. (Because why put more beer in the fridge when you take some out?) Although, it's not the first time we've drunk an establishment out of their alcohol. Then, we were delivered a note, in English, along with some more cucumber. The manager thanked us for coming in and apologized for his poor English and gave us the cucumber. Crazy.
Then came the moment of reckoning: the bill. For all the beer and food for six people, we were charged a little less than 200 kwai. That's $30.
I am positive we will be going there again.
Oh, and the bathroom, while not "ridiculously clean" as stated by a colleague, is very adequate. A squatter is a squatter, and there was definitely some oversplash on the floor, but the toilet flushed, there was paper, and soap and water. In this neighborhood, that's pretty awesome.
The Basement
Thursdays are bad days for lunch. I have a class 5th period which doesn't get out until 12:10. The Chinese staff at the school, however, all go to lunch at 11:30. By the time I leave class and get to the staff cafeteria, the food is practically gone and it's definitely cold. Not good at all. Since I also teach a 6th period class, I really don't have enough time to leave campus and get something else (like McyD's). It's a problem.
I have been in the habit of eating in the student cafeteria on Thursdays. The food is doled out in separate stations, so there is a much wider variety. A lot of it is still unidentifiable and some of it is downright gross (it is a high school cafeteria after all), but at least it is still hot. But the unidentifiable part makes it a bit of a crap shoot. I don't know what the food is and which stations serve decent food. I try to get the kids to help me, but all too often they just say, "I don't know" and wander off.
Until this Thursday. As I left the building, I saw a group of my girls. One of them is the sweetest child ever. She has a delightful smile and loves to laugh and giggle. Her English is atrocious, however, and she struggles in every one of her classes. She has a very difficult time understanding spoken English. She wants to improve, and she is very attached to her teachers. When she felt how cold my hands were last week, she lent me her fingerless gloves. She will run up to me on campus and hold onto my arms (remember, the Chinese are far more touchy than us Westerners, it is not unusual to see women holding hands while walking down the street). As I walk up to the students, she holds on to my arm. The other girls crowd around and I ask them what I should eat. They offer to help me out. Finally!
They tell me that they are going to the basement. The basement? I didn't even know there was a basement cafeteria! We walk around the building and down some stairs, and then there we were. Cafeteria Shangri-La. There were steamed dumplings, pot stickers, pizza, spaghetti, meat on a stick, noodles, soup, mush on rice... All sorts of little stations with recognizable food that tasted good, too. I had students there to point things out. It was great. I had pot stickers and some lamb on a stick and a few steamed dumplings.
The Canadian had told me that he liked the cafeteria, and I thought he was talking about the place on the first floor. Turns out he was talking about the basement. I am definitely going to eat there more often!
I have been in the habit of eating in the student cafeteria on Thursdays. The food is doled out in separate stations, so there is a much wider variety. A lot of it is still unidentifiable and some of it is downright gross (it is a high school cafeteria after all), but at least it is still hot. But the unidentifiable part makes it a bit of a crap shoot. I don't know what the food is and which stations serve decent food. I try to get the kids to help me, but all too often they just say, "I don't know" and wander off.
Until this Thursday. As I left the building, I saw a group of my girls. One of them is the sweetest child ever. She has a delightful smile and loves to laugh and giggle. Her English is atrocious, however, and she struggles in every one of her classes. She has a very difficult time understanding spoken English. She wants to improve, and she is very attached to her teachers. When she felt how cold my hands were last week, she lent me her fingerless gloves. She will run up to me on campus and hold onto my arms (remember, the Chinese are far more touchy than us Westerners, it is not unusual to see women holding hands while walking down the street). As I walk up to the students, she holds on to my arm. The other girls crowd around and I ask them what I should eat. They offer to help me out. Finally!
They tell me that they are going to the basement. The basement? I didn't even know there was a basement cafeteria! We walk around the building and down some stairs, and then there we were. Cafeteria Shangri-La. There were steamed dumplings, pot stickers, pizza, spaghetti, meat on a stick, noodles, soup, mush on rice... All sorts of little stations with recognizable food that tasted good, too. I had students there to point things out. It was great. I had pot stickers and some lamb on a stick and a few steamed dumplings.
The Canadian had told me that he liked the cafeteria, and I thought he was talking about the place on the first floor. Turns out he was talking about the basement. I am definitely going to eat there more often!
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
A Perfect Dismount
On Saturday, our Chinese principal arranged a trip to the Great Wall. We went to the Mutianyusection. I didn't look it up beforehand, but the school counselor did. It is a spur of the wall and served as the last defense of Beijing. It was rebuilt during the Ming Dynasty, so this section is only about 500 years old. That's young!
I had heard that there was a cable car on this section. While buying tickets, we saw a sign for the "tobaggon" ride. I wondered what sort of crazy translation that was. Was there really a sled? Was there a weird Canadian hat at the top? Imagine my delight and surprise when we got to the top and saw that there was, indeed, a slide down the mountain!
Oh yes, Gentle Reader, there is a metal track curving down the mountain. You might have experienced a similar ride on any number of ski slopes during the summer months. There are these nifty sleds on runners with brake handles. You sit on the sled and shoot down the track. Well, they want you to stay fairly safe. But this is China! Who cares about safety?
I went down with the chemistry and physics teacher -- they are as thrill-seeking as I, you see. We found the track and purchased tickets. What? Only 50 RMB?!?!? (That's $7.50.) What a steal! We each bought a beer (to drink on the way down, because just riding the sled seemed far too tame), and got in line. Off we went, cruising around curves and, well, not quite tearing down the mountain. First, there was the beer to drink, and second, there was the line of people in front of us chickening out and riding their brakes. Still, we got to the bottom thrilled with our adventure. And at $7.50/run, we were ready for another.
We went up to the ticket window to get a ride on the chairlift back up the mountain. (Oh yes, a chairlift. We didn't even have to walk!) Imagine our amazement when we discovered that a mere 65 RMB will get you not only a ride on the chair lift but also a trip back down on the sled! (That's about $9.75.) On the way up, we devised a plan... stall. When the man puts you on the sled, wait for as long as possible before you head down. That way, you build up a buffer space and go really fast before you run into anyone else.
Well, we had the plan. And it was a good plan. We just didn't follow it. We got stuck behind the idiot woman in the pink shirt with bows riding the brake. There were about 15 people stuck behind her. We should have known... It's stereotypical, but you've got to play the percentages. You have to give a big buffer to women (present company excluded), children, and old people.
Back to the ticket window. Another 65 RMB. Back up the chairlift. (Note: the chemistry teacher was a little freaked by the chairlift. He's never been skiing, so he's never been on a chairlift and found it a bit disconcerting. I treat it like it's nothing. Although I still recite all the warnings I've seen over the years... look to the outside. Ski tips up...) This time we agreed to FOLLOW the plan.
Back to the line -- which actually wasn't a line; we were first this time. We looked down the hill and noticed just how slowly everyone was going. There was a sledjam almost at the top! (Well, it is Beijing.) We made mention of it to the dudes running the ride, and they agreed. We all stood there and waited. Those behind us in line were a bit peeved until we explained that you need a buffer, otherwise the ride will be boring. We waited for a good 10-15 minutes, and then we climbed on.
WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
It was awesome. We didn't run into another sledder until the 30m to the end sign. We climbed off the sled energized and ecstatic. It was the perfect dismount from the mountain. I flashed a gymnasticsesque salute, and off we went to find the rest of our group. It just doesn't get better than that... unless we go again.
I had heard that there was a cable car on this section. While buying tickets, we saw a sign for the "tobaggon" ride. I wondered what sort of crazy translation that was. Was there really a sled? Was there a weird Canadian hat at the top? Imagine my delight and surprise when we got to the top and saw that there was, indeed, a slide down the mountain!
Oh yes, Gentle Reader, there is a metal track curving down the mountain. You might have experienced a similar ride on any number of ski slopes during the summer months. There are these nifty sleds on runners with brake handles. You sit on the sled and shoot down the track. Well, they want you to stay fairly safe. But this is China! Who cares about safety?
I went down with the chemistry and physics teacher -- they are as thrill-seeking as I, you see. We found the track and purchased tickets. What? Only 50 RMB?!?!? (That's $7.50.) What a steal! We each bought a beer (to drink on the way down, because just riding the sled seemed far too tame), and got in line. Off we went, cruising around curves and, well, not quite tearing down the mountain. First, there was the beer to drink, and second, there was the line of people in front of us chickening out and riding their brakes. Still, we got to the bottom thrilled with our adventure. And at $7.50/run, we were ready for another.
We went up to the ticket window to get a ride on the chairlift back up the mountain. (Oh yes, a chairlift. We didn't even have to walk!) Imagine our amazement when we discovered that a mere 65 RMB will get you not only a ride on the chair lift but also a trip back down on the sled! (That's about $9.75.) On the way up, we devised a plan... stall. When the man puts you on the sled, wait for as long as possible before you head down. That way, you build up a buffer space and go really fast before you run into anyone else.
Well, we had the plan. And it was a good plan. We just didn't follow it. We got stuck behind the idiot woman in the pink shirt with bows riding the brake. There were about 15 people stuck behind her. We should have known... It's stereotypical, but you've got to play the percentages. You have to give a big buffer to women (present company excluded), children, and old people.
Back to the ticket window. Another 65 RMB. Back up the chairlift. (Note: the chemistry teacher was a little freaked by the chairlift. He's never been skiing, so he's never been on a chairlift and found it a bit disconcerting. I treat it like it's nothing. Although I still recite all the warnings I've seen over the years... look to the outside. Ski tips up...) This time we agreed to FOLLOW the plan.
Back to the line -- which actually wasn't a line; we were first this time. We looked down the hill and noticed just how slowly everyone was going. There was a sledjam almost at the top! (Well, it is Beijing.) We made mention of it to the dudes running the ride, and they agreed. We all stood there and waited. Those behind us in line were a bit peeved until we explained that you need a buffer, otherwise the ride will be boring. We waited for a good 10-15 minutes, and then we climbed on.
WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
It was awesome. We didn't run into another sledder until the 30m to the end sign. We climbed off the sled energized and ecstatic. It was the perfect dismount from the mountain. I flashed a gymnasticsesque salute, and off we went to find the rest of our group. It just doesn't get better than that... unless we go again.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Outside
Our school has a subscription to a number of English-language magazines for the school library. The A-Level teachers convinced the school staff last year that magazines were excellent reading resources. They come in a range of interests and reading levels and magazine articles are far less intimidating than whole novels.
The other benefit is that we get to read them, too!
I share an office with my Handler, who does many things besides keeping me from getting in trouble out there in the big 'ol world. One thing he gets to do is unwrap the magazines and take out anything unacceptable for a high school audience. He was showing off the magazines to me, including the music magazine that had pictures of scantily-clad women in the summer issue. The school had been scandalized. (I didn't see such photos in the fall issue.) Then he flashed the Outside at me.
"Outside!" I yelled.
"What? Is this a good magazine?" he asked.
"It's only, like, totally awesome if you love outdoor sports," I replied.
"Well, do you want to borrow it for a week before I take it downstairs?"
Did I ever.
In this month's issue, they had a list of the Top 50 Things You Should Do This Year.
Number 1 on the list? Get a passport. Fill it up.
Check... and I'm getting there.
A few weeks ago, I was talking to my colleagues about our holiday over Chinese New Year. "Where are you going?" is the big question. Wow, I realized, I can go anywhere. I don't have to stay in my apartment. It's expected that I will take a vacation someplace fun. Wait a minute...
Then I considered my summer vacation. Overnight, my whole world opened up. I don't have to run back to the U.S. in the summer and sit in one place. Oh, sure, I'll go back and visit, but I'll do that -- visit. I don't live there. I can stop by Japan on the way out. Vancouver on the return. Korea. Australia. Thailand. Singapore. I don't need to sit in my car on a freeway speeding across the desert just to see one person. I did that LAST summer. It was fun, but now it's time to sit on an airplane... and a beach. In a hotel. With drinks with little umbrellas in them. Taking pictures of the world's monuments.
I know more than a few of you are groaning right now. That means more weeks I won't be spending in your company, but I have this passport, and I'm going to use it. Save your pennies and come visit me someplace. We can meet in the middle.
The other benefit is that we get to read them, too!
I share an office with my Handler, who does many things besides keeping me from getting in trouble out there in the big 'ol world. One thing he gets to do is unwrap the magazines and take out anything unacceptable for a high school audience. He was showing off the magazines to me, including the music magazine that had pictures of scantily-clad women in the summer issue. The school had been scandalized. (I didn't see such photos in the fall issue.) Then he flashed the Outside at me.
"Outside!" I yelled.
"What? Is this a good magazine?" he asked.
"It's only, like, totally awesome if you love outdoor sports," I replied.
"Well, do you want to borrow it for a week before I take it downstairs?"
Did I ever.
In this month's issue, they had a list of the Top 50 Things You Should Do This Year.
Number 1 on the list? Get a passport. Fill it up.
Check... and I'm getting there.
A few weeks ago, I was talking to my colleagues about our holiday over Chinese New Year. "Where are you going?" is the big question. Wow, I realized, I can go anywhere. I don't have to stay in my apartment. It's expected that I will take a vacation someplace fun. Wait a minute...
Then I considered my summer vacation. Overnight, my whole world opened up. I don't have to run back to the U.S. in the summer and sit in one place. Oh, sure, I'll go back and visit, but I'll do that -- visit. I don't live there. I can stop by Japan on the way out. Vancouver on the return. Korea. Australia. Thailand. Singapore. I don't need to sit in my car on a freeway speeding across the desert just to see one person. I did that LAST summer. It was fun, but now it's time to sit on an airplane... and a beach. In a hotel. With drinks with little umbrellas in them. Taking pictures of the world's monuments.
I know more than a few of you are groaning right now. That means more weeks I won't be spending in your company, but I have this passport, and I'm going to use it. Save your pennies and come visit me someplace. We can meet in the middle.
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