Prête à Parler

Welcome to America.

2010-06-25T07:50:00.000-07:00

Welcome to America, where you are treated like a moron.

Welcome to America, the land of litigation, where if you don’t treat everyone like they have an IQ of less than 50 (i.e., “Your coffee cup may contain hot liquid. Use with caution”), you are liable to be sued.

Welcome to America, where it takes an hour and a half to get through airport security.

Welcome to America, where people come in sizes ten times larger in all dimensions, but especially as far as waistlines are concerned.

Welcome to America, where all of a sudden I feel quite short and VERY skinny.

Welcome to America, where people alternately dress like crap and look totally fabulous.

Welcome to America, where you have to watch a twenty-minute video about proper customs procedures, because clearly you’re too much of an idiot to follow the signs and figure it out on your own (assuming literacy is obviously out of the question).

Welcome to America, where people destroy their skin trying to make it as dark as possible, whereas people everywhere else in the world destroy their skin trying to make it as white as possible.

Welcome to America, where the land stretches on forever and ever.

Welcome to America, where the bureaucratic red tape stretches farther than the land.

Welcome to America, where everyone speaks English (good lord, how weird is that?).

Welcome to America, land of cream cheese, ovens, avocados, and milk that actually tastes good.

Welcome to America, where you can find attractive women’s shoes larger than a size 8.

Welcome to America, land of such ineffable beauty that words fail me.

Welcome home!

This. Is. It.

2010-06-20T18:17:00.000-07:00

This is it. My last day in Taiwan. I think I’m in denial that tomorrow I’ll be leaving and I won’t be coming back. It just feels so strange. There should be a feeling of closure, of finality, and there isn’t. The only thing I can detect is that I have three more classes to teach and packing to finish.

It’s been a big year. I’ve had more to deal with all at the same time than I can ever remember having to deal with before. It’s been a year of gain and loss, of friendships forged, and of figuring out what was important to me and how I wanted to live my life. It’s been an introspective year. I’ve crossed off scores of potential careers on my list and perhaps found a direction to pursue.

I am thrilled beyond words at the prospect of going home, returning to the life I once deemed familiar. I have a feeling, though, that everything will be different. My old friends are scattered throughout the country, and they have new lives of their own. I’ll have to start over yet again, for the umpteenth time.

To Fonda and my fellow ETAs: I raise my glass to you. I could not have asked for a better group of people to spend a year in a foreign country with. I hope we stay in touch and continue the friendships we spent so much time building and nurturing this year.

To the friends I’ve made in Taiwan: You are the heart and soul of what ties me to this country. You will be missed.

To those of you at home: See you soon!

The End is Near

2010-06-07T06:50:00.000-07:00

It's that unique point in the year where time at once passes very slowly and very quickly.

On the one hand, though I know I’ll be home in two short weeks, it seems that time passes in its own irksome, leisurely fashion. The afternoons and evenings are practically interminable. Though the list of things I must accomplish in my remaining time here is miles long, I cannot seem to muster the motivation to deal with much of it. I have plenty of time, I tell myself, since time insists on meandering and lollygagging and finding every possible way of extending itself beyond reasonable measures. (For the record, though, I did buy myself a suitcase today. Good job, Rebekah. You’ve only been putting it off since August.)

On the other hand, though, I have just as much trouble believing I’ve been here so long already. I remember my arrival in this city in surprising detail. I remember walking outside of the airport that first morning and being hit with a wall of overwhelming heat and humidity, as unmoving and unwavering as though it were made of bricks. I remember the sun beating down relentlessly from a cloudless sky like it was yesterday. (It should be said, though, that almost every day is like that, so I suppose it’s not too hard to believe that I recall it so clearly.)

It’s also that obnoxiously reflective time of year, when you think about your successes, your failures, what you would do differently, and what you will miss. I have made friends here that I am exceptionally fond of. I think I am in denial of the fact that there will come a day, very soon now, when I will no longer get to see them whenever I want. I am fortunate in the fact that one of those lovely people will be moving to Columbus in the beginning of August, and so I will get to see her whenever I like.

At the same time, though, I am going back to so many wonderful things that I feel my cup runneth over. I have gained a newfound appreciation and respect (coupled with awe and admiration) for the country I grew up in. I realize I may have idealized America in my thoughts this year, but I simply cannot get over just how much space there is in that country. Good lord, it’s huge. And relative to its population, there is so much empty space. I can stretch my arms out wide and not run into anyone (in fact, it’s entirely possible that I won’t even be able to see anyone else outside with me). I can take a short drive and find myself in a place where I am totally, utterly alone. Peace and quiet are everyday occurrences. I can hear the birds singing when I open my window. I don’t smell exhaust every time I step outside my door. I see stars in the sky at night. There are beautiful, quiet parks minutes from my house.

The Chinese word for America is “美國 (meiguo),” which, literally translated, means “beautiful country.” The name was chosen because it resembles the second syllable of the word “America,” not because of what it means. I couldn’t think of a more appropriate name, though. There is such beauty in that country. It is in the deciduous trees and the wide, open spaces. It’s in the national parks and the local parks around the corner from your house. It is in the crickets and the cicadas and the fireflies outside your door in the summertime. It’s in the changing of the seasons, the fiery reds and oranges of autumn, the bright green of early spring, the blazing white that is the world covered in snow in wintertime. It’s even in the highways, lined with trees and hills and forests and farmhouses.

It was Dorothy who said, “there’s no place like home,” and there’s a lot to be said for that. I am incredibly lucky that I can call America my home. There, unlike in many other places, I can say whatever I want and get away with it. It is not just great natural beauty and personal freedoms that await me, either. There are some very special people there that I would not exchange for the world, and I know they are waiting for me to come back.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I like Taiwan a lot. I know I’ve got a big change coming up, and those changes always announce themselves with their own kind of turbulence, as well as a great deal of hassle. I am grateful for this incredible experience that I have been given, but I cannot help thinking that every moment back in America will feel like a tremendous gift, ripe with opportunities for observing the great natural beauty that is the US.

It’s time. I’m coming home.

Green Island: A Chinglish Tale

2010-06-03T07:59:00.000-07:00

Taiwan has the most marvelous signs. Truly. Now, let this be my disclaimer: this is not actually a post. I simply wanted to express my awe and appreciation for these miraculous signs that are posted all over Taiwan. They were very heavily concentrated at Green Island (off the Southeast coast of Taiwan), which is where I was this past weekend. I furnish them as evidence here for your entertainment.

So not actually a sign, but noteworthy all the same.

The fourth line of the warning is the one you want to read. In case you can't read it, here is what it says: "No Electrocuting, Poisoning or Bombing of Fish. No Vendors."

I did, at one point, almost run over a crab. My first thought was, "AAH! CRAB!" closely followed by, "Crab sign with the halo! Aah!"

The exclamation point is the best part. Also, you probably can't see it, but my scooter helmet is awesome. It says, "Iron Man." Upside-down.

I just couldn't get enough of these "Cliff!" signs.

Anyway, that's all for now. Over and out.

Silence is Golden

2010-06-01T00:50:00.000-07:00

Two weekends past, I traveled to Alishan with a rather large entourage. Fonda, four visitors from the States, and five ETAs definitely qualifies as a large group, if you ask me. Alishan, by the way, is a mountain in central Taiwan (elevation 2700 meters, or something like that). I recount highlights of the voyage here in adages that you may or may not be familiar with (especially since most of them are not adages in the strictest sense, as I made them up).

Silence is golden.

One of the myriad wonderful things about Americans is that they understand when a moment should be appreciated in silence. On Saturday morning, we awoke bright and early (or dark and in the middle of the night) to go on a hike and watch the sun rise. In other words, we all woke up at three in the morning.

What followed was an hour-and-a-half-long hike that lasted 40 minutes. When you’ve got a deadline to meet (like the rising of the sun, which compromises for no one), I suppose, you tend to hustle. We reached an outlook with a perfect view eastward. We were poised, ready, with a perfect spot to observe the blessed event. And then the Taiwanese tour group arrived.

In what was so ironically typical of Taiwan, I spent the next half-hour (the one centered around five in the morning, when rational people would be asleep) with a tour guide screaming into a megaphone right into my ear. And once he was done with the megaphone, he just shouted at everyone for another fifteen minutes. Suffice to say, I was ready to knock him off his podium and watch him roll down the mountain. Compound this with the minuscule Asian woman behind me who kept pushing up against me, and I was very cranky at five in the morning. In America, I am certain, the moment would have been accompanied by a respectable, awed hush.

In spite of the disturbances, the sunrise, at the very least, was still lovely. Alas, my camera fails at adequately capturing the moment. What a surprise.

Sunrise: Pre-, During, Post-, and me.

Let ‘em glow and let ‘em go.

We were promised thousands of lightning bugs putting on a show for us the evening following the cacophonous sunrise. Unfortunately, there were about four. (Regardless, there were umpteen Taiwanese tourists waiting with bated breath, cameras at the ready should one of the four fireflies grace us with a flash.) This platitude reflects my personal philosophy regarding lighting bugs, which was markedly at odds with that of some of the other people’s (which was more along the lines of “Come, see, squash”).

Happiness is crickets and an unpaved path.

Unpaved paths are highly undervalued, or at the very least, taken for granted in America. There is something so much more real and natural about a hike in which you are walking on uneven, unpaved earth. Asia either hasn’t caught on to this, or chooses to disagree. It is my opinion that Taiwanese people love nature, but only in theory and when kept at arm’s length. They want their paths paved in sturdy, solid asphalt, and they want pictures of nature, but they only want to spend five minutes surrounded by nature. Then they want to get back on their tour bus and go to the next scenic spot. Not hiker-friendly, that’s for sure.

In any case, the point of this is that there were a couple unpaved paths at Alishan, for which I was exceptionally grateful. There were also innumerable crickets serenading us on our hike, which was magnificent. Thus, happiness is crickets and an unpaved path.

(Happiness.)

To close, I leave you with a puzzling query to ponder, one which we were unable to resolve on our trip: Which situation involves less oxygen getting to your lungs – intense pollution, or high altitude?

The Aftermath

2010-05-14T01:56:00.000-07:00

Long, long ago, in a land quite far from you, there was a typhoon. It hit this faraway land, hereafter referred to as “Taiwan,” on August 8, 2009. You may recall that I mentioned it. Typhoon Morakot brought with it great devastation to this cozy little island just southeast of China. Kaohsiung, on the other hand, saw very little of that damage. In my estimation, the typhoon was no more than several days of non-stop torrential rain.

As comfortable a notion as it is to believe that typhoons don’t do much more than rain a whole lot, the reality is far more severe. Last weekend, Grace and I took a trip to Maolin, a forest area/nature reserve not terribly far from Kaohsiung. We had wanted to go much earlier in the year, but transportation was challenging and Fonda (our coordinator) had told us that most of Maolin was “gone – washed away with the typhoon.” Suffice to say, I thought this was spoken with a touch of hyperbole. And oh, how I was wrong. As a means of comparison, I will give before-and-after descriptions, with the “before” coming from my Lonely Planet guidebook.

Maolin Gorge Waterfall
Before: A 2-km trail that criss-crosses over the river via five bridges.

After: A 2-km trail with no bridges. We walked in the riverbed. We did, however, find evidence of bridges.

Meiyagu Waterfall
Before: A 15-minute walk to a scenic waterfall on a smooth stone path.

After: Check below for the smooth stone path we were promised. We never made it to the waterfall, so I can’t speak to whether it was scenic or not.

Maolin Valley
Before: I’m not entirely sure, to tell you the truth, but I think it was largely green and covered in various types of vegetation.

After: Make sure you look behind Grace so you can see where all the landslides occurred.

Dona Hot Springs
Before: Two long concrete pools in the rocks.

After: Nothing. It was just gone. Blown away with the typhoon.

Hongcheng Gorge Hot Springs
Before: A very scenic setting, where you can observe the lovely valley while sitting in the tubs.

After: Just gone. Like the Dona Hot Springs – there was nothing left.

Dragon Head Mountain
Before: An oddly-shaped hill in the midst of the river.

After: An oddly-shaped hill in the midst of thousands of tons of silt and buildings filled with trees and dirt.

On the bright side, I found myself a new man while I was in Maolin. He’s quite the looker, don’t you think?

We also found a traditional slate house that the local aboriginals used to live in. I imagine this is what life must be like in Asia for tall people.

Also, just so you think it's not unrecoverable, I am including two pictures that hint at the beauty of what this place must have looked like pre-Morakot.

Another bright spot: a shining example of Chinglish.

In the end, despite not seeing what I thought I was going to see, I was very glad to have gone. I was amazed at how far the Maolin community was from recovering from this typhoon that happened nine months ago. The pictures don’t do it justice.

Random Acts of Kindness Day

2010-05-13T03:00:00.001-07:00

In America, we have this day called “Random Acts of Kindness Day” (which you all know, since I’m pretty sure all my readers are American). On this day, you are supposed to do random, unasked-for nice things for strangers. I can’t imagine this holiday, if you can call it that, exists in Taiwan. “Why,” you may ask, “is there no ‘Random Acts of Kindness Day’ in Taiwan?” Let me explain. I doubt there is one specific “Random Acts of Kindness” day because every day is Random Acts of Kindness day.

Never in my life, in all the countries I’ve been to, all the places I’ve seen, have I ever met people that are as consistently kind and well-intentioned as I have in Taiwan. In America, there is a tendency to distrust the average Joe on the street. If someone offers to help you, you are disinclined to take them up on their offer because you think they might have ulterior motives. We are a nation that thrives on the distrust of other members of our society. In Taiwan, on the other hand, you can trust the Average Joe. Take the time, for example, when I had a flat tire on my scooter and some Taiwanese woman I’d never met helped me push it all the way down the street to the repair shop. Or the time when my mother and I were on a short hike outside of Taipei and another hiker gave us an orange and an ear of corn to eat, just because we happened to walk by them. (Think about it—in the States, you probably would have thought it was drugged, or something was wrong with it, or someone was playing a mean-spirited joke on you. Never take candy from strangers, right?)

Or consider the other day. At a total loss for something more interesting to do, I was wandering around looking at teapots. I found this one store with really lovely teapots, so I walked in and started checking them out (way outside my budget range, sadly). The owner of the store invited me to sit down with him and drink some tea, which happens a lot in tea shops. I told him I didn’t want to trouble him, but he’d already made tea, so I sat down with him anyway. He eventually called his daughter down, and what ensued was an hour-and-a-half long discussion, just because I happened to be there. Neither of them spoke any English, mind you, so we were doing this all in Chinese. They didn’t ask for any kind of payment. We just sat together and drank tea. They even gave me some tea bags before I left (also free of charge) so I could try some more kinds of tea.

Believe when I say there are some things I will miss terribly about this country.

Happy Mother's Day!

2010-05-06T00:53:00.000-07:00

Much to my surprise, Mother's Day is on Sunday (I'm a terrible child). Of course, I only realized this when one of my co-teachers told me this was the case and that she wanted me to teach a culture class about Mother's Day to our 5th graders. I showed them a video which I think all of you will find particularly pertinent and entertaining. I know they did. Here's the link, with English AND Chinese subtitles, to cover all the bases. Check it out, and enjoy! (Yes, mom, I know that you shared this with me a long time ago. Rest assured that your motherly influence has now extended to all the Taiwanese schoolchildren as well.)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tfyyGQxZrAY&feature=related

A Reflection on Co-teaching

2010-04-14T01:17:00.000-07:00

Every other Wednesday, all the Fulbright ETAs and their co-teachers get together for a two-hour workshop. Today was supposed to be a co-teaching demonstration, but as neither of my co-teachers were available, I had to do it by myself. Instead of doing a normal demonstration (it makes no sense to demonstrate co-teaching by yourself), I wrote out my thoughts about what has worked thus far and what hasn't. I am including it below for all of you, my adoring fans (of which there may be no more than two, but no matter).

You may have noticed that I am standing up here alone. Unfortunately, neither of my co-teachers were able to make it to our workshop today. As such, this is not going to be a typical co-teaching demonstration, as having only one teacher entirely defeats the purpose. Instead, I am going to talk a little bit about what has worked and what hasn’t in my co-teaching experience and show some clips from my observations.

One of the things that has made co-teaching difficult for me is that I am working with two teachers with wildly different teaching styles, which is both a blessing and a curse. The advantage is that I’m being exposed to a lot in the way of how to effectively run a classroom. Where this becomes difficult is that upon my arrival, I was entirely untrained in teaching; I was forming my co-teaching style based on what I was seeing in my classrooms. One of my challenges has been creating my own unique teaching style while at the same time receiving vastly different types of sensory inputs, as it were.

Another challenge that I have had concerns classroom management. With at least one of my teachers, it was clear to me that my role was supposed to be as the “fun” teacher. I actually tried being stern in the beginning of the year so that I would have authority with the children, and was told point-blank that I shouldn’t. The children were all supposed to like me. I should be nice, we would play games, we’d have a good time.

However, there is a very important trade-off here, and that’s that the local teacher must take responsibility for all classroom management. It is too late in the year now for me to suddenly start being strict—I have lost that opportunity. The children know that I’m the “nice” teacher, that I don’t do much in the way of discipline. This means I really have no authority with them insofar as getting them to do what I want. Sometimes that’s okay, but what happens when my co-teacher leaves the classroom or does something else other than participate in the lesson with me? The students immediately get louder, stop listening to me, and talk to each other instead of paying attention. There are times when I feel like nothing much more than a babysitter, taking care of the kids while mom is off doing something more important.

It’s worth noting, though, that there are things that have worked out well. For instance, I have had the pleasure of getting to know some really fabulous people. I know infinitely more about teaching than I did when I arrived here in August, and I know that there is infinitely more left to learn. I have discovered many ways of running a classroom, I have watched how different teachers handle their classes, and I have found methods for keeping a class motivated and in line. I have learned so much about the Taiwanese educational system that I can actually speak about it and sound like I have some vague idea of what’s going on.

They say hindsight is always 20/20, and this is no exception. If I could do it all over again, I would do what I think is right and effective instead of conforming to my co-teachers’ expectations of me. Every once in a while, I would utter a word in Chinese, which would be especially useful when my co-teacher left the room for whatever reason and I needed to get the students’ attention and they weren’t listening because they couldn’t understand what I was saying. I would be strict and enforce discipline, because it is more important that the students pay attention and do what I ask in order to maximize their learning instead of liking me but not doing what I ask. In short, it is too late to correct some of the mistakes I made earlier in the year, but it is not too late to learn from the experience. After all, we’re here for the experience. I will be able to take what I have learned and apply it in the future. What else is it they always say? It’s the journey that counts, not arriving at your destination—or something along those lines.

Lost in a Foreign Land

2010-03-02T04:07:00.003-08:00

Contrary to popular belief, I do not have a poor sense of direction. I cannot count the number of times when I have followed my instincts correctly and gotten to my intended destination while the “man” in the car (note the quotation marks, which were very deliberately inserted) insisted I should’ve turned the other direction some miles back.

It is true, however, that upon arriving at college, it took me several days to figure out which door I needed to exit my dorm from in order to reach the dining hall, and that once I discovered which door was the correct one, it took me several days more to figure out how to reliably arrive at the dining hall. Keep in mind that the dining hall was within five minute’s easy walking distance. It must be said, though, that this was not the fault of a poor sense of direction. I am merely unobservant. You see, if I am walking with someone who knows where they’re going, the spatial awareness capabilities in my brain shut off and my feet go on autopilot. (This is, incidentally, why I will never tolerate the presence of a GPS in my car.) Being a typical college freshman, I was desperate to make connections with people and going anywhere alone was personal proof that I would be lonely throughout all my college days. Thus, especially in the beginning, I never went to eat by myself and was, as a consequence, always following someone else’s feet in order to get to the dining hall.

Since then, I have gained an increasing fondness and appreciation for knowing where I am. In fact, when I was traveling throughout Southeast Asia a couple years ago, the girl I was traveling with was immensely grateful for my presence because I always knew where I was and she never did. Without me, she said, she would have been hopelessly lost. (I told her to call up my mother and tell her that. I don’t think she ever did, which is truly a shame.)

You may be asking yourself right about now, “What on earth does all this nonsensical prattling have to do with Taiwan?” Here’s what it has to do with Taiwan: here, I get lost all the time. This is not because I can only read half the street signs. This is not because I haven’t taken the time to acquaint myself with my surroundings. No. It is because every street in Asia looks EXACTLY THE SAME. Block after block consists entirely of restaurants and shops and stores utterly lacking in personality. As evidence, I provide the following.

These photos, as it happens, were not taken in Taiwan, but it makes no difference. Asian streets all look the same (though, admittedly, the streets tend to be narrower and there is less green bandying about the frame). In fact, they bore me so much that I struggled even to come up with those two pictures, as I seem to steadfastly avoid taking pictures of typical Asian streets.

What we have uncovered here is a fundamental difference between American and Asian cultures. American culture is all about individualism and being unique, and that is reflected in the numerous establishments in every American community. They strive to create their own special atmosphere and personality; they use their appearance to mirror the goals of the company, whatever they may be. The appearance of an establishment is, in essence, a reflection of the owner’s personality.

That’s not to say that Asians are devoid of personality, for they certainly aren’t. It’s just that when it comes to business, their focus is decidedly elsewhere (say, on turning over a profit). This is the heart of the observation that in American restaurants, customers pay for atmosphere, whereas in Asian restaurants, customers pay for food.

Unfortunately for me, this means that my landscape is entirely without landmarks. I have to rely solely on street names in order to get from point A to point B. Imagine, for example, someone telling you to meet them at a café, of which there are about a million every mile. “It’s right by that place that sells those good noodles,” your buddy might tell you. This is bad news for you, my friend. Because if there are a million cafés every mile, then there are a gazillion trillion places that sell noodles. And they all look identical.

What Alex Ate

2010-03-01T02:32:00.000-08:00

I know I’ve been kind of a failure at documenting Taiwanese culture since I’ve been here, so I’m going to attempt to make up for it at least in part with an extraordinarily long post. One of the most distinctive aspects of Taiwanese culture (and Asian culture in general) is the food. Life revolves around food. Food is everywhere. Restaurants are omnipresent. In fact, there are so many even within a one-block radius of my apartment building that I’m fairly certain I could eat at a different one for every meal every day and still have restaurants to spare at the end of a month. Everything is noodles, rice, stir-fried, deep-fried, served in pools of oil. The Taiwanese will tell you it’s the best food in the world, but I have yet to figure out how they don’t all weigh 300 pounds, as they eat all the aforementioned types of food constantly and in vast quantities. (Speaking of which, the typical Taiwanese wedding celebration is an 11- or 12-course feast.)

In any case, at the very end of December, Alex came to visit me. I thought documenting what he ate might be an interesting walk through Taiwanese culinary culture. Let’s do the breakdown thus: Relatively Normal Things; Things That Aren’t Gross But You Probably Haven’t Heard of Them; Sea Creatures; and Animals That Walk the Earth.

Relatively-Normal-Things that Alex ate

Taiwan is a haven for tropical fruits. Among the many fruits the two of us ate while he was here were star fruit, pomegranates, wax apples, Asian pears, papayas, and kiwis. You’re probably familiar with all of those except for wax apples, which are bell-shaped, red, slightly spongy, and mildly sweet. They’re really quite nice.

As can be expected, Taiwan is also very well known for its tea. It’s most famous tea is called Oolong tea, so of course Alex had to try it while he was here. Personally I find Taiwanese Oolong tea a little too bitter for me, but it’s definitely worth a try. The other Taiwanese tea innovation known throughout the world now (and yes, it is originally from Taiwan) is called Pearl Milk Tea. Milk tea is either a black or a green tea mixed with milk—the proportion is typically half a cup of tea to half a cup of milk. It’s also extremely sweet (too sweet and milky for me, but you can at least specify how much sugar you want them to put in it for you). The pearls are large, black, chewy tapioca balls that get put in the drink and sit at the bottom. You get an extra-wide straw so you can suck up all the tapioca balls. Lots of foreigners really like the tapioca balls, but I do not number myself among them. They’re just kind of chewy and slimy and flavorless, if you ask me. However, being characteristically Taiwanese, this was another thing Alex tried.

Things-That-Aren’t-Gross-But-You-Probably-Haven’t-Heard-of that Alex ate

For example, hotpot. Hotpot is a meal that takes a long time to eat, so you’d better not be in a hurry. It’s a pot filled with a water-based broth served to you over a burner. You are given lots of different things to put inside and let cook, like meat, vegetables, and seafood. This is definitely one of the less-gross Taiwanese options.

Another interesting option is green-onion pancakes. They’re sort of pancake-shaped but made with white or whole-wheat flour, lots of green onions (a.k.a. scallions), and typically bits of chicken (at least in Taiwan). They’re rather salty and heavily fried. Still, not too bad, although I tend to forgo the chicken bits, as I don’t eat meat.

Slightly more out there were the oyster omelettes we tried when my host family took us to a local night market (night markets are another hallmark of Taiwanese culture, by the way). They must have been made with some kind of starch because they were semi-translucent and gelatinous, like jello. I’m pretty sure there was an egg in there somewhere, too, and some kind of green vegetable, and of course the oysters. Oh, and I’m pretty sure it was served with some manner of sweetened ketchup.

I also made sure Alex tried another Taiwanese staple while he was here—stinky tofu. True to its name, it smells awful. I think it tastes like goats. Not goat meat (I can’t say I’ve ever tried that), but it tastes the way petting-zoo goats smell. Not surprisingly, many westerners avoid stinky tofu.

Sea Creatures that Alex Ate

Taiwan being an island, there was a fair amount of seafood ingested during his trip. Lake fish, steamed fish, fried fish, steamed shrimp, and some really fabulous clams were run-of-the-mill.

The shrimp, however, come with a catch. Unlike in America where we are morally offended when our food stares back at us, Taiwanese people are not the least bit squeamish about the appearance of their food. The shrimp comes to your table much as though it were just plucked out of the ocean, dropped in a frying pan, and dumped on your plate. This is fairly accurate for the most part; when you go to seafood restaurants in Taiwan and ask to see their “menu,” they show you the large quantities of sea creatures sitting alive on ice, on display right outside.

The shrimp, then, are completely intact. They still have their shells. They still have their heads. If you ever wondered how long shrimp antennae are, I can now tell with assurance that they are at least as long as the entire length of their body. For fun, you get to behead your own shrimp. Many Taiwanese eat the brains and such, but that’s a little much for me. It’s enough that after I behead the shrimp, I can still see the greenish spinal fluid oozing from the other half.

Alex also ate some rather fabulous octopus (really, it was delicious), some sort of stir-fried shark, squid-on-a-stick (a local specialty, rather bland and rubbery, but worth trying once), and some exceptionally chewy snails. The snails were quite a challenge to eat, as they were still in their shells, and rather stubbornly at that. In fact, we hadn’t the remotest idea how to remove the darn things from their shells. We eventually resorted to spearing them with a single chopstick and prying them out. I later saw a real Taiwanese person using a toothpick, which seemed much more efficient.

Also of note is that Taiwanese people will eat anything that moves as well as everything that won’t, with the possible exception of rocks and dirt. In my sojourn here, I have tried all the normal kinds of seafood you can think of, plus, for example, sea cucumbers. I have also seen jellyfish served with panache.

Animals That Walk The Earth that Alex Ate

I saved this bit for last because as far as I’m concerned, it is the most outlandish. Admittedly, Americans are notorious the world over for being unadventurous eaters. We have these weird ideas about being grossed out by food, and there are many kinds of meat we simply won’t eat because they’re “disgusting.” As an interesting note, primary among these is horsemeat; never mind that the horse’s original purpose as far as mankind was concerned was as food.

Imagine, if you will, some hapless creature wandering around outside. Now take this creature, slaughter it, pluck it or skin it or whatever is required, chop it up into smaller (but still identifiable) bits, throw it in a wok, and put it on display for random passers-by to gawk at and ingest. Welcome to Taiwan.

One of Alex’s great mechanical feats here was figuring out just exactly how one eats duck tongue. It is a rather challenging endeavor, as it comes with very little meat and two bones attached. Never the less, he eventually succeeded. By the bye, every conceivable part of a duck is apparently edible. Consider that we walked past numerous duck heads cooked and ready to be eaten. Never mind that a duck head is almost entirely skull and beak (and what part of that is edible for a normal human being?).

Speaking of every part of an animal, something called “Pig’s blood cakes” are very popular here, so of course Alex tried that as well. These interesting cakes are made from congealed pig’s blood. They sort of look like blackish sticky rice in square-shaped patties. I was told they weren’t terribly exciting. Alex also ate snake soup while he was here, complete with bits of snake floating about in it. I was assured it tasted just like chicken. It gets better, though—another Taiwanese snake specialty is a liquor made from snake testicles. Mmm.

I’m ending this list with a familiar creature: the chicken. Before you relax too much, though, remember that the Taiwanese are not discerning at all when it comes to which parts of the animal they will and won’t eat. While Alex was here, he ate many chicken bits that are often neglected in the States: the heart, the gizzard, and yes, the testicles. The real kicker was that my 12-year-old host sister loves the taste of chicken testicles. While I was covering my mouth in horror, she was popping testicle after testicle into her mouth. Yes. Her mouth was full of testicles.

In January, the flowers are in full bloom.

2010-01-17T20:39:00.000-08:00

That's right. You are all suffering in your chilly climes, trees barren and desolate, snow and slush covering the ground. The sky is gray and cloudy, and the merest hint of a living leaf or something green or colorful is nowhere to be found. I, on the other hand, could smell the flowers blooming on the trees I ran past this morning. Big, purple blossoms, giving off the most delightful scent. The sky is blue and cloudless and it's a balmy 75 degrees. Jealous yet?

My first semester as an ETA in Taiwan will officially be over as of Friday. Before we get there, though, all the ETAs and other Fulbright scholars are meeting in Kenting for a Mid-Year Conference. Kenting, you may recall, is that lovely national park on the southern tip of Taiwan, where it's even sunnier and hotter than in Kaohsiung. Anyway, the whole point of bringing this up is so that I can subtly mention the mid-year report that we had to write. We weren't initially given any particular guidelines for the piece except to reflect on our experience in Taiwan thus far. Mine ended up being something I simply cannot give to Fulbright, but I am attaching it below for your potential enjoyment. I realize it's rather lengthy, so feel free to skip around a bit and just read what catches your eye. I hope you are as amused as I was when I wrote it!

This May Not Be What You Want to Hear.

Another Rousing Journey of Self-Exploration from one of the Umpteen Taiwan ETAs

I’m going to preface this by saying that I have learned an exceptional amount thus far into my tenure as a Fulbright ETA in Kaohsiung. That being said, though, I highly doubt much of it is what Fulbright wanted me to learn. The Fulbright program has admirable goals—improving cross-cultural understanding and communication, for example. I am, theoretically, an ambassador for my country. As far as I can tell, the Mid-Year Report is supposed to be devoted to what you’ve learned and what life has been like for you in the country you chose. In that vein, I am going to enumerate what I have learned—even if it’s not what you want to hear.

My main reason for applying to this program was because it was a means to an end. I am very interested in foreign languages and I wanted to be in a place where my Chinese could improve. There were other reasons—at the time, I was considering a potential career as a high school math teacher, but I wanted to get some experience in a classroom before I committed to that. I knew before I applied that my patience for young children was limited at best, and by the time I accepted my grant, I was already pretty sure I didn’t want to teach. I didn’t apply for the program because I was passionate about teaching English, in any case; like many other Fulbrighters, I was incredibly burnt out from working so hard at school for so many years that I couldn’t handle a research grant. I chose the ETA program simply because it was the least stressful way to immerse myself in a Chinese-speaking environment.

It comes as no surprise, then, that it took me very little time to confirm my suspicions that I didn’t want to be a teacher. I learned that the monotony of subject teaching was so mind-numbing that I couldn’t handle it. It took me even less time to realize that I did not want to spend a lot of time in an environment over-run by small children. I still have a great deal of respect for teachers; their work is admirable indeed. I just don’t want it to be my life. I have also discovered that I am a failure at faking enthusiasm, which seems to be a vital characteristic for an effective teacher. Moreover, being able to split one’s attention seems absolutely necessary, and something I am totally incapable of doing. There have been numerous occasions in which out-and-out fights have erupted in my classroom and I failed to notice because my focus was elsewhere.

Another thing I have learned is that I want math in my life. That may appear as a non sequitur, but when you are deprived of a thing, you realize how important it is to you. I entered college as a French major and it only took one semester of no math classes to realize how much I missed it. Now that I am done with college, I’ve had to consider some tough questions. What do I want to do with my life? What’s important to me? What are my actual aspirations? This year is like a gigantic pause button putting life on hold while I try to figure out some of those answers. One answer that I have found is that I want to be somehow involved with some kind of computational mathematics. I want to use mathematics to find solutions to real problems that have tangible effects once they are solved. I have discovered that I am not interested in theory, not because it’s too abstract, but because it doesn’t produce real-life solutions quickly enough. I don’t want to be in the position of developing new theory; rather, I want to use math already in existence to create change in whatever capacity that entails.

There have also been some challenging admissions I have had to make. For instance, it was very hard to admit to myself that I may never be fluent in Chinese, and it is even less likely that I will be literate. Despite five solid years of study prior to moving here in August, Chinese is so challenging that one solid year here is simply not enough to create competency. In order to become fluent in Chinese—a goal I was hoping to have made serious progress on by the time my grant ended—it would have to be a life decision. I would have to live in a Chinese-speaking area not for one year or even for two, but for several years in order to consider myself competent. It is undeniable that my language skills have improved, but I despair at ever reaching the point that I want to. That kind of commitment would entail depriving myself of the company of my family for years, which, I have learned, is not something I am willing to do.

What else have I learned? I have learned just how much I appreciate America. I appreciate the availability of ingredients I am interested in purchasing. I appreciate walking into a restaurant that serves food that I want to order. I appreciate the fact that not all food has to sit in oil to taste good. I appreciate wide-open spaces and beautiful living areas. I appreciate the time and effort that goes into making homes feel like home. I appreciate peace and quiet and the lack of constant scooter traffic and exhaust. I appreciate being able to see the stars in the sky at night and observing the changing of the seasons. I appreciate not being stared at and photographed like a zoo animal in a cage.

Before I get too carried away, though, I would like to mention that there have been several positive things I have learned about Taiwan in my time here so far. Of all the countries I have ever been to (and there have been many), Taiwanese people are the nicest, without a hint of competition. They consistently and sincerely offer help when there is the slightest suggestion that it could be desired. There was one instance, in fact, where I was pushing my scooter down the road (flat tires make it feel so much heavier than usual), and some woman I had never met came up to me and started helping me push my scooter to the repair shop. That blows me away!

Though Taiwanese culture is much more Western and less Chinese than I was expecting, I have still taken many opportunities to experience the culture. I have taken a semester of Chinese classes (with another semester coming up). I meet with a language exchange partner on a regular basis. Greatest of all, I have a wonderful host family that takes me places and does interesting things with me. With them, I have learned how to make Hakka tea, I’ve gone to a Taiwanese wedding feast (a twelve-course meal—stomach that if you’re able!), I’ve visited the local art museum and science and technology museum, as well as a host of other things. Their impact on my experience here is not to be underestimated.

At my core, I am a wanderer. I want to go everywhere and see everything. After this year, though, I think I may confine my wanderings to short-term outings instead of semester- or year-long programs. I love to wander, but I’m not willing to spend a substantial amount of time doing it until I have a little piece of family that I can take with me. In sum, then, I have answered many questions, formed new ones, and left numerous questions unanswered. Is that what you wanted to hear?

Adventure #37.5: Rebekah vs. Acute Tonsillitis (a.k.a. “You are sick man!”)

2009-12-26T21:40:00.000-08:00

As an addendum to my previous post, I would like to say that I am fully recovered from the swine flu. Unfortunately, as soon as I rid myself of the swine flu, I found that I had contracted another wonderfully pleasant ailment—acute tonsillitis. You may imagine just how flabbergasted I was to have gotten over one disease only to come down with another. My exchange with the physician, in a mixture of English and Chinese, went something like this:

Me: Acute Tonsillitis?!

Doctor: Yes!

Me: Wonderful. (Note that this was said steeped in sarcasm.)

Doctor: Wonderful?

Me: I mean… terrible! Very bad! (Native Chinese speakers have no concept of sarcasm because the language is inflectionless; Americans tend to forget this on a regular basis.)

Doctor: Okay!

Me: But… acute tonsillitis? Why?

Doctor: Because you are sick man!

I can only conclude that he meant that my immune system was weaker than usual, dealing as it had been with the swine flu. I would also like to state for the record that I am not, in fact, a sick man.

Adventure #37: Rebekah vs. the Swine Flu

2009-12-18T05:44:00.000-08:00

Actually, in these faraway parts, they tend to refer to it as H1N1. And I don’t know why this is my 37th adventure, exactly, except that 37 is prime and I am predisposed to favor primes. In fact, the only reason I’m not looking forward to turning 24 is because it means I will no longer be a prime number.

In somewhat recent news, I have been to the East and back. In fact, it was more like the Northeast, and it was beautiful. As we were there on a super top-secret mission, I submit to you my case report, despite it’s highly classified nature. It’ll be our little secret, right? You, me, and the whole of the internet. It’s flawless.

MISSION NAME: Super Top-Secret Be-A-Tourist-In-Taroko-Gorge Trip
Agents in question: Grace. Kristin. Kaitlyn. Rebekah.
Location: Taroko Gorge. Marble Gorge located in northeastern Taiwan. Top tourist destination.
Related activities: Hiking. Scootering. Touristing. Tasting pickled flowers.
Relevant details: Turquoise-colored waters. Magnificent views. Fresh mountain air. Peace and quiet. Long hikes up mountainsides. Birds. Flowers. Suspension bridges. Millet wine.
Photographic evidence: See below.

Agent Grace in Full Super Top-Secret Regalia.

The gorge.

A subpar shot of water that is much more turquoise in real life.

Suspension Bridge.

Agents Grace, Kristin, and Kaitlyn, testing the soundness of the suspension bridge.

Getting back now to Adventure #37, I speak the truth. Of all the ETAs, I am the first to fall prey to this dread disease. It’s not so dread, really, more like a pretty average case of the flu, but I tend to repel people like a bad case of leprosy. It is a situation chock-full of irony, as the most likely way that I caught it was from children, and I don’t even really like children. Ah, well. I’m in Taiwan! Taiwanese people get the swine flu all the time. And you know what they say: “When in Rome….”

Ode to a Convenience Store

2009-12-01T06:39:00.001-08:00

O 7-11, O wondrous place,
You fill my life with light and grace.
Whatever I need, you always sell,
Which certainly helps my life go well.

If I’m in need of spirits, fear not!
7-11 has got a lot.
If I need to pay my bill,
Hie to 7-11 I will.

If I need a raincoat (whoa),
Then straight to 7-11 I go.
What if I’m craving something sweet?
Or I need caffeine, fatigue to beat?

Perhaps my cell phone’s out of money,
Or I’m in need of milk and honey.
Whatever the cause, whatever the case,
7-11 is my home base.

O 7-11, O heavenly dove,
For you I must declare my love!

This is what happens when you get your hair cut in Taiwan.

2009-11-23T23:52:00.000-08:00

Also, today I saw a scooter with a sidecar attached. It made my day.

They Call it Stormy Monday

2009-11-17T23:05:00.000-08:00

I have heard before that Minnesota (or Wisconsin, or Cleveland, or any number of states or cities) has only three seasons: almost winter, winter, and construction. Granted, I have only spent three and a half months in Taiwan thus far, not nearly long enough to actually make educated observations, but I have up to this point witnessed only two seasons: so-absurdly-hot-I-don’t-know-how-people-survive and still-extremely-hot-though-potentially-livable-but-most-likely-livable-in-an-alternate-universe. Okay, I’ll admit there is a possibility I’m exaggerating. Just a wee bit.

That’s not exactly what I wanted to talk about, though. At this particular point in time, I am more interested in the specific types of weather we experience here on the subtropical island of Taiwan. As far as I can tell, there are three types of weather, which I expound upon below. They are as follows: Hot and sunny. Cool and cloudy. TYPHOON.

Hot and Sunny

This is by far the most frequent weather in this city. As I said before, I’ve been here about three and a half months. I’m going to be liberal and estimate that as three 30-day-long months plus 15 days in this half-month, leading me to conclude that I have spent approximately 105 days in Taiwan. Of those 105 days, I would estimate that 91 of them have been hot and sunny, leading me to conclude that about 87% of the days are hot and sunny. And keep in mind that when I say hot, I mean hot. This is not normal Ohio-summer hot. This is Taiwan hot, which means 110 degrees and so humid the air feels like a brick wall. Okay, so maybe that was more August, September, and the first half of October. It’s true that we’ve finally gotten to the point where I can go outside without immediately breaking into a sweat. Progress, at the very least. Also, when I say sunny, I don’t mean a blue sky with happy little cumulus clouds flitting to and fro. No, when I say sunny, I mean that there are no clouds in the sky. None whatsoever. The sky is perfectly, flawlessly blue, leaving no respite from the sun except in the shadows of large buildings (of which, admittedly, there are several).

Cool and Cloudy

Again, keeping in mind that these are rough estimates, I would say that 7 of the 105 days in Taiwan have been cool and cloudy, leaving us with an approximation of 6.5% of the time. In a bitter twist of irony, despite the fact that my favorite days in Ohio are the hot and sunny ones, the cool and cloudy days in Taiwan are the ones that I live for. These are the days that I crave because I can put on long pants and a light, long-sleeved shirt and still be comfortable. Let there be no mistake: it’s almost Thanksgiving and I mostly wander around in t-shirts and shorts. These are the days when I can sit outside in the middle of the afternoon comfortably. No sunscreen. No sweating profusely. Bliss! Actually feeling cool has been known to bring tears of joy to my eyes. I kid you not. And this coming from a person who is always freezing in America.

TYPHOON

I daresay this requires little explanation. This has been approximately 7 days out of the 105, leaving me to further conclude that 6.5% of the weather is typhoon weather. In fact, the only time it rains in Kaohsiung is if it’s typhooning. If it’s raining and not typhooning, it’s a miracle.

Scooter Culture

2009-10-15T21:53:00.000-07:00

Living in Taiwan is an interesting cultural experience no matter which way you cut it. Driving in Taiwan is not only an interesting cultural experience, but also a surefire way to raise your blood pressure whenever you get on the road.

Many of the things I see while on my scooter are frustrating. It is evident that driving in Taiwan is not nearly as safe as it could be, and it’s irritating that my fellow scooter drivers fail to do anything about this. You have to watch all planes and dimensions at the same time; there will be people in front of you, behind you, and on both sides cutting you off or turning into you or just expecting that you’ll be able to read their mind and move accordingly so the two inches separating you won’t become less and cause an accident. They also consistently run red lights. And start driving before the red light turns green. And they make illegal right- and left-hand turns. So you do the math: drivers running a red light + drivers moving forward while the light is still red + illegal turns = ???

On the other hand, there are also several incredibly amusing things I see on my scooter. One of the more entertaining of these is when you see entire families on scooters. I’m not talking two or even three people—I’m talking about an entire four-person family. Picture this: Dad drives. Mom sits behind Dad. Also keep in mind that scooters are rather small and it’s only really feasible for two people to be on them at the same time. Now imagine Mom holding a newborn baby in her arms—helmetless, of course, since helmets don’t come in that size. And now put another small child in front of Dad, standing on the floor of the scooter (also helmetless). If you have done this exercise correctly, you now understand how it is possible to find entire families on extraordinarily small 125 cc-scooters in Taiwan.

Another sight that always gets me is when I see dogs riding scooters. Just today I saw a woman scooting about with her two huskies chilling on the floor of her scooter. I’ve also seen dogs in baskets on the floors of scooters. Or dogs in the small baskets that are attached to the fronts of scooters (very Euro and cool, I know, you don’t have to tell me). By far my favorite dog/scooter sighting, though, was when I saw a small dog standing on his owner’s lap with its front paws on the handlebars of the scooter. Tongue lolling about, the whole deal. And his owner was just hanging out, scooting along down the street. The most remarkable aspect of all of this is that the dogs never leave the scooter. There is no barrier holding them in. They have no leashes. They just sit on the scooter, even while at a full stop, unless their owner bids them leave.

Another ETA, Katherine, has made several interesting scooter observations. I could not have written it better, nor with more humor, so I am including what she wrote for your amusement. Enjoy!

After studying Taiwan's traffic laws for my driver's test, I feel I know the system fairly well. After two weeks of careful firsthand observation and experience of Kaohsiung traffic, I now thoroughly understand the traffic laws for motorbikes (scooters). Here is the list.

1. A red light means stop. Unless you are turning right. Or left. Or the road is wet so it's dangerous to try to stop. Or the road is dry so you think stopping would be too easy. Or the traffic pulls you through the light. Or you don't see the light. Or you don't feel like stopping. Other than these rare exceptions, a red light means stop.

2. Scooters are not allowed on the sidewalk. Unless it is an emergency. Or you are parking. Or you are driving to a parking space. Or there is too much traffic on the road. Or the sidewalk is more convenient. Other than that, stay off the sidewalk.

3. Scooters should always stop behind the crosswalk line, leaving the crosswalk clear. Unless there are too many people IN the crosswalk, in which case you should go around them. Or through them. Or unless the light is going to turn green in eighty seconds or so, and you want to stay ahead of traffic. Or you are only going one more block, and getting ahead of the crosswalk will save you eight milliseconds when the light turns green. Otherwise, stop behind the crosswalk.

4. All passengers on a scooter must wear a helmet. This law does not apply to dogs, pigs, cats, six-year-olds and any person "just going around the corner and down the street to buy beer." Otherwise, you must wear a helmet.

5. In tunnels, slow traffic should stay to the right. Unless you ride a bicycle, in which case you should weave back and forth across the narrow lane of the tunnel to ensure that all scooter traffic behind you maintains a consistent pace of fifteen kmh.

6. The scooter lane is strictly for scooters. And bicycles. And pedestrians. And cars turning right. And cars turning left. And taxis. And lobotomy patients driving expensive cars very slowly while swerving right with their left turn signal on. And trucks filled with live pigs. Otherwise, strictly scooters.

7. The scooter lane speed limit is 40 kmh. Or whatever speed prevents instant death. In the mornings this varies between dead stop and 65 kmh. Otherwise, 40 kmh. Which I'm sure is strictly enforced. On Sunday afternoons. Between 3:05 and 3:18.

8. Pedestrians ALWAYS have the right of way. They know this. They enjoy exercising their right to right of way by stepping out into the street without looking, walking down the middle of the road to avoid dirtying the sidewalk, and waiting for a green light before crossing four lanes of traffic. Fortunately, no matter how many scooter brakes they destroy, they still have the right of way.

9. You must have a license to drive a scooter in Taiwan. Unless you don't. Then you must not get caught by a policeman while driving your scooter. Otherwise, you must have a license. ;-)

Exhibit A

2009-10-15T02:02:00.000-07:00

I now present further evidence proving how highly regarded English teachers are: Yesterday, I had four classes. The first three passed without incident. The fourth class never showed up. My co-teacher, Lucy, called down to their classroom to see what the delay was -- there was no answer. We later found out that five or six of the students in that class had the swine flu and so the class got canceled. No one told us.

Holiday Ruminations

2009-09-28T02:53:00.000-07:00

Dear friends and family,

Today is Yom Kippur, one of the most important Jewish holidays of the year. When I was growing up, the only way we ever got the day off of school for Yom Kippur was if it happened to fall on a weekend. Regardless, as kids, we always took the day off. In high school I spent my Yom Kippur days doing homework.

Once I started college, things changed a little bit. I couldn’t always be home on Yom Kippur. If it fell during the middle of the week, I couldn’t afford to skip out on a day of classes to be with my family.

This is not the first time I have not been home for Yom Kippur, but it is the first time I’ve been quite so far away. There are no Jews in Taiwan at all, so even if I wanted to “celebrate” (the quotation marks are because Yom Kippur involves a day of fasting) properly, I couldn’t. I’m used to people not realizing that this is a holiday for me, but I have never been quite so isolated in my observance of it.

I am not religious. If I had to describe myself as anything, I would say I’m a cultural Jew. I have no religious beliefs associated with Judaism; I’m simply in it for the food and the good times during the holidays. Regardless, I find myself missing this holiday more than I anticipated; even if I don’t put any stock in it, it is still a family holiday. I have chosen to celebrate it in my own way to feel closer to my family.

In that vein, the generally accepted theme of Yom Kippur is that of forgiveness and atonement. The idea is that you spent the day denying yourself of the things you take for granted, like three meals a day. You remember that many people in the world don’t have consistent access to ample food or clean water. And you reflect—you think about your life during the past year, who you have wronged, who has wronged you, and you forgive and you ask for forgiveness.

We are none of us without fault. We transgress against others just as others transgress against us. To those I have wronged, I hope you will be able to forgive me someday. And to my family—I miss you, and I wish I could be with you today.

My Life as a Superstar

2009-09-24T02:31:00.000-07:00

If you’ve ever wondered how the other half lives (okay, maybe just the elite 5%), you should come to Taiwan and teach English.

Teacher-student relationships in Asia are quite different than their Western counterparts. In the Asian classroom, the teacher is king; what they say is regarded as irrefutably true and correct. It is a relationship brimming with respect. In Western culture, on the other hand, truth is placed at a higher value than giving the teacher the respect he or she is due. People are viewed as fallible and open to bias, and so debate is encouraged. We are taught to be skeptical, to question, to evaluate information from multiple sources in order to come to a well-informed conclusion.

Teachers in general are highly regarded. In fact, there is an annual holiday called Teacher’s Day (which is next Monday, as it happens), where students show their respect for their teachers by, say, serving them tea. Foreign teachers, then, are special on two counts; not only are they teachers, but they’re also foreigners, still a relatively rare sight here.

Because of this, I’m beginning to understand what life must be like for celebrities.

Consider what happened in my classroom today. First, I got a letter from one of my adoring fans… I mean, students. The letter was folded up in some incredibly complex fashion that I couldn’t figure out, so I had to have my student unfold it for me. I’m including the unaltered text of the letter below for your perusal.

Rebekah: Teacher:

Thank you!!

Happy Teacher’s day!!

Student: Julie 98/9/24

By the way, one common method of measuring the year in Taiwan is in regards to the fall of the Qing Dynasty, which makes this the year 98.

Anyway, back to my rock star life. Later today, after the writer of the fan letter had come and gone, I spent about 15 minutes surrounded by cheering children begging for my autograph with tears of joy in their eyes. Well, maybe they weren’t quite cheering, and maybe they weren’t quite crying, but I must have signed my name about 60 times. In multiple languages. I had glittery pens shoved into my hand and blank spots in textbooks indicated, awaiting my signature. They also liked it when I wrote their names for them. I should’ve left them motivational messages:

Dear (Student X),

Study your English and you’ll go far in life!

Best,

Rebekah

費瑞白

And, last, as is the pattern every time I leave school for the day, I underwent my 300-foot-long walk of fame. That is, I have to walk about 300 feet to get from my classroom to my scooter so that I can leave. Every student of mine that sees me feels personally obligated to offer up some sort of salutation. I am greeted with a chorus of “hello” and “hi” and “Rebekah!!!” I wish I could say I at least recognized them all, but the truth of the matter is that I have 15 separate classes with at least 30 students each, giving me more than 450 students.

I highly doubt that I will ever be a rock star or achieve fame or notoriety by any other various means. In any case, one year of living like a superstar will probably prove to be enough. Especially if the compensation doesn’t drastically increase.

Good News/Bad News/Other News

2009-09-23T02:55:00.000-07:00

Good News: I live in a tropical paradise surrounded by rainforests, coral reefs, and beautiful beaches.

Bad News: It’s unbelievably hot. Every day. All the time. I can no longer wear clothing that extends past my knees because it’s just too darn hot.

Good News: Instead of a normal bell to signal class changes, we get to hear a short excerpt from the English Horn solo in the second movement of Dvorak’s New World Symphony.

Bad News: This is my favorite movement in the whole piece, and I won’t be able to stand it in a week’s time.

Good News: I have an awesome scooter that’s loads of fun to cruise around on. I also have a Taiwanese driver’s license, so I get to drive legally.

Bad News: I think I am the only person on the entire island of Taiwan that actually obeys traffic laws, including going the right way on one-way streets, not running red lights, only making legal right and left turns, etc. And someone busted the handle to my front brake the day after I got it (it still works, though).

Good News: I don’t have to work with third graders (too young for me).

Bad News: Sixth graders can be a huge pain in the ass.

In Other News, I have been to Taipei and back. All the ETAs were required to sit through a tremendously dull two-day-long orientation with the non-ETA Fulbrighters as well as all the visiting Fulbright professors and such. I suppose it wouldn’t have been so bad if we hadn’t already been thoroughly oriented from our entire month living on the island. In any case, here are a couple pictures from that weekend.

This is a picture of Grace and me standing on the Chiang Kai-Shek Memorial Hall. Of note is the outfit I was wearing, as it was entirely bought in Taiwan. The shoes and shades were purchased in Kenting, whereas the shirt and skirt were bought in Kaohsiung. And yes, my hair does always look like that here. It’s rather humid, in case I failed to mention it before.

Taipei 101, the tallest (?) building in the world. Some building in Dubai was supposed to be the tallest, but I think the project got canned or something. Taipei 101 is named for its 101 floors.

The view of the surrounding city from the observation deck somewhere near the top of Taipei 101. There was some seriously cool stuff going on with the sun and the patches of fog, but unfortunately the reflection of my lens in the window kind of messed up the coolness of the picture.

And with that, I bid you a temporary farewell! Until tomorrow, at the very least.

Native Sun

2009-09-22T00:55:00.000-07:00

The Taiwanese are deathly afraid of the sun. Not because it can cause skin cancer, although they certainly acknowledge this—no, they are more afraid of getting a tan.

For some reason, people outside of Western societies think that the paler you are, the prettier you are. Someone here theorized that this was because historically, if you were lower class, you worked outside and ended up quite brown as a result. Pale skin meant that you were high class—you didn’t have to work in the sun. In Western culture, though, the darker your skin, the more attractive you are (which, of course, makes just as much sense as equating pale skin with beauty).

Taiwanese women in particular go to great lengths to shield themselves from the sun’s skin-darkening rays. Keep in mind that the main method of transportation here is scooters, which necessarily involves being exposed to the sun. I have seen a variety of interesting things on the road that women do in order to avoid getting tan. They wear jeans a lot, which is death in this heat. They also take light sweaters or jackets and wear them backwards over their arms so their extremities aren’t touched by the sun. By far the best innovation, though, are the oven mitts over the handles. They’re not real oven mitts, mind, but that’s certainly what they look like. They’re these big, padded, glove-like handlebar protrusions; you can put your hands in or take them out just as you like, since they are attached to the scooter, not to you. It took me quite a while to discover their true purpose, but as it turns out, the whole point is to protect your hands from the sun.

Pedestrians are also fans of keeping themselves out of the sun. No matter where you go, if the sun is out, you will see women wandering around with open umbrellas to keep the sun off their face.

Now, I have no objection to people protecting themselves from the sun. Particularly if you’re looking to prevent skin cancer, it’s a healthy lifestyle choice. Some people take it a little far, however. One our last day in Kenting, we rented a beach umbrella (complete with table and chairs) from a woman who might as well have been wearing a burka. Not only was she wearing full pants and long sleeves in this unbelievable heat, but she also had extra sleeves pulled up over her arms, a face mask, a hat, and just in case, she was carrying an umbrella. You could only see her eyes.

I suppose this just goes to show that I now live in a heliophobic nation!

Adventure #1 (complete with pictures)

2009-09-02T01:57:00.000-07:00

My first month in Taiwan is officially over. I have a place to live, my very own method of transportation, a place to teach for the next year, and I have taken my first Taiwanese vacation.

On Monday evening I returned from Kenting (墾丁), a national park on the southern coast of the island. We passed a very enjoyable three days lounging at the beach, jet skiing, snorkeling, wandering around the night market, and hiking through the tropical forest. There was rather a lot that happened, so I’ll just settle for telling one story only.

On Sunday, we decided it was high time that we go snorkeling. The southern tip of Taiwan is surrounded by a coral reef, an ecosystem I am entirely unfamiliar with, not having spent a lot of time on tropical isles. While I was out eating with Caroline, the rest of our crowd made what must have been exceptionally sketchy arrangements for all of us to be picked up at our hotel that afternoon. Consider that for about US$12 apiece, we got round-trip transportation, snorkel gear—including wetsuits—a snorkeling tutorial, a tour around the reef, and a ride on some inflatable thing you attach via a rope to the back of a jet ski. Definitely not legal.

We were picked up in an unmarked van around 2:30 and carted off to our in-the-middle-of-nowhere destination. It took a little while to get there, but as we pulled into the “marina,” we were greeted by another unmarked lot, complete with several shack-like constructions that probably could be entirely deconstructed at a moment’s notice. Let me tell you, there were some people in that van with me wondering if we were about to be sold into some bizarre form of slavery.

The Taiwanese fellow in charge of our group (who introduced himself as Bruce Lee, by the bye) spoke very little English; this was not so much a problem, but it did make for some incredibly awkward moments. For instance, he took one look at Grace—tall, blond, lovely (read: curvy) lass that she is—and said in Chinese that she looked very American. What came out in English, though, was, “You have a nice body.” Complete with hand movements in the air emphasizing her curves.

We got fitted with wetsuits, which was amusing in and of itself. The whole production, in fact, made us wonder if the locals were having a laugh at our expense—let’s see what else we can get these foolish foreigners to do! Fifty points if you can elicit more nervous laughter! As Taiwanese women are generally rather short of stature and many American women are not, some of the girls were given men’s wetsuits. I’ll leave the details of where they failed to fit to your adept imaginations. They gave us boots, too. And snorkels, which I’m sure had not been properly cleaned. But here in Taiwan, sometimes, it’s important to just go with the flow and not sweat the small stuff. I mean, it’s not like one small child in Kaohsiung already got diagnosed with swine flu or anything.

Despite our initial misgivings, after we were let loose in the water, we had a great time. It’s really amazing how much life there is in a coral reef. We saw fish of all shapes, sizes, and colors. Coral, by the way, comes in a multitude of colors when it’s actually alive (in opposition to the only coral most Americans ever see, which is decidedly dead). In addition to the traditional whites and pinks we’re accustomed to, purple and green are present in abundance. There were starfish, plants, and crabs (also of all shapes and sizes). The coral itself comes in a huge variety. It was quite entertaining watching the fish dart in and out of their watery houses in the body of the coral, and in their native environment, as opposed to in an aquarium.

Alas but our under-the-table snorkeling experience had to come to an end. Bruce Lee gave us a ride back to our hotel, and on the way back he asked me if I was 30. It was fantastic. I mean, I know I’m old, but 30? Really?

Me with my favorite Taiwanese beverage, fruit tea (水果茶).

The entire southern coast of Taiwan.

Roots that are easily identifiable as tropical, due to their shape and above-the-ground status (a result of poor, water-logged soil, I believe). We got all our information from a Taiwanese guy who volunteers in the park and gave us a free, two-and-a-half hour tour. He showed us forest crabs, numerous lizards, and frogs that are about a quarter of the size of your pinky nail. Pretty incredible, right?

Emulating Asians. Clockwise from left: John, Grace, Kaitlyn, Carol, Caroline, and Kristin.

Simply a nice view we chanced upon in our wanderings.

In August, the air is thick. The humidity hangs on you like a quilt...

2009-08-23T06:42:00.000-07:00

And so it came to pass that I survived my first three weeks in Taiwan, which included numerous home repairs, many hundreds of dollars spent furnishing the apartment, one terrible typhoon, and two earthquakes. Yes, you read that right. You heard about the typhoon already, but I hadn’t mentioned the two earthquakes. For reasons unbeknownst to me, natural disasters follow me around the globe (though, granted, the earthquakes were mild). Riots do, too. Even in China, of all places. Thus far there have been no riots to speak of, but I’ve got a whole year, so opportunities abound.

When I was in China, I used this space to describe my observations on Chinese culture. I would very much like to continue doing this, but at this point, I don’t have too much to report. The way to describe Taiwan that makes the most sense to me is to juxtapose what I see in Taiwan with what life was like in China. As the year goes on, I’m sure I’ll have more interesting things to share, but for now, I’m going to have to stick to surface details.

Superficially, China and Taiwan resemble each other in many respects. The basic architecture is the same. Buildings are often crammed so close together it’s a wonder how they got there in the first place. Temples are interspersed with apartment buildings, high rises, and the like.

However, for two countries that are so proximally close to one another and that even speak the same language, China and Taiwan differ wildly in several respects. Smoking, for one. Yes, people smoke in Taiwan, but not nearly as much as they do in China. After I returned back to America from China, the smell of cigarette smoke would actually make me nostalgic for China. I find this quite remarkable because, truly, there are few scents I find more vile than that of cigarette smoke. However, not nearly as many people smoke in Taiwan as in China. In China, it was miraculous if I could walk five feet out of my apartment without seeing someone smoking.

What’s more, the streets are actually clean. Parents don’t let their kids take a dump on the sidewalk. No one spits on the ground. The air quality is vastly superior to China’s. And there’s space. There may not be a whole lot of it, but you don’t feel claustrophobic by default, a result of China’s entire populace converging on you at the same time.

One of the things that surprised me about Taiwan is how people dress. I was very much expecting people to dress like they did in cosmopolitan China—dressed to the nines all the time. However, as it turns out, people actually wear flip-flops. And shorts. And jeans. And t-shirts. This is fantastic, since I don’t have to feel like a slob every time I go outside. I’m especially pleased that people wear flats all the time—in China, four-inch heels were considered perfect for daily wear, something I never found very practical. Considering the fact that all the sidewalks are tiled and it rains all the time, I never understood how Chinese women survived walking about every day.

Perhaps the most positive difference between the two countries is that every time I get into a cab, I do not fear for my life. In China, drivers are beyond insane. They weave in and out of traffic, they cut in front of other cars with inches to spare, no one wears seat belts, and they honk their horns at least twice a second. On the contrary, here, people actually stay in their lanes, they don’t constantly honk their horns, and they appear to obey traffic laws. It’s really quite nice. You couldn’t pay me to drive in China, but here, I wouldn’t be nearly as worried about it.

Anyway, while I’m not busy experiencing typhoons or earthquakes, being thoroughly oriented, or filling out the apartment, I’ve been getting in a little sightseeing. Last night we went to Qijin Island, an island just off the coast (as in a five-minute ferry ride) of Kaohsiung. The idea was to go watch the sunset, but we somehow arrived moments too late. Instead, we wandered around the beach and ate seafood as fresh as you can get it. The beach was beautiful, albeit covered in driftwood from the typhoon. It was a black sand beach, at once dramatic and intriguing. The shore was littered with shells and what appeared to be pieces of tile softened by the sea.

After the failed sunset, we enjoyed a feast of crab, shrimp, clams, and fish. All in all a very interesting culinary experience—it came as no surprise that the shrimp still had heads, eyes, and feelers. One of my fellow ETAs even ate a fish eye. I didn’t quite have the gumption to remove the spinal column from the shrimp, so I kept my distance from them. All in good time, I suppose.

I am including with this post two pictures: the first is a picture of the beach on Qijin Island and the second is a picture of our incredible coordinator, Fonda, with another ETA, Grace.

English Villages

2009-08-15T06:10:00.000-07:00

Good news: the typhoon is over, the bathroom floor no longer floods when I shower, the door closes, and the showerhead stays attached to the wall where it belongs. I haven’t even heard from the cockroaches in an entire week.

Well, I promised I would write about Kaohsiung’s educational system in regards to English, so here we go. Apparently, somewhere in Korea, an educator had the brilliant idea of incorporating English speaking practice into realistic environments. Following that stroke of insight, they built what henceforth became known as English Villages—supermarkets, clothing stores, subway stations, and so on—that served no real or practical purpose except to provide an area where children can run through dialogues and practice vocabulary that they would use in such a place.

Not long ago, Kaohsiung City began building English Villages and including them in the English language curriculum. We toured three of the four English Villages in the city, and what we saw was amazing. There were hotels with front reception desks, rooms with beds and bathrooms and closets. We saw stores with items for sale on the shelves—food, clothing, newspapers, books. There was an airplane cabin complete with seats, seatbelts, and so on. We also saw a subway station, including those handles you’re supposed to hold on to while the train is moving.

The idea is that a native English speaker—that’s me and my fellow ETAs this year—conducts simple dialogues with elementary schoolers wandering through. For example, in the hotel, the kid might say, “Excuse me. Where do I check in?” And a conversation about room numbers, amenities, and the like ensues. After they are done in the hotel, the kids may complete some sort of activity to help them remember the vocabulary and expressions they used.

I must say, this is an excellent idea. Meandering through these English Villages, I found myself wishing that there were places like these when I was learning another language. I would have loved to go to a French Village, or a Chinese Village, or even a Hebrew Village. One of the big problems in second language education is the lack of places to actually practice speaking, and this would have been a fantastic place to do such a thing. Unfortunately, there are a couple problems with instituting languages Villages in the US. Americans tend not to place a high enough priority on foreign language education to be willing to commit the funds, first of all. But even if taxpayers were willing to pay, what languages would be taught in the Villages? I suppose multiple language groups could use the Villages at different times, but there are so many languages that no one group would benefit as much as they possibly could.

Apart from visiting the English Villages, this week of orientation was not remarkable enough to be worth reporting. I’m no longer jetlagged, which is most definitely a positive development. I find myself experiencing highs and lows, which is to be expected. Part of the time, I’m very happy to be in Taiwan, a place where I get to practice my language skills and not do any homework, for once in my life. But I also spend a lot of time missing a lot of people who I won’t get to see for a very long time. I wish I could bring them here to stay with me. Then I would never get homesick.

Apartment Adventures

2009-08-06T20:32:00.000-07:00

Where do I begin? It’s hard to choose between the typhoon raging outside my window, the cockroaches infesting my bathroom, and the fascinating educational innovations to be found in this city.

I suppose I’ll start with the most outrageous and work my way down to a relatively normal degree of outrageousness. Thus we commence with the cockroaches. I would like to first state that I am quite pleased with my apartment. I have my own room, and while it’s not enormous, it’s enough space for me. The rent is rather cheap, which appeals to my frugal nature. We have a nice common area with a TV and a DVD player as well as ample amenities such as an iron, a microwave, and a miniscule toaster oven.

The bathroom, though, is in a rather heightened state of disrepair. True, it still functions, and I’m only sharing it with one other person, so that in and of itself is not so bad. However, the troubles begin when trying to close the bathroom door. By which I mean it frequently chooses not to close. The outside panel of the door has separated from the rest of the door, which means it sticks somewhat severely and has to be coerced into closing if you actually want to spend time in the bathroom when no one can see you.

If the troubles ended there, I wouldn’t complain much. It’s not a challenging fix; our landlord will take care of it for us. However, once you manage to satisfactorily shut the door, don’t think you’ll be treated to a hot shower. Or even a cold shower. In fact, your shower will inevitably be tepid on the cool side. No matter how long the water runs or where you put the spigot on the temperature scale, the water only comes out at one temperature.

Now, if you don’t mind the tepid water, that’s fantastic. But don’t think you’ll be able to shower like a normal person, either. If you’ve ever seen European showerheads, you know that they attach to the wall of the shower, but you can easily remove them and fling them about at your will. On the other hand, if you’d like to shower like an American, you still have the option of showering with the showerhead attached to the wall so that your hands are free. In my bathroom in Taiwan, though, this is not the case. Yes, we have a European-style showerhead. Yes, it has a clip that attaches it to the wall. No, the clip is not in one piece and no, the showerhead will not stay on the wall. Which means we have to hold the showerhead ourselves every time we want to shower.

But the coup goes to the cockroaches that live in the air vent. Whenever we turn the lights on in the bathroom, we are greeted by a cacophonous clattering of exoskeletons and legs from the ceiling and occasionally a dismembered cockroach leg or two falling down from the vent. I’ve already sprayed the vent, which apparently was not enough of an impetus to make them go away. I thought loud noises scared them off for a while, too, so whenever I heard them I would tell them to shove off. Unfortunately, this has also failed to keep the bathroom cockroach-free.

I remain optimistic that the door, the lack of hot (or cold) water, and the showerhead will all be dealt with by our landlord in due time. I also hope that “due time” is not actually “three months from now.” However, I’m not sure what to do about the cockroaches. I suppose we could attempt to find an exterminator, but I’m not sure the problem is relevant enough on this island nation to warrant an exterminator. I wonder if this is a normal level of cockroach infestation for an apartment in a subtropical climate and if we should just get used to it or launch a full-scale cockroach genocidal offense.

On the scale of the slightly less absurd, I have been here less than a week and I am already experiencing my first Taiwanese typhoon. I should revise that; I am experiencing my first typhoon ever. Upon being hit by a typhoon, I realized I didn’t actually know what the technical definition of a typhoon was. A wikipedia search later, I found out it was simply a hurricane in Asia, another name for a tropical cyclone. Since my current location is in a port city on an island, this has resulted in high winds and quite a lot of rain. Every once in a while, I hear the wind pick up and whistle through the wind tunnel created by the proximity of the buildings to one another and the narrowness of the alley that my apartment looks out on.

Being subtropical, Taiwan doesn’t really get snow, and so the poor, deprived Taiwanese children never get snow days. However, a typhoon effectively shuts down the city, so instead of snow days, we get typhoon days. What this means for me is that I am happily enjoying a day off (read: less than a week of orientation and I am already in dire need of a break). Stores are closed. No one is outside. It’s just me in my apartment with Typhoon Morakot. Fear not, though; apart from perhaps a few broken windows on my street (and not in my apartment), it’s just like a particularly virulent thunderstorm, though up to this point, thunderless.

So in conclusion, someday I'll have the time and evergy to deal with the cockroaches, the bathroom's disarray, and a full description of the amazing things this city does for English education. For now, though, I think I'll just watch the storm.

My life is now complete.

2009-08-05T06:20:00.000-07:00

I am pleased to announce that I have just seen the second-largest Hello Kitty Ferris Wheel in all of Asia.

And yes, you read that right.

(It's located on the roof of an enormous mall in Kaohsiung; the name of the mall is Dream Mall.)

My Address

2009-08-03T16:32:00.000-07:00

Rebekah Farrar

3 F – 2, No. 11, 38 Lane, Lin Chuan Street, Lingya District, Kaohsiung City,

Taiwan (R.O.C.) Zip Code: 80264

80264高雄市苓雅區林泉街38巷11號3樓之2

Success!

2009-08-03T05:35:00.000-07:00

Good news: I made it to Kaohsiung, my home for the next year. The weather is hot and oppressively humid, which comes as no surprise, since the only thing I’ve heard from Taiwanese people since April is that Kaohsiung is exceptionally hot.

To inaugurate my year of blogging, I thought I might chronicle my truly stellar travel experience. I left Columbus at 6:10 p.m. on July 31. From there, I flew to Chicago, where I had a two-hour layover. From Chicago, I flew to LA, where I had yet another two-hour layover. From LA, I flew to Taipei, a marvelous 13 and a half-hour flight, where I had—you guessed it—a two-hour layover. I finally flew from Taipei to Kaohsiung, where I made it through customs with relatively nonexistent hassle. By 8:30 a.m. on August 2, I was in Kaohsiung. (By the way, I would like to take just a minute and proclaim the greatness of Tylenol PM; never have I been able to sleep on planes, but thanks to the Tylenol, I was out for a solid seven hours.)

Now, four flights and 26 hours of traveling is not something that brightens anyone’s day. However, my itinerary had me booked on three separate airlines, which meant that I had to go through security not once, not twice, but three times. The first time, of course, was in Columbus. I was assured my luggage was checked the whole way through, but I was only given the first two boarding passes. Once I got to LA, I had to leave the airport completely. I walked to an entirely separate building where I was issued my next boarding pass. From there, I went through security once again. After arriving in Taipei, after much confusion and several wrong turns, we found our next ticket counter, where we were issued boarding passes to Kaohsiung.

Despite the complications, we did make it to our final destination without any problems. Before long we were all introduced to one another and random roommates were assigned. Get this: my roommates are named Kelley, Kevin, and Carol. But it gets better! There are twelve Americans here on Fulbrights, eight of which are named Carl, Carol, Caroline, Kristin, Kevin, Kelley, Katherine, and Kaitlyn. The others are Grace, John, Charles, and me. It’s going to be a long year—hopefully we’ll create some nicknames pretty soon to prevent further confusion.

On a cultural note, on my first day in Taiwan, I already observed one drastic difference from China. For our first night in this foreign land, we stayed in a hotel. Right around the time we were all getting ready to go to bed for the evening—about 8:00 (recall the jetlag)—a very noisy procession manifested itself underneath our window. As it turned out, yesterday was a religious holiday. There were people in elaborate face make-up and costumes, Chinese dragons, drums, and the like. What was so striking was that it was such an overt display of religious freedom—something I never saw even once in four months in China. And after a mere twelve hours into a year spent in Taiwan, I have already encountered something that throws into sharp relief the difference between these two countries. It looks like it’s going to be a very interesting year.

In an Airport in Chicago

2009-08-02T05:36:00.000-07:00

My life is a constant leaving. I left home for college; I left college to study in France and China; I returned home from China only to leave for school again; I graduated from college and returned home; now I find myself leaving once again, this time for Taiwan. I have had to start over so many times I’ve nearly lost count. I started over when I began college. From there, I had to start over again when I went to France. When I decided to leave Miami for a year, I had to start once again at OSU, where, as all the times before, I knew no one. From there I went to China, where I started over yet again. And when I returned to Miami, everyone I knew had graduated, so it was yet another new beginning. The tragedy of my constant leaving is that it is only just before I leave that I find I am comfortable where I am. I spent a lot of time unhappy in China, but it was also one of the most fascinating cultural experiences of my life. When it came time to leave, I realized I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. I also spent an inordinate amount of time unhappy at Miami, only to discover right before I graduated that, much to my surprise, I was actually happy.

And now? Now. I leave once again, for a year this time, longer than I’ve ever been away before. I’m leaving my cat, who has grown accustomed to my constant comings and goings. I’m leaving my house, the only place I’ve ever comfortably been able to refer to as “home.” I’m leaving the good friendships and relationships I have spent the past year building and strengthening. I’m leaving my family, the only people who have known me and stuck with me my entire life.

Don’t get me wrong—I don’t regret my decision to accept the Fulbright and move to the opposite side of the world for a year. I know that the coming year holds untold wonders; countries and cities to visit, another culture to study, a language to learn, an interesting opportunity to teach. But it’s hard to see that clearly when you are face-to-face with all the people that you love and you know that in a few minutes, after the inevitable parting, you won’t see them for a very long time.

So I head off now for the unknown. I don’t know anyone where I’ll be going. I’ve never visited Taiwan, although I lived in China, so I know at least in part what to expect. I don’t have many details about what I’ll actually be doing this year. I don’t know who I’ll be living with, or what my living accommodations will be like. I don’t know if I packed appropriate clothing, or if I packed too much that I actually could have purchased in Taiwan. I have a multitude of questions and a pithy few answers.

In conclusion, then, to those of you that I’m leaving behind: though I will be far away, heading off into the relative unknown, you are loved and missed and will not be forgotten. I hope it goes both ways.

Disclaimer

2009-05-22T14:55:00.000-07:00

By this point, you probably know that I am once again headed for the other side of the world; this time, I will be teaching English in Taiwan with a Fulbright grant. Apart from this being exciting news, the Fulbright committee has made me aware that I need to state a disclaimer on this blog in order to avoid having my grant revoked, as I will most definitely be posting tidbits about my life in Taiwan. So here is my disclaimer:

I acknowledge that this blog is not an official Department of State blog, and that the views and information presented are my own and do not represent the Fulbright Program or the U.S. Department of State.

Cheers!

Cultural Heyday

2008-06-20T10:00:00.000-07:00

I do apologize for my prolonged silence. Country-hopping around Asia kept me preoccupied for quite some time; after that, it was readjusting to life in America. So that’s the biggest news – I am safe and sound, back in Columbus. However, as I mentioned earlier, I am not quite done with this blog yet. I would like to put up some posts about my travels as well as one or two more posts concerning China. Today’s topic: the influence of culture on our daily lives.

Our lives are so intricately shaped by culture that most of us don’t even realize it – and continue to be oblivious until we see an entire other culture doing things differently. Much of my experience in China this past semester revolved around this idea; as it turns out, far more is cultural than I had ever thought.

Consider money habits. When counting money, Americans tend to shuffle the bills from hand to hand. Go grab some bills and try it out – I’ll bet you didn’t even have to think about it. Chinese people, though, count money differently; they fold the bills in half, hold them in one hand, and in the other hand unfold each bill one by one as it is counted. Like so many cultural habits, neither method is superior – just different.

Also, when cashiers give you change back in America, they usually hold onto one of the shorter ends of the bill with one hand and extend it towards you longways. In China, however, they use two hands, one on each of the corners of a long side. I always felt like I should accept the change the same way, but somehow never remembered and only used one hand. Old habits die hard.

Chinese people also give you business cards in a similar fashion. In fact, Chinese business card etiquette is very specific and must be followed exactly to prevent insulting the person you’re talking to. They hand you the business card the same way change is returned; you accept it in the same fashion and stare at it for thirty full seconds; then, for the duration of your meeting, you put the business card out in front of you in plain sight.

Even facial expressions are cultural. Some are innate, to be sure – smiling and crying transcend cultural boundaries. But the subtler expressions, like displaying pleasure, these are the ones that are shaped by the culture you are immersed in. For example, when Chinese women are pleased, they tend to hide their smile behind a hand, as though they know they’re taking more pleasure than they should. I have also been told that, say, when I speak French, my facial expressions change – I forgo the American facial expressions and use French ones instead.

And, believe it or not, the way people run in public is also cultural. Chinese women do a little shuffle-run that I have never seen anywhere else. When Americans run in public, it tends to look a little more natural to my eyes (for lack of a better, culturally-neutral expression). That is, it’s more along the lines of how someone would run if they were going to be running a long distance. But Chinese women only run for very short distances in public – thus the shuffle-run.

In fact, our lives are so dependent on culture that I feel very little is actually innate. I mean, think about it. Where does cultural influence end? Even many ideas people have are cultural. The opinions many Americans express about things like respect and independence are different from the ideas many Chinese people express about the same topics. In China, family is everything; in America, it’s important to strike out on your own. So how many of your thoughts are actually your own and not part of the culture you were raised in? Does this affect free will? That’s not to say we don’t have free will, but the actions we are free to take are also shaped by our cultures (as well as other factors, such as gender and religion).

I suppose the whole point of this is to suggest that far more is cultural than most people think.

Price Comparison

2008-05-18T02:41:00.000-07:00

In my bag everyday, I carry a cheap watch. I say cheap because it is cheap by American standards; $25 is not much to pay for a watch. It does what I want it to, in that in keeps the time accurately and has a stopwatch so I can time myself when I go running. In America, as we all know, the currency is the dollar; in China, it's the RMB; in Thailand it's the baht; in Cambodia (where I am right now) it's the riel. There are approximately 7 RMB to the dollar, 30 baht to the dollar, and 4000 riel to the same dollar. Now consider the price of a bottle of water. In China, the average cost of a bottle of water is 1.5 RMB. In Thailand, it's 6 baht. In Cambodia, they use the dollar anyway (since their own currency is so unsteady), so it costs $.25, or 1000 riel. In America, to be optimistic, I could theoretically spend $1 and get a bottle of water. However, I have been told that prices have sky-rocketed while I've been away, so I cannot claim that my information is current. Here is what I have concluded. In Thailand, my watch can buy me 125 bottles of water. In China, my watch can buy me 116 bottles of water. In Cambodia, my watch can buy me 100 bottles of water. In America, my watch can buy me absolutely no more than 25 bottles of water. On a good day.

One more time… One more time… One more time… One more t…

2008-05-15T21:21:00.001-07:00

I’m currently in Thailand but way behind on my posting, so I’m still talking about China. Not to worry, I will definitely tell you all about Thailand, but probably not until I make it back to America and have a chance to upload my photos (seriously, Thailand without photos? That just wouldn’t be any fun at all). One of the things that I find very interesting about Chinese culture is how deeply engrained the concept of repetition is. Everything is repetition. Any kind of physical or mental exercise is centered around repetition. For example, there was a little park by my apartment complex and every morning when I woke up, I could hear the Chinese version of “Livin’ la Vida Loca.” And I do mean every morning; not a day went by without being graced by a Chinese Ricky Martin. The same people were doing the same dance to the same song every single morning. At the gym I went to, there existed a similar phenomenon. For all the exercise classes, they listened to the same music and repeated the same moves over and over again. I remember this one particular hip-hop routine – I think the instructor even wore the same silly clothes to all of the classes (you know, red warm-up suit, some bling hanging around his neck, one pant leg rolled up, baseball cap worn at a 45-degree angle; all this and he was still a terrible choreographer). In any case, they would play the same song over and over and over again and do the same dance. If the class was lucky, some moves might be added on to the routine they had already learned. It was interesting, though – they never would work on specific parts of the routine. It was just the whole thing, again and again. Another example is how all my Chinese classes have been structured. Class can be a bit boring because of the mind-numbing amount of repetition. We read the vocabulary out loud, twice for each vocab word; we read the whole dialogue out loud two times; we do similar exercises for every chapter; we write out each new character at least five times so we memorize it. The focus is on reading and writing. Oral speaking tends to be kept to a minimum (which has always bothered me). Every once in a while we’ll go around the room and come up with examples using some particular grammatical structure. Mostly, though, we focus on what is on the page in front of us – which requires no independent thought at all. It gets you thinking. First of all, if those dance classes were happening in America – well, they just wouldn’t. All of the dancers would be bored out of their minds. Dance is by nature a creative process and so each week you listen to different music and do different exercises than you did the week before. But then education in America is largely about learning how to be creative and thinking for yourself, whereas in China I feel like you’re learning to be just like everyone else. It seems to me that the Chinese educational system does not encourage creativity. I suppose with such heavy governmental censoring, that’s a necessary by-product. It’s hard to feel free to think for yourself if you’re constantly afraid the government is going to exile you for it. So anyway, my theory is that the reason there’s so much repetition in everything people do in China is that that’s the way the educational system is structured. In a sense it has to be; the writing system is so complicated that if you don’t practice the characters over and over again until you want to lose your mind, you won’t be literate. So repetition is the heart and soul of everything. I have heard previously that all of the well-known Chinese-speaking pop stars are Taiwanese – from what I’ve seen of China, I believe it.

Safe and Sound

2008-05-12T21:41:00.000-07:00

A quick note to everyone: I am alive and well here in Chiang Mai, Thailand. I am still upset about the earthquake in China, especially since it was so close to where I spent the past four months of my life. I have friends in Chengdu that I still haven't heard from, despite sending messages as well as I am able. However, I heard phone lines and such things are down, which is probably why I haven't heard from them. I also heard that the tremors could be felt as far away as Bangkok, but by the time the earthquake hit, we had already left Bangkok and were in Chiang Mai (despite being closer to China, we didn't feel a thing). In any case, again, Sofia and I are fine. We didn't even know there had been an earthquake until we read the news.

An Update on Rebekah

2008-05-12T06:31:00.000-07:00

This is Rebekah's sister. I'm sure by now you've all heard about the quake in Chengdu. As you know, Rebekah left Chengdu a few days ago, and she's totally fine - she's currently in Chiang Mai, Thailand. Despite the news reports that buildings in Bangkok were shaking from the quake, she didn't feel a thing. I wanted to leave a message here so that you all knew, since we haven't gotten any blog posts lately.

The End

2008-05-09T05:33:00.000-07:00

Well, this is it. This is The End. Tomorrow night I will be leaving China, ne’er to return (truth be told, I highly doubt that will be the case, but at the very least I won’t be coming back for quite some time). Quite soon I will find myself in Thailand. After Thailand, I’m going to Cambodia. My last stop before returning to America is Japan. Stay tuned, though – I’m not through with this blog yet. I’d like to write up posts about all the countries I will soon be visiting, and I have some more posts about China that I’d still like to put up. As the time of my departure draws ever nearer, I find myself more and more melancholic. Don’t get me wrong – I can’t wait to go home. I miss so many of the American commodities that can’t be found in China. I miss being able to breathe clean air and see the sun shine in a sky that is truly blue. I miss walking barefoot in the grass and not being yelled at when I sit in it. I miss ovens and running outside. I miss being able to drink fresh 1% milk and eat fresh fruit like strawberries, grapes, blueberries, and apples with the skins intact. I miss my delicious British tea that I used to drink every morning. I miss seeing the stars at night. I miss swing dancing. I imagine I’ll even be happy to drink water out of the tap. Most of all, I miss the people that make America worthwhile to me – my family, my friends, my cat. But despite how much I’m looking forward to all of these wonderful things, I know I’m going to miss China terribly. Truth be told, I’m tearing up even as I write these words. This country has been my home for the past four months. It’s seen my ups and downs. I’ve made friends and deepened my understanding of Chinese language and culture. I’ve fallen in love with the food. One by one, the people that make up our little community of expatriates are leaving. Mario left last week; Sol leaves tonight; I leave tomorrow. These people have been my lifeline, my friends, my companions for the past few months. It makes me sad knowing that we are all going back to our old lives and we may not see each other again for a very long time. I lived with them, cooked with them, shared meals with them, studied with them, hung out with them on the weekends. We shared birthdays and the novelty of being in a foreign country together. I can’t believe this time has come already – it seems just yesterday I arrived in China, totally unaccustomed to life here and reveling in the umpteen new experiences that came with each day. Every day that passes brings me closer to home, and I become more and more elated. At the same time, though, I feel terribly heartbroken. I am leaving China. I am leaving the home and life that I have created for myself. In a sense, I am leaving my home. 中国，我爱你。我已经想你了。

Permission to Leave

2008-05-06T09:28:00.000-07:00

It’s official. I am now allowed to leave China since I have climbed the Great Wall.

For the International Labor Day holiday (May 1), a couple friends and I made our way to Beijing. Let me just say – I know Chengdu is polluted, but it doesn’t hold a candle to Beijing. I read in my Lonely Planet that breathing the Beijing air is the equivalent of smoking seventy packs of cigarettes – a day. The plane landed in a haze of smog so thick that despite the cloudless day, nary a shadow was to be seen. Also, when you blow your nose in Beijing, it comes out black. The same is true in Chengdu, but the particular shade of black is less striking.

Although the city is putting a huge amount of effort (and expense) into cleaning Beijing up for the Olympics, there’s no way they’ll actually have clean air. I’m very curious to see if the pollution will affect the athletes’ performance and if the Chinese athletes will fare better since they’re more used to it. I’m also interested in whether Chinese athletes perform better than average when they’re in other countries.

Anyway, that aside, we only had a few days, so we pared down what we wanted to see to a handful of the most famous sites. That is, the Temple of Heaven, the Great Wall, Tiananmen Square, the Forbidden City, and the Summer Palace. I was a bit disappointed in the Temple of Heaven since it was impossible to get a good look at anything. There was no interior lighting and you weren’t even allowed inside any of the buildings (which is a shame, since the ceiling of the Harvest Temple is what everyone goes to see).

The Great Wall was everything I imagined it could be – except for the weather. Again, the smog was so intense that the sun didn’t seem to make it down. I found out later, however, much to my dismay, that smog does not block out UV rays. So even though I couldn’t see the sun, I still got a sunburn from it. Bah.

The Forbidden City was quite an adventure, with weather to match. That day we rose plenty early so we would have the whole day to explore. Tiananmen Square is attached to the Forbidden City (which, by the way, is where the emperors lived), so that was our first stop. As we crossed the street to the Forbidden City, though, one ominous roll of thunder sounded from the clouds above. Aware that we were about to be caught in a deluge, Traci, Shay, and I made a quick purchase of cheap ponchos. We made our way to the ticket booth, and I kid you not, when we turned around, it looked like the middle of the night. Clearly we were in for a nasty storm.

As soon as we crossed the threshold into the actual city, the rain started. And oh, did it rain. Regardless of the precautions we took, we were all soon soaked through. It didn’t help that the ponchos were even more cheaply made than what we bargained down to. My bottom button wouldn’t stay buttoned, so I had to hold it with my hand. On top of that, I very quickly developed a large hole all the way down my arm – Traci had to tie the plastic in a knot so that my clothes didn’t get totally soaked. But still, every time I took a step, water squished out of my shoes. My hair was so wet it looked as though I’d just stepped out of the shower (and yes, I did have a hood).

Eventually the rain abated, so we were actually able to explore a bit. But almost immediately the temperature dropped about twenty degrees and the wind started blowing so hard that it buffeted and pushed us along on our way. And then it started to rain again. We ended up cutting our visit short so that we could throw our shoes in the dryer (and prevent ending up with hypothermia).

Our last few hours in Beijing were spent at the Summer Palace, when we were actually blessed with the first nice weather we’d seen in Beijing. The sun shone, the sky was blue, and the heat was delicious. Mostly as a result of the favorable weather (finally), the Summer Palace was our favorite place we visited.

In conclusion, I like Chengdu better. The food is better and the pollution is less intense. On the other hand, it was nice to actually understand what people were saying for once (by way of an explanation, the dialect spoken in Beijing is considered the standard, and it’s what all foreign students learn).

Chairman Mao once said, “You are not a real man until you’ve climbed the Great Wall.” At least I can rest easy now, knowing that I am indeed a real man.

Photos:

1. The Temple of Heaven, the outside of the Harvest Temple

2. Did I not tell you it was as dark as night? This was taken at about ten in the morning.

3. The Forbidden City

4. The largest rock carving in... some area... not really sure. Anyway, the steps were beautiful and that huge rock carving got rolled halfway across China (remember: no cars).

5-7. The Great Wall of China!

8-9. The Summer Palace

Nasty Buggers

2008-05-06T09:25:00.000-07:00

Monkeys – you think they’re cute, but really they’re pint-size devils in disguise.

This weekend, a few friends and I took a trip to 峨眉山 (Emei Mountain), one of Sichuan’s jewels as far as touristry goes. Being one of those important Buddhist mountains (there are plenty of them here in China), it’s more or less a beacon for pilgrims and tourists alike. And at 3,077 meters, it’s no slight undertaking. We were roughing it, just like real, tried and true backpackers – that is, if you consider having a bed to sleep in, not needing to carry all our food on our backs (myriads of mountainside cafes to be found), and being armed with iPods to be roughing it.

Since we were pressed for time (darn those classes we have to attend), we cheated a mite. Our starting point was not the true bottom of the mountain; instead, we shaved off three hours of hiking by catching a ride to 中山段, or what they consider to be the middle of the mountain.

Thus began our epic ascent of Emei Shan. The scenery was lush and green and beautiful, but once again we were blessed (ha!) with suboptimal weather. Apparently it’s not just Chengdu that’s cloudy all the time.

If I haven’t mentioned it before, keep in mind that Chinese nature trails have very little that’s natural about them. They tend to be paved and involve a lot of stairs – heaven forbid we should actually walk on an incline, since the world is flat after all. The one exception to this is Tiger Leaping Gorge, which far too soon will be no more.

So now picture a large mountain and an ascent that consists entirely of stairs, continuously and without pause. Now imagine climbing those stairs for nine hours non-stop. If you have an active imagination, you may come close to visualizing our first day on Emer Shan – and when we stopped that night, after all that, we had only made it two-thirds of the way up the mountain.

On the second day we made it to the top. The original plan had been to watch the sunrise from the summit, but we were too far away and it was much too haze in any case. After hiking for three solid hours, we cheated yet again and took a cable car to the Golden Summit. Despite the cheating, I was thrilled to have made it to the top. But what am I going on about? Back to the monkeys!

EXHIBIT A: Sofia mistakes one of the foul fiends as “cute”

During a brief pause en route at a temple, Sofia espied a monkey. “Oh, it’s so cute!” the poor, naïve Sofia proclaimed. She wanted to document it’s misleading cuteness on film, so she put down her backpack (at which point big red “WARNING!” signs started flashing behind my eyes) in order to remove her camera. Nasty monkey #1 seized the opportunity to seize her backpack – he darted over and started unzipping it. Of course Sofia objected and so attempted to regain control of her backpack, at which point the not-so-friendly monkey bared his teeth and started climbing on her instead. Fortunately, being at a temple, we were not alone; one of the inhabitants (human, this time) grabbed a long pole and shooed the monkey away.

EXHIBIT B: Darn you if you want to take a bathroom break

At a different temple, Jessica decided it was time to make use of the facilities. She entrusted her backpack (WARNING! WARNING!) to Sofia, who safeguarded it to the best of her ability. Regardless, a big monkey waltzed on over, walked into the bathroom, and made for the backpack. Once again, upon recovery of the backpack in question, Jessica got climbed on. The residents scared the monkeys by throwing bricks at them and then, since monkeys always come in droves, they threw two packets of crackers at them. This resulted in all the other monkeys (maybe four total) chasing the one with the goodies. Suffice to say, I went to the bathroom with my backpack on.

EXHIBIT C: The great banana caper

For our one night one the mountain, the three of us stayed at 洗像池, or Elephant Bathing Pool, an old monastery. Our accommodations were rustic at best, but a bed is a bed no matter how you slice it. The next morning, as we started our hike for the day, I was munching on a banana – and you know how monkeys go bananas over bananas (ha ha ha! Groan). Sure enough, two of them started stalking me. I ran behind Jessica, but to no avail – the banana-sighting was official. I was absolutely not going to give them my banana, so Sofia suggested throwing them the peel. I tore off one section, threw it, and upon the blank stare from the monkey, said, “Go get it!” Which he did. But there was still one hungry monkey prepared to pounce, so I peeled off another strip and tossed it at him. He caught it. And ate it. The three of us ran for cover in a nearby café, where the owner was lying in wait with a slingshot at hand.

Three girls, three monkeys, three incidents.

Monkeys sure are nasty buggers.

Photos:

1. One of our first views of Emei Shan

2. Sofia and Jessica, my fellow hikers, on the trail (or steps)

3. I'm not sure this one requires explanation.

4. Another stunning view of the beautiful Emei Shan!

5. One of the nasty buggers, mother and child

6. Victory! A view of the Golden Summit

A Study of Tea

2008-04-29T18:24:00.002-07:00

One of my favorite things in the world is tea. Tea is central to my being. A day without tea just isn’t a day at all! Most everyone knows how enthusiastic I am about tea. So of course I feel right at home in China, where everyone drinks tea all the time. In fact, you’re often given tea instead of water in restaurants. Another benefit of this is that no matter where you go, inevitably, one of the local specialties is some kind of tea that only grows in that part of China. The Chinese really know what they’re talking about when it comes to tea. Their teacups often have lids – not everyone is a fast tea-drinker. Also, there’s this special kind of ceramic only produced in one part of China called boccaro earthenware – it’s a deep brown and apparently retains the flavor of the tea for much longer than a normal teapot. That is, with a normal ceramic teapot, the tea, if left in the pot, only retains the original, untainted flavor for about a day or so. This special teapot, though, will not alter the flavor of the tea. On the other hand, why you would want to drink week-old tea is still a mystery to me. I am constantly amazed by the tea here. One of the big differences between drinking tea in China and in America is that here, the tea leaves are placed directly in the cup. No bag, no filter, nothing. The drawback, of course, is that you often end up with tea leaves in your mouth, which is less than savory. On the other hand, normal bag black tea like the kind you can find in the States is only good for one steeping. Chinese tea, no matter how many times you refill your cup with hot water, retains the original strength and flavor. Unbelievable. The other day I walked into a tea shop – one of the umpteen to be found locally – and was treated to a tea-tasting. My roommate Liz and I tried two kinds of very well-known teas: 竹叶青茶 (bamboo leaf-green tea) and 普洱茶 (Pu’er tea). The entire process of the serving of the tea was quite complex. Our server had an ample supply of hot water and all of the necessary tea accessories were spread out on this long, thin, hollow box with slits in it so the water could be spilled and not make a mess. One of the vital steps in this process was pouring the hot water over the cups you were going to be drinking out of and then drying them off so your hands didn’t get wet. This way, I assume, the tea stays as hot as possible for as long as possible. Liz and I got into a bit of a conversation with the woman who was serving us tea. It turned out she was my age – 22, I’m such an old thing, aren’t I – and she was still in school. She asked us what we were studying, and we duly replied with our appropriate majors. Upon asking her the same question, she replied that she was studying tea. In China, it seems that you can get a three- or four-year degree in tea. How to drink it, how to serve it, the different kinds – a degree in the art of tea. Maybe I should stay in China a little while longer and pick up that degree.

Looking for a job?

2008-04-29T18:24:00.001-07:00

I once heard that the Chinese government employs far too many people. On the way to school one day, I saw a sidewalk-cleaning expedition underway. Don’t forget that these sidewalks are so filthy that no amount of work will ever scrub them clean. Regardless, there were several people sprinkling dry soap on the sidewalk, several more following them with water, and many more after that (five minimum) with big brushes, hard at work scrubbing that sidewalk. On top of that, there were people in the street with big brooms, pushing the suds that escaped into the gutter. How many people does it take to clean a sidewalk? (Insert corny punch-line here.)

Liquid Gold

2008-04-25T05:44:00.001-07:00

When I was young, I used to read Tintin comic books – delightful little mysteries in an easy-to-digest form. There was one that was entitled “Black Gold,” which referred to oil, as it is so often turned into gold (it’s almost like magic!). Before I go on, I should say that Tintin has absolutely nothing to do with what I’m writing about today. It is, however, about oil, which is what the title alludes to. On the other hand, it has more to do with cooking oil than the black kind so often used to make things go. Unfortunately, it would have seemed a bit silly to title this entry “Yellow Gold,” so my somewhat esoteric (at least in the sense that I doubt many people understood the allusion without the peremptory explanation) title is stuck being called “Liquid Gold.” At least we can all agree that oil is, generally speaking, liquid. The thing about oil in China is that it’s used absolutely everywhere, except where it’s needed most. Oil is used to prepare every Chinese dish I can think of. In my cooking class, we learned to make a number of dishes – for example, sweet and sour potatoes, in which the potatoes are deep-fried; fried rice, in which both the egg and the rice are lightly fried; tomato fried-egg, in which everything is, surprise, surprise, fried; fish-flavored eggplant, in which, drum-roll please, the eggplant is also deep-fried. In fact, of all twelve dishes we studied, every single one of them required oil in the preparation and/or cooking stages. Depending on the restaurant you go to, your food may even be sitting in a delightful-looking pool of oil. Yummy. Before I go any further, I would like to reassure you that yes, the people here are quite slim. My point is that oil is often available and present to excess – when it comes to edible things. Outside of food, though, oil is scarce to be found, often with painful, unpleasant results for everyone within a one-mile radius (which, considering the fact that this is China, is just about everyone). That is, imagine the sound of a street filled with vehicles. Buses, cars, bikes… they’re all there. People are crossing the street haphazardly, forcing cars to stop on a dime, as it were. This in turn causes a bunch of other random vehicles to screech to a halt. Now, let’s examine that last sentence for just a moment. When I say “screech,” I am speaking quite literally. These are brakes that have not been oiled since the day the vehicle was bought. And those buses are heavy – it takes a long application of brakes to make them come to a full stop. So the kind of “screech” in question is very much like the long-nails-scratching-a-blackboard, blast-out-your-eardrums, make-the-hair-on-your-arms-stand-up kind. I consider myself lucky to have not gone totally deaf already.

Hooked!

2008-04-23T05:22:00.002-07:00

My time in China can be described as a series of addictions. You know, you show up, find something you like, and end up devouring it every day for three weeks. Since I’m nearing the end of my stay in this crazy country (less than three weeks left, it’s hard to believe!), now seemed like a good time to chronicle my obsessions. The first amazing thing I discovered in China was called 鱼香茄子 [ed. note: unfortunately, the characters she used didn't translate], which translates as Fish-Flavored Eggplant. For me, it was one of the most delicious things I had ever tasted. It was a taste explosion of sweet, sour, and eggplant all in one! Believe it or not, it actually has nothing to do with fish, except that the eggplant is prepared similarly to how fish can also be prepared. The eggplant still tastes like eggplant – nothing fishy. However, I effectively got over this addiction about a month after I arrived in China (also, realizing that the eggplant was deep-fried helped quite a bit). While traveling in Yunnan, I had a plate of mediocre Fish-Flavored Eggplant and proceeded to get sick. While my head knew this disease was not caused by the eggplant, my tastebuds told my stomach to get queasy whenever鱼香茄子was in the near vicinity. Suffice to say, by the time I was able to overcome the silly brainlessness of my taste-buds, I was over addiction #1. In the meantime, I filled the empty place in my heart (and stomach) with tasty things from the local bakeries. This was not aided by the fact that they’re all dirt cheap, like most everything else in this country. However, realizing this was not the healthiest habit I could have picked up in China, I forced myself to stay away from the bakeries for two weeks, and by the end of the two weeks I was cured once again. Somewhere in the middle of those, at some point in the beginning of my stay in Chengdu, I discovered green onion bread. This bread really is phenomenal – kind of like a round patty of bread stuffed with green onion deliciousness (also friend, I believe). For a while, I got green onion bread every day. It was warm (and believe me, it was cold outside) and delightful. This was one that I made no conscious effort to get over, but simply faded away with the ravages (or apathies) of time. From here we proceed on to milk tea, which for a time was my favorite kind of tea in China (and I effectively got several other people hooked as well – mwa ha ha). We have a milk tea stand quite close to my apartment complex, and when it was chilly, nothing felt better than some hot milk tea. I started buying boxes of milk tea at the local supermarket – I drank it at least once a day. At some point I realized I wasn’t quite as keen on it as I used to be, which might have had something to do with the fact that the milk tea stand’s milk tea had so much sugar in it that if I drank it too fast I tended to feel vaguely ill. And so that obsession ceased to be, like all the others. Next in line are rice cakes. In fact, I’m not even sure they are rice, but they make me think of rice, so I shall proceed to call them rice cakes. They were steamed treats from a restaurant close to the gym I frequent; for a long time they were my treat after every workout. I got my other gym buddies hooked on them too – another addiction that gently ebbed away to nothingness. My last and latest obsession is baozi, which I wrote about it a previous post. In fact, so ardent was my enthusiasm about them that I took a picture of the baozi (包子) from the place I buy them and put that up online (which I’m sure some of you may recall). At one point I got baozi three times in as many days. The woman who makes them quickly learned who I was and knew what I wanted without me having to say a word. I am happy to say that as of right now, I am addiction-free. I did get milk tea today, but it was the first time in quite a while. I also go to the bakery (quite infrequently) every once in a while for some sweet bread. I am, of course, still hooked on tea – but that’s nothing new. And as far as addictions go, it’s rather innocuous. What can I say? I’m hooked!

Spring Has Come… And so have the mosquitoes

2008-04-23T05:22:00.001-07:00

The other day I was outside enjoying a pleasant and leisurely evening reading a book. Now, it’s been a while since spring made its grand (and quite welcome) entrance in Chengdu; however, the insects happily lagged behind (happily for us, in any case). Much to my chagrin, that is no longer the case. Despite the fact that it was only six in the evening, I counted no less than 18 mosquito bites on the back of my right calf alone. In other news, I am officially promoting my friend Stella’s blog. She is a pint-sized ball of solid muscle who greatly enjoys climbing big rocks. She’s my oldest friend – we met infamously when I was in second grade (and she was in third) and apparently randomly introduced myself of my own accord. We proceeded to play Red Rover and my life has never been the same since. So check it out. http://stellathegiant.blogspot.com. She really is a giant. Despite her size.

Sink Beneath the Surface

2008-04-15T06:06:00.000-07:00

When a Westerner first arrives in China, it is not difficult to mistake it for America with a disproportionate amount of black hair and brown eyes. People wear typical Western clothing. Western restaurants abound, especially Tex-Mex places. Many people have a good command of the English language. Everyone knows about the NBA and the NCAA (in fact, they most likely know more than you do, and in my case, they absolutely do). However, once you spend a little time in the country, you realize that almost everything distinguishes it from America. Of course, the most obvious difference is the language they speak everyday and the food they eat, so I won’t even take that into account. But the subtleties, the little details, differ so dramatically from America that it is hard now to look at the two countries in a similar light. Even though the clothes look similar, it’s how they wear them that distinguishes them. The women wear extra-long skinny jeans with four-inch heels, with the pant leg pulled so low over the shoe that only the part closest to the ground is visible. The only kind of maternity clothing pregnant women wear is overalls. Babies don’t wear diapers, just these strange pants missing a rather large area in the back. China makes itself apparent in the rules of social interaction – not a lot of smiling and laughing in public. Emotions are private things, meant to be kept within the confines of the home. People don’t go running or eat in public. If you buy a bottle of water and don’t offer to buy your Chinese friend one, he or she will think you don’t care about your friendship. You are supposed to argue over the bill – everyone wants to pay. In conclusion, I can no longer look at the country as I once did. Spending time here has forever altered my perspective. However, it took me a long time to discover all these tiny little details; I had to sink below the surface instead of just skimming the top.

Travels – I’ve lost track of what round we’re on (part 2)

2008-04-13T06:51:00.000-07:00

After a few days hanging about Guangxi, I bought a ticket on a sleeper train to take me back to Lijiang, so I could go to Tiger Leaping Gorge. In a moment of indecision, I canceled my train ticket to Yunnan as well as my plane ticket back to Chengdu. Then, realizing I’d made a horrible decision and that the weather at Tiger Leaping Gorge was going to be unbelievably good (instead of the disgusting nonsense in Guangxi), I called everyone back and un-canceled it all. Fortunately the financial penalty amounted to less than $9.

What followed was a lot of long, boring traveling in which I proceeded to (very unfortunately) run out of reading material and had to come up with an itinerary for my trip to Japan instead (oh darn). I took an 18-hour sleeper train to Kunming and then another 8- or 9-hour bus to Lijiang. I got in just in time to go to sleep and woke up early the next morning to take another 3-hour bus ride to Tiger Leaping Gorge.

Despite the length of time spent in transit, I knew the second I arrived at Tiger Leaping Gorge that it was the right decision. The weather was perfect. It was warm and sunny and the sky was actually blue (instead of the muted brown-blue of a fair day in Chengdu). Also, as soon as I arrived, I was immediately accosted by a café owner offering me people to hike with so that I wouldn’t be alone. Thus it was that I met Evan and Liz, a couple of Canadians taking a break from the real world to globetrot.

Allow me to take a moment to introduce the Tiger Leaping Gorge. It is apparently named so because there’s some legend that tigers used to leap across the gorge by means of one of the large rocks in the river. The river, by the way, is the Yangtze, China’s longest. Also, due to a large dam being built, the entire gorge is going to be underwater within a few years. I know that this will simplify river transport immensely, but I can’t help feeling it’s a waste to destroy such a beautiful place. So then, on with the hike!

The mountains are populated, but quite sparsely at that. They call them villages, but really that just consists of a few houses within easy walking distance of each other pock-marking the hillside. The houses are tucked in the mountain along with other signs of domesticity – terraced rice paddies, a couple chickens flapping their wings about, maybe a dog or two. The Tiger Leaping Gorge also happens to be the first place in China where I have not been forced to walk on a paved path. The path was simply dirt, the kind found in many parks in America. I would even say it was adamantly dirty, just to make up for all the concrete and asphalt elsewhere. My legs were constantly covered with a thick film of brown dirt and my feet, despite being covered by socks and sneakers, were similarly dirty. I would do it again in a second, though!

We spent two days hiking the gorge, and the first day was quite probably the most difficult hike of my life. However, it was totally worth it. There was this beast of a path called “28 bends,” for just the reason that it winds back and forth in a constant ascent. For most of the way, one of the locals was following me around on a mule, trying to convince me to pay him to ride the mule instead of doing it on my own. I even explained to him (let alone in Chinese) that I wanted to do it on my own, but he persisted. At some point, he gave up and went to socialize with one of the other horsemen.

But oh – this was just the break I needed from the endless metropolis that is Chengdu. The air smelled clean and fresh; there was no scent of grit for two whole days. There was no city noise polluting the air either. No cars, no smell of exhaust, no constant fear for my life when crossing the street (instead, I got to fear for my life trying not to fall off the cliff). And night! Oh! The night sky was amazing! We were so far away from civilization and humanity that there was almost no light pollution. The mountains were dark – and I mean really dark, not that pretend dark you get in cities where street lights are still shining on everything. The sky, in comparison, was lit up with an indescribable amount of stars. It was one of the most beautiful night skies I have seen in my life, and certainly one of the fullest. There were so many stars! In an art museum once, I saw a painting that used diamond dust as a medium. The tablet glistened and sparkled. Though I hesitate to wax poetic, the sky looked as though it had been scattered with diamond dust ground to varying sizes. It winked and blinked and twinkled and sparkled and shone.

On top of all these wonderful things, the bed I slept on the first night (though to say the lodgings were merely rustic would be optimistic) was the best bed I had encountered in China. The beds here are all very hard – not that I’m accustomed to super-soft beds, but you don’t want to sit down too heavily on these beds because you risk breaking something (and I don’t mean the bed). But this bed – oh, it was delicious. I wanted to stay forever just so I could experience that amazing bed again.

Another highlight of the hike (I’m including a picture) was the crazy goat we ran into. Imagine this scene: on all sides, you are surrounded by mountains. You have a path to walk on, but stray too far off the path, one awkward, overly large step, and you will tumble down, down, down quite a precipitous slope. So steep is it, in fact, that trees grow out of the cliff-side sideways instead of upright. Which means that the bulk of the tree is hanging over, well, nothing. Now along comes a hungry goat who sees some nice, munchy leaves on the outer reaches (I suppose “upper reaches” would be inappropriate in this case) of one of these horizontal trees. So, of course, the most reasonable thing for the goat to do is walk out on the sideways branch of the sideways tree, only a tree trunk away from a fatal fall and eternal oblivion. Since this is all very nice and logical, this is of course that the goat in question did. And it just so happened that we were there to document the event. You’ll be happy to know that to my knowledge, the goat took no tumble, but happily munched away until his appetite was sated.

The long and short of it is that the gorge was – heh heh heh – gorge-ous. Truth be told, I made that pun unintentionally several times throughout the hike. I couldn’t figure out why Evan and Liz were laughing at me so often (except for the obvious hilarity experienced by my typical enthusiasm) until Liz explained it later. My best puns are never on purpose!

I’ve lost track of what round we’re on (part 1)

2008-04-09T04:58:00.000-07:00

I’m having trouble coming up with a snappy opening line, so I’ll just out with it – we recently got a nice little spring break, and, as is my habit, I took off for a bit of adventuring. This time I went to Guangxi province (southeast of Sichuan) and Tiger Leaping Gorge, back in Yunnan province (south of Sichuan). To keep the post lengths under control, I’m going to split them up. Today will be Guangxi and I’ll talk about Tiger Leaping Gorge in the next one (because really, it deserves a whole post all to itself).

In Guangxi I visited two cities – Guilin and Yangshuo. Although the weather was less than ideal (foggy, rainy, and depressingly chilly), the scenery was still beautiful. Guilin is known for its unique geological formations called karsts. Karsts are rather large hills made of limestone. According to a geology buff that I met along the way, limestone is a very soft rock that erodes quite quickly. Cracks in the rock are easily invaded by water, which creates large cave systems running through the hills. Some of them cave in, creating these really cool-looking gumdrop-shaped hills. For further information, consult Wikipedia, which tends to know a lot more than me about most things.

The karsts make for quite a dramatic landscape. Since the sides are steep enough that you can’t really build on them, cities like Guilin and Yangshuo just incorporate the karsts into the town so that a wide panorama of the town is speckled with verdant hills. In the case of Yangshuo, it’s more like a bunch of karsts with as much town as possible crammed in-between.

Of everything I’ve seen so far in China, this was by far the greenest. It was great! There were trees and grass and hills and more green than I’d seen in months. I found myself wondering if the people who actually inhabit these places knew how lucky they were, how unique and distinctive and beautiful their living space is. Never in my life had I seen anything even remotely resembling this. But then, of course, they’ve probably grown up there, and even if they didn’t, they probably wake up every day, look out their window, and say, “Oh look. Another large hill. What a surprise.” In any case, I thought it was exceptional and magnificent, but maybe they just see large, useless obstructions. For me, though, it was great; if I got bored, I could walk a few feet in order to reach the base of a large hill and then, woohoo!, climb right on up.

Aside from climbing up random karsts, in a business deal that I’m pretty sure was illegal, Andrew (he’s in my program, I was traveling with him) and I paid one of the locals to take us out on the river on his bamboo raft. Let me tell you… that little bamboo raft was not very efficient. It was very long and rectangular-shaped with a tiny motor, so it didn’t move very quickly. But then, I suppose that wasn’t really the idea. In any case, we got a nice look at some karsts from the water.

Another highlight of Guangxi was the Seven-Star Cave, which was this huge cave system in one of the karsts in Guilin. They were really artsy about it, which made for a fantastic visit through the cave; they lit up the stalactites and stalagmites with pretty, colored lights.

As far as adventures go, though, I didn’t really have any because of the weather. In fact, the weather was so horrendous in Yangshuo that I was unable to do any sightseeing at all, unless, as they say in China, I wanted to be 落汤鸡 (like a drenched chicken). However, in Seven-Star Park (which is where Seven-Star Cave is, I’ll bet you didn’t figure that one out) I wandered off the trail and climbed some large rocks, but that was about as crazy as it got.

Next time, Tiger Leaping Gorge – by far the best place I’ve been so far in all of China. And on that note, I’m signing off, knowing I’ve left you all in a delicious state of suspense until the next post is up.

I apologize for the not-nearly-as-exciting-or-interesting-as-usual post, but I’m compensating with lots of pretty pictures!

Pictures:

1-2. Seven Star Park

3-4. Seven Star Cave

5. Practicing my Asian squat next to Seven Star Cave

6-7. Karsts

8. The glorious night-life on Xijie (West Street) in Yangshuo

When Life Gives You Lemons

2008-03-27T17:43:00.000-07:00

Sometimes China depresses me. The country is riddled with natural assets – beautiful landscapes, breathtaking scenery, diverse flora and fauna, and so on. On top of all that, China often boasts about having the longest written historical record in history, stretching back three thousand years or more. But the beautiful scenery is scarce to be found. Everything is urban, modernized, new. Many of those same natural assets are being systematically destroyed to make way for new roads, highways, methods of transportation, and to prevent floods in other parts of the country. Take the Tiger Leaping Gorge, for example. If I remember correctly, this is one of the largest natural gorges in China, maybe in the whole world. It is a place I am visiting in about a week – and good timing, too, because in three years it will be under water. The Tiger Leaping Gorge will be part of a large lake that simplifies river transport from one end of the country to another. At least I’ll get to see it while it’s still around. And this very same country, with a semi-cohesive history spanning thousands of years – where are its relics? The China I see is brand new. It’s only been around for fifty years or so. In Europe, evidence of its age and history is everywhere. You can walk into a building and smell the age that has settled into its cracks and crevices. But here, all I see are modern high-rises and apartment buildings. So many of the structures that hint at China’s great and glorious history have been torn down and replaced with other things. What’s more, the government is a much more present force than what I am used to, even in its absence. When I was in high school, my government class talked about the constant struggle between security and privacy – the more privacy you have, the less secure you are, and vice versa. In China, it seems as though much of privacy has been done away with in favor of security – but I wonder who it is that benefits from it. The government is everywhere; reading my emails, blocking my access to the internet, watching me throughout the day. There are topics of conversation I don’t feel comfortable discussing with the locals. What if someone hears me? They might throw me in jail or deport me. The entire concept of free flow of information that my life has been structured around simply is not relevant here. The government owns the media. The government issues propaganda so that its citizens only know what the government wants them to know. The government delivers its version of Chinese history to its citizens. Truth is not the primary concern – it is the propagation and perpetuation of the government. Consider the recent riots in Lhasa. Everyone had some vague idea of what was going on, but no one really knew, since any mention of Tibet was conspicuously absent in local media. Newspapers, television programs, all reported on things that had nothing to do with Tibet. In fact, it’s still hard to know what went on or is continuing to go on. All foreign journalists were kicked out and tourists are no longer allowed in. It makes me sad – I recently heard my Chinese teacher talk about Tibet, and it was both troubling and depressing. She is an educated woman, but the only things that came out of her mouth were clearly what the government wanted her to believe. “Everyone in Tibet is really very lucky,” she said, “the average citizen in Lhasa is more wealthy than the average Han elsewhere in China.” That wasn’t where it ended. “The situation in Lhasa’s not so bad,” she continued, “really, Tibetans are very lucky people. The government has treated them so well. All of the provinces are required to have building provinces in Tibet, did you know that?” Tibet has the poorest economy of all of China’s provinces.

The Chinese Recycling Program and Buttless Baby Pants

2008-03-25T18:05:00.001-07:00

A quick note on the Chinese Recycling Program, which in my opinion epitomizes the operation of the country. The country actually has no recycling program. But the government pays you for turning in recyclables so they can be used again, and this is how it works. Normal people throw out everything that you can recycle. These sorts of things end up in trash cans, naturally. People less well off root through trash cans, pull out plastic and glass, and turn them in for money. Truly, this is an excellent description of how China functions. Also, I've discovered Chinese people don't believe in diapers. Instead, pants for small children have a big section cut out of the back, so naked baby butts abound. I'll bet it's quite drafty! At least it provides an impetus for the parents to house-train their kids as quickly as possible.

Bits and Pieces, Odds and Ends

2008-03-23T09:26:00.000-07:00

First, I thought I would list a few things I have a newfound appreciation for now that I'm in China.
1. Peanut butter and jelly. I can't believe I used to think it was boring. Here, it's heaven.
2. Apples with the peel intact. In China, you can't eat any fruit peels because of the pesticides they use. Which means that if you want an apple, you first have to peel off the skin. When I get back to America, I'm going to eat a lot of apples. With the skin intact.
3. Libraries. I love them. And book stores, too. Unfortunately, I can't actually read anything in any of the ones around here. I miss them so!
4. 1% milk. France had no fresh milk. China has plenty of fresh milk, but it's all whole milk, which means it's so thick and icky that I can't drink it. I am going to drink A LOT of milk when I get back home.

Also, I've had some requests for my mailing address in China. Here it is:

Rebekah Farrar
c/o Wentao Song
Foreign Affairs Office
Southwest University for Nationalities
Chengdu, Sichuan
610041 PR CHINA

Finally, I am including some random pictures.

1. My friend Kerry on Chunxi Lu. Chunxi Lu is a street in Chengdu that is known as Walking Street. Lots of shopping. She accompanied me there since I had never seen it.

2. Me in my cooking class! The dish on the left is friend noodles. The one on the right is Yangzhou fried rice. Yes, I cooked both of them, and yes, they were quite tasty.

3. Me and the statue of Mao in Tianfu Square, the center of Chengdu. Apparently (according to Kerry) his statue is in that position because he was always seen trying to hail taxis.

4. My pride and joy! The beautiful, gorgeous, WONDERFUL tea set I bought in Xi'an. There are two more cups and saucers not pictured here.

Longer, more interesting post to follow.

How to Make Cookies Without Any Ingredients Or: My Life in China

2008-03-19T07:32:00.000-07:00

Mostly, life in China is pretty interesting. Well, insane would be an apt way of putting it. However, sometimes life gets you down, as it is prone to do, and all you want are some cookies. But here in China, the local conception of “cookie” is very different from the one you are used to. They think of cookies as sweet, spongy things, more like very small quantities of bread. And you want the kind you are used to. Which means you can’t go to the bakeries. As for the expensive imports aisle in Carrefour, they only have things like Chips Ahoy. No. You don’t want those kinds of cookies. You want the kind you make yourself. What a fabulous idea, you find yourself thinking. I’ll go pick up the ingredients I need and bake myself some cookies. But wait. After more than a moment’s reflection, you see a problem arise. One big, glaring flaw to your brilliant plan: you don’t have an oven. In fact, the only ovens you’ve ever seen in China are in the bakeries. And in fact, you haven’t even seen them, but bakeries sell bread and other baked goods, so you infer that they must be there. Well, it’s not the end of the world, you tell yourself. For even though you’re craving the hot, freshly baked kind of cookie, you would settle for any cookie you could make with your own two hands. So this just means your recipe choices are somewhat limited – that is, you can only make no-bake cookies. Fortunately, there are plenty of no-bake cookie recipes to be had. Sit down at your computer and google “no-bake cookies” and you’ll find untold numbers of recipes, just waiting for you to un-bake them. Now hold on just one more minute. You’ve really got a problem now. Because once you start looking at the recipes, you realize you have no ingredients. For one thing, most of them call for vanilla extract, and your entire time in China, you haven’t even seen anything that remotely resembles vanilla extract. And what about butter or margarine? You’ve seen that in the imports aisle, but well, it’s about $4 for a single stick of butter, which is a little out of your budget. Come to think of it, you haven’t seen any powdered sugar either. A little disheartened, you head down to Carrefour to see what you can scrounge up. You find a jar of peanut butter, nice and cheap since it’s the store brand. Hurrah! One success down, several more to go. Right next to the peanut butter, you realize, to your amazement, that there is something that might be distantly related to powdered sugar. The bright, shiny label proudly declares, “Glucose Powder.” That’ll just have to do, you tell yourself. Margarine is out of the question, though. Too expensive. Wandering through the store, you stumble across some cheap oats. Perfect, you think, I’ll just add this to the mix. So now you have peanut butter, fake powdered sugar, and oatmeal. Something’s missing, you tell yourself. Ah! All of a sudden, you realize no cookie recipe is complete without chocolate chips. Hold it, hold it! There are no chocolate chips in China. In fact, you’re not even sure they believe in chocolate. Well, it’s just going to require a little more work than you anticipated. You buy a solid bar of dark chocolate (the best kind), and resort to chopping it up yourself. Now you’re actually ready to begin making your cookies! So here’s what you do, step by step. 1. Most importantly, find some clean dishes. This is rather difficult, as some of your roommates tend to hoard them in their rooms for weeks at a time. Or leave them in the sink for days on end, hoping upon hope that a different roommate will do their dirty work for them. 2. Upon locating clean dishes, scoop out an appropriate size of peanut butter into your nice, clean bowl. Add some knock-off powdered sugar to your knock-off peanut butter and mix it in. Continue until you get something that’s less sticky than peanut butter by itself, but still holds together. 3. Chop up an entire bar of chocolate and dump it in. Oh no, there’s too much chocolate! But what were you supposed to do? Chocolate is gold! You can’t waste a single sliver. Okay, fine, add some more peanut butter. 4. Add some oats. Mix. You’ll probably end up readjusting the peanut butter levels again. 5. Roll your fake peanut butter cookies into a ball and then roll them in some fake powdered sugar (which, as you suspected, is not actually powdered sugar as you conceive of it, but it will have to suffice). Put them on your nice, clean plate. This last step is very useful, as it prevents your cookies from sticking together. 6. Place them in the refrigerator (after shoving all your roommates’ foodstuffs out of the way, of course). 7. Share them with your American friends. They’ll love you forever.

Travels: Round Two

2008-03-11T05:43:00.000-07:00

Xi’an is a city that pulses with its own rhythm. It is a city I could live in; it lets you breathe; it doesn’t force itself upon you. It does not have the crowded nature or rushed, frenetic pace of London and New York. The city spreads out, sprawls just a little bit, just to let you know it can. The sidewalks are wide enough that you rarely bump into another pedestrian (a fine feat for a country with such as exorbitantly large population), and open enough that there is room for large, garish sculptures in front of business complexes. The city is clean, to boot; not pristine in any sense of the word, but the sidewalks are not so thickly caked with years of grit and grime that no amount of cleansing will ever truly leave them clean. There is none of the unsavory detritus found on the streets of Chengdu – trash goes in the trash can, and all manner of bodily secretions are dealt with appropriately, not left out for the public to gawk and gag at.

Xi’an is a manageable city. It is big enough that there will be no lack of whatever you’re looking for. If you’re craving some good ol’ traditional Western food, there is no shortage of restaurants waiting to serve you. If you prefer Korean food, no problem. If you’re dying to be the proud owner of the latest Gucci handbag or European fashion, Xi’an is the place to go. If you’re in the mood for a unique cultural experience, head on down to Xi’an’s Muslim quarter. Yet, in spite of the availability of anything you could possibly want, the city is small enough that it isn’t overwhelming. It is a walkable city; take the bus if that’s what floats your boat, but if you have some time you might as well use your own two feet.

Xi’an is a city that lives for the night. The setting of the sun is countered by the lights of the city at night. As the sun goes to sleep, the city is just waking up, embracing the night with open arms. An area not lit up is difficult to find, at best – the world is all bright colors, neons, and flashing lights. The city beautifies itself nightly with its stunning light displays.

Xi’an is a city with a long history, spanning 2,000 years or more. It is home to one of the most renowned historical sites in all of China – the Terracotta Warriors. Some 2,000 years ago (story time), Emperor Qin died. While he was alive he apparently thought he was extraordinary and wanted to continue feeling extraordinary in the afterlife. So what do you do? You get buried in a massive tomb with thousands of life-size terracotta warriors to guard you and continue to serve you on the dark side of the moon. Thus the Terracotta Warriors came into being. I read that each of the thousands of warriors has a unique face – pretty unbelievable, considering the sheer numbers of soldiers. There are other attractions, too – the city is littered with 1500-year-old pagodas and embellished with a thriving Muslim community and one of the oldest mosques in China. It is also the site of Chiang Kai-Shek’s abduction by a Manchurian warlord.

In short, I have learned that I cannot rely on exchange programs to pick cities for me. Lille was nice, but I would’ve been happier in Paris; Chengdu is the Manhattan of China, when I would have much preferred Xi’an. I came to Xi’an and I fell in love. I could see myself living here, working here, forming lasting relationships here. I could start a life here – not in Chengdu, where the streets are crowded with shops crammed as close together as possible, but here in Xi’an, where I can stretch out my legs and have a conversation with someone who’s actually taller than me.

I also learned that I need to get out of Chengdu as frequently as possible. I crave the sun and need to go somewhere I can see it. The rest of the semester will accordingly be packed with weekend excursions out of the city – the next two weekends are already accounted for, and right after that we’re getting another week-long break, which I hope to spend in Lhasa. At least one other weekend trip is planned for April, and International Labor Day (in May) will be spent in Beijing. Then the program will end and I’ll be off for my international adventures.

Even though my program still has another two months left, it feels like it’s nearly over.

Pictures (potentially out of order, as usual):

1. The general craziness of the Xi'an train station

2. The Terracotta Warriors!

3. More Terracotta Warriors.

4. Last Terracotta Warriors picture. I promise.

5. Bar street, not far from our hostel. The lights were really quite lovely, but unfortunately, this picture fails to capture it. Also, there were more and better lights throughout the city, but I didn't have the presence of mind to photograph them.

6. The minaret of the Great Mosque in the Muslim Quarter which, as the free pamphlet we got told us, is "cleverly disguised as a pagoda."

7. The ceiling right inside the minaret

The Second Sex

2008-03-06T04:30:00.000-08:00

Having spent a little bit of time in China, I think it’s time I wrote a post on Chinese women. Well, I plan to talk about the men too, but my focus is mainly on the women.

One of the things that greatly surprised me here was just how affectionate young couples are with each other. Before arriving in China, it was my impression that China was rather stuck in its traditional roots. That is, polite, conservative, and exceptionally modest. Much to my surprise, though, the streets are littered with couples – and they don’t even make a play at trying to hide it. They cuddle, hold hands, and wrap their arms around each other in plain view of everyone (and we’re in China, so everyone encompasses a lot of people). This tends to give the impression that the entire country is coupled up, and I, the lone foreigner, am the only single female in the entire country.

As far as these relationships go, the men are very protective of the women. They reserve seats on the bus for them; they carry their bags; they shield them from the crowds; they pay for everything. They do their best to ensure that their female counterparts are as sheltered as possible and have to do absolutely nothing even minimally strenuous.

In terms of appearance, I think many Chinese males take greater care with their looks than American ones. There are some crazy hairdos out here – a whole head of Asian hair sticking straight out from their heads, like a gigantic Asian afro. It must take hours to do. And just imagine trying to sleep! The girls are gorgeous and glamorous, every last one of them. They all wear boots, and if they happen to not be wearing boots, they’re wearing heels. Their hair is beautiful, done up in some complex design that I couldn’t mimic if I tried. They’re all fashionistas; I’m not even sure the girls in Europe are stylish on this grand of a scale. On top of all that, they’re unbelievably slim. And utterly ageless. The 30-year-olds look like they’re 20. It’s crazy.

Another interesting observation: I have not yet met a Chinese male that does not smoke. However, I have never seen a Chinese woman smoke. Why this is I cannot fathom; I’ll have to ask a Chinese person before getting a definitive answer. However, for some strange reason, only the men smoke. Never the women.

Now, back to the dating scene. I have been informed that people here date to marry, unlike many Americans, who date to date. There is a huge push in this country toward marriage, and the population acts accordingly. So (forgive me, my experience in this particular category is rather limited), as far as I have seen, when a Chinese woman finds a man expressing any interest, she latches on to him and holds on for dear life. The girls are quite persistent and tend to ignore disinterested hints. For example, consider exhibit A, currently dating one of my fellow USAC students. A was very quick to declare her love for this fellow, whom I shall henceforth refer to as B. A also told B that she would wait for him – that is, for him to go back to America, finish school, do whatever he needs to do, etc. B, on the other hand, was very clear that once he’s gone, it’s over.

Or consider C, who was invited once by another USAC student (henceforth referred to as D) to spend some time with him. D decided he wasn’t interested; C didn’t get the hint. Some time later, they exchanged a series of text messages along these lines:

C: I would like to improve my English. Could you help me by being my language partner?
D: I’m afraid I can’t. However, I have a friend who is willing to help you out. Why don’t you get in touch with her?
C: Great! I’m so glad you are able to help me with my English.

As the exchange most likely occurred in Chinese, I find misinterpretation unlikely.

The last thing I’d like to mention is a note on body types. For example, consider me. No matter how much weight I lost (not to worry, I’m not planning on it), I would probably still only ever fit in to size 5 pants, which is not an issue in the slightest. This, as we have seen, is largely a function of my American hips. Chinese women, on the other hand, have very slight frames. When they are fully filled out, they’re still usually only about a size 0. Regardless, many of the Chinese women I know are still quite fixated on their weight (it seems to be the same the world over – or at least in America, France, and China). That being said, women under about the age of 40 or so are all still super-skinny. Even over the age of 40, they’re not overly large; some of them have just filled out a little bit. On the other hand, once men hit the age of 20, they’re allowed to fill out. In fact, I haven’t met many Chinese men over the age of 20 who aren’t a bit chubby.

It’s all very curious.

Pictures (at last! Sorry to be so slow):

1. The beautiful baozi of deliciousness, from my favorite baozi stand (three for just one kuai!). I often get a few on my way to school. I'll write more about these marvelous creations in further posts. Probably with another picture.i

2. The guqin I've talked so much about!

3. This is the kitchen Liz and I scrubbed for hours. If you look closely, you can see a black travel mug to the left of the sink. I also take this to school with me every day, generally filled with tea. This is the second best purchase I have made in China (the best being my space heater).

4. The end of the Spring Festival is celebrated with a Lantern Festival. This is a picture from Chengdu's.

5. Lovely shot of the living room. If you look past the stairs, there are two doors. The door on the right (it's open) is my room. The one next to it is Liz's room.

6. A truly excellent shot of my room and desk... er, bed. Sometimes it's hard to tell the two apart. Especially since I don't have the former.

Notes on Transportation

2008-02-28T04:29:00.000-08:00

Here in Chengdu, as in any big city, effective transportation is vital. Chengdu offers several different methods of transportation, including taxis (which are never available) and a subway system (which still hasn’t been built). The bus system should not be forgotten, though – a one-way ticket for just one kuai is nothing to scoff at. Despite the city’s public transportation efforts, there are still innumerable amounts of cars on the road. As far as driving etiquette goes, the most polite thing you can do on the road is honk at absolutely everyone. You see, honking is a social activity here in China, similar to saying “Hello! How do you do?” In fact, a typical honking conversation goes something like this. Honker #1: Hoooooooooooooonk! (“Helloooooooooo there!”) Honker #2: Honk honk! (“Hello back!”) Honker #1: Honk honk hoooooonk honk! (“Nice to see you on the road today!”) Honker #2: Honk honk hooooooooooooooonk! (“Fine weather we’re having, isn’t it?”) Take the driver who transported us from Dali to Kunming, for example. If someone was in front of us, he honked. If he was riding on someone’s tail, he honked. If someone was behind him, he honked. If he saw another bus, he honked. If he passed someone on the left, he honked. If someone passed him, he honked especially loud. And just to make sure all his passengers were really awake, he at one point sat on that over-used horn for a solid fifteen seconds without pause. If you don’t want to chance the buses, your best bet is buying a bike. The bikes are unbelievably convenient – much quicker than walking, quite inexpensive (a used bike can go for 120 kuai, or about $17), and a very popular way of getting from point A to point B. One of the best features of these bikes is that they’re designed to be ridden in a city. The front often has a basket attached so you can carry things and the back has a long, flat, metal device with a clip. This back part can be used to carry a bag or some other cargo or even a second person sitting side-saddle (I highly recommend being the human cargo; though being in a semi-insecure position amidst other bikers and cars and buses, etc. is somewhat terrifying, it’s also absolutely exhilarating, a perfect cure for a bad mood). The other nice thing about a bike is that you can do most anything while biking. I have seen people smoke and bike at the same time. I’ve also seen people talk on their cell phone while biking. On top of that, you can also write text messages while biking. Or if you wanted, you could take pictures while biking. You could also study for your Chinese test while riding a bike. Anything is possible!

And You're Out

2008-02-27T07:49:00.001-08:00

There is an apartment full of USAC students not far from where I live. They have maintenance issues all the time – in the beginning of the semester, for the first week they had no heat, no hot water, no internet, and the land line had been disconnected. They continue to have various problems. For example, if the heater is on in the main room and someone turns on lights in another room, the power goes off. Also, if the heater is on above low (which only warms up the apartment to approximately 50 degrees), all the power in the apartment shuts off. In fact, if you want to do anything involving being able to live normally, the power will shut off. Knowing the problems these residents have been having, I’ve always felt quite fortunate living where I do. Things tend to work, I get to shower when I want to, we can turn the heat on to a reasonable level, life is good. That is, until we lost almost all of our water pressure. Now, water only comes out of our faucets when it wants to; often, it will spurt out feebly for a moment or two and then stop completely. And water doesn’t even make it up to the shower head. We are forced to shower elsewhere or else suffer our own stink. Strike one. Then we realized that we had no hot water. I thought maybe this was because the low water pressure meant the hot water just never made it up all the pipes. This is not the case. We just have no hot water. Strike two. And then we discovered that our toilet was constantly flushing and would not stop no matter what we did, wasting our water and our money. Strike three. We’re totally out of the game.

Good News, Bad News

2008-02-24T07:22:00.001-08:00

Good news: It’s been so warm recently I’ve only had to wear one pair of pants! Scarf, gloves, and coat are still part of my everyday wardrobe, however. Bad news: The rain here is so dirty that it leaves dark spots on any remotely light-colored clothing. Gross. Good news: My Chinese is improving! Bad news: I can still barely function in China. Good news: I’m learning how to cook traditional Sichuan dishes! Bad news: I now know just how much oil goes into them. And it makes me slightly nauseous.

Musical Madness!!!

2008-02-24T07:19:00.000-08:00

My apologies for my long silence. It’s always hit-or-miss as to whether the internet here in China will actually let me access the site I post on or not. As of late, it has been quite unresponsive. Therefore, I am posting these entries (albeit intermittently) through my vessel – that is, my sister (thank you, Miryam, I love you and you’re wonderful).[Editor's note: you're welcome, Becks!] Today I’m profiling a traditional Chinese instrument called the guqin. The guqin is a long instrument, maybe four feet long or so, rectangular-shaped, and has seven strings. The lowest string is C, two octaves below middle C. The other strings (from lowest to highest) are D, F, G, A, C, and D. The instrument is plucked with the right hand and the notes are fingered with the left. The reason for all this musical mumbo-jumbo is that I am now studying the guqin. As I was unable to bring my viola with me to China (boo!), I am filling my musical deprivation with a new instrument. Really, when in my life am I ever going to get the chance to study a traditional Chinese instrument with a professional musician? If I were to give you an honest answer to that question, actually, it might be a little surprising. It turns out my music teacher is working towards her PhD in music – in North Hollywood, California, where at least half of my extended family happens to reside. She came back to China for two reasons. First, to take care of her ailing mother, and second, to write a book (in Chinese, I presume). However, come August, she will be moving back to America. Her husband is also American, so that is her permanent home. By the way, for those of you interested in seeing a guqin, go to the library (or Blockbuster) and rent the movie Hero. There’s a big fight-scene in it with someone playing a guqin. I would say it’s a great scene to watch, entertaining, interesting, etc., etc., but to be honest, I really don’t remember that scene at all. Not even an inkling. So watch it, enjoy it, and tell me how it is! Anyway, it’s a really awesome instrument. I can officially play about three songs (two of which are only open strings). Oh, I’ve progressed from just playing open strings to playing harmonics as well, which is super exciting. The only issue I’m having with it is a simple conflict of interest. String musicians (on Western string instruments, that is), are required to have short nails. Otherwise, the nails interfere with the musician’s ability to finger the notes. Guqin players, on the other hand, must have long nails; otherwise, the musician cannot make the strings sound. This means that for the past few weeks I’ve been growing out my nails, and let me tell you, they are driving me absolutely nuts. For the first time in years I find myself the victim of involuntarily self-inflicted cuts and scratches. Not only that, but they get in the way of everything. And I don’t even want to talk about how hard it is to keep them clean. Ick. In short, my nails are driving me nuts. On the bright side, though, I’m learning to play a fantastic instrument and bringing home the most amazing souvenir from China I can think of.

One for the money, Two for the show...

2008-02-15T01:51:00.000-08:00

Once, a long time ago, during the Tang dynasty, in a homely thatched cottage in the quiet little village of Chengdu, there lived a poet named Dufu.

Dufu was not just any ordinary poet. He was a special poet! “I am special,” he proclaimed, “because one day, many years from now, some American students will stand on a stage for a Spring Festival performance and speak my sacred words with their ghastly American accents.”

And so it was destined to be! Of course, who would I be to ignore destiny? So it was, and so it shall ever be: I stood up on a stage, in front of a moderately large crowd, in front of TV cameras, in front of reporters, and recited for all who cared to hear Dufu’s poem “Chun Ye Xi Yu” (“In the Spring Night Comes the Good Rain”).

Truth be told, it was quite a production. There were famous people there and everything! I even had to arrive early so they could do me up in fine Asian fashion. In that regard, I felt a little silly – try as I might, I just don’t look Chinese. No matter how much make-up you cake on my face, there’s no hiding my distinctly Jewish nose, my light blue eyes, or my curly brown hair. Or those American hips, come to think of it.

A quick note on those hips: you may recall the people we bought the qipao from were supposed to alter it for me. Imagine my surprise when I tried it on the night before the big show and realized I still looked like I was drowning in a sea of red and gold. However, Liz, bless her innovativeness, sewed up the sides in red thread so it fit a little better.

Back to the show. The first act was the one that impressed me most. It involved young children (apparently training to be acrobats) doing more or less a whole acrobatic show in the space of five minutes. They tumbled, jumped through hoops, and there was even a tiny little contortionist. I was totally floored. My mouth gaped open as I watched these young kids dressed in rat costumes (for this is the year of the rat) performing feats it took others years to perfect. On top of that, they were super cute, which definitely gave them some extra points.

There were also a number of really beautiful dances. I made friends with one of the dancers, dressed in a bright yellow imitation sari, and we got our picture taken together. The other highlights were a well-known opera singer performing a Beijing opera piece and two very famous voice artists (known for their dubbing work) reciting more of Dufu’s poems.

Well, let me tell you, we poor Americans were certainly the underdogs here. We may have looked pretty, but our recitation skills and our pronunciation were just not up to snuff. And we got criticized in the city paper the next day just for that. Our names were in the paper along with phrases like “non-standard pronunciation” and so on. Ah well.

That aside, though, I did feel a little bit like a local celebrity. As I walked out after the show, I got a number of stares from people who had seen me on stage. I even caught one couple photographing me! Well, once I caught them in the act they decided to be a little more candid about it and just asked if they could take a picture of me. I obliged, as celebrities sometimes do, and posed with the photographer’s wife.

A last note on the qipao – unfortunately, I was not permitted to keep it. So when our act was over, I put on my normal clothes, and very calmly and quietly cut out the stitches Liz had been so kind to put in for me. At least I still have the memories! And the pictures, of course, which I now offer up to you.

Pictures! (My apologies if they're not in order)

1. Me in the five pounds of make-up they put on my face.

2. Get a load of that slit!

3. One of the dances

4. I just loved those gorgeous costumes! Especially the red one.

5. On stage, being interviewed by the hosts after reciting our poem. Yes, we were being interviewed in Chinese in front of a Chinese audience. And yes, it was stressful, and yes, I froze up a little bit.

6. The girl I made friends with doing her dance

7. The tiny acrobats!

8. Plum blossoms at Dufu's cottage

9. One of the dances I particularly liked. Apparently it was based on one of Dufu's poems. Notice that the man has the fan and the woman has the sword. I was especially fond of that aspect of it.

10. Another shot of the make-up. By this point, I'd already gotten rid of half of it.

Travels: Round One

2008-02-14T05:46:00.000-08:00

Pictures (Sorry if they don't show up in order)

1. Lijiang, on the way to Baisha

2. Lijiang, Women in Naxi clothing

3. Lijiang, in Baisha. Is any further explanation necessary?

4. Lijiang, lanterns. I think I'm obsessed.

5. Lijiang, the sea of rooves (that is, Old Town)

6. Dali, fields of rapeseed

7. Dali, atop the ancient city walls, with one of the Three Pagodas in the background

8. Kunming, Bamboo Temple, close-up of a surfing Buddha (on the far left)

9. Kunming, Bamboo Temple, a random pavilion with more surfing Buddhas on top

10. Kunming, Western Hill

11. Kunming, Western Hill

12. Kunming, Bird and Flower Market

13. Kunming lights

14. Our merry band of travelers, from left to right: Liz, Mario, Shay, Traci, and I

This threatens to be a little out of order chronologically, but a lot has happened in the past week, so bear with me.

So I just got back from a week-long trip! Five of us from my program all went to Yunnan province, which is south of Sichuan. Our merry little group consisted of Mario, Liz, Traci, Shay, and I. We had three planned stops in Yunnan: Lijiang, Dali, and Kunming.

We arrived in Lijiang on our first night. As we came out of the airport, I knew immediately we had made the right decision coming to Yunnan. A mere glance skyward and we were all awestruck by the celestial vision above. A myriad of stars met our eyes; not just a few paltry ones, but more stars than I had seen since I was in Yosemite last March. I’d forgotten how nice it was to see them! They don’t shine in Chengdu, thanks to the impenetrable cloud-cover. In fact, I had become so accustomed to the starless nights that it hadn’t even occurred to me to look up – it was Liz that alerted us all to the sky situation.

The next morning my conviction was irrevocably affirmed. I woke up, breathed deeply, and tasted the sweet, pollution-free air. It was clean and fresh – it didn’t give the impression of inhaling grit like it does in Chengdu. That morning we noticed that the city was lined with streams, with water clean and healthy enough to support fish and plants. In Chengdu, the nearest water to my apartment is a dangerous, murky turquoise, and the only thing it supports is a putrid odor.

And the sun – oh, the sun! And the sky! The sun was so bright and wonderful. I’d almost forgotten what it felt like to feel the heat of the sun on my face. And the sky was the most magnificent blue. It was such a delight to look up and actually be able to see that beautiful cerulean instead of clouds and gray and smog. In fact, I enjoyed the sun a little too much, and my face is still peeling the aftereffects. On top of that, we were surrounded by mountains – and we could see them. Theoretically Chengdu is also surrounded by mountains, but, well, it might as well not be, because we’ve never seen then. We unanimously decided that we would rather be studying in Lijiang than Chengdu. No surprise there!

The old town in Lijiang was wonderful. It had so much character! The local minority in Lijiang is called the Naxi, and the older people walked around in Naxi clothing all the time. The streets were lined in cobblestones and the original architecture was disturbed nowhere by modern-looking monstrosities.

Our main activities in Lijiang consisted of walking and biking. One day we biked all the way out of Lijiang to Baisha, a gucheng (ancient town). We even made a Chinese friend for a day, Nicole, who came with us.

One of the nice things about Lijiang was that it had plenty of distinctive food to try. One of the local specialties is called baba, which is like a thick pancake with some sort of filling on the inside. The kind I got was quite sweet and made a good snack. Another regional dish is Across-the-Bridge noodles, which is kind of like hotpot (refer to the disastrous expedition described earlier if you don’t know what hotpot is) except that it’s personal-sized and not as spicy.

I’m going to try and zoom here a little bit to keep this post from getting out of hand.

Dali was a bit unremarkable. The most exciting thing we did was rent bikes for ten kuai and go out exploring. Mario, Liz and I ended up cutting through fields filled with rapeseed and being invited in by some of the locals.

Kunming had its ups and downs. We initially decided to go there because we heard it was warm enough to be outside in a t-shirt. Our first day in Kunming, however, saw rain, fog, and weather cold enough that you could see your breath. So of course we were all out in our winters coats. T-shirts? Ha! And that day we were touring, which meant our touring experiences were hideously sub-par. In lieu of the weather, we still managed to see the Bamboo Temple, Western Hill, and Ethnic Village.

Bamboo Temple first. This temple is renowned for its numerous “surfing Buddhas” – that is, carvings of the Buddha surfing the waves of the temple on the backs of various animals. Western Hill is supposed to be gorgeous, with commanding views of the lake below. However, like I said, it was foggy, so it didn’t quite work out. As for the last of the three, we all thought Ethnic Village was going to be a real Ethnic Village. It turns out we were quite wrong. It was more like an Ethnic Disneyland.

Regardless of our suboptimal first day in Kunming, the second day was lovely. It was sunny and warm enough that I only required a light sweater. We spent a large part of the day in the Bird and Flower Market, which sells everything from cats and dogs to model airplanes made out of gun shells. At least it can be said that we certainly got our fill of souvenirs!

And with that, I end this travel post. We returned to Chengdu, depressed though moderately well-traveled, without incident. I guess it's back to school and real life now!

Highs and Lows

2008-02-12T23:31:00.000-08:00

Some things about China are fantastic. Consider the food, for example. It’s absolutely delicious. They do such wonderful things with eggplant and tofu here. And the baked yams you can get on the street. Delectable! Another great thing about China is how cheap everything is. I got a beautiful scarf the other day for less than $3. I went on a week long vacation and spent less than $150 (including food, lodging, city-to-city transportation, sites and tours, and souvenirs). Also, a little traveling will reveal that the different cultures here are incredibly varied and amazing. That said, there are some things that are really disturbing about China. Like watching an eight-year-old girl begging for small change on the sidewalk by bending her spine in a way that should not be physically possible, holding on to a bar with her teeth, lifting herself off the ground, and spinning around (supporting her entire body weight by her teeth). Or seeing some man emaciated beyond belief, clearly incapable of moving, lying on the street in order to get a kuai or two from passers-by. Or being asked for five yuan repeatedly from a small child. That was just too much for one day.

This is going to be a picture-heavy post

2008-02-02T06:00:00.000-08:00

Today was yet another field trip day – we went to the Panda Research Institute, which is pretty much a zoo designed to house and breed pandas. They were all out and active, which was nice, although their main activity consisted of munching on bamboo. There was one exciting moment when we saw a panda do something that did not involve eating bamboo – he had an itchy butt and we got to watch him scratch it.

Aside from that, though, the morning involved a lot of oohing and aahing at giant pandas of all ages, from the babies to the adults. We watched a short video all about giant pandas and their habits and breeding patterns and such. I’ll spare you the gory details, but in sum, there are only about 1000 pandas around these days. They are really selective about their mates and when the babies are born, they’re about the size of a large rat. They look pretty rat-like too, all white and squealy and gross. They don’t even start growing fur for a long time. Also, it seems as though only about half the babies survive. They’re super helpless when they’re born, though, which might have something to do with it.

They don’t just have giant pandas there, however. They also have red pandas, which are super cute. A bunch of us paid 50 kuai ($7) and got to hold one! It was really exciting. We had to put on plastic gloves and this blue robe and the little red panda ate apples while we held it and got our pictures taken. My roommate Sol got a fabulous one of me and my buddy the red panda (see below).

I hope you enjoy the pictures (which may not be in order, sorry). In other news, tomorrow, I officially start guqin lessons, a traditional Chinese instrument! I can’t wait.

1. Me with the adorable red panda!

2. Munchy panda

3. Baby panda!

4. Panda baby sticking out his tongue!

5. Baby Panda with attendant

6. Panda party, complete with loner

7. Red panda

8. Chinese lanterns to celebrate the Chinese New Year (we get a week off of school for this holiday, Chun jie, so I’m heading south to Yunnan province on Tuesday)

American Inside and Out

2008-02-01T04:35:00.000-08:00

Let me just start by saying that today was the best day ever. First, we need to play a little catch-up. During the Tang Dynasty, there was this famous poet named Dufu who lived in Chengdu; his poetry was largely inspired by my current environs (although back then, there were far fewer cars and much less smog). The city of Chengdu has rebuilt his thatched cottage and surrounding gardens in his honor. For the spring festival (the Chinese New Year), the staff at Dufu’s cottage is putting on a show, complete with performances of some nature by several famous Chinese actors. There is also to be a poem read by some foreigners. My Chinese teacher, Lin Laoshi (laoshi means teacher), selected Will and I to be the requisite laowai. We will stand up in front of a large crowd and recite one of Dufu’s most famous poems. There will be camera crews there, we’ll get to meet famous people, and apparently we’re also going to be on TV. Exciting, right? It gets better. Since this is a Chinese performance, we need Chinese clothing to wear (despite our evident foreignness). So, lucky us, we are being bought Chinese clothing! We may even get to keep it after the show, although that part is still a little unclear. Accordingly, I will be wearing a qipao, a traditional Chinese dress. Since we currently have no Chinese clothing, Lin Laoshi took us costume shopping today. Okay, now we’re all up-to-date and back to present day. Like I said, we went shopping, where it was immediately apparent that I am an American through and through. In order to wear a qipao, the wearer must be quite slender. Quick disclaimer: I am plenty skinny. But let me tell you something about Chinese women. Not only are they very slim, they also have very slight hips. I went to try on a qipao, I pulled it up over my legs and – you guessed it – it got stuck around my hips. So I thought maybe it would actually work if I pulled it over my head – not so. I was definitely stuck mid-hip. The next size up presented the same problem. I ended up with the largest size, not because I am a large person, but because I have American hips, which correspond to the approximate body width of an overweight Chinese person. The sizing troubles don’t end here, however. I suppose it could be said that my waist is on par with that of a normal Chinese woman. Which means that once you get past the hips, the qipao is far too large on me. In order to compensate, I stuck with the largest size, but the people we got it from are altering it for me so I don’t look like an American sumo wrestler instead of a curly-haired Asian with extraordinarily large hips. Oh, and don’t worry – I’ll have plenty of pictures taken at the performance so I can show you all what I looked like. One more note of catching up. There are numerous street vendors here that sell lots of interesting things to munch on. Among the most pungent (and as far as I’m concerned, the most appetizing) are the baked yams. Hot, sweet deliciousness for less than 28 cents. I have been vowing ever since I smelled them the first time that one day I was going to buy myself one. So, back to the story. After costume shopping, our teacher took us on a tour of Tianfu square, the center of Chengdu. And oh man. I smelled them before I saw them. We rounded a corner, and all of a sudden it hit me. Someone was selling those baked yams. I started smelling the air with vigor. Heaven in my nose! There was no denying it – Lin Laoshi knew right away what I was craving. She bought me and Will each one yam, one palm-sized delicacy, hot and ready to eat. It was everything I had imagined and so much more. I’m still on a high from that yam.

Profiling (briefly) the Nitty-Gritty of Chengdu

2008-01-31T06:44:00.000-08:00

And now for some of the more unsavory aspects of living in Chengdu. Those of you who kept in touch with me while I was in France may recall that during my time there, I stopped looking in front of myself and instead started concentrating on my feet. The reason for this was that pet owners allowed their dogs to use the sidewalk to take care of business and never bothered to clean up after them. Well. Suffice to say that after stepping in dog poop twice in two days, I have once again learned to stare at my feet instead of the road ahead. On top of that… this is going to get gnarly. Let’s backtrack a minute. Most people know the air quality in China is pretty poor. They don’t have many government-mandated environmental protection laws, so smog is a huge issue. Chengdu has the same problem. You know when you walk out of the house and you inhale deeply and smile because it smells so fresh and good? Not here. The air just smells a little dirty. Now, a little closer to home, so many impurities in the air tend to build up in this perpetually present phlegm-like substance that lodges itself in your throat and makes it impossible to enunciate clearly. I just try to cough a little bit and deal with it that way, but the local solution is to spit it out on the sidewalk, the street, the gutter – whatever is within the artillery range, as it were. So in addition to dodging dog poop, I am also dodging spit. And I’m suspicious of any amount of liquid I see on the ground. I mean, really. If you have to go, just go! Who cares where you are? China is like an obstacle course that’s never finished.

SURVIVOR: Green Mountain

2008-01-26T18:30:00.000-08:00

Pictures:

1. Ancient Irrigation System

2. Will about to deck me with a snowball (Andrew next to him)

3. Me.

4. Tree on Green Mountain with prayers on it (it's a Daoist mountain)

5. The Green Mountain mountainside

The Story:

It was an ordinary day. Well, an ordinary USAC field trip day, I should say.

It started without incident. We went to this ancient irrigation system up in the mountains, beautiful, covered with snow, and so of course wild snowball fights ensued. I personally got creamed more than once, but I did my fair share of creaming as well. We even stopped to get a way overpriced cup of tea – everything was fine.

But then we came to Green Mountain, a very important Daoist mountain. Temples nestled within the forest, monks banging gongs, the real deal. Time of arrival: two in the afternoon. Time we were supposed to be off the mountain and rejoin our group: 4:45. Time it was supposed to take to get to the top of the mountain: one hour. Cable car down instead of climbing: check.

So we set off with ample time, not a care in the world. Little did we know we soon have to fight for our very lives.

The most significant incident on the way up is that I inadvertently stepped somewhere I shouldn’t have and got clobbered by a monk with a stick. I was feeling a little bruised from my cultural ignorance, but aside that I was in prime condition.

It was a cold day, and it started snowing as soon as we got there. Now, keep in mind, the trek up the mountain consists entirely of stairs. Or rather, stone slabs laid down to approximate stairs, or just make you think happy thoughts of real stairs. And because of the cold and the snow and the heavy traffic up and down the mountain, these stairs were covered with ice and compacted snow – no easy walking, let me tell you. However, going up was only mildly hazardous and involved only a few slips and falls with no injuries for anyone.

The time: 3:45. We still haven’t made it to the top – it’s taking a lot longer than we were told and a lot longer than we expected. The members of my group have changed and shifted many times, with groups splitting off, dividing, and finding other members of other groups and absorbing them into our own. Well. By now it’s taken so long to get to not-the-top that we are obligated to get to the top, otherwise we’ll never be able to get the cable car down in time. No problem.

Traci, Shay and I all made it to the very top, the true top of the mountain, just the three of us. By this time it really was about 4:45, so we knew we would be a little late, but not terribly much so because we were going to take the cable cars.

The cable cars were not at the top of the mountain.

We started to descend to find the cable cars. Earlier, we had gotten separated from the bulk of our group: Oliver, Kelly, Lani, Sofia, Mario, and Derek. We made it down to a lower palace – no cable cars. The maps provided were poor, inaccurate, and didn’t show you where you were on the map.

It started getting later.

Traci tried to call our program director, Wentao, to tell her we were running a little late.

We had no cell phone reception on the mountain.

We found a payphone at one of the palaces, the kind that requires a phone card to use.

We didn’t even have a credit card.

We found some Chinese hikers and asked them if they knew where the cable cars were (in Chinese, of course). Their response: “Meiyou.” Which mean that there aren’t any, but we knew there were, so we just figured we asked the question poorly (especially since I didn’t know the word for “cable car,” so I just substituted the word for “car”).

We continued to descend. Suddenly, the clear, sweet sound of a cell phone ring sliced through the air! Traci had reception! We stopped in our tracks, fearful that any movement might cause the cell phone reception to falter. It was Oliver, long-lost member of our group!

He bore no good news. “The cable cars have been shut down,” he said. By this point it was at least 5:15.

Oliver said he and everyone else would wait for us while we made it to where they were, which is where the cable cars should have been had they been operating. We made it there pretty quickly and rejoined the rest of our group (except Sofia, Mario, and Derek, who had gone ahead). He also said he had managed to get in touch with Wentao, but he got cut off before they could say anything terribly useful.

On top of this, we had been told previously by Wentao that if we were ever more than fifteen minutes late, she would leave without us. So we were faced with the prospect of being an hour and a half away (driving time) from Chengdu, with potentially no way of getting back. To quote Will’s favorite phrase, “Na, zenme ban?” (“Then what are we to do?”)

The hour was getting later, and we began our long descent. Believe me, the going was not easy. The stairs might not have been so good on the way up, but they were ten times worse on the way down. We saw people struggling all around us just to remain upright. The stairs were narrow, slick, icy, and exceptionally dangerous. In fact, the situation we found ourselves in was so absurd that it had become hilarious.

Ah, but the best is yet to come! Like I said, the stairs were in terrible condition. So bad, in fact, that it was simply not possible to remain standing up. Traci was the first to discover our solution. She slipped and went sliding down the stairs on her rear end. What can I say? A good thing catches on quickly. Pretty soon all of us were crawling down the mountain on all fours, or sliding à la Traci.

It grew later yet – at least 6:00. Oliver was having the time of his life. “I have now had the pleasure,” he said, “of watching five women slide down a mountain on their butts!”

I suppose it was inevitable. Traci took a tumble and actually got hurt; she banged up her wrist pretty badly, painfully enough that she was in tears. Oliver helped her down a little ways and she took some time to recover. However, she could still move all her fingers, albeit with slight twinges of pain, so we trudged on.

6:30. And you know what that means. It’s about to get dark.

Much to our surprise, we ran into more people from our group! Daniel, Colin, and Sol were still on the mountain, moving very slowly, because Colin has a bad back and bad eyesight and was not doing so well. That makes at least 12 people still on the mountain, almost two hours after we were supposed to have gotten off it. That’s a fair chunk when there are only 25 people total.

We got in touch with Wentao again, who said that if we made it to a particular lake by 7:00, she would wait for us.

It was getting darker by the minute. Still climbing down icy stairs, we were having more and more trouble seeing the next step.

Poor Traci. She has a bad knee, and after all the exercise it had gotten climbing up stairs (and sliding down them), she could barely walk without assistance. So, a little more sure-footed than she, I put my arm around her to help her down to the lake, which was right around the corner.

At the lake, we found Mario. Sofia and Derek had gone ahead already, he said. There was a ferry that you had to take to cross the lake, which cost 5 RMB, and he didn’t have any money, so he had stayed behind to wait for us.

Once we made it across the lake, we still had to get to the entrance gate, which involved more stairs. And it was completely dark.

Traci had a little LED flashlight with a push-button, so she gave it to me. The problem was that in order to keep it on, you have to be applying constant pressure to the button.

My hands were so cold that I couldn’t keep the button depressed. Supporting Traci again, we walked down the rest of the mountain step by step, with the inconsistent light from her little flashlight, since I couldn’t keep it lit.

The ten of us took our little train all the way to the entrance gate. The second we stepped outside, in the inky blackness of a night on Green Mountain, we exploded into cheers, hugged each other, shouted, and rejoiced. There were cries of, “We had made it out alive! We SURVIVED!” We found someone to take a picture of our group of survivors, and we rejoiced some more.

It was 7:30, nearly three hours after we were supposed to be off the mountain.

Fortunately, Wentao had not abandoned us. We got on the bus, and at last we were off the mountain and on our way back to Chengdu.

It took me at least half an hour to regain warmth and feeling in my fingers. I know I said that when I came to China, I wanted to have lots of adventures.

This isn’t quite what I had in mind.

Sliding down the mountain! Shay is in front, with Traci right behind. Up higher, you can also see Kelly sliding down. Oliver and Lani are actually on their feet.

Multilingual Mishaps

2008-01-24T06:02:00.000-08:00

Once, on a business trip in French-speaking Europe, my father asked the person working at the front desk when the cruise ship (navire) would arrive to take him to the airport – except that he really meant to say shuttle (navette). Tonight, I spent some time with my first official Chinese friend, Gaotian. I am helping her with French, and in return, she is helping me with Chinese. Now, in China, when you go out to dinner with someone, you are supposed to argue over who pays the bill. Everyone is supposed to want to pay. So once we finished eating, I tried to tell her I should pay since she came to my apartment, and at my apartment she is my guest. The word for “guest” is keren. However, the verb qing means “to invite,” so I thought, not knowing the word keren, maybe the word for guest was qingren. I was wrong, though; when I told her she was my qingren, she started laughing hysterically because I had just called her my mistress.

Gender Equity at Home? I Think Not.

2008-01-23T00:09:00.000-08:00

Imagine, if you will, the following scenario. Yes! Rebekah has arrived in China! Land of beautiful scenery, the language I’ve been studying for the past three years, and delicious food. Hurrah! I get to learn how to cook authentic Chinese food! No way! I mean, for goodness sake, I already have requests from all my family and friends for delicious, homemade Chinese meals when I get back. Now imagine my excitement when I realize I have my own kitchen. I mean, not mine personally, but shared but all six people who live in the apartment. It’s large, well-equipped with pots and pans and the like, and at my absolute disposal. Could life get any better? But upon closer inspection, my excitement fades. The original color of the counters is a mystery. The floor is so visibly dirty that it makes me shudder to walk in there with only socks on my feet. The dishes are in a heightened state of disarray. Let me pause for a brief moment to introduce my apartment mates. There’s me, of course, and Liz right next door to me. Also on our floor is Solomon, the friendly Korean fellow who’s studying Chinese as well. On the second floor we have Matt, Jason (who we never see – it’s still a mystery where he spends his days), and Brant, the most clearly non-Asian in the entire apartment. He’s no less than six feet tall, muscular, imposing, and has curly blond hair (the coup de tete, as it were). Okay, boys and girls. Time for a lesson in gender differences. I have chosen to take this semester as an excellent opportunity to really learn how to cook. But in this kitchen, in which I fear for my life every time I walk in? Not a chance. So I decided the kitchen needed to be cleaned, thoroughly, from top to bottom, and I recruited Liz (who, also being female, thought the kitchen was equally disgusting). So we get into the kitchen and realize it’s far worse than we thought. The griddles are so thickly covered in years of leftovers from cooking mishaps that they’re stuck to the stovetop. The counters are frighteningly black. Half the dishes are still filthy even after being washed. The tiled walls are caked with grime. In corners we find something suspiciously mold-like growing. The floor is nearly unidentifiable. Now, keep this in mind for just a minute. Liz informed Brant of our intention to clean the kitchen. His reply: “Is it even dirty?” I’m not even kidding. Boys! Honestly. So we come to the actual cleaning. Liz started with the refrigerator (and a fine job she did, too!). She cleaned it out and discovered icky things that hadn’t seen the light of day in far too long. Among the best was something that probably used to be some variety of meat about a year and a half ago. On top of that, she organized, rearranged, put things in order, cleaned out cabinets, and so much more. I couldn’t have done it all without her! I started with the dishes and the countertops. Once I got going, like I said, I realized that many of the dishes were permanently disgusting. I washed, I scrubbed, I used lots of soap, and yet they looked to be in exactly the same condition as before I started. I had much more success with the countertops. Liz and I found a bottle of some heavy-duty kitchen cleaner, and it made all the difference. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that the countertops were actually white! And that in some previous lifetime, the griddles were silver! And those weren’t the only discoveries we made. We also uncovered a fancy black light dish dryer, a towel bar, and a little lion design on the wall that had been previously invisible. On top of that, we found at least a hundred chopsticks, no fewer than three full bags of rice, three bags of salt, two bags of sugar, and such an array of cutlery that we’ll never be at a loss for a knife again. The true triumph will come when we manage to get the floor passably clean. We did a preliminary washing, but in order to be livable, that floor will have to be washed at least once more. Liz and I have decided to let the floor dry and then wash it again this evening. The other part left unfinished was the sticky griddles, which are so irreparably dirty that we’re going to buy steel wool and try again later. However, as payback for the hard work Liz and I put in, I think the boys should wash all our dishes for the next two weeks. I know my mother is proud, reading this. “I knew I raised her right!” she’s thinking. Tomorrow we’re tackling the bathroom, in which some disgusting smell has pervaded since we arrived. Wish us luck. If I never return… you’ll know what happened. Or maybe you’ll just wish you didn’t.

A Note on Surviving Chengdu Pedestrianism

2008-01-21T00:37:00.001-08:00

Have you ever noticed how orderly and linear American drivers are? Perhaps not – perhaps it is just assumed to be normal. Well, let me tell you, of all the countries I’ve been to, never have I seen drivers that are quite as organized and orderly as they are in America. Chinese drivers may take the cake, as it were, in terms of lack of linearity. They are left, right, zig-zag, backwards, squiggly, but never straight. In that vein, now seems like an excellent time to include Rebekah’s very own How-To-Survive guide to being a pedestrian in Chengdu. First, whatever you do, never assume a car will stop for you. This is rarely the case, as Chengdu drivers stop for no one. When crossing the street, as the old adage goes, make sure to look both ways! Otherwise, it may be the death of you. Second, keep in mind that lanes in the street are basically meaningless. If you decide to take a taxi somewhere, this will immediately become apparent. Since Chengdu drivers stop for no obstacle (see above), they tend to drive on the opposite side of the street in order to avoid obstacles rather than (heaven forbid) slow down. So if you see another car coming at you head-on, try not to panic; this is normal. Third, there are people employed by the government that stand at street corners and tell pedestrians when to cross by means of whistle-blowing and flag-waving. Their purpose is to make the cars stop in order to provide safe passage for those on foot. Feel free to ignore them. Everyone else does. Especially the drivers. Fourth, if you happen to be subject to an unfortunate confluence of circumstances and get knocked over (whether on bike or on foot), don’t expect any help from anyone. Unless you’re clearly injured or dead (in which case this is a moot point), people will just stare. The driver will most likely not even talk to you. Just get up, shake it off, and continue on to your final destination. Finally, don’t hesitate to cross the street when it’s technically illegal to do so. Even if cars are coming at you, since the drivers will just go around you (see tip #2). Just keep right on walking. Jaywalking is not an issue. Well, I think that does it. Now if you ever come to China, you will know how to cross the street without getting killed. Hurrah!

2008-01-19T00:09:00.000-08:00

Yellow Dragon Town

Today we went on a field trip! We went to Yellow Dragon River Town, an ancient city about an hour outside of Chengdu. (Actually, I was informed that although the town is ancient, the buildings are new. I have yet to truly understand how that makes this place qualify as ancient.)

Although I enjoyed the visit, it came with its own stresses. Our program director, Wentao, found Chinese families for all of us to spend the day with. For those of us who knew even minimal Chinese, she assigned us the families that spoke little to no English. My family consisted of five people – a husband and wife and their daughter, and another mother and daughter. Unfortunately, I can’t remember anyone’s name except for one of the little ones, who was called Yueyue.

Well, let me tell you – this highlighted just how much essential vocabulary is missing from my Chinese education. It was good to spend time with the family and talk to them in Chinese, but most of the time I had no idea what they were saying. The zenith came when we were riding in the car to Yellow Dragon Town and they were trying to solve riddles and asked me for help. I didn’t even know what the riddle was asking, let alone be able to solve it in Chinese!

Despite the lack of coherent conversation, we did eat a fabulous lunch. I got the dad to write down the names (in Chinese) of my two favorite dishes, which were really phenomenal. The first was sweet and sour cabbage, and the second was fish-flavored eggplant. Now, I know that latter sounds absolutely bizarre, but the eggplant doesn’t actually taste like fish – it’s just cooked in the same spices they use to prepare meat.

Before my family left to go back to Chengdu, one of the moms gave me a little flower hat (which you can see a picture of). About half the flowers were actually fresh, and the plum blossoms smelled wonderful. I felt like I should be performing in a Shakespeare play!

Another highlight (of which I am also including a picture) was grinding soybeans into tofu (again, in my awesome hat). My family explained to me (in what I could understand) that this is how tofu was made a long time ago. It was hard work! It was a bit of an awkward contraption and it kept getting stuck at inopportune angles.

In other news, I’m done with my first week of classes! I really like my Chinese class – my teacher really knows what she’s talking about. Tai Chi is pretty fun too, although I need to work on some of my moves this weekend. I have yet to actually have the cooking class, so I don’t know how good it’s going to be. Calligraphy was pretty dull this week, but we’re going to buy brushes and ink tomorrow morning, so hopefully it’ll get more interesting.

I think that’s all for now. Over and out from the other side of the world!

A Lesson in Cultural Ineptitude

2008-01-14T23:07:00.000-08:00

Well, we all knew there would be some difficulties once I got to China. Yesterday unquestionably qualifies as one of those times. Our first adventure was our return trip to Carrefour. Since we didn’t have enough time the first time (only an hour and a half, remember?), we decided to go back to the unbelievably over-stimulating supermarket. We all found lovely space heaters (because gas is expensive and our rooms are a tad chilly) as well as other bulky, ungainly purchases. There were five of us on that fated day: Will, Traci, Shayron, Liz, and myself. Well, it came time to check out. Traci and I were the last to make our purchases. We paid without incident. But lo and behold! Traci and I could not find the other three! We searched about high and low, left and right, near and far, but we could not find our counterpart. Traci and I decided the other three went ahead and without us, so we decided to try and hail a taxi. Mind you, Chengdu is a city of a thousand taxis. Everywhere you look, there are taxis! Loads of them! Waiting at a single stoplight there may be as many as 15 within a mere 100 feet! Yet when Traci and I tried to hail a cab, we were baffled by our inability to do so. Every single of the umpteen taxis that passed us by were either occupied or ignored us completely. We changed positions – we still could not get a taxi. We moved down the street – still no taxi. After a frustrating half-hour long attempt to find a taxi, we decided to hoof it and head back home with our bulky boxes on foot. Halfway home, Traci slipped (the sidewalks here are tiled, I don’t know why, but they are quite slick when they get wet) and hurt herself, at which point I was at a total loss. We still couldn’t get a taxi, and now my friend was injured. Eventually we made it back to our respective apartments. Apparently while Traci and I were checking out, Will, Shayron, and Liz went outside because they didn’t know where to go once they had all their bags. Well, when they looked inside, they couldn’t find Traci and me. Each half spent quite a long time looking for the other half, checking other exits, and so on. And they couldn’t get a taxi either! So I guess we all walked home. Well, we were exhausted from this little mishap, which was a clear indication that we all need cell phones. We decided to go to the first restaurant we could find for dinner. Now, let me tell you a little about Sichuan province. This region of China is very well known for its food – it’s quite spicy, but quite good. The local regional specialty is called “Hotpot,” which is kind of like fondue. You get a pot of boiling broth and you dip meat and vegetables in it, let it cook a little while, and then eat it. We were warned by our program director to put off eating hotpot for a while because we probably wouldn’t be able to handle it at first. We came to a restaurant. It was close to home and well populated. Great! Inside we go. We’re shown to a table. We realize there’s a big pit in the middle of the table – uh oh. This is a bad sign. We are given a Chinese menu, of which we only know a fraction of the characters. Oh man. Half the restaurant staff comes over to try and overcome the language barrier that surrounds us. They’re trying to explain to us what to do in a mix of Chinese and English. We’re totally clueless. Will and I are sinking in our seats, incredibly embarrassed about all the attention we’re drawing to ourselves. Other customers in the restaurant are watching. Someone from another table tries to comes over and help out. Eventually we communicate that we would like vegetables and that they should just pick food for us to eat. Whew! First hurdle passed. But when the food comes – oh man, when the food comes, we have no idea what to do. They keep giving us more and more and no one has more than 50 kuai on them (about $7). The restaurant looks upscale. We start getting nervous that we won’t be able to pay for our meal. We’re surrounded by food and have no idea what to do with it. We’re just staring at the vegetables and at the broth boiling in the middle of the table, unsure of how to proceed. One waitress, taking pity on us, comes over and makes us each a sauce out of the two kinds of broth in the middle, MSG, sugar, and plum sauce. She dumps all the vegetables and meat into the broth to let it cook. She shows us what to do, how to fish it out once its done cooking. Overwhelmed, we still have no idea what we’re doing. Somehow, though, we managed to get through the meal, and it wasn’t nearly as expensive as we thought it might be. We paid, we left, we feel asleep out of sheer exhaustion and an unsettling feeling of cultural ineptitude. Today, on the other hand, we started classes. Hurrah! So far I’ve had my Chinese class, which I love. My teacher seems to really know what she’s talking about and know how to teach effectively. Later on today, I have Taichi. It’s going to be a great semester!

2008-01-13T00:17:00.000-08:00

Imagine the madness of outfitting an entire apartment in the space of one and a half hours. Now add to your image a supermarket that sells everything imaginable, one that could easily fit five Walmarts inside it and still have room to grow. If you have accurately imagined the above, you will understand what I went through today. We made it to Chengdu without incident and promptly were driven to our apartments. I am on the ninth floor of my apartment building, in a gigantic six-person apartment. I have the smallest room (which means the cheapest rent) which is passable but sadly lacks a desk. The other major drawback is that at this point, I have only managed to turn on the air conditioning in my room. As far as I know, everyone else has a heater that is working. Mine only blows out cold air! So after we made it to our apartments, we headed for Carrefour, the gigantic supermarket I alluded to earlier. If ever there were anything that was unbelievably overwhelming, this would be it. Aisles crowded with people and merchandise, innumerable brands and choices, countless products, multiple floors. In my mad dash around the store, I only managed to procure a fraction of what I actually need, which means I will be going shopping tomorrow too. The good news is that I found really awesome sheets and now have a mug, plate, and bowl. I think the mug is my favorite – it has one of those really fantastic pseudo-translations from Chinese to English, which could not have possibly been done by an English speaker; it proudly proclaims, “Dream of the candy.” So you want to know what China is like? For less than $30, I got a quilt cover, a bed sheet, two pillowcases, laundry detergent, a gigantic bottle of water, two clementines, a mug, a plate, and a bowl. UPDATE (The above was written yesterday): My heat is working! And we have hot water! I was still so cold though that I slept with two quilts, a heavy duty sleeping bags, woolen socks (borrowed from my roommate), and a sweater. Another room came up with the solution of all sleeping in the same bed (apparently they were very warm). I think I might buy a space heater. Pictures of the apartment are to come. I just haven’t taken any yet!