I should buy a lotto ticket, because today is my lucky day.
There are two confirmed cases of swine flu in China. One is out west, far away from me.
The other is here in Jinan.
Of the 1.3 billion people in this country, it just figures that of the two infected people, one of them has to be living in the same city as I am. What are the odds of that? A little under 0.5%?
In fact, the patient is currently housed in Jinan's infectious disease hospital, right up the street from my campus. And since I reside on the medical campus, a non-negligible percentage of the people in the area either work or study in this hospital.
Oh goody.
Naturally, Jinan residents can now talk about nothing but swine flu. Face masks are flying off the shelves. People are staying inside. Any and everything is being disinfected with vinegar, so the streets smell kinda funny. Everyone is reminiscing about SARS. And then there's me, with my sad little American immune system, which is pretty much a magnet for foreign diseases of all kinds.
By my calculations, it's just a matter of time.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Monday, May 11, 2009
Summer Lovin'
In China, May 1 is a magical day. Not only is it the national Workers' Day celebration, but it is also the symbolic start of summer, much as Memorial Day is in the U.S. Before May 1, it might be 85 degrees out but everyone will still be wearing boots, long sleeves, and jackets. After May 1, even 75 degree weather is deserving of a pastel hued skirt and a puffy blouse.
In addition to the freedom to wear weather-appropriate clothing, there is much to love about summer in Jinan. First of all, there are the famous Jinan mosquitoes.
Larger and noisier than your average American mosquito, Jinan mosquitoes are both plentiful and skilled. No matter though, these clever insects also offer a golden opportunity. I am referring, of course, to the requisite mosquito net that is hung over every single bed in town. Far from being a nuisance, the mosquito net is effective at keeping unwanted guests off of your bed, and I personally enjoy the way in which it makes me feel like a princess sleeping under a graceful canopy of tulle.
Summer in Jinan also marks the beginning of the wet season. While I went my first six months in town without ever needing an umbrella, the past few weeks have been marked by torrential downpours and violent thunderstorms. Our campus has the added advantage of turning into a major tributary to the Yellow River during such storms. Students and faculty alike are forced to don rubber flip-flops and wade through ankle deep streams in order to get from one place to another. This water is teeming with plastic bags, dirty chopsticks, used wrappers of all kinds, and anything that happened to be on the tires of the many cars that drive through campus. Because of this, I have been cautioned to wrap my feet in plastic if I have any open wounds.
To the many pleasures of warm weather, Chinese men have also added that of seeing them stroll around shirtless. Indeed, sans-top is the preferred attire for enjoying barbecue.
And just when you think things can't get any better, consider this. The cold beverage of choice in the summertime is a large bottle of beer, to be enjoyed at any time of day.
Let the good times begin.
In addition to the freedom to wear weather-appropriate clothing, there is much to love about summer in Jinan. First of all, there are the famous Jinan mosquitoes.
Larger and noisier than your average American mosquito, Jinan mosquitoes are both plentiful and skilled. No matter though, these clever insects also offer a golden opportunity. I am referring, of course, to the requisite mosquito net that is hung over every single bed in town. Far from being a nuisance, the mosquito net is effective at keeping unwanted guests off of your bed, and I personally enjoy the way in which it makes me feel like a princess sleeping under a graceful canopy of tulle.
Summer in Jinan also marks the beginning of the wet season. While I went my first six months in town without ever needing an umbrella, the past few weeks have been marked by torrential downpours and violent thunderstorms. Our campus has the added advantage of turning into a major tributary to the Yellow River during such storms. Students and faculty alike are forced to don rubber flip-flops and wade through ankle deep streams in order to get from one place to another. This water is teeming with plastic bags, dirty chopsticks, used wrappers of all kinds, and anything that happened to be on the tires of the many cars that drive through campus. Because of this, I have been cautioned to wrap my feet in plastic if I have any open wounds.To the many pleasures of warm weather, Chinese men have also added that of seeing them stroll around shirtless. Indeed, sans-top is the preferred attire for enjoying barbecue.
And just when you think things can't get any better, consider this. The cold beverage of choice in the summertime is a large bottle of beer, to be enjoyed at any time of day.
Let the good times begin.
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Funny ha ha
Two "jokes" involving Americans:
A middle aged Chinese woman and a middle aged American woman both own houses.
The American woman: "Hooray! I've finally paid off my mortgage!"
The Chinese woman: "Hooray! I've finally saved enough to buy a house!"
An American travels to Kaifeng city. He is critical of everything: the buildings are too short, the roads are filled with potholes, the houses are in disrepair. Finally, a Chinese street vendor hears him complaining and gets annoyed.
"This city is five thousand years old!" he exclaims. "It was once the national capital of China!"
He points to the pot he is using to make his soup.
"This single pot has a longer history than your entire country! It hasn't been washed in over 300 years!"
The American maintained a shamed silence for the rest of his trip.
The funny thing is, I don't find either of these offensive at all, even though I think they're kinda supposed to be. On the contrary, I am intrigued by this 300 year old pot. Apparently Kaifeng actually is famous for soup prepared in never-washed pots. Sign me up!
A middle aged Chinese woman and a middle aged American woman both own houses.
The American woman: "Hooray! I've finally paid off my mortgage!"
The Chinese woman: "Hooray! I've finally saved enough to buy a house!"
An American travels to Kaifeng city. He is critical of everything: the buildings are too short, the roads are filled with potholes, the houses are in disrepair. Finally, a Chinese street vendor hears him complaining and gets annoyed.
"This city is five thousand years old!" he exclaims. "It was once the national capital of China!"
He points to the pot he is using to make his soup.
"This single pot has a longer history than your entire country! It hasn't been washed in over 300 years!"
The American maintained a shamed silence for the rest of his trip.
The funny thing is, I don't find either of these offensive at all, even though I think they're kinda supposed to be. On the contrary, I am intrigued by this 300 year old pot. Apparently Kaifeng actually is famous for soup prepared in never-washed pots. Sign me up!
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Profiling
Political correctness, in the American sense of the term, does not exist in China. While Chinese courtesy does require certain niceties ("please, sit!" "nonono, YOU sit!" "no, please, you first!"), honest observations about appearance are often articulated.
For example, one of my friends is constantly (and lovingly) told by her parents that she is by far the ugliest of her four sisters. They are being serious. No matter though, she'll own up to it and prides herself instead on her "slender legs" and outgoing personality.
Friends will often offer up critical examinations of each another's looks. Little Cong has bad skin. Yali has a fat face. Little Yan is too short and chubby. I acclimated early on to comments on every aspect of my appearance from my nose ("so big!") to my legs ("so thick!") to my weight ("you're fat"). Supposedly, however, I have nice hair. So there's that.
In addition to comments on an individual's appearance, many Chinese enjoy making blanket statements based on ethnicity. A lifetime in the U.S. has made it more difficult for me to accept these comments without feeling uncomfortable. I mean, seriously. I dare you to read the rest of this entry without flinching at least once.
I now present to you, the peoples of the world, from a Chinese perspective.
Japanese - immoral, steal Chinese culture, treat women poorly
Russians - hot women, hairy men
Jews - clever, mysterious
Pakistanis, Indians - smell bad, very loud
Americans - fat, outgoing, rich
black people - big lips, big butts, exotic
white people - big eyes, big noses, good skin
Yikes.
With this cultural background in mind, then, it should have come as no surprise to me that a popular brand of toothpaste here is called "Black Man's Toothpaste".
When I expressed surprise and discomfort with the brand, my friend rebuked me. Didn't I know that black people all have sparkling white teeth?
A quick google search soon revealed that the English name for this brand used to be "Darkie", but, in the name of PC-ness, was changed to "Darlie" sometime in the 1980s.
Subtle, no?
For example, one of my friends is constantly (and lovingly) told by her parents that she is by far the ugliest of her four sisters. They are being serious. No matter though, she'll own up to it and prides herself instead on her "slender legs" and outgoing personality.
Friends will often offer up critical examinations of each another's looks. Little Cong has bad skin. Yali has a fat face. Little Yan is too short and chubby. I acclimated early on to comments on every aspect of my appearance from my nose ("so big!") to my legs ("so thick!") to my weight ("you're fat"). Supposedly, however, I have nice hair. So there's that.
In addition to comments on an individual's appearance, many Chinese enjoy making blanket statements based on ethnicity. A lifetime in the U.S. has made it more difficult for me to accept these comments without feeling uncomfortable. I mean, seriously. I dare you to read the rest of this entry without flinching at least once.
I now present to you, the peoples of the world, from a Chinese perspective.
Japanese - immoral, steal Chinese culture, treat women poorly
Russians - hot women, hairy men
Jews - clever, mysterious
Pakistanis, Indians - smell bad, very loud
Americans - fat, outgoing, rich
black people - big lips, big butts, exotic
white people - big eyes, big noses, good skin
Yikes.
With this cultural background in mind, then, it should have come as no surprise to me that a popular brand of toothpaste here is called "Black Man's Toothpaste".
When I expressed surprise and discomfort with the brand, my friend rebuked me. Didn't I know that black people all have sparkling white teeth?
A quick google search soon revealed that the English name for this brand used to be "Darkie", but, in the name of PC-ness, was changed to "Darlie" sometime in the 1980s.
Subtle, no?
Monday, May 4, 2009
That's Entertainment
As a bustling city with a population of around six million, it is unsurprising that Jinan is bursting with activities designed to meet the cultural, shopping, and entertainment needs of its people. There is a karaoke bar on every street corner, its neon lights promising an evening of Chinese pop and American oldies. Night markets abound, consisting mainly of merchants who spread their wares on tattered blankets on the sidewalk and shout at passers-by. And restaurants stay open late - almost til 9:00!
Despite this array of exciting leisure activities, I can sometimes find myself at a loss. There are only so many hours you can spend belting out 1990s pop hits before everyone starts to look like this:
And really? Do I actually need another $2 t-shirt?
It may be for these reasons that I was so excited to head down to the Yellow River Park last weekend. I spent the whole day there, and returned home flushed and exhausted from so much fun. I gushed about my experience to the visiting Americans in my dorm, and wholeheartedly recommended that they embark on the same outing. When pressed for details on why it was so fun, however, I found that the words coming out of my mouth did not necessarily match the enthusiasm with which I said them. For example:
"They have a swing!"
Okay... so does every American playground.
"You can pop colored balloons with a pellet gun!"
Sure, that's fun...if you're eight years old.
"They have hammocks!"
Yeah, so does my backyard.
Hmmm...
It suddenly hit me that what I was describing seemed to deserve the label "lame". Was I actually recommending a run-down park resembling a kiddie fair ground to a bunch of mature medical students? What happened to me??
I spent the next two days in a sulk, questioning my own judgment and sanity. There was no question that I had a blast at the Yellow River, but was it because my notion of "fun" had regressed to that of an elementary school student? Or was it objectively a good time? Not even a night of ktv could cheer me up. ("Larger than Life"? Again? Meh.)
But then, on the third day, a miracle! My American friends spent the day at the Yellow River... and loved it! I was redeemed! They showered me with praise for sticking to my guns (ha, ha) and convincing them to check out the park despite their initial doubts.
Granted, they spent more time on the ATVs and less time on the swings than I did, but still.
Despite this array of exciting leisure activities, I can sometimes find myself at a loss. There are only so many hours you can spend belting out 1990s pop hits before everyone starts to look like this:
And really? Do I actually need another $2 t-shirt?
It may be for these reasons that I was so excited to head down to the Yellow River Park last weekend. I spent the whole day there, and returned home flushed and exhausted from so much fun. I gushed about my experience to the visiting Americans in my dorm, and wholeheartedly recommended that they embark on the same outing. When pressed for details on why it was so fun, however, I found that the words coming out of my mouth did not necessarily match the enthusiasm with which I said them. For example:
"They have a swing!"
Okay... so does every American playground.
"You can pop colored balloons with a pellet gun!"
Sure, that's fun...if you're eight years old.
"They have hammocks!"
Yeah, so does my backyard.
Hmmm...
It suddenly hit me that what I was describing seemed to deserve the label "lame". Was I actually recommending a run-down park resembling a kiddie fair ground to a bunch of mature medical students? What happened to me??
I spent the next two days in a sulk, questioning my own judgment and sanity. There was no question that I had a blast at the Yellow River, but was it because my notion of "fun" had regressed to that of an elementary school student? Or was it objectively a good time? Not even a night of ktv could cheer me up. ("Larger than Life"? Again? Meh.)
But then, on the third day, a miracle! My American friends spent the day at the Yellow River... and loved it! I was redeemed! They showered me with praise for sticking to my guns (ha, ha) and convincing them to check out the park despite their initial doubts.
Granted, they spent more time on the ATVs and less time on the swings than I did, but still.
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