Takes a Village

Ahhh. To be a Chinese child.

The fun starts right at birth when, instead of being burdened with diapers, Chinese babies are simply clothed in pants with a convenient slit in the buttocks region. In the pre-walking months, parents will simply dangle their child butt-down over the desired location. Once they're old enough to toddle around on their own, they can squat for themselves whenever nature calls. In addition to the toilet, the street, sidewalk, and local greenery are all fair game.

Kids in China also enjoy an elevated social status. Unlike American children, who are unwelcome in many restaurants and are often subjected to either looks of disgust and pointed comments, or awkward encounters with adults who are uncomfortable interacting with humans under twenty years of age, Chinese children are treated like national treasures. Everyone enjoys hanging out with and joking around with kids, from the hardened wannabe tough guy to groups of cliquey teenagers. On my last train ride, two college-aged boys spent a full hour speaking in squeaky voices pretending to be the popular cartoon character "Happy Lamb" in order to engage the interest of a stray child running around the car.

Happy Lamb

Children are also a regular fixture at most restaurants. Instead of being condescendingly handed a children's menu and crayons, Chinese children are expected to partake of "adult food", which, to their credit, they seem to enjoy immensely.

The only apparent downside to being a Chinese child is that physical punishment is freely embraced. Until recently, teachers were encouraged to hit their students for misbehavior or forgetting a lesson. Spankings and violent yankings are commonplace. And a popular discipline tactic appears to be an exaggerated bout of animated high-pitched scolding, seemingly intended more to shock and embarrass the miscreant than to impart any information. Moreover, this scolding can come from any nearby adult; it is not limited to the parents of the child in question.

These discipline tactics appear to be quite effective, as the children I have had the pleasure to interact with have all been quite spirited and fun, from the charismatic seven-year old who administered me an English test, to the boy who enjoyed wearing his baby sister's lingerie-type silk bib while using his plastic Transformer figure to wage war on unsuspecting adults.

This youngster also enjoyed standing on the roof of his house and urinating into the family courtyard, a hobby that I'm sure will win him points with the ladies when he gets older.

I have also learned a lot about fashion from observing Chinese children. If and when I ever have children of my own, I fully intend to dress them in this:

I am also fond of the ever-classy mother-daughter matching pajamas look.

Clearly my experience abroad will be put to good use in the future.

R.I.P.

It is with the deepest regret that I write to inform you that on the morning of September 13, 2009, "Jiminy", a friendly, music-loving Chinese cricket, passed away in a tragic shower accident. Affectionately called "Choo-choo" by those close to him, he overcame initial prejudices to become a treasured roommate and friend. Not a morning went by that he did not greet with with a cheerful song and upbeat attitude. He will be missed.

Jiminy

The common cricket enjoys an elevated status in many cultures. As insects go, it tends to be treated as one of the good guys. In the U.S., we are indoctrinated at a young age with classics such as "A Cricket in Times Square", and in the form of the unforgettable conscience of a certain wooden boy. In more recent years, a cricket stars as the high-pitched good luck charm of the eponymous heroine of the animated Disney feature, Mulan.

With these as my cricket role models, it's no wonder that my initial reaction to a cricket taking up residence in my bathroom was fairly positive. I was first made aware of his existence by an unusually resoundant chirping coming from the bathroom as I got ready for bed. I found it strangely soothing, and enjoyed my personal lullaby.

Over the next couple of days, I bragged about my new friend, and encouraged his singing by whistling in his general direction. (Turns out he's somewhat partial to the hit Korean song, "Nobody".）He gradually gained confidence, and his songs became louder and more frequent. And can you blame him? What musician doesn't love the acoustics of a tiled room?

But, inevitably, things started getting out of control. His songs were no longer limited to a few minutes at bedtime; they became endless oratorios worthy of a diva, and they started up at all hours. The other night I was rudely awakened at 2 am, and when I was finally able to fall asleep again an hour later, I dreamt of an angry cricket attacking me.

The last straw came yesterday, when he decided to move out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, taking up residence in a corner between some large furniture and the wall. Sneaky. I never realized how much the chirping of a cricket resembles the beeping of an alarm clock. High-pitched, insistent, perfectly-timed squeaks.

My friends have suggested various strategies to rid myself of my unwanted roomie. These have ranged from the bizarre ("get a loudspeaker and broadcast his song outside so that he can attract a mate and stop singing"), to the unpleasant ("squish him"), to the semi-practical ("catch him and sell him as a fighter").

Instead, I plan on adopting a hands-off policy. According to Wikipedia, crickets mate in late summer. That would be now. My only hope is that my little "friend" will realize that all of his musical wooing efforts are being wasted, since the only female in my room is me, and that he'll take his little show elsewhere.

Vale-comb to Chai-nah

I often imagine myself as having a Russian accent.

Well, no. Actually, I often imagine myself as having no accent at all. But I am rudely brought back to reality by conversations like this one:

Friend: Ooo! Your dress is so pretty!

Me: Haha, enough with all the flattery!

Friend: Why yes, I do enjoy eating jam.

Clearly, I have an accent of some kind.

Because I can’t really imagine what an American accent sounds like to a Chinese speaker, I make do with imagining myself as speaking English with a heavy Russian accent. (Fine, “generic East European”.) For example, my natural inclination might be to imagine that I’m saying:

“The U.S. is in the process of reforming its health care system.”

But a quick turn through my Mental Accent Amplifier (MAA) reveals that I’m actually saying something like

“Zee U.S. ees ree-vorrrming eetz – how you say? – hey-lth see-stem.”

Also, because my Chinese is far from perfect, I sometimes rely on simplistic synonyms to express myself. For example, instead of saying "I'm so sore after climbing that mountain yesterday. My legs feel like jello." I end up saying something like: "Yey-sterday I climb maunt-in. Too-day very sore. Mai leygs are laik a coh-stard day-zert."

I think I finally get why people are always laughing when I talk…

Like Music

There are many things one would prefer not to hear from the person preparing and serving your food, but I would say high up on the list is "I have a fever", followed by a series of muffled sniffles and a vigorous throat clearing.

We'll see if my newly strengthened immune system is up for the challenge.

Om

I love visiting Buddhist monasteries.

For me, the main attraction isn’t the quiet charm of a peaceful courtyard, or the humbling awe of seeing an enormous gold statue. No, for me, the best part is seeing the monks themselves.

With their shaved heads and long robes, monks are easy to spot. More often than not, they are wandering around the monastery, or perhaps trying to keep annoying tourists like me from snapping photos of holy images. But if you’re lucky, you can spot monks engaging in un-monk-like behavior. I am always on the watch for these moments.

The other day, I hit the jackpot. Not only did I spot an elderly monk enjoying a cold bottle of Coke, and a younger monk sporting a stylish Nike t-shirt under his robes, but I also happened upon this:

It is exactly what it looks like: a group of monks struggling to move a giant Buddha across the monastery. As the group made their way across the courtyard (“You! Watch the head!” “Okay, now turn! Turn!”), one monk happened to lose a shoe in the shuffle. Ever on the lookout, I spotted this immediately, and rushed to help. After delivering the shoe to its rightful owner, I was treated to a bunch of goofy monk grins, a hesitant “thank you?” in English, and embarrassed giggles all around.

No sirs, thank you.

The very next day, I headed out to Shaolin Monastery, famed home of the…wait for it…Shaolin monks, known worldwide for their amazing kung fu skills. Because of their glowing reputation and commitment to excellence, many parents send their sons to the monastery to be trained from a very young age.

Lots of young monks, of course, means lots of unruly behavior. My hopes were high, and as it turned out, I was not disappointed. During my visit, I saw several teenage monks playing a heated game of basketball, including one show-off who kept stealing the ball to engage in some fancy dribbling. Even more exciting, two young monks, apparently late for dinner, decided to skip the stairs and instead “surf” wildly down the stone ramp next to the stairs. After they’d gone, I noticed that the ramp was worn completely smooth, I can only assume from hundreds of years of young monk hooligans trying to make it to meals on time.

The highlight of my trip to Shaolin, however, came right as I was leaving the compound. I was walking down the road leading from the monastery to the visitors’ parking lot, when suddenly a motorcycle zipped past me, going well above the speed limit. As I looked to see who could possibly be driving so fast, imagine my joy at seeing two monks at the wheel, their orange robes billowing in the wind.

The perfect end to a perfect day.

Boys will be boys

As I’ve mentioned in the past, things in China are more gender segregated than they are in the U.S., so until now, my opportunities to observe young Chinese males in their natural habitat have been fairly limited. My recent trip to Hangzhou changed that for me. I was lucky enough to stay with friends of friends, who just happened to be twenty-something guys living on their own. It was truly an enlightening experience. Here’s what you need to know about Chinese boys.

Like American boys, Chinese boys enjoy watching basketball, listening to music, and playing video games. The NBA is especially popular here. Because an evening game in the U.S. translates to an early morning game in China, it is not uncommon for a committed Chinese fan to wake up early to watch the game in real time. Lebron James (“Jay-mee-suh”), Kobe Bryant (“Kuh-bee”), and of course Yao Ming (“Yao Ming”) enjoy an especially large following here.

In addition to these more traditional pastimes, Chinese guys also enjoy sharing seduction techniques and flaunting the law by downloading pornography—illegal in this country. I’m not especially versed in the pornographic preferences of American males, but I have to say that Chinese guys seem to have a well-rounded collection, including flicks from the U.S., Russia, Korea, and Japan, in addition to domestically produced films. Because there is no formal sex-ed in China, the fundamentals of intercourse are learned by frequent viewings of these educational aides.

In addition to their worldly tastes in erotica, Chinese boys are different from American boys in their affection for one another. Unlike in the U.S., where anything more than a friendly punch is socially unacceptable, Chinese boys enjoy the occasional hug or a casual hand on the shoulder. Or thigh.

A cigarette is also a must-have accessory for the hip Chinese male.

In fact, a pack of smokes and a lighter make up the majority of the contents of the ever-popular “man bag”.

While certain aspects of Chinese male culture would certainly not fly in the U.S., I find that despite these minor surface differences, boys really are all the same. It all boils down to sports, video games, girls, and a universal hatred of doing laundry. Be honest. Are you surprised?

I’m not.

Social Lubricant

To survive socially in China, I have found that you must have at least a rudimentary knowledge of Chinese card games. In Shandong, one of the most popular games is a complicated game for six players that involves the use of no less than four decks of cards. Needless to say, I have failed to master this game. Instead, I focus my efforts on the most popular game in the country, “Land Owner”, a simple three-player game very similar to the American game “Asshole”. Ever true to their Communist roots, the Chinese version entails one person being assigned the powerful role of Land Owner, while the other two “citizens” work together to prevent him from winning.

Playing cards is an essential part of traveling by train. Not only does it offer relief from the relentless tedium, but it also provides a service to those around you by presenting them with five-star entertainment. The sound of cards being shuffled is seemingly irresistible to anyone within a twenty foot radius—an audience gathers fast, and onlookers are not content to just watch, they also offer unsolicited advice on strategy. I once had the honor of having an eight year old boy lead me in a five game winning streak. It was a humbling experience.

If you plan on playing cards in China, in addition to the rules of the game, it is also important to know how to place your cards on the table. A casual toss or flick of the wrist is unacceptable, as is a crisp and precise placement in the middle of the pile. No, when playing Chinese cards, only a triumphant slapdown will win you respect. I’m talking a ninety-degree rotation of the shoulder, from above your head to the table, and a resounding smack when the card hits the table. Bonus points if you inadvertently send already-played cards flying to the floor with the force of your play.

As an indicator of my elevated social status, I have played cards in all manner of locales, including on a boat:

On a mountain:

and by a river:

Tomorrow morning I will be boarding a train headed to Kaifeng, the ancient capital of China. In preparation for the journey, I have purchased a new deck.

Relativity

One of the many perks of living in Jinan is that it makes any other city in the world seem like paradise. Hangzhou was no exception. To fully appreciate the joy and amazement I felt wandering around that beautiful city, you need to understand where I’ve been living for the past year. Therefore, today I offer you a visual compare and contrast between Hangzhou (insert angels singing here), and Jinan (insert deep rumbling here). Prepare to be awed.

In Jinan, the closest body of water is the cesspool in front of campus.

In Hangzhou, the closest body of water is the legendary Western Lake.

In Jinan, this is typical roadside scenery.

In Hangzhou, the streets are lined with green areas like this one.

In Jinan, you can’t see the city for the pollution.

In Hangzhou, the sky is blue blue blue.

A typical Jinan insect: the mosquito.

A typical Hangzhou insect: the dragonfly.

A typical college dorm room in Jinan has six to eight students stuffed in a tiny room.

College students in Hangzhou have their own rooms.

Which city would you rather live in?

Chillaxing

Now that the university has mostly emptied of both students and teachers, the atmosphere here on campus is much more laidback than it is during the school year. You may be wondering how I've been spending my free time. On any given day, you may find me...

1. Searching for the perfect shade of pink.

2. Introducing my friends to whiskey and coke. (A huge hit here, by the way.)

3. Partaking of Jinan delicacies such as the famous (and aptly named) "oil pancakes".

4. Perusing local markets in search of a bathing suit that is modest enough to wear in a conservative country like China, while also trying to avoid purchasing anything that my grandmother might be willing to wear (sorry Grand).

5. Finding spelling mistakes on billboards.

7. Spooning.

And tomorrow I'm hopping a 13 hour train ride headed for Hangzhou, supposedly one of the most beautiful cities in China. I'll let you know if it lives up to my lofty expectations...

The Price of Beauty

I love getting my hair cut in China. For $1 you can get a wash, cut, and blow dry. For $12 they'll dye and perm it for you too. Personally, I'm much more interested in the former than the latter, but brown hair dye and fake curls are all the rage among Chinese youngsters, male and female alike. Therefore, I dutifully accompanied my friend to the salon to take advantage of the $12 deal.

(Another convenient feature of a Chinese salon? Their long hours: 9 am to 10 pm. Cheap labor is a wonderful thing.)

While I was charmed by the amount of personal attention we received, I think my friend and I were both surprised by the length of time it took to dye and perm her hair. I don't know about you, but seven hours seems a bit excessive. Maybe it was because two of the five employees had only been in the hair business for three months? Whatever the reason, it wasn't all bad. It gave us a chance to make friends with the owner and staff. Our conversation ranged from Yao Ming (hot, or not? I say not.), to the details of the hair cutting business, to American foreign policy. By the end of the evening, we had become best buds. We walked one of the interns home after work, and the other one flirted shamelessly with us for four of the seven hours we were there. Here's a photo of him putting the moves on my friend:

While I had no intention of getting my hair cut when I walked into the salon, the staffs' enthusiasm for my hair eventually won me over. The owner literally made every staff member run their fingers through my hair just for the experience of feeling a foreigner's hair. They were very excited to get a chance to see what it looked like wet, so eventually they dropped their price down to zero, at which point I acquiesced. So yeah, I got a free wash, cut, and blow dry. Also, because they were bored and curious, they decided to play with the straightening iron too. Which, while isn't really on the top of my list of ways to spend a Friday afternoon, isn't necessarily at the bottom either.

Update: Remember how I said a reporter took my photo during the solar eclipse last week? Well, you can find it online here, along with that of an elderly gentleman and a small child.

Sarcasm-Free

I have recently been accused of adopting a sarcastic, cynical tone here. To put these outrageous claims to rest, today I will share with you a wholesome experience that is very near and dear to my heart: the recent solar eclipse. They say that to see another solar eclipse of this duration in China, you'll have to wait another 500 years.

In Jinan we only saw an 80% eclipse - the full eclipse was only visible in a narrow band south of here. My friend happened to be in this band during the eclipse, and reported that the whole sky went black. Nothing like that here, but the view we got was still pretty amazing. Plus, the temperature dropped about 10 degrees Farenheit, which was a nice respite from the brutal Jinan heat.

The morning of the eclipse, I woke up early and headed out to the campus soccer field with a friend in preparation for the 8:22 am start. You can't look directly at a solar eclipse, so we planned to use the "simple" method of viewing, which the internet and newspapers claimed was as easy as punching a small hole in a piece of paper and viewing the shadow. This is myth. Not only do you feel ridiculous standing outside in broad daylight staring at a tiny pinprick of light on the ground, but the pinprick doesn't actually change to show the eclipse.

Luckily, an elderly professor and his grandson had also come out to see the eclipse, and had actually come prepared with special glass lenses through which you can look directly at the sun without going blind. They were nice enough to let us share. Actually, the professor was so nice that he actually went over to the guys training on the soccer field, told them about the eclipse, and invited them over to take a look. I think they were relieved to take a break from carrying each other around.

Anyway, these magic lenses turned broad daylight into this:

We stood out in the field passing around the lenses until the peak of the eclipse at 9:40 am, at which point the seven year old grandson couldn't take the tedium any longer and forced Grandpa to take him home. (I had to respect this kid's persistence. His winning argument: "Grandpa, which gives off more UV rays, the sun or the TV? Huh, the sun, really? Well then I guess we'd better head home to the safety of the TV.") Newly lense-less, we decided to head over to the city square where they were selling cheapo lenses.

My friend had a bike, which meant that I got to do the girl thing and ride on the back. Chinese bikes all come equiped with a flat metal wire area over the back tire. Girls, and the occasional guy, often sit side-saddle on this "seat", turning the bicycle into a vehicle for two. This is not as easy as it sounds. First of all, Chinese bikers weave through traffic a lot, so you have to watch that your knees don't get smashed into a passing car. Plus, since your weight isn't distributed equally on both sides of the bike, you kinda have to lean back a little and constantly make tiny body adjustments. I spent the vast majority of the ride tensed with fear, gripping the seat for dear life. Once we got back to campus, though, I was brave enough to take this picture:

See my friend's back? He's pedaling, I'm sitting.

Anyway, back to the eclipse. Once we got to the city square, we bought some cheapo lenses of our own and watched the end of the eclipse. The crowd had thinned out a lot, but there were still quite a few spectators.

The TV stations and newspapers were there too, and a guy with a professional-looking camera took my picture for the local paper. He claimed he'd e-mail me the photos, but so far, nothing. This will have to suffice.

A final (only mildly sarcastic) note: Somehow, despite the fact that the moon was blocking 80% of the sun's rays, I still managed to get a nice sunburn to compliment my stylish sandal tan.

Apple a Day

This is Dr. Yi, one of the many village doctors that I met on my recent survey of China's rural areas.

In addition to enjoying the occasional slice of watermelon, he has the unique ability of making every child in the village cry on sight, probably because of his professional love of needles. He is also a favorite among the men in the village because of his tendency to hand out free cigarettes.

My interactions with him and other village doctors have taught me quite a lot about basic health care. Never one to deprive others of valuable health tips, let me share what I have learned.

- An effective cure for the common cold is an IV injection of sugar water.

- Antibiotics are a good way to both treat and prevent diarrhea.

- Flies do not pose a health risk and should be welcomed at the local clinic.

- Two pills are more effective than one; three pills are more effective than two; and four pills are more effective than three.

- When you have your period, you should:

+ Never ever exercise or engage in strenuous activity of any kind.

+ Avoid consuming any food or beverage that is not steaming hot (including water).

+ Drink a concoction of brown sugar and water to ease cramps.

- An appropriate nomiker for a bipolar patient is "the psycho".

With these tips in mind, who's up for a stay at the village health center?

Or how about the fever ward of the local hospital?

Personally, I may opt for the proverbial apple instead.

Paradise: Found

Imagine a world in which all of your friends and family members live within a few miles of your home. A world where kids regularly ride their bikes to their friends' houses without worrying about being abducted on the way. Where neighbors regularly stop by just to chat, and friendly neighborhood card games are a popular after-dinner pastime. This is a world in which families eat all of their meals together, and in which every meal is made with freshly picked organic vegetables from the garden.

Welcome to a rural Chinese village.

Before you start packing your bags and joining the approximately 87 million others living in this rustic paradise, note that some may claim that the lack of certain modern conveniences cast a shadow on this wholesome, down-to-earth living experience. These party poopers might point out that the typical village bathroom is an open air slosh pit that doubles as a maggot breeding area compost heap, and that water has to be hand-pumped from a well in the yard. But what these pessimists don’t realize is that many of these so-called "inconveniences" are actually advantages.

For example, sure, the floor might be made of dirt, but hey! No need to mop or vacuum! And yeah, no computers, but who needs the internet anyway, with all of your friends and family living so close? If you want to know what's going on in the world, just turn on the TV and tune in to one of the three government-sponsored news channels available.

Another advantage of village life is that you no longer have to spend all of your time in a sterile office reliving scenes from "The Office" and complaining about lack of lumbar support. In the village, you can connect with nature by spending your working hours gardening, or as they call it, "farming". Sure, this may occasionally involve some tiresome tasks such as planting seeds, fertilizing, spraying toxic chemicals, and weeding, but on the bright side, you'll get to work on your tan. And hey, if it rains, go ahead and take the day off, God’s treat!

Sounds pretty idyllic, no? And if that’s not enough, real estate is dirt cheap: for less than $5000 you can set yourself up in a sweet crib with all of the amenities I’ve mentioned here.

Who’s with me?

Birthday Fun

Today was my friend's birthday.

Like birthdays in the U.S., my friend's celebration included cake, candles, snacks, and beer.

Unlike birthdays in the U.S., it also involved a rousing variation on duck-duck-goose, as well as a mid-celebration shower break.

Since it is too hot to stay indoors, the celebration was held at the only outdoor party venue on campus: the track. We set up in the middle of the soccer field, spread out some newspapers to sit on, and got started. After singing the obligatory birthday song (in English for my benefit), and drinking the requisite birthday toast, we dug in.

The cake was actually better than the average Chinese birthday cake, meaning that I could just about make out a tiny bit of flavor (is that coconut?) above the sickly sweet taste of the mountainous frosting. It was kind of like having a mouthful of sugar-infused shaving cream.

Anyway, I was innocently enjoying my cake when it began: the frosting fight. (Like the song and the toast, this appears to be a mandatory part of every Chinese birthday party.) Despite my initial resolution to "sit this one out", within seconds I had a giant gob of frosting on my cheek and was sporting what appears to be a frosting hat. A war cry could be heard as I ran ahead wielding a plate of half-eaten cake.

As it turns out, no one was spared.

The war may have gone on indefinitely if it were not for the fact that we eventually ran out of cake. At some point we realized that we had nothing left to throw, and were stuck standing, breathless, in the middle of a large field, covered in yellow cake and white frosting. Moreover, the latter was attracting insects. Thus, the shower break. Well, if you consider a rusty faucet in the nearest public restroom to be a shower. Everyone's face, neck, arms, and hair got thoroughly rinsed, so I say it counts.

I know that now you're thinking "geez - what could be more fun than a frosting fight? the rest of this entry is going to be so boring!" But you are so wrong. The best is to come.

Duck-duck-goose? Yeah, we played. Not much to tell.

What could be more fun than duck-duck-goose and a frosting fight?

Why truth-or-dare of course!!

That's right, the source of so many stories and scandals has made it to the Far East.

Examples of Dares:

"Go up to that guy and tell him he's hot."
"Shout your name across the field."
"Pretend to hug guy-you-like-but-won't-admit-you-like."

Examples of Truths:

"Do you like guy-you-like-but-won't-admit-you-like?"
"If you had to marry one of the following guys in our class, which one would you choose?"

Hello middle school. Did you miss me?