Dry

Immediately upon re-entering China, I developed a hacking cough. It's the kind where even a simple laugh turns into an alarming rattle that repulses everyone within earshot. I attribute this new development to the disturbing dryness of Jinan. I grew up in humid south Florida, where notebook paper actually wilts from the humidity and we used to carry around special grease absorbing sheets for our foreheads. Then I moved to New England, where it rains or snows pretty much every other day and where I own no fewer than four umbrellas.

Jinan is nothing like either Florida or New England. In the two months I've been here, it's drizzled twice. I can hang my clothes up to dry in the morning, and they'll be dry by lunch. Even jeans. Wherever you live, I challenge you to get a pair of soaking wet jeans dry in less than one day. It's pretty much impossible.

Anyway, because my theory is that better hydration will cure my cough and allow me to chuckle without frightening away small children, I've been looking for pretty much any and every opportunity to absorb water. When I sleep, I keep my head under the covers so that instead of breathing in the cold dry air outside, I get to breath the warm humid air of my homemade cave. My newest clever innovation is to fill my water bottle up with boiling water, and inhale the steam while I wait for the water to get cool enough to drink. It's like what I imagine a spa to be like. Clearly, I'm living in the lap of luxury here.

Roommates

I am an undesirable roommate. This evidenced by the fact that the vast majority of my co-habitation experiences have ended in disaster. There was the girl at camp who left bits of Slim Jim hidden in the carpet. Another roommate spent hours admiring herself in the mirror, took life size glamour shots to hang up in her room at home, and somehow came away with the impression that I was the self-absorbed one. My college roommate and I were great friends...until we actually had to share one room instead of two. And my roommates in grad school had a bitter parting after it was revealed that one was cheating on the rent.

In any case, because of my own lack of skill in this arena, I hold a very high level of respect for people who can successfully live together in peace and harmony. In my opinion then, Chinese college students are no less than gods. They share a tiny dorm room with five other randomly selected students. That's six students per room: three bunk beds, one large table, and one small desk. Just look at this:



Each window represents six students. And they stay in the same room, with the same roommates, for all of college. Imagine a world where your roommates know every detail of your life, including who calls you, how often they call, what you say to them, what time you wake up in the morning, what time you go to sleep, how often you skip class, what you do in your free time, what you snack on, how often you snack, how often you do laundry, and so on.

Despite (or because of?) this forced intimacy, roommates typically forge a special bond with one another. They usually have all of their meals together, go out together, borrow each other's stuff (often without asking), and generally function as a unit. They even shower together, because I guess nothing says "friendship" like a good back scrub. (This actually isn't completely unreasonable, since showers are communal and take place in a special building across campus. As a result, showering is more of an "event" than you might think, and at the point where you're standing naked with a bunch of classmates, you might as well have one of them get your back.)

To me, the amazing thing about all of this is that no one complains. Okay, well, fine, I've heard two people complain about their roommates. One guy complained about his roommates smelly feet, and one girl complained that a few of her roommates study too much for her taste. But seriously? That's nothing. If it were me, I know I'd be annoyed that someone's alarm goes off every morning at 6:30, or that so-and-so slurps her tea too loudly, or that whats-her-name is always on the phone when I'm trying to sleep, and so on.

Which I guess is why I'm such a bad roommate.

A List

After two weeks at home for the holidays, I'm heading back to Jinan tomorrow. Here are a few American things that I'll miss:

Clean roads, sidewalks, and floors
There's a reason the Chinese take their shoes off when they get home. It's because the ground of any public place in China is used to dispose of fruit pits, spit-out seed husks, crusted food wrappers, used bamboo skewers, mucus, and old tea leaves, among other things.

Cheese
Shredded, melted, sliced, and with crackers.

Being little
In the U.S., I generally shop in the "petite" section and wear a size small or extra small. In China, shopkeepers have to scrounge in the back to find a "large" for me, because it's rare that they encounter someone as enormous as I am. I have also been forced to stop wearing my 1.5 inch heels because they cause me to tower over some of my male friends. Which is just awkward.

Shopping
Yes, things are cheaper in China. But the fashions there are weird, and you have to try things on in a crowded little space behind an old curtain that the shopkeeper will hold up for you. It's not uncommon for the shopkeeper to watch you change, and once I accidentally made eye contact with a curious stranger while I was half naked behind the sheet. Again: awkward.

Mixed drinks
I don't want to be forced to drink any more Tsingdao beer or disgusting bai jiu (like vodka, but with a bad taste). I'd much rather sit around with friends sipping screwdrivers or margaritas at my leisure.

The New York Times
Word on the street is that while I've been gone, the Chinese government went and blocked access to the NYT. What will I do without my main source of news??

Smoke-free environments
Most Chinese men smoke. Usually, this smoking is confined to restaurants and balconies, but I am lucky enough to share an office with an indoor smoker. He is actually very considerate and will only smoke inside when he's alone in the office, but still, the office doesn't have great ventilation, so the smoke is often hanging in the air waiting for me, even if the original cigarette is long gone.

Wide open spaces
Even Florida in snowbird season is considerably less crowded than Jinan on a normal day. And come on, Jinan just doesn't have places like this:

The rules

Last week, I was on the welcoming committee for a visiting professor from Sweden. Initially, I wasn't sure what my responsibilities would be, but I quickly learned that in addition to providing cultural and linguistic translation services, and of course making insightful comments on the research agenda, I was also expected to do quite a bit of drinking.

Throughout China, alcohol flows liberally when guests are in town, but Shandong locals are particularly well-known for their enthusiasm regarding this traditional form of welcome. I have learned a bit more about Chinese drinking culture since I last wrote about it here, so let me quickly bring you up to speed. You can refer to the following handy diagram to assist in your understanding of this complex ritual:

The person at the head of the table (Position 1) is the host. He is the one paying for the meal and therefore is responsible for leading the first and last toasts, and taking care of the guests. He is the most respected one at the table. The person to his right (Position 8) is the guest of honor. The food all goes to him first, and no one can eat until he starts. If there is a second guest, he sits at the host's left, in Position 2. The person directly across from the host (Position 5) is responsible for making sure the people at his end of the table are drinking enough. The other seats are filled according to status, with higher status people being closer to the host, and lower status people being closer to the senior person.

The actual drinking is very formalized, with the host starting by proposing a toast welcoming the guest. Then everyone chugs until they've emptied their glass. The waitstaff promptly comes around to refill. Then someone else proposes a toast and the process is repeated. This continues throughout the meal, until everyone is jolly and chummy. This is how professional relationships are solidified and where official contracts and agreements are born.

A few additional rules:

- You must never, ever, under any circumstances take a casual sip from your glass. If you want to drink, you either have to wait for someone else to say a toast, or you can take the initiative and propose a toast of your own. Either way, drinking must be done as a group.

- When you clink glasses with someone, you have to make a concerted effort to make sure that the rim of your glass is below the rim of their glass. This shows respect for the other person. Inevitably, this occasionally ends up being a race to the floor.

- Unless otherwise stated, all toasts must result in an empty glass. It's considered respectful to then hold up your glass to show that it's actually empty. Sometimes, you even hold it upside down to show that there's not a single drop left. If a drop falls out, you're then "punished" by having to drink another glass.

- If you get drunk before others at the table, it's a serious loss of face and can result in some disadvantageous business deals. In my opinion, this is part of why women have such a hard time ascending to positions of power in China. Don't worry about me though. I've been able to hold my own quite nicely thank-you-very-much.

The best medicine

I am thrilled to report that I have survived, unscathed, an important rite of passage on the way to adapting to life in China. It's the test that separates the weak from the strong, the men from the boys. Yes: I have made it through my first bout of Chinese food poisoning.

In hindsight, the fact that my friend and I were the only customers in the restaurant should have been a warning sign, but in our fervent desire to consume as many dumplings as humanly possible, I guess we were willing to overlook anything.

My crippling stomach pain first exhibited itself an hour later, and grew to such an intensity that it not only prevented me from getting a good night's sleep that night, but also caused me to lose the entire contents of my stomach (I'll spare you the details of how exactly that happened), and by the next morning I was a pathetic mess, severely dehydrated, undernourished, and unwilling to leave my bed except to dash to the bathroom.

Lucky for me, I live on a medical campus. All of my friends either have completed or are in the midst of their medical training. My room temporarily turned into a private hospital ward. At one point, I was lying in bed as five medical students stood over me discussing my symptoms and trying to agree on a treatment plan. Nurses ran in and out, bringing me food and water and tucking me into bed.

One thing they all agreed on right away: the road to recovery is paved with drugs. Within a few short hours, I was in possession of no fewer than five pharmaceutical products, including two mystery packets of traditional Chinese medicine, two distinct types of broad-spectrum antibiotics, and a small brown bottle of foul smelling liquid. I was able to politely decline the antibiotics, and the foul smelling liquid came up almost as soon as it went down, but the mystery packets went in and stayed in. It may be best that I never know what that white powder was, but when mixed with some hot water, it calmed me right down and finally let me nap in peace for a while.

When I woke up, my friend decided it would be a good time to introduce me to an old friend of hers who lives on a different campus, and just happened to be in the area. In fact, he was waiting right outside, and she excitedly led him into my room. I could tell right away that he was impressed by my chunky pajama pants, pink turtleneck, and vomit-crusted hair. And the look in his eyes as he looked around my room and took in the various drug wrappers, abandoned bowls of dining hall food, and clothing-covered furnishings enthusiastically said "I love what you've done with the place." After a quick introduction, my friend put him to work washing dishes in my shower, refiling my hot water bottle, and taking out the garbage. Sadly, he had to leave for class before he could mop the floor. I got the impression it was an especially interesting class though, because he seemed quite eager to show up early.

Sharing

To see the Chinese Communist spirit at work, one needs look no further than the closets of female college students. Clothing is generally considered to be communal property, to be offered to whomever needs it. You may recall how a few weeks ago, my friend brought me a stylish pink turtleneck to keep me warm in the freezing icebox that was my room. Later, I "lent" her an extra scarf that happened to match her outfit particularly well. An infrequently worn sweatshirt is currently on loan to another friend who loves playing basketball. Gloves must be offered to those without coat pockets, and hats and coats get passed around among friends and roommates. When going out with friends, it is not unheard of to show up in one coat, and to go home in another.

The latest instance of this principle at work came a few days ago. I made a vague comment about how I was in the market for a new coat, when my friend's face lit up and she exclaimed that she had the perfect thing for me: an extra down coat that she never wears. She dragged me back to the dorm with her to try it on.

I tried to control my excitement, reminding myself that it is rare to find a Chinese coat without bows, frills, or pom-poms. The stars must have been aligned that day however, because not only was the coat was a perfect fit, but it was also unadorned (except for the requisite faux fur trim of course). The best part about it though, is the subtle use of color as an attractant. My friend insisted that I borrow it, and I have been wearing it proudly ever since. As an added bonus, I have now earned a new nickname: banana.

The resemblance is uncanny.

A Chinese Thanksgiving - Part 2

Wednesday: The day before Thanksgiving

1:00 pm

My friend stops by my room to deliver the oven.


I am not surprised to learn that it dates from 1970 and has not been used since 1996.

4:00 pm

I am at the store looking for milk. The dairy section is dominated by yogurt, but I eventually find these thin canisters.


The only butter I am able to find is in tiny packet form, like the kind that restaurants throw in the basket with the complimentary pre-dinner rolls.


7:00 pm

I've started making the pumpkin pie, but the "oven" appears to have a smoking problem. I open the windows and start fanning frantically, hoping the fire alarm doesn't go off.

7:15 pm

I am partially relieved, partially disconcerted to learn that one of the Pakistanis in my dorm has conducted informal tests of the smoke detectors over the past three years, and concluded that they are for show only.

9:00 pm

The pumpkin pie is complete. The filling looks perfect, but the crust is burnt to an ashy crisp. I guess the oven is stronger than I thought.

Thursday: Thanksgiving Day

1:00 pm

I've put in half a day of work, eaten lunch and am ready to begin cooking. Some friends have already arrived. I put them straight to work opening butter packets,


peeling potatoes,


and chopping onions.


3:00 pm

The apple crisp is ready to go in the oven. Everyone is very excited.


3:15 pm

The oven appears to have died. We take turns trying to fix it.

3:30 pm

It's official: the oven is broken. Apparently the cooking action last night was a mere swan song. The apple crisp is slightly warm, but still raw.

5:00 pm

My friends have begun to arrive, bearing chopsticks and small metal bowls reminiscent of a World War II mess hall. Snacks are opened and eagerly devoured.

6:00 pm

The real eating begins. The mashed potatoes disappear instantly, and are eaten with chopsticks, as is the majority of the meal.


The pumpkin pie is popular as well, although at my urging, the crust is left untouched.


The uncooked apple crisp is received with a lukewarm reception, although everyone wants their picture taken with it.


Things get exciting when my friend reveals that she brought a bottle of brandy.


A rousing game of charades ensues.


10:30 pm

The students have curfew, so our little party must disband. There is fighting over leftovers, and a frantic last-minute cleaning effort.

Overall, an nontraditional meal, but a resounding success nonetheless.


Hope you all had a wonderful holiday as well!