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.