First Day Exhaustion

Tuesday, May 15


This one is going to be short. I'm exhausted.

We arrived in Tianjin around 11 p.m. last night. Our rooms at the Tianjin Foreign Studies University are pretty sweet, and definitely a luxury for students (especially compared to Rice and Rivers Hall). They have high ceilings and wide windows overlooking the skyline. Last night I saw the lights. This morning I saw the dawn just as it had slipped above the horizon. We met up with our guide at 6:30 this morning and got on the bus that's to take us to the other campus to teach our students. An hour later we arrived in Dagong at the Binhai campus.

The Binhai campus is nothing very pretty on the inside. Initial glances of the stately French-inspired building which towers over the rest of the campus gives the impression of a very clean cut, well-manicured school. The illusion is shattered after walking through the first plastic-flapped doorway. It’s interesting because it doesn’t seem like a deliberate attempt at covering up some sinister side. It just seems that all the attention—and most of the budget—went to the building that just so happens to be front row and center to receive students and guests.

After the plastic flaps come rooms that received paint maybe once in 1980. Floors are mopped, but the mops are ragged and the water dirty. I don't think this takes away from the quality of the school, by any means. But it does give the place a certain energy that was completely unexpected. A courtyard between buildings opens up with dirtblown bricks and grey buildings covered in chipped paint. Even if I read Chinese, I wouldn’t be able to read the sign above the door: letters were missing for what appeared to be a long time.

The students we're teaching seem to be very nice, but I think their English is less than half of what we prepared for. We were ready for Level 3 or 4 speakers. I wouldn't place them any higher than 3, and that's being generous. I'd place their overall, combined skill at 2, maximum. Their names are Song Mei Yan, Chen Ya Yuan, Ze Liu, and Zhang Huan. One thing I've found interesting about Chinese people is their willingness to choose English names. I'll avoid a postcolonial discussion on the power of naming and importance of identity and simply say that, if it were me, I would hold my name up high and not be tied down by anyone's tongue. Regardless, many people choose English names for various reasons. Sometimes it sounds cool, it's easier for Western folk to remember, or maybe something about keeping up with the English language being the most popular international language. Ya Yuan's English name is Cindy, Liu's is Oliver, and Huan's is Thomas; Mei Yan hasn't chosen one yet. Mei Yan is by far the most skilled in the group. I'd actually place her at an easy 3, but I have no way to know that yet--the assessment test wouldn't download to the campus computers just yet.

We played a few ice-breaker games with them and did a few small talk exercises. The ice-breaker was called "All of Your Names." Each person asks the other person what else they go by other than their given name. For instance, I'm Andy, Andrew, Phillip, Bo, or Bob. Come to find out, they don't really use many pet names or nicknames in China. If they do, then they didn't understand the game, because I had a lot of blank stares for a minute. Instead we tried "Two Truths and a Lie." You basically tell two truths and a lie and a person guesses which one is the lie. I think they thought this was more fun. Oliver got clever and said he had seen the President, which we thought was a lie. Turns out is was a truth: he'd seen the President on TV. I think he's going to be a cool student to have.

After the ice breaker, Kayla did a lesson on how to engage in small talk. We discussed situations about how to weave in and out of small talk. One specific situation was one in which a mother is showing off pictures of her children in a grocery store line. We covered what's appropriate to talk about and, more importantly, what isn't. Conversation, after all, is like a dance in which you need to worry about stepping incorrectly as a opposed to getting everything "right."

I think they got it, but I really can't be sure. They liked the ice-breaker games and the skits themselves that Kayla led them on, but they were pretty unresponsive otherwise. Maybe I'm expecting too much though. This is my first time interacting with ESL students from the teacher's side. I think I need to back off a little bit.

Like I said, this one is short. It's been a 13-hour day, and I'm still suffering from jet lag. I'm out.

"Breakfast of Champions" by Chairman Mao

Monday, May 14

Behold! Glory!

Today we feasted at the hotel breakfast buffet. It was all-you-can-eat for 68 Yuan (about $12), and I took advantage. They had a steamed dumpling that was ridiculous, and some kind of amazing bean salad with watercress. Their idea of bacon is interesting. By interesting I mean that it is a travesty to hickory-smoked swine everywhere. The taste itself wasn't bad, but it didn't live up to the true Holiest of Holies: that heavenly thick-cut, greased up, shred of pig flesh bestowed on man by the gods; that ambrosial sizzling slice of Divinity which our transient tongues have named Bacon.

     

But really. It's a breakfast buffet. All sins are forgiven under the eye of the heat lamp.

My wasn't this bad, but there's an idea.

The only thing that was truly disagreeable was the aged egg. The name still makes me shiver. You may think the name alone would cause someone to run, but not me. Had I known what the process for making aged egg is, I probably... would have still tried it. But it really was awful. It tasted like an egg -- a good start -- rolled around in salt. I'm from the South, and I regularly salt my food before tasting it. This was extreme though. It was like a sulfuric salt lick. The worst part was the shell. It was still on. I put the whole damn thing in my mouth without a care and ended up with a mouthful of salt, yolk, and crunch. This item should not be a part of anyone's balanced breakfast.

Breakfast was soon forgotten with our arrival to the Forbidden City and Tiananmen Square.  The Great Wall, this ancient city, and the Square are probably China's most iconic sites. The City's red plastered walls are much more impressive than the pictures make them out to be. But first we went to Tiananmen.

The infamous square is overlooked from the north by the Tiananmen Gate which means, "Gate of Heavenly Peace." From the south side of the gate, Chairman Mao Zedong gazes out onto the Monument to the People's Heroes, the Great Hall of the People, the Mao Zedong Mausoleum, the National Museum of China, and the rippling crowds of people which constantly occupy the square. The gate houses a small museum at the top which contains a big model of Tiananmen Square, amazing red chandeliers, videos of the Chinese military, and  -- if I could read Chinese -- what I believe were chairs where government ceremonies would take place.

It was on the south side of Tiananmen Square where I had a thought. I watched many Chinese citizens and tourists get their pictures made in front of many pictures or effigies of Mao Zedong. I guess this could be compared to someone getting their picture made with Reagan's coffin or the Declaration of Independence, but it's different. I watched videos of soldiers marching in front of the current Premier. Behind the Monument to the People's Heroes, giant horizontal screens show high definition videos of the growing agriculture, the military prowess, and the ever-expanding labor class of China. Amber waves of grain, mountain majesties, sparks from welding torches, city streets bustling, faces smiling or wearing the frown of skilled, concentrated labor. Total propaganda. Not that what the videos depicted wasn't true, but it was propaganda. My thought was about patriotism. In places like the Forbidden City and Tianmen, there's an overwhelming sense of patriotism. It's similar to the feeling one gets when looking at the Statue of Liberty. It's this palpable feeling of duty and obligation and belonging to a greater whole. It's pretty beautiful when you can take a step back and watch it.

What I didn't think about was the fact that all of it is forced. The government of the People's Republic of China expects and demands full support from the People. That's how communism works. That's why the protests in 1989 happened. And it was this thought that made me aware of the absence of history. I dare you to find any accurate history from that year within ten miles of Beijing. It's true: those with power are the authors of history. I believe it was Jacob who was saying anyone born in the past twenty years will have limited to no factual knowledge of the massacre that took place in the capitol city. That's a scary thought: 1/8 of the world's population unaware of and without access to their own history.

On a lighter note, I'm not sure if Chairman Mao or our group held the highest celebrity status. At one point, a couple of Chinese ladies asked to take a picture with me. Sure, why not? They were probably tourists too, and for all I know they never see fair-haired, blue-eyed, six foot two inches foreigners in their hometown. Then a couple more asked. Before I knew it, there was a line of ten or so. The rest of our group walked up during the photo shoot and all hell broke loose. I've decided I never want to make it in Hollywood or be on the red carpet -- I'd probably have a stroke. I should’ve charged 10 Yuan per picture per person.

From Tiananmen, we proceeded to the Forbidden City. It's interesting: the ethereal feeling I had at the Great Wall--the feeling of existing in another time -- couldn't be found in the walls of the Forbidden City. It felt ancient and almost sacred, but something about it was severely processed. Everything was very well-kept and bright with paint, which is good considering the disrepair other buildings are in. But I couldn't shake the feeling that authenticity was lost somewhere in the layers of paint. 

My favorite part was the stone garden in the back and the floor of the City itself. The whole place is huge -- it is a city, after all -- and the floor is expansive and jagged with age. Each section of the City could house a legion, and probably did at some point. The stone garden was full rocks in different formations and pavilions with jade floors and intricate dragon patterns on the ceilings. It was the kind of place the ancient royalty would go to meditate, pray, and reflect on the inadequacies of the high life they lived when the City was built. I wonder if they had their own version of the rich kid blues?
 

Later that day we went to the Temple of Heaven. Absolutely beautiful. All of the trees all lined up diagonal at sunset gave the whole place an ethereal vibe. Maybe that's the word that describes my experience in China: ethereal. Even the grit on the street doesn't seem as real or as dirty as, say, Chicago or New York. Maybe it's the jet lag. Who knows. But either way, the Temple of Heaven was as pleasant as it sounds. There were people singing and playing traditional Chinese instruments, people practicing Taiji, and a chorus led by a soprano sax player singing a song that sounded hymnic. Beat that, Central Park.

No rest for the weary though. After today's events, we rode to Tianjin -- about a two hour drive. I think. I slept most of the way. Everything is kind of a blur except the view from our rooms. Tianjin has a pretty impressive skyline, and we had front row seating. The whole city stretched out sleeping, breathing smog and taxis and 13 million souls I'll never know.
With that thought, sleep.

The Great Wall and the Good Businessman

Sunday May 13

2:43 a.m. local time

It's a foggy night flying into Beijing.

It's not what I was expecting in the capitol city of a country containing 1/8 of the world's population. Of course I've only seen the airport and scarce freeways at this point. Even still, it doesn't feel like I thought it would. It doesn't feel so rushed and huge. Maybe tomorrow will change my mind. 

We made it to the hotel easy enough with a little help from a couple of our friends. JaJa's family helped us transport our luggage to the hotel, and her father even paid for a taxi. They spoke no English. At least, they didn't speak any to us. Jessica and I rode in a separate car with one of their friends and possibly son. At one point, the son's cell phone vibrates and Rihanna sings, "Just wanna stand here and--" and he answers it. Interesting song choice, my dude. 

I'm exhausted now. I have to be up in seven hours to go see the Great Wall. God, I'm hungry. There's something that smells like awesome drifting in through our window--which was open when we got in the hotel room. Strange.

Goodnight all.

------------------------------------------

Still foggy this morning. Today we decided to go to the Great Wall. I think we could've picked a better day, but we weren't exactly able to know how thick the fog would be.

The drive out to the wall was interesting. After clearing the highways and freeways leaving Beijing, the land opened up to show its more prosperous side. It's amazing how quickly the city turns to country. Huge, spectral apartment buildings are looming in the fog one minute, and then without warning they are swallowed by huge fields laid out under the heavy fog.

But I've lived in the South long enough to see the split between town and country. The towns and the people were the most striking thing about the divide. In Beijing, there's at least a hope that you will run into someone who speaks English. Out here, you need to be good at charades. Otherwise you won't get very far.

We passed through a place called the "Eco Village." Sounds pretty great right? People working together to build an Eco-friendly, self-sustaining environment? Well we didn't go in far enough to make a judgment call, so I may be misled. It looked like a shanty town. People were making bricks--I think--or selling fruit or doing construction on the larger building in the area: three story, 60s-built bleak buildings. 

I don't mean to make it sound like a terrible place. Even from driving by, it looked very homely and comfortable. But it looked very poor. Very provincial. And yeah, I know: Who are you, you white American, to come in and say this town is provincial. By what standards are they provincial? How dare you marginalize them based off of one drive through their town, and how dare you call them ignorant for not knowing the things you know.

I get that. That's not what I'm implying. I guess I feel that our Western minds have this idealistic view of what energy conservation and being Eco-friendly means. Maybe going green looks less futuristic and more rustic than we want to believe. 

Onto the Great Wall. I'm going to get it out right at the beginning--I wish it had been sunny. The views were beautiful and the hills were rolling and the fog was thick. It wasn't so thick that we couldn't see the magnificence of it, but it did cut down on those breathtaking views they show you in travel agencies. The fog gave the scene an ancient feeling; it was almost like you could hear the workers grunting and moving and cutting stone with the dedication that comes only from devotion to the protection of one's country. It was quiet and cold and holy in the fog. 

That's if you ignore the old Chinese man in a wife beater, laughing hysterically, staggering up and along the watchtowers like a kid who's been away from a playground too long.

The energy surrounding the place was incredible, and the experience will be unforgettable. To anyone visiting, I would say go on a sunny day. And be confident in your ability to climb a small mountain. Unless you want to be "totally tourist" and take the cable car. Psssh.

We ate our first meal at the steps of the Great Wall. I had a big bowl of some kind of chicken noodle soup, the others had variations of dumplings and chicken. I think the whole spread cost somewhere around $10 or $15. Absolutely incredible, especially since it was so amazing. On top of that, I ate a dragon fruit. While it might not be the tastiest fruit on the planet, it's definitely one of the prettiest. The outer skin is pink and yellow in color and has petals that you pull to peel the fruit. The inner wall of the peel is the brightest, most fluorescent pink I've ever seen, and is made all the brighter by the edible snow white, seed-speckled flesh.

While the Great Wall is, you know, THE GREAT WALL, one of the most interesting things today happened before and after our trip. Jacob, Rachel, Jessica, and I went walking in the area around the hotel this morning. We passed a few shops and eateries, and at one point we passed by an art shop. The artist was sitting outside eating breakfast, and he got very excited to see us. He jumped up and asked me directly, "Are you Jewish? Are you from Israel?" I've traveled enough to know when someone is selling something and to just walk by. But his pitch caught me off guard. No, of course I'm not Jewish, I thought. The only thing we've been able to figure out is that my curls might have looked like the curls orthodox Jews wear... but they don't. Not really. 

I told him we were from the United States and we stood there talking for a minute. I start to break away, but he succeeds in dragging me and Jacob into the shop to give us his business card. Rachel and Jessica move along, but we stay out of courtesy. He pulls out a piece of rice paper and writes his name in the top left corner. He then proceeds to paint a picture, all the while asking us about America, school, who we are, what we're doing here, and what we think about China. We were supposed to meet up with the group at 9:00 a.m.--it's 9:05. Just a few more minutes, he says. 9:15. 9:20. He finishes up and says it will take only a few more minutes to dry. It's a beautiful painting of a cherry tree with bright red ball-blossoms and black branches. 

We tell him we've got to go see The Great Wall and we'll come back later that evening. Before we go, he tells us about my name which he painted under a branch of the cherry tree. Apparently, my name means "peaceful emperor." I'm not sure if that was his sales pitch, but it worked. Jacob and I came back later, much to his surprise. His wife and infant child named Thomas are there. I tell him I'm here for the card, which he gives readily on the condition that I buy another painting. "I'll give you special student discount," he says with a smile. "I give you both painting for 150 yuan." That's about $25 USD. Kind of steep, but he'd been a hell of a salesman up until that point. Not only did he walk us through every. single. one. of his paintings, but he was also thoughtful enough to bring his wife and child to increase any feelings of charity or guilt we might have. With Thomas gurgling and smiling up at me, I make the transaction. When he returned with my change, he brought Tsingtao beer to share with us. Talk about good business: friendly customer service, knowledgeable about the product, wife and child for guilt factor, and a free beer to top it off. We toasted to our travels, his business, and the unspoken camaraderie formed from good business practice.

Good first day in China.

To begin again from the beginning...

Due to the impenetrable defenses of the Great Chinese Firewall, Blogger was blocked during my stay in China. Impenetrable but for the Mongol hordes of proxy servers. Either way, I didn't get to update at all.

Now I'd like to start fresh and from the beginning. Over the next couple of weeks, I'll be posting about my China trip as the days went by. Some of it will be subjects related to teaching, and some of it will be travelogue stuffs. I hope all of it is enjoyable.

Cheers!... or  再见,rather.

Oh! Hare!

I'm sitting in O'Hare airport looking out the window at the tons of well-constructed steel that's about to fly us over a continent and an ocean to land in Beijing, China.

It's been an interesting trip so far. We flew from Huntsville to Chicago on the Sardine Express sponsored by American Airlines. I get on the plane and there's a guy in my seat: 15C. A window seat. I'm too tired to really care... but not really. He starts making the small talk that's obligatory of a business developer for a company that makes plane parts. He looks like someone though... who?

We had conversations about food, places we've been, airline buffoonery, and which way the Tenneessee River flows--

It's the guy from Goodfellas! Not Joe Pesci... not Robert DeNiro... the other guy. The main guy... you know who I'm talking about.

Eventually we knocked out and he went off to have "a steak and a beer" before his next flight back to Orange County. Or his next whack job. Fuggeddahboudit.

So now the plane is about to board. In about 13+ hours, I'll be on the other side of the world. And this seems so much easier than digging a hole all the way through.

Ray Liotta. Yes. That's the guy.