Chinaxioms

Axioms can help a lot to simplify daily decisions and make life easier. Coming to China has put me in a new position where I had to reevaluate all the axioms I thought to be self-evident. Nevertheless, after a year, I’ve found that these few things can be generally accepted as true… at least in China.

1.     If it’s a simple problem, then I’ll make it my problem.

BUT if it’s a difficult problem, then it’s your problem.

Frustrating regardless of the problem you have, the axiom is probably the most common. If I have a simple question about something as basic as what day is spring festival, everybody will answer me at the same time, ironically complicating this simple answer. If somebody is sick, everybody and their mother and their mother’s mother will flock to give the most mind-dullingly obvious advice such as, “you should rest,” “wear more clothes,” or simply, “maybe you should see the doctor.” So when you feel very much in control of the situation, you are battered with help until you have a new problem that you can’t fix.

Nevertheless, when you have a problem like, the very NON-hypothetical, leaking apartment above you, there is nobody to give you any help. The upstairs neighbor isn’t at home, their next-door neighbor closes the door without even responding when you ask for the missing culprit’s phone number, and your building manager says that the problem is between you and the neighbor. It seems that the fear of failure and nebulous sense of responsibility create the perfect storm for people to just pass the buck on big problems and play superhero in the face of a simple problem.

2.     The most obvious solution is taken before the best solution

Often, the only difference between the first solution and the best solution is a matter of 5 minutes of reflection before acting.  Legend has it that Abraham Lincoln once said, “If I had eight hours to cut down a tree, I’d spend the first six sharpening my axe.” In China, the attitude is more like, “If I had eight hours to cut down a tree, then… whack!, whack!, whack!, whack!, whack!…” Last year, my friend’s bathroom light burned out.  As further proof of axiom number one, her school got involved with the banal task of replacing a light bulb. The electrician came, but he didn’t have the proper light bulb for the replacement.  No worries however, because he had another bulb with a new socket to match.  He then proceeded to rip the previous socket out of the ceiling, wire in the new socket, and replace the bulb.  Unfortunately, this socket used a different current than the previous socket, and her light bulbs were now burning out every 3-4 days.  When she called back to report this new, bigger problem, the response was… “then replace the bulbs every 3-4 days. Then there is no problem.”

3.     Chinese women are pretty pathetic

This axiom is of course more of a generalization, but it is nevertheless a widely true one. Coming from a society which promotes strong, independent women, AND a subculture where the women will often outperform the men, it is very shocking how horribly pathetic the “women” are here. I’m amazed when girls here shy away from stopping a slowly rolling basketball, miss class for stomachaches, and live with their coddling parents until the day they become dependent on their new husband. Not only will girls sport crutches when they have a scraped knee, but they will whine about it as well. For some reason, the word for “pathetic” doesn’t translate well into Chinese… nevertheless, there is a word in Chinese for “faking being pathetic” which doesn't translate well into English. Fake pathetic-ness is unfortunately seen as cute and attractive by a lot of girls and some boys, who prefer to fulfill the complimentary chauvinist role in the relationship with their whiney, dependant, and clingy girlfriends.

I’m regularly asked, “Do you want to marry a Chinese girl?” To be honest, I would happily marry a girl of Chinese ethnicity, but as far as the typical woman with a Chinese view of ‘femininity’ goes, I find Chinese women pretty pathetic. There is a strong case to be made however for the toughness of country women here. It seems that (at least in Guizhou province) a Chinese woman will either have a sense of self-reliance or a formal education... there's not much overlap to the Venn diagram.

4.     Leopard print is never ever fashionable.

This isn’t just a Chinese axiom, but I’m more and more reminded of it when I go out daily and see somebody who thinks that “matching” implies a 100% fabric and pattern overlap. Not only is this person confusing equivalence and matching, but they have also chosen to wrap themselves in a low-quality imitation of an animal who has itself adapted so that others wouldn’t notice the pattern it was wearing. The camouflage of a leopard should not be the bold statement of a human… unless that statement is, “I am pretending to be a large feline predator hiding in the jungle!”

Chinamerican Differences 10102

1.     If there is one thing that I hate more than reality TV and facebook, it’s CSPAN. As someone who seeks meaning in life, CSPAN stands against everything I believe in. When I scan channels, I always shudder when the screen is just that same empty congress room with papers spread out on the desks. It’s a sad truth that a filibuster is quite possibly the most exciting thing ever broadcasted on CSPAN.  What’s worse, is that there are multiple CSPAN channels, showing different shades of the same boring grey.  In China however, when the new leaders of China were ‘selected’ for the communist party, the equivalent of CSPAN was actually broadcasted on over half of the channels.  The TV I was watching had 49 different channels, and over 30 were the exact same image and sound. In addition to this, the English channel was also covering the ceremony, but with dubbed audio. I didn’t know how good we had it in America with only four CSPANs.

2.     I always loved playing telephone when I was little. For me, as is the case for most people, the most fun part of this game is when the original phrase become something totally different. This is actually the only game I enjoyed losing, because if we ‘succeeded’ in telephoning the phrase correctly, it wouldn’t be any fun. I don’t know why, but my students don’t find this aspect of the game fun. Unaware that there could possibly be any goal other than prompt task completion, they will, with the grace and poise of a beached whale, try to shout the sentence to the last person in the line. When stripped of the ability to blatantly cheat, the students will just freeze up in line, saying, “I don’t understand.”

3.     I’ve been in China for about 1.5 years now, and I am still very much perceived as a foreigner.  For more on this, please read the rant… I mean post… entitled, “White on Rice.” Nevertheless, last year, one of my colleagues got a job volunteer teaching in Kentucky. This has provided me with a similar barometer for what the inverse to my work here is. She has reported back to me some funny things, such as, “It’s stressful to have so few people around” or “No strangers come up to me asking questions” or “American football is funny.”  Most recently, during the election, she was asked who she voted for. When she said she was Chinese and couldn’t vote, her students were shocked because they figured that if she was in America, she must be American. One student logically concluded that if she wasn’t American, she must be in America illegally.  I guess the American equivalent of the ethnic exclusion I encounter as a Laowai in China is a total ethnic subsumption into being either an American or an illegal in America.

White on Rice

As I walk to the checkout counter with a bag full of fresh vegetables, toothpaste, oreos, and 6 liters of boxed milk, I hear two voices behind me having an interesting discussion, “Kan waiguoren!” “Ni jeude ta shi nali de?” “Keneng ta shi jianada de. Ta hen shuai.” “Ta ting de dong ma?” “Ta ting bu dong.” (Look at that foreigner! Where do you think he’s from?  Maybe he’s from Canada. He’s handsome. Does he understand? No, he can’t understand.)  Being mistaken for a Canadian and having my good looks wrongly credited, I slowly turn around and add, “Wo ting de dong zhongwen,” (I understand Chinese.)  Besides scoring yet another point for America being the best looking country in the world, my goal, of course, is to embarrass the two girls so they realize that it is rude to assume ignorance.  Nevertheless, as was the case the last 15 times I tried to embarrass someone for assuming I can’t understand Chinese, the two voices respond in unison, “WOAH! Ta hui shuo women de zhongwen!” (Wow! He can speak ‘our’ Chinese!)  With that, I go from a monkey buying groceries to talking monkey buying groceries and continue my day.

Since coming to China, there are some things that I have gotten used to such as cramming onto buses in a disorderly fashion, firecrackers at sunrise, and bargaining for items which have a publically displayed fixed price.  One thing I have not gotten used to, and actually have more and more trouble getting over, is the extreme stereotyping of westerners.  As I mentioned in an earlier post, generalizing is a huge issue here in Kaili, and is only surpassed in frequency by stereotyping.  I try to pick my battles wisely, but sometimes I am dragged to the front lines and given no choice in the matter.  When in the act of successfully eating with chopsticks, I am still asked, “Can you use chopsticks?”  After responding with the mind-blowing truth, “Yes. I learned at a young age.  Most Americans can. We often use chopsticks to eat Oriental food in America,” the inquisitor will still disagree with their direct experience citing a solitary 5^th hand story to the contrary.

In addition to lacking the motor skills to pinch two sticks together, here’s a brief list of all the thing I’ve learned about Americans since coming to China.

-We only eat bread. (I’m sometimes asked if I have any bread on my person and feel genuinely expected to respond, “Yes, of course! Would you like some?”)

-We all have guns.  (‘All’ is not hyperbole.  They really mean 100%.  I got in a debate with a man in a train telling me I was wrong and his TV was right.)

-We can’t eat spicy food.

-We don’t drink tea.

-We are all fat, rich, and white.

-We are all beautiful… despite apparently also all being fat?

-We love to find Chinese wives.

-We only shower in the morning.

These are only the absolutes projected onto Americans.  In a society where nobody has a real experience with someone from another country, every nationality is the victim of a stereotype that can endure logical argument like cockroaches in Chernobyl: Japanese, Northern Chinese, Africans, women, teachers, 23 year olds…  You’d think you were in a UPS shop, the way people are putting everything so neatly into boxes over here.  The most unfortunate thing about all this is that all my stereotypes are made on first sight because my white skin christens me, “Laowai” (Foreigner).  Sometimes, I forget that I’m not Chinese, but in 5 minutes, a local is sure to remind me by saying to nobody in particular, “Laowai,” “Waiguoren,” or simply “Hello,” because every white person is from an English speaking country.

This is definitely a new perspective for me, now that I am part of the .00001% minority in city whose only other experience with foreigners has been filtered through a Mao ze Dong approved firewall.

What’s the difference between a Chinese hospital and a Chinese train station?

I recently had the unfortunate experience of getting my blood taken in a Chinese hospital.  My health is fine… or at least it was when I went into the hospital – I’m not sure about it now that I’ve been to sanitary hell and back though.

To imagine this situation accurately, picture the room from the first Saw film, but the size of a tennis court. In the middle of the side wall, add a glass window similar to the teller at a movie theatre.  Behind the glass are two 17-year-old Chinese girls who are learning how to take blood by trial and error… (Good news and bad news: Fortunately, they have lots of practice, because taking blood is the standard method of diagnosing anything and everything. Unfortunately, these brainiacs ended up taking blood because they failed their middle-school completion exams and went to a 2-year preparatory program to be doctor’s aides.) 

Now to this setting, add about 200 people. Half of them are sick, and the other half are unnecessary space occupiers in order to reaffirm the ever-too-real stereotype that Chinese people never do anything alone. (A student will leave class with a stomachache [ridiculous in the first place, I know] and need a friend to accompany her to the doctor’s). All of these people are crowding around the ‘ticket window’ like a bunch of high-school girls buying tickets to the midnight show of Twilight. In no line whatsoever, they are shoving their bare arms through the window as soon as the last person takes their arm out. After giving blood, a cotton swab is provided to help stop the bleeding.  Of course, when the bleeding does stop, there is no need for the now-bloody swab, which is thrown onto the floor where is rests indefinitely as a biological weapon directly targeting my mental well-being. This isn’t the most pressing threat to your health however, because all of a sudden, a giant tetanus wheelbarrow barrels by carrying what appears to be the oldest and dustiest personal computers in the world.

So…What’s the difference between a Chinese hospital and a Chinese train station?

NOTHING! Except a Chinese hospital is full of sick people!

Dr. Trigg Prescribes 7 Basic Rules to Develop Your Society Overnight

To help China and other developing countries with their development, I've thought up 7 simple policies to dramatically develop a society.

If you’ve traveled to a developing country, I’m sure you’ve seen the small three-wheeled carts which are carrying a pile of bags that are haphazardly lashed together in a mound about the size of two elephants, engulfing the driver and most of the cart.

1.     Therefore, excluding the weight of the passenger, motorized vehicles should never carry any load that is heavier than the vehicle itself.

After overhearing the ill-founded, racist judgments of a local farmer on a train, I have come up with this simple rule of thumb… (or rule of mouth if you will).

2.     You need at least 10 teeth in your mouth to publically express your views on international issues.

Respect the laws of time. Trains all leave on a schedule of some kind, and the sun rises at different times than in your capital city. 

3.     Accordingly putting clocks in train stations and accepting separate time-zones should not be sloughed off as an unnecessary concession to the ever-so-burdensome spacetime.

If you need megaphones to constantly blast a soundtrack reminding citizens to act “civilized,” it is a pretty blatant admission that your society is NOT civilized. 

4.     Therefore, to at least allow for the false appearance of development, you should do away with all pamphlets, megaphones, and personnel in charge of publicizing the current lack of civilization in your area.

After cautiously padding through the bloody runoff akin to the aftermath of a Mayan sacrificial ceremony, I advise developing societies that…

5.     There should be mandatory distance put between the slaughtering grounds of all live-poultry markets and pedestrian walkways.

Possibly the most simple and dramatic change in your society can be made by accepting the fact that any driver who sustains a honked horn for more than 5-seconds is clearly unaware of what a horn was actually invented for.

6.     Therefore, cars should be rigged with sensors that force-eject drivers after 5-seconds of a honked horn.

Lastly, there is a fine line between breathing in polluted air and breathing in aired pollution. To mitigate one person’s harmful effect on the air other people breath, an equilibrium should be maintained between the air pollution from cars and from cigarettes.

7.     Therefore, the “drive to survive” program will give citizens the choice to own a car OR smoke cigarettes.

With these 7 steps, your society will instantly develop to the point where you can then implement the much more complicated, “waiting in line” policy, where people will… well I don’t want to spoil it… but I’ll just say that it works wonders.

Capitalism with Chinese Characteristics

I had heard the phrase, “Capitalism with Chinese characteristics,” a few times before coming to China, but I never understood exactly what that meant. As an American, I was very familiar with capitalism, but I couldn’t imagine what these “Chinese characteristics” were. Now, after a year here, I am realizing more and more what the tail-end of that phrase really means.

Characteristic 1: In the land of Costco, Sams Club, and Blue Light Specials, it is second nature to understand that buying in bulk reduces costs.  I mistakenly took this rule of thumb as a rule of economic law, and as an attempt to save money on my volunteer salary, I would buy 6-liter packs of milk, large bottles of water, and many more Oreos than any man ever should.  One day, to remind myself of how savvy a shopper I was, I decided to do the math and calculate how much money I was saving.  Unbelievably, the 6 liter boxes of milk were the exact same price as twenty-four 250ml boxes. The water was 1.6 times more expensive than buying multiple small bottles, and while the Oreos were a money saver, then Spring Festival Edition Oreos, identical in every way to other Oreos, were a third of the price.  I can’t wait for Spring Festival again next year.

Characteristic 2: If you come to China, don’t be confused by the signs that say, “SALE.”  Firstly, the percentage is actually percent ON and not percent OFF.  This has thrown me off a number of times, especially because the number will often be between 20-30%.  Strangely enough, these sometimes 30, 20, or sometimes even 15% “on” sales, will not signal a closeout sale, or a special occasion of any kind.  It’s just normal business to mark down your products over ¾ of their market value (or significantly mark up the market value).  Either way, don’t jump on sales, because they also have no real time limit like in America.  Sales are perennial and continual… thus making them not sales at all… but I guess that’s why it’s Chinese Characteristic #2.

Characteristic 3: When you buy something in China, especially online, there is little to no security that what you are buying is a genuine product.  If the item you want to purchase is more technically complex than a banana, it is actually quite likely that what you are buying is a rip-off of some kind.  To further illustrate this, I will describe the multi-leveled quality control that exists within the Chinese black market.

First you have 假的 or just plain old fake.  This is the classic New York Rolex that you buy on Monday and throw out on Thursday when you realize it has 55 second minutes and that Rolex is spelled “Roleks.”

Next you have 山寨 or “mountain village.” This is a better-looking imposter.  You pay a little extra for the guarantee that iPhone is spelled correctly, but reliability is nowhere to be found in this level.

Then there’s 仿的. You can be confident that this fake will not only fool your friends, but sometimes it will even fool you too.  Resembling the product very closely, but still not actually being a Louis Vuitton.

Lastly, it might not be considered fake, but it is a category that is very particular to China, and that would be simply, bad quality or 质量不好.  This isn’t a bad quality brand, for it might actually come from the same factory as the Nike Air Force One’s that you can buy in America for $150.  The difference is that when the American shoes pass quality control and ride first class to a Payless near you, these shoes fail to process the needed paperwork for an exit visa and are just shoveled into the online market under that heading "caveat emptor."

Characteristic 4: The prime example for the fourth characteristic is the Peanut Butter in Kaili.  Only available at one store, the Peanut Butter in Kaili is a rare commodity.  For that reason, its price is relatively high – about $3 a jar.  Nevertheless, the price will jump 2 or 3 times, seemingly at random, because I’m not aware of the seasonal growth patterns of peanut butter. Stranger yet, I just bought three bottles of peanut butter on one fateful day, when 600g tubs of peanut butter were actually cheaper than 400g tubs of the exact same brand (19.80 and 19.90 RMB respectively). It seems more and more like pricing is just an art, and has nothing at all to do with overheads, production costs, or supply/demand.

In closing, the “Chinese Characteristics” you might hear about include such things as anti-bulk discounts, year-round 15% percent-on sales, the fake-goods market, and totally random/counterintuitive pricing.

The Longest Day

Looking back on my 10-day bike trip through Sichuan province, there is one day in particular which stands out.  After biking 150km in two days, and hiking up 10,000+ stairs, my legs were just two jelly tubes hanging off my torso.  Our first day after the hike to the summit of Emei mountain, we only biked about 10k and decided to rest for the night in a nice hotel… we deserved it.

And then there was the 5^th day…

It all began nicely, we had a good breakfast and plotted our route for the day.  We figured if we left at around 10, then we could ride the 100km of relatively flat road to Ya’an before dinner.  Everything was on track until it started to rain.  I had planned for this and strapped my plastic 99 cent poncho over my backpack.  I figured I’d rather get wet with rain than with sweat, so I didn’t wear any raingear myself.  Momentary delay and I was back on the road.  After the first 50k, things were right on schedule for us to arrive by 4:30 – 5:00.  I was a little hungry at this point, but I figured if I just continued strong, then I’d be able to feast early with some Peace Corps friends working in Ya’an. The girl I was traveling with, fellow volunteer named Brianne, was not at all hungry, so we kept on truckin’.  Our French and Chinese counterparts had fallen well behind and called us with news that they’d hitchhiked into a nearby town and will just take a bus to Ya’an where they’d meet up with us. Brianne and I high-fived to celebrate Americans winning out over the French and Chinese, but we had no idea how our victory would be severely tarnished by the end of the day.

Then… everything went downhill… figuratively speaking of course, because literally speaking, things went uphill.  We rode up some hills as more and more road construction made our paved country road into a slop of mud and rocks which cars weren’t even allowed to drive on.  We keep biking, intermittently asking for directions and confirming that this “road” would lead us to the right place.  Knowing that each pedal brought me closer and closer to my destination and a warm bed, I kept hammering away despite thirst, fatigue, and hunger I haven’t known since high-school wrestling tournaments.  My drive waned drastically when the townspeople’s estimates became more and more arbitrary.  “20km to go” would become “27” and then “15” and back up to “22.”  The one thing I knew for sure was that we were making progress, so I kept on going.

BOOM! Flat tire. The shining moment of luck in a day of misery, Brianne happened to pop her tire in the only good place we would pass the whole day. We were directly next to a bike tire repair man, who put on two patches for less than a dollar, and we were back on our way in 20 minutes.  To add to our luck, the rain stopped and I felt a short bump of energy.  Then our muddy strip of road ended in a full-on roadblock. We could’ve picked up our bikes and walked around, but a helpful man told us he’d lead us to a detour. We acquiesced and I thought, “Gee, how nice… a detour!” IF ONLY I HAD KNOWN THAT the detour was an extra 30km up one of the steepest hills I’ve ever ridden a bike on. Trudging became walking became strapping our bikes to the back of a moped and riding to the top.  It was during this clownish accent to the top that my body gave up on me. Well it would have if it wasn’t for the lollipop that Brianne offered me as my eyes were rolling back into my head and my twitching legs gradually stopped moving all together. We made it to the top only to find out that our benevolent aid wanted payment for his “assistance” in driving us 30km out of our way. I would have gladly given his some gas money and even a little extra for the trouble, but the form of the request was entirely out of line.  He stopped on the side of the road and said, “before we continue, give me money.” I proposed that we’d give him a quarter of what he was extorting, but he countered with the ever so comforting truth, “You don’t know where you are or how to get where you’re going. Without me you won’t get there.” My brain had the neuronal attendance of an un-aired senate filibuster on kitten-puppy relations… or in other words, I was so out of it that I couldn’t even make up a good analogy to describe my exhaustion. I managed to persuade him to accept our 25% offer, and after we reached the top, I realized that during our ride up the mountain, my rear bike tire got bent.  Giving no $h!+ at all that my 18 dollar bike was halved in re-sale value, we rode our bikes UP the mountain following the road indicated by our new guide.

Once again, riding became walking became standing still and staring down at my lifeless legs. To the surprise of only those who don’t know her, Brianne saved the day again. Pears and peanut butter!!!... But no knife! I devoured the pear in Viking fashion, and with juice running down my chin I began thinking of some acceptable way of getting the peanut butter out of the jar and into my tummy. Fingers? No. Too filthy, even for me. Stick? Cleaner, but there might be some bark coming off into the PB. Turn a plastic grocery bag inside out and us it as a finger condom as I scoop out the PB like a starving badger? OK. I got my energy back up and began the 30 minute countdown to my next crash. 

Finally, some downhill! And the bystander estimates are regularly in the teens! And it’s only… oh… sunset. We continue in the dark as our mud road becomes paved again. Well, partially paved… and therein lies the problem. Turns out that though she’s a superstar at many things, Brianne’s nightvision is less than stellar. A large hole claims her front tire, and we roll into the next village as a raggedy bunch of failures. I ask a policeman how far to Ya’an, and the estimate is back up over 20. Apparently southern Sichuan has a network of wormholes which not even Stephen Hawking could navigate efficiently.  All the bike shops are closed, and we decide to just try and hitch a ride to the city.

A really nice couple picked us up and we made it to Ya’an at 9 o’clock, when I stuffed my face with food and passed out on the floor. A half-decent close to the longest eleven hour bike ride of my life.

One-Year Anniversary

           I just started my second and final year of teaching in China, and there are a lot of things going through my mind.  The main thing I noticed stepping back into a classroom was that my students were speaking English. After a year of constantly reminding them that they shouldn’t speak Chinese in class, a summer off seemed to make all the difference. I’m teaching the same classes that I taught last year, and I actually have the same groups of students as well. It’s remarkable how different a first day can be after you already know your students and they know you. Last year I felt like I was teaching in a Charlie Brown comic, mumbling, “Waah waa whaah wah,” as students stared wondering why I kept making them raising their hands. This year it was all business from the first minute with active participation and enthusiasm. I hope this keeps up.

           My relationship with China has also changed dramatically. I have weathered storms of frustration, fatigue, and absolute bewilderment. I’m very glad that I made the choice to come live and work here, but it would be difficult to say that I love it here. As I feel more and more integrated with the language, culture and people of western China, I am just as “foreign” as I was the first day I arrived. Things are different at school, where students and teachers know me, but on the street I’m perpetually a stranger to all, emphasis on STRANGE. I can’t see myself living here mainly because the other 400,000 people in my city can’t see me living here. You know how beavers will slap their tails against the water when they catch sight of an outsider approaching their dam… well I feel like I’m living in a city of beavers every time I go outside and people feel that it’s necessary to alert the other citizens of my presence. It’s nice to blend in because then you can choose to stand out. Unfortunately, when you stand out you can’t just choose to blend in. Towards the end of the school year, I became frustrated with western China as a whole, but I’ve recently directed my aggravation to the lack of education here. Even those students who go to school don’t have a “full” view of what they’ve studied, especially in liberal arts. Everything is studied as if it was times tables, and that leaves subjects, which should be colorful and expressive, as flat production-based instruction. This also stems from the whole system being test-oriented from the 6^th grade onward.

It’s been pretty much impossible to empathize with the people who have had such a remarkably different education than me. The difference is just so big, and I guess that’s also why many of them also have trouble empathizing with me. Even growing up in America has taught me things that I can’t seem to teach here: organization, efficiency, competition, racial diversity, and even economics. Not high-level economics, but just the things we take for granted living in a capitalist society. The main thing I can’t understand here is how buying in bulk is ever more expensive than buying individual sizes… yes, not the same price… MORE expensive. I’ve explained this to shop owners and they just think I’m trying to bargain, not explain an economic principle to create buyer’s incentive.

Lastly, I’ve started looking into what I might do next year. At this point film school is on the top of my list. I’ve continued drafting some screenplays since I’ve been here, and it’s made me happy to have a creative outlet for my thoughts. Writing again was like loosening your belt after a huge meal.  You didn’t realize how tight your pants were, but now you’ve never felt better. Other options for the future could involve work in either EASTERN China or Europe. For now, I’m going to do my best to teach English and make the most of my second year.

Summer Vacation

            This summer was a pretty big spread of experiences.  First, I went to Guilin for two-weeks to study Chinese. It was such a great atmosphere for studying and just living in China.  The most remarkable thing about Guilin was that I could clearly understand and communicate with others in Chinese. The most unremarkable thing was the food.

After coming back to Kaili, I realized how “rural” my site actually was. Guilin is in the neighboring province, but the level of development is totally different. It was a shock that definitely left an impression on me. Fortunately, I was only shocked for about 14 hours before going to teach in Rongjiang.

In Rongjiang, a nearby town, two other volunteers and I taught English teachers how to better teach English. After arriving, I scratched out 85% of my lesson plans based on the realization that these teachers needed more instruction on WHAT English was rather than HOW to teach it. This is a problem we share in America, but to a lesser degree. Teachers are becoming less and less a career for talented people. In the elementary and middle school levels, many teachers are those who have failed at everything else and have resigned to living of a low-salary teaching job. Teaching well can make all the difference, and the bar needs to be raised worldwide. How can you teach what you don’t know? I have no answer to this question, but apparently Guizhou province does, because many of its teachers don’t know what they are supposed to be teaching, but they’ve been doing so for 10-15 years already.

After Rongjiang, I went to an organic farm outside Chengdu to lead and English Environmental camp. There were 6 volunteers there with 30 students, and we spent 4 days together working, cooking, cleaning, studying, having seminars, and organizing local projects to help the environment. It was great to spend this time with such interest(ED/ING) students. I even met one who influenced the next two weeks of my summer.

This student, Wanda, had been planning a bike trip through Sichuan province and invited a fellow volunteer and me to go with her. Also on this trip was a French study abroad student who did most of the planning for the trip. Our adventure took us from Chengdu to Emeishan to Ya’an, a total of about 200km. We bought bikes, tents, and sleeping bags in Chengdu ($60 per person total) and then rode, hiked, and camped our way to Ya’an.  After that, I just came back to Kaili and started teaching again feeling refreshed and ready to go.

Hiccups

This is the mental summary of an unfortunate night out. I guess you could call it a poem of sorts.

That was a good dinner. I’ve eaten my fill of good food, had some good conversations, and now I can just go home and watch a movie. Huh, I wonder what they’re talking about. How much would I understand if they were speaking Mandarin instead of their local dialect?

Wait! That last bit sounded comprehensible, “走把。上车吧”

Yes, finally, something I understand… “Let’s go. Get in the car.”  But where…? Ok. I’ll just ask, “我们去哪里？”

Ok. They are just going to repeat that I should get in the car, they won’t say where we’re going. That’s strange. Maybe it’s because they know that I wouldn’t want to go. I probably don’t want to go, but how can I say no if I don’t know where I’m going. That’s there game isn’t it… ‘don’t tell him where we’re going and that way he can’t say no!’ Or maybe it was culturally inappropriate for me to ask where we’re going. Chinese people never ask these kinds of questions anyway. Now that I think of it, they don’t even have the arrival time printed on their train tickets, and nobody seems to care. Well nobody but me at least. Whatever, I’ll just get in. Why refuse an invitation from friends?

Are we going to my apartment? Oh good. They took me home. That was nice of them. Wait, no! They were just picking up another teacher… ugh. So close to being home, yet so unbelievably far… ugh. Where are we going now? It’s not even worth it to ask. The answer won’t change anything. I’m along for this ride regardless.

What! We are going to eat some food. This is absurd, we literally just finished eating dinner. This isn’t even dessert food, it’s just a second dinner. Wait, why are they all eating, they left food uneaten at dinner and now there ordering extra dishes… oh no! And they are ordering beer… by the case. It’s gonna be a long night.

Maybe I can make up a lie so I don’t have to drink any beer tonight. I’m taking medicine. There’s no way they can disprove that. Yeah, that’s a good one. The man to my right just said he’s allergic to alcohol.  That’s another good one, but it takes more commitment. Wait, now they’re arguing. Oh, god. They are going to make him drink some beer anyway.  Who makes someone drink something they are allergic to? Well I guess we are all allergic to alcohol in some sense, so it's not an outright lie.

Ok. My turn on stage. “I can’t drink tonight, I’m taking medicine.” They aren’t listening, “No. Really. I…” They are opening a bottle, “I can’t. It’s…” Oh great. One bottle. “Ok. Only ONE bottle.” I doubt he’ll remember that verbal contract. It’s never only one bottle.

And now the toasting game begins. Why can’t I just drink my beer slowly, why is the smallest sip always a full double shot that you have to chug when toasting somebody else? Why can’t I drink my own beer, that I don’t even want, at my own pace? This is a charade. I thought I graduated college last year.

Hiccup!

Haha. This is like a cartoon. Three bottles of beer and I start hiccupping. That guy to my right has al.. hiccup… also drunk three bottles.  So much for his aller… hiccup… allergy. Way to go with the commitment to your lie, buddy.

Hiccup!

I got in trouble once in high school for hiccupping. I came home from a party, and my mom heard me hiccup. She assumed I was… hiccup… had been drinking, but I hadn’t. I never drink beer. I hate beer. Ugh. Hiccup!

Wow. Almost three hours and I haven’t understood a single thing they’ve said. If you invite someone to come to… hiccup… dinner with you, you should at least speak a language they understand. Why am I even here? They aren’t speaking any language I… hiccup… understand, I already ate dinner, and I hate… hiccup… hate drinking beer. Next time I need to refuse the invit… hiccup… invitat… hiccup… invitation. I guess it’s just just by politesse that they… hiccup... I have to go to the… hiccup… bathroom.