It's hard to imagine that I only have one week left in Hangzhou, China- less than one week from the moment I sit here writing this blog post, I'll be on board an Asiana Boeing 767 on the first leg of my journey home. But before that can happen, I still have to weather the gauntlet that is final exams in a foreign country. All of my preparation for four spoken presentations and four lengthy Chinese essays has left me in a dark, sad little place filled with New York Times articles on issues such as horrifying food safety concerns in China and why Chinese car companies can't go global. Check this out:
For my Business Chinese class, I'm writing a paper on the issues facing Chinese car companies as they try to expand overseas. Such bland articles as this link from Forbes.com and this other link from the New York Times should show you what I'm dealing with here. A dull endeavor indeed.
But far more terrifying is the plethora of food safety concerns that have swept China in the past few years. Besot with unnecessarily complicated and corrupt bureaucracies, China has little way of controlling such scary circumstances as melamine-tainted baby formula, fake eggs, noodles made from ink and wax, pork chemically "thinned" with the additive/steroid clenbuterol, and the use of sewer oil in roughly one in ten of China's restaurants (you don't even want to know, but I added the link for the morbidly curious). On a mildly positive note, despite all these issues, I'm still alive and kicking and my ears haven't fallen off or turned green just yet. I give the New York Times props for admitting that the food safety issue isn't limited only to China: check out this article, "China's Bizarre 'Food Safety' Scene, and Our Own", for more. Needless to say, writing an essay on this stuff for my "Contemporary Issues in China" discussion class has left me wanting to do little more than cuddle on my bed with a box of Birthday Cake (生日蛋糕) flavored Oreos. But press on I must.
So instead, allow me redirect this discussion to reflect on the difficulties associated with completing even the most seemingly mundane tasks in Mainland China. I don't want to draw too over-arching of conclusions based on singular instances- maybe I just have particularly bad luck?- but it seems that there's a trend to getting stuff done in this place. I present what may seem to be a straightforward example: replacing my Xiao Yuan Ka (Campus Card), or the little student card that magically lets me into my dorm. The card also can function as currency at the campus C-store and the cafeterias, but thankfully my card only had a few kuai's worth on it at the time of loss.
Anyone who knows me well will also know that I am notoriously bad at keeping track of my stuff, and the fact that I managed to go three months without losing my Campus Card is impressive in and of itself. But alas, I discovered Thursday evening that this rather necessary little card had gone missing- after a thorough search of pockets, purses, and pulling through my hair, the conclusion seemed to be that it had fallen out of my pocket on a taxi- in other words, lost forever. Oh well, I thought. I'll head over to the office and pick up a new one in the morning.
On Friday, I walk over to the ZUT (no, not misspelled slang for acne, but an acronym for Zhejiang University of Technology) Campus Card center to pay twenty kuai (less than three dollars US) and get my new card. But, to my dismay, nobody was working there on Friday. I was told by another attendant to come back "later." I go two more days bumming off friends, acquaintance, and random Korean and European international students to get myself in and out of the dorm- not only is the little card necessary to enter the building, but also to exit?- before heading back to the office Sunday before lunch. This time, the attendant was there, flipping through an entire stack of Campus Cards. He eyed me over his cigarette and brusquely asked what I wanted. "I misplaced my Xiao Yuan Ka," I told him, offering twenty kuai for a new one. "Sorry," he said. "I can't help you today. It's the weekend. Come back tomorrow." I thanked him and left, pondering how I'd get back into the dorm this time.
So today, Monday, around two in the afternoon, I head over to the same sad little office yet again to try to get another Xiao Yuan Ka. This time, I find the office closed, again. I asked an attendant leaning against the wall what's up. "Oh, they're on break," she told me. "You shouldn't come to the office between ten and two. It's lunch time! Come back after three, workers should be there by then." Ah. Acting much more graciously than I felt, I stomped back to the dorm to finish up a PowerPoint presentation and feed myself a very late lunch, stopping to pick up Oreos at the C-store on my way. Finally, three came along, and I headed back to the office filled with apprehension.
"Hi, me again. Can I please get a new Xiao Yuan Ka?" I asked the attendant with as much politeness as I could muster in Mandarin. "Hmm. Name and department number?" he asked me. I told him my name, but was taken slightly aback. "Department number? Do you mean my student ID number?" "Oh, no, you know," he barked. "The relevant department number." "Well, I'm a foreign exchange student--" He cut me off as I started to explain. "We don't handle foreign exchange students here. Go to the student center next time." "Where is the student center-?" I began, but he cut me off with "Humph! and a wave of his hand. And that was that. Hmm. Would have appreciated that nice bit of information the first time I stopped by the office on Friday- or at the very least, when I visited with this exact same individual the day before. But never mind all that. I suppose I'll check with my program coordinator for my next steps in the Campus Card saga.
For the time being, I still don't have a new Xiao Yuan Ka (and I'm leaving the country in seven days), but I do have Birthday Cake Oreos. And those bring considerably more joy to one's life during finals week, anyway.
Monday, May 28, 2012
Sunday, May 27, 2012
A memorable meeting with a Buddhist monk
This semester in Hangzhou, I was surprised and pleased to discover
the immense number of cultural excursions planned for us as part of the
Middlebury program. From discussing the meaning of life with a senior-level
Buddhist monk to exploring one of China’s most famous fan factories,
these activities really helped me understand many aspects of Chinese
culture.
The very memorable trip to a Buddhist monastery took place a couple of weeks ago. A handful of my classmates and myself piled onto a bus along with Teacher Lian, who spent the majority of the bus ride explaining basic Buddhist principles to us ready listeners, as well as encouraging us all to come up with interesting questions to ask the monk.
I’ve actually always found Buddhism fascinating, though I haven’t had much exposure to its teachings or beliefs beyond the most basic, surface-level understanding. Next fall, however, I’m planning to take a Chinese Religions course at my university to further expose me to the religious aspects of the Chinese culture. This trip was a great introduction to the peaceful and selfless world of Buddhist teaching, and I feel like understanding these principles, even in the most basic sense, gave me a somewhat deeper understanding of Chinese culture. Even though Teacher Lian admitted that the percentage of modern Chinese who actively practice Buddhism today is very limited, it seems that the basic principles of Buddhism still guide many Chinese people’s lives from a societal perspective.
When we arrived at the monastery, we were given a few minutes to look around at the temples and skim the piles of free Buddhist books laid out for interested visitors. Teacher Lian, again, proved invaluable in reading and explaining some of the ambiguous, Classical Chinese passages in these books. He made suggestions as to which ones we should pick up for further attempts at understanding Buddhism.
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| A fan-painting artist at the handmade fan factory |
The very memorable trip to a Buddhist monastery took place a couple of weeks ago. A handful of my classmates and myself piled onto a bus along with Teacher Lian, who spent the majority of the bus ride explaining basic Buddhist principles to us ready listeners, as well as encouraging us all to come up with interesting questions to ask the monk.
I’ve actually always found Buddhism fascinating, though I haven’t had much exposure to its teachings or beliefs beyond the most basic, surface-level understanding. Next fall, however, I’m planning to take a Chinese Religions course at my university to further expose me to the religious aspects of the Chinese culture. This trip was a great introduction to the peaceful and selfless world of Buddhist teaching, and I feel like understanding these principles, even in the most basic sense, gave me a somewhat deeper understanding of Chinese culture. Even though Teacher Lian admitted that the percentage of modern Chinese who actively practice Buddhism today is very limited, it seems that the basic principles of Buddhism still guide many Chinese people’s lives from a societal perspective.
When we arrived at the monastery, we were given a few minutes to look around at the temples and skim the piles of free Buddhist books laid out for interested visitors. Teacher Lian, again, proved invaluable in reading and explaining some of the ambiguous, Classical Chinese passages in these books. He made suggestions as to which ones we should pick up for further attempts at understanding Buddhism.
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| Buddhist practitioners burning incense in a "xiang lu," or incense burner |
We
finally met with the senior monk after about an hour of wandering
around the monastery area. Green tea was poured as we filed into the
room and settled into large wooden chairs. The monk spoke in a subdued,
peaceful voice, and calmly made eye contact with each one of us as he
introduced himself and proceeded to answer our questions. My classmates
started off the discussion: “What made you decide to become a Buddhist
monk?” “What do you think about Tibetan Buddhism?” and the like.
My
question was simple but relevant: “We are all college students in our early twenties. What sort of advice do you have for us at this
point in our lives?” I was curious to hear what he would have to say.
“I’m not entirely familiar with your individual lives,” he admitted as a
disclaimer preceding his answer. But the general gist of his response
was quite uplifting and surprisingly similar to what one might expect in
advice from a Western philosopher or Catholic priest: “Right now, the
most important thing you can do in your lives is study, for that is the
purpose of a college education: to know more about the world.” He also
added something along the lines of: “Every day, you will make many
decisions. Each and every one of these decisions, no matter how small,
reveals something about you and what kind of person you are. So going
forward, make sure that you pay attention to your decisions and make
those decisions that will improve our world and help others.”
His
advice was heartfelt and meaningful and really resounded with me;
regardless of one’s personal background, religious beliefs, or country
of origin, that advice could apply to anybody's life. And that is
something that I will take away from this experience: at some level,
every one of us, Chinese, American, or whatever nationality, is
searching for the same basic things in life: meaning, acceptance,
family, and a desire to make the world a slightly better place than it
was before we came into it.
The meeting was cut short by our antsy driver's desire to make it home before rush hour. However, as we were wrapping up the discussion, I heard an oddly familiar sound coming from the monk's general direction: the cheery beeps of a standard iPhone ringtone. It's a strange, globalized and product-oriented world we live in, when even ascetic Buddhist monks living in the small mountains of southwestern Hangzhou answer their iPhones without so much as a thought. What an anomaly, and what an epitome of China's cultural blend of old and new: a traditional Buddhist monk in a room full of Western college students, linked by language, a desire to learn, and the incongruous convenience that is the Apple iPhone.
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| The walkway leading out from the monastery |
The meeting was cut short by our antsy driver's desire to make it home before rush hour. However, as we were wrapping up the discussion, I heard an oddly familiar sound coming from the monk's general direction: the cheery beeps of a standard iPhone ringtone. It's a strange, globalized and product-oriented world we live in, when even ascetic Buddhist monks living in the small mountains of southwestern Hangzhou answer their iPhones without so much as a thought. What an anomaly, and what an epitome of China's cultural blend of old and new: a traditional Buddhist monk in a room full of Western college students, linked by language, a desire to learn, and the incongruous convenience that is the Apple iPhone.
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Notes on air quality
Check out this link for Greenpeace Asia's analysis of the air quality of large cities on China's Eastern Seaboard. The full report is here.
Interesting thing about Hangzhou: the capital of Zhejiang province ranked #3 in Eastern China for PM-10 pollution at 490% of WHO guidelines. And we thought Houston's springtime pollen was bad! No wonder Allegra and Benadryl have been especially useful during my stay here in the lovely Hangzhou.
If you're thinking about traveling to Eastern China yourself, make note of the fact that pollution can be worse than it seems. Limit time outside on hazy days- no jogging if you can't see what's one block away!
Thanks to Shanghaiist.com for the tip!
Interesting thing about Hangzhou: the capital of Zhejiang province ranked #3 in Eastern China for PM-10 pollution at 490% of WHO guidelines. And we thought Houston's springtime pollen was bad! No wonder Allegra and Benadryl have been especially useful during my stay here in the lovely Hangzhou.
If you're thinking about traveling to Eastern China yourself, make note of the fact that pollution can be worse than it seems. Limit time outside on hazy days- no jogging if you can't see what's one block away!
Thanks to Shanghaiist.com for the tip!
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Shanghai: China’s “melting pot” and a world apart
A vastly different look at urban China is just an hour away from
Hangzhou by high-speed train. I’ve heard all sorts of praise for the
wonders of Shanghai from family friends in the US and Chinese teachers
alike, and because of this I’ve been yearning to visit this massive
riverside economic center of China for quite some time now. Keeping with
my desire to travel and see more of China, five MIC students, me
included, decided to take a Saturday day trip to Shanghai a couple of
weekends ago. We booked the first morning gao tie train ticket available
and returned that same evening, before the busses stopped running. It
was a fast-paced but satisfying taste of what seems to be China’s
future, and it left me itching for more.
It seems like Hangzhou is currently heading in the direction of what I saw in Shanghai. Here was a fully functioning, multicultural city with a convenient public transportation network of busses and Metro, a unique blend of European and Chinese architectural influences, and evident economic success. If Hangzhou represents China’s thousands of years of cultural history, Shanghai represents the flashy and fast-paced nature of years to come. This was especially noticeable in the touristy walkway bordering the Bund area: on one side of the river, a futuristic, space-agey view of Shanghai’s modern Pudong skyline is visible; on the opposite side, grand, European-influenced banks and shopping centers provide vivid contrast. If Paris was the city to be in during the 1950s, then Shanghai is the modern-day equivalent, encompassing most of the luxuries and conveniences of modern cities in the developed world, while simultaneously retaining Chinese culture and charm. Note the pants (China style) on the child to my left in the photo below:
Old world charm:
Shanghai is full of diverse things to do that are sort of a blend of the best of the East and West. In the course of just one day, I was able to:
1. Travel all the way across Shanghai and back in thirty minutes on the speedy and convenient subway
2. Hear at least ten different languages spoken in the Bund area- and not attract intrigued stares from locals for my pale skin and light hair (Shanghaii natives are used to foreigners and don’t think much of their presence, unlike many other places in China!)
3. Bargain in Mandarin at the West Nanjing Road market for silk scarves, touristy souvenirs, knock-off brand name shoes and hand-painted Chinese-style paintings, all for fractions of the asking price- already merely a fraction of these items’ value in US dollars. Sometimes it was tempting to over-pay out of a sense of guilt- how can this “thing” be worth so little?, but I think I drove a hard bargain for the most part!
4. Consume Chinese you tiao for breakfast, authentic French lamb, scallops and cheeses for lunch, and Italian beef tortellini in pink sauce with Diet Coke (so hard to find in Hangzhou!) for dinner for a day of truly multicultural dining!
Delicious Italian dinner:
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| Shanghai's modern Pudong skyline, in all its hazy glory |
It seems like Hangzhou is currently heading in the direction of what I saw in Shanghai. Here was a fully functioning, multicultural city with a convenient public transportation network of busses and Metro, a unique blend of European and Chinese architectural influences, and evident economic success. If Hangzhou represents China’s thousands of years of cultural history, Shanghai represents the flashy and fast-paced nature of years to come. This was especially noticeable in the touristy walkway bordering the Bund area: on one side of the river, a futuristic, space-agey view of Shanghai’s modern Pudong skyline is visible; on the opposite side, grand, European-influenced banks and shopping centers provide vivid contrast. If Paris was the city to be in during the 1950s, then Shanghai is the modern-day equivalent, encompassing most of the luxuries and conveniences of modern cities in the developed world, while simultaneously retaining Chinese culture and charm. Note the pants (China style) on the child to my left in the photo below:
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| Hello, American! And baby bottom |
Old world charm:
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| MIC Hangzhou folk in Shanghai |
Shanghai is full of diverse things to do that are sort of a blend of the best of the East and West. In the course of just one day, I was able to:
1. Travel all the way across Shanghai and back in thirty minutes on the speedy and convenient subway
2. Hear at least ten different languages spoken in the Bund area- and not attract intrigued stares from locals for my pale skin and light hair (Shanghaii natives are used to foreigners and don’t think much of their presence, unlike many other places in China!)
3. Bargain in Mandarin at the West Nanjing Road market for silk scarves, touristy souvenirs, knock-off brand name shoes and hand-painted Chinese-style paintings, all for fractions of the asking price- already merely a fraction of these items’ value in US dollars. Sometimes it was tempting to over-pay out of a sense of guilt- how can this “thing” be worth so little?, but I think I drove a hard bargain for the most part!
4. Consume Chinese you tiao for breakfast, authentic French lamb, scallops and cheeses for lunch, and Italian beef tortellini in pink sauce with Diet Coke (so hard to find in Hangzhou!) for dinner for a day of truly multicultural dining!
Delicious Italian dinner:
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| Absolutely divine beef tortellini in pink sauce, Da Marco Ristorante, Shanghai |
Wuyuan, Jiangxi: China's Most Beautiful Countryside Ever (official title)
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| From back left: Da Shan (Sam), Todd's roommate, Todd, Sam's roommate, me, my roommate |
One of my goals for this semester was to make time to travel and see more of China, and I was able to do so through the large group travel excursion this semester. This trip involved a lengthy da ba (charter bus) trip to the Wuyuan area in nearby Jiangxi province. We left at midday on Friday and returned Sunday afternoon, making the trip a quick taste of another rather scenic and pretty region of China.
The first night we arrived, bags were dropped off at the surprise that was our hotel. I must say, I’ve never seen or stayed at anything quite like this place in China or back in the States. The room itself was basic and perfectly fine, with two twin beds, brick-hard mattresses, thick fluffy blankets and a small television set. The bathroom, however, was very interesting. In lieu of the expected seat toilet, stalled shower, and other norms of basic hotels, this one featured a small sink, hand-held shower head attached to a water heater, and a squat toilet directly underneath the shower. It was somewhat difficult to use, but ended up becoming a sort of balancing act when showering became necessary. The entire bathroom space was maybe one-third the size of a twin bed. It certainly was a very economic use of space!
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| Note that our sink was missing a handle for cold water, so we used the shower head as a faucet instead |
As for activities in the lovely Wuyuan, we first embarked on a cultural journey Saturday morning and set out to wade into the river and catch fish with our hands, classical Chinese style. Our guide, however, deemed the current and depth of the water inappropriate for hugging fish, and instead we ended up fishing. It was cool to see the fishing pole set-up, worms, and methods used to catch fish in Jiangxi- I was simultaneously intrigued by some of the differences and reminded of fishing for perch at my grandpa’s farm back in the Texas countryside. The surrounding hills, blue skies and clear water were so far removed from what one’s mental image of China can so easily become after spending too much time in China’s big cities: hazy, gray skies, tall faceless buildings, ever-present noise and ubiquitous traffic. In contrast, this was peaceful bliss.
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| The "White Dragon Waterfall" |
After fishing, we retired to the hotel for a quick lunch of Wuyuan specialties, then packed back on the bus to head to a nearby mountain, famous for featuring the tallest waterfall in China. On the mountain, the scenery was absolutely beautiful. The winding staircase path traveling up the mountain was right next to a continuous stream of clear water and small waterfalls, and the path occasionally crossed the water using creaky wood bridges. Climbing the mountain took real physical exertion, but after Song Tao and Da Shan, me, Andria and Da Shan’s roommate managed to reach the highest waterfall before everyone else. It was a great experience and one of my better memories from this semester in China.
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| Me, Todd and Sam in front of the tallest waterfall in China! |
Chengdu: the best moment of my life
Over spring break, two of my classmates and I spent five nights
Chengdu, Sichuan to escape China’s eastern seaboard and embrace the
culture of China’s west. Chengdu, the largest city in Sichuan province,
is famous for deliciously spicy Sichuan cuisine and giant pandas.
To get to Chengdu, my classmates and I took the high-speed (gao tie) train from Hangzhou to Shanghai, took a bus from the train station to our airport, and from Shanghai’s Pudong airport flew to Chengdu on Sichuan Airlines. Flying on Sichuan Air was quite an experience, made even more exciting by the friendly service of identically clad flight attendants and cute little in-flight snack boxes filled with one of Chengdu’s specialty dishes: yu xiang rou si, a type of shredded pork with garlic sauce. It was a great start to an even greater experience.
When we arrived in Chengdu, a family friend of Lesley picked us up at the airport and escorted us to the apartment complex where we were to stay the night. The next day, we drove outside of the city to one of Chengdu’s giant panda research centers. I was so excited to see the adorable black-and-white creatures wandering around their spacious mountainside habitats. Overall, the pandas had a pretty comfortable existence, especially when compared to my mental image of concrete boxes and iron bars. There were hills, bamboo forest, and toys for the pandas to climb on, and many of the pandas were munching on specially made “panda cookies”.
The park was filled with busloads of Chinese tourists there to see the pandas, and their behavior was somewhat disappointing; there was lots of yelling, shouting, and tossing things at the poor pandas. It’s true that the Chinese and American ways of conducting tourism are quite different, and Chengdu’s tourist sites gave me a much deeper understanding of what it means to go on a vacation in China.
However, the best was yet to come. On Easter Sunday, the three of us traveled by cab to the northern part of downtown Chengdu, where we found the Chengdu Research Center for Giant Panda Breeding. Again, we discovered loads of giant pandas roaming around their green enclosures and climbing into the forks of trees for a quick nap. There were also red, or lesser, pandas, which look remarkably like the American raccoon (an annoying but cute creature famous for getting into people's trashcans). Lots of Chinese and foreign tourists cooed over the adorable baby pandas playing and strained every which way to snag that perfect photograph. Elbows flew, feet were stomped on, but it was all worth it just to catch a glimpse of the pandas!
The highlight of my Chengdu panda experience cost me 1300 RMB- the equivalent of about 200 American dollars. Such a donation to panda research bought me a nametag, t-shirt, panda related DVD, and the opportunity to take pictures with a baby panda on my lap! I donned a fashionable blue cape, booties and gloves and hugged the black-and-white squirming bundle of joy on my knees for the amount of time it takes to take 5 or 6 photos. It was the best moment of my life. I love Chengdu, and I love China for having pandas.
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| PANDA |
To get to Chengdu, my classmates and I took the high-speed (gao tie) train from Hangzhou to Shanghai, took a bus from the train station to our airport, and from Shanghai’s Pudong airport flew to Chengdu on Sichuan Airlines. Flying on Sichuan Air was quite an experience, made even more exciting by the friendly service of identically clad flight attendants and cute little in-flight snack boxes filled with one of Chengdu’s specialty dishes: yu xiang rou si, a type of shredded pork with garlic sauce. It was a great start to an even greater experience.
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| Nifty Sichuanese air plane cuisine, complete with glob of spicy sauce in the middle. Yum! |
When we arrived in Chengdu, a family friend of Lesley picked us up at the airport and escorted us to the apartment complex where we were to stay the night. The next day, we drove outside of the city to one of Chengdu’s giant panda research centers. I was so excited to see the adorable black-and-white creatures wandering around their spacious mountainside habitats. Overall, the pandas had a pretty comfortable existence, especially when compared to my mental image of concrete boxes and iron bars. There were hills, bamboo forest, and toys for the pandas to climb on, and many of the pandas were munching on specially made “panda cookies”.
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| BABY PANDAS!!! |
The park was filled with busloads of Chinese tourists there to see the pandas, and their behavior was somewhat disappointing; there was lots of yelling, shouting, and tossing things at the poor pandas. It’s true that the Chinese and American ways of conducting tourism are quite different, and Chengdu’s tourist sites gave me a much deeper understanding of what it means to go on a vacation in China.
However, the best was yet to come. On Easter Sunday, the three of us traveled by cab to the northern part of downtown Chengdu, where we found the Chengdu Research Center for Giant Panda Breeding. Again, we discovered loads of giant pandas roaming around their green enclosures and climbing into the forks of trees for a quick nap. There were also red, or lesser, pandas, which look remarkably like the American raccoon (an annoying but cute creature famous for getting into people's trashcans). Lots of Chinese and foreign tourists cooed over the adorable baby pandas playing and strained every which way to snag that perfect photograph. Elbows flew, feet were stomped on, but it was all worth it just to catch a glimpse of the pandas!
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| Hipster red panda won't even look at the camera |
The highlight of my Chengdu panda experience cost me 1300 RMB- the equivalent of about 200 American dollars. Such a donation to panda research bought me a nametag, t-shirt, panda related DVD, and the opportunity to take pictures with a baby panda on my lap! I donned a fashionable blue cape, booties and gloves and hugged the black-and-white squirming bundle of joy on my knees for the amount of time it takes to take 5 or 6 photos. It was the best moment of my life. I love Chengdu, and I love China for having pandas.
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| GAHHH ME WITH A PANDA BABY MY LIFE IS COMPLETE!!!!! |
Creepy new friends, and why the buddy system is important
The other day, I went on a solo excursion to the Former Residence of Xia Yan for my Hangzhou history class. Who, you might ask, is Xia Yan? None other than a famous revolutionary playwright and screenwriter, who just so happened to make his home in northern Hangzhou during the better part of the twentieth century. Feeling brave, I hopped on the number 33 bus for eight stops, and landed in a part of the city that was distinctly unfamiliar.
All was well for the most part as I began my one-kilometer trek from the bus stop to the famous(?) historical marker, located on the sketchy side street of a back alley in a rather uncomfortable and clearly still underdeveloped part of the city. The photo below is a main street close to where Xia Yan's home was located- I felt uncomfortable whipping out my camera on the actual street.
Keeping a hand on my purse and avoiding eye contact with the locals, I plugged in my headphones and tried to look as nondescript as a pale, blonde foreigner with Western facial features can in Hangzhou.
However, just as I was walking down the sidewalk, minding my own business, I suddenly felt something large and rubbery bump into the back of my legs. Startled and concerned, I took out my headphones and saw that I had just been hit by nothing other than a woman on an electric bike. She was staring at me intently and kept saying something along the lines of "are you ok?" to which I replied multiple times, in Mandarin, "just fine, thanks." I thought- thought- that was that. However, the woman immediately pulled her electric motorbike next to me on the sidewalk and started asking me all sorts of questions. At first it seemed harmless enough, so I went along with it. "What's your name?" "Where are you from?" and the like. I answered, thanked her for concern, and politely told her she could continue to go about her business- that I didn't want to "bother" her any further. But then, it started to get strange.
Woman: "Oh, but you are so very pretty."
Me: Nah, I'm not so pretty, just foreign.
Woman: No. You are beautiful. Actually, you're the most attractive foreigner I've seen in Hangzhou.
Me: Um, thanks.
Woman: I could help you, you know. Since you are so pretty, Jee-aiy-shee-kah (she asked my English name, and that was her interpretation of the pronunciation).
Me: That really isn't necessary...
Woman: No. You have a very nice body. Good figure. Very thin legs. And such pale skin!
Me: ...
Woman: Why don't you hop on my motorbike and I'll take you wherever you want to go.
Me (not wanting to be sold into sex slavery in Turkey): Um, thanks for offering, but I'm really ok. Actually, I have to turn here.
Woman: No, Xia Yan's home is up this way.
Me: I think I know where it is, I have a map. Really, I can find it on my own.
Woman: I'll go with you. Because you are so pretty!
Me: ...
The woman on the bike proceeded to follow me for ten more minutes, jabbering about how attractive she thought I was and asking questions about my study of Chinese, my family, my salary and what the weather is like in America. I answered as quickly as I could, feeling gradually more and more creeped out.
Finally, I arrive at the (surprisingly pretty) Xia Yan house. To my surprise, the woman decided to come in with me and follow me around the place. I stopped to take a picture of the garden below, when she got extra close, reached out, and grabbed my thigh right above the knee. "Such nice legs!" she said as I jumped away. Note to self: should have worn long pants. And brought along several tall, muscular males. I decided to take just a couple more pictures, then get the heck out of dodge.
While I was at the Xia Yan house, the women continued to follow me wherever I went, and when she noticed other visitors she made a point of pointing to me and shouting, "Look! Look at the pretty foreigner!" A pair of thirty-something Chinese men were near the garden above, and they turned their discerning eyes in my direction. "Do you know the foreigner?" one asked. "We just met. But she is very beautiful," the woman exclaimed. Soon, I had two more followers as I hurried through the Xia Yan Former Residence.
It was still ok until I stumbled across Xia Yan's former bedroom (pictured above; the figure in the picture is my creepy female Chinese "friend"/stalker). The two men, evidently underestimating my Chinese abilities, tapped my shoulder. One pointed to the bed and asked matter-of-factly, in Chinese:
"Would you like to go to bed with me?"
Me: I beg your pardon?
Creeper: You know, get on that bed and have sexual intercourse. How does that sound?
Me: Ooh, you know what? I have to go back to campus now. I have class in... ten minutes! Taxi?
Creepy lady: Oh, I know a good place to find a taxi. I can take you there on my motorbike.
Creeper: Leaving so soon? But you are sexy.
Me: Nice to meet you all. I'm leaving now, have to go to class and all. Bye bye. I can see myself out.
Creepy lady: I'll escort you to a taxi. It's the least I can do.
Me: No really, that's ok. Thanks but no thanks.
I finally lost all the creepers after I turned off the small street and waited on the side of the highway for a cab, on my way passing several scantily clad Chinese women in bright red high heels with crowds of men holding cigarettes looking at them from afar (and shooting conspicuous glances in my direction, too.) Prostitution? Quite possible. The first available cab came just soon enough to take me back to Zhejiang University of Technology and safety. And a shower. Sexual molestation/kidnapping/other various threats to personal safety avoided!
All was well for the most part as I began my one-kilometer trek from the bus stop to the famous(?) historical marker, located on the sketchy side street of a back alley in a rather uncomfortable and clearly still underdeveloped part of the city. The photo below is a main street close to where Xia Yan's home was located- I felt uncomfortable whipping out my camera on the actual street.
Keeping a hand on my purse and avoiding eye contact with the locals, I plugged in my headphones and tried to look as nondescript as a pale, blonde foreigner with Western facial features can in Hangzhou.
However, just as I was walking down the sidewalk, minding my own business, I suddenly felt something large and rubbery bump into the back of my legs. Startled and concerned, I took out my headphones and saw that I had just been hit by nothing other than a woman on an electric bike. She was staring at me intently and kept saying something along the lines of "are you ok?" to which I replied multiple times, in Mandarin, "just fine, thanks." I thought- thought- that was that. However, the woman immediately pulled her electric motorbike next to me on the sidewalk and started asking me all sorts of questions. At first it seemed harmless enough, so I went along with it. "What's your name?" "Where are you from?" and the like. I answered, thanked her for concern, and politely told her she could continue to go about her business- that I didn't want to "bother" her any further. But then, it started to get strange.
Woman: "Oh, but you are so very pretty."
Me: Nah, I'm not so pretty, just foreign.
Woman: No. You are beautiful. Actually, you're the most attractive foreigner I've seen in Hangzhou.
Me: Um, thanks.
Woman: I could help you, you know. Since you are so pretty, Jee-aiy-shee-kah (she asked my English name, and that was her interpretation of the pronunciation).
Me: That really isn't necessary...
Woman: No. You have a very nice body. Good figure. Very thin legs. And such pale skin!
Me: ...
Woman: Why don't you hop on my motorbike and I'll take you wherever you want to go.
Me (not wanting to be sold into sex slavery in Turkey): Um, thanks for offering, but I'm really ok. Actually, I have to turn here.
Woman: No, Xia Yan's home is up this way.
Me: I think I know where it is, I have a map. Really, I can find it on my own.
Woman: I'll go with you. Because you are so pretty!
Me: ...
The woman on the bike proceeded to follow me for ten more minutes, jabbering about how attractive she thought I was and asking questions about my study of Chinese, my family, my salary and what the weather is like in America. I answered as quickly as I could, feeling gradually more and more creeped out.
Finally, I arrive at the (surprisingly pretty) Xia Yan house. To my surprise, the woman decided to come in with me and follow me around the place. I stopped to take a picture of the garden below, when she got extra close, reached out, and grabbed my thigh right above the knee. "Such nice legs!" she said as I jumped away. Note to self: should have worn long pants. And brought along several tall, muscular males. I decided to take just a couple more pictures, then get the heck out of dodge.
While I was at the Xia Yan house, the women continued to follow me wherever I went, and when she noticed other visitors she made a point of pointing to me and shouting, "Look! Look at the pretty foreigner!" A pair of thirty-something Chinese men were near the garden above, and they turned their discerning eyes in my direction. "Do you know the foreigner?" one asked. "We just met. But she is very beautiful," the woman exclaimed. Soon, I had two more followers as I hurried through the Xia Yan Former Residence.
"Would you like to go to bed with me?"
Me: I beg your pardon?
Creeper: You know, get on that bed and have sexual intercourse. How does that sound?
Me: Ooh, you know what? I have to go back to campus now. I have class in... ten minutes! Taxi?
Creepy lady: Oh, I know a good place to find a taxi. I can take you there on my motorbike.
Creeper: Leaving so soon? But you are sexy.
Me: Nice to meet you all. I'm leaving now, have to go to class and all. Bye bye. I can see myself out.
Creepy lady: I'll escort you to a taxi. It's the least I can do.
Me: No really, that's ok. Thanks but no thanks.
I finally lost all the creepers after I turned off the small street and waited on the side of the highway for a cab, on my way passing several scantily clad Chinese women in bright red high heels with crowds of men holding cigarettes looking at them from afar (and shooting conspicuous glances in my direction, too.) Prostitution? Quite possible. The first available cab came just soon enough to take me back to Zhejiang University of Technology and safety. And a shower. Sexual molestation/kidnapping/other various threats to personal safety avoided!
Saturday, March 31, 2012
Manicure Maladies
We didn't have any class this Friday, so two of my friends and I decided it was the perfect day to hit up our favorite approximately Western-style shopping mall: complete with Zara, H&M, an all-you-can-eat Japanese Teppanyaki restaurant (where a chef prepares things like STEAK and SUSHI on the table for you!!!), and a nail salon. Part of the girls' day out involved getting super dressed up, so we pulled all the shots: dresses, skirts, pretty flats, makeup. Chinese girls typically dress in an over-the-top girly fashion, so our choice of attire was actually pretty normal by Chinese standards. I wore a new H&M lacey-sparkly pencil skirt with a blue Zara blouse borrowed from Lesley.
For all girls out there, a Shellac gel manicure at Lixing Guangchang is only $12 U.S.! That's an amazing bargain, since comparable treatment in the states ranges from $25-45 at least. The first time I visited Lixing's manicurists, the result was a beautiful green shade that lasted for weeks. This time I was going for a bright, coral-tinged red- just in time for spring.
Eleanor, Lesley and I rode the not-quite-so-crowed city bus for 30 minutes or so before arriving at Lixing. We put our names down for manicures, then perused the wonders of H&M until the time came for our appointments. I casually picked up a cropped Pink Floyd t-shirt and denim shorts, since the selection of spring/summer clothes I brought to Hangzhou is pretty limited- and I was craving some aspects of Western culture. Punk rock all the way!
We arrived at the manicurist's and settled down into the three cute little round seats as peppy Chinese manicurists gushed about Eleanor's pale skin, my blonde hair, and Lesley's awesome highlights, feeling like quite the superstars. Not only had we shocked them by nature of being American, but today our choice of attire was actually, by Chinese standards, above-par. The pampering began with all the usual pomp and splendor as our manicurists filed our nails into perfect square shapes and pushed back overgrown cuticles. It was paradise- especially compared to our usual daily afternoon activities of cramming for listening exams and writing essays.
The situation was about as perfect as could be expected, except for one unfortunate aspect. Although it was about 63 degrees outside on Friday, on the second floor of the Lixing Mall it had to be at least 85. The heaters were pumping out hot air like it was nobody's business, and were doing so without the least bit of circulation. The atmosphere of stagnant hot air was kind of nauseating, and coupled with the not-so-heavenly fumes of nail polish remover and whatever scary chemicals are hidden in Shellac (a kind of nail polish that won't chip for a month), I started feeling ever so queasy and light-headed.
The manicurist had just put the first coat of red polish on the nails of my left hand when all of a sudden the edges of my vision started filling with tiny, dense black specks. I stood up, grabbed my hand away from the meticulous embrace of my manicurist, and collapsed into a nearby pedicure chair with my knees drawn up to my chest, suddenly overtaken in waves of nausea. Whether my lunch had contained something not-so-great, or that Snickers bar at Watson's (a drugstore by H&M) just didn't agree with my digestive tract, or if the combination of chemical fumes and stale air and horribly uncomfortable heat just got to me, all of a sudden I was compelled to grab the nearest trash can and relieve my stomach of everything it had consumed that afternoon. In the middle of the nail salon. I threw up about four times, all right there in the middle of a Chinese mall kiosk manicure parlor.
By the time I returned, embarrassed and sickened, from cleaning my face up in the sketchy mall bathroom, I found the Chinese manicurists all matter-of-factly going about their business. One had cleaned up the bits and pieces that didn't quite make it into the trash can by wiping the floor with tissues. One had purchased a bottle of water for me and pressed it, and a few more tissues, into my hand. My own manicurist had picked up a vial of mint-scented essential oil and waved it under my nose, dabbing a bit onto my upper lip, temples, and the center of my forehead. Their calmness and apparent lack of surprise about the whole situation was surprising, almost unsettling, but I really appreciated their help (since I felt like the China Plague had finally done me in). Maybe people throw up at Chinese nail salons on a regular basis- that's how nonchalantly they handled the situation. In fact, as soon as I wasn't visibly retching anymore, my manicurist promptly grabbed my right hand and proceeded to finish my manicure, all the while with the trash can right by my side, just in case.
There really must be something to Eastern medicine- after thousands of years of practice, the Chinese have definitely figured some things out. The mint smell did wonders for the state of my stomach, and helped counteract the effects of the wide variety of delightful odors circulating the Lixing mall. As the manicure was finishing up, my manicurist was explaining (in Chinese) that it was a good thing that I threw up, since that way the "bad stuff" was out of my system. I felt gradually better and better as the mint did its job, but just to make sure, I crept back downstairs as soon as the primping was over to breathe some fresh, cool air. Surprisingly, I felt great- great enough that our original dining plans did not even change, and we went to the Teppanyaki restaurant as planned. Heck, I ate an all-you-can-eat Japanese steak dinner that very evening, almost to apologize to my stomach for dealing with so much abuse that day.
Looking back on it, it's actually a pretty funny situation. How many times in life does one throw up at a Chinese nail salon? Hopefully, for me, just this once. But maybe I'll go pick up some mint essential oil, just in case.
For all girls out there, a Shellac gel manicure at Lixing Guangchang is only $12 U.S.! That's an amazing bargain, since comparable treatment in the states ranges from $25-45 at least. The first time I visited Lixing's manicurists, the result was a beautiful green shade that lasted for weeks. This time I was going for a bright, coral-tinged red- just in time for spring.
Eleanor, Lesley and I rode the not-quite-so-crowed city bus for 30 minutes or so before arriving at Lixing. We put our names down for manicures, then perused the wonders of H&M until the time came for our appointments. I casually picked up a cropped Pink Floyd t-shirt and denim shorts, since the selection of spring/summer clothes I brought to Hangzhou is pretty limited- and I was craving some aspects of Western culture. Punk rock all the way!
We arrived at the manicurist's and settled down into the three cute little round seats as peppy Chinese manicurists gushed about Eleanor's pale skin, my blonde hair, and Lesley's awesome highlights, feeling like quite the superstars. Not only had we shocked them by nature of being American, but today our choice of attire was actually, by Chinese standards, above-par. The pampering began with all the usual pomp and splendor as our manicurists filed our nails into perfect square shapes and pushed back overgrown cuticles. It was paradise- especially compared to our usual daily afternoon activities of cramming for listening exams and writing essays.
The situation was about as perfect as could be expected, except for one unfortunate aspect. Although it was about 63 degrees outside on Friday, on the second floor of the Lixing Mall it had to be at least 85. The heaters were pumping out hot air like it was nobody's business, and were doing so without the least bit of circulation. The atmosphere of stagnant hot air was kind of nauseating, and coupled with the not-so-heavenly fumes of nail polish remover and whatever scary chemicals are hidden in Shellac (a kind of nail polish that won't chip for a month), I started feeling ever so queasy and light-headed.
The manicurist had just put the first coat of red polish on the nails of my left hand when all of a sudden the edges of my vision started filling with tiny, dense black specks. I stood up, grabbed my hand away from the meticulous embrace of my manicurist, and collapsed into a nearby pedicure chair with my knees drawn up to my chest, suddenly overtaken in waves of nausea. Whether my lunch had contained something not-so-great, or that Snickers bar at Watson's (a drugstore by H&M) just didn't agree with my digestive tract, or if the combination of chemical fumes and stale air and horribly uncomfortable heat just got to me, all of a sudden I was compelled to grab the nearest trash can and relieve my stomach of everything it had consumed that afternoon. In the middle of the nail salon. I threw up about four times, all right there in the middle of a Chinese mall kiosk manicure parlor.
By the time I returned, embarrassed and sickened, from cleaning my face up in the sketchy mall bathroom, I found the Chinese manicurists all matter-of-factly going about their business. One had cleaned up the bits and pieces that didn't quite make it into the trash can by wiping the floor with tissues. One had purchased a bottle of water for me and pressed it, and a few more tissues, into my hand. My own manicurist had picked up a vial of mint-scented essential oil and waved it under my nose, dabbing a bit onto my upper lip, temples, and the center of my forehead. Their calmness and apparent lack of surprise about the whole situation was surprising, almost unsettling, but I really appreciated their help (since I felt like the China Plague had finally done me in). Maybe people throw up at Chinese nail salons on a regular basis- that's how nonchalantly they handled the situation. In fact, as soon as I wasn't visibly retching anymore, my manicurist promptly grabbed my right hand and proceeded to finish my manicure, all the while with the trash can right by my side, just in case.
There really must be something to Eastern medicine- after thousands of years of practice, the Chinese have definitely figured some things out. The mint smell did wonders for the state of my stomach, and helped counteract the effects of the wide variety of delightful odors circulating the Lixing mall. As the manicure was finishing up, my manicurist was explaining (in Chinese) that it was a good thing that I threw up, since that way the "bad stuff" was out of my system. I felt gradually better and better as the mint did its job, but just to make sure, I crept back downstairs as soon as the primping was over to breathe some fresh, cool air. Surprisingly, I felt great- great enough that our original dining plans did not even change, and we went to the Teppanyaki restaurant as planned. Heck, I ate an all-you-can-eat Japanese steak dinner that very evening, almost to apologize to my stomach for dealing with so much abuse that day.
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| Teppanyaki restaurant (on a previous occasion.. I stuck with Sprite last night!) |
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| More Teppanyaki love |
Looking back on it, it's actually a pretty funny situation. How many times in life does one throw up at a Chinese nail salon? Hopefully, for me, just this once. But maybe I'll go pick up some mint essential oil, just in case.
Peace, happiness and Pink Floyd
"This week will bring you peace and happiness." That could be the message of a fortune cookie, but sums up the past week pretty well. While my classes have been getting steadily more and more difficult and mid-terms are just around the corner, overall I feel like the past week was a "good" China week. Of course, study abroad has its ups and downs, and it's easy to let the downs become overwhelming at times. Nevertheless, my lack of illness, BEAUTIFUL weather (highs in the 60s and 70s, no rain) and a few nice cultural activities thrown in have made this week unexpectedly nice, and reminded me that study abroad isn't all bad, after all.
Right now, I could be writing any one of several essays due next week regarding Hangzhou's history, the developments of the Chinese missile program in the 1950s, the Chinese housing market, or the Pepsi-Cola company's future prospects in China. Instead, I'm going to pass on a few snippets of what made parts of this week so great, and others pretty darn amusing.
1. Nutritional awareness- 11:45 pm, Thursday night
My roommate (smacking loudly on some sort of dried fig): "Xia xin, it seems that you don't like fruit. I never see you eat fruit. This is bad, because fruit is good for you."
Me (in pajamas and crawling under the covers): "I love to eat fruit, just not in this dorm room."
Roommate: ".....................oh. Well, you should eat fruit in the room. Fruit is good for you."
2. It's a mystery...
About every ten-thirty minutes in Hangzhou, very loud military-looking jets of mysterious origin fly over the Zhejiang University of Technology campus. Actually, another one just tore through the airspace outside my dorm as I sit here typing this post. I broached the issue during my "One-on-one" class, where the sound of supersonic jet engines was making it difficult to hear what my teacher was saying about the Long March 2E rocket.
Me: "Feng Laoshi, why are there always military jets flying over our campus?"
Teacher: "What military jets?"
Hmm.
Feng Laoshi, my one-on-one class's teacher, is actually really awesome. When we're not discussing developments in the Chinese space industry, we have had some nice, long talks about the nuances of punk, rock, and "lo-fi" British music. He's into indie music, but is also a fan of Coldplay and Pink Floyd... LOVE IT!!!
3. The Temple of Soul's Peace
The Lingyin Temple was built in the third century AD and is the most important Buddhist area in Zhejiang province. I was sent there on Wednesday for my Hangzhou history class, and the scenery was so beautiful- it was about 70 degrees, bright, and all of the flowers were blooming. It was so lovely that I ended up buying a small black beaded bracelet from one of the souvenir shacks outside the temple. "What is the meaning behind this bracelet?" I asked the shopkeeper. "It will bring you peace and harmony," she told me. Who doesn't need more of that in their life?
Right now, I could be writing any one of several essays due next week regarding Hangzhou's history, the developments of the Chinese missile program in the 1950s, the Chinese housing market, or the Pepsi-Cola company's future prospects in China. Instead, I'm going to pass on a few snippets of what made parts of this week so great, and others pretty darn amusing.
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| Making "Twin Happiness" 双喜 paper cut-outs with Chinese third graders... so cute! The MIC program took us all to an elementary school on Tuesday to play with and attend class with the students for a couple of hours. |
1. Nutritional awareness- 11:45 pm, Thursday night
My roommate (smacking loudly on some sort of dried fig): "Xia xin, it seems that you don't like fruit. I never see you eat fruit. This is bad, because fruit is good for you."
Me (in pajamas and crawling under the covers): "I love to eat fruit, just not in this dorm room."
Roommate: ".....................oh. Well, you should eat fruit in the room. Fruit is good for you."
2. It's a mystery...
About every ten-thirty minutes in Hangzhou, very loud military-looking jets of mysterious origin fly over the Zhejiang University of Technology campus. Actually, another one just tore through the airspace outside my dorm as I sit here typing this post. I broached the issue during my "One-on-one" class, where the sound of supersonic jet engines was making it difficult to hear what my teacher was saying about the Long March 2E rocket.
Me: "Feng Laoshi, why are there always military jets flying over our campus?"
Teacher: "What military jets?"
Hmm.
Feng Laoshi, my one-on-one class's teacher, is actually really awesome. When we're not discussing developments in the Chinese space industry, we have had some nice, long talks about the nuances of punk, rock, and "lo-fi" British music. He's into indie music, but is also a fan of Coldplay and Pink Floyd... LOVE IT!!!
3. The Temple of Soul's Peace
The Lingyin Temple was built in the third century AD and is the most important Buddhist area in Zhejiang province. I was sent there on Wednesday for my Hangzhou history class, and the scenery was so beautiful- it was about 70 degrees, bright, and all of the flowers were blooming. It was so lovely that I ended up buying a small black beaded bracelet from one of the souvenir shacks outside the temple. "What is the meaning behind this bracelet?" I asked the shopkeeper. "It will bring you peace and harmony," she told me. Who doesn't need more of that in their life?
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| Beautiful hilly scenery |
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| The third building of the temple, which also functions as a museum |
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| Lovely Mulan-style flowers blooming near LingYin |
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| An incense burner in front of the temple |
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| Me, at the temple site. Asked a friendly Chinese couple to take this pic for me :) |
Wuzhen: 15¢ Life Insurance and Chinese Bliss
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| Just look at that clear, blue water! |
This past weekend, I accompanied a few of my American classmates and their Chinese roommates to Wuzhen for our partially-reimbursed “small group travel” experience. Wuzhen, a reconstructed historic canal city in Zhejiang province, is about 20 minutes + bus ride away from Hangzhou by high-speed train and two hours away by long-distance bus. It was quite the China adventure!
Getting to Wuzhen required a “30 minute” stretch of public transportation that turned into 1.15 hours with traffic and bus stops- because of this, we missed our train and needed to re-purchase our train tickets for a train one hour later. The train ride was less than 30 mins, which brought us to a local bus stop. There, we piled into a tiny short public bus to take us to Wuzhen, on which perhaps fifteen to twenty Chinese people were standing in the aisle for upwards of an hour! Eventually, we finally arrived at our lovely Wisteria Hostel within the Beautiful Scenery Zone.
Wisteria Hostel’s beds consisted of bunks, with wood planks spanning across the frame, and a thin blanket passing for a mattress on top. Sheets and a comforter were provided at the foot of the bed. The three American students shared our six-bunk room with three random Chinese girls from other parts of Zhejiang province. The hall restroom featured a row of squat toilets with no toilet paper and bad plumbing, and the showers were pretty terrifying. Still, though, the hostel was in a convenient location within the Scenic Zone, and the Chinese roommates were so thrilled to be there.
The pretty Wuzhen area was very touristy and was sort of reminiscent of Disney world. Apparently there was originally a real city in Wuzhen centuries ago, but the government came in within the past couple of years and completely consumerized and reconstructed the place. Now, tourist traps and silly museums abound. My personal favorite of these museums was probably the Ancient Bed museum, closely followed by a collection of coins from around the world. Not sure what these things have to do with Zhejiang history or even Wuzhen, but Chinese tourists love it and arrive by the hundreds to check it out.
Despite the lack of authenticity, Wuzhen’s scenery was really beautiful, and I took plenty of pictures of the completely re-built buildings, canals, and pagodas. I wasn’t the only one taking pictures. The hoards of Chinese tourists were particularly fascinated by my blonde hair, and came at me with or without asking permission to take picture after picture of the blonde Lao Wai (foreigner). Maybe the weirdest one was a fellow on a public bus on the way back to Hangzhou, who literally had his video camera out filming the backs of my and my friend Eleanor’s heads- for an hour. I asked him, in Chinese, what the heck he thought he was doing- to which he merely gave me a startled expression and resumed his filming.
But even more crazy was our return travel arrangement. It was Saturday night, and we had all settled down at the Lotus Lounge bar to enjoy a tasty Western desert and one overpriced cocktail each. Around 10 pm or so, one of my friends casually asked the Chinese roommates: “what time are we leaving Wuzhen in the morning?” The unexpected reply: “what time do you want to leave?” We were shocked- the thought of booking a return ticket had not even crossed these Chinese college students’ minds. “We were thinking maybe after dinner,” one of them pointed out, looking up from her knock-off Angry Birds cell phone game. We expressed our desire to leave earlier due to lots of homework, and the roommates again were shocked. After rounds of chatter and Internet browsing on one roommate’s iPad, we finally came to the consensus that we would leave the Scenic Zone around 8:00 am, catch a bus to the WuZhen Bus Station, and hopefully find a cheap long-distance bus to bring us back to Hangzhou. If that didn’t work out, we would take another bus to the Wuzhen Train Station and try to book a train. It seemed insane at the time, but surprisingly enough Sunday morning we were able to squeeze onto an 8:45 am bus to Hangzhou that landed us “home” around 10:10 am. We were actually back in our dorm in time for lunch, and once again, we foreigners were the crazy and confused ones- the Chinese people know much better how their system works.
Did you know that when you purchase a long-distance bus ticket in China, the one yuan ($0.15) “service tax” added on top of the price tag actually covers a life insurance policy? No joke. In case of a devastating crash, fiery explosion, lightening strike or other disaster (heaven forbid) that might harm our lovely bus, my family would supposedly be reimbursed up to 50,000 RMB, approximately $7,800, for my loss of life. Good to know I’m worth so much to the Chinese government!
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| 乌镇美不美？Is Wuzhen pretty? Question used to make everyone smile for the camera :) |
On a spicier note, cooking class last week produced a beautiful, spicy, fragrant rendition of the classic chicken-and-peanut stir-fry that you can find at Big Bowl: Kung Pow Chicken! It tasted so much better under the guidance of our funny, short-haired and fussy Chinese cooking teacher than at any American “Chinese” restaurant. I’m feeling so intense in my cooking skills at this point J It’s a specialty of Sichuan province in central China, and I’ll actually be visiting Chengdu in Sichuan over spring break. Chengdu, just so you know, is home to spicy food and PANDAS. It’s going to be an awesome trip- and we've actually ALREADY booked the return tickets!
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| Kung Pow Chicken (宫保鸡丁） |
The secret to making the peanuts extra-crunchy is to boil them in oil and then allow them to cool to below room temperature prior to cooking. Who knew? For this purpose, our cooking teacher put the just-boiled peanuts in a plate on the open window ledge, since the outside temperature at the time was hovering in the low 40s.
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
The (new) Cold War 空调战争
Hangzhou, China. The rainy capital city of Zhejiang province in the southeastern part of the Middle Kingdom, and my home for the next couple of months! (to all friends, family and whoever else is cool enough to be reading this... I'm SO sorry about the long delay in writing my first post! I'll be better in the future, I promise!)
Rather than detailing the grueling 30+ hours of travel time it took for both me and my matching set of cheap red Target luggage to arrive in this lovely dorm room, or going into detail about my immune system’s unending battle with all sorts of nasty Chinese cold/flu/stomach-issue-causing/拉肚子 buggies during my first few weeks here, or even commenting on the abundance of excellent Chinese eatables (and lack of Western ones) in this lovely city, I'd rather start by telling a little story. More on Chinese illnesses and foods will come in later posts, I promise- especially since I'm taking a cooking class here!
OK, I couldn't resist. Here's a pic of my Ma Po Dofu, or Grandma's Spicy Tofu, the first dish I made in my Chinese cooking class:
Back to the story.
So this is Zhang LiHui, or Ivy, my adorable Chinese roommate. She’s 22 going on 13 and absolutely precious- maybe 4’8” tops. Here we are at West Lake, the main tourist attraction in Hangzhou:
THE HEATER.
Enter Ivy. Apparently, in southeastern Chinese countryside culture, it is not at all kosher to leave the heater running 24 hours a day. I was unaware of this until one day the first week of class (weather outside: 37 degrees and sleeting). Upon returning from my Business Chinese lecture, I opened the door to our room to a blast of freezing air. The heater had been turned off, and the window was thrown wide open, with a bit of rain falling on the floor of our room. It was so cold! Ivy was right there, sitting on her bed and munching on some sort of Chinese candy. I asked her what was up. “The air in here isn’t fresh,” she replied matter-of-factly. “Why’s the heater turned off?” “We need to let it rest. It’s been working so hard!” she said. I tried explaining that in America we leave the heater on and the windows closed during bad winter weather. “It isn’t so bad,” she replied. “Put on thicker clothes, then.”
Well, this was not going to fly. I promptly closed the window, turned the heater on high and explained that not only was I freezing after sitting through a cold classroom, but I also have a circulatory medical condition that makes my hands and feet particularly susceptible to the cold- and hence I need my room to be warm. She shrugged and repeated her statements from earlier.
The next day, all was well until I returned from my class to find the window yet again open and the heater yet again turned off! I corrected the situation, again told Ivy that it would be best for the window to stay closed and the heater on, and suggested that if she really needs “fresh” air, she need only go outside. She told me the heater was tired and needed to rest, and suggested I add a sweater.
This back-and-forth continued every day for the next week. Clearly the method of civilized conversation was getting me nowhere, so I decided to move on to more drastic measures. Ivy usually kept the heater remote (which is difficult to use, being all in Chinese) on her desk. One day, when the weather was again bad, the window open, the heater off, and Ivy not in the room, I took the remote and put it on my desk shelf, next to the nail polish remover and the instant coffee. She wouldn’t find it, right? WRONG. The next day, the remote was back on her desk, and situations had not improved.
So, I upped the game again. One drawer of my desk locks closed with my suitcase combination lock, and inside I keep such items as my American cash, health insurance info, passport, and nail file (couldn’t think of a better place for it). Monday afternoon, between spells of street food-induced nausea, I put the remote in there. On a whim. The room warmed up, and I was happy.
Ivy returned to the room late Monday night and woke me from my semi-ill slumber. I pretend to stay asleep as I heard her begin rummaging through my desk, opening drawers and zippers with reckless abandon. The girl is persistent! Eventually the noise died down, I fell back asleep, and the room stayed warm. Jessica: One, Ivy: Zero.
But it continues! This morning around 8 am, I was putting on mascara at my desk when Ivy opened the window. She then came up from behind me, tapped my shoulder, and asked: “Xia Xin, the air in here is not at all fresh, and the air conditioner needs to rest. We need to turn it off. Where is the heater remote?” I feigned ignorance and lack of Chinese ability. “I have it,” I replied with a sweet smile. “No, where is it?” she said. “Oh, don’t worry. It’s comfortable in here. The heater is good for my health!” She humphed and returned to her desk, muttering something about “rest” and “fresh air.” I again began to attempt to rationally explain the reasons why leaving the heater off and opening the window when it’s in the low 40s outside is not a great idea, but to no avail. Feeling pretty bad about all of this extreme passive-aggressive behavior later in the day, I pulled out the remote this afternoon and turned down the temperature several degrees- but still didn’t turn it off.
Fortunately, the Hangzhou weather forecast says that this week we might actually break into the 50s. If so, that would be amazingly balmy and I might just break out a green swimsuit for St. Patrick’s day. (You think I’m kidding.) If the weather does again take a turn for the worse and the sleet comes back, I’ll need all of the luck and well-wishing I can get as the heating wars rage on!
Wishing you all lots of love from Chinarrr,
Xia Xin (the bad, belated, passive-aggressive blogger)
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