It's an Ex-Pat's Life For Me

Lawrence of Arabia, I am not.

Why does this movie always make me think of Dune?

I won't be going native any time soon. I am much too attached to my foreign luxuries. Speaking of which, I found a Piece of the True Cross (I'd call it the Holy Grail, but I have a whole wish list of things I'd like to find), today:

Diet Caffeine Free Coke, FTW.

I also quite enjoy the pesto, Frosted Flakes, and Swiss Miss stashed in my cupboard. It's not just food, either. My apartment shows heavy Ikea influence: bed linens, picture frames, bookends, decorative items, even my desk lamp. This is not entirely because I am seeking out the comforts and familiarity of home. After all, back home I own maybe four things from Ikea, and I can't remember the last time I ate Frosted Flakes (but finding Honey Bunches of Oats with Almonds are another item on the Quest list), and Swiss Miss is satisfies my childhood nostalgia, but I'd really prefer Hannaford brand cocoa.

Who's Up for a Round of "Spot the Ikea?"

No, I have things from Ikea because I knew Ikea would have what I needed, and its prices are reasonable. I have hot chocolate powder because I have to boil the water before I drink it, and you can only drink so much tea/plain hot water. I have Frosted Flakes because I don't feel like making breakfast or running out for baozi every day. I put pesto on my noodles because I am a terrible Chinese cook and one can only eat so many vegetable stir-fries.

Furthermore, while I spend a significant proportion of my time with other foreigners (such is the nature of my job), and while a significant proportion of my attempts to communicate are in English, I do seek out and relish opportunities to interact with local people. Just today, I went out to do some grocery shopping. During my three hours or so out and about, I managed to have short exchanges with three people in Chinese, and to learn a new word (zhenzi: hazelnut).

Roast Sweet Potato. Street food is one of my favorite parts of China.

Still, I’ve got a lot of work to do if I want to move from being an ex-pat to being good old Lawrence.  Comparing my life here to my life in Beijing, I think I am more daring and less afraid of failure in my daily interactions with Guangzhou. If anything, I have not yet found a place or opportunity to closely engage with local people. But I’m working on it. Maybe, as the weather begins to cool (it was only 75 the other night!), I will spend more time in our courtyard garden in the evening, and strike up a conversation. Maybe I’ll actually get around to seeking out some Chinese cooking classes. Maybe.

For now, though, you’ll have to excuse me. I’ve got half a jar of pesto that needs to be finished.

The Mountains Beyond the Mountains

Dead shopping malls rise like mountains beyond mountains
And there's no end in sight

Sprawl II (Arcade Fire)

Mountains Beyond Mountains

The fact that I'm living in Guangzhou often overshadows the other significant, concurrent change in my life. That change is that I've gone from living in Limestone, Maine (population 2,314) to living in a city of 12.78 million, in the midst of the largest urban area in the world after Toyko. I'm a rural Maine girl in an endless city and there are days where I would sell my soul to see some stars.

Am I living in the Doctor Who "Big Bang" world without stars? 

 

This city is never quiet. It is never dark. The natural haze and unnatural smog blur the distance, leaving nothing but ranks of skyscrapers fading into grey. I now have a skyline, not a horizon. There are always people, always voices and sound. My neighbor's son practices the piano. There is a construction site in the block outside my window. Now, this is not to say I live in Hell. No, there are quiet moments in the apartment courtyard. There are evenings when the courtyard is crowded, but with children and families, and the atmosphere is fair-like. My neighbor's son is actually not a bad pianist. And, while I can't see stars, on most nights I can see the moon.

Happy MidAutumn Festival from Xingping

Still, I was overwhelmingly happy last week to be able to get out of the city. A large group of fellow teachers and I took the bus about 6 hours to Yangshuo, a town in Guangxi province. Yangshuo reminds me of Old Orchard Beach, without the beach. The main tourist area, West Street, is lined by day with vendors and shops selling all the usual Chinese souvenirs. At night, it transforms into a bar street. At all times, it is crowded with foreigners.

West Street, Yangshuo

But I didn't go for the silk scarves and bars. I went for the scenery: limestone karst mountains that rise up from the level plain of the land like dominoes carelessly discarded there by giants. I spent my time rediscovering nature, by boating on the Li River and biking through the countryside.

It was worth the sunburn.

We also went a little further to Xingping, a small town with fewer foreigners (but also a wonderful hostel, called This Old Place: so, on the one hand, rural; on the other hand, still clearly tourist-oriented). It was quiet and relaxing and I really, really didn't want to go back to the city.

Do I have to go back to the asphalt jungle?

Alas, back to the city I went. I suppose the epically neat sleeper bus helped in the transition (who know they were a real thing?!). Really, the city is a wonderful place, full of opportunities and wonders. But, oh, it was nice to see mountains made of stone not of steel.

Night bus!

For 100 more pictures of mountains, you can see all of my photos from vacation here.

I am an American

I remember asking my grandmother where she was when the US dropped the first atomic bomb on Hiroshima. She had to think about it, and ended up telling she wasn't really sure. I was surprised, at the time, because it seemed to me like such a significant moment in history: everything changed. I'm a little older now, and I've come to two conclusions. The first is that even if you know at the time that an event is going to change everything, that doesn't mean it will stick to your memory. The second is this: I don't think anyone in Japan has forgotten where they were when they heard the news. I don't think you ever forget being the victim of an atrocity.

This post isn't about my life in China. This post is about being an American, on the tenth anniversary of September 11th. I could never have predicted, ten years ago, that I would be living in China on this date. I was 13 years old in 2001. On the eleventh of September, we had just started the school year. I was in eighth grade, in Reading class. I was sick: I had a cold, I shouldn't have gone to school. Our teacher was the assistant principal/ principal-in-training, and at 9:30 or so, the principal knocked on our door and held a whispered conversation with her. This was strange and unprecedented, and finally she turned around to us and told us that a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center. These where my first two thoughts: Who is stupid enough to flight a plane into a building? and Where's the World Trade Center? I thought it was an accident. A little later, they actually let us go down to the cafeteria, where they had brought out one of the tv's on a cart, and let us watch some of the news coverage. At this point, my mother (who is a teacher) arrived, and noticed that I was quite sick. She took me home (clearly, little curriculum was going to be covered that day) and settled me in on the couch, but my parents made me promise not to watch the news. This wasn't a problem, as I did nothing but sleep for the rest of the day.

This is the memory that I will carry with me for the rest of my life. But I also remember being angry at the sudden changes in the news, in the government, in the way people talked. Becoming a teenager is hard enough, but when your entire society is changing, too? It was aggravating. I remember, on the first anniversary, being annoyed that it was such a "big deal" still. I remember thinking that it was probably still going to be a huge thing on the tenth anniversary.

That's tomorrow. I like to think I'm a little less cynical, and a little more understanding, now. I'm ashamed enough of my attitude then that writing the paragraph above feels like confessing a sin. It is a big deal, still, because it was a big deal. This is our post-9/11 world, and in some ways, we'll always be defined by it, even if we could not have known how it would change us. I already feel defined by it, working as a teacher. My students are not really that much younger than me -- but they were not old enough to remember it. To them, already, it is just a moment in History, not a part of their own story.

That is why, I think, we need to pause tomorrow, and remember. We aren't just remembering those who were killed, or those whose bravery and courage made "doing their job" into heroism. We are remembering for those who do not remember, and for those who can't remember because they haven't even been born yet. History is just memory, so at the base of it all, we can't afford to forget. There are days, living in China, that I lie and say I am Canadian. It's easier than getting sucked into a conversation about trade, the economy, and government policy. But, tomorrow is not one of them. Tomorrow, I am an American.

I'm On a Boat

Yesterday, for the first time in two months, I walked on the ground. The actual earth, that is, with no asphalt, tiles, concrete, bricks, or other man-made paving materials between my feet and the dirt. It was uneven and unplanned and it was glorious. Even better, it was just one part of a glorious day.

We went on a company outing/team building trip yesterday. We took a bus out of the city to Qingyuan, which is about 70 km northwest of the Guangzhou. Qingyuan is the destination of choice for city-dwellers looking for a little change of scenery. For a few hours, I traded in skyscrapers for mountains; canals for rivers; subway rides for boat rides.

Qingyuan

Our first order of business was lunch, which we enjoyed on a boat while cruising down a green river between steep mountains. It was quiet but for the thrum of the engines. The air smelled like water, and mud, and gasoline fumes. There was a breeze and the sun was out.

here there be foreigners

After lunch, we hopped back on the bus and headed over to our main activity of the day: whitewater rafting. Now, I was hesitant going into this trip about the rafting, as all of my experience has been with rafting in Maine, which is a little bit more exciting than I generally like. But, numerous people assured me that this version of whitewater rafting was going to be tame.

Alright, take a moment to imagine whitewater rafting. What do you envision? A river with a swift current, a series of rapids and riffles, some eddies, some danger, a lot of excitement. A raft full of people, perched on the sides, clad in helmets and life-jackets and wielding plastic paddles and led by a fearless and experienced rafting guide.

Now imagine a waterslide at a waterpark. Perhaps one of the ones down which you ride an inner tube. Got it? Now, combine your idea of whitewater rafting with the waterslide and you'll be somewhere near Qingyuan rafting. The river is narrow: maybe the width of a highway lane, slightly wider at the pools between rapids. You are in a two-man raft, sitting inside facing each other. You brace your feet against a raised strip in the center of the boat, and hold on to two handles. You have a helmet and a life-jacket, but no paddle. And then, you're off! The rapids are semi-natural and semi-constructed: let's call it "enhanced nature." They are much like chutes and drops, in the sense that they are caused by falling elevation, not water moving over submerged boulders. At each one, there is a lifeguard standing by with a long pole, to tow you back into the current in the event that you get stuck in an eddy and can't figure out your own creative solution to navigation without a paddle. They are also there, presumably, to aid you in the event of an accident, but we were never in any danger of flipping, and the water level was rarely if ever more than shoulder deep. The journey lasted a little over an hour and was great fun. I would do it again in a heartbeat.

After the rafting, we changed into dry clothes and had a moment to buy a snack/enjoy the scenery before heading back to the city. One of the local teachers convinced us to try a local snack (I didn't catch its name) made of water and yellow beans with a sweet ginger sauce. It is the color and consistency of custard, but is just water and beans. Apparently, Qingyuan is the place to try it (although you can get it in Guangzhou) because the Qingyuan mountain spring water is so delicious and pure, it make the whole dish better. The ginger sauce was sweet and spicy and all together, it was quite lovely.

It was two hours back to Guangzhou. I napped on the bus. A few of us finished off the day by having dinner at the Indonesian restaurant near our school, and then I went home and went to bed. It was a long day, but so worth it to see some green places. Nature: I miss it the most of all.

I'm on a boat.

Ni Ha-oh, Hello.

I live in China, right?

Guangxiao Temple, GZ

Yup, definitely China. It's just, sometimes it can be hard to tell. Sure, I look out my window and see a city of skyscrapers. I walk down the street and am surrounded by Chinese people. I go to a restaurant, or look at a newspaper, or try to take a bus, and I'm faced with more Chinese characters than my Chinese 205 textbook. My students whisper back and forth in Chinese when they think I'm not paying attention (and sometimes when they know I'm paying attention, but they don't care. But that's another story about my poor classroom management skills). I constantly face that beautiful kind of Chinglish that can brighten your day even while confusing you to no end.

Sounds tasty, yes? It's mushroom soup with a puff pastry crust.

But, I don't speak Chinese. I have been in Guangzhou for 7 weeks, and I have spoken less Chinese than I did in any 7 week period in college. Before arriving here, I was primarily worried that my Chinese would suffer because I speak Mandarin, not the native Cantonese. This has not been much of a problem, as I have yet to meet a local who does not speak Mandarin. My students, in particular, all speak Mandarin to each other. So, then, what's my issue?

The issue is this: unlike when I lived in Beijing, with a Chinese roommate and a language pledge requiring me to do most of my communicating in Chinese, here in Guangzhou, I'm part of an ex-pat community. My coworkers all speak English, and our Chinese abilities range from 'hello/thank you' to full fluency. But, we work in an English school, so we are required to speak English with our students, and our Chinese coworkers are there for the opportunity to practice their English. Those who do speak Chinese at work are generally speaking Cantonese. Actually, I've had more opportunity to speak French at work than Mandarin.

Out and about, I don't really do a lot of speaking, past checking out in a store or ordering food (which is, sadly, usually done by the pointing method, as my ability to read and recognize the names of dishes is pathetic). I have had one casual conversation with a fellow pedestrian, who was happy to have a simple conversation in Mandarin about the relative merits of China versus the US (US: freedom, but poor economy. China: not so free, but at least we've got jobs). I had some complicated business at the bank yesterday, and I muddled along in Chinese for about eight minutes with the teller before she flagged down a passing bank worker who spoke some English to help (to give me some credit, half of her confusion was banking related, not language related).

My Front Door

In fact, I've only had to do one complicated thing on my own which required using all Chinese. I needed to get the lock changed on my new apartment's security door. This presented a fun challenge. How and where do I find a locksmith? And how do you say "change a lock"? If this were Maine, I'd look in the phonebook or online. Here, I noticed that there was a little shop across from the bank that looked like they made/copied keys (ok, the giant key-shaped sign helped a bit). So, I looked up the word for "to change a lock," double-checked it with a native Chinese speaker at work, and stopped by after class one day. I asked the woman if she could change locks. Ahah! She can! Well, I said, I need my lock changed. She asks me if I have a Chinese friend. What? Not really, I say. She's surprised. Do I have anyone who can come translate for me? Is there anyone I can call who can translate over the phone for me?  I'm a bit confused, at this point, that she's so concerned about my inability to understand Chinese, since, you see, we're having this conversation in Chinese. But to appease her, I call my friend/coworker/fellow newbie who is Chinese-American and does speak Chinese. She doesn't answer, and I tell that to the locksmith lady, and I also say I don't think we'll have a problem. Locksmith Lady looks doubtful, but proceeds by asking me what type of door it is. She taps on a piece of metal and asks me if the door is metal. With great effort, I refrain from rolling my eyes, and reply that yes, it is a metal security door. She asks to see the key to the current lock, I pull it out and show it to her, and she picks up a lock from a shelf and asks if my lock looks like this one. It does. Then she asks me if I need the inside lock changed, too. This throws me, a little, as I wasn't really aware you could have a different inside and outside lock on the same door. So, I tell her that I don't think so. This, I think, was my fatal error. She writes up a little card with the name and the price of the outside-type lock, the inside-type lock, and the service fee and hands it to me, telling me I can consult with my husband. Blink, blink, go my puzzled eyes. Why are we suddenly talking about husbands? I don't have a husband, I say. She smiles, and corrects herself, your boyfriend. I don't have a boyfriend, I elaborate, and now it's her turn to look puzzled, as if she cannot imagine a woman without male relatives to look after her -- I'm sorry, did I just step through a time vortex? Either way, she's handing me this card and clearly dismissing me. I'm standing there, looking stupid, saying to myself, shouldn't I be telling you where I live and scheduling an appointment? But no, something's gone wrong (I'm sensing a cultural misunderstanding, not a linguistic one) and I'm too tired and hot to deal with it. So I go.

Tired, Hot, and A Little Sick of Light Pollution

A few days later, I go back, and my flatmate's actually with me this time (mostly because we've been living with one set of keys while we wait to get our lock changed). I take out the card Locksmith Lady gave me the previous time, and this time, I say, hi, remember me? Ok, so this is the one I need, the one for the outside. I don't need this one, for the inside. No wishy-washiness. She says ok, and reminds me of the price. I nod that it's fine. She takes down two locks from the shelf and asks me which kind of key I prefer - my choices are a half-circle shaped one which reminds me of the symbol for Euros, and a solid one which reminds me of a hex screwdriver tip. I don't care either way, but I decisively chose the half-circle. Then she asks if we can wait a moment. And I say ok, and she pulls out some stools for us, and we sit, and I'm beginning to be confused again, and then I realize that we're waiting for her partner, the Locksmith Guy, who goes out to homes while she mans the shop. This is instantaneous service, you see. No appointment necessary; he's actually just going to follow us home and change our lock 1-2-3. We wait maybe ten minutes, he arrives, she writes out a bill and I pay her, and off we go. It's an eight minute walk or so, and I chat badly in Chinese while we walk. He is interested to learn that we teach English but can barely understand/speak Chinese -- he seems confused about how we explain things to the kids. Honestly, I'm with him on that. There are times when you just need an explanation of a word or a grammar point in your own language. We arrive at the apartment, we go in, he starts working on the lock. Twenty minutes later, it's all done, he shows me how the new lock works, and we're all set. He says "bye-bye" (literally. I do not think I've heard a Chinese person say the Chinese word for 'goodbye' yet) and that's finished. Despite some cultural and language problems, I was able to get what I needed done, done.  The challenge made it stressful, but it also made it a little bit fun. I miss having more of these opportunities to try my skills. Switching to English feels like cheating.

speaking of the view from my window...

So, to make a long story short, I have a new personal goal: speak more Chinese. Even if it means being that crazy person who breaks elevator-etiquette and talks to strangers in the lift. Even if I have to pretend to not speak English. Even if it means accidentally ordering hot papaya soup (not papaya juice) and dumpling soup, not boiled dumplings. And maybe I'll buy a newspaper for some reading practice. Hmmm. If only my Chinese professors could see me now.