I bump into my real estate agent on the street the other day and we start chatting. I tell him a "secret": a few days after moving into my apartment, I hear something rustling near my TV, and see that there's a turtle, about eight inches long, walking around. I don't freak out, I just buy him some vegetables and put him in a plastic basin in some water. I now understand why there is a big plastic basin under my bed.
My real estate agent thinks for a minute: "Oh yeah, in Chinese culture, turtles mean longevity."
I knew it was a good sign.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Dropping It
To get an apartment in Beijing, as most people do, I used the services of a real estate agent. The good ones don't charge a commission, as the landlord pays them a fee.
And so, I got an apartment not far from the university and a few days later needed my agent to help me with a tricky problem. I'll spare you the details, but I was hoping that he could talk to my landlord and work it out. But, he was too busy cashing in on the rush of foreign students moving to Wudaokou and, like a genius, I interpreted his slow responses to mean, "I couldn't care less about your problems, bud, I already made your money and there's a lot more to be made before the end of September."
I got a little upset about this, but I figured this was a very natural way for him to respond. He is a forty year old Chinese guy with a wife and a kid. He needs to make as much money as possible in the next month or too before the student market dries up. If I taught English full-time, I might make three times as much as he does in a month.
So I decided to completely drop my American expectations of how he should have responded.
A few days later, a few foreign friends were looking for an apartment and I connected them with my agent. A few hours later, my friends had found a nice, modern two-bedroom apartment near the university and my agent made a lot of money.
He called me up and told me he had a present for me and that he wanted to take me to dinner. I told him that was fine, I didn't need a present.
I'm glad he could make some more money and I hope that kid of his grows up to be a smart, wealthy CEO.
And so, I got an apartment not far from the university and a few days later needed my agent to help me with a tricky problem. I'll spare you the details, but I was hoping that he could talk to my landlord and work it out. But, he was too busy cashing in on the rush of foreign students moving to Wudaokou and, like a genius, I interpreted his slow responses to mean, "I couldn't care less about your problems, bud, I already made your money and there's a lot more to be made before the end of September."
I got a little upset about this, but I figured this was a very natural way for him to respond. He is a forty year old Chinese guy with a wife and a kid. He needs to make as much money as possible in the next month or too before the student market dries up. If I taught English full-time, I might make three times as much as he does in a month.
So I decided to completely drop my American expectations of how he should have responded.
A few days later, a few foreign friends were looking for an apartment and I connected them with my agent. A few hours later, my friends had found a nice, modern two-bedroom apartment near the university and my agent made a lot of money.
He called me up and told me he had a present for me and that he wanted to take me to dinner. I told him that was fine, I didn't need a present.
I'm glad he could make some more money and I hope that kid of his grows up to be a smart, wealthy CEO.
Shanghainese Couple in Beijing
I've been in Beijing for a month and I like it. Since I am in China to learn Mandarin, Beijing, despite the pollution, is a breath of fresh air because everyone speaks Mandarin here. You see, in Shanghai, everywhere you go, everyone, young and old, is speaking Shanghainese.
Of course, I miss all my friends in Shanghai, and I miss my apartment in Puxi. But I don't miss people always trying to sell my "watches and bags" on the street. For that matter, I got tired, really fast, of all the "wheeling and dealing" on the street and in the stores, in Shanghai.
I once tried to make small talk with a Shanghainese woman who I had just started to work with. Using typical Shanghainese logic, after about one sentence, she stops me and say, "Oh, you are practicing your Mandarin with me." "No," I responded, "I am saying hello to you, just like I do to all my other friends and coworkers." I tried to never speak to her again.
Life in Beijing is a little slower, and people are friendlier. Nobody is trying to sell me things on the street. The Shanghainese people are famous for their arguing prowess. Every week, as you walk around Shanghai, you can hear many people yelling at each other in Shanghainese, which to put it nicely, is not the most beautiful language invented. It's hard to describe, but if you go three nights without sleep and drink lots of coffee (and to make it authentic, have your landlord or someone else do something to really piss you off) and then try to speak Chinese. It will probably sound almost like Shanghainese.
I haven't seen anyone here in Beijing argue on the street.
Of course, after a while, you get used to whatever place you are living in, and nothing really phased me anymore in Shanghai--the arguing, the hawking, the attitude.
Tonight, I was waiting in line at the supermarket with my groceries and, I'll be darned, I hear an old couple speaking Shanghainese, or more accurately, arguing in Shanghainese. The old man grumbles something to his wife and then stamps off to another part of the store. Then he comes back and they start arguing again in Shanghai. Or then again, maybe they are discussing dinner (or maybe he is reciting a love poem to her). In Shanghainese, it all sounds like arguing.
I couldn't stop laughing. It's like a caricature of what I saw in Shanghai every day.
As I collect my bag of groceries and leave the store, I see them walk toward the exit of the store, and I say to them, "You are from Shanghai!"
The man gets a big smile on his face and he tells his wife, "He heard us speak Shanghainese!" I tell them I used to live in Shanghai and they light up. They ask me if I know Shanghainese and I say no, but I say a few words. They tell me that they are both professors at Beijing Aerospace University around the corner and have been living in Beijing for a long time.
The interaction is very warm and they are very kind people.
It makes me think of my friend Bruce in Taiwan who once said to me, "It just personality." In other words, those characteristics we inherit from the city we live in, or country we live in, aren't who we really are.
With a smile on my face, I get my bike, load my groceries in it, head home to cook some of my famous soup and continue my Beijing life.
Of course, I miss all my friends in Shanghai, and I miss my apartment in Puxi. But I don't miss people always trying to sell my "watches and bags" on the street. For that matter, I got tired, really fast, of all the "wheeling and dealing" on the street and in the stores, in Shanghai.
I once tried to make small talk with a Shanghainese woman who I had just started to work with. Using typical Shanghainese logic, after about one sentence, she stops me and say, "Oh, you are practicing your Mandarin with me." "No," I responded, "I am saying hello to you, just like I do to all my other friends and coworkers." I tried to never speak to her again.
Life in Beijing is a little slower, and people are friendlier. Nobody is trying to sell me things on the street. The Shanghainese people are famous for their arguing prowess. Every week, as you walk around Shanghai, you can hear many people yelling at each other in Shanghainese, which to put it nicely, is not the most beautiful language invented. It's hard to describe, but if you go three nights without sleep and drink lots of coffee (and to make it authentic, have your landlord or someone else do something to really piss you off) and then try to speak Chinese. It will probably sound almost like Shanghainese.
I haven't seen anyone here in Beijing argue on the street.
Of course, after a while, you get used to whatever place you are living in, and nothing really phased me anymore in Shanghai--the arguing, the hawking, the attitude.
Tonight, I was waiting in line at the supermarket with my groceries and, I'll be darned, I hear an old couple speaking Shanghainese, or more accurately, arguing in Shanghainese. The old man grumbles something to his wife and then stamps off to another part of the store. Then he comes back and they start arguing again in Shanghai. Or then again, maybe they are discussing dinner (or maybe he is reciting a love poem to her). In Shanghainese, it all sounds like arguing.
I couldn't stop laughing. It's like a caricature of what I saw in Shanghai every day.
As I collect my bag of groceries and leave the store, I see them walk toward the exit of the store, and I say to them, "You are from Shanghai!"
The man gets a big smile on his face and he tells his wife, "He heard us speak Shanghainese!" I tell them I used to live in Shanghai and they light up. They ask me if I know Shanghainese and I say no, but I say a few words. They tell me that they are both professors at Beijing Aerospace University around the corner and have been living in Beijing for a long time.
The interaction is very warm and they are very kind people.
It makes me think of my friend Bruce in Taiwan who once said to me, "It just personality." In other words, those characteristics we inherit from the city we live in, or country we live in, aren't who we really are.
With a smile on my face, I get my bike, load my groceries in it, head home to cook some of my famous soup and continue my Beijing life.
Alpha Male
My new life in Beijing is mostly occupied by studying Mandarin, but you still gotta eat sometimes.
I notice it's a little late to eat in the school cafeteria, so I decide to stop at the cheap Chinese restaurant near my place. It's a Friday night and it's packed. In addition to all the other full tables, there are two tables full of young guys surrounded by lots of green glass bottles of Qing Dao.
Luckily, they have a seat for one, so I sit down and look at the menu while the waiter waits for me to make my decision. Different from Western waiters who give you the menu and then leave (although Chinese waiters do this, too). In most restaurants, I have to say: "Could you give me a few minutes?"
Actually, I don't give her a few minutes and just order a Gong Bao Ji Ding. You can tell I didn't really thoughtfully look at the menu. You know this because whenever I don't feel like reading through a Chinese menu, I order Gong Bao Ji Ding. In the United States, this dish is known as Kung Pao chicken. I seem to have permanent amnesia that the dish is too spicy and way too sweet for my taste, but I guess I really want to eat and then go study.
While I am waiting, the host seats a girl at my table and says, "Here's a new friend for you." On this Friday night, when all the tables are packed, the two people who are eating alone cannot take up their own tables. So I being the friendly guy that I am, begin talking to her. I find out she's a year out of university, majored in English, and works as an editor of English texts at a publishing company in Beijing. We talk in Chinese the whole time because even the English majors in China, not to mention most everyone else, is shy about their spoken English. This is good for me because it means I can always easily find a little English teaching gig or two (or three) on the side to support myself.
We are trying to communicate but we can barely hear each other. The two table of young guys next to us are getting rowdier and rowdier. They're making toasts and one guy in particular seems to be the leader of the rowdiness.
Alpha male is thin, has the face and skin of a boy of sixteen, but my friend tells me he is most certainly a university student. He grabs the bottle of baijiu (Chinese hard liquor) and pours glassfuls (not shotfuls) for himself and all his friends. They all make a toast and drink. Suddenly, there's the sound of a loud crash as the young Alpha Male slams his glass on the table after downing it. It hits the table and breaks. This is when I start thinking, "Okay, there is something wrong here, get ready for anything to happen. Use aikido moves if necessary."
I continue talking with my friend, who is probably still ecstatic that I am not making her talk in English. But as we talk, I am distracted. Alpha male is about two feet from me, just over the railing that divides the restaurant. His skin is flushed and his arm is around his nerdy pimply friend who's wearing glasses and who is totally wasted. Nerdy talks to his friend and at times sounds like he is going to cry.
The boys pop up again like a flock of birds rushing toward the sky for another toast. This time Alpha Male and another friend end up chugging large beer bottles. While his friend quits after chugging for about thirty seconds, Alpha Male keeps going. That's a lot of beer to chug at once, and it seems like two minutes have passed and he hasn't even finished half the bottle. This boy's going to be in big trouble soon if he keeps drinking like this.
Fortunately, one of his friends grabs the bottle out of his mouth. I go back to talking to my English major friend some more. The boys are still rowdy and now they are going up for another toast of baijiu. I can't believe it. And then Alpha Male starts yelling for another round of beers.
I look at him. I think, people only drink like this when they hate life, when they are not brave enough to just kill themselves. I mean, this is a form of death what he's doing. The phrase "the folly of youth" comes to my mind.This kid is going to paying all weekend for his few hours in the restaurant.
I begin to wonder about this boy. I was a teenage boy once and I can understand his impulse. Most of us guys have memories like this. For me, it was speeding my car in the rain on the Balitmore beltway at age seventeen or eighteen. I was upset about something, and fortunately I didn't kill myself or anyone else. So, I can understand this kid.
I wish I had someone to talk to at that time so many years ago about whatever was going on, and I pray that this kid doesn't hurt himself. Tonight's drinking isn't child's play. This kid is in trouble.
Suddenly, they all get up and Alpha Male stumbles out, supported by a friend. I think about how he's going to be tomorrow. I wonder if he's going to alive in five years. I pray for him and hope he makes it.
I notice it's a little late to eat in the school cafeteria, so I decide to stop at the cheap Chinese restaurant near my place. It's a Friday night and it's packed. In addition to all the other full tables, there are two tables full of young guys surrounded by lots of green glass bottles of Qing Dao.
Luckily, they have a seat for one, so I sit down and look at the menu while the waiter waits for me to make my decision. Different from Western waiters who give you the menu and then leave (although Chinese waiters do this, too). In most restaurants, I have to say: "Could you give me a few minutes?"
Actually, I don't give her a few minutes and just order a Gong Bao Ji Ding. You can tell I didn't really thoughtfully look at the menu. You know this because whenever I don't feel like reading through a Chinese menu, I order Gong Bao Ji Ding. In the United States, this dish is known as Kung Pao chicken. I seem to have permanent amnesia that the dish is too spicy and way too sweet for my taste, but I guess I really want to eat and then go study.
While I am waiting, the host seats a girl at my table and says, "Here's a new friend for you." On this Friday night, when all the tables are packed, the two people who are eating alone cannot take up their own tables. So I being the friendly guy that I am, begin talking to her. I find out she's a year out of university, majored in English, and works as an editor of English texts at a publishing company in Beijing. We talk in Chinese the whole time because even the English majors in China, not to mention most everyone else, is shy about their spoken English. This is good for me because it means I can always easily find a little English teaching gig or two (or three) on the side to support myself.
We are trying to communicate but we can barely hear each other. The two table of young guys next to us are getting rowdier and rowdier. They're making toasts and one guy in particular seems to be the leader of the rowdiness.
Alpha male is thin, has the face and skin of a boy of sixteen, but my friend tells me he is most certainly a university student. He grabs the bottle of baijiu (Chinese hard liquor) and pours glassfuls (not shotfuls) for himself and all his friends. They all make a toast and drink. Suddenly, there's the sound of a loud crash as the young Alpha Male slams his glass on the table after downing it. It hits the table and breaks. This is when I start thinking, "Okay, there is something wrong here, get ready for anything to happen. Use aikido moves if necessary."
I continue talking with my friend, who is probably still ecstatic that I am not making her talk in English. But as we talk, I am distracted. Alpha male is about two feet from me, just over the railing that divides the restaurant. His skin is flushed and his arm is around his nerdy pimply friend who's wearing glasses and who is totally wasted. Nerdy talks to his friend and at times sounds like he is going to cry.
The boys pop up again like a flock of birds rushing toward the sky for another toast. This time Alpha Male and another friend end up chugging large beer bottles. While his friend quits after chugging for about thirty seconds, Alpha Male keeps going. That's a lot of beer to chug at once, and it seems like two minutes have passed and he hasn't even finished half the bottle. This boy's going to be in big trouble soon if he keeps drinking like this.
Fortunately, one of his friends grabs the bottle out of his mouth. I go back to talking to my English major friend some more. The boys are still rowdy and now they are going up for another toast of baijiu. I can't believe it. And then Alpha Male starts yelling for another round of beers.
I look at him. I think, people only drink like this when they hate life, when they are not brave enough to just kill themselves. I mean, this is a form of death what he's doing. The phrase "the folly of youth" comes to my mind.This kid is going to paying all weekend for his few hours in the restaurant.
I begin to wonder about this boy. I was a teenage boy once and I can understand his impulse. Most of us guys have memories like this. For me, it was speeding my car in the rain on the Balitmore beltway at age seventeen or eighteen. I was upset about something, and fortunately I didn't kill myself or anyone else. So, I can understand this kid.
I wish I had someone to talk to at that time so many years ago about whatever was going on, and I pray that this kid doesn't hurt himself. Tonight's drinking isn't child's play. This kid is in trouble.
Suddenly, they all get up and Alpha Male stumbles out, supported by a friend. I think about how he's going to be tomorrow. I wonder if he's going to alive in five years. I pray for him and hope he makes it.
Friday, September 12, 2008
Soymilk
I'm getting used to my new neighborhood in Beijing. Finding a small market where I can buy some dou jiang (soy milk, 豆漿) every day for my breakfast has been talking up more of my consciousness than I am willing to admit (hey, breakfast is important).
On the way home today, I find a market about a block away from my home that sells little plastic bags of it. In the back, there is a little stall where they sell chicken eggs, tofu, and soymilk. It's run by a kid who must be about 16. I like his Beijing accent and I like how he's not afraid to talk to me in Chinese. He's a working class straightforward kind of kid, and I really appreciate that he talks to me like he talks to everyone. He even understands what I am saying.
I pay him and walk home. It's Friday evening and I'm in no rush. You gotta love that feeling.
Next door, there's a fruit stand, and so I buy some big fragrant peaches, some soft purple plums, and a few apples. Some fruit stands in China are better than others (I suppose like any other country), and I hope this one is a keeper.
The fifteen year-old girl who works there is rushing, helping customers and tells me to hold on. I tell her to take her time. I'm still not in a rush.
I pay her and thank her. She replies as everyone in China does, and with feeling, bu yong xie (不用謝), there's no need to thank me.
As I walk home, the small bag of soymilk drops from my hand. I turn around to pick it up and behind me there is a grandmother and her three year-old granddaughter. I slowly pick up the soymilk and of course, she is looking at me, curious. Her mother moves her aside so I can go about picking up my little plastic bags.
I give her a big smile and she gives me a big smile back. It is unfettered joy, our natural state, as only children are in touch with.
I pick up my soymilk and say bye to her. She is still smiling, and I'm almost home.
On the way home today, I find a market about a block away from my home that sells little plastic bags of it. In the back, there is a little stall where they sell chicken eggs, tofu, and soymilk. It's run by a kid who must be about 16. I like his Beijing accent and I like how he's not afraid to talk to me in Chinese. He's a working class straightforward kind of kid, and I really appreciate that he talks to me like he talks to everyone. He even understands what I am saying.
I pay him and walk home. It's Friday evening and I'm in no rush. You gotta love that feeling.
Next door, there's a fruit stand, and so I buy some big fragrant peaches, some soft purple plums, and a few apples. Some fruit stands in China are better than others (I suppose like any other country), and I hope this one is a keeper.
The fifteen year-old girl who works there is rushing, helping customers and tells me to hold on. I tell her to take her time. I'm still not in a rush.
I pay her and thank her. She replies as everyone in China does, and with feeling, bu yong xie (不用謝), there's no need to thank me.
As I walk home, the small bag of soymilk drops from my hand. I turn around to pick it up and behind me there is a grandmother and her three year-old granddaughter. I slowly pick up the soymilk and of course, she is looking at me, curious. Her mother moves her aside so I can go about picking up my little plastic bags.
I give her a big smile and she gives me a big smile back. It is unfettered joy, our natural state, as only children are in touch with.
I pick up my soymilk and say bye to her. She is still smiling, and I'm almost home.
Tuesday, September 02, 2008
The Temple of Heaven
I have just arrived in Beijing. I am downtown with nothing to do. There's a station where Olympic volunteers are hanging out in their blue and white shirts. They're all patriotic Chinese twenty-somethings who have been practicing their English intensively in the past few weeks. Thankfully, I just missed the Olympics and the city is quieting down.I approach them and can see their faces get excited ("Get ready to talk English, here comes a foreigner!") I approach them slowly because I want to savor the moment. I want them to savor the moment, too.
And of course, I want to surprise them. So, I ask them in Chinese, "So, what can I do around here?"
I think the guy talking to me is relieved that he can talk to me in Chinese. In this way, he can speak with authority. As we talk, I notice another volunteer is photographing us with her high-tech super-expensive Nikon digital SLR. Maybe I will be in the newspaper tomorrow: "Chinese Volunteers Help Foreigner Enjoy Beijing".
They tell me the Temple of Heaven (天壇) is nearby, and so I start walking.
About twenty minutes later, I get there. You pay a fee to enter, but before you enter the actual temple grounds, you need to walk through the adjacent park. It is full of Chinese retirees doing what they do best: singing, dancing, playing cards, drinking tea. I sit down and watch two women in their 50s do some traditional Chinese dances.
If you want to see real life in action in China, you can always hang out with kids, dogs, or old people.
I figure I should continue to see the famous temple.
I walk through the grounds, picturing the old emperors doing their prayers for the land. It seems a little superstitious. The emperor would come here every year and go through all kinds of ritual so that the coming harvest would be good. But I think, it's good to have a reverent attitude toward nature, so I think, "Yeah, you go Emperor!"
After walking around for over an hour, I want to sit down, and I find there's a park on the grounds. There are many older Chinese people and a few of them look at me while I pull out my guide to Beijing and read it.
Across from me, there is another bench with an old couple. The man is lying down and his wife is sitting next to him, combing his hair. I just watch.
And now I know why I was supposed to come to see the Temple of Heaven today. When you are old (or young), and someone can comb your hair like that, isn't that heaven?
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