Lately, I've been having very positive interactions with random people I meet during the course of my day. I guess this shows you that if you are happy inside, you will attract the right people into your life. China (or perhaps anywhere) is a good training ground.
I get on the train and I see a man in his mid-forties reading a book on shufa (Chinese calligraphy). As everyone knows, I am a shufa fan! I can't help but walk over to him and tell him that I love shufa. Actually, I always like meeting Chinese people who are into shufa.
He responds very warmly and we begin talking about Chinese characters. We both have to change trains and walk together to line 13. He sometimes uses English, and it's pretty good. It's good to make a new friend. We exchange cards and say goodbye. "Keep in touch!" we both say. Perhaps we can get together for tea and talk more about shufa.
I am waiting for the door of the subway car to open and as it does, I hear him call my name. "Kaiyuan," he says.
I turn around, and he's holding out the book of shufa to me. "Here," he says, and puts it in my hands.
I am totally suprised and I tell him "Buyong, buyong! You don't have to, you don't have to!" But the doors are about to close and he won't take it back.
I am touched by the warmth and kindness of this Chinese man I just met fifteen minutes ago. A new friend.
Monday, March 16, 2009
The Lonely Wife and Bottle of Wine
I'm sitting in a cafe where I like to study here in the suburbs of Beijing. It's as close as you're going to get to a cafe in California. Cafe culture is pretty new to China, but they do a pretty good job of it here.
I order an omelette and get ready to study more poetry. While I'm eating it, I notice at the table next to me is a young couple in their early thirties. The woman is quite beautiful and looks educated--she looks like she's still in graduate school working on her dissertation.
Her husband is on the plump side, short, with glasses. He feeds the girl some food and she smiles and eats it. Then, the server brings a bottle of wine. He inspects it and nods his head and then the server opens it and pours it into very wide wine glasses. He shows her how to swirl the wine in the glass to open it up and give it some air.
The same thing most people do in the U.S. when we don't know much about wine!
Suddenly, of course, I get it. They are married and are on an afternoon date. He must be a rich businessman and she his exquisite trophy wife.
(I know what you are thinking, "Damn, Ron, you are like a modern day American-Israeli Moroccan-Ashkenazi-Jewish Daoist Sherlock Holmes!" Thanks!)
I return to my omelette, which is pretty good. The owner of the cafe is a Westerner, I think, and I can just picture the omelette training seminar he had for the cooks. ("Guys, try to add only a few teaspoons of oil to the pan and use low heat....")
I look up and the pudgy businessman is putting on his jacket and then gets up to kiss his wife goodbye. He goes to pay and leaves.
He must have just received a phone call requesting him to attend an urgent meeting in which they will talk about the new factory they are building in Shandong. In fact, he probably has to get on a plane to go there now and will be drinking lots of baijiu tonight.
His wife is left at the table with a bottle of wine, almost full. She takes small sips and reads the textbook in front of her, hiding her sadness.
I order an omelette and get ready to study more poetry. While I'm eating it, I notice at the table next to me is a young couple in their early thirties. The woman is quite beautiful and looks educated--she looks like she's still in graduate school working on her dissertation.
Her husband is on the plump side, short, with glasses. He feeds the girl some food and she smiles and eats it. Then, the server brings a bottle of wine. He inspects it and nods his head and then the server opens it and pours it into very wide wine glasses. He shows her how to swirl the wine in the glass to open it up and give it some air.
The same thing most people do in the U.S. when we don't know much about wine!
Suddenly, of course, I get it. They are married and are on an afternoon date. He must be a rich businessman and she his exquisite trophy wife.
(I know what you are thinking, "Damn, Ron, you are like a modern day American-Israeli Moroccan-Ashkenazi-Jewish Daoist Sherlock Holmes!" Thanks!)
I return to my omelette, which is pretty good. The owner of the cafe is a Westerner, I think, and I can just picture the omelette training seminar he had for the cooks. ("Guys, try to add only a few teaspoons of oil to the pan and use low heat....")
I look up and the pudgy businessman is putting on his jacket and then gets up to kiss his wife goodbye. He goes to pay and leaves.
He must have just received a phone call requesting him to attend an urgent meeting in which they will talk about the new factory they are building in Shandong. In fact, he probably has to get on a plane to go there now and will be drinking lots of baijiu tonight.
His wife is left at the table with a bottle of wine, almost full. She takes small sips and reads the textbook in front of her, hiding her sadness.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Practical Joke in Taxi
I flag a cab on Xue Yuan Road after getting off the subway, and upon opening the door I find there's a 10 RMB bill hiding on the right side of the passenger seat. I pick it up and give it to the driver. He is thankful.
I make conversation with him and we have a good time talking. It's time for me to get off and he says the fare is 13 RMB. I pull 3 one-RMB bills out of my wallet and hand them to him. His face turns to a slight frown as I say to him, "Didn't I just give you 10 RMB before?" Of course, I immediately tell him that I am just playing with him and he lets out a big laugh, realizing he's been had.
"Chinese people like joking, and so do I!" I say. I pat him on the shoulder and wish him good luck.
I make conversation with him and we have a good time talking. It's time for me to get off and he says the fare is 13 RMB. I pull 3 one-RMB bills out of my wallet and hand them to him. His face turns to a slight frown as I say to him, "Didn't I just give you 10 RMB before?" Of course, I immediately tell him that I am just playing with him and he lets out a big laugh, realizing he's been had.
"Chinese people like joking, and so do I!" I say. I pat him on the shoulder and wish him good luck.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Ecstatic Chinese Poetry
Lately, I've been studying Tang poetry. I'm reading well-known poem by Meng Jiao called Deng Ke Hou (登科後，孟郊). Here's the poem in Chinese:
I like it so much, I decide to translate it into English:
I like Meng Jiao and his poem, as it reminds me of Rumi's poetry. Meng Jiao is definitely the "lame goat" that Rumi mentions, and he's got the ecstatic joy that is so central to most Sufi poetry.
Of course, after he passed his exam, he gets assigned to a low-level post and "goes back" to being poor!
More ecstatic poetry!
登科後
昔日齷齪不足誇
今朝放蕩思無涯
春風得意馬蹄疾
一日看儘長安花
I like it so much, I decide to translate it into English:
After Passing the Imperial ExamA little background. Meng Jiao was 42 when he first took the Imperial Exam, but failed it. He took it again, but failed again. Finally, when he was 45, he passed it.
My life before this (just think "destitute) isn't worth a mention.
Today, though, I'm wild and my thoughts soar.
Filled with delight, I gallop around town, furiously.
In one day, I've just seen all the flowers in Chang An.
I like Meng Jiao and his poem, as it reminds me of Rumi's poetry. Meng Jiao is definitely the "lame goat" that Rumi mentions, and he's got the ecstatic joy that is so central to most Sufi poetry.
Of course, after he passed his exam, he gets assigned to a low-level post and "goes back" to being poor!
More ecstatic poetry!
Reading Children's Books on the Subway
Lately, I have been studying childrens' books on the subway. They're useful because: 1) they're easy to read (all have pinyin) and I can practice my pronunciation, 2) they use characters I haven't learned in my textbooks that I probably should know, and 3) they allow me to go through the same process of learning that every Chinese person goes through, ensuring I have a better grasp of the culture.
I get on the train at Wudaokou, and since it is rush hour, the car is full. I have just enough room to pull out a book I found called "Study Good Character" (学习好品德). I'm interested in learning more about basic Chinese values taught to children. I know they are different from what we learn in the West. I know that if I can understand them, I'll understand more of the situations I encounter in China every day.
I read the book, which talks about the importance of having a happy family ("mom, dad, dad's parents, and me"), getting good grades, being humble, not focusing on material possessions, etc. All along, a young guy is observing.
Do you speak Chinese?" he asks curiously.
"Yes," I say. And so we begin chatting.
He tells me he is a freshman at a university studying computer science. He compliments me on my Chinese and tells me his English is bad. He is a sincere young man and he probably hasn't met many foreigners before. We have a very warm interaction and get off at the terminal station together. I wish him good luck.
I am moved by his sincerity and his reaching out to speak to me. Perhaps because lately I just have been annoyed by the way some people stare at me in public. It doesn't seem very friendly. In fact, sometimes, I can see people grimace as their mind starts along it's train of thought! It's uncomfortable sometimes, although my Chinese friend says people are just curious.
Well, instead of just staring at me, this brave kid reaches out and talks to me and that made a big difference.
A few days later, I am reading my book of Tang poetry on line 10. I pull out the green children's book, full of colorful watercolor paintings accompanying each poem (along with explanations in simple, modern Chinese, and the hanyu pinyin for each character).
There's one line that I'm stuck on, so I decided to ask the woman standing next to me, as she looks like she is smart and would be willing to help (and also looks a little bored). She is happy to help and explains the line (遙看瀑布掛前川), which although is a line from a children's poem, is still considered formal classical Chinese.
We get to talking and once again, it is a very friendly interaction. She asks me where I learned my Chinese and I tell her in Taiwan. She says that foreigners who learn Chinese in Taiwan usually have very standard pronunciation. There are people who have told me this before here, but usually most people say the standard: "Taiwanese people's putonghua isn't good" (at which point I usually roll my eyes).
I guess China is all about maintaing a positive attitude. When you fall down (or are shoved), you just get up and keep going, because there are kind and good people everywhere.
I get on the train at Wudaokou, and since it is rush hour, the car is full. I have just enough room to pull out a book I found called "Study Good Character" (学习好品德). I'm interested in learning more about basic Chinese values taught to children. I know they are different from what we learn in the West. I know that if I can understand them, I'll understand more of the situations I encounter in China every day.
I read the book, which talks about the importance of having a happy family ("mom, dad, dad's parents, and me"), getting good grades, being humble, not focusing on material possessions, etc. All along, a young guy is observing.
Do you speak Chinese?" he asks curiously.
"Yes," I say. And so we begin chatting.
He tells me he is a freshman at a university studying computer science. He compliments me on my Chinese and tells me his English is bad. He is a sincere young man and he probably hasn't met many foreigners before. We have a very warm interaction and get off at the terminal station together. I wish him good luck.
I am moved by his sincerity and his reaching out to speak to me. Perhaps because lately I just have been annoyed by the way some people stare at me in public. It doesn't seem very friendly. In fact, sometimes, I can see people grimace as their mind starts along it's train of thought! It's uncomfortable sometimes, although my Chinese friend says people are just curious.
Well, instead of just staring at me, this brave kid reaches out and talks to me and that made a big difference.
A few days later, I am reading my book of Tang poetry on line 10. I pull out the green children's book, full of colorful watercolor paintings accompanying each poem (along with explanations in simple, modern Chinese, and the hanyu pinyin for each character).
There's one line that I'm stuck on, so I decided to ask the woman standing next to me, as she looks like she is smart and would be willing to help (and also looks a little bored). She is happy to help and explains the line (遙看瀑布掛前川), which although is a line from a children's poem, is still considered formal classical Chinese.
We get to talking and once again, it is a very friendly interaction. She asks me where I learned my Chinese and I tell her in Taiwan. She says that foreigners who learn Chinese in Taiwan usually have very standard pronunciation. There are people who have told me this before here, but usually most people say the standard: "Taiwanese people's putonghua isn't good" (at which point I usually roll my eyes).
I guess China is all about maintaing a positive attitude. When you fall down (or are shoved), you just get up and keep going, because there are kind and good people everywhere.
Monday, March 09, 2009
Review of Escalator Rules in China
I'm walking with my Chinese friend in the subway station and we get to an escalator. I stand to her left, which is something I would never do in the States. But in China, they must not have that rule, because there doesn't seem to be another way to use an escalator in China besides just standing on it. I've been in China for about a year and a half now and have given up on trying to pass anyone on it.
This is part of living abroad--you don't know "the rules" and so you just have to "go with the flow" and surrender to a different culture. I usually find I grow in the process, maybe become a little less impatient.
Of course, sometimes I just feel like bashing something.
So, you can imagine my surprise when my friend--using the tone of a kindergarten teacher--says to me "stand on the right, pass on the left."
I am speechless for what seems like a few minutes as my mind reels (perhaps trying to search for a chengyu, or Chinese proverb, that can accurately express that most subtle and sublime of American chengyu: "Uh, what the FUCK????").
At first, I try to tell her that I wasn't aware that this rule existed in China. I try to tell her that I never see Chinese people standing on the right and passing on the left on escalators. I tell her that in subway stations (and most other places) in the States, that's what most everyone is doing. Pretty much everyone.
But whatever I say, I still feel like I was just busted by a Communist kindergarten teacher, so I decide to let it go and shut up.
A few weeks go by, and I still haven't forgotten this story. It really sums up what it feels like to live in China sometimes. The mixture of idealism and clunkiness, authoritarianism and denial, a superiority complex and an inferiority complex, good intentions and more clunkiness.
And of course, as I always have to say, there's always that character-building element for me. (As my friend Michael F. says, "I don't buy that character-building shit!" God bless good friends!)
Today, I'm at the same subway station going up the same escalator and not one tongbao (comrade) is moving. They are all just standing there in an orderly double-file line on the escalator. I surrender to it, as usual. What choice do I have?
Fifteen minutes later, I arrive at Wudaokou Station and swipe my card to exit the system. I see the security guy sitting looking at the x-ray screen.
"Can I ask you a question?" I ask him.
"Yes," he says, looking up from the screen. He's a big guy, about 25, and his skin is rosy and still looks fresh like that of a child.
"Well, in my country, on the escalator you stand on the right and pass on the left...." I say.
He starts to smile as he realizes what my question is about.
I continue, telling him about my experience just a few minutes ago. As I talk to him, it appears as if his smile gets bigger.
He interrupts me, telling me, in his thick Beijing accent, that in China they have the same rule.
"Really?" I say.
Still smiling, he says, "We have the same rule, it's just that people's suzhi (caliber, quality of their character) is low. 只是人的素质太低."
This is not the first time I have heard a Chinese person criticizing his compatriots about their suzhi.
I imagine myself yelling out the rules to Chinese people the next time I ride an escalator, giving them a bit of education. Being an "escalator activist" of sorts.
On the other hand, I realize that if I can simply just accept Chinese people for who they are, life will get a whole lot simpler.
This is part of living abroad--you don't know "the rules" and so you just have to "go with the flow" and surrender to a different culture. I usually find I grow in the process, maybe become a little less impatient.
Of course, sometimes I just feel like bashing something.
So, you can imagine my surprise when my friend--using the tone of a kindergarten teacher--says to me "stand on the right, pass on the left."
I am speechless for what seems like a few minutes as my mind reels (perhaps trying to search for a chengyu, or Chinese proverb, that can accurately express that most subtle and sublime of American chengyu: "Uh, what the FUCK????").
At first, I try to tell her that I wasn't aware that this rule existed in China. I try to tell her that I never see Chinese people standing on the right and passing on the left on escalators. I tell her that in subway stations (and most other places) in the States, that's what most everyone is doing. Pretty much everyone.
But whatever I say, I still feel like I was just busted by a Communist kindergarten teacher, so I decide to let it go and shut up.
A few weeks go by, and I still haven't forgotten this story. It really sums up what it feels like to live in China sometimes. The mixture of idealism and clunkiness, authoritarianism and denial, a superiority complex and an inferiority complex, good intentions and more clunkiness.
And of course, as I always have to say, there's always that character-building element for me. (As my friend Michael F. says, "I don't buy that character-building shit!" God bless good friends!)
Today, I'm at the same subway station going up the same escalator and not one tongbao (comrade) is moving. They are all just standing there in an orderly double-file line on the escalator. I surrender to it, as usual. What choice do I have?
Fifteen minutes later, I arrive at Wudaokou Station and swipe my card to exit the system. I see the security guy sitting looking at the x-ray screen.
"Can I ask you a question?" I ask him.
"Yes," he says, looking up from the screen. He's a big guy, about 25, and his skin is rosy and still looks fresh like that of a child.
"Well, in my country, on the escalator you stand on the right and pass on the left...." I say.
He starts to smile as he realizes what my question is about.
I continue, telling him about my experience just a few minutes ago. As I talk to him, it appears as if his smile gets bigger.
He interrupts me, telling me, in his thick Beijing accent, that in China they have the same rule.
"Really?" I say.
Still smiling, he says, "We have the same rule, it's just that people's suzhi (caliber, quality of their character) is low. 只是人的素质太低."
This is not the first time I have heard a Chinese person criticizing his compatriots about their suzhi.
I imagine myself yelling out the rules to Chinese people the next time I ride an escalator, giving them a bit of education. Being an "escalator activist" of sorts.
On the other hand, I realize that if I can simply just accept Chinese people for who they are, life will get a whole lot simpler.
Passing a Shufa Master
I teach a 15 year-old Chinese boy on Sundays, Peter. He's a very smart kid and his English isn't bad either. He's really into science.
Actually, Peter is lucky. He's what they call "Balinghou" or a "Nineties Child" in China. He's grown up with more, in terms of material wealth than most Chinese kids have in all of history. Except for the emperors' kids.
Speaking of emperors, since China adopted its one child policy, they call these only children "Little Emperors" and "Little Princesses", as their parents and families doting and spoiling and hopes all go to them and no other siblings.
Peter is definitely a little Emperor and while his parents are strict with him at times, he gets a lot of attention, as would befit royalty. He also gets an expensive English teacher.
After our lessons, his parents always ask him to walk me out and today as we walk to the corner and chat in English, I spot an old man walking toward us. I notice in his hand a large shufa (calligraphy) brush, the kind that is dipped in water and used in parks by shufa masters.
In most large parks in China on Sunday mornings, you can see many of them writing Chinese characters with their brushes. People, old and young, walk by and admire and comment on their style. Such is the importance of the Chinese character and calligraphy in Chinese culture. (And as everyone knows, I love shufa.)
Peter, as always, is happy-go-lucky, skipping a little to the left or the right, smiling goofily. Perhaps he is happy that English class is over or that both his parents are home and that it's dinner time on a Sunday evening. Do you remember that giddiness you had as a kid? I do.
The shufa master notices Peter's animated way and a slight, slow motion smile comes to his face as he watches Peter go by.
I notice the old shufa master and I must have a similar smile on mine.
Actually, Peter is lucky. He's what they call "Balinghou" or a "Nineties Child" in China. He's grown up with more, in terms of material wealth than most Chinese kids have in all of history. Except for the emperors' kids.
Speaking of emperors, since China adopted its one child policy, they call these only children "Little Emperors" and "Little Princesses", as their parents and families doting and spoiling and hopes all go to them and no other siblings.
Peter is definitely a little Emperor and while his parents are strict with him at times, he gets a lot of attention, as would befit royalty. He also gets an expensive English teacher.
After our lessons, his parents always ask him to walk me out and today as we walk to the corner and chat in English, I spot an old man walking toward us. I notice in his hand a large shufa (calligraphy) brush, the kind that is dipped in water and used in parks by shufa masters.
In most large parks in China on Sunday mornings, you can see many of them writing Chinese characters with their brushes. People, old and young, walk by and admire and comment on their style. Such is the importance of the Chinese character and calligraphy in Chinese culture. (And as everyone knows, I love shufa.)
Peter, as always, is happy-go-lucky, skipping a little to the left or the right, smiling goofily. Perhaps he is happy that English class is over or that both his parents are home and that it's dinner time on a Sunday evening. Do you remember that giddiness you had as a kid? I do.
The shufa master notices Peter's animated way and a slight, slow motion smile comes to his face as he watches Peter go by.
I notice the old shufa master and I must have a similar smile on mine.
Something Strange in the Gymnasium
This morning, I go to the wide stone walkway in front of my university's gymnasium to do taiji, as I sometimes do. There are lots of parents waiting outside. There are more people here than normal and it looks like they are waiting around for something. A guy in front of me has a tool box. Something's strange. There are numbers stuck to the walkway.
Since it's the late morning, I assume that they are waiting to pick up kids inside--maybe the university has opened up an experimental kindergarten.
I do my taiji anyway, until a few guys near me light up. The smoke will definitely affect my qi, so I move closer to the soccer field to the left side of the building and continue my set.
After I'm done, I go inside the gym to work out some more. As I pass one of the entrances to the upper stands of the gymnasium, I see a wondrous site. There are hundreds of students on the basketball court... all drawing and painting.
There are groups of about 50 or 60 students, and in the center of each group are either a few white busts of European-looking guys from the 1700s (they look like Beethoven), or a still-life scene of a pineapple, a vase, and some other objects, all laid out on a patterned olive drape.
There are about nine groups of students, half of them are painting the still-life scene with oils or acrylic paints, and half of them are drawing busts of the old stern European guys in pencil.
I take a seat in the empty stands and watch. Every painting or drawing I am able to see is accurate and beautiful. They are all superb artists. The intensity of focus and passion in that room is palpable and I sit there in awe of them all.
How the world needs more of this.
After my workout, I use the bathroom in the basement of the gym, and see some boys cleaning their palettes. There's black water in the sinks. I ask them what's going on? Is there some sort of competition going on?
One of the boys says that they are all high school students testing for university art programs. Now it all comes together--why all the parents are nervously waiting outside, some with "toolboxes". I tell them that I wish them all good luck!
I leave the building and go to unlock my bike, parked in front of the gym. A girl and her father have found a little niche where they sit and chat. The girl is curiously watching the laowai as he gets his bike ready.
"Wish you good luck!" I say to both of them.
"Thanks," the girl says.
"His Chinese isn't bad," the father says.
To all of you dear high school students, full of your passion, your dedication, your focus: Good luck to ALL of you!
Since it's the late morning, I assume that they are waiting to pick up kids inside--maybe the university has opened up an experimental kindergarten.
I do my taiji anyway, until a few guys near me light up. The smoke will definitely affect my qi, so I move closer to the soccer field to the left side of the building and continue my set.
After I'm done, I go inside the gym to work out some more. As I pass one of the entrances to the upper stands of the gymnasium, I see a wondrous site. There are hundreds of students on the basketball court... all drawing and painting.
There are groups of about 50 or 60 students, and in the center of each group are either a few white busts of European-looking guys from the 1700s (they look like Beethoven), or a still-life scene of a pineapple, a vase, and some other objects, all laid out on a patterned olive drape.
There are about nine groups of students, half of them are painting the still-life scene with oils or acrylic paints, and half of them are drawing busts of the old stern European guys in pencil.
I take a seat in the empty stands and watch. Every painting or drawing I am able to see is accurate and beautiful. They are all superb artists. The intensity of focus and passion in that room is palpable and I sit there in awe of them all.
How the world needs more of this.
After my workout, I use the bathroom in the basement of the gym, and see some boys cleaning their palettes. There's black water in the sinks. I ask them what's going on? Is there some sort of competition going on?
One of the boys says that they are all high school students testing for university art programs. Now it all comes together--why all the parents are nervously waiting outside, some with "toolboxes". I tell them that I wish them all good luck!
I leave the building and go to unlock my bike, parked in front of the gym. A girl and her father have found a little niche where they sit and chat. The girl is curiously watching the laowai as he gets his bike ready.
"Wish you good luck!" I say to both of them.
"Thanks," the girl says.
"His Chinese isn't bad," the father says.
To all of you dear high school students, full of your passion, your dedication, your focus: Good luck to ALL of you!
Friday, March 06, 2009
Olympic Spirit Lives On... and On and On
Lately, I have noticed that the video monitors in the subway in Beijing are still showing the same videos they've been showing for the past seven months. They show athletes in training, perhaps preparing for the Olympics, and a music video of all the famous singers of China singing the theme songs of the Olympics, "Beijing Welcomes You".
If you are reading this and have any connections in the Beijing government, please send the following message to highly placed government officials:
"Dudes, the Olympics are over. Let's move on."
If you are reading this and have any connections in the Beijing government, please send the following message to highly placed government officials:
"Dudes, the Olympics are over. Let's move on."
Monday, March 02, 2009
Staring at a Dragon
I walk into the subway car at Xitucheng station and find a place to stand toward the center of the car. In front of me sits a tough looking kid in his early 20s, his hair closely shaven, wearing hip young clothing. He looks like he's a rock star, actually. He's staring at me, as so many people do throughout my days in China.
I sometimes get tired of these stares because, frankly, they don't look friendly to me. Indeed, I think because Chinese society is so homogeneous that, sometimes, they aren't that friendly and are more like the way someone might look at a miniature dragon as it walks into a subway car. But I know this is only fear of the unknown, and I also know that many times it is only simple curiosity. Perhaps someone wants to look at the bridge of my nose or the shape of my face. I have hazel eyes, maybe they want to look at them.
I've talked to some of my Russian classmates about this and we all agree--it happens too much and we get tired of it. (Perhaps this explains the t-shirt I saw on one foreigner here saying: 你看什么看！("What are you looking at?!")). One day in class, we shared our experiences with our Chinese teacher, who was surprised to hear our stories.
Having lived in China for a little while, though, I've learned not to get upset. I'll usually break the stare with a smile and the person will usually respond with a smile. I suppose it is good "PR" for us laowai.
Today, I give the tough rock star a smile and he smiles back. Ten minutes later, he gets up and walks to get off the train and looks back again. I give him another smile and he smiles again at his new foreign friend. There's a certain innocence and friendliness about many Chinese people that I see often, and I like it.
Perhaps next time, it'll be no big deal the next time he sees a dragon on the subway.
I sometimes get tired of these stares because, frankly, they don't look friendly to me. Indeed, I think because Chinese society is so homogeneous that, sometimes, they aren't that friendly and are more like the way someone might look at a miniature dragon as it walks into a subway car. But I know this is only fear of the unknown, and I also know that many times it is only simple curiosity. Perhaps someone wants to look at the bridge of my nose or the shape of my face. I have hazel eyes, maybe they want to look at them.
I've talked to some of my Russian classmates about this and we all agree--it happens too much and we get tired of it. (Perhaps this explains the t-shirt I saw on one foreigner here saying: 你看什么看！("What are you looking at?!")). One day in class, we shared our experiences with our Chinese teacher, who was surprised to hear our stories.
Having lived in China for a little while, though, I've learned not to get upset. I'll usually break the stare with a smile and the person will usually respond with a smile. I suppose it is good "PR" for us laowai.
Today, I give the tough rock star a smile and he smiles back. Ten minutes later, he gets up and walks to get off the train and looks back again. I give him another smile and he smiles again at his new foreign friend. There's a certain innocence and friendliness about many Chinese people that I see often, and I like it.
Perhaps next time, it'll be no big deal the next time he sees a dragon on the subway.
Sunday, March 01, 2009
Flying Fingernails
I'm standing in one of the sleek new cars of Beijing's subway line 10. It's clean and new. There's a map of the line about the door with little LED lights that tell you where we are now and videos showing game shows.
As usual, I'm reviewing Chinese vocabulary, reading my mini-dictionary. If you don't review your characters, you will forget what they look like, and you will definitely forget the tones. The simple pleasures of life.
Suddenly, something drops into my little pocket book. I look more closely. It's a fingernail. No way!
I look around to see if someone is cutting his fingernails on the train. Sure enough, about a meter away from me, standing up with his back to me, is a 30 year-old guy clipping his nails.
I guess I should retitle this blog, "A Spoiled American in China" because I am not particularly happy about this guy's nail in my book. And I am pretty sure that less that 0.0015% of the Chinese population would actually mind that he is doing it.
There's nothing I can do except what I have to do all the time in China: "adjust my attitude."
For fun, I send a text message to my American friend Michael who live in Beijing, telling him what just happened. "You're lucky you weren't yawning," he tells me.
I guess I should look on the bright side.
On my way back to my apartment, I still haven't stopped thinking about this. I happen to see my American neighbor, a hip 22-year old guy from Manhattan. I tell him about the fingernail in my book.
"That just shouldn't happen on the subway. That's gross!" he remarks. My heart leaps for joy knowing that I am not the only one who thinks that it's just not sanitary for people to cut their nails on the subway. Especially on the nice and shiny line 10. Just imagine if everybody were cutting their nails at once! Now that would be really gross. You would definitely not want to yawn and when you got home, you'd have to wipe all those fingernails out of your hair.
As I walk into the building, I decide to consult with one of the drivers of the illegal taxis (黑车) in front of my building. He's an old, weathered, friendly, guy who I've met before.
I tell him I need to consult with him about Chinese social etiquette and he says fine. I tell him about what happened. "In your country, that's not okay?" he asks.
I tell him it's not, not indoors in a subway car or other public place. He explains that for Chinese people, it's just a way to efficiently use your public transportation time. I remember that I've seen this more than once in Beijing and Shanghai. I thank him for this bit of education.
As I walk away he adds one more thing: "You just can't spit in the subway car."
Cool, I think, maybe I won't have to adjust my attitude the next time I see someone spitting on the subway.
For a taste of another Westerner (a Brit) reacting to nailclipping on subways (in the States), check this link out: http://pdberger.com/subway-etiquette/.
As usual, I'm reviewing Chinese vocabulary, reading my mini-dictionary. If you don't review your characters, you will forget what they look like, and you will definitely forget the tones. The simple pleasures of life.
Suddenly, something drops into my little pocket book. I look more closely. It's a fingernail. No way!
I look around to see if someone is cutting his fingernails on the train. Sure enough, about a meter away from me, standing up with his back to me, is a 30 year-old guy clipping his nails.
I guess I should retitle this blog, "A Spoiled American in China" because I am not particularly happy about this guy's nail in my book. And I am pretty sure that less that 0.0015% of the Chinese population would actually mind that he is doing it.
There's nothing I can do except what I have to do all the time in China: "adjust my attitude."
For fun, I send a text message to my American friend Michael who live in Beijing, telling him what just happened. "You're lucky you weren't yawning," he tells me.
I guess I should look on the bright side.
On my way back to my apartment, I still haven't stopped thinking about this. I happen to see my American neighbor, a hip 22-year old guy from Manhattan. I tell him about the fingernail in my book.
"That just shouldn't happen on the subway. That's gross!" he remarks. My heart leaps for joy knowing that I am not the only one who thinks that it's just not sanitary for people to cut their nails on the subway. Especially on the nice and shiny line 10. Just imagine if everybody were cutting their nails at once! Now that would be really gross. You would definitely not want to yawn and when you got home, you'd have to wipe all those fingernails out of your hair.
As I walk into the building, I decide to consult with one of the drivers of the illegal taxis (黑车) in front of my building. He's an old, weathered, friendly, guy who I've met before.
I tell him I need to consult with him about Chinese social etiquette and he says fine. I tell him about what happened. "In your country, that's not okay?" he asks.
I tell him it's not, not indoors in a subway car or other public place. He explains that for Chinese people, it's just a way to efficiently use your public transportation time. I remember that I've seen this more than once in Beijing and Shanghai. I thank him for this bit of education.
As I walk away he adds one more thing: "You just can't spit in the subway car."
Cool, I think, maybe I won't have to adjust my attitude the next time I see someone spitting on the subway.
For a taste of another Westerner (a Brit) reacting to nailclipping on subways (in the States), check this link out: http://pdberger.com/subway-etiquette/.
Yappy the Dog
It's Saturday morning. Around 5:30 a.m. The little dog in the apartment directly below me is yapping like crazy. He normally yaps only a few times in the evening and then I never hear from him again. But right now he won't stop.
I get up and fix myself a cup of spring water and get back in bed. I see the morning is starting to light up. It means that although I have just been awakened prematurely by a little two pound dog, things could be worse--it could be three a.m. or something like that.
I get back in bad hoping his owners will do something, like take him out for a pee or something, but it doesn't stop. I have a sense that there are no owners downstairs. Just that poor dog yapping away. I'm not only upset that my beauty sleep has been disturbed, but you can't help but feel for the poor dog.
I put on my sweatpant over my boxers, a light sweater, and my sneakers, and I walk out of my apartment. The building administrative office is theoretically open 24 hours a day. I decide to talk to them and have them call the landlord.
I arrive at the basement where the office is, but it looks locked. I walk a few doors down and ask a building employee if they are open. She walks me to the door and as we approach it, it opens.
A skinny middle-aged guy who needs a shave and a shower appears. He looks like he just woke up about 17 seconds ago. He asks me what's up and I walk into his office with him.
"The dog in the apartment below me won't stop barking. Call the landlord," I say. I tell him the apartment number.
"Oh, they are leaving today," he says, as if that is going to help me or the poor dog. "And I can't call the landlord, he's not going to come," he says very grouchily.
"Well, the dog is not going to stop," I say. "Call the landlord!"
He repeats what he just said, except this time he loses his temper. It's not worth it for me to get upset at him. He makes $250 a month to sleep in this dungeon and probably has to deal with all the drunk Korean kids in the building. I'm not going to waste my energy fighting with him.
As I leave I tell him that if I hear the dog tonight, I'm coming back.
Then, suddenly, I turn around, grab him by the neck, slam him against the wall. As he whimpers, I say in perfect Beijing dialect, "If I hear that little dog tonight, your ass is going to roast like a local delicacy, got it?"
Well, just kidding about that last paragraph, but it felt good to write it.
I get back to my apartment and the dog is still yapping away. I've no choice but to begin my day. I get dressed for my taiji practice and then go outside to do my stretches and a few sets.
As I exercise, I remember that a friend of mine was looking at the apartment below me in the last few days and was using the real estate agency on the first floor of my building. By now, I have figured out what is going with little Yappy. His owners moved out of the apartment early this morning and have abandoned him. They're not coming back.
After my taiji, I walk over to the real estate office (believe it or not, its a Century 21 office like we have in the States), full of pimply 25 year-old boys in yellow Century 21 sportcoats who like to smoke. I ask them if they know apartment 1409. They say yes. I tell them that the tenants moved out this morning and abandoned their pet.
(I tell them that when I moved into my apartment, I found an abandoned pet--a turtle--behind my TV, after about my third day in the apartment.)
They are apparently moved by my story and one of them says he'll call the landlord. As he is speaking to the landlord on his cell, one of the guys turns to me and says, "I really respect you--you care for that dog." His colleague chimes in, "No, he just is upset about the dog making too much noise!"
I laugh with them, "My first priority is the dog, second is my sleep! Of course!"
One of the boys seems excited and says to the other, "I'll take the dog and raise him!"
Their colleague gets off the phone with the landlord and tells me that the landlord's going to send someone with a key over to get the dog. I'm really appreciative and thank them all.
I come back to the apartment and make some tea and breakfast. The dog keeps at it. I decide I better leave because I can't bear to hear that poor dog and his cries for help.
I return to my building in the afternoon, open the door to my apartment, walk in and wait a few seconds. Fortunately, it's quiet.
I get up and fix myself a cup of spring water and get back in bed. I see the morning is starting to light up. It means that although I have just been awakened prematurely by a little two pound dog, things could be worse--it could be three a.m. or something like that.
I get back in bad hoping his owners will do something, like take him out for a pee or something, but it doesn't stop. I have a sense that there are no owners downstairs. Just that poor dog yapping away. I'm not only upset that my beauty sleep has been disturbed, but you can't help but feel for the poor dog.
I put on my sweatpant over my boxers, a light sweater, and my sneakers, and I walk out of my apartment. The building administrative office is theoretically open 24 hours a day. I decide to talk to them and have them call the landlord.
I arrive at the basement where the office is, but it looks locked. I walk a few doors down and ask a building employee if they are open. She walks me to the door and as we approach it, it opens.
A skinny middle-aged guy who needs a shave and a shower appears. He looks like he just woke up about 17 seconds ago. He asks me what's up and I walk into his office with him.
"The dog in the apartment below me won't stop barking. Call the landlord," I say. I tell him the apartment number.
"Oh, they are leaving today," he says, as if that is going to help me or the poor dog. "And I can't call the landlord, he's not going to come," he says very grouchily.
"Well, the dog is not going to stop," I say. "Call the landlord!"
He repeats what he just said, except this time he loses his temper. It's not worth it for me to get upset at him. He makes $250 a month to sleep in this dungeon and probably has to deal with all the drunk Korean kids in the building. I'm not going to waste my energy fighting with him.
As I leave I tell him that if I hear the dog tonight, I'm coming back.
Then, suddenly, I turn around, grab him by the neck, slam him against the wall. As he whimpers, I say in perfect Beijing dialect, "If I hear that little dog tonight, your ass is going to roast like a local delicacy, got it?"
Well, just kidding about that last paragraph, but it felt good to write it.
I get back to my apartment and the dog is still yapping away. I've no choice but to begin my day. I get dressed for my taiji practice and then go outside to do my stretches and a few sets.
As I exercise, I remember that a friend of mine was looking at the apartment below me in the last few days and was using the real estate agency on the first floor of my building. By now, I have figured out what is going with little Yappy. His owners moved out of the apartment early this morning and have abandoned him. They're not coming back.
After my taiji, I walk over to the real estate office (believe it or not, its a Century 21 office like we have in the States), full of pimply 25 year-old boys in yellow Century 21 sportcoats who like to smoke. I ask them if they know apartment 1409. They say yes. I tell them that the tenants moved out this morning and abandoned their pet.
(I tell them that when I moved into my apartment, I found an abandoned pet--a turtle--behind my TV, after about my third day in the apartment.)
They are apparently moved by my story and one of them says he'll call the landlord. As he is speaking to the landlord on his cell, one of the guys turns to me and says, "I really respect you--you care for that dog." His colleague chimes in, "No, he just is upset about the dog making too much noise!"
I laugh with them, "My first priority is the dog, second is my sleep! Of course!"
One of the boys seems excited and says to the other, "I'll take the dog and raise him!"
Their colleague gets off the phone with the landlord and tells me that the landlord's going to send someone with a key over to get the dog. I'm really appreciative and thank them all.
I come back to the apartment and make some tea and breakfast. The dog keeps at it. I decide I better leave because I can't bear to hear that poor dog and his cries for help.
I return to my building in the afternoon, open the door to my apartment, walk in and wait a few seconds. Fortunately, it's quiet.
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