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Scroll down to Sept. 9th's entry to read of another one of my adventures -- I started writing it on Sept. 9th (took awhile). Enjoy! And there's more to come soon!

Love you all!
Julie

Seared Skin

So I'm working on writing more-- one of my many goals this year. It's very easy to fall into the evil grip of "Chinglish" over here. My speaking ability has been reduced to that of a child at times. So often I pause because I simply forget the vocabulary necessary to complete my thought. There was one instance where I used the word "gelatilized" (and thought it was correct) to describe something that had transformed to the consistency of Jell-o. So here I am making an attempt to retain what is left of my English. The story for today: how I charred my flesh.
. . .
Sunday, Sept. 21st
I often ride a motochi (motorcycle taxi) to get across Beibei. The following story happened the morning the SPUBA (SPU Business Abroad) group arrived. In fact, I was on my way to the airport...
. . .
I was hired by SPU to be the go-to person for the students studying abroad. Part of my contract includes meeting them at the airport, simple enough, so I took a motochi to the far side of the campus where I was to meet the bus. Cruising down Tiansheng Lu (the main road that runs along campus) with the wind in my hair and the last little bits of red and orange light tinting the city before disappearing with the rising sun. The day was beautiful and I couldn't wait to see my friends who I'd been waiting for for weeks.
. . .
I told the driver to stop at the 3rd gate...also known as the 5th gate. Last year it was the 3rd gate, and for some incredibly valid and logical reason (I'm sure) they renamed the 3rd gate the 5th gate and transferred the name of the 3rd gate to this small, mysterious gate in the middle of campus, which we still refer to as "the mystery gate". We will accept the risk of being "un-harmonious".
. . .
We pulled up to the 5th gate. The motochi came to a halt and the driver leaned the bike to the left. The curb was to the right. With my right leg unsteadily balancing me, I swung my left leg over the seat. (I'm always working towards efficiency.) With my leg mid-air, I began to feel this rapidly increasing heat on my right calf. It took me a few moments to notice that I searing the flesh off my leg. I can't remember if I screamed out loud or just heard a deafening yell resound within my skull. Either way, I paid the taxi driver quickly before the pain could mature further. I looked down only to see a patch of skin, with an area of roughly 2 sq. inches (I <3 style="font-style: italic;">shui attached to my leg (my best imitation of Igor accomplished without even trying), I fumbled for my money. 10 kuai down on the table. I knew the price: 1 kuai. My change...8 kuai. What?! The pain in my leg came out in a fiery glare. He got my message. Math is universal, Buddy. Don't even think of messing with me right now. With his head turned downwards he slid another kuai on the table. His head remained lowered until I began to walk out -- who could resist looking and laughing at the awkwardly walking, injured foreigner?
. . .
On the ride to the airport I depleted the thermal energy from my cold water and a soda -- my leg still on fire. Obtained some "burn cream" (or at least that what my friend Allen [our translator] told me) and the pain subsided just in time to greet the 32 students. My leg continued to seep puss for a week.
. . .
The Second Trip to the Doctor
...because once isn't enough
My friend Thug took me to the hospital on campus and was translator for this visit. We walked in and I felt instantly transported to the 1950's. Linoleum floors, yellow tiles going halfway up the walls, the doctor sitting in his white coat at a old style light brown wooden desk, the smell of iodine floating in the air...
. . .
Thug relayed the story of what happened and we proceeded into another room. Here there were two tables: one looked as if it could be used for giving birth and the other being for, perhaps, operations or examinations. The rusty, yellow-metal beds with hand cranks to adjust the height revealed their...longevity. I sat down in a chair and propped my leg up on a Y-shaped stand. As I was pondering the origin of the dark, red-brown stains that concealed the yellow color of this stand, the doctor raised a pair of tongs and removed something from a blue metal container that was of the same color as the stains. Meat?! Chicken kidney?! Liver pieces?! Leeches?!! I couldn't tell what it was but I thought I was going to faint as soon as he touched it to my skin. I quickly realized that it was only an iodine-soaked cotton ball -- it's amazing I didn't think of that 1st. ...or 2nd...or 3rd...or even 4th... But the price was just right: under $10 (without the usage of insurance) for the visit and some antibiotics to fight the infection.
. . .
It took nearly a month, but my leg healed well.

1st Week of School

I've survived the 1st week of classes; this is how it went:

The electronic mimic of an old Chinese song played on my cell phone. I rolled over only to see the early morning darkness outside my window. It's hasn't been since high school that I've woken up for class at 6 in the morning. "I don't wanna get up for school," I sleepily whined to myself. My laughter from this pathetic statement drew me awake. No one should have to get up when it's so dark outside.

I started to get ready. Clothes, makeup, hair... And then I began to realize that the nervousness (which I had felt the night before) had evaporated with the morning light. And, with each passing minute, my excitement for what the day might hold grew. It was the end of the countdown -- I was on the edge of something new. I grabbed my lesson plan, put on my shoes, and headed off to my 1st day at school...this time as a teacher. But, before I did, I took a picture at my front door (a tradition that started on my 1st day in Kindergarten -- that's for you Mom & Dad).

Left my apartment early in order to print an Excel spreadsheet for names and grades. Time for another round of charades. The print shop was closed so I proceeded to walk into every internet cafe waving my flash drive and pointing to pieces of paper. Eyes that revealed thoughts of "crazy American" were all that I received. And then I saw an old, gray desktop printer in another shop -- victory was mine! I ran in waving my flash drive in front of the laoban's face.

Class began at 8:00 and I was ready. I introduced myself to my first class: 31 graduate students -- all of them studying modern poetry. This was one of my smallest classes (my largest consisting of 59 students). I told them where I was from, how long I've been in China, that I studied here last fall and loved it so much I thought I would come back and teach...the same speech 7 times over (Monday classes were cancelled due to Mid-Autumn Festival). I asked them to guess what I studied in school, and, it never failed, there was always one person who would guess "Chinese". When I revealed to them that my major was International Business they were stunned. I suppose not many women study business in China.

The other part of class consisted of the students answering questions (mainly a time for me to evaluate their speaking levels). Question: where do you want to travel? It was always the same set of answers: America, Seattle, Europe, Australia. But, even though I could predict the words that would be said, there was always some explanation that would catch me off guard. One girl explained that she wanted to visit America because she didn't want to just go by what she reads on the internet or sees in movies. "I want to see truth...not just [believe] what I hear." Beautiful.

After this I wrote "America" on the board and had the students give me words to describe it. Here's the list:
Hollywood, open door policy, strength, powerful…but aggressive, rich, open, Wall St., prejudice, crazy, democratic, freedom, 9/11, beautiful, humorous, modern, crime, law, selfish, technology, passion, individualism, war, ice cream, Disneyland, McDonald's, confidence, tall and big, high civilization, developing, interesting history, KFC, Phelps, 5th Avenue, optimism, hip hop, NBA, friendly, presidential election, spirit, strong, famous universities, immigrants, Monica Lewinsky (I'm not joking! The whole class erupted with laughter!)
I then asked them which words also applied for China. The bold words "also describe" China.

At the end of class, I gave them a chance to ask questions. Here's what my Friday class offered:
Girl: "Do you have boyfriend?"
[Class giggles]
Me: "No."
Class: "Awww"
Me: "Oh, thank you."
Boy: "Do you like Chinese boys?"

More interesting moments:
*My physics students cheered for me as I wrote my Chinese name on the board in hanzi (Chinese characters) -- a huge feat for anyone learning the language.

*"censorship" was written in pink chalk underneath one of the chalkboards

*One student asked, "Can you tell us about Jesus?" I was shocked. I had been instructed in my orientation meeting never to talk about any religious topic in class. When I told Keegan (an English teacher who's already taught for a year), he didn't believe me. The students are usually either opposed to religious or have interest in it. Amazingly enough the topic came up in another class: "Please teach us about religion". I was not prepared for this. I'm going to have to be.

Ridin' in the Back of a Cop Car

I never aspired to being able to say that I've ridden in the back of a cop car -- especially a cop car in China -- but I have. (This story happened way back in September before life got crazy, the SPUBA (SPU business abroad) group arrived, I began my 2nd job, I went on vacation, our internet went out for a week, and I took another vacation. But enough of excuses. I'm now back and ready to tell more tales from my adventures in the Middle Kingdom.) About that cop car...
. . .
We waited at the corner -- the corner at the entrance of our housing development where there is a bus stop and a light with an actual crosswalk (no buttons to push but an actual working crosswalk system that most people obey and actual stoplights that, like the crosswalk lights, most people obey...depends on the day...). We (we being a few other teachers and myself) waited for our friend: the chief of police to pick us up and take us out to dinner. Yep, that's right, I'm friends with the chief of police.
. . .
A phone rang. "Yep, we're here."
. . .
No more than 5 seconds later did the car drive around the corner and into sight, as if it had been waiting for us. Didn't want to make a scene, of course. We piled in -- Mr. Zhou (the chief) in the front; his daughter and the rest of us crammed in the back. Pulling away from the curb I had no clue where we were headed (this is the norm when going out with the cops). Looking through the tinted windows we saw the aftermath of a fender bender. We didn't stop. Dinner was waiting. This was probably the safest I've felt in a motorized vehicle in all of China (despite the fact that seat belts were still taboo -- even in a police car).
. . .
We arrived at a classy restaurant in Beibei -- "classy" meaning that it might be at a sanitary level at which it could pass a U.S. health code examination with only a little bit of fudging the numbers. As it is with every meal we eat with the cops, the food was plentiful. We dined for quite some time -- all the while making attempts at conversations with the help of those who can translate. Jokes are even more amusing. The entire table listens as the speaker tells his story but only half can understand; that half laughs when the punchline is delivered while the other half smile and chuckle, knowing that something funny is coming. The joke is then translated to the second half while the first half watch closely -- waiting for the laughter to ensue. It does. And everyone at the table breaks into laughter now that the joke is understood by all. This might seem like a tedious process, but one must experience it to fully appreciate the beauty and humor within these moments.
. . .
The night is usually concluded with a few hours at a nearby KTV (Karaoke). I can't even begin to tell you how many humiliating nights I have spent belting out "My Heart Will Go On", "Yellow Submarine", and "A Whole New World". There are even some ever-popular Chinese songs that I've heard so many times I think I could proudly sing along. But I won't.

At the end of the evening -- usually 5+ hours after we were picked up -- we are escorted home by a caravan of cops and their friends from around Beibei. Everyone gets out of their car to say goodbye and the finale of our party, I'm sure, wakes the neighborhood. Oh, the things that happen just because I am a foreigner.

Teachers' Day

Recently I had a case of beer delivered to my doorstep. Andrew brought it in and set it down on my coffee table. "Here, it's for you," he briefly explained. (Did I need more of an explanation?) I stood there confused. "But I didn't buy a case of beer" -- this thought slowly developing in my mind into "Did I?...". It's quite possible that my limited and easily misinterpreted Mandarin skills unknowingly enrolled me in China's "Beer of the Month" Club. We'll see...

As it turns out the beer was delivered, not because I bought it or requested it, but because it was Teachers' Day in China. Last year the present was an umbrella. I'm guessing the gift giving committee got a new leader. All I can say is this is China.

But that was not the end of the gifts. The next morning I woke up to 2 boxes of fruit on my doorstep. I didn't see any cases in front of the other apartments which caused me to be unsure as to whether or not these were mine. They were. My fridge is currently filled with 34 apples and 28 pears. I don't think I can consume that much fruit. The other teachers and I are currently pondering what to do with all of it. We've begun to pass on the gifts to our friends and there is still enough to go around and around again. This has inadvertently become my next cooking challenge -- cobbler is on the menu for tonight.

The Hunt for Cinnamon

Life in China is simple, so here is a simple story:

As someone who loves the culinary arts, China is a good opportunity for me to learn a new way of cooking. It also presents a challenge for recreating those American favorites we desire as we are so far from home. I always make sure I have a new culinary mission -- most recently: French Toast.

Somehow I managed to score a Teflon frying pan in this wok prevalent country. You would have laughed at my excitement. You're probably laughing right now at the fact that I thought it was important enough to share this with you. It is. There is nothing else to occupy our time (not until classes start on Thursday), so these little moments make up the simple stories of our life in Beibei...for now at least...

Back to the story. In addition to my incredible find, I collected the other necessary supplies -- spatula, eggs, etc. The bread, however, coming from Carrefour (a large "western" grocery store an hour away in downtown Chongqing). I've never traveled so far to bring home cheap, ordinary, white bread. But, hey, for under 50 cents per loaf and a taste of home, I snatched it up. And now my freezer is filled with bread.

Venturing into downtown Beibei, towards a backstreet where a myriad of vegetables and spices are sold, the hunt for cinnamon began. (I probably should have looked up the Chinese word for cinnamon beforehand, but that would have spoiled the adventure...or I simply don't want to admit to my forgetfulness.) The alleys were lined with the day's produce spread out on blankets and tattered, wooden stands. We, me and 2 others, stumbled upon a spice shop. The entire floor space covered with large burlap sacks of twigs and bark and crushed peppers and other bizarre looking spices.

With the laoban's (owner/boss) help we quickly went through a "smell and check" procedure in search of cinnamon (me being the only one knowing exactly what we were looking for). Surprisingly enough it didn't take all that long. She broke a piece of the bark in half and you can't imagine how incredible fresh cinnamon smells -- the chef nerd in me is exposed. With under 10 kuai (less than 2 dollars) subtracted from my wallet I gained a gallon bag of cinnamon. It's the little things in life that make me happy...

But what in the world am I going to do with huge bag of bark? Gnaw on it until it becomes a tolerable enough grind for oatmeal or some other such food? The famous translation game of International Charades began. I drew the card marked "to grind". In an attempt to win this stupid game that we play at least once daily (and convinces us that we need to learn Mandarin faster), I rubbed my palms together in a "mortar and pestle" type of way and then began pointing back and forth between my bag of bark and a bag of an unidentifiable ground spice while saying "zhege, zhege, zhege" ("this, this, this"). Ridiculous, I know. The response was something between giving directions and shooing away the crazy waiguoren (foreigners). We traveled in the direction of her waving arms.

The tiresome game continued as we moved from spice shop to spice shop. I think our record was 1 - 4. Eventually we did win -- finding a shop with a contraption that seemed to have been fashioned out of a old paint tray, used car parts, and a dusty vacuum cleaner bag. Good enough for me.

The next morning we sat down to a breakfast of French Toast with REAL Log Cabin syrup (thank you international postal service and American friends). New mission: something that requires an oven because I don't have one.

The Physical

Over 3 weeks have passed since I've been in China and it is just today that I received my teaching schedule. There were a few items on the agenda that needed to be completed before our classes could be scheduled... This is where today's story begins.

All foreign workers in China must pass a physical exam before they begin work (as mandated by the Chinese government). Ok, no problem. This will be an adventure. And it was. Our boss, Mr. Wang, met us at our apartment complex bright and early. We began filling out a few forms, which tested our skills in converting our height and weight from standard to metric. Out came the cell phones (calculators have been replace). After attaching 4 very flattering visa photos to the forms, we piled into the mini -- very mini -- van to make our way into Chongqing.

Traffic was congested. (What else do you expect in a country of 1.3 billion?!) And, consistent with every other ride I take, the same 3 thoughts run through my head as the driver nonchalantly pulls into the oncoming traffic lanes so as to pass the cars in front of us: "I'm going to die", "no one here could ever pass driver's ed", and "I now understand Asian drivers in the US". (The last not being a stereotype but a deeper understanding of cultural differences -- we were taught to drive differently. In some ways I believe drivers here are more talented. But enough of that...)

40 minutes later we arrived at the International Health Center for Foreign Workers in the Harmonious People's Republic of China (or some such fancy and harmonious name). We had no idea what to expect. We soon found out that it was like stations in elementary school PE class. Station 1: registration. Mr. Wang shoved me ahead in clump of people (there are no lines in China) and I stood there before the receptionist as she entered my entire form into the computer and took my picture with a webcam that looked like an Academy Award. Do they really need another photo of me?

"Rotate!" Onto station 2: 2nd registration. I have no idea what transpired at this counter but I guess it was necessary. The patient before me had this laser gun pointed at them. I think it was for taking temperature...but they didn't use it on me. Apparently I didn't need my temp taken. (Just remember this for later...)

"And Rotate! Double Time!" I guess I didn't need station 3 because I went straight to station 4: payment. As I'm getting my receipt, Robb walks up and Mr. Wang announces to me, "And now it's time for your HIV test". "Oh! really?" I respond with a look of surprise and suppressed laughter. Robb began to snicker. "Come on. You too, buddy." As we walked the steps up to the subset of stations, all I am thinking is "I hope I don't pass out". It was as if they knew...

All I see when I get to the 2nd floor is this huge white sign with blue letters spelling out "BLOOD CENTER". There were about 18 inches that separated the waist high counter and the wall of Plexiglas coming down from the ceiling. A few lab technicians stood on the other side. A stool stood on my side. You have to be kidding me. "Ok, have a seat." Nope, they're not kidding. I sit down at this fast food blood draw and place my arm under the Plexiglas. Well, at least there's not a lot of people watching... I swear they know my thoughts. All of a sudden this crowd of Asians builds behind me, waiting there turn. The irony of the day kills me.

As I come back to life I'm handed a little flimsy plastic cup with a tab for a handle. Pee test. This is a first: taking a pee test over a squatter. Interesting. Then I'm instructed to place my full cup (which has no lid, mind you, but only a tiny barcode indicating that this pee belongs to me) onto a tray next to half a dozen other pee samples. Oh, and no one's there to monitor this either. Evil thoughts of bumping the tray and mixing the pees run through my mind. My dark giggle is quickly interrupted by Mr. Wang's directions, "This way. You need to get 6 signatures." I have one: pee/blood.

Next station: ECG. I had never had one of these done before -- exciting. I laid down on the table and the doc attached all the clamps to me. At this point my mind searches rapidly for any Chinese words that could convey "I would prefer not to be electrocuted". The giggles return just until them put the clamps on my chest -- those actually hurt slightly. The machine is turned on and she monitors the waves. And then it is turned off. I'm not sure but I think that they're suppose to last longer than 6 seconds...but I could be wrong...

"Rotate!" EENT: same concept as the ECG...6 second examination. I distinguished 8 shapes on one of those E, M, W, 3 chart. It was unconventional though -- I sat in a chair and looked through a mirror 8 feet away to see the chart that was hanging on the wall behind me. 2 colorblindness tests followed: "I see an '8'", "I see an 'N'".

"Rotate!" The next doctor had me lay on a table as she poked me in the stomach. (I have no idea what she was looking for.) Then came the familiar tests: listening to my heart and lungs, blood pressure, pulse. I don't remember her taking my pulse but I watched her enter it into the computer. She came to the box in which she had to enter my temperature. As you recall, no one took it when I signed in, so she made it up. I suppose I was around 37 degrees. Why not? It gets even better. The technologically challenged doctor kept entering "/" before my temp and a warning box would appear saying, I'm guessing, "invalid entry" in Chinese. After a minute of watching her go back and forth between the entry page and the warning display, I motioned that I could help. Between my limited Chinese and advanced knowledge of international charades we managed to communicate. "Meiyou" ("no") followed by diagonal karate chops was apparently enough.

"Rotate!" Station 4 was my favorite simply for the email opportunity it presented. "Hi Mom & Dad. Just wanted to let you know that I had my ultrasound today and they said everything looked good." The giggles returned and I contemplated the exact wording as the tech placed the cold camera and goop on my stomach. "Wow. Didn't think I'd be having one of these tests anytime soon."I think Robb and Andrew had more fun with it though. Andrew walked out of the room nodding his head, "Well...twins."

"Rotate!" The 6th and final signature came from an x-ray technician. I knew it was a chest x-ray. Alright, pretty simple. Stand and take a photo. No. Of course not. With my forehead against the wall and my arms bent like a chicken (apparently not bent well enough because the tech had to pull my elbows further back) the picture was taken. I put my shoes back on and recapped all that had transpired in the last 60 minutes...

Once again, I giggled to myself.