Ready, Set, GO!

Friday was race day at Southwest University -- a 5K for the teachers and a 10K for the students. Because I was sick for 2 weeks (and just plain lazy...haven't run in awhile) I didn't run. But I did go to watch. My friend Keegan and I caught the finish of the 5K -- seeing our friend Phil finish in the top 10. We continued to watch the teachers finish -- some of them running in jeans and wool sweaters. I saw one guy in his 30's or 40's in khakis and a button up shirt! (drenched in sweat, of course) One girl was running in flat shoes (like Converse), jeans, and a nice white, wool, turtleneck sweater. We couldn't believe it!
. . .
We stayed to watch the students' race. The beginning and the end were all we needed to see to keep us laughing for days...
. . .
Imagine hundreds of people lined up on the goal line of a soccer field. The gun sounds and they race across the field -- all aiming for the same gate, which is not even as wide as a soccer goal. The first few runners get through just fine, but, by the end, the last people (including the guys dressed in their army gear) were walking through, taking their sweet time, and waving at the camera.
. . .
The finish was just as spectacular: as the racers came back in through the gate, the PE majors went to the right around the track and the non-PE majors ran left -- each only halfway down the straightaway. (For the PE majors, this may have been their final exam.) Before the racers re-entered the stadium, we spent a good chunk of time pondering over the signs...which Chinese characters say "PE majors this way" and which say "all the non-athletic people this way" (and, yes, China would say something like that). We waited on the non-PE side for our friend to finish. To our surprise, this is where the winner came! We thought he went to the wrong side, but, no, he wasn't a PE major. And he finished in just over half an hour!
. . .

. . .
The rest of the runners came in and the finish line was backed up 100 M. We could also tell which side was the non-PE majors by the puddles of puke surrounding the finish line. "Chinese delicacies of things like oranges and corn," as the boys put it. So, the non-PE students ran hard, but there were a few things concerning "pacing oneself" that were overlooked. Nothing like a track meet in the States, that's for sure...something much more fun!
. . .
{Click on the title for the video of the start of the 10,000 M race. And here is a link for the post-race commentary: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=83gvN7yv3Xg&feature=channel}

Silly Rabbit, Trix is proof of International Business

I have never appreciated my major as much as I do now -- especially since I'd love to be home for the holidays. Here I find myself sitting at a computer 6,000 miles away from home, eating a bowl of Trix with soy milk, and watching "It's a Wonderful Life" in an apartment all decked out for Christmas in a country that only celebrates the holiday because "it's western...and that's cool" -- this is the point at which I begin to love international business.
. . .
(Today, as you can tell, is one of those days where I miss America. And, on those days, I get away from all things "China" and become a hermit with a bowl of cereal in my hands. Don't worry -- I'll be fine tomorrow.)
. . .
But let me further explain...just a little more:
On Saturday, our boss took a few of us to Metro. (This is a Costco of sorts -- a warehouse which sells a wide variety of international items.) There I bought Heinz ketchup, sharp cheddar cheese, Trix, soy milk, French's mustard, butter, spaghetti noodles, and flour. It's like a shopping euphoria -- big aisles, forklifts, American food items, and -- most importantly -- hardly any people. I get tired of people shoving and pushing and yelling in the grocery stores. Metro is one of the quietest places I have found in all of China. All we hear is the soft sound of Western music playing on the speakers high above our heads, above the many levels of warehouse racking (probably up to E level, Dad). We spend 2 hours walking around with big shopping carts trying to find all the little things we can't find anywhere else.
. . .
Coming home is just as fun. The other Americans and I display what's in our bags (which are more like treasure chests full of goodies).
"OH, where did you find that?!"
"I love those!"
"No way!"
"How much did that cost?"
"Can I have some?!"
It's so funny! It's like Christmas morning. We love international business.

Midterms

The past week and this coming week have been devoted to midterms. My students were required to speak for 5 minutes with a partner on any subject they wanted. At the end of this process I will have listened to roughly 180 midterms. And I love it! All of them have put in such wonderful effort and some have taken me off guard with how creative they have been. Traditional Chinese education is that the teacher teaches and the students accept that information -- no questions asked. This is beginning to change.
. . .
I must also note that most of my students have been studying English for 5 - 10 years and still remain at a simplified, slowed down conversational level that is in need of much work on pronunciation. My friend Phil and I chatted about this the other day. It's frustrating because their pronunciation has been taught by Chinese teachers who, though they have done a good job, have trouble with pronunciation themselves. In every midterm I'm finding that my students and I must go back to the very beginning and work on letter sounds along with verb conjugation and sentence structure. But when they are able to express themselves in English, it is a beautiful thing.
. . .
On the 1st day of midterms I had 2 guys talk about the problem of suicide related to the immense pressure of education. I was floored by their ability to talk about such a serious and difficult topic. I had become so engulfed in their dialog that I had forgotten to take notes on the first couple minutes.
. . .
Two girls performed a variation of Titanic. And it was AWESOME -- complete with props and signs to tell us what year the scene was in. Jack and Rose had both survived and, 50 years later, bumped into each other on the street. Their undying love awoke and they began to recall those days of yesteryear on board the Titanic -- reenactment of the "I'm flying" scene ensued. Back to the scene on the street, they decided to do that once again for ol' times sake.
Rose: Oh Jack, let's do that again.
[Rose steps forward to "the railing" and Jack goes to help her but struggles.]
Jack: We can't. You are too fat!
The play concluded with a performance of the famous, and ever-popular-in-China song: "My Heart Will Go On".
. . .
Another group (which included my most creative student) performed for the whole class a skit and a song and mini dance lessons to a few volunteers. All of this was based on Obama's speeches and slogan "Yes, we can". (99.5% of my students would rather fail then speak publicly.) I was left speechless at their creativity. Afterwards I told the whole class how amazed I was that these guys took the undesirable task of a midterm and modified it (while fulfilling all the requirements) into something . I requested a written copy of their performance. Here it the song:

It was a creed written into the founding documents
that declared the destiny of a nation.
Yes we can.
It was whispered by slaves and abolitionists
as they blazed a trail toward freedom
Yes we can.

It was sung by immigrants as they struck out from distant shores
and pioneers who pushed westward against an unforgiving wilderness.
Yes we can.

It was the call of workers who organized;
women who reached for the ballots;
a president who chose the moon as our new frontier;
and a king who took us to the mountaintop and pointed the way to the Promised Land.

Yes we can to justice and equality.
Yes we can to opportunity and prosperity.
Yes we can to heal this nation.
Yes we can repair this world.
Yes we can.

. . .
Obama has been a hot topic, so I decided that I would have my classes watch the speech he gave after becoming the president-elect while I was listening to midterms. They were required to write a response paper answering the following prompt: "Whether you like Obama or not, he won. What does that mean for America, China, and the rest of the world?...also include YOUR thoughts and opinions." After reading 1/2 of the 350+ papers, I realize that I will need to go over the fact that "negro" is not a word we want to use anymore. One paper had "bla" crossed out and "negro" written in. From their papers it appears that my students believe discrimination to be very prominent in America -- almost to the extent that is was in the 60's. Next week's lesson: MLK's speech and racial discrimination.

Election Day

Right now I'm eating an oatmeal raisin cookie -- a legitimate, made-in-America, delicious oatmeal raisin cookie. And I'm convinced that I would undoubtedly give up that cookie for the opportunity to watch the news coverage of the presidential election. I'm continually refreshing the news websites I have open to see if any information has developed in the 15 seconds since the previous refreshing. The only live news coverage I've been able to view was the few hours in Xi'an where we were able to watch CNN. I've never been more excited to see the news (especially since the alternative is crappy Chinese soap operas).
. . .
About a week and a half ago, my friend Phil gave a speech on the presidential race, voting system and the U.S. government. I've continued this lesson to my classrooms -- teaching my students about the electoral college, introducing them to the candidates, and discussing the "hot topics" (the economy, Iraq, health care, illegal immigration, abortion, gay marriage, and taxes). We've gone over many things and the conversations have gotten very interesting, especially when we talk about the war in Iraq, abortion (which inevitably leads to the One Child Policy), and gay marriage (Chongqing having the highest percentage of gay people in all of China). These conversations are the closest my classes have gotten to debates with only slightly opposing viewpoints.
. . .
I go on to explain the electoral college and the requirements for voting (American citizen, 18 yrs. old...). I then ask my classes if they think that I am able to vote even though I am in China -- 6,000 miles from my designated voting location. Split between "yes" and "no", the class can never decided whether I am able to or not. Some are shocked that I can still vote while being so far away. Very interesting. But I suppose it makes more sense when you realize that you're trying to explain something that is so commonplace to Americans to a group of people who have never experienced it.
. . .
When asked this morning if I had voted, I responded "no". "My ballot got lost in the mail and I am unable to vote...also because I was 12 minutes late registering for my overseas absentee ballot," I tell them. As I'm explaining all of this, my phone beeps. I have a text message. During break I read the following: "Julie, you have a package to pick up at the reception of the foreign students' dorm". Cool. But my parents just sent a package with my friends who came to visit from Seattle.
. . .
Despite feeling so sick and not wanting to make the trek across campus, I went. And on November 4th, 2008 -- Election Day -- I received my voting packet. Giddy, I rushed to my apartment, Skyped my parents to verify which school superintendent is pro-Math and quickly filled out the rest of my ballot. Math Question: if you are in China and the time difference was +15 from Seattle but changed to +16 over the weekend due to Daylight Saving Time and, regardless of it's irrelevance, 2 trains are traveling in opposite directions of each other at 50 kph, what day does the ballot need to be postmarked by? ... whatever...I mailed it on the .
. . .
So, it turned out that I was in fact able to vote from China. And now we wait to see how America votes. *Refresh button time*

New Post!

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.

Sitting in the Bird's Nest

A nourishing breakfast of McDonald's began my day. Mmm...breakfast of Olympic gold medalists. I'm sure Phelps ate it before each race since McDonald's is an official sponsor. [Side note: the first lengthy sentence in Chinese that I understood was in connection to Phelps. Talking about the swimmer's amazing wins, my friend Tracey said to me, "wo bu xi huan ji rou tai dou nan ren"... translation... "I do not like men with very many muscles." I began cheering after I had slowly pieced together my 1st big sentence. Back to the story...]
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My friend Phil (a fellow teacher) and I made our way from McDonald's to the baseball stadiums -- our stomachs quite content with the glorious fullness of American fast food. (I swear it tastes better overseas.) We made our way down into the Beijing underground and attempted to cram onto the subway. We had no plan beyond making our way to the baseball stadiums and hunting for the highly coveted tickets to the USA vs. Cuba game.
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Although there was no ridiculous British guy trying to scalp tickets, we did run into an American who sold us tickets for only 3 times the face value. Appreciating the American discount, we reached into our wallets and bought 3 tickets (Ryan, another teacher and friend, was meeting us there). As we handed over the money, Phil said that we'd only make the deal if he took the Americans' money with him back to America. At that point we were both fed up with the fact that the Beijing Ticketmaster economy was booming while our own was fumbling. But we finally had tickets and so we made our way to the security checkpoint.
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Security. A joke in China -- basically translated as a person who naps all day while the technology does its job. (Little do they know that x-ray machines must be monitored.) But the security at the Olympics was much better...too much better. Walking through the metal detector, all 3 of us beeped and had to be wanded. I think there's a setting marked "fail all".
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Inside the stadium we snapped photos like tourists and then became as American as we could: we watched baseball and drank beer and cheered loudly for the game that most of the world doesn't play -- soaking in the American culture. (Hot dogs would have been added to that list but hot dog has another meaning in China...so we got ice cream instead.) Our seats were originally in the outfield behind this very large group in orange shirts and white hats. Ya know, China could have disguised them better...allow me to explain...China reserved tickets for Chinese people to fill stands and reduce the risk of a security threat. We're guessing that they didn't particularly understand or appreciate the sport which they were watching since they left before the 5th inning. As for us, we moved to the more lively section with the cheering fans...plus, better seats.
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The game went into extra innings and the sun was burning down on us -- the fools who forgot sunscreen. Crammed onto the subway afterwards I felt as if I was going to throw up from the sun stroke, lack of oxygen in the underground sardine can, and stop-go motion of the train. I fought against it and made the long trek to the local Ticketmaster in search of Bird's Nest tickets. Phil made me a "sign" -- "I need tickets" with a bunch of criss-cross lines to communicate the type of tickets I wanted. It was looking hopeless. Nothing for less than 1500 kuai ($220) and it just went up and up from there. Then I saw the Americans. Hope has appeared! We began talking. They said that they couldn't attend tomorrow's events (in the Bird's Nest!) and they didn't want their tickets scalped; all they asked was that I would pay what they paid for the tickets -- 3 times the face value but still a good deal...only 600 kuai ($90) for REALLY good seats.
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The next morning Phil and I were on the subway headed towards the famous line 8 which would take us to the Olympic Village and our seats inside the Bird's Nest. Ryan met us in the sea of people trying to get through the first wave of security check points. Like the rest of China, there was no line...just a clump of people shoving their way in a general direction like sand through a funnel. Initial ticket check point -- only a dozen or so went through at once. It was like being the only person at the airport check-in counter and having to go through all those back-and-forth ropes looking like an idiot. The "fail-all" switch had been turned off and, like usual in China, they were incredible overstaffed. (Well, how else are you going to employ 1.3 billion people?)
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It took us nearly 40 min to get to our seats from that point, but it was worth it. My seat: 11th row, dead center, 100 M dash side -- incredible. It was the qualifying round for shot put, discus, men's speed walking (funniest thing I've ever seen) 10,000 M, and steeple chase, and women's high jump, 100 M dash, and 400 M. (Click on this post's title for photos.) It was an amazing thing to watch -- to see the world's best in one arena. I couldn't believe I was actually there. I was actually in a place that I had only seen from the nearby highway last fall and on TV. Wow.
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And then there was the sun; beating down upon my charred shoulders and crisp, red face. I had remembered the sunscreen today. I looked up...trying to tell how much longer I had until I would be in the shade. The torch caught my eye and I said to myself, "we don't need anymore heat". Bottled water and ice cream were obtained quickly and in the concession line I met the sister-in-law of one of the American runners in the men's 10,000 M dash. I sat with her and her family (my previous seat was surrounded by Chinese people and it's more fun to cheer with fellow Americans). I met a few others from around the states and also so fun people from Australia -- we'd cheer for each other's country when they weren't directly competing. But I have to say that the most memorable person I met was on my way out of the stadium.
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I hurried up the stairs trying to beat the rush out of the stadium at the conclusion of the final heat of the 400 M. The crowd forces me to stop about halfway up the steps. All of a sudden this arm comes around my waist. "Do I know you?!" I exclaim in my head. I look up and see a very tall, dark man -- you're not Chinese! The 3 stripes of blue, white, and red gave away his French heritage. He pointed straight ahead towards his friend who had a camera. We took a picture and then another with my camera. He didn't speak English but he, presumably, spoke some words of gratitude as he kissed me on the cheek like a true Frenchman.
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What more is there to say after that? ... Nothing. The next day Phil and I left for Chongqing -- a short flight inland and then an hour drive to Beibei which was my home for 3 months last fall and will be my home for the next year. It's good to be back.

The Art of Capitalism

Ya know... for a country that scoffs at capitalism, China gave an impressive display at the Olympics of everything I've been studying for the past 4 years. Supply, demand, competitors... it was all there. (Click on this post's title for a great description of the games.)
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I ventured out on my own the morning after I arrived. I began walking down the street (in English we call it an alley) to the subway but nearly died before I reached the main road. I was sure that heart failure was imminent at the shocking sight of not only a trash can but a recycle bin as well. I was in complete shock. As someone from Seattle (a place where not recycling is considered a mortal sin) I was at a loss trying to figure out what to do. You're suppose to throw things on the ground here! What am I suppose to do now?! ... The problem could wait -- I had tickets to find.
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I got on the subway not really knowing my destination. I figured the stop marked "Olympic Park" was a pretty safe bet. As the cars zipped underground I noticed some German tourists standing nearby-- the flags on their backpacks gave them away along with their red, yellow, and black attire. (One gets quite excited when one sees Westerners in China.) We began chatting. Michael & Evelyn were on their way to buy tickets and I asked if they would let me tag along. They agreed and so we headed to the infamous Line 8 transfer stop. I had such high hopes.
Trying to break through the crowd just to get out of the subway was adventure enough -- there are so many people here and I do not say that lightly. But that challenge was nothing compared to the difficulties that lay ahead. "Here we are," Evelyn announced. With a confused and curious look on my face I thought to myself, "We're just at subway station. Where's the ticket office?" She had read my thoughts. I followed her to a man who was sitting on a step that surrounded the station. This was one of the many ticket representatives. Welcome to Ticketmaster -- Beijing style.
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The hunt was on. I perused the aisles -- window shopping at first -- not quite sure of what I wanted exactly. The prices were outrageous! They wanted 10 times the face value. I was going to have to be smart if I didn't want to leave Beijing without seeing any events or without any yuan in my wallet. I continued walking around but nothing was worth my time or money. Well, almost nothing...
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It was pretty obvious that people were scalping tickets -- no one was discrete about it despite the fact that it was "forbidden". I meandered around the square in search of anyone I had missed (basically hoping that someone would just walk up to me and say 'would you like this ticket?' oh, yes, of course). Then I notice this Westerner walking towards me (they're quite easy to spot in China). The sly devil looked only a few years older than me. He gave me a curious look as if he was trying to decide whether I wanted to buy tickets or if I was just passing through. I thought that the location kind of gave it away but I suppressed my laughter and knew that whatever was about to take place was going to be good. It was.
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As we passed each other, our shoulders only a foot or two apart, he muttered in his British accent, "ya want some tickets, girl?" His ridiculous attempt at anything secretive was too much and I had to laugh. I turned around quickly enough so he could see that "you're ridiculous" look on my face and clearly hear the remainder of my laugh. I looked him directly in his eyes and loudly asked, "what do ya got?" All he had was incredibly expensive fencing tickets but it was worth the good laugh.

On My Way to Zhongguo (China)

Finally back at a computer (well, a computer that is in Chinese...let's call it intensive language immersion) and ready to tell of my adventures in Beijing. Oh, but first, the adventure of getting to Beijing -- that's a story in itself.
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I flew to Beijing via Vancouver. At the time this seemed pointless since it's only a 50 minute flight, but there was a purpose for it (as there is for everything in life). I sat in 3A. John sat in 3B. He was a businessman in his 50's traveling to Shanghai to oversee shoe production. We began chatting and shared our stories of how we first came to China. Getting off the plane he offered to wheel my non-rolling carry-on on his rolling luggage since we were both headed in the same direction. We continued to chat and met some interesting people in the security line -- "The Crazy American: the next big hit on Japanese television" who gave me his card.
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"Passport." the customs officer apathetically droned. (I can't imagine the excitement of that job.)
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I met my new friend on the other side of security. As we rode the escalator down to the terminal he told me his tales of how he traveled right after college, same as me, but to Australia. He told me that when he first left he and his friend met an older man who helped them on their travels. "And now I get the opportunity to repay that kindness," he said to me, "I wish you the best of luck." Our gates were at opposite ends of the terminal and so I took my bag, thanked him, and went on my way.
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I had a 2 hour layover -- it was so hard to wait. I read for while but most of my entertainment came from watching an American couple take turns running through the terminal as if they were training for a marathon...or maybe the Olympics. I wonder... I had never seen anything like it. Full running gear and breaking a sweat. Wow! I wish I had that dedication to running.
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"Now boarding flight 29 to Beijing." This is it. I can't believe I'm going to China for a year. Definitely not where I thought I would be after graduation. I don't think I would have believed myself if I had known last fall (on my first flight to China) that I would be moving back a year later. Part of me wonders what I got myself into. The other part of me is ready for the adventure -- to bring my culture to china, learn about theirs, and take it back home. Hey, I had 11 hours to kill...I had time to contemplate life.
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I think one of the best moments (actually an hour an a half worth of moments) was trying to make my way (by myself, mind you) from the Beijing airport to my hostel. This was the ultimate challenge in luggage maneuvering: 1 purse, 1 dense carry-on, 2 gigantic suitcases, and only 1 set of arms. Imagine, if you will, a very not-fluent-in-Mandarin American in a crowd of Chinese people (crowd need not be said because it is synonymous with China) trying to lug her belongings down and up dozens of flights of stairs because she has not 1, not 2, but 3 trains to take just to get to the general area in which her lodging is located. Clunk, clunk, clunk, clunk... People began to pity me. Or they just tired of the sound. Usually someone would stop and help me carry my bags because there are no elevators in China...of course there aren't. And don't expect to NOT be pushed out of the way when getting onto a train just because you have things to carry -- subway space is precious and pity was left at the stairs.
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Somehow I managed to get off at the correct stop, and after climbing the 8 thousand flights of stairs out of the subway, I had the opportunity for exercise -- walking a quarter mile to my hostel. Once again, pity helped. A Chinese-Canadian noticed my luggage tags from YVR (Vancouver) and stopped to help someone who had just arrived from his hometown.
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I checked in, dropped my bags, stood in front of the air conditioner for an hour, and then left to explore Beijing. Biggest shockers: garbage cans, recycling bins (though I'm not sure the rules of recycling are understood), and NO SPITTING! Couldn't believe it! It took me awhile to realize the sound I was NOT hearing. The Chinese government has banned it for the Olympics (gotta look good for the world).
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More on the actual Beijing Olympics later.

Love you all!
--Julie

Packing 101: Feeding the Ivar's Seagulls and Other Such Seattle Adventures

August 12th is only a week away! It's so weird to be counting down to such a big event and have it be almost here -- remembering when it was 187 days away...now it is 7. I suppose I should start packing.

. . .

This time last year I was preparing for my first trip to China. At that time I had traveled farther within the U.S. than abroad. (Canada really isn't that far away.) I had no idea what to expect besides knowing that a 2 1/2 week study abroad session would surely be enough. I was dead wrong. This trip changed everything. Within a few days I had fallen in love with China. I couldn't go home. So, long story still long, with a return flight to Seattle scheduled only 5 days away I enrolled at Xi Nan Da Xue (pronounced "she nahn dah shway" Southwest University) in Beibei (pronounced Bay-bay). *A big thanks to all who made this possible!*

But, I guess, 3 months wasn't enough... As I was packing to finally come home, I had already made up my mind -- I would be returning next school year, but this time to teach. (Mom & Dad weren't too thrilled to hear that their little girl was leaving again. Maybe the airport parking lot wasn't the right place to tell them...)

. . .

So here I am now: 7 days away. I will be teaching at SWU for an entire year but not before a stop in Beijing to watch some of the Olympic games. 2008 is said to be the year of China and it will be an exciting time as the world watches closely and pressures for reform. 8 is considered a lucky number in China -- with the opening ceremony being scheduled for 8 pm on 8-8-08 we'll see if that holds true.

While I can't wait for my time in Beijing, I am more looking forward to my time spent in Beibei and becoming immersed, once again, in the Chinese culture -- to know more about these people and their country, their culture, their thoughts, their hopes, and their lives. I am ready to embark on this adventure. Now if I could only remember where I put my passport...

. . .

I will miss you all greatly! Please send me your stories and updates.