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.

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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...)

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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...

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