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.