Dining Hall

It takes a long time to learn a new language, especially one so different from English as is Chinese, but we muddle through. This morning, the dining hall closest to our apartment was closed, and we had to locate another one. A group of students were standing nearby, but I could not think of the word for "dining hall," though I ought to have known the word 'shitang' from the "Communicate in Chinese" DVD's I've been studying. That's the problem: in conversation, one has to have instant recall. Fortunately, one of the students knew English and could direct us.

In the dining hall, we can point to the items we want and pay for them with our meal card. But this morning, we had to specify what we wanted to drink and were given two bowls of slimy rice and bean porridge when I thought we had asked for orange juice. Eventually, we obtained the desired beverage and paid for the porridge as well. I thought it not bad; Joe said that if I ordered it again, I should ask for only one bowl.

The dining halls are equipped with TV's, which students' rooms seldom are. Yesterday afternoon, a group of young men, crowded the dining hall to watch the game between the Los Angeles Lakers and Yao Ming's team, the Houston Rockets. When Houston scored, they stood on the chairs and cheered.





























Above: Scenes from a dining hall

On Being (Almost) Illiterate
In my work as a reading specialist, I sometimes encounter an adult who is almost entirely unable to read. When it comes to Chinese, Joe and I are practically illiterate, ourselves. Each of us can discriminate perhaps a hundred characters. To be functional in Chinese, you need a couple of thousand-- even more if you want to read a newspaper.

This weekend, we're on our own. The university has provided a meal plan and a very comfortable apartment, and campus is abloom with roses and flowering trees I cannot identify. We see interesting things on our walks. But we're exhausted. The trip here took over thirty-six
hours, during which we got almost no sleep.

This afternoon we slept 'til well after 7:00 PM, and the dining hall was closed. We would have to fix instant noodles for supper or go to a restaurant. Tired as we were, we were in no mood to use our broken Chinese, and the kids who work in restaurants on campus don't speak that much English. I groaned inwardly as I thought about trying to order a meal.

There are actually several restaurants on campus. We brightened when we noticed that one of them had pictures as well as words on its menu. We just had to point at the items we wanted, a useful strategy when one is on campus.






























Above: Scenes from on campus and nearby.
Below: A restaurant menu with words and pictures.
Second below: Joe having dinner

The many faces of culture shock









Culture shock is "a state of bewilderment and distress experienced by an individual who is suddenly exposed to a new, strange, or foreign social and cultural environment" (Dictionary.com). What the formal definition leaves out is the many ways this bewilderment plays itself out. In addition to confusion, culture shock can show itself as irritability, suspiciousness, or fear.

When we arrived a couple of days ago, I could access my blog. Then abruptly, my blog was cut off-- I could neither see it, nor post. This has happened before when I visited China, a function of their information control, people say. Our dear friend Dennis Cope is doing the postings, which I send him via my Gmail. It's a nuisance not seeing it, but I knew to expect the problem.

Then today, I could get on the Internet. I have several email accounts, but none took my password. Joe couldn't access his either. Our passwords kept being rejected. I tried changing the password on my yahoo account, but it didn't help. I phoned the aide at International Programs, a lovely young man who calls himself "William." But when I reached him, he was climbing the Great Wall of China with a number of other visitors and could not determine the problem over the phone. There was no one else I could ask.

Email is my lifeline to the US. With it, I communicate with my office, keep track of my family, check on the well-being of my cats. Not to having it makes me panicky and suspicious.

While no one would describe me as a virulent anti-Communist; I do possess some predictable American attitudes toward the political system here. I imagined my blog had offended some Chinese official and my access email had been revoked. I wondered what would happen to me and my husband. Less troubled than I, Joe suggested we visit a grocery store, since we were out of orange juice. Then Joe disappeared in one of the aisles, and I imagined he'd been arrested. Suddenly, I remembered we had not registered with the American Embassy-- something American visitors to China should do. It was only when I discovered my husband scrutinizing labels on Chinese snack foods did I begin to consider that I might be overreacting.

Back at the apartment, I discovered did some research and learned that my Yahoo account was not taking cookies. I tried to change the settings, but I had trouble because here, toolbar directions come up in Chinese. I monkeyed around with things using a Chinese/English
dictionary, but had no luck.

I don't know how Joe did it, but he figured out we needed to lower security settings, and so we're back in touch with the world. It's my fifth visit to China, but I'm still not immune to culture shock.

Play ball!
In China, as in much of the world, the premier sport is what Americans call soccer and others call "Football." This evening, Professor Li, Vice President of North China University of Technology, asked if we'd like to go to a game at Labor Stadium in Beijing.















The Beijing team did well, scoring three to one against the opposing team. When the Beijing team scored, spectators shouted, waved flags, blew horns; and threw paper planes, bits of newspaper and colored confetti up in the air.

Crowds are not permitted to become overly exuberant at such events, however. The military were much in evidence, and in a margin between players and spectators at the front of the stadium, a group of security sat observing the crowd (see above).

Below: A child and his father making a paper plane.
Second Below: Military police at the game.

Arrival in a Time of Pandemic

No one knows how bad the H1N1 flu is going to be, but the Asians are not taking chances. We arrived in Tokyo yesterday evening, then caught a flight to Beijing, where we are staying presently.

Before we were allowed to deplane in Japan, we had to complete special forms and be cleared by blue-coated health officials, who boarded our mammoth airbus and scanned our temperatures with a contraption resembling a camera (above). Things were somewhat disorganized, and the procedure took a long time. Passengers became impatient, and when they were finally allowed to get up, people bolted for their luggage. The airplane crew did not keep control, and a young lady's carry-on suitcase clobbered me on the head when wrested from the cabin compartment, but I was not hurt. Health hazards come in many varieties.

We were also scanned again upon arriving in China, but this was a smaller flight, and it was easier to keep things organized, I think. The Chinese officials seemed very experienced, and joked as they screened us to lighten the atmosphere.

Beijing Airport is being kept very clean, just as it was last summer right before the Olympics, but this time the place reeks of the carbolic acid they use to disinfect.

Customs

Tomorrow, Joe and I leave for Beijing, our fifth trip to China. Joe and I will be teaching in Beijing; I've a lecture to do in Weihai, and some student supervision in Nanjing. We're hoping to do some language study and a bit of sightseeing as well. So, I resume this blog, which deals for the most part with cultural contrasts.

This past weekend, we were in Cincinnati, where our granddaughter, daughter and son-in-law live. There, we attended our granddaughter's christening at St. Monica-St. George Catholic church, my son-in-law's family parish (above). Predictably, the ancient ceremony was a little different from what we're used to, and I suppose it would be for anyone who didn't know what to expect.

As world travellers, Joe and I have learned to be silent and deferential when observing unfamiliar ceremonies. Children feel much more free to make comments.

"Weird!" exclaimed Julian, my son-in-law's 5 yr. old nephew (shown below), when the priest made the sign of the cross on the foreheads of each baby being baptized. He is quite articulate for a person his remark fully audible.

His 3 yr. old sister also speaks clearly. "He's splashing the water," she remarked, in obvious disapproval, as Father Al conducted the ceremony.

First Above: The baptisms-- four this particular Sunday. Lillian Pauline, our granddaughter is on the far right.

Second Above: Lilly in her bassinette.

Below: Julian and his sister Zoe.