What does tomorrow mean?

It is 5:30 pm here, but at home it’s 5:00 in the morning. I leave Weihai tomorrow and make a stop in Beijing. Technically, I will be home tomorrow at 2:35 pm. But I’m crossing the International Date Line.  By Beijing time, my flight for the States leaves Tuesday at 12:45, and fly across the North Pole—this way is the quickest.  According to Beijing time, I arrive in DC Wednesday morning.

Date is a generalization, related to time. 

Water, water, everywhere

The first three weeks I was here, I could drink the water after boiling it in an electric kettle. Now, I carry big jugs of water back from the market. The tap water has a   peculiar odor, and it tastes like Vicks Vapor Rub.  Restaurant food reeks of it, and it leaves residue on the skin. I never feel clean. 

“Maybe some chemical placed in the water. The government wants to protect us,” says one of my friends.

I think of Flint Michigan and hope she is right.  I’m going home to the States; my friend will stay here. The emphasis here in China is on industrial development. Consumer safety is not a priority.

Proceeding with Life

The man is outspoken. “I love China,” he tells me, “but government is shit.”

Because I am an outsider, people say things to me they do not say to others.

My friend and his wife are now in their 40’s. As I get to know them, I learn they were at the 1989 student protest on Tiananmen Square which ended with tanks rolling in.  The Chinese government denies that this happened.

“When the protest began, we were happy,” says the woman. They sat on the square and sang songs.  People made speeches. It was Woodstock with political overtones minus the drugs.  But a few days later, there was word that trouble was coming.  My friends elected to leave and survived.

Today, they are teachers.  The man belongs to the Communist Party, though he hates the system. They have made a life in this country.  

Bound for Jinan

I’d planned to visit Jinan last weekend, but less than a week before my scheduled departure, my friend Ping sent an email saying it was not possible.  She teaches at what we would call a junior college, Shandong Institute of Commerce and Technology. The honchos had suddenly scheduled a weekend long meeting. Precipitous changes in plans occur all the time in China. I never get used to it.

I was days away from departure for the US, I’d have to go right away if I was to see my friend. Zhang Dianyu (Daniel), my friend, host and colleague had held off purchasing tickets.  I would have bought them several weeks earlier and might not have gotten a refund when I had to change dates.  Daniel’s a full professor with a US doctoral degree and very well traveled. Daniel knows know China.

For short trips like this one, I get by with a purse and a backpack.  I also carried a shopping bag full of provisions—peaches, tiny tomatoes, water and liquid yogurt. Railroad food is expensive and not very .

I live at the Jinjang Inn, perhaps a mile from the Weihai North Station. My train would leave at 10:20. At 9:20, Daniel arrived. 

“Plenty of time,” said my friend. The station is not very far.”

To me, this sounded like cutting it close, but Daniel would know.

The Chinese rail stations don’t use E-tickets yet, and the ticket lobby was crowded. It’s vacation season. Normally, Daniel uses ticket machines, but an agent had to look at my passport.  Daniel  told me to rest at the back of the room. The Chinese are constantly telling older people to rest.  People crowded before a glass window and T-shirted children ran in and out of line, playing with pinwheels and plastic swords. After ten minutes, Daniel got to the front.

 My friend returned and said we would have to wait in a different line as my situation was considered a problem.  There was no record of Daniel’s purchase of tickets which had been done on computer. We joined a slow parade of disgruntled passengers. The official settled some issues quickly. But other people spent five minutes at the window shuffling papers and shouting, while the agent shouted at them.   Then two women, who may have been running a business, tied up the line buying multiple tickets. In China, records are kept about where people go. For each ticket purchased, these buyers completed a form, then presented a government ID. The agent scrutinized these items and a little machine spat out a ticket. Then the process began again. By now, it was nearly ten, and I was becoming frantic.

A woman in golden flipflops and a T-shirt studded with rhinestones now shoved in front of us. In Chinese, Daniel shouted she could not do this, and I, a native New Yorker, tried to assist him by shouting at her as well.

“Don’t you dare cut in line! We’re all in a hurry.”  

The woman tried to move past me and put her hand on my shoulder. I found infuriating--

 I don’t like for strangers to touch me.

“And take your hands off me!”

 I was embarrassing Daniel, so I stopped talking. But I turned my head to the side and glared at the woman as I had unruly students when I taught Junior high school. The woman backed off, though it was clear she would spring in front of anybody who’d let her.

It was three past ten when we got to the window.  Only seventeen minutes before I boarded my train.  Daniel produced our transaction number, the agent looked at my passport, and the tiny machine spat round trip tickets for me. My hands were shaking as they often do when I’m stressed. I hoped my friend did not see.

We made for the waiting room where passengers were lining up for the bullet train. Still shaking,  I showed an attendant my passport; dropped my backpack, my purse, and the shopping bag full of provisions on the conveyer belt; and mounted a platform  to be frisked by security. Perhaps because I am old, white and speak very little Chinese, an officer let Daniel into the waiting room with me. We found my line and I slid my ticket into the kiosk. Since I was at the back of the line, no one was pushing me as sometime happens, and it was easy to get down the escalator.

The train wasn’t in yet, but people were lining up for the various cars. I’d been assigned to Car 2. I asked an agent where the line for my car was: “Qing wen, er che zai nar”? 

When he pointed to the right, I walked a short distance down the platform. Soon, the pointy nosed bullet train was speeding past me.  I’d been directed to the end of the train.  Had the agent not understood me.  Or did he dislike Americans?

Neither.  The Chinese number their trains from the rear. 

Shortly after I boarded, Daniel texted me, asking if I was all right.  Maybe he noticed how I’d been shaking. He worries about my ability to navigate China. Truth is, I don’t negotiate China as he does.  Like many Chinese, Daniel does things precisely and quickly, his habitual attentiveness to detail enabling him to speed up if need be. If problems occur, he confers, bargains and afterwards moves on decisively. In this country, things change quickly, sometimes with little notice.

I, on the other hand, constantly plan. I never like working too close to deadlines. I get to airports two hours early, allowing even more time for international flights. I don’t mind the wait—I read. Usually, I’m at school an hour before I teach.  I ignore it when people say I’m obsessive-compulsive.

“Well, you got on the train,” Daniel said later on.  “I did not think there would be any problem.  There was still time.”

Daniel knows China.       

 The Sage

Confucius was China’s most prominent ancient teacher.  He lived in Shandong Province, where I currently teach, between 551 and 479 BC. Confucius, or Kongzi as the Chinese call him, was just slightly earlier than Socrates, who lived between 469 and 369 BC.  Kongzi’s philosophy was similar to that of other great moral teachers, stressing justice, kindness to others, and righteous living. It also stressed “harmonious” relations, defined as obedience to parents and anyone else in authority.  Here, the Sage was differed from Jesus, who encouraged people to follow Him, even if it meant a break with their parents.

Confucius, or Kongzi as the Chinese call him, had no supernatural powers; and unlike Moses, he did not speak directly to God.  He was married and had lots of children. Many Chinese claim to be descended from him.  His ideas have had a profound effect on the Chinese psyche, and this has been disempowering. People obey authority here, even when it is not their interest, and the government has exploited this national trait.  Even when Communist Party members dislike the government, they view themselves as essentially powerless.

“We can do nothing,” they say.

When people believe themselves powerless, the status quo is maintained.  

Stand Behind the Noodle

In seminar, we were discussing what’s known as “language contact.”  This is what happens when two or more languages are used in a single community. While Chinese is clearly the dominant language here, English is present as an international language.

The graduate students told me Chinese renders the expression “Stand behind the yellow line” as “Stand behind the noodle.”  When translated directly, the expression is either incomprehensible to us or funny. But calling a yellow line a noodle makes sense in a way. A yellow line looks a bit like a noodle. The principle is similar to using the word ‘trunk’ to mean the thickest part of a tree and also the human chest.

English and Chinese have different perspectives on life and have dissimilar idiomatic usage. We are apt to use the disparaging term “Chinglish” to describe such hybrid forms as “Your careful step keeps tiny grass invariably green.”  Actually, such expressions give us a window into how the Chinese see the world.

 Unripe Fruit

At first, I thought they were apples, then I noticed the trumpet protuberance.  A colleague confirmed these were pomegranates. At least where I’ve lived, they’re expensive, but they don’t have to be imported in the US-- they can grow in our South. 

I remember seeing pomegranates over fifty years ago on East 28^th Street in Brooklyn at the home of Kenyon and San Li Chin, the Chinese kids who lived upstairs from us.   That family ate them often, but I have no idea where they bought them. Grocery stores in South Flatbush were not exotic.

When ripe, pomegranates are bright red, as is its juicy flesh which is studded throughout with seeds.  They are supposed to promote fertility. 

 Student Load

My course load by Chinese standards, is very light.  I teach one evening class twice a week in which I have thirty students, and I do three additional lectures for graduate students.  I am being spoiled.  Zhang Dianyu AKA Daniel, the man who invited me this summer, has a student load of over a hundred.  As those of you who teach English know, the number of students affects your level of paperwork.  I am being lots of time to do as I please.

Americans working with international students are apt to think the Chines work very hard at their studies.  And it’s mostly true—for the ones who make it to American universities as there is stiff competition.  But here at Shandong University, there there’s a range, though the place is pretty selective.  Sometimes, I have to make threats about homework and order the kids not to take out their cell phones. 

 Churchgoing

I usually attend the English service at Fumen Church.  It is Weihai’s take on a megachurch.  Hundreds of people go there.  While I know many people in the English congregation at Fumen, I find it hard to get to know people in the Chinese congregation. It’s just so big.

Yesterday at the beach, I got to talking with a woman who calls herself Wendy, and she invited me to Bei Zhu Dao Church, which is much smaller—possibly two hundred members.  Wendy teaches Sunday school, so I spent my time with kids.  The program is very similar to what we do back home—prayer, Bible stories, and a chance to move around afterwards.  They even had Vacation Bible School last week.

Wendy asked if I knew “Jesus Loves Me” in English—they’ve taught the Chinese version.  So we worked on that.

 Liugong Island

Liugong Island is a short boat ride from Weihai and a popular destination for day trips. The island includes a whale museum, a national forest, and a museum documenting the Japanese invasion during the Sino-Japanese War in 1894.

 At Last!

The medicine Joe sent via “express” mail a couple of weeks ago has finally arrived.  Day after day, I’ve  bombarded Chinese FEDEX with nastigrams such as the following:

Dear Ms. Sun;

 When can I expect to receive my medicine?  

Over two weeks ago, my husband paid more than 100 US dollars to send it to me.   This is over 675 yuan. No company should take money for not doing what it has promised.  If FEDEX was not going to take care of the order, they should not have taken our money. I believe you are trying to take care of this, and what happened is not be your fault. Still, this is not fair.

I am in a foreign country.  I must have my medicine, and we have paid lots of money so I can have it.

This looks very bad for your company.  People pay for FEDEX services. Please see to it that the medicine is sent.   

 

Many thanks for your assistance.

 Rosalind Gann

 I believe Ms. Sun got sick of hearing from me and had things expedited.  I wasn’t even made to pay duty.  

Of Meds and Chocolate Truffles

Two weeks ago, Joe spent a small fortune getting one of my meds refilled and shipping it here.  I still don’t have it.

I have called and emailed multiple times.  Here’s some recent correspondence:

Dear

I will try my level best to help you

重要提示：

尊敬的客户！因海关目前试运行个人物品无纸化报关业务（无纸化报关海关将不会提供纸质税单）

所以会造成部分个人物品申报放行后没有纸质税单的情况，如您收到包裹时对税单所有疑问，

可拨打联邦快递客户电话400-886-1888（手机拨打）800-988-1888（座机拨打）巡查。

感谢您对联邦快递工作的支持！

Best Regards

CindySun/SunYu

Gateway Clearance Agent

Federal Express

Tel: +8610-69473636-3512

Fax: +8610-81460652

Mail: 5163803@fedex.com

address:顺义区货运北路2号海关快件监管中心联邦快递库

Thank You for shipping with FedEx!

Please do not hesitate to contact us should you require further assistance

The last line is my favorite. 

I return to the States in less than two weeks.  The meds may get here long after I am back home.

I had more luck with the chocolate truffles I transported for Iris Zhang.  The ice in the insulated bag had melted when I arrived, but the candy did fine.

Drink Me

The plastic bottle had a picture of a cow.  It didn’t say milk (niu nai), so I assumed it was liquid yogurt. It would be a good high protein drink for the train trip.  Whatever it was, this was not yogurt.  The creamy liquid was sweeter and tasted vaguely of pineapple. It had little lumps which were possibly tapioca.

Cultural Gold

All over China, people see the necessity of learning the international language, English.  They realize Chinese is very difficult for outsiders and recognize the practical value of our language in business and commerce.

The native speaker of English is treated like a celebrity.   At the train station, mothers pushed their children forward so they could practice saying “Hello” to me. One woman on the train brought me a dinner of instant noodles so she could spend a few minutes talking with me.  Middle class parents purchase English lessons at mini English academies hoping to give their kids an advantage in school and work.

 An Exotic Animal

In some places, we Westerners are still a curiosity. At the Beijing Zoo, a street sweeper asked in Chinese where I was from. I answered “Wo xie mei guo ren.” (I am American).  He told my friend Xiuyu (Judy) he was surprised.  He’d assumed I was Russian.  I can understand.  While I hold an American passport, I have the top heavy, thick waisted build of an East European. My grandparents, all of them Jewish, were from Austria, Latvia, Romania, and Poland.

The zoo sweeper said “Hello,”—apparently this was the only English word he knew.  Shyly, he asked if I would pose with him for a picture.  I considered the pandas more photogenic but obliged. Seeing this, another man asked if I’d pose with him.

 Appropriate Food

I caught the bullet train to Beijing to visit Xiuyu Paio (Judy), a graduate of ETSU who is now a financial analyst.  Judy was approved for US study at ETSU in 2009, but officials booked her on an overseas flight which arrived two weeks before formal move-in.  The flight could not be rescheduled, and on-campus housing was intransigent.

"You tell them Chinese people they gotta go by the same rules as everybody else," said the director of housing.

 Judy stayed with Joe and Roz Gann a couple of weeks.  Later on, upper level administration changed the policy.  Eventually, Judy became my graduate assistant. 

At the station Judy brought me flowers, which the Chinese sometimes do when greeting old friends.  She is certain Chinese food is not good for Westerners, her attitude resembling that of my dog-loving friends who decline to feed their pets table scraps.  There was no seating at KFC, a popular destination for dates, so Judy sat me down at a fast food Chinese restaurant and returned a few minutes later with a salad. 

 Butterfly Lakes

Inside the nan men (南门) or South gate of Shandong University are the “Butterfly Lakes,” a pair of large  ponds at opposite sides of the plaza.  In 2006, I held my nose as I passed them-- they smelled of raw sage. Now, they have been cleaned up and are full of lilies and fishes.

Gremlins

I call them the gremlins—the unseen watchers who snoop on online communications in China.  According to expat folklore, there are thousands of them in China, but because they are very discreet, you cannot be sure which technical difficulties they are responsible for. My Chinese colleagues tell me information control is not that robust.  Sometimes I feel like I’m paranoid.

I made an early morning SKYPE call to my friend Dennis Cope (5:30 am in China; his 5:00 pm), I am now certain my computer malfunction was an invasion. Dennis is a retired engineer and knows a great deal about these technologies. He said a virus or hardware malfunction would not be corrected by a simple update.

Young people  circumvent information control.  One of the students told me there are VPN services—I don’t know what the initials stand for—but with their assistance, they can see anything on the web.  They can access Facebook, Youtube, Twitter, and Google. The government plays cat and mouse with these services but has not stopped them.

Vocabulary of Beauty

I wear my hair in a spike, and it has to be cut every three to four weeks or else it starts drooping. The Chinese have straight hair, so the style is popular, but Chinese women don’t wear it—it’s only the men. I wouldn’t wear it myself, but it’s the only hairdo that works, since I have hair loss.  Chinese stylists are reluctant to cut my hair in a spike—they think they have misunderstood me.

I was determined to get a haircut myself without involving a Chinse friend.   I considered it a good chance to practice Chinese. Li, the young man who is helping learn the language, wrote relevant vocabulary in my notebook—for instance “Shang mian jian duan yi xie”—Make the top shorter.

I knew there was a beauty salon in the building beside the Liqun Market, and I climbed the stairs to er lo, the second floor. The personnel understood me, and I got a pretty good haircut for 30 yuan—about 4 and a half dollars.

 Did I imagine it?

I ring Joe’s phone via SKYPE twice a day.  Yesterday, I was griping to him about the medicine problem. The phone went dead.  It’s not unusual for connections to be interrupted, so I called back. All I got were buzzes and crackles.  When I tried again, there were echoing noises like the ones in a Halloween haunted houses, and an ominous voice spoke in Chinese. 

After this, my computer stopped having sound, and I couldn’t listen to music or broadcasts on NPR. A message on SKYPE said I had to attach a microphone, which was curious, since the microphone I use is built in.  When I did troubleshooting, I was referred to Microsoft. The technician I “chatted” with thought I might need a new audio driver, whatever that is. She offered to sell me a “convenient” maintenance package for $150, but when she learned I was in China, she said there was a different one used here, and it cost $20. When I declined both, she agreed to send me “complimentary” instructions but never did.

A couple of times that day, I shut down and restarted my computer, but I still didn’t have any sound.  I shut the computer down in the evening before teaching my class, and when I came back, the system updated, and I could hear sound. SKYPE was working, and NPR was audible.

Now was this simply a case of a computer needing an update, or was it something more sinister?

China is said to abound with experts in “information control” who examine communication. I think this is probably true.  My Yahoo and Mason accounts go down periodically, which is why I use both. I cannot attach a Word file like this one to either, though I can attach images.

 

“Nonsense!” says one of my colleagues. “We have too many people in China for them to pay any attention. The government is not so efficient. Especially now. It is hot.”

 

Am I a trifle paranoid ( a common symptom of culture shock), or is my friend in denial?

Don’t lose medicine in China

Before I arrived in Weihai, one of my medicines went missing, possibly somewhere in transit.  I didn’t leave it at home—Joe checked.  The problem was critical—it was something I take to manage side effects of another medication, but ideally I’d have it.

Joe called my internist’s office, got a replacement, and shipped it to the English Department here via Fed Ex.  This was not cheap—a bit over $100, but we had solved the problem.

Not so fast.  Foreign medicines are viewed with deep suspicion here, and the package was delayed in customs. FedEx attempted to reach me, but they did not have my Chinese cell phone number.  Instead they called Joe in America, and he supplied the number, but when I tried to call FedEx back, I reached a customer service representative in Mexico. When he couldn’t help me, I was referred to another customer service representative, this time in El Salvador. He couldn’t help me either, but he gave me a number for customer service in China which turned out not to be working. When I called back again, I was given another three numbers, one of which was for a cell phone belonging to a clerk, and it actually worked.  But the clerk had limited English and could not understand me. Her supervisor’s English was better, and she emailed me multiple forms which I had to print out, complete, and photograph. They also requested a copy of my passport so they could match the name on the medicine bottle with my passport.  I would have to pay duty. They also wanted my university supervisor’s picture ID, since he would sign for the package.

“They’re trying to keep out drugs,” said one of my friends.  “But drug dealers are way more efficient than the government, so they pick on people like you.”