And now for some Scrabble.

The best part of this trip is getting to see my old friends. Dr. Zhang Dianyu, who recently completed his doctorate at ETSU, is a professor here at the University of Shandong.   I’ve known Dr. Zhang, who goes by the name “Daniel” since 2005, when he was a visiting scholar at our university.  He has been on road trips with me and Joe to Philadelphia, Washington, DC, and Savannah, Georgia. 

Two nights ago, I had dinner at his home and taught Daniel, his wife and daughter to play Scrabble on a set I’d brought in my suitcase.  Daniel’s daughter, Iris, outscored her parents.

Breakfast, anyone?

Every week, I have breakfast with friends at Perkins.  The food at the guest house is “something completely different,” as Monty Python would say.   Here’s what they served yesterday morning: rice porridge, a fried egg, pickled cucumber, pickled cabbage, fried hamburger bun, and a steamed bun filled with pork and chopped vegetables. There was enough for two or three people.   

Setting

Here at the University of Shandong’s Weihai campus I am staying at a reconverted dormitory which now serves as a guest house.  Because I am doing academic work, it suits my purposes much better than would a room at the conference center.  The room is spacious and has excellent Internet access and a flat screen tea which I do not watch.  There are two desks, two chairs and a book case.  Outside my window is a tennis court, and a parking lot where there are frequent military drills.

Ever since the Tiananmen Square incident twenty-five years ago, all entering college students have been required to participate in military training. This is taking place now.  At many hours of the day, I hear  students shouting uplifting slogans as they march around with their flags.    

Epilogue

Li Songshu and Paio Xiuyu are both from Beijing. Both are graduates of Masters Degree programs at ETSU.  At various times they have stayed in our home, because years ago when international programs, our housing department was unable to have apartments available right away when students arrived in China.  Paio Xiuyu, or Judy as she called herself in America, served as my graduate assistant for a couple of years. We got together for a day in Beijing.  It was like a reunion with family.  I remember their struggles with English and the American education system when they were younger.  Both now work for international companies and are extremely successful.

 

Beijing is hot this time of year, and thick smog surrounds the city.  This was especially hard on Songshu, who married last year and is now pregnant.  We broke for green tea lattes at the ever-popular Beijing Starbucks.

Near Tiananmen Square, security was tight.  The so-called People’s Police patrolled with the sidewalks with metal detection wands, pulling aside random pedestrians. Fortunately, no one selected us for a pat down.

Later in a park adjacent the Forbidden City, I briefly joined a Tai Chi class. Practitioners of this martial art learn to channel energy from the universe to strengthen their own life force or Chi so they can defend themselves against an attacker.

Finding Breakfast

Due to jet lag, I am up early.  I showered well before six.  I need water— what comes from the tap is not safe to drink, and the electric pot provided for boiling water does not work.  At the hotel desk, I use my minimal Chinese to ask about breakfast: “Zaofan za nail?”

None of the clerks understand me because I don’t get the tones right. I have to resort to finding the phrase in my Lonely Planet guidebook and pointing.  One of the clerks responds that there is a restaurant on floor san (number 3) of an adjoining building. I walk over, noticing trees bearing lichee nuts and what I take to be Chinese clover.

 But this is vacation time, and the restaurant is closed. So is the campus convenience store.  A passerby holds an envelope professors here use for grades, and I think she may be a teacher. Her English is as extensive as my Chinese, but we communicate.

She says I can go to a dining hall on the campus, but I must have a meal card, which I do not.  I’m carrying Chinese money, and it is worth a try.  A young man who speaks just a bit of English says I can wait for an hour to see if the cafeteria manager will accept my money.  He is carrying three bottles of water and I offer him two yuan if he’ll sell me one.  He is embarrassed and gives it to me for one. 

There ensues a lively interchange between the young man, another student, and cafeteria personnel. I gather they are discussing whether anyone on the premises has the authority to accept a cash purchase. A cafeteria worker, a middle aged woman, seems to be volunteering, and guides me to the a counter where I select a hard boiled egg and a piece of warm bread topped with pepper and sesame seed.

The cost is four yuen—about sixty cents. I pick up the bag with my breakfast and thank the woman profusely. I eat outside in  a campus garden.