On Names

This morning my alarm went off at 5:45 a.m. I shivered my way to the shower and got some wonton soup at the only place on my street that served breakfast at 6:15. I grabbed a taxi and headed off to four classes in a row of middle school students. I had been warned by the other teachers that middle school students were quiet and didn't like to speak in class, but I found them easier to relate to and control than my elementary schoolers. The tongue twisters went over pretty well, perhaps the most pedagogically effective being "six thick thistle sticks" given the difficulty most of the world has with the English th sound.

Every Chinese student of English receives an English name at some point in their career, just as I was given a Chinese name in my first week of study. Having an English name is an important way to relate to the language, but some of the names they end up with are truly mystifying. I've met young Chinese people about my age who have names like Enya, Chopin, Ghost, Devil, and Shadow. The woman who gave me my job here is Echo. People frequently don't know how to pronounce their own name correctly, which further adds to the confusion. I always wondered how kids ended up with such strange names, but Shannon, my fellow teacher, cleared things up a bit for me the other day.

She came back from class, reporting that she had named kids Hunter and Thompson, Jack and Daniel, Marilyn and Manson. One student, after being given the name Jack, had responded "jacket," which she decided to make official. I thought she was taking the privilege of naming kids, something that people normally only get to do with their own, a little too lightly, especially since many of them will end up keeping their new names into adulthood. In the few instances when I've gotten to give my kids names, I've tried to stick to pretty common ones, and I've started naming the kids after my friends. I've already got a Matt and a Nick, but when I tried to name a kid Benny, he rejected it since it sounded too much like ben, the Chinese word for stupid. Maybe I'll start taking photos of the kids I've named after people I know, so you can see what kind of damage is being wrought with your names. I guess they can always change them later...

If I lived in China, I'd have some Chinese children

Thanks, Emily, for the song quoted in the title of this post. It pretty accurately describes my life at the moment, even though I have no Chinese children of my own (yet. I've been carefully heeding the advice many of you gave me before I left). It goes something like this:

If I lived in China, I'd have some Chinese Children
If I lived in India, they'd still be Chinese children
No matter what I do, they're Chinese through and through

They're not just Chinese in the sense that they're from China. Even at their young age -- eight, most of them -- they've begun to demonstrate well-known Chinese cultural tendencies. For example, the obsession with mingxiao or "name schools". During the ten minute break in my private after-school English class, Albert, one of the students, asked me, in Chinese, "Do you go to Harvard?" I replied in Chinese, "No, I go to Yelu Daxue," continuing in English, "Can you say it in English, 'Yale.'" He promptly repeated "yellow" and ran off to tell his friends, "The teacher is from Yale."

Aside from demonstrating the age at which the importance of going to a good school is impressed upon Chinese children, it showed me the extent to which the company I am working for uses my background as a marketing tool. On Friday morning last week, I was summoned to the company's office to "interview some adult students and determine their English level." It turned out that the meeting was with some young employees of China Mobile who worked at the airport and needed English to help their foriegn "VIPs" with their flights. As it turned out, I wasn't actually asked to interview them, I was merely required to be present at the meeting where JESIE, my company, pitched their English training to China Mobile. Of course, my background wasn't omitted from my introduction.

I find all of this fuss particularly ridiculous since two and a half years at Yelu, as well as whatever aptitude landed me there, has nothing whatsoever to do with my ability as a teacher. I've gotten over my nervousness since last week, but I still have a long way to go before I'm effective at getting the students to learn the material. It's nice to be working hard at something so different from studying, and I hope I'll get better as time goes on.

In the meantime, I've been settling in to my life here in Nanjing. The other teachers in the program are certainly a set of characters, and I've been enjoying getting to know them. The head teacher is Val, a 33-year-old Lithuanian guy, former Baltic sea oil pipeline quality control manager and published Russian language poet. There's Karl, a somewhat distant Iowan who is a great teacher and a funny guy, Shannon, self-proclaimed "ex-ghetto punk" Canadian, and Huw, a half-Welsh former nerd whose Chinese girlfriend's mother takes them to video arcades together. I'm living with a 20-year-old Australian girl named Melissa, whose bizarre set of Australianisms hasn't yet ceased to amuse me. Who knew a duvet was actually called a duna?

I got a bike this weekend, which is an excellent way to get around. In addition to giving me a healthy dose of exercise, it allows me to get places much faster and more conveniently than I could on the bus. It's the best of both worlds: fast, but not prone to getting stuck in traffic. It's also free from the fear of being run over that comes with city biking in the US. There are bike lanes separated by fences on most major streets, and drivers are used to dodging the array of motor scooters, pedestrians, and bicycles that are prone to erratic behavior.

Tomorrow: 7:30 a.m. middle school. I think I'm going to teach them some tongue-twisters. We'll see how that goes over...

山姆老师 -- Teacher Sam

It's been a while since my last post, and I've been quite busy. I know you're all anxious to hear about my teaching, but let me first bring you up to date about what I've been up to since I left Wuhan on Friday night.

After an uncomfortable nine-hour overnight bus ride, I arrived in Nanjing, my new home, early on Saturday morning. Echo, the woman who had been discussing the teaching job with me, brought me to the hostel where I stayed for the weekend. On Saturday, some of her family friends took me around Nanjing, a mother, introduced to me as Miss Yang, and her daughter Gege. I liked them a lot: they were patient with me, carefully explaining any Chinese words I didn't understand, as well as very smart and knowledgeable about all sorts of Chinese culture.We went to the park surrounding Sun Yat-sen's mausoleum, where I was surprised to see wax models of Nationalist soldiers from World War II, as well as a burial ground that apparently contained the bodies of about 1000 of these soldiers. I guess this is a testament to the lingering respect that all Chinese people have for their countrymen who suffered under the Japanese. The park was quite nice, and we climbed a nine-story pagoda.
Monday morning I went in to the office, signed my contract, moved in to my apartment, and watched two classes taught by other teachers. Tuesday morning it was my turn to teach. So much for the week of training they said I would have. When offering me the teaching job, Echo also said that my classes would be based on a by all accounts very good Cambridge ESL textbook. That's true of a quarter of my classes, but the rest are what they call "oral English," meaning that there is no textbook or real curriculum. On Monday night I was left to prepare lessons I would present the next day with no real guidance.

Teaching on Tuesday was mixed. My first class was second grade, and I was pretty nervous despite the fact that the 50 (yes, fifty) faces staring at me were cute Chinese 8 year olds. Class was chaotic but not bad. They especially liked playing telephone, the last kid in the row running up to the front, trying to be the first one to whisper the original phrase to me. My fifth grade oral class went less well, since the material I had prepared was too easy for them and they quickly got bored.

I had Wednesday off to observe and receive advice from the other teachers, and my classes today went somewhat better. Teaching is certainly harder than I had expected. Little kids are a tough audience, getting bored quickly and requiring constant changes of activities. It's a nice challenge, though, and much different from anything I've done before. I just have one class tomorrow, and then the weekend off to prepare for a full week next week. Stay tuned for more on teaching, as well as Nanjing and my living situation...

From a momentarily working computer

I've arrived in Wuhan, the city that used to be three cities (and is consequently huge and sprawling). I arrived last night after a four hour bus ride from the place where the boat dropped me off.

The boat ride was certainly an experience, not so much for the scenery (though it wasn't bad), or the tourist attractions along the way, but for the interactions with vacationing Chinese families. I shared my third-class cabin with a retired Chinese couple, who acted like my surrogate grandparents for the duration of the journey. They would make sure I woke up for the sights (at which we often arrived at six in the morning), tell me not to walk around in my socks, and give me tea when I was feeling sick. They were full of all sorts of Chinese theories, telling me that the reason I didn't feel good was that I had eaten fruit before noodles in the morning.

I was initially hesitant to eat in the slightly overpriced restaurant on the boat, but during my first meal there, eating by myself, I was beckoned over to a table where a family of ten or so Beijing people were eating. They ordered me food, gave me baijiu (Chinese rice liquor) and complained when I didn't drink it all. The next afternoon, I was invited to have lunch with a family whose two kids -- an 11 year old boy and a 9 year old girl -- had taken a liking to me. The kids were very sweet, despite their endless questions about how much money I made and how much my things cost. I think they were about the same age as the kids I'll be teaching, which made me excited to start. By the end of the trip, I couldn't have a meal without being conflicted about which of my new friends I should sit with.

And now, photos. The first one is the family I just mentioned, minus son:


The boat:


Some cartoons at the monastery in Chengdu explaining basic principles of Buddhism. I really like these...

Chengdu, city of the color blind man's nightmare:


Also at the monastery in Chendu:


A red panda at the Chendu panda center (this one's for you, Adrian):




Understand panda, understand life -- the video:



That's all for now. Tomorrow I arrive in Nanjing and start my teaching job, so much of interest will certainly follow...

Death of a computer, birth of a panda

My computer got damaged when I plugged it into some questionable electricity in Chengdu, so I'm writing from an Internet Cafe (or wang ba) here in Chongqing.

I arrived in Chengdu on Thursday morning, where I tasted the notoriously spicy local food (it wasn't TOO bad), and relaxed in my hostel. The next day I headed off to the Buddhist monastery, where crowds of Chinese people flocked to buy incense and pray by the statues of dieties. Despite the crowds, the peaceful atmosphere of the monastery remained intact, especially in the tea garden, where I sipped a cup of flower-laden green tea. The Buddhism practiced to the visitors of the monastery was more superstition-based than what I'm used to; the visitors moved between statues and character inscriptions, rubbing first the relics and then themselves, presumably so that the good luck (or whatever it was) would stay with them. I didn't see too much meditating...

In the afternoon, I met up with Fei Fei, a friend of one of my friends from the hostel in Beiijing. She took me to another temple, where she explained to me some of the stories and legends that were depicted in the temple. The temple was very crowded, and served more as a tourist attraction than a holy place, as far as I could tell.

I also made it to the Chengdu Panda Base, home of 40 or so giant pandas. The brochure provided at the entrance said, "Understand panda, understand life." Seeing the pandas lounge around eating bamboo and falling asleep, I decided I was approaching life all wrong. How such a creature managed to evolve and stay extant for millions of years is beyond me. Maybe there's something in natural selection that favors cuteness. There was a hilarious video about panda breeding, the most striking part of which was seeing a panda give birth and then swat at its squealing pink baby lying helpless and tiny on the concrete floor. I have a bunch of cute pictures which I can't upload now. I'll try to get them in a few days.

After spending three days in Chengdu, I took the train to Chongqing yesterday. Chongqing was the nationalist capital of China during World War II, and I've heard rumors that it's the largest metropolitan area in China, with over 30 million people. It reminds me of San Francisco: hilly, with the main part crammed onto a little peninsula between two rivers. The two cities have similar weather, too: warm and rainy, with a heavy blanket of fog. I was planning to spend two days here and have some time for sightseeing, but complications with the river boat schedules mean that I'm leaving in a few short hours.

I'll be spending the next three days cruising down the Yangtze river, so there probably won't be any updates for at least that long. Be patient, photos of pandas await.

Février en chine, quelle joie, quelle chance (or, Happy New Year!)

Yesterday was Chinese New Year, and I wasn’t sure quite what to expect, except a climax of the constant explosions of fireworks that had been going on since I got to Beijing (but more on that later). I decided I had seen all I needed to see in Beijing and stayed around the hostel hanging out with the other guests and employees. I helped them prepare some of the ingredients for the dumplings they were making (picture below), and later had my dumpling-stuffing ability mocked by everyone who worked at the hostel. It turned out all right in the end, since all of the dumplings turned out uniformly stuck-together and delicious.

After our dumpling feast, the stash of fireworks was brought out. We set them off in the small outdoor hallway of the hostel, filling it with smoke and distracting the owner’s three-year-old daughter from her fear of foreigners. Once the fireworks allocated for before midnight were exhausted, we retired to the common room. We started playing a drinking game that involved counting in Chinese and multiplication tables, neither of which is quite my strong suit. After the game was over, I hung out with the other guests at the hostel, who were from all over the world. There were guys from Finland, Germany, and Wales (he even spoke Welsh and had a Welsh name!), as well as a group of Canadians and a family from Slovenia. I was surprised there were no other Americans around, and I’m not exactly sure what that indicates.

Then the celebration really started. Imagine 15 million people all lighting fireworks at once, mostly kinds that are outlawed in most of the world. We went up on the roof of the hostel to watch, and in every direction there were displays to match the best Fourth of July celebration you’ve ever seen. We walked around the streets, where firecrackers were setting off car alarms, and strangers offered to let us light up their fireworks. The streets were shrouded in smoke and covered with firecracker wrappers. Cars foolish enough to be on the road had to swerve around mortars that were about to explode. This morning, I even found bits of debris in my hair. No picture I took quite captured the moment, but hopefully you can get a feel from the expressions on people’s faces below (well not really, but they’re a nice bunch).

In the true fashion of a country with a labor surplus, the streets were completely clean by the time I headed off to the airport at six this morning. I’m in Chengdu now, which is in southwestern China. It’s warm but drizzly here, a nice change from the freezing cold of Beijing. I’ll be here for a couple of days before heading to Chongqing and (hopefully) a boat down the Yangzi.

Temple of Heaven, etc.

It's been a reasonably busy couple of days here, but that's not to say I haven't found time for at least ten hours of sleep at night, plus a nap during the day. Yesterday I went to the 798 art district to try and find my favorite Chinese band's new CD (see this post from last summer), but the music store was closed. The area was pretty interesting, though, consisting of a bunch of old industrial buildings turned into art galleries and other stores.

Today I went to the Temple of Heaven, which I missed last summer. It's the temple where the emperors used to pray for things like good harvests and pay respect to their ancestors. Like the Forbidden City, thankfully, it managed to escape the rebuilt touristy feel of the majority of Chinese historical landmarks.
Pretty nice, huh? There were some pretty interesting birds wandering around, too. Below is an example, but as you can see, I have neither the patience nor the camera of a nature photographer, so it's a little blurry.



Lest you think there is still even a pretense of Communism around here, check out the picture below. Even the plaque for the sacred Animal-Killing Pavilion has a corporate sponsor. The highlighted text says something like "Presented by Guangzhou Pharmaceutical Company."


But that's not the only interesting signage from today. Far from it! The next one was in front of the urinal in the bathroom. It could be more accurately translated as "One small step forward, one giant leap for culture." Who knew the Chinese had such knowledge of Neil Armstrong (or didn't know how to use urinals)?


The last picture was on a storefront, and appears to be advertising some sort of computer, maybe one to help you think about your thoughts. Whoa.


That's it for today. Thanks for all the great feedback so far!

Why it is a good idea to stay at youth hostels

What does one do on one's first day back in Beijing? Revisit the majestic Forbidden city? Buy boatloads of fake clothing and DVDs? Hit up some of the tourist sites I missed last time around? More importantly, what does one do as a disgruntled former employee of a youth hostel who is back for a visit? The answer to both of these questions is not what you might expect: wash some cats!

That's right. This morning, right when I was about to set off for the Temple of Heaven, my one of my roommates in the hostel where I'm staying invited me to go ice skating. I figured there would be more time to see temples, so I set off with her. She had worked at the hostel last summer (and left on not such great terms), and wanted to stop by their other building and say hi. She decided their three white cats were in danger of turning black, so we gave them a bath in the sink. An hour with the hairdryer later, and we had three still-shivering cats, marginally whiter than before, considered the job finished, and set off for ice skating. It's really unfortunate I can't enhance this with a picture.

Which is to say, I'm here.