2006年11月28日星期二
Another Urgent Update!!!!
What am I going to do??? I just realized that my update erased all the communist music and the video I had embedded at the bottom of the blog! ARRRGGGHHHH!!!!
An Announcement:
You'll notice the new color scheme on the blog. It is the unintended consequence of running some updates on my side of things. It took a lot of work to transform this template to the one that you normally see. I'm not happy with these changes and will be working to once again customize the look of the blog.
China
I've complained about learning Chinese before. Unlike easy languages (read: every other language on earth), Chinese requires several steps to memorize each word. You have to memorize the pronunciation, the tone and the character. Reading the characters is much easier than learning to write them, although with time the writing becomes easier. Predictably, one of the most frustrating aspects of the language is the characters. It's not so much that they are hard to read and write, it's that you cannot sound out characters that are unfamiliar. Signs read like this to me: Danger! Don't Touch the 鳄鱼! 警察要 Punish You Severely! I'm getting a bit better at guessing what these blank parts are, but it's still a challenge and I rely on context a lot.
Another problem I encounter when reading is that sometimes I remember the pronunciation of a character, I just don't remember the meaning. Other times I remember the meaning, I just don't remember the pronunciation. It's like this: blah, blah, blah, crocodile, blah, blah, blah. Don't know how to pronounce the word for crocodile, I just know the characters. A real example of this would be the two characters that mean something like, "don't do..." I see these two characters everywhere. Don't smoke, don't fish in the pond, don't honk your car's horn. The problem is, I can't pronounce them. I know the meaning, not the pronunciation. Some characters have phonetic parts to them, making it easier to guess what the sound might be. For example, take a look at the following characters:
方 fang
芳 fang
放 fang
访 fang
房 fang
坊 fang
纺 fang
旁 pang
As you can see, the first seven characters are pronounced "fang". The tones and meanings are different. The last character is pronounced "pang." If you saw one of these characters, you could guess the pronounciation based on the radical 方 which is found in every character (look closely). For these types of characters, the toughest part is remembering the tone. Also, some of them have similiar meanings, so remembering which one to write is a bit of a challenge as well.
Here's something that I can finally sort of read:
It reads: Chairman Mao is the red sun in our hearts
Another problem I encounter when reading is that sometimes I remember the pronunciation of a character, I just don't remember the meaning. Other times I remember the meaning, I just don't remember the pronunciation. It's like this: blah, blah, blah, crocodile, blah, blah, blah. Don't know how to pronounce the word for crocodile, I just know the characters. A real example of this would be the two characters that mean something like, "don't do..." I see these two characters everywhere. Don't smoke, don't fish in the pond, don't honk your car's horn. The problem is, I can't pronounce them. I know the meaning, not the pronunciation. Some characters have phonetic parts to them, making it easier to guess what the sound might be. For example, take a look at the following characters:
方 fang
芳 fang
放 fang
访 fang
房 fang
坊 fang
纺 fang
旁 pang
As you can see, the first seven characters are pronounced "fang". The tones and meanings are different. The last character is pronounced "pang." If you saw one of these characters, you could guess the pronounciation based on the radical 方 which is found in every character (look closely). For these types of characters, the toughest part is remembering the tone. Also, some of them have similiar meanings, so remembering which one to write is a bit of a challenge as well.
Here's something that I can finally sort of read:
It reads: Chairman Mao is the red sun in our hearts Literally: Mao Chairman is our heart center red sun
At first all I could read was the "Chairman Mao is our..." Later came the "red sun" part. Hopefully I translated this correctly. Who knows, it could have some other meaning that I don't understand yet, but I doubt it. My translation sounds sufficiently communist.
2006年11月27日星期一
What a beautiful day!
There's this friend of a friend of a friend who's now become my friend. Her English name is Connie. We get together about once every two weeks. Usually I go to her place, and her husband cooks while we practice Chinese and English. A lot of the other foreigners have taken Chinese culture classes either here or in their home countries, but there is nothing better than going out and meeting people. Living with a Chinese woman and spending time with Connie has given me some weird insights.
When I first met Connie, she told me that she had just recently started going out again. She had given birth to a baby less than two months prior, so this explanation made sense to me. Well, it made sense to me until she explained what she meant fully. You see, traditionally Chinese women will not leave the house for a month after giving birth. I know you're thinking, "yeah, so what?" It gets worse than that: only specific foods are allowed, nothing too spicy or cold. The part of this ritual I found most disturbing was the prohibition against bathing and washing of the hair. Apparently, the mother must restore her yin and yang, and washing will somehow throw this out of whack.
A lot of our conversations are just plain strange. A conversation I had last night went something like this:
"I told my husband that you like to eat fish. He wanted to cook some, but last night we ate this vegetable and it made our lips dry, so we can't have fish. We can have hot pot though." (Huh?)
"Oh, that sounds great!"
Another conversation:
"I've noticed that you Westerners wear less clothes than we Chinese." (It's cold here and the Chinese are big on long underwear and "I'm hiking Mt. Everest" jackets.)
"Hmm, I never noticed the difference. I suppose we do wear less layers."
"When you were little, did you only wear a little clothes? Maybe that's why you are used to it." (Huh?)
I have a lot of these strange conversations. I wish I could record them all for you. They always make me wonder if the things I say come across as weird to her as the things she says do to me.
When I first met Connie, she told me that she had just recently started going out again. She had given birth to a baby less than two months prior, so this explanation made sense to me. Well, it made sense to me until she explained what she meant fully. You see, traditionally Chinese women will not leave the house for a month after giving birth. I know you're thinking, "yeah, so what?" It gets worse than that: only specific foods are allowed, nothing too spicy or cold. The part of this ritual I found most disturbing was the prohibition against bathing and washing of the hair. Apparently, the mother must restore her yin and yang, and washing will somehow throw this out of whack.
A lot of our conversations are just plain strange. A conversation I had last night went something like this:
"I told my husband that you like to eat fish. He wanted to cook some, but last night we ate this vegetable and it made our lips dry, so we can't have fish. We can have hot pot though." (Huh?)
"Oh, that sounds great!"
Another conversation:
"I've noticed that you Westerners wear less clothes than we Chinese." (It's cold here and the Chinese are big on long underwear and "I'm hiking Mt. Everest" jackets.)
"Hmm, I never noticed the difference. I suppose we do wear less layers."
"When you were little, did you only wear a little clothes? Maybe that's why you are used to it." (Huh?)
I have a lot of these strange conversations. I wish I could record them all for you. They always make me wonder if the things I say come across as weird to her as the things she says do to me.
Trust(?)mart
So you go to your favorite store again, the one that still requires the mysterious discount card that you don't have. You know their prices are good and who knows, maybe you'll find a discount card hidden under the dried jellyfish. With this kind of positive thinking, you enter the store hoping you'll make it out again in one piece. It's noon, meaning everyone is on their two-hour siesta and the place is destined to be packed.
After loading your basket with an assortment of goods you push your way through the crowd to the row of cashiers. Picking the shortest line and the slowest checker, you rehearse what you are going to say. After all, you didn't find a card under the jellyfish, stomach, brain or duck blood and you are still hoping for one. You tell yourself today is your lucky day.
"Excuse me, where do I go to get that card?" The cashier looks at you, turns to the next person in line and takes the card from her hand. She scans it, thanks the customer, throws your stuff in a bag and tells you the total. You pay and leave, deciding on the way out that you should take a drive by the consulate.
Did she not hear you? Was she purposly avoiding my question? Why won't she give me that damn card?!
2006年11月24日星期五
3 Month Update:
This past week I passed the three month mark in China. Here's a short summary of what I've learned, what I love, what I hate, and what surprises me about living in the Middle Kingdom.
What I love: The food. It's by far some of the best food I've ever had.
The classes. They are interesting, if not a bit disorganized. I'm learning a lot.
My bike: It may be a piece of junk, but it's the best way around the city. I think mountain biking is in my future...
Making friends at CSL class.
The food. I know I said it before, but it's so incredibly good! It makes life in Chengdu worth living.
What I hate: Riding a bicycle/on the floor loogie spitters. The Chinese spit like no other people on earth. Most of the time this doesn't bother me, except for those two exceptions above.
The general disorganization of everything.
The foreigner tax.
General dishonesty.
Racism.
Chinese organized tours. They really suck.
What surprises me: The lack of hills in Chengdu. I've been riding my bike around the city for three months and have not encountered a hill yet. Not even a small one.
The awesome apartment I live in. I wasn't really expecting anything this nice, but we really lucked out.
Meeting another American who knows Chinese Sign Language.
The driving. Insane. Mad. Crazy.
What I've learned: The phrase "I don't eat innards, head or feet."
That you might not always get what you ask for when buying things. People take the liberty to give you more than you want, thus charging more(rounding up, of course!).
It's good to always back everything up with an email or three.
Flashing lights means: "MOVE!!!" Horns mean: "Don't make any sudden moves!"
Ignoring the crossing guards is perfectly acceptable.
Pretending that you don't speak Chinese can be very useful. It helps you get away with things you otherwise couldn't.
The clerks at Trustmart will under no circumstances give you the discount card. They won't even tell you how to get one.
People with sticks sell the cheapest fruit.
Anything sold on the street is good.
That's just a short summary. I'll be updating again at the six month mark.
What I love: The food. It's by far some of the best food I've ever had.
The classes. They are interesting, if not a bit disorganized. I'm learning a lot.
My bike: It may be a piece of junk, but it's the best way around the city. I think mountain biking is in my future...
Making friends at CSL class.
The food. I know I said it before, but it's so incredibly good! It makes life in Chengdu worth living.
What I hate: Riding a bicycle/on the floor loogie spitters. The Chinese spit like no other people on earth. Most of the time this doesn't bother me, except for those two exceptions above.
The general disorganization of everything.
The foreigner tax.
General dishonesty.
Racism.
Chinese organized tours. They really suck.
What surprises me: The lack of hills in Chengdu. I've been riding my bike around the city for three months and have not encountered a hill yet. Not even a small one.
The awesome apartment I live in. I wasn't really expecting anything this nice, but we really lucked out.
Meeting another American who knows Chinese Sign Language.
The driving. Insane. Mad. Crazy.
What I've learned: The phrase "I don't eat innards, head or feet."
That you might not always get what you ask for when buying things. People take the liberty to give you more than you want, thus charging more(rounding up, of course!).
It's good to always back everything up with an email or three.
Flashing lights means: "MOVE!!!" Horns mean: "Don't make any sudden moves!"
Ignoring the crossing guards is perfectly acceptable.
Pretending that you don't speak Chinese can be very useful. It helps you get away with things you otherwise couldn't.
The clerks at Trustmart will under no circumstances give you the discount card. They won't even tell you how to get one.
People with sticks sell the cheapest fruit.
Anything sold on the street is good.
That's just a short summary. I'll be updating again at the six month mark.
2006年11月21日星期二
It's almost Thanksgiving!
I've developed a real affinity for the American Consulate. I'm like a child with a special blankie. I just like it. I like looking at it. Having it around makes me feel good. In fact, if I could open up a consulate next door, downstairs, down the road, or in a storefront I would. I enjoy riding my bike past the guards, past the gates around gates, and the barred windows. I ride past the line of visa applicants snaking around the corner, and the Chinese guards who demand to know your business, and I feel a sense of pride. Pride and joy, pride and joy...
2006年11月18日星期六
Day 18
So far I've been pretty good about not eating sugar. I mentioned earlier that I was going to try and give up sugar until Thanksgiving. Although I eat things like bread and fruit, things like candy and cake is out. I've done fairly well.
I've had several surprises when it comes to the Chinese food. I bought what I thought was a fried potato thing, only to find it filled with sweet bean paste. I've bought what I thought were crackers, only to find them sweet like animal crackers. There was one overt violation, but by and large, all the other ones have been unintentional.
As to whether or not I'll continue my sugar fast after Thanksgiving: the answer is no. I love Almond M&Ms, and I don't think I can last much longer without them. The peanut ones are a good substitute, and a Snickers bar will do when nothing else is available.
I've had several surprises when it comes to the Chinese food. I bought what I thought was a fried potato thing, only to find it filled with sweet bean paste. I've bought what I thought were crackers, only to find them sweet like animal crackers. There was one overt violation, but by and large, all the other ones have been unintentional.
As to whether or not I'll continue my sugar fast after Thanksgiving: the answer is no. I love Almond M&Ms, and I don't think I can last much longer without them. The peanut ones are a good substitute, and a Snickers bar will do when nothing else is available.
While we're on the topic of names--
I should mention that I met both Fish and Sing A Song this week. I'm not sure about that last one, if it's Singasong or Sing-A-Song...
2006年11月14日星期二
What's your name?
The other day I was at one of the Western restaurants in town. My waiter's name was Elephant. Has anyone heard of the one dog policy?
It's hard to explain what living in China is like without giving you all an analogy or story.
On Sunday, my classmates and I had planned to take a trip to the Sea of Bamboo. One of our friends from the Yangtze River cruise, a man known simply as "The Judge", had given us an open invitation to tour the park with him. We sent a text message to him earlier this week explaining that seven of us would be making the journey on Sunday. We were told to take the bus from Chengdu, and it would only take two hours.
Early Sunday morning, Andrea, the onsight coordinator of our exchange program went to the bus stop to buy the tickets. When she asked how long the bus trip was, the cashier told her it was four hours. She called us, and we decided to go ahead and go anyway.
We got on a nearly empty bus and settled in for the journey. Two hours came and went. Three hours came and went. Four and a half hours came and went. Just as we were reaching hour number six, the bus pulled up to the park entrance at the Sea of Bamboo. It was now about three in the afternoon, and we had to get back to Chengdu that evening. Andrea asked the driver when the next bus back to Chengdu was and found out it was either in fifteen minutes, or the next morning. As we were discussing what to do, a man (hereafter referred to as "that bozo") approached and asked if we were willing to hire a private car for the return trip to the city. After some haggling, the price was still too high and we asked if he would just take us to a train station in a town called Yibin. We had passed through Yibin about an hour before. After some more haggling, we agreed to take his car to Yibin where he promised there was a night train back to Chengdu.
We bought our entrance tickets and started walking up the road and into the park. Pretty soon a car pulled alongside our little band of travelers and offered to take us on a driving tour of the park. We declined, and the driver drove off. Suddenly, we heard some shouting coming from behind. We stopped and turned around only to see our new friend, the bozo running up the hill towards us. "I'll give you a ride, only 200 kuai! You must take a driving tour of the park, you won't see the good sites otherwise!"
Another ten minutes was spent arguing with the guy. He backed off the driving trip idea in favor of following us in hopes that we would get tired and take him up on his offer.
We meandered into the park, stopping when we found a stream running parallel to the road. Several of us scootched down to the creek's edge and took photos. After living in Chengdu nearly three months, it's a real treat to be in such a beautiful park.
A little further up the road we came across a trail cut through the bamboo. The trail went straight up hill, away from other tourists and most importantly, the bozo. We started to ascend the steep hill, all the while wondering aloud where the trail would lead us.
"Hey! Hey! You won't see any of the sites here!" We looked behind us and discovered our friend was close to catching up. "Don't look at him and maybe he'll just go away. Pretend like he's not there."
The trail led us up to a small gathering of homes perched on top of the hillside. From the road below, you cannot see the fields and farmland that had been cultivated here. We continued past the houses and back out onto another street.
Dee-Dee-Dee-Dee-Dee!!!... Bozo's phone rang. "WEI!?" We started walking faster.
Further down the road we ran into a small row of shops. Stopping at an empty storefront, we bought ramen noodles and sat down at a small table. All through lunch, we watched as our new friend paced outside, hoping desperately that he would leave. His phone number had already been obtained by one of our group, and we still didn't want the driving trip. Walking would do just fine, thank you.
We continued down the road a ways until we came to another trail. This one appeared to be one of the stops on the tourist route. A large pagoda sat near the entrance, and a line of shops selling dried mushrooms sat nearby. Entering the trail, I was struck by how dark it was. The bamboo blocked out all traces of sunlight, and suddenly the world seemed damp. The trail zig-zagged up a steep hill, eventually leading to a waterfall.
As evening approached, it was decided that we needed to leave the waterfall and head back down the hill. It had been made clear that if we arrived in the neighboring city of Yibin before too late, we could catch a night train back to Chengdu. Bozo was waiting at the bottom of the hill. He had arranged for a larger car to drive us to Yibin.
The car pulled up to the train station an hour later. The train station was small and delapidated, the lobby nearly empty. We approached the single open window. The woman looked up from her schedules and barked into the microphone, "What tickets do you want?"
"We want to take the 9:00 pm train back to Chengdu."
"We don't have a train to Chengdu tonight, the only one is tomorrow morning."
Several young ladies gathered around to eavesdrop on our conversation. Realizing our problem, one of the ladies pulled Andrea aside and told her about a night bus to Chengdu. It only cost sixty kuai she was assured, and it only took three hours. The bus was scheduled to arrive at the train station in a few minutes, we would have to rush to get there. We bounded out the door, leaving the crowd of onlookers behind. The young woman who helped us was right, the bus pulled up just as we reached the curb and we all boarded.
The four and a half hour bus ride was uneventful, but like everything in China, was an interesting experience. There was spitting and smoking, littering, and Chinese movies. The woman behind me sat with her head out a half open window the entire trip. Perhaps the combination of smoke and karaoke music had finally gotten to her.
Pulling into Chengdu was a relief. The bus dropped us off at the edge of the city, from there we took a taxi to retrieve our bicycles. All in all I had a great time. I'll be posting some of the pictures later, although they are already posted to my webshots account.
On Sunday, my classmates and I had planned to take a trip to the Sea of Bamboo. One of our friends from the Yangtze River cruise, a man known simply as "The Judge", had given us an open invitation to tour the park with him. We sent a text message to him earlier this week explaining that seven of us would be making the journey on Sunday. We were told to take the bus from Chengdu, and it would only take two hours.
Early Sunday morning, Andrea, the onsight coordinator of our exchange program went to the bus stop to buy the tickets. When she asked how long the bus trip was, the cashier told her it was four hours. She called us, and we decided to go ahead and go anyway.
We got on a nearly empty bus and settled in for the journey. Two hours came and went. Three hours came and went. Four and a half hours came and went. Just as we were reaching hour number six, the bus pulled up to the park entrance at the Sea of Bamboo. It was now about three in the afternoon, and we had to get back to Chengdu that evening. Andrea asked the driver when the next bus back to Chengdu was and found out it was either in fifteen minutes, or the next morning. As we were discussing what to do, a man (hereafter referred to as "that bozo") approached and asked if we were willing to hire a private car for the return trip to the city. After some haggling, the price was still too high and we asked if he would just take us to a train station in a town called Yibin. We had passed through Yibin about an hour before. After some more haggling, we agreed to take his car to Yibin where he promised there was a night train back to Chengdu.
We bought our entrance tickets and started walking up the road and into the park. Pretty soon a car pulled alongside our little band of travelers and offered to take us on a driving tour of the park. We declined, and the driver drove off. Suddenly, we heard some shouting coming from behind. We stopped and turned around only to see our new friend, the bozo running up the hill towards us. "I'll give you a ride, only 200 kuai! You must take a driving tour of the park, you won't see the good sites otherwise!"
Another ten minutes was spent arguing with the guy. He backed off the driving trip idea in favor of following us in hopes that we would get tired and take him up on his offer.
We meandered into the park, stopping when we found a stream running parallel to the road. Several of us scootched down to the creek's edge and took photos. After living in Chengdu nearly three months, it's a real treat to be in such a beautiful park.
A little further up the road we came across a trail cut through the bamboo. The trail went straight up hill, away from other tourists and most importantly, the bozo. We started to ascend the steep hill, all the while wondering aloud where the trail would lead us.
"Hey! Hey! You won't see any of the sites here!" We looked behind us and discovered our friend was close to catching up. "Don't look at him and maybe he'll just go away. Pretend like he's not there."
The trail led us up to a small gathering of homes perched on top of the hillside. From the road below, you cannot see the fields and farmland that had been cultivated here. We continued past the houses and back out onto another street.
Dee-Dee-Dee-Dee-Dee!!!... Bozo's phone rang. "WEI!?" We started walking faster.
Further down the road we ran into a small row of shops. Stopping at an empty storefront, we bought ramen noodles and sat down at a small table. All through lunch, we watched as our new friend paced outside, hoping desperately that he would leave. His phone number had already been obtained by one of our group, and we still didn't want the driving trip. Walking would do just fine, thank you.
We continued down the road a ways until we came to another trail. This one appeared to be one of the stops on the tourist route. A large pagoda sat near the entrance, and a line of shops selling dried mushrooms sat nearby. Entering the trail, I was struck by how dark it was. The bamboo blocked out all traces of sunlight, and suddenly the world seemed damp. The trail zig-zagged up a steep hill, eventually leading to a waterfall.
As evening approached, it was decided that we needed to leave the waterfall and head back down the hill. It had been made clear that if we arrived in the neighboring city of Yibin before too late, we could catch a night train back to Chengdu. Bozo was waiting at the bottom of the hill. He had arranged for a larger car to drive us to Yibin.
The car pulled up to the train station an hour later. The train station was small and delapidated, the lobby nearly empty. We approached the single open window. The woman looked up from her schedules and barked into the microphone, "What tickets do you want?"
"We want to take the 9:00 pm train back to Chengdu."
"We don't have a train to Chengdu tonight, the only one is tomorrow morning."
Several young ladies gathered around to eavesdrop on our conversation. Realizing our problem, one of the ladies pulled Andrea aside and told her about a night bus to Chengdu. It only cost sixty kuai she was assured, and it only took three hours. The bus was scheduled to arrive at the train station in a few minutes, we would have to rush to get there. We bounded out the door, leaving the crowd of onlookers behind. The young woman who helped us was right, the bus pulled up just as we reached the curb and we all boarded.
The four and a half hour bus ride was uneventful, but like everything in China, was an interesting experience. There was spitting and smoking, littering, and Chinese movies. The woman behind me sat with her head out a half open window the entire trip. Perhaps the combination of smoke and karaoke music had finally gotten to her.
Pulling into Chengdu was a relief. The bus dropped us off at the edge of the city, from there we took a taxi to retrieve our bicycles. All in all I had a great time. I'll be posting some of the pictures later, although they are already posted to my webshots account.
2006年11月11日星期六
To what shall I compare thee, beautiful laowai?
You are a foreigner of foreigners, and I wish I was like you,
With your big hair and passive-aggressive smile.
But lo, if I stopped a car like that I would be run over.
We applaude you laowai. Thank you.
A Foreign Lady in Beijing
The top story at Nanfang Daily today was titled "Foreign Auntie Challenges Rule-Breaking Vehicle." The story was originally posted by blogger known as Lao An (老安, Old An). The original blog post was titled "A foreigner helps the Chinese to improve their civic quality."
Here is the translation of the text:
At around 8:50am on October 20, 2006, on the road from the Zhaoyang East bridge towards the Blue Island Building, a funny episode occurred: a foreigner acted as traffic police and made a small sedan which had gone into the bicycle lane move back out into the car lane.
By the time that I got there, a foreigner had stopped and held her bicycle in the bicycle lane in front of a silver car (license plate number HL ****). She was smiling and saying something to the driver while making gestures. At first I went past and I did not take any photographs. Then I saw the foreigner go past the car and stopped her bicycle in front of the car. So she was trying to get the car to go back into the car lane instead of being in the bicycle lane. This went on for a few minutes. The driver got mad and got out of the car to curse the foreigner. He even picked up the bicycle and hook it. Even so, the foreigner would not budge and she insisted that the car get back on the car lane.
Finally, the car turned back into the car lane. The foreigner then blocked the next car (a white Santana), which quickly retreated and went into the car lane.
The whole incident occurred in under 10 minutes and drew quite a few spectators. After the foreigner left, the spectators commented: "The Chinese really need to be educated this way!" Dear brother and sister readers, what do you think?
The foreigner catches up to the car and stops in front of it.
She holds her ground and maintains a smile.
She will not budge
The driver gets out and pushes the bicycle.
But the foreigner holds her ground.
The driver gets out again and demands: "Are you leaving or not?"
The driver picks up the bicycle and threw it on the side.
He said: "If you block me again, I'll throw it even farther away!"
"Go home and mind your own business!"
But she does not leave.
"If you block me again, I won't be polite anymore!"
(but he drives into the car lane all the same)
The foreigner now blocks a white Santana that entered the bicycle lane. This car quickly backed up and retreated into the car lane.
(This article was borrowed from http://www.zonaeuropa.com/20061027_1.htm)
You are a foreigner of foreigners, and I wish I was like you,
With your big hair and passive-aggressive smile.
But lo, if I stopped a car like that I would be run over.
We applaude you laowai. Thank you.
A Foreign Lady in Beijing
The top story at Nanfang Daily today was titled "Foreign Auntie Challenges Rule-Breaking Vehicle." The story was originally posted by blogger known as Lao An (老安, Old An). The original blog post was titled "A foreigner helps the Chinese to improve their civic quality."
Here is the translation of the text:
At around 8:50am on October 20, 2006, on the road from the Zhaoyang East bridge towards the Blue Island Building, a funny episode occurred: a foreigner acted as traffic police and made a small sedan which had gone into the bicycle lane move back out into the car lane.
By the time that I got there, a foreigner had stopped and held her bicycle in the bicycle lane in front of a silver car (license plate number HL ****). She was smiling and saying something to the driver while making gestures. At first I went past and I did not take any photographs. Then I saw the foreigner go past the car and stopped her bicycle in front of the car. So she was trying to get the car to go back into the car lane instead of being in the bicycle lane. This went on for a few minutes. The driver got mad and got out of the car to curse the foreigner. He even picked up the bicycle and hook it. Even so, the foreigner would not budge and she insisted that the car get back on the car lane.
Finally, the car turned back into the car lane. The foreigner then blocked the next car (a white Santana), which quickly retreated and went into the car lane.
The whole incident occurred in under 10 minutes and drew quite a few spectators. After the foreigner left, the spectators commented: "The Chinese really need to be educated this way!" Dear brother and sister readers, what do you think?
The foreigner catches up to the car and stops in front of it.
She holds her ground and maintains a smile.
She will not budge
The driver gets out and pushes the bicycle.
But the foreigner holds her ground.
The driver gets out again and demands: "Are you leaving or not?"
The driver picks up the bicycle and threw it on the side.
He said: "If you block me again, I'll throw it even farther away!"
"Go home and mind your own business!"
But she does not leave.
"If you block me again, I won't be polite anymore!"
(but he drives into the car lane all the same)
The foreigner now blocks a white Santana that entered the bicycle lane. This car quickly backed up and retreated into the car lane.
(This article was borrowed from http://www.zonaeuropa.com/20061027_1.htm)
I really am back!
Everything moves at such a fast pace around here. With the expansion of the economy in the last dozen years, everything feels rushed and half complete. Buildings were erected before there were tenants to fill them. I've seen quite a few in the Chengdu area that look abandoned or never completed. Although the pace of life may be slower than in the States, the rate at which things get done is not.
The apartment complex I live in is fairly new. If I were to guess, I would say it was built within the last five years. Despite this, there is constant construction taking place. I moved in, and a couple of weeks later the speed bumps were removed. Next there was an overhaul of landscaping, followed by the addition of spikes on the gutters to keep would-be climbers off. Last week they remodeled the showcase room at the entrance to the complex. Before this, they installed electronic gates at the front walkway (despite the fact that there are three guards on duty all day and night). This week they started adding and removing trees. Why? No idea.
Along with the building/remodeling/removing plants phenomena is the overabundance of labor. Let me give you a few examples:
The sweeping ladies: On every street, at every hour there are ladies sweeping. They gather in clusters of three or four, and with their long brooms and crooked dustpans fight a war on the Chinese pastime of littering. It's a 24/7 thing. They're sweeping at noon, they're sweeping at midnight. The sad thing is, there would be no need to sweep if people would stop littering.
I remember one night riding my bike home. Although most of the shops were closed, there was still a remarkably large number of people around. I rode through the intersection at Second Ring Road and past the yellow building where I get off the bus. There in the courtyard of the building were several dozen men and women. They were digging holes in the garden, and laying bricks for a pathway. Not that remarkable, right? It was well past midnight.
My apartment complex: My apartment complex is guarded at all times by a platoon of young teenagers. There are three stationed at the front gate: one interrogates drivers, one hands out bicycle passes, and the third stands around trying to look busy. Besides these three, there are several more riding bikes around the grounds, and a couple stationed at the back gate. The back gate is locked and leads to a construction site. Nobody comes in or exits through this gate. One afternoon, my roommate and I found ourselves locked out. We decided to go to the guard at the back gate to see if we could get some help. After hearing our plea, the guard took us to a first-floor surveillance room. This place was seriously high tech, with dozens of television screens lining the walls. These pubescent security guards take their jobs seriously. They wear camouflage, engage in bootcamp style exercises, salute entering cars, and stand in formation. The problem is, there's just too many of them! We live in a nice complex, do we really need three dozen fifteen-year olds on duty day and night?
The super markets: The worst offender in this category is Trust Mart. Every super market I have been to has at least three dozen more employees on duty than they need. If I look at something too long, I'll gather a crowd of bored, megaphone wielding clerks who are all too eager to help me find something. I try not to make eye contact, but it doesn't help much.
The Overseas School: The Overseas School at Sichuan University is housed in a small building in the far corner of the campus. Like everything else in Chengdu it is guarded by several young, vaguely official looking guards. One opens the gate to the bicycle parking lot, the other two sit behind a window and stare as the students enter the building for morning classes. The one with the keys opens classroom doors at the request of teachers or students. As far as I know, the other two just sit and stare.
Landscaping/Construction: Anything that can be done with a powertool is done by hand. I don't think this is because there is a lack of powertools but rather, is because of the abundance of physical labor. There's a quarter mile stretch of sidewalk near my house that has been completely redone in the past two days. The first day, workers removed the bricks with mallets. The second day, they laid new bricks. Voila! It was done!
Street vendors: China has 1.3 billion people. One would think this makes the ability to succeed in this society incredibly tough. I'm not sure this is totally accurate. Because there is such a large number of people, things that would turn people off to a business go largely unnoticed. Take restaurants for example; if a restaurant is bad in the US, I won't go back. If my experience is shared by others, the restaurant will lose business and will be forced to change or close. Not here. If I think a restaurant is bad, I may opt to never go back, but there's 1,299,000,000 other people willing to take my place. It's kind of like this with the street vendors. Although there is great diversity in what they sell, you'll often see two or three carts in a row selling the exact same thing. Why don't they spread out to try and maximize their business?
What is the deal with this?! Can someone explain it to me?
The apartment complex I live in is fairly new. If I were to guess, I would say it was built within the last five years. Despite this, there is constant construction taking place. I moved in, and a couple of weeks later the speed bumps were removed. Next there was an overhaul of landscaping, followed by the addition of spikes on the gutters to keep would-be climbers off. Last week they remodeled the showcase room at the entrance to the complex. Before this, they installed electronic gates at the front walkway (despite the fact that there are three guards on duty all day and night). This week they started adding and removing trees. Why? No idea.
Along with the building/remodeling/removing plants phenomena is the overabundance of labor. Let me give you a few examples:
The sweeping ladies: On every street, at every hour there are ladies sweeping. They gather in clusters of three or four, and with their long brooms and crooked dustpans fight a war on the Chinese pastime of littering. It's a 24/7 thing. They're sweeping at noon, they're sweeping at midnight. The sad thing is, there would be no need to sweep if people would stop littering.
I remember one night riding my bike home. Although most of the shops were closed, there was still a remarkably large number of people around. I rode through the intersection at Second Ring Road and past the yellow building where I get off the bus. There in the courtyard of the building were several dozen men and women. They were digging holes in the garden, and laying bricks for a pathway. Not that remarkable, right? It was well past midnight.
My apartment complex: My apartment complex is guarded at all times by a platoon of young teenagers. There are three stationed at the front gate: one interrogates drivers, one hands out bicycle passes, and the third stands around trying to look busy. Besides these three, there are several more riding bikes around the grounds, and a couple stationed at the back gate. The back gate is locked and leads to a construction site. Nobody comes in or exits through this gate. One afternoon, my roommate and I found ourselves locked out. We decided to go to the guard at the back gate to see if we could get some help. After hearing our plea, the guard took us to a first-floor surveillance room. This place was seriously high tech, with dozens of television screens lining the walls. These pubescent security guards take their jobs seriously. They wear camouflage, engage in bootcamp style exercises, salute entering cars, and stand in formation. The problem is, there's just too many of them! We live in a nice complex, do we really need three dozen fifteen-year olds on duty day and night?
The super markets: The worst offender in this category is Trust Mart. Every super market I have been to has at least three dozen more employees on duty than they need. If I look at something too long, I'll gather a crowd of bored, megaphone wielding clerks who are all too eager to help me find something. I try not to make eye contact, but it doesn't help much.
The Overseas School: The Overseas School at Sichuan University is housed in a small building in the far corner of the campus. Like everything else in Chengdu it is guarded by several young, vaguely official looking guards. One opens the gate to the bicycle parking lot, the other two sit behind a window and stare as the students enter the building for morning classes. The one with the keys opens classroom doors at the request of teachers or students. As far as I know, the other two just sit and stare.
Landscaping/Construction: Anything that can be done with a powertool is done by hand. I don't think this is because there is a lack of powertools but rather, is because of the abundance of physical labor. There's a quarter mile stretch of sidewalk near my house that has been completely redone in the past two days. The first day, workers removed the bricks with mallets. The second day, they laid new bricks. Voila! It was done!
Street vendors: China has 1.3 billion people. One would think this makes the ability to succeed in this society incredibly tough. I'm not sure this is totally accurate. Because there is such a large number of people, things that would turn people off to a business go largely unnoticed. Take restaurants for example; if a restaurant is bad in the US, I won't go back. If my experience is shared by others, the restaurant will lose business and will be forced to change or close. Not here. If I think a restaurant is bad, I may opt to never go back, but there's 1,299,000,000 other people willing to take my place. It's kind of like this with the street vendors. Although there is great diversity in what they sell, you'll often see two or three carts in a row selling the exact same thing. Why don't they spread out to try and maximize their business?
What is the deal with this?! Can someone explain it to me?
2006年11月9日星期四
I'm Back
Hello again! I'm nearly done with midterms, and I think I lost a pound of brain weight in the process. Midterms here are a long and painful process. Every class I take has a seperate exam or paper (five language classes, one history class), leaving me with very little free time. My last exam is tomorrow, so wish me luck. I'll be blogging more then. I have a lot to catch up on, but for now what I need is sleep. stay tuned, there is more to come.
Oh-- After a bit of tinkering, my proxy is up and happy again giving me full access to the internet.
Oh-- After a bit of tinkering, my proxy is up and happy again giving me full access to the internet.
2006年11月2日星期四
So you go to your favorite store --the one that requires the special card-- to pick up a few things. So far, you've managed to get by without the card. Whenever you approach the cash register another person always lets you use theirs. Not a big deal, right? But let's say you want that card. You know that one day people won't be as friendly. You ask the cashier, "Where do I go to get the card?"
"You don't need the card, this isn't on sale."
"I know but where do I go to get the card?"
"You don't need the card. There is no sale."
"But I want the card... Where do I go?"
"You don't need the card, this isn't on sale." At this point, the cashier swivels the computer screen in your direction to show you exactly what "not on sale" means. In your frustration you say, "I know, I know, I know! I know it's not on sale, but I just want the card!"
"Well, borrow one from someone in line."
"You don't need the card, this isn't on sale."
"I know but where do I go to get the card?"
"You don't need the card. There is no sale."
"But I want the card... Where do I go?"
"You don't need the card, this isn't on sale." At this point, the cashier swivels the computer screen in your direction to show you exactly what "not on sale" means. In your frustration you say, "I know, I know, I know! I know it's not on sale, but I just want the card!"
"Well, borrow one from someone in line."
2006年11月1日星期三
Day: 1
I would like to announce that I made it through day one relatively sugar free. As predicted I woke up in the morning with a severe hankering for something sweet. Instead of indulging my craving, I decided to follow one of the twelve steps I posted earlier: eat protein at breakfast. I munched on some chicken wings I recovered from the fridge and proceeded to down my coffee.
Sarah and I often cook at home, although we rarely make enough to have leftovers. Today was unique as it is the day after the day of Li Juan's birthday party.
Several days ago while I was getting ready for school, Li Juan announced that her birthday was coming up. "Ooohhh, we will eat hot pot-huo guo- with my friend. Okay? You are willing?"
"Sure! That sounds like fun? When is your birthday? Where are we going?"
"A traditional restaurant. Very good. You will like, I am sure."
I discussed the proposition with Sarah, and we agreed that we could free up our schedule in order to make the party. She also asked me to make some spaghetti like I had done for a few friends of mine.
The day of the party approached and nothing more had been exchanged between us. I was beginning to think the party was off. Monday afternoon I recieved a text message:"Hi honey. We are eating at home. Two friends are coming over to prepare the food. Please make pasta and tell Sarah."
I rounded up the ingredients I would need at a Western goods store near campus. It costs a fortune to make these kinds of meals, even more than it would in the States, but it was her birthday and spaghetti was sounding good.
That evening I pulled up to my apartment building, and was escorted into the building by the sounds of "Who Let the Dogs Out?" My neighbors are pretty quiet, and I started to wonder just where that sound was coming from. As I reached the front door, the music became much louder. I pressed my ear against the door which was now vibrating from the sound, put my key in the lock, and turned. Sarah was supposed to be home, but I doubted she would be playing music full blast.
The door swung open, and I stood frozen in the entry. There were already half a dozen people at the house, and by looking at how much food was already spread on the table, I was guessing there would be more. The tv was on; two microphones placed on the floor for later karaoke. I placed the cake I was carrying on the table, and proceeded to push my way into the kitchen. The kitchen was a mess of pans and bones and vegetable scraps. A man I didn't know stood in the corner peeling a kiwi onto the floor. No one seemed to acknowledge my presence as I pulled pans off of shelves and proceeded to make the spaghetti.
Soon enough I heard Li Juan's footsteps out in the hall. The feast was spread out over the dining room and coffee tables. The pan of spaghetti sat in the center.
Li Juan entered the room and screamed.
The party lasted well into the evening. One of the girls at the party told me that once they discovered our bedrooms, they had to close the door. I knew the house looked cleaner than I had left it!
I know I've mentioned this before, the way things happen around here is all kind of mysterious to me. I'm usually not in on the planning stages of things, I'm just made aware of the results. It's pretty funny and makes life interesting.
Sarah and I often cook at home, although we rarely make enough to have leftovers. Today was unique as it is the day after the day of Li Juan's birthday party.
Several days ago while I was getting ready for school, Li Juan announced that her birthday was coming up. "Ooohhh, we will eat hot pot-huo guo- with my friend. Okay? You are willing?"
"Sure! That sounds like fun? When is your birthday? Where are we going?"
"A traditional restaurant. Very good. You will like, I am sure."
I discussed the proposition with Sarah, and we agreed that we could free up our schedule in order to make the party. She also asked me to make some spaghetti like I had done for a few friends of mine.
The day of the party approached and nothing more had been exchanged between us. I was beginning to think the party was off. Monday afternoon I recieved a text message:"Hi honey. We are eating at home. Two friends are coming over to prepare the food. Please make pasta and tell Sarah."
I rounded up the ingredients I would need at a Western goods store near campus. It costs a fortune to make these kinds of meals, even more than it would in the States, but it was her birthday and spaghetti was sounding good.
That evening I pulled up to my apartment building, and was escorted into the building by the sounds of "Who Let the Dogs Out?" My neighbors are pretty quiet, and I started to wonder just where that sound was coming from. As I reached the front door, the music became much louder. I pressed my ear against the door which was now vibrating from the sound, put my key in the lock, and turned. Sarah was supposed to be home, but I doubted she would be playing music full blast.
The door swung open, and I stood frozen in the entry. There were already half a dozen people at the house, and by looking at how much food was already spread on the table, I was guessing there would be more. The tv was on; two microphones placed on the floor for later karaoke. I placed the cake I was carrying on the table, and proceeded to push my way into the kitchen. The kitchen was a mess of pans and bones and vegetable scraps. A man I didn't know stood in the corner peeling a kiwi onto the floor. No one seemed to acknowledge my presence as I pulled pans off of shelves and proceeded to make the spaghetti.
Soon enough I heard Li Juan's footsteps out in the hall. The feast was spread out over the dining room and coffee tables. The pan of spaghetti sat in the center.
Li Juan entered the room and screamed.
The party lasted well into the evening. One of the girls at the party told me that once they discovered our bedrooms, they had to close the door. I knew the house looked cleaner than I had left it!
I know I've mentioned this before, the way things happen around here is all kind of mysterious to me. I'm usually not in on the planning stages of things, I'm just made aware of the results. It's pretty funny and makes life interesting.
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