09 March 2007

Like the Chinese Einstein

***Once I can get the internet to behave, the pictures to which I refer will be posted.****

It seems to me that China operates on its own theory of relativity. If the sky isn’t completely obscured by a lid of smoky haze, the air is good. If it doesn’t look or smell dirty, it’s clean. If you can get it for cheaper, it’s expensive. If it looks modern, it is, no matter the internal problems it suffers. In China, as long as you don’t look too deep or think too hard, you can still live life fairly happily.

Sometimes, I don’t know how people could live an entire life the way they do. On the streets all around our school, there are men and women on bicycles who tow around little trashcan-like ovens/grills. On this grill-esque apparatus, they sell baked sweet potatoes (and boy do they smell good). The thing is, they don’t have a permit to sell their food, so whenever the police come, they have to pedal hastily away and act like they weren’t just selling baked yams. And if the police don’t see them, they weren’t there. I can’t imagine how hard it must be not only to try and make a living that way, but also to try and do so while constantly on the lookout for cops.



These yam sellers are essentially invisible. No one remembers who they are, and the police will act like they don’t exist, since no one really cares if they’re selling yams anyway. It is so easy to be invisible in China—there are just too many people and too many problems.

In our textbook, we study a new society problem every chapter—family structure and divorce, marriage, population, and being an old person. When our teachers ask us if we think it’s a societal problem or an individual decision (say, to have kids, keeping in mind population), we, being liberal Americans, say it’s an individual problem. But in China, there’s no such thing as an individual problem. Guaranteed you’re not the only one who’s got a problem, and pretty much everyone suffers from the same problems. The big problem is that to fix one problem, you have to either fix five others first one or create an entirely new problem. That’s why while Beijing says the air will be clean for the 2008 Olympics, it won’t be. To clean the air they would have to shut down construction, severely limit driving, and tell people to stop using their outdoor stoves. No one would listen, and no one would enforce the rules. It’s just totally pointless.

They key to living in China is to go about you business and not think too hard about what the pollution is doing to your lungs, what that food is doing to your stomach, where those chopsticks have been, or what that cook has been touching.

And yet, with all the people in this country, in this city, in this neighborhood, I went out alone yesterday just to walk around, and I felt like the loneliest person on Earth. There are lots of barriers between me and the Chinese—language, looks, ideals. I was walking through a public square and someone deliberately flew a kite into my face. I know it was deliberate because I heard them laughing at me. That’s it—make fun of the waiguo ren giant.

Feeling lonely is really intimidating. I wanted to go into some of the shops and look around and maybe buy some more long sleeved shirts, but, and I grudgingly admit this, I was too scared. Whenever I go into a big store place, shop owners yell out at me to buy things. This annoys me and makes me feel very self-conscious. Furthermore, I’m a very underconfident bargainer. I can do pretty well if I’m with one or more people, but I know that if I go alone, I’ll pay too much and I’ll feel stupid. I know that this is reason enough to just go and DO IT ALREADY and quit being such a wimp, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. However I have vowed to myself that before I leave, I will go out alone and bargain for something.

But I must tell you that I am not imagining my obviousness. When I went out shopping last week, I was standing waiting for a friend to finish bargaining for her shoes. Another shop owner comes up to me, looks me up and down a few times. I look at him and say, “Shenme (what)?” He just looks at me and says, in English, “Tall.” Thanks. I hadn’t noticed.

Yesterday we had a little practicum in class, or what I like to call “Time to Make You Feel Dumb.” Our class went to a little park by school and had to interview the old people there. In China, parks are to old people what bars are to young people—the hub of activity and where you go when you want to go out.

The thing about a lot of Chinese is that they don’t want to waste their time to bad waiguo ren Chinese. Some of the old people pretend to be deaf; others just wave their had and you in dismissal.

I hate interviewing random people; I wouldn’t like doing it in English. Luckily we were allowed to do it in partners, and luckily the woman in the red cap who ended up agreeing to talk to us was awesome.



As you can see from Jason Foong’s photo, I am a giant. I understood about half of what she was saying, which made me feel good, or at least only half lost. (Un)fortunately, I have many more interviews with random people to go, and honestly, trying to figure out what some people are saying is like trying to decipher what a singing bird is saying.



Monday we went out for hot pot, since it was bitter cold outside. Actually, that’s an understatement. Coupled with the wind, the -1C temperature made me feel as though I was fresh out of an ice water bath and blasted with Arizona-in-the-summertime air conditioning.

This is a typical meal out—lots of people and lots of cameras. These photos also by Jason, since the few pictures I took didn’t look this pretty.

Last night CET arranged a class to learn how to bao jiaozi (make dumplings). It was nice not only to prepare food again, but also to experience what a pain in the ass it is to make dumplings, especially if you’re only one person. Since there were like 30 of us, it wasn’t a problem, but I can’t imagine being a wife and having to single-handedly make enough jiaozi to feed my family of 12.

Clearly we are not jiaozi aficionados, so most of the jiaozi had skin that was too thick or jiaozi that broke upon cooking. And yet I still ate 3 bowls of them. Soon I’ll be walking around in pajama pants, since my jeans won’t fit, and clothing in China is all too small for me.

And of course, a very happy 50th birthday to my awesome dad, who, though still a spry 49 at home, is actually 50 here. Cling to it while you can. I love you!

No comments: