Xin nian kuai le!

New York City.  Los Angeles.  Chicago.  Houston.  Philadelphia.  Phoenix.  Spokane.  Imagine these cities combined forces and had a party.  If they pooled their budgets for 4th of July and New Years fireworks, doubled it, and lit everything off...They still wouldn't match Shanghai on Chinese New Year.

Besides a short lull from about 1 am to 3 am and 1 pm to 3 pm, it's been Fireworks Central around here--in spite of the government's so-called limitations (http://www.latimes.com/world/worldnow/la-fg-wn-china-fireworks-20140129,0,2905534.story#axzz2rxQzElFV).

I kinda like it.

Last night around 8 or 9 the neighborhoods a few blocks north of me starting blowing up the good stuff--pyrotechnics that, in the U.S., would be surrounded by a ring of fire trucks, just in case.  I could see flashes of it from my west-facing window, so I ran out to the hallway and looked out that north-facing window instead.  Mostly, everything was sparkling rockets of gold stretching up until gravity forced them to pop like popcorn in the sky--shimmering explosions of gold, and of course, the auspicious red, with a bit of random blue or purple thrown in for spice. 

To her credit, Gipsy Danger didn't seem as nutso as I'd been expecting.  She actually crouched in my window, fascinated by the flashes of light reflected in the windows of the tall buildings all around.  Of course, she's also the most talkative cat in the East, meowing and, at times, even yowling as if I've stepped on her tail. 

I'm watching Gipsy because her human parents, my friends, are in Guangzhou visiting family.  Right now Ms. Danger (named after the Jaeger in the movie "Pacific Rim") is curled up on her blanket in my rocking chair, content during the temporary truce (in firework parlance) to close her eyes and actually nap.

The air outside displays shockingly little damage from last night.  The pollution level is 167--unhealthy--which is fairly normal for this place.  The highest level in the Los Angeles area I can find right now is 80.

The gunshot bangs and the colors that light up the night remind me of some good times with cousins back in the States when we were younger, watching 4th of July fireworks and lighting off some of our own.  When your male cousins are pyromaniacs and are still blowing up stuff at our age (mid-30s), you just end up getting excited about all of it!

As the Year of the Horse gallops in, and the word mashang ("immediately"--as if on horseback) is being overused, let me enlighten you with a few predictions for 2014:  people will fight the good fight based on their ideals, especially towards the end of the year, but meaningless violence is also expected.  Patience and self-control are advised.  Supposedly, this is a good year for single people to meet that special someone.  I might sit that one out.  We'll see.  Businesses involving wood or fire will do well, since this year's horse is a wood horse.  Volcanoes are also predicted to erupt.  If you were born in the Year of the Snake (like me), it might be time to "reboot" your career, which I've been considering doing anyway.

Happiness, prosperity, and longevity to all my readers, and if you speak Cantonese:  Gung hay fat choi!

 

My sources for predictions:

http://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/chinese-new-year-2014-what-the-year-of-the-horse-means-for-you-9096775.html

http://fengshui.about.com/od/fengshuigoodluckcures/ss/Feng-Shui-Tips-Horse-Chinese-Zodiac-Sign.htm

http://ca.shine.yahoo.com/blogs/shine-on/2014-lunar-horoscope-predictions-130052631.html

22 Jan 2014

I've finally surpassed the six-month mark in my contract, and I can safely say that I am no longer experiencing culture shock! 

I am, however, experiencing what Peace Corps Volunteers and other seasoned ex-pats know as cultural fatigue.

People still push on to the subway or the elevator as people try to get off.  I know this won't change.  I'm used to it, but it still bothers me.  The logic of waiting a few seconds for people to get out so that it's actually easier to get in seems to be beyond anyone here. 

People still ride their scooters like they have a death wish.  They go against traffic, overloaded with passengers, water jugs, or sharp objects, texting on their cell phones (sans helmet, of course); they ride up on the sidewalk, beeping and swerving--or worse, not beeping at all.  On my best days, I actually find this somewhat exhilarating--what a physical challenge!  All senses on alert!  It's like reflex training camp!  But when you've got the flu, are tired, homesick, or just plain not in the mood, it's like a needle in your spine.  The most I've ever seen cops or traffic directors do is yell at them half-heartedly.  There is no enforcement; and yet, everyone seems terrified of the police because they are part of the Communist government.

The guards that operate the metal detectors at the subway entrance gates only make me scan my backpack half the time.  Still, it's irritating when a man or woman overloaded with shopping bags on a trolley doesn't have to lift their stuff onto the belt.  They don't even get wanded or patted down.  What, I ask you, could be in my backpack that couldn't be in their bags?  Sometimes I'm sure it's because I'm foreign; and it's hard to be angry about this, knowing that racial profiling happens in my own country--land of the free, supposedly.  Sometimes I pick up my backpack at the other end of the scanner, and notice that the second guard--who's supposed to be watching the monitor--is picking his or her nose, watching an ad on the big screen TV ten feet away, checking his or her text messages, or speaking with someone.  Why bother having me put my bag on the belt if you're not even going to watch the scan? 

After six months, I'm used to all of this.  But it still bothers me.  That's culture fatigue.  The shock has worn off, you've gotten used to it--but the culture you're living in doesn't change.  Every "problem" you noticed during week one is still there, and there's nothing you can do about it.

Living in Qinghai in the late 80s, and being a Returned Peace Corps Volunteer, I'm well aware that my situation here could be much, much worse, and, contrary to what you might think, I'm not even really complaining.  I'm just tired of it.

Part of it is big city life.  With 20 million people, you must push.  You must hurry.  You must fight a little harder for a place in line, a seat on the subway, a good spot in a crowd.  After three years in New York City, I kind of get it, and then some.

I'm not saying Shanghai is a hell hole, although sometimes, when I can't see the buildings a block away due to the pollution (PM 2.5 over 500, anyone?), or when I can smell the garbage truck 20 floors up, it certainly feels like one.

Okay, then, you ask, are there any good things about Shanghai?  Yes!  I've made more friends here in six months than I did in six years in Spokane.  I have a job here.  I'm even dating a great guy!

I just wanted to say, before I got into the whole Chinese New Year holiday thing, that I'm enjoying my time here as well as getting sick of the place--and that's normal.  That's life.  I feel almost the same way about Spokane--the air was clean, but I had no job.  The traffic was orderly, but there were no decent men to date.  I had my family, but no buddies.  I love Spokane.  But I was sick of it.  And that's why I came here.

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January 14th was the annual party for all the teachers and staff at the adult centers.  It was kind of like a company Christmas party, except we were really celebrating the Year of the Horse.  It was held in Le Royal Meridien, one of the fancier hotels in Shanghai, and everyone was dressed up--"red carpet wear", the invite had said.  The food was "just so-so", as my students would've said.  They'd attempted to make the Chinese food more to the western palette, and the western food more to the Chinese palette, and as a result, everything tasted a little off.  The coffee and the salad were okay, and the desserts, and far be it from me to complain too much about a free lunch!  I cleaned my full plate!

Each center had prepared a performance of some kind--a song, a play, a dance, a traditional something-or-other.  Some of them were downright horrible--people forgetting lyrics, not being able to hit notes, or dressed in way too little and dancing way too scandalously (bordering on strip club, I'm not kidding).  But some of the performances were great!  Two different girls tackled popular Adele songs, and did quite well hitting the notes.  One center had taken "The Twelve Days of Christmas" and turned it into "The Twelve Days of EF", and I was nearly in tears of hilarity by the end--they pretty much said exactly what I'd been feeling, especially when they shouted "NO CHRIST-MAS BREAK!" at the "five golden rings" part on the final verse.

However, another center had decided to retell the story of the birth of Christ, using both foreign and Chinese actors.  One of the actors, a Brit playing a bare-chested Joseph, kept interrupting his own lines to tell us, "It's not blasphemous!" when it clearly was.  I mean, Mary in a pink skirt that barely covered her ass and in three-inch heels?  The Angel of the Lord worse than Tinkerbell, yelling at the characters and bopping them on the head with her magic wand?  Mary pregnant before the Angel's visit?  And, finally, Mary giving birth to Santa Claus?  A Catholic buddy and I met up after, shaking our heads.  The baby Santa thing had been pretty bad.  Some people in the audience had actually walked out of the performance; an American co-worker of mine had laughed until he was in tears.  To top it all, the entire performance looked as though they'd written it the night before and hadn't rehearsed--they repeated lines, missed cues, missed whole scenes, and then interrupted other scenes to explain what they'd missed.

I wondered if the performances would've been better or worse if alcohol had been served.

Speaking of, rather than doing a lucky draw, as was tradition, the higher-ups had decided to purchase a bottle of "Celebration Wine", a red from Down Under, for each one of us.  With its screw-off top, I was sure it was going to be horrible, but the Aussies didn't disappoint.  It wasn't the best wine I'd ever had, but it certainly wasn't the worst.

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The mall where my center is located has seen increased activity since about two weeks ago.  You could equate it to the last-minute Christmas rush at home.

I sometimes feel as though pieces of my culture are being pilfered here:  fake pine boughs dripping with red and gold ornaments, clearly Christmas decor, being used for Chinese New Year; "Oh my darlin' Clementine" becoming the melody for "Happy New Year, Happy New Year, Happy New Year, everyone!"; Handel's "Hallelujah" being used in commercials (I know it is at home, too, tongue in cheek; but here, where no one believes in Christ by government decree, it makes me mad).  There are Nordic patterns on sweaters, and Christmas lights decorating the chilly tropical plants in front of my apartment building.

I then have to remind myself of the bodhisattva incense burner I have at home, my Tibetan singing bowl, the times I've studied yoga or hung Tibetan prayer flags over my door.  The chopsticks and soy sauce in the kitchen.  The red and silver Asian-looking earrings I sometimes wear.  I don't think of myself as stealing anything then; I think of myself as exploring, appreciating.  Is that what China is doing with Christmas--adding it into their Chinese New Year celebration--appreciating?  I'm not sure, but I have to be careful how harshly I judge because I don't have enough information to really know.  And it's not like every Christian in America takes Christmas as seriously as they should.

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I feel bad for my students.  Some of them live far away and are planning to travel over the new year break--but then they admit they don't have their tickets yet.  Tickets are notoriously difficult to come by this time of year.  Some may wait days at the train station without being able to get on a train--my sister and I watched a documentary about it on PBS.  There is a sense of deep obligation to return home for the new year; and an equal sense of guilt, I'd imagine, if the person isn't able to make it.  Some of my students, I can tell, aren't especially looking forward to the holiday; some see it the way Americans might see Thanksgiving or Christmas--a time of forced imprisonment with dysfunctional relatives with the obligatory smile pasted across your face because this is supposed to be a happy time, after all.  Hurried preparations, exhausting shopping trips, and shoving crowds out of your way more than usual. 

A lot of my students are working overtime right now so that they can earn an extra day off.  Working overtime and then spending Saturdays in their three or four--or five--English classes.  Their dedication still amazes me.  It is humbling, inspiring, exhausting, and sad to watch.  When I see a class of twenty having entire conversations in English, it feels like a miracle, and sometimes I just watch with a smile on my face instead of scribbling down notes to use later for feedback.  I can tell you right now, if I worked overtime during the week, I would not be spending my Saturdays learning another language!  At least not for five hours.  Maybe one hour.  For fun.

That's the difference between my students and I.  They are willing to sacrifice their free time because of the benefits knowing English will give them--promotions, a higher salary, a more important title.  My free time, I have to admit, is quite valuable to me.  Even knowing I could make more money makes me reluctant to let it go.  Maybe if I had a family to support, I'd feel differently?  Who knows?

21 January 2014: Liang kuai!

This will be an article about money.  Liang kuai is a way of saying "two yuan", but it's also a way of saying "cool" (as in, "awesome"), and I think it's a fitting title:  some things are cheap in Shanghai, and some are downright robbery.  If you've ever lived abroad, you can probably already tell which items will be the most outrageous, but sometimes the truth is still surprising.

Here goes.

A box of 25 Twinings tea bags is 38.6 kuai--nearly $6.50.  Wasn't this the land of tea?  But Twinings, you see, is a British brand.  Darn that import tax.

Granola is about $10 a box--on sale.

If you stay local, of course, everything's cheap.  One place that saved my butt here in July, August, and September was Happy Lemon.  I could get a frosty, yummy mango orange smooth for 10 yuan--like $1.67.  Imagine getting a 12 oz. smoothie anywhere in the States for that price. 

My Chinese friend and her British boyfriend (who was in my intake group for the same company) showed me a great vegetable market.  It's probably government controlled, because the prices were stable (non-negotiable), the produce was clean and up off the floor, and the place was well-lit.  All of the vendors had hands that looked scrubbed clean.  This market was in the same neighborhood I've written about before (where the locals have no bathrooms and where the fire truck can barely get down the street).  But after griping about the poor quality of produce at Jiadeli, it was worth the extra walk and the extra interesting sights along the way to go to that veggie market.

One trip there, I got a nice frozen chicken breast, some freshly homemade noodles (stretched right in front of me), and a bag full of veggies--all for about three dollars.  Yes, three bucks.

The same friends helped me purchase a toaster oven online.  I had dreams of muffins, toasted bread, cookies.  99 kuai--only about $17 or so!  However, when it arrived, it became clear very quickly that all it could do was toast bread.  (Not being able to read item descriptions online when shopping on Chinese websites is always a gamble.)  An oven with temperature control that would actually bake something was, of course, far more expensive.  A box of "cheap-in-Spokane" blueberry muffin mix, I'd discovered, was $12.68 anyway--it was actually cheaper to go to the many bakeries in Shanghai (thank you, French people!) and just buy muffins already made if I got a hankering.

Most apartments don't come with an oven in Shanghai, and if you've got a clothes washer you won't have a dryer.  My apartment has a water heater, too, so if I want to have a hot shower I've got to plan ahead.

A box of feminine supplies runs about the same as in the States, perhaps a bit more.  You have to go to the foreigner grocery stores for them, though; local stores do not carry them; even the pharmacies, and even Watsons (a British Rite-Aid) don't, either.  Once again:  Shanghai is modern according to their standards, not mine!

Speaking of Watsons, I went there the other night after work.  It was a Saturday evening, and the mall was packed with pre-Spring Festival crazies (imagine a mall in America about 10 days til Christmas and you get the idea).  I'd come down the flu and was looking for some zinc.  Once again, the logic of the store and the logic of the Chinese culture baffled me:  There were only two cashiers.  There were eight customers in line.  And there were over a dozen salespeople roaming the aisles like sharks.  Why they didn't add at least two more cashier lines was beyond me; however, I've never seen a customer get impatient and leave a line.  Not at Watsons, not at the supermarket, not at the post office.  Maybe the extra salespeople are a better strategy--get people to fill up their baskets, because waiting in long lines doesn't deter them from buying anything.

Clothes were a slightly different story.  Qipu Lu (the cheap shopping street half of Shanghai comes to on a daily basis) is only two blocks from my apartment, and I'd picked up a beautiful scarf for 10 kuai (about a buck-fifty)--without even haggling!  There were fairly cute skirts and coats for $10 to $50--not that I bought them, but the prices were enough to get my attention.  Ah, Qipu Lu--your old-school techno blasting out of crappy speakers, your shoppers with overloaded trolleys and four-inch heels, your squid-on-a-stick snacks--I must confess I've been sucked in just a tad.

Recently, I've noticed my denim jacket being too small for me to be able to close the buttons.  I love the dark wash of this jacket, but it is a small--I picked it up for three bucks at a Spokane farmers' market a couple years ago, so it's not like I'd be throwing money away if I got a new one now.  I was hoping to see something at Qipu Lu.  I haven't seen every store (I have a low tolerance for crowds, ironically enough), but there are pretty much no denim jackets to be found. 

For kicks, I decided to have a look at a couple of stores in the mall (Bailian Youyicheng) where I work.  I was pretty sure the Wrangler store would be cheaper than the Levis store, so I went there first.  The style of denim jacket I like is called "trucker"--your standard jean jacket with a collar, button front, and two pockets.  I saw a jacket I liked and flipped the little price tag over.  800 yuan.  I blinked.  No way.  800?  That's about  $133.  Yes, you read that right.  I shook my head and laughed a little, and the shop assistants seemed pretty bummed to see me leaving without buying anything.  Foreigners, the rumor goes, have more money than locals.

I'd try the Levis store next.  Why not?  How high would the prices go? 

Well...how does 1099 kuai sound?  About $183 for those of you calculating at home.  I checked on JC Penney's website when I got back to my desk at work--the exact jacket was $50.  Yes.  So they were charging more than triple the price here--here, in China, where, ironically, a lot of famous "American" products get made.

There were a lot of stores in this mall with nice dresses for 2580 kuai, or about $430.  The stores were empty, other than cute employees sedately picking their noses.  Who's shopping here?  I wondered.  I'm aware that China's developed a new riche over the past couple of decades, but this was crazy.

In the Jing-an Temple area are a lot of western luxury brand stores--Hugo Boss, Marc Jacobs, Coach, etc.  I've seen perhaps one customer in the whole six months I've been here.  Usually, I walk by these stores and it's just the employees, looking almost suicidally bored, pacing and trying to look rich enough to serve the ultra-rich. 

I read somewhere that Marc Jacobs, et al are perfectly happy having stores in Shanghai, since Shanghai is considered the fashion capital of China (maybe even the whole of Asia)--even if no one buys anything.  It's good for business just to have "Shanghai" on your list of stores.  And, of course, it's good press and good economics for Shanghai neighborhoods to have a Nike or a Gap somewhere within walking distance.

Well, whatever floats their boats.  I've always admired fashion from afar, especially since I can never afford it on whatever salary I usually have.  A larger concern is paying off those student loans before I'm 80--that would be nice.

Huŏguō 21 December 2013 Mingyue (bright moon) Charcoal Hotpot (huoguo)

I'd been put in charge of organizing the staff Christmas dinner/Secret Santa gift exchange.  We had a generous budget of 2000 RMB.  My Chinese still isn't good enough to make reservations over the phone, so I had to ask one of my awesome coworkers to do it for me.  Only two of my coworkers couldn't attend--one was ill, the other was on annual leave.  I have to admit the Secret Santa thing was kind of exciting.  I'd drawn my boss, a lovely Filipina lady who is Catholic like myself, so I grinned as I tied a red "Jesus is the Reason for the Season" ribbon onto her gift bag.  I'd gotten her a lovely tropical plant and a seaweed mask, which I thought was fitting for an islander.

Saturdays tend to be a bit rough for me sometimes.  I usually start at 10:40 am with three classes in a row.  The good thing is that I'm usually done one or two hours before most of the other teachers.  Two of my American coworkers joined me down at Mingyue for a quick "pre-game" beer while the staff took their time prepping the table for two large hotpots.

There were these big ceramic bowls with sort of metal chimneys sticking up in the middle--like a volcano or something.  Full of charcoal, the chimneys had waves of heat and tiny trails of smoke coming out the top; the water in the ceramic bowls was at full seething boil.  One bowl was the spicy one, and the other one was flavored with milder stuff.

We trooped out to make our own dipping sauces; there was a buffet of ingredients:  chili sauce, vinegar, scallions, Chinese parsley, chopped nuts, sesame seeds, sesame oil, sesame paste, garlic, etc.  Literally 30 small salad bowls full of different things to create your own potion.  I'm a fan of sesame oil, so I loaded up on that, among other things.

I know it sounds obvious, but the hotpots were REALLY hot by the time we returned to the room.  They made our faces turn red.  In broken Chinese, I asked my coworkers to name many of the ingredients, cold and/or raw on their plates waiting to be cooked.  It was fun to throw in thinly sliced beef or pork, prawns, lotus root, yam, winter melon, pre-cooked quail eggs, and lots of other stuff--and then fish it out!  It was like camping, in a way, which I adore.  Just trying to get the eggs, for example, out of the boiling, oily water with chopsticks took more skill than eating should have to take.  We giggled or groaned, trying to help each other.  Eventually, we all had to get plastic Chinese soup spoons, and even my Chinese coworkers used them. 

I begged forgiveness for peeling the shells off my prawns with my fingers--after two years in Micronesia, the idea of eating seafood with a utensil was impossible, but I didn't want to offend my coworkers--who somehow managed to neatly nibble the prawns out of their shells with delicately-held chopsticks.  Every 20 or 30 minutes, a restaurant staffer would enter the room with a huge steaming kettle of water and add some to the bowls, making clouds of steam that evaporated quickly. 

I may have been on my second or third Budweiser (which I usually can't afford) when it was present time.  None of my Chinese coworkers celebrated Christmas, but they'd sure gotten into the spirit.  And they'd gotten some great deals.  Our Secret Santa budget had been 50-60 RMB per gift, and some of my coworkers showed up with huge tote bags full of stuff.  I really don't know how they'd done it--other than the fact that they were locals, of course. 

Another of my coworkers had made a silly paper crown for an American guy who sits next to me in the office.  It had come down to Thai food or hotpot, and he'd successfully pushed the vote for hotpot.  "We have an announcement--the King of Hotpot, everyone!"  We laughed, and the coworker who'd made the crown videoed the King's speech with her smart phone.

My gift was a solid cube of soap from L'Occitane that smelled like linden.  It was from the lone Brit in our office, who would be leaving the next day.  So far, two foreign teachers had left and two had replaced them; the local turnover was higher, with four out and four in.  That's just in the six months I've been working.

I still haven't made any solid decisions about my future here.  My contract is up in July 2014.  I hate the pollution, and there is a painful awareness of just how many people 20 million is when you must push your way through them on a daily basis.  But I've met and/or seen Chinese, American, Irish, Italian, Kiwi, Canadian, Indian, and German ex-pats, just to name a few.  I love the diversity.  There's a Chinese man I met who's been teaching English to Maori children in New Zealand.  I've seen a beautiful Chinese woman speaking German on her cell phone.  I've listened to Johnny Cash and Enya while eating lunch at a restaurant named Southern Belle with an Aussie and a Brit from my Chinese class.  I love knowing THE WORLD EXISITS--something that we don't really KNOW in Spokane, I'm sorry to say.

At the same time, I long for crisp blue skies; for an all-day chat with my sister over a cinnamon roll from the Rocket; for the purr of my cat next to my ear as he sleeps; and for the absence of constant construction noise.  Everywhere I've been, everything I've seen--nothing compares to the beauty of the Pacific Northwest, it's mountains and its trees, its clear streams and quiet hiking trails.  I can't imagine living in Shanghai forever, that's for darn sure!

Learning English--fun or not?

When I chose to learn Spanish at MHS, it was for several reasons:  one, I already knew some words.  Please, thank you, bathroom, and my numbers one through ten…I knew several words for foods:  tacos, burritos, churros, empanadas…Once I can name some of my favorite foods in a new language, I feel much more comfortable learning everything else!

 

Reason two, most college and universities required two years of a foreign language, and I figured Spanish would be easy…

Three…and FUN!  A language historically intertwined with salsa music and mariachis, sombreros and flamenco dancers had to be fun.  One year my Spanish name was Mercedes; another year it was Raquel.  I liked the names—they were my Spanish class alter-egos.  I went on a mission trip to Mexico with one of my Spanish teachers, and I had a blast acing every test I took.

I think my experience is similar to many high school and college students in the US—we’re picking up another language because it’s fun and cool, with the dream that maybe one day we’ll visit the country where it’s spoken.

I’m not sure my Chinese students would describe learning English as fun.  Oh, sure—I have some university students who are taking my classes on the side.  For them, it’s just another part of their schooling, and at 20 years old, their enthusiasm and curiosity often spice up a class.

However, I also have many students who come to class after work for that three-in-a-row all the teachers have (6:40 – 9:30 p.m. on weeknights).  It is painfully evident how exhausted some of the students are.  These working professionals do everything from surgery to food delivery for Sherpa’s.  About once a week I’ll have a student fall asleep in my class.  When I walk through the computer lab, I’ll see three or four students asleep at their desks.  It doesn’t help that some of the classrooms are 80 or 90 degrees Fahrenheit—the mall has turned off the A/C for the year, and eight floors of electric and body heat float up and settle on the 9^th floor where our center is.  On a sunny Saturday or Sunday, some students will be at their computers as long as I'm there--over eight hours.  It's like a second job that they're paying for.

A handful of my students have a spouse from an English-speaking country, and some occasionally travel for business.  However, most of my students are learning English for one reason:  English-speaking countries (the United States, Canada, Australia, and the United Kingdom) are still the most powerful in the world, and English is the language of power.  Improve my resume…Be more competitive in the job market…My company is paying for my English lessons…I haven’t met a single student who’s learning English “just for fun”.  To me, it’s a little sad.

Many of my students have had the same English name as long as they’ve been studying—10 years, maybe longer.  It’s not a fun alter-ego anymore; it’s as if they have a split identity, an English-speaking part of them that might allow them to become a bit more stable or successful in the world.  I wonder:  Do they feel as though they are giving up a piece of who they are—part of their Chinese identity—in order to make room for the English part—in order to get ahead?

For more than a few of my students, there is a desperation to their learning, it seems to me, that has an entirely different feel than my fun lessons with Senor Verde. 

There is a vegetable market a little ways from my apartment that some friends showed me.  The produce there is great, and there’s meat, too—it’s all clean and up off the floor and quite nice.  But to get there, I have to walk down a road several blocks long.  On this road, there is food garbage littering the street, making it slimy:  rotting bok choy and cabbage, bits of ramen from that morning’s breakfast tossed into the gutter.  Sometimes blood will trickle across the pavement from cuts of fish or pork.  A stray dog or cat, its fur matted with dirt, will often sniff around these places, dodging scooters and bicycles and children in strollers.  Every other stall along this road is blasting one kind of music or another—traditional Chinese, dance music, Kpop (from Korea).  Half of the men are smoking cigarettes.  Sometimes, filthy, crippled beggars with patched clothes will sit in the street, or hobble along with a crutch and a tin cup.  There are no bathrooms here, my friends have told me.  If you live within ten square blocks of this place, you have to use the public cesuos next to the main street (Haining Lu).  Imagine this.  Really think about it.  If you are a child, maybe eight years old, you probably wake up at least once a week in the middle of the night needing to pee.  You probably have to wake up an older sibling (if you have one) or a parent to take you to the bathroom blocks away at three or four in the morning.  There’s no soap there, no toilet paper, and of course they are “squatty-potties”. 

When my mom came to visit me, we walked through this neighborhood a couple of times to get to the vegetable market.  Once, a fire truck tried to get through.  Between haphazardly parked cars, swerving scooters, beggars, animals, and families stopping every minute to shop in one stall or another, it took the fire truck about five minutes to go one block, blaring its horn the whole time.  The firemen weren’t hesitant to lean out the windows and yell at people, or laugh.

With streets like this, if a fire broke out, it would burn the neighborhood to the ground before the fire truck could get through.  With hygiene like this, if some contagious disease found its way here, half the people in the neighborhood would have it before they knew what hit them.  And if you think they could afford to go to a decent doctor, you’ve been in America too long.

My point is that poverty in China is still very real, even in Shanghai, even in 2013.  My students are quite privileged if they can afford English lessons at the center where I work.  As soon as they learned the word “cosmopolitan”, they applied it to Shanghai and couldn’t stop talking about how modern and high-tech Shanghai is.  But no matter what they say, I know they are not completely ignorant of neighborhoods like the one near my apartment.  I can almost see them thinking:  That could be me.  If I don’t keep studying, keep working, keep trying…it could be my children, too.  They don’t talk about it, though.  They just keep learning English.

Mission Statment

What is it about fall that makes me draw inward--search inside myself?  I feel as though I always become a bit more pensive this time of year, and often my mind drifts toward past SEARCH retreats and thoughts that are a bit deeper.

A recent lesson--a Career Advancement Seminar, we call them--gave me pause.  The aim of the lesson was to expose my students to the Eight Components of a Mission Statement--for a company, of course, but I couldn't help thinking:  How long had it been since I'd considered my own mission statement?  If you've ever gone on a SEARCH retreat (*Catholics cheer*) then you know what I'm talking about.

The following are the eight components of a company's mission statement:

·         Relationship to Customers

·         Market Location

·         Products and Services

·         Use of Technology

·         Care for People and the Environment

·         Major Advantages

·         Company Values

·         Growth and Profit

Parts of the mission statement that follows were written on subway platforms, or in a courtyard with Pullman (holla!) Hotels looming over me as I sipped an iced cafe au lait and ate a croque monseiur, with the classic rock song "Low Rider" playing in the background.  It is not always easy to put Shanghai in a box, and I think the same can be said for people, including myself.

But how was I going to take these eight components and shape them into a personal statement?

Well, Market Location was kind of easy:  if I could be considered a "market", then I am worldwide, baby!  I've lived in three countries outside the States.  I'd like to consider myself a global citizen.

Major Advantages:  What makes me ME?  The sum of my experiences--living overseas, close relationships with family and friends.  Genetics.  Pets.  Books I've read.  Dealing with homesickness and depression.  My values (see below).

Company Values:  What are my personal values?  My family.  My cat.  Nature.  My faith.  Writing.  These are closest to my heart, and they can feed me in ways that no food (not even a croque monseiur) can. 

Care for People and the Environment:  The afore-mentioned lesson stated that most international companies now have some kind of social responsibility piece in their mission statements.  I feel I've always been close to this.  In spite of my complaints about Shanghai, I've flirted with countless chubby-cheeked babies, to the delight of their parents, especially if I use a mix of Chinese and English.  I really enjoy my students, my co-workers, and people that are becoming good friends.

As far as the environment goes, I try to keep my A/C at a decent level (it's off most of the time these days), and I reuse plastic bags (since you have to buy them at the grocery store here) and plastic bottles until they get soft!  These things aren't hard to do, and they save me money as well.

I've also been pleased to see that "That's Shanghai", the ex-pat magazine, regularly lists pet rescue, shelter, and adoption events.  I see sweater-wearing dogs here now, being walked by everyone from scruffy old Chinese men to foreigners to young, petite Chinese girls.  I never would've guessed, 25 years ago, that it'd be possible to see such things in China--tears of joy!

Growth and Profit:  I don't have any delusions about getting rich as a teacher.  At the same time, I still do feel called to this profession.  I read once that teaching is the highest tribute to learning--basically, I'm showing respect to the teachers in my past by teaching in the present. 

My Chinese is growing, slowly.  I take a two-hour class once a week, and some Chinese co-workers are teaching me a little Shanghainese (one of the Wu dialects).  Shanghainese is different than your standard Beijing Mandarin. 

I'm learning that even if the little green man at the crosswalk says go, that I still don't have the right of way--scooters always do, and even rogue cars get away with running lights.  Patience pays off--I've had near misses, but I haven't been run over.

Relationship to Customers:   I guess my customers are my students and the people I interact with.  I'm not always awesome to people--sometimes I do shove my way off the subway, because if I didn't, I would miss my stop.  I'm not always patient, either--with myself or with others.  Especially if it's a slow-moving person ahead of me who's glued to their smartphone or yet another young girl wearing heels and dragging an overloaded trolley behind her, blocking the stairs and giggling.  That being said, I think my relationships with others are pretty good overall.

Use of technology:  What is technology, really, but a resource used to improve our lives? 

The resources I've got:                                  Some things I need/can work on:

this blog/Skype/FB                                         church/prayer/meditation

good food                                                      yoga

Facebook                                                       reducing alcohol consumption

walks                                                              patience and kindness toward the self

family and friends

Products and Services:  What do I produce or provide?  Laughter.  I have a great time laughing with a couple who lives in my apartment building, and my co-workers and I can be pretty funny.  I don't have your typical American perspective.  I've spend enough time living overseas and working with at-risk youth to know the American dream--green grass, nice house, etc.--does not exist for everyone.  I was born luckier than most, but it doesn't make me better. 

I am wacky.

I encourage people to try, and keep trying.

Sun Island! 24 September 2013

When I saw the pictures in the e-mail, I couldn't believe it.  Sun Island 2013 Summer Party for hundreds of staff and teachers?  Golf course, go-karts, "carnival", pottery, horseback riding...and the best part, in my opinion, was a wave pool and "beach".  The whole thing--buffet, drinks, entertainment, was being paid for by my employer.  Was this for real?

The only other company picnics I remember were those that RAHCO had back in Spokane when I was a kid.  When the old boss was still in charge, he'd wear a beer helmet and talk to all the employees' kids, who were hopped up on free-flow lemonade and soda.  Everyone had big grins.  Everyone brought food--pies, salads, rolls of every kind, brownies, jell-o salads, cole slaw...All of the drinks, and anything that went on the grill, came out of the boss' generous pockets.  As the sun started its downward coast toward the horizon, the adults would play tug-o-war or take turns driving a speedboat around the lake, towing the older kids on giant inner tubes.  Mothers and young children chatted and dozed on blankets under the pine trees.

When I was a kid, the RAHCO picnic was one of the highlights of summer.

Fast-forward to 2013 and this summer party.  It was as if all of my childhood dreams had come true.

I'd had a bit of a night out the evening before, so the 90-minute bus ride was a little painful at times.  I wish I'd inherited my grandfather's cast iron stomach, but I hadn't, so I contented myself with sipping sweetened green tea out of a red can and nibbling on Pringles, taking deep breaths.  The closer we got to Sun Island, the better I felt, but it took about an hour before the skyscrapers were behind us.  Yes, Shanghai is one of the world's most populous cities.  The flat landscape lends itself to millions of high rises.  It seems impossible that they could go on for so long, but they did.

But all things end, and eventually we could see more greenery, more sky.  Blue sky!  Before we took the final turn, I even saw a cow, and exclaimed out loud--I hadn't seen a cow in over two months, and the farmland and livestock made me feel happy and relaxed.

Our bus passed the corral first.  The horses seemed small, saddled and tied up to their posts, heads down in the mid-day heat, looking weary and sad.  They weren't even flicking their tails at the flies.  I could imagine their smell--horse sweat smelled like petunias to me--and I imagined the smell of leather, the way it sounded creaking in the sun.  I felt guilty--I'd always been horse-crazy as a girl, and I hadn't ridden in nearly 20 years.  I thought Maybe, just maybe...But the bus passed the corral, and by the time we reached our destination, the horses were at least a 10 minute bus ride behind us.

Bus after bus of teachers and staff spewed into the lobby of the largest building.  Our site at Wujiaochang alone had 50 people attending.  It seemed hard to believe that we'd traveled 90 minutes out of Shanghai, and it still felt like the middle of rush hour.  We stampeded toward the free Singaporean buffet lunch, and after a soda, we started in on the semi-frozen bottles of Tsingtao.  A couple of my co-workers were on a mission to get stumbling drunk, but I didn't feel completely comfortable with that.  For one thing, I was tired from last night; for another, all of my co-workers, including my boss and her bosses, were in attendance.  Free alcohol was nice, but I had no desire to act the fool in front of these people.

After a bit, a few of us took the shuttle to the wave pool, where the site vs. site tug-o-wars would be held.  I couldn't believe that I hadn't been swimming all season--swimming is one of my favorite summer activities, but with preparations for coming to Shanghai and settling in here, I simply hadn't had the time.  I didn't care that the "beach" was fake, with obviously manufactured sand, or that there was no alcohol being served.  I put on a small layer of sunscreen and laid out on my complimentary navy blue company towel.  My co-worker and I took turns swimming (the water was the perfect temperature) or going down the water slides while the other stayed behind to keep an eye on our gear.  Some bikini-clad girls from other sites soon plunked down next to us, and we had a nice little chat, albeit a gossipy one.

One of my trips down the slide was with a male co-worker, a Chinese man who usually looked very serious and even moody.  But as we climbed the stairs together (me for the first time, he for the third), we couldn't stop talking and giggling like kids.  It was great to see each other outside of work, just having a good time.  When I saw him the next day at work, we gave each other big grins, and it felt like the whole trip had been worth it.

After a couple hours we made our way back to the main building, where the staff performances were being held.  Luckily, WJC was up first, because the conference room was PACKED.  The chairs and tables had been removed.  Most people were sitting on the carpet, like kids at a school pep rally, and everyone else crowded on along the edges in the dark, standing body to body with familiar and unfamiliar folk alike.  Colored disco lights and spotlights colored the room, licking the tops of our heads and making them sparkle like gems.

At one point, a handsome American guy I'd seen at the pool in a Speed-o came in--still barefoot and in his Speed-o, obviously tipsy, pushing his way in, his nearly naked butt centimeters from the faces of shy Chinese girls who'd spent hours making themselves pretty for the event today.  I cringed.  Ah, here was the example of an American, the example famous everywhere around the world.  The good-looking, entitled, loud American Example.  The Example said, rather loudly:  "Hey, a talent show!  How can I get in on that?  My buddy can beat-box and I'll rap."  I wanted to glare at him.  Some of the staff had been rehearsing for months.  After WJC finished (to great applause and my loud cheering), I pushed my way out of the crowd.  I didn't want to know whether this guy had made it to the stage or not, but I didn't want to watch.

I sipped my way through a cocktail, somewhat reluctantly.  I was getting really hungry, and I knew if I had another drink after this, it wouldn't be a good scenario.  After the buffet lunch, the food had been picked up.  There was no snack bar or any place to buy food that I could see.  I thought it was great that my employer had done all this for us, but I thought it was a little irresponsible of them to provide an unrestricted flow of beer and liquor without even some chips to help soak it up.  Ah, well.

A co-worker and I caught one of the first busses back to Shanghai.  We had a great conversation, and it felt like a good ending to a good day.

For more photos and information on Sun Island, check out their website:  http://www.sunislandclub.com/en/