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/

Updates, part 2

Anonymous

If I had to choose one single complaint about living on the tiny Micronesian island of Pohnpei, it was my lack of privacy.  The roaches, the constant steam-room climate, the constant diarrhea...after a while, your body stops fighting all that.  You can't keep up a struggle against an unrelenting environment, no matter what American folklore says.  Eventually you accept what you can, deal with the rest, and move on.

On Pohnpei, there was no anonymity.  The homogeneous culture, the small population--if you are not 5'5" and brown, you are NOTICED.  In the absence of entertainment, gossip is king, and as an outsider, I was the most obvious target, as well as the safest (no blood family to seek retribution for loose lips).

The lack of privacy nearly drove me crazy.  It never stopped.  My actions were discussed unceasingly.  Five times a day people asked me where I was going, undoubtedly so they could share with a friend.

In Shanghai, as in most large cities, no one cares who you are.  This anonymity can be refreshing at times.  I was one of the hundreds (thousands?) of ex-pats living in the city, and yes, being white may have earned me a few glances, but no one asked where I was going--or cared. 

They cared even less about personal space--if I had to choose a single complaint about living here, that would be it. 

As an American from the western US (and of northern European descent), I care about personal space--a lot.  Even with close friends, I usually like an arm's length in all directions--my own bubble, if you will. 

However, leaving 12", then 6", between me and the person ahead of me in any queue did nothing to deter the "cutters".  Frustrated, and unwilling to lose my spot in a long line at the grocery store at the end of work, I once put my toes right up against the heels of the customer in front of me--who did not flinch.  And a Chinese lady still hovered at the "gap", eyeing each of us in turn, waiting for someone to twitch or show some sign of weakness.  I kept my elbows out, shifting my weight subtly back and forth, not making eye contact.

No way, lady, I thought.  No way.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Names

Here are some English names my students have chosen.

Males                                                    Females

Scalpel                                                  Stanley (yes, a female with a male's name)

Whale                                                   Decade

Ocean                                                   Silence

Invoker                                                 Yummy

                                                               Icy

                                                         Nolan

                                                         Dan (yet another female with a male's name)

                                                         Orange Tang (her real surname)

                                                         Bubu

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Teacher Day

From my company I got this present:  a pen-sized device that would turn the slides in my PowerPoint lesson presentations, with a built-in laser pointer.  When it works, it's my favorite thing ever!  I feel slick and in charge, like a suit-wearing corporate type.

The sliding glass door to the teachers office was plastered with notes from the students, some signed, some not.  One of them said:  "I hope the female teachers more more sex."  A female Chinese co-worker and I laughed over it and then pulled it down.

From a great student, I got this message:  "To Heather:  Thank you for being such a wonderful teacher.  You are my favourite teacher, Heather.  :)  Wishing you a HAPPY TEACHER'S DAY!"  She signed it with her English name--the same as one of my cousins.

Lifts 16 September 2013

A white icon pops up on the electric blue display.  It is a round gauge with the letters "kg" underneath.  No one moves.  When the doors close, we go nowhere.  The elevator is stalled.  Someone jabs the button with the two arrows moving away from each other and the doors open.  We're still on the 7th floor, and there's an annoying, high-pitched beeeeeep! in our ears.

I briefly eye the ceiling of the elevator and take a deep breath.  I got on at B1, work is on 9, and an elevator trip that should've taken a few short minutes is turning into a story.

Two people, a couple of about 40, steps off, then back on, the elevator, giggling.  The beeping stops briefly, then resumes, with the reappearance of the kilogram icon.  Beeeeeep! 

I want to scream like the Australian pilot in "Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome":  "We're overloaded!"  Don't they see the icon? I wonder.  Surely they can hear beeeeeep...

The couple stands together like stone statues.  No one says anything to them.  No one tells them to leave.  The elevator doors close.  We sit motionless for a whole minute.  The beeping stops again; the icon remains.  There are at least 15 people in here and it's getting stuffy.  I want to shift my weight, but I'm pressed against the back of the lift, and there's pretty much nowhere to shift to.  Somehow, though, half the passengers are managing to check their Weixing and QQ accounts (like Facebook) on their Samsungs or iPhones.

Finally, someone opens the doors again.  Beeeeeep!  Two different people, shaking their heads, push from the center of the elevator out.  If this was NYC, I thought, one of them would, at the very least, be cursing under their breath.  I want to cheer when the doors close and the elevator resumes its upward trek.  There's a tiny dip downwards first, though, which is common when there are this many live bodies in a lift.

"Ba lou dao le," a mechanically scratch female voice announces.  Eighth floor.  Five people push out; simultaneously, eight or nine are pushing their way in.  In the jostling, I find myself moved toward the front, and I squeeze myself to the right, bicep to wall, sucking in.  Elevator capacity is 21, and just as I'm thinking this...

Beeeeeep! 

No one moves.  Finally, the doors slide closed on their own.  We are motionless.  Again.

The girl in front of me pushes the door open button.  We are still on the 8th floor.  Beeeeeep!  The kilo icon reappears.  No one moves.

I exhale loudly.  This is an almost weekly occurrence, and today, I've had enough.  I know I'm being the typical "ugly American", but I can't help it.  I reach over the girl's shoulder, tap the kg icon, and let it out, albeit in a level voice:  "We're overloaded.  Someone has to get out."  No one even looks at me, which is surprising, since I'm speaking a foreign language--in more ways than one, I think to myself.

No one moves.  The doors remain open.  Beeeeeep!  I laugh and shake my head.  Finally, two whole agonizing minutes later, a mother and father pull a small girl out with them, looking like they'd been  voted off a life raft.

I sigh, inwardly this time.  The doors close.  A slight dip, and then a rising--ascending above 8 and heading, gloriously, toward 9.

Sunday Night Lights 6 September 2013

Change is good.  As I sit typing this first blog post of the month, I've got my window open and the air con off.  Yes.  It's 21 degrees Celsius (that's about 70 for my American readers) and overcast (yīntiān).  The humidity stands at a soggy 88%, and there's a 30% chance of rain.  It feels awesome to get some fresh air without melting.

Even though today is Friday, I thought I'd share something I saw last Sunday as I looked out my window after work.  I've mentioned the lack (to put it mildly) of safety here in China in previous posts, and if you've read any of my other writing, you know that I sometimes cock a critical eye at construction practices I find less than efficient.  In my genes I've got that German/Austrian logic that made the Mercedes-Benz possible, and a mechanical engineer for a father.

The spotlights moving back and forth outside my window drew me to look 20 floors down.  There was a crew of a dozen men, unloading 3 foot by 5 foot steel plates in 20-high stacks from a flatbed.  They were using a crane.  The spotlights were obvious; it was 10:30 pm on a Sunday night.  I watched these guys for a while, and after about ten minutes I was already acting like a (albeit inexperienced) foreman:  there was only one rigging for the crane.  That meant that after the guys on the flatbed secured a load and let the crane take it away, they had to wait several minutes for the guys on the ground to help set down the load and unhook the rigging, sending it back on the crane to the flatbed.

"If they just had two riggings..."  I mumbled to no one, "the guys on the truck wouldn't have to just stand there.  They could get the next load ready to go.  They could be finished in half the time!"   I shook my head.  The impracticality of most people is mind-boggling, and this wasn't the first time that being a Kaschmitter watching others work had nearly driven me insane.

Knowing I could do nothing about this, I concentrated on the men themselves.  No hard hats.  No gloves.  No steel-toed boots.  I couldn't believe anyone with this type of work experience would go to a job site this naked, but at least these men were fully clothed.  In a way, I sort of admired their tenacity.  It took guts to do what they were doing--like playing American football without a helmet and all that other gear.  I must've watched the men for 20 or 30 minutes--no one got hurt, not even a pinched finger.

In spite of the lack of bloodshed that night, I realize that, in all likelihood, someone had been injured or even killed on every other building in this city.  It was impossible to think that hundreds of 26-floor apartment buildings, office buildings, subway tunnels, and malls could've been built without casualties.

Some people might look at Shanghai, then, and see each high-rise as a metaphorical grave marker.  And yes--a huge amount of resources and risk went into each one, and that's not without some sort of price.

However, I choose to look at Shanghai differently.  Maybe it's the western American in me, but, in spite of the risks and the costs, I see each high-rise as a testament to the Chinese people--the oldest continuous civilization on Earth.  Their lack of Western safety precautions hasn't prevented one of the biggest cities on the planet from being built up almost overnight.  It's progress.  It's like the railroad back in the Old West.

Looking down at the little Chinese men rushing about the site that night, glowing like dynamos, I was struck by something:  the spotlights cast huge shadows of the men on the freshly-poured concrete, magnifying each man to ten times his size.  One Chinese man may be small, but the shadow he casts is huge.