Filling the Waterways

Even with chatter about global warming and funky weather patterns abounding, it is incredible to experience legend and reality colliding year after year. One of the earliest tales I learned upon moving to China was in regards to the Dragon Boat Festival. While mystery still shrouds the actual reason for the festival (the prevalent story being a poet committing suicide), every story concludes that every day it will rain during the weeks leading into the holiday. The reason being that the waterways need to be filled for the boat races.

Since the Dragon Boat Festival follows the lunar calendar, I initially thought such a weather claim was a bit preposterous. However, having lived in Zhanjiang for three years, I have come to count on such lore. A couple of weeks prior to the holiday, thunder rumbles off in the distance. Some days, the shower skirts our campus; others, the deluge turns our sidewalks into raging streams. This is the season for heat, so these afternoon watery reprieves are pleasant.

When the rumbles are heard, we promptly close our windows. Though a few days a week, the booms are heard while standing in a classroom and I silently berate myself for windows are wide open and I know my homecoming will be tainted with a flooded apartment.

Year Four

Things moved slowly this year in regards to contracts. Many new regulations alongside regulations that have not been enforced combined with some bizarre teacher illnesses have made for a tumultuous past seven months on our campus. While we had an inkling that we would be hired for a fourth year, nothing is ever guaranteed in China. When Carrie asked us to go for the yearly medical check, we were optimistic but curious why we were being tested before signing the contract. Our theory was that they wanted to check health statuses before offering contracts. The university unexpectedly spent a lot of money for Barbara's care with her aneurysm and one teacher has already been informed that he will not be hired back due to hospitalizations for a leg issue.

Test results came and the Foreign Language faculty indicated who they wanted hired for next year. Today, we were given our respective contracts to sign for the 2014-2015 school year.

Relief.

We are grateful to continue this season of living in our little Chinese village.

Annual Kentucky Derby Hat Competition

Sadly, the May Day holiday and Kentucky Derby clashed this year, so we were unable to host our annual Kentucky Derby brunch for our local expat friends. However, the week after the derby I spend explaining and showing the race to the students. As part of the week's activities, the students design and create hats. In each class, we have a friendly competition with the students voting for the Most Creative, Weirdest Hat, Most Elegant Hat, Hat with the Most Flowers and Best Paper Hat.

Every year the designs exceed my expectations and I spend a week in awe of what creativity can come from students who are constantly told NOT to be creative.

Students especially love the time I give them to take pictures and pose with other hats designed by their classmates. Even after three years, this is one of my favorite weeks of teaching - a glimpse into a Kentucky tradition.

Back to the Mainland

When Chinese complain about a meal, it is an immediate red flag and a near crisis. Due to the paltry servings of the previous day, our morning started across the street from our hotel. It was a small noodle shop, ran by a Hui family. Zach and I love the food of the Xinjiang province, so we were thrilled with the morning's breakfast spread.

Apparently, sometime during the previous day, the group had decided to scrap the to-do list of the day and head directly back to Zhanjiang. Of course, the guide had to mandate at least one stop in an attempt to recoup some of his lost commission. Again, he showed his lack of understanding of foreigners, for after a free sip of the coffee, everyone went outside to enjoy the covered veranda overlooking some coffee trees. Our Chinese companions bought some snacks, but, by the guide's facial expression, it was not enough for him to receive any monetary gain.

It appeared that our return ferry had been pulled from mothballs for service. Unlike our first ride, this one was not as pleasant. Smoking is an epidemic in China - when one is standing on a ship on the ocean and the only smell in the air is of cigarettes, that is a problem. We finally muscled our way onto the small walkway in front of the enclosed seating area. It was the only place with wind and no smokers. Hans eventually joined us and we spent most of the ride chatting and laughing about the mishaps of the journey.

The two hour trek to Zhanjiang was quiet - everyone slept. Driving into the city limits, spirits were roused and excitement bubbled for we were home. Confusion spread when we passed the Cunjin campus and pulled into a rundown, roadside eatery. The collective thought was that we would be home for dinner, but instead we had a last meal together. Ultimately, it was to celebrate Carrie's birthday, but the head director of our department, Stephen, made an appearance. Of course, he was fashionably late. Plus, this was the first time many of us had met him. Yes, we have been here three years and have never met our head boss.

Overall, it was a pleasant ending to our journey and it was good to celebrate Carrie who does so much to keep us here. As with any trip, it was good to finally walk into our hutong and collapse into our soft bed, knowing that we did not have to wake up at 6am.

Rebellion

At 5am, our question from the previous evening whether mosques were allowed to blare the call to prayer in China was answered. Luckily, Zach and I have spent enough time in Muslim countries that our slumbering subconscious noted the prayer to Allah and let us doze on for another hour.

Our enthusiasm for the day was strained. While we repeatedly told ourselves to have a better attitude, we could not deny that even our tempered expectations of the trip were being unmet. Everything we had heard about Sanya - beach, sun, a bit of western food, relaxation, street food - was being ignored for hours on a bus and not actually experiencing or seeing anything in Sanya. When we arrived at the mezzanine for breakfast to find two types of stale buns as the buffet, the outlook was grim.

Fifteen minutes later, the group assembled in the lobby. Complaints and grumblings were heard and when we found out the day's plan involved no beach time, Zach and I rebelled. We looked Carrie in the eye and said, "We need to relax. We want to explore. We are not joining the group today." She was shocked. The tour guide was baffled. She repeatedly said, "Today's sites are beautiful. The best of Hainan." We shook our heads and said, "Sorry, you told us our hotel was beside the beach." We have repeatedly learned in China talk is quite deceptive and we had had enough of it on this trip. Bewilderment grew as three others rebelled alongside us. We waved farewell to the bus and did a happy dance in the hotel lobby.

Armed with a Sanya map and basic directions for the public bus system, Zach and I were sipping our respective beverages in one of the most beautiful Starbucks I have seen around the globe an hour later. Freedom had never felt nor tasted so good. I savored every drop of my Vanilla frap and blueberry muffin. After a couple of hours of relaxation, checking in on the world and spontaneous orations depicting our fine revolt, we located a western grocery store above us. Our bags were already packed with beach necessities, so the process of elimination between granola bars or tortilla chips, jars of salsa or maple syrup resembled a triage center after a major catastrophe. Serious decisions had to be made. We did plot and procure oat bread, pepperjack cheese and olives for a beach picnic.

A Russian lady we had briefly chatted with in Starbucks told us the beach was practically behind the shopping center. She was right. Dadonghai was beautiful. The beach was wide and long - no ropes or Seadoos. It was practically empty. The sound of crashing waves rather than Christmas carols and squawking hawkers was bliss. We splurged for a tiki hut and lounge chairs, staking our claim for the afternoon.

Five hours later, we gathered our belongings. We were sun soaked. I had frolicked in the ocean. I finished a book; Zach was near completing his. I had chatted with some transplants from Harbin, who were having a great time chatting about my hair in Chinese. We were relaxed and refreshed. We even stopped for a post-beach cold beverage at Coffee People.

At dinner, we heard how the day on the tour had actually gone well. We were a bit sad to have missed some of the iconic scenes of the island. However, envious looks were shown when we recounted our day's activities and finds. Our fellow rebels had great tales of their day, as well.

In the end, rebellion was the right choice for us. There are moments when we are reminded how western-minded we really are.

Day of Pit Stops

Tempered expectations were a must because we knew this journey would be handled through a tour group. Chinese are terrified to travel without the aid of someone toting a yellow triangle flag in front of them. Yet, frustrations began to roil early when the guides decided that everything we had missed the previous day had to be added to the day's itinerary. We had breakfast at 6am and thus began the rumblings.

Our first stop was a rain forest park, with an allotted visitation time of forty five minutes. Our guide was AWOL with tickets, then upon his appearance he brought along a park guide to tell us all about the park. Neither spoke English. We ran from the yellow flag and took our cursory glance - it looked like our campus.

Next stop was Boundary Island. The highlight was that it was a beautiful island. The horrific side is that our fear of Chinese beach photo ops began. "You have thirty minutes," said Mindy. "Walk around the island. Take a picture on the beach." It is pure torture to be on a beach and be unable to get in the water. Not only were our swimsuits across the bay in the bus, but to set foot in the water, a fee of 20 yuan per person was required. Zach decided it was a good thirty minute attempt to even out the farmer's tan obtained on the ferry ride and we were able to have an impromptu karaoke session with the "Jingle Bells" blaring from the speakers.

Returning to the bus, the group voiced adamant dissatisfaction at hasty beach viewings. Mindy quickly acquiesced and said that we would go to Yalong Bay, the famous beach, and spend one and a half hours. She nodded her head triumphantly and smiled as if that was exactly what we had wanted.

Yalong Bay is the famous beach of Sanya, therefore the Chinese flock and the locals gouge. Mindy repeatedly kept telling us it was the most beautiful beach in the world. While most of the foreigners let her propaganda-laden comments slide, Zach cheekily responded with, "You should go to Thailand or Indonesia." While we were grateful for our allocated one and a half hours to frolic in the surf, Yalong is not the nexus of relaxation. The beachfront is so chopped up with ropes designating resort turf and sea-fun rentals; Seadoos poach most of the sand. (Interestingly though, one pays not to drive but to have a local lean over and grope you as you spin around the ocean a few times. Yes, it looks as creepy as it sounds.) Due to such inefficient land usage, tourists are relegated to a small swatch of a sand pathway, which ends up being filled with naked children, trash and impromptu oceanfront picnics.

Local lore declares that in a time long passed, a young hunter tracked a deer to the highest point of Sanya. Upon drawing his bow and releasing, the arrow turned into fire and the deer turned into a fair maiden. They fell in love and thus began the Li minority. Along with a large statue of the happy couple and a deer, the hill is ablaze with love sayings and wishes festooned to banyan trees. The view of Sanya is a perk of the peak, as well.

Dark clouds threatened on the horizon as we descended from the peak and made our way to another beach photo op. Our thirty minute stop ended up being a soggy one. The highlight was an impromptu arm wrestling match between Mari and I; the locals and vendors huddled beneath the shack alongside us found it extremely funny.

Thoroughly soaked and tired of thirty minute stops, we asked to head to the hotel. Our request was granted, but the longer we drove away from Sanya, relaxed expressions became furrowed. When we turned off onto a dirt, pot-hole ridden road, similar to those around our campus, the face palms began. Yes, our hotel ended up being in the middle of the Hui minority, or the Muslim district of Sanya. It was kilometers from any beach and the life of Sanya.

After dinner in our hotel, a group of us tried to wave down a taxi to return to the street markets (or even the Starbucks) we had so often heard about from other travelers. After a fruitless thirty minutes, Zach and I turned back, grabbing an ice cream to soothe our frustrations.

Jeevan summed up the day's debacle perfectly: "It seems backwards. The Chinese are lazy at work but go crazy on vacation."

Slow Boat to China

Once an island to hold the emperor's enemies, Hainan has become the "Hawaii of China" or the "Florida to Russians." Thanks to the northern neighbors flocking south to the land once deemed inhabitable, the Chinese have been made to pause, scratch their heads and contemplate what could be so good about the place villainous marauders ran amok.

Blue air and clean water is a start.

Per our contract, the school is to offer us a cultural trip once a year. With the continual story of how our department has no money, we expected some excuse as to why we were denied a trip this year. To our shock, a week prior to the May Day holiday, we received an email stating foreign teachers would be venturing to Hainan. We were ecstatic. Many of us had discussed early in the semester how Hainan was on the semester to-do list. Sadly, many times we opt for the far-flung trips with the pass on the island because "it is so close." We can always do it another weekend or holiday.

Our journey south meant it was the first time we set foot on the southernmost point of mainland China and the first journey on a Chinese ferry (where we made sure to stay firmly on the outside upper deck in case the navigator had hit the bajio bottle early or decided to make sudden turns.) True to Chinese form, our ferry was running approximately three hours behind. We actually found the time fascinating for we watched them load cargo and trains while enjoying glorious sunshine. Chinese are terrified of the sun and the potential to fall victim to a tan. For our jaunt across, it meant we had half of the deck to ourselves, sans cigarettes and impromptu English corners.

Once we made land, Chinese tour expectations started to be met. The local tour guide we picked up spoke no English (the one we had from Zhanjiang, Mindy, spoke a little.) We ate at a hidden-behind-a-grove-of-banana-trees restaurant where local touts tried to sell something to us while we ate. Since we were running behind schedule, the guides were anxious, flustered  and despondent that the scheduled stops for the day had to be canceled. We did not care about eliminating a park, since there were at least three more on the itinerary. In broken English, Mindy explained that we would go to Xinglong and the hotel, which had a spa and pool.

Xinglong is a ghost town; a case of multiple construction projects that lost funding or lack the interest from people to actually move into the towering apartments and shops. We passed the hotel listed on our itinerary and ended up at another around the corner. Again, what was propagated did not come to fruition. The room Zach and I were assigned was so moldy the ceiling was black, the curtains were a black/green combo and one corner was seeping some liquid - we had to change, even though the manager took one look and said, "What's the problem?"

The pool and spa were concrete pits, complete with green slime. The keeper was a scrawny man wearing a generic police uniform. Though the pool did not look terrible, when Zach and I tried to take a dip before dinner we were told it was 10 yuan, per person. While we refused to pay to swim in dirty water, the hotel did not care about our grievance for the Chinese guests were clamoring to pay for their moment in the slime. Sadly, it did not surprise us.