Leizhou: A Hidden Gem

Racism and prejudices run deep in Chinese culture. If Chinese are not complaining about the Japanese and their brutal attack pre-World War II (never mind the other countries that tried to take their own chunk or what atrocities China has committed to themselves and surrounding areas since that time), then they deflect these nasty comments towards their fellow man. It ranges from those "northerners who eat noodles and do not shower" to "those dirty villagers of (insert town name here)." Living in Zhanjiang, a lot of disgust is directed towards Leizhou and we hear about it often. I have never understood this disdain, especially since Leizhou is technically a suburb of Zhanjiang. However, I think I may have started to unravel the cause with our latest day trip.

Frankie has been one of our students this year and Leizhou is his hometown. We had an immediate connection early in the fall semester because one of our expat friends was his high school English teacher. That teacher left Leizhou before Frankie graduated and moved into Xiashan, where we met him our first year here. Throughout this year, we have been plotting with Frankie to return to Leizhou, so we seized the end of semester lull to do so.

I have found that countries who have the most trouble moving beyond past grievances and atrocities are those with a large ancestral worship component within their culture. While these cruel acts are devastating and heinous, most should attempt an element of remembrance with a will to grow beyond it. As we crawled over sprawling banyan roots and sidestepped enormous elephant ear plants in an old Qing village, I began to understand why Zhanjiang natives detest Leizhou; Leizhou has the greater ancestral history, thereby trumping the shiny buildings and new roads being constructed a mere 100 kilometers north. While Zhanjiang is fervently trying to win travel awards and plastering, "Blue Sky Blue Sea" slogans on any flat surface, Leizhou sits contently with a stone dog museum, a watchtower and adjoining city wall, Qing-era villages and heaps of temples. Its history is long and full of imperial appointments and political favor, while Zhanjiang was a place for the French scum (their interpretation) and a large port which let other wild barbarians step foot on the mainland.

I did not dwell on my epiphany, but rather immersed myself in exploring a unique piece of history. Most of the village still has inhabitants, but among the narrow cobblestone path, open arched doorways leading to courtyards beckoned for investigation. Even in near ruin, the homes of old were stunning. The clay walls and intricate murals were a shade of their former self, yet under scrutiny, I could imagine what it would have been in its prime. We stood baffled in one courtyard, as I remarked to Frankie that it is unbelievable that Chinese people are abandoning such amazing homes for cramped, hi-rise apartments. He shrugged his shoulders and we diverted our attention to another nook. I was continually amazed that even in ruin, makeshift altars were set where the family in-home temples would have been. Most of them were weathered wooden tables topped with incense holders and offerings of appeasement for near-royal ancestors.

At lunchtime, we headed into downtown. Of course the day we chose to visit Leizhou was the day that the officials were cracking down on san-mos, which made travel from place to place a bit harder. However, we found one that would take us to the closest bus station, but refused to venture farther in fear of her red chariot being confiscated.

For lunch, we took a trip down memory lane with Frankie. He took us to the restaurant he usually ate at during his high school, while pointing out the shops he frequented in his down time. We even got to see the outside of his former dormitory.

Thanks to us not remembering the name, we made a return visit to the large temple on the outskirts of town. Initially, Frankie was embarrassed and frustrated that he had taken us to a repeat location, but we told him to not worry. Our insistent pleas of "stop apologizing" quickly turned to "thanks for bringing us back" as we had stumbled onto the largest rice drying operation we have ever seen. The villagers are in full rice harvesting mode, which means any open, flat space is covered in the golden grain. The Leizhou farmers turned the massive temple courtyard into a sea of rice. It was stunning.

I have come to love and appreciate the ebb and flow of life around rice paddies. There is something calming yet intoxicating to watch little tendrils among a pond become a sea of green that ripples like waves in the wind. Thrashing season is one of my favorite things to experience in China. The continual raking and shoveling of the grain is fascinating to watch, for it is done as it has been done for centuries - sans machines. With wooden rakes and shovels, the grain is continually manipulated and put into zen garden designs for maximum drying. It is a sight to behold; one that I never tire of as I live here.

After our curiosity was sated, the workers had a good chuckle with Frankie about his foreign friends and we had taken a cursory stroll through the temple, we departed. Smooshed onto the back of a motorcycle, we sped our way through traffic and alleyways to a newer Buddhist temple. Consisting of four separate temples, each higher than the first on the hillside, the complex was our sanctuary when an afternoon thunderstorm hit. We were able to get a very good look at the wall of a thousand Buddhas.

Walking back towards town, we stumbled across a Catholic church. It was simple in design, but upon entering, my attention was diverted from any architecture study as we were mobbed by old church ladies. No matter where I am in the world, old church ladies are the same. They went completely dotty over Frankie and I kept wondering when cupcakes and glasses of Kool Aid were going to appear. One old, old lady (who stood no higher than four feet tall) grabbed my hands, patted them ferociously, gazed at me with motherly affection, all while smiling so beautifully. She spoke only the local dialect, so Frankie was stuck fumbling over lingo he had never studied while trying to appease her fiery questions. Bewildered, he looked to me and asked, "She wants to know if you believe." I nodded my head yes. I thought were going to do-si-do in her excitement.

Over the next twenty minutes, we learned this was Frankie's first time ever in a church or talking to church ladies. Also, we had a great laugh when the priest of the church came over to meet us and, in translation, Frankie introduced him as the godfather. (Actually, we are still laughing about it and have shared it a few times with other expats.) We were finally able to wrest ourselves away from the cheek-pinching brigade and make our way to the bus station. Outside the gate, Frankie gave a big sigh and said, "Wow, that was crazy." We shook our heads in agreement and laughed.

We returned to GDOU and enjoyed eating dinner together to commemorate another grand adventure. We are already plotting to return next year for the lantern festival, for Frankie says it is a grand event to see and experience. I believe him.

World Cup Mania

Living in the middle of rice paddies and red brick huts with no late night bus access, participating in wild World Cup parties are far fetched. Plus, the excitement level of the Chinese towards this worldwide event is barely noticeable. Nonetheless, a new "bar" on campus has become the haven for the few enthusiasts and rebels (for the games are shown after curfew.) We decided to join them for the USA vs. Germany game and it was great! We miss being a part of a crowd watching football and while this was far from a Timbers Army experience, it was students we knew and enjoyed hanging out with while we watched the American players be a disaster in cleats.

Freebies for Five Days

While living stateside, a yearly highlight for Zach was planning his birthday week around what free birthday coupons he could redeem. Earlier in the month, Zach's email inbox began to be flooded with birthday coupons. One night I overheard him lamenting to himself how he missed his free Krispy Kreme donut, free Starbucks drink, free ice cream...a wistful comment with each coupon voucher he opened. That night an idea was born.

I selected five businesses on campus that we frequent often and chose a food item that Zach would enjoy eating. Collaborating with a student, I told her what I imagined, asked her to use her stealth negotiating skills to ensure the bosses knew what was at stake and gave her money. The humorous part was that I spent more time explaining what birthday freebies are and why something like it occurs in America rather than what I wanted King to accomplish.

Two days later, we met up and the tales of her task were hysterical. From our previous discussion, I knew that such a concept was nonexistent so I was curious about her apparent excitement. She described in great detail how each boss was fascinated by the concept and was thrilled to be a part of the five days of freebies. All of the bosses know us, so with a mere mention of a lemon and apple icee or ice cream, King said they immediately knew who she was speaking about in her ask.

During this meeting, I created coupons with silly, hinting rhymes of where Zach would need to go and when. King wrote a brief Chinese explanation to jog any memories about their commitment (and already received payment.) We were giddy with our accomplishment.

In our hutong, I hung the five coupons on our bedroom wall for Zach to collect on the appointed day. He was shocked and excited.

Day one was donuts. A bakery on campus recently began to bake these gems and we had yet to try them. I took a chance and ordered ten. He was surprised, ecstatic and the donuts tasted good.

Day two was gummy candy. This was nearly a disaster, for when Zach arrived the store was closed and the merchandise was boxed. In true Chinese fashion, a business that was fully functioning two days prior was finished. After a few phone calls and extra help from an inquisitive girl, who was enjoying a drink in the adjoining shop, a pound of gummy candy was handed over to Zach. The now-defunct shop's owner had the foresight to leave the goods with the other shop keeper.

Day three was a slice of cheesecake. Since it was Zach's actual birthday, I had coordinated with his football captain for a birthday bonus - a new football and socks. In our conversation, Royan declared he would purchase the socks for Zach, but he would help me get a football. He was eager to be a part of the fun; plus, he declared I was the most thoughtful wife. He even included that in his birthday note.

Day four was a lemon and apple icee from our favorite fruit stand. The added bonus was the boss giving Zach a bag of grapes. Zach turned to me and asked, "Grapes and a drink?" I shook my head and said the grapes were an unexpected bonus. By his sly smile, I believe the boss was thrilled to add a little something Zach's celebrations.

The final day was for ice cream. The previous day, we had stopped by the shop and the mother of the shop gave away the surprise because she was so excited. I had to temper her excitement and remind her that her day was not yet, though I did not accomplish this before Zach caught enough of our Chinese conversation. When we did show up, she bolted to the freezer and chose his ice cream treat. She refused to take a picture with Zach, but May was more than happy to be a part of a birthday snapshot.

For five days, I watched my husband once again plot a week around his birthday. It was so fun to plan and execute something that brought him visible joy. Surprises in China are hard to pull off due to limited language skills and choices. The sad side of this tale is that on day one I was smoted with a ferocious stomach bug which left me a wilted flower for most of the fun. I had other treats I wanted to make for him, but considering I could barely get myself into bed or to the bathroom without collapsing, I knew a batch of cinnamon rolls was scratched off the plan. Nonetheless, I believe it was a great week for Zach and we may have started a new trend around campus.

Gecko Baby Boom

They are smaller than my pinkie finger, very lightly colored and are scrambling along every surface of our hutong. Over the last few days, we have had a gecko baby boom and we are thrilled. Geckos have become an integral part of our lives. Their antics, tempers, territorial tendencies and hunting skills keep us well entertained.

As for the babies, they are just so darn cute. Their shenanigans display their complete confusion of this wild world. One in our bedroom likes to hide its head behind the curtain - just his head, nothing else. Another likes to sit on our headboard. One in the living room prefers to hide beneath the large metal art gecko that we bought in Honduras. We have lost count how many lose their grip on the wall and collapse on the floor in a stunned heap.

With this boom, we are having to be cautious in our hutong. In their early days, they do not know what surfaces are safe to scuttle across. Therefore, we are watching where we step and when closing doors and windows (though we have taken off a few adult gecko tails with this maneuver). The good news is that they grow fast and learn to navigate the animal kingdom quickly, so our heightened awareness is not required for a long period. Nonetheless, we do not mind this short baby boom period for they are our mosquito-moth-weird bug killers of the future.

Watch the World Cup Here

Strolling through a new supermarket in town, I discovered the Zhanjiang hot spot for viewing the World Cup. Forget the pubs and house parties, the big screen for the world's game is located between biscuits from Malaysia and ramen noodles from Japan.

I do not think I have ever watched a football match in a grocery store. Thanks, China, for a first.

Pierced Ears

Last November when we announced our plans to travel to Turkey, Mari got really excited and animated. She started babbling about earrings and their popularity in Turkey. I had no idea what she was talking about then, but I remember asking why she cared because she did not have pierced ears. She responded that she wanted pierced ears and planned to get it done over the festival when she was in Japan.

As we strolled the market in Istanbul, dangling earrings were everywhere. I purchased a pair for Mari as a birthday present. Upon our return, she had not gotten her ears pierced. Her look of disappointment at her decision was evident when she opened the box holding her very own pair of Turkish earrings.

This week, she finally took the plunge. Alice and I had made a plan for holding Mari down should she freak and berserk after one shot of the earring gun, but we ended up not having to take drastic measures. She survived the ordeal and really liked the lollipop I had bought as a prize for her bravery.

Our Firsts

When we stepped onto our campus three years ago, we had no idea what our journey would be or who would be a part of that journey. Fellow expats we have met along our teaching journey have always regaled us with tales of how the first classes are always the most endearing. These are the students who quietly come alongside you in the first months when all seems weird. They are the ones who help to obtain mobile phones, internet, show where the teaching buildings are located, translate schedules and necessary paperwork, all while sharing their country and customs.

Our first classes did etch a special place within our hearts and lives. While many were happy to be rid of the foreign teachers and their strict classroom policies after their sophomore year, many realized that outside of a classroom, we are different. They hung around. We ate dinners together. We laughed together. We traveled together. We celebrated milestones and commiserated the rough patches of life together. We did life together.

When we came to GDOU, we secretly had the goal to stay until our first classes graduated. This week, we accomplished that goal as we celebrated one of the biggest milestones of life.

For all the pomp and circumstance in China, graduation is not a revered moment. Zach and I are baffled by this situation and actually find it rather sad. I never really valued the graduation ceremony until I saw how it really adds significance to the accomplishment. Instead of pomp and circumstance, they rent random robes (which do not display educational meaning) and take thousands of photos. For two weeks our campus is chaos with graduates and friends running amok capturing their four hundredth photo by the library. Plus, this activity usually starts about 6am.

This year, we joined the chaos a couple times. For as much as we make fun the picture taking fiasco, it was an honor to stand alongside those who have been such a large part of our lives.

The seriousness of the moment was tainted when we all had a good laugh the next day. Upon reviewing the photos, I realized that in my sleepy state, I completely forgot to fix my hair after showering. The new graduates found it hilarious.

Lee's Senior Bucket List

Last year, Lee became infatuated with the TV show, Master Chef, after Zach introduced it to him. After watching a handful of the shows, the next visit to my kitchen was a wonderland to him and his perspective on food exponentially expanded. The funniest part of his new found cooking love can be summed up in one question he asked: "Do you know how to make a souffle?"

Semester after semester, we vowed to attempt souffles in our toaster oven. However, as with many requests, it kept being pushed aside for some other adventure. With graduation, we had mere days rather than weeks. After the swimming competition and a celebratory dinner of fried rice, Lee and I took to the kitchen to accomplish his kitchen bucket list item.

The egg whites did not want to fluff. I do not have ramekins we used Christmas cupcake liners. The souffles puffed but ultimately caved once we got them out of the oven. Nonetheless, the taste was scrumptious and celebrated by our circle of friends. Not one souffle was left, so I say it was a successful venture.

Swimming Battle - In and Out of the Pool

Last year, a resounding no was given to all my inquiries and requests to swim during the swimming competition. The PE department eventually claimed me and I ended up winning three races for them. The faculty swimming for the Foreign Language Department looked on in disbelief. Some grabbed my arm throughout the afternoon, frantically whispering, "Why did you not swim for us?" I replied with a shrug, "I was told no."

Fast forward one year.

A bit more than a month ago, the office asked if I would swim for them this year. I agreed. Weeks later, Carrie and her boss, David, asked if I would swim in the competition. I responded that I was already signed up for the foreign department. All were happy until one small detail was discovered - no one had told me the Foreign Language Department and the Department of International Affairs were to be two different teams. I quickly became the pawn in a political tug of war and it was ugly.

Phone calls, texts, and even an ultimatum of "you swim for us or no one" from David took a fun activity and turned it sour. I repeatedly told both sides that since I agreed to the Foreign Language Faculty first, I would stand by my word and honor that commitment. Eventually, I had to go above everyone's head (and petty bickering) by speaking directly to the teacher running the competition, to which he responded that my choice would be respected. I adore the PE department.

The day dawned drizzly, but the swimming complex was the cleanest it had been all year. My nerves were taunt. Last year, I was the dark horse with unsuspected swimming skills, whereas, this year, expectations were set. As Zach pointed out, I was also putting a lot of pressure on myself to perform well.

First race of the day was 50m freestyle. I knew I would be against a PE teacher, but another teacher took her place in the lane next to me that I knew nothing about. I was intrigued, but focused. Forty five seconds after the gun, I learned she was this year's dark horse. I got beat.

Last year, no teachers jumped off the blocks, so I did not practice diving prior to the competition this year. It was my demise. She jumped. I did not. I fought to catch up, but was unsuccessful. Nonetheless, it was great to have a competitor, someone to chase.

My 100m in the afternoon was the success story. The dark horse did not compete in anything longer than 50m, so my new adversaries were two other teachers; one who I knew to be a decent swimmer. I was determined to win this race and I thrive in long distance swimming. Zach says my flip turn was a crowd pleaser and served its purpose - it propelled me well enough to beat the other two teachers. It was a great race and I felt really good at the finish.

In between my races, Zach and I spent our time laughing with students and teachers. Thanks to our active lifestyle, we are familiar with many students and faculty beyond the Foreign Language Department. We did have a few English majors swimming, to which we cheered heartily for their swimming success.

By day's end, I had collected my winnings, celebrated great races by friends and students and thoroughly enjoyed a day by the pool. Oh, and the world did not end because I swam for the Foreign Language Department.

Angry Toe

Strange maladies are a way of life in our little village. I tend to bear the brunt of our weird ailments thanks to sensitive skin and mysterious allergic triggers. Though to be fair, Zach does have a weird rash that randomly appears on his left calf from time to time.

Thanks to polluted sea waters and frolicking about on Jin Sha Wan's rough sand, the weird blight of the week fell upon my right, big toe. After my day of playing in the dragon boats and the adrenaline had dispelled, I noticed that my right foot felt weird and my big toe was a bit sensitive. Back at the hutong, post shower, we realized that my toe was angry.

Very angry.

It was a nice mix of purple and red. It was swollen. It was sensitive to the touch, and a tad warm (not from a well earned sun tan.) Since my mom is gallivanting about the Gulf of Alaska on a cruise ship, I turned to my trusted Oregon pen pal, Suzanne, who happens to also be a pediatrician. I figured toes on adults and babies could not be so different. Besides, she loves to laugh at the weird afflictions we experience.

Everyone needs a jovial doctor friend - life is just so much more fun with them in it.

True to form, through a couple messages to and fro, we laughed about strange Chinese remedies, toes that would turn orange from such remedies, the possibilities of what could cause such a nasty toe issue and actual things I could do to make it a happy toe again. Ultimately, the measures she suggested we were doing, so we hoped for the best.

As I type this post, my toe has not fallen off, it has not turned orange and it does not appear to be so angry with my body. Therefore, I add another weird diseased moment for the ever-growing list.

Eleventh Hour Team

The text came at 11pm. It said, "You are on the Xuwen team tomorrow. Be in front of the main building at 6:50am. Coach will give you clothes."

At 6:30am, the heat was already oppressive. My wary enthusiasm was in in full force, especially upon arriving at the bus stop where both teams gave me a leery eye and no team clothes appeared. It was awkward, but Zach and I shrugged our shoulders and agreed to see what would actually play out through the day. It is China and it is remarkable how quickly things and attitudes shift.

Jin Sha Wan was a disaster; akin to the remnants of an end-of-the-semester frat party. Apparently, Children's Day had been a wild ride the previous day. Beer bottles covered the sidewalks and road, clinking together as shuffled feet hit them. Food remnants were strewn over tables, the lawn, and anywhere else that had a vacant space to stash a Styrofoam container. We were able to see this debacle well as we had to walk to the team entrance because the street usually reserved for team buses had become the food festival lane and no one bothered to tell the teams. Bus after bus tried to turn into the road only to be turned away by twelve cops.

As expected, random foreign photos began immediately, though we were able to take many photos with familiar faces of friends and students. Many teams were repeat from last year, as well as I had encountered many people during our training times at the beach over the past month. It was delightful to laugh and joke with them.

With teams stretching on the shoreline, volunteers manning their posts, and coaches giving initial encouraging speeches, the face of my day changed. I was handed a team jersey from a member of the Xuwen team, from his own body. Initially I was confused, but then the team rallied and said they wanted me to join them. I was shocked, grateful and a bit disgusted that the shirt I was given smelled so bad. (For the record, I did a quick dash to the bathroom to rinse in hopes of dispelling the stench, which did not seem to work so well, though I learned the shirt had not been previously washed and bled black dye horribly. I was glad for the jaunt as I would have been a zebra all day if I had not done the dash and dunk.)

The team immediately experienced foreigner-associated fame. Pictures were snapped, interviews were given and children madly pointed fingers, yelling, "foreigner." Everything I expected and nothing my teammates anticipated.

After experiencing the Guangxi competition last year, I realized fairly early in the day that Zhanjiang's competition is chaotic. Everything from the beginning of a race to the moving and changing of teams in boats is utter confusion. Even the flipping and flopping of rowers between the GDOU team and my team was staggering in complexity. Granted, the language barrier does make things a bit more weird, but when the teams did not even have the paddles at ready and the master-of-ceremony blows the horn to start the race, that is a recipe for an awkward and poor start.

The lackadaisical attitude towards the races became worse throughout the day. Even my team succumbed during the afternoon races with some horrid paddling. A guy from the GDOU team had been appointed our drummer; he had never done it before. Also, the boy I was paddling behind, while a great guy to chat with on the shore, was a horrible paddler. The small voice in my head reared its sarcastic head a time or two with lines such as: "Just because you are a boy, it does not mean you can handle a paddle well."

Though paddling in my adopted city was what I had hoped for during training and it was a spectacular experience, by day's end, I realized what a great festival the people of HeChi had organized last year. In the mountains of Guangxi, the race felt more of a community event rather than a let's-do-this-because-we-have-to-do-it event. However, I will do it again next year with the caveat that I will be on the hunt for a girl's team. They always seem to have the most fun on the beach and in the boat.

Cultural Clash

The week preceding the dragon boat festival was a cultural clash mess. It was a culmination of lost in translation with a dose of China having chauvinistic tendencies with a souse of face saving bull. In reflection and with the reminder that I do live in China, I understand how and why it happened. Nonetheless, it was a rough couple of days.

I had spent the last two months training with the boy's GDOU team. Once again, the university did not put together a female team, but that was not surprising. Alongside a handful of boys from last year and a troop of new recruits, I spent mornings, evenings, weekends, and weird times in between in the boat and in training. Honestly, since flipping a truck tire for one hundred meters in training, I have never heard the end of my strong muscles.

About three weeks ago, the Zhanjiang Development Coalition reached out to GDOU to hire and create a male and female team for the Zhanjiang competition. Each participant would receive a total of one thousand yuan for their training time and would have transportation to and from the school. I was told that the leader of the girl's team (a boy I had rowed with last year) had asked if I could be on the team, but the university leaders said that I was unable because I was associated with the GDOU team. I was disappointed, but glad I had secured a place in the boat.

Mingled throughout the weeks and practices was rumors of a trip to a Huizhou competition, as well as something about a dragon boat festival in September when GDOU would have a women's team. Really, everything in China is ad-hoc and rarely planned, so rumors such as these are common and we tuck them away in our mind of what could come.

About a week and a half ago, things became wonky and Zach took to defending my honor. Unexpectedly, the Huizhou trip was prior to the local competition. It was a bit of a schedule shock, but the greater surprise came when the team said that I could not go because it was not safe. Extolling of lame excuse after lame excuse ensued. The point of no return was when they had the gall to say that I was not strong enough. I thought Zach was going to explode. He sent a text to last year's captain, Fa Hua, asking what was happening and why such an abrupt disconnect. Fa Hua responded that I would be in the boat in Chikan, but the damage had been done. I did not trust his word, especially since I was not the boat last year. Why would this year be any different? I was frustrated that once again my training was to end in nothing in Chikan solely because I was a girl.

Stupid macho boys.