Night of Tricks and Treats

Our trick or treating extravaganza has left its mark on the GDOU campus. Its reputation has exponentially grown each year (and downtown Xiashan had its first ever Halloween extravaganza), thus it did not surprise us that the foreign language administration mandated every sophomore and junior English major to attend a lecture on Halloween evening. Communism, do not confront what is disliked but rather mandate the alternative.

I had seen the poster propagating the "famous" professor from Guangzhou and his peddling promise of translation wisdom earlier in the week. I dismissed such acclaimed fluffery when I read the speech title: Ramblings through the Translation.

Oh China.

Nonetheless, we accommodated the surprise lecture by pushing our trick or treat later in the evening, much to the delight of the students. Too many voiced their fears that the entire event would have to be canceled. I laughed, for what is the big difference between ending at ten-thirty or eleven-thirty.

Of course the crowds came - students, local village children, random students and a cute, old couple whose curiosity about the bedlam got the best of them. At one time, I was pushed into the bushes with nearly fifty hands beckoning for their stash of candy. It was a packed walkway, as though our walkway had become a Beijing subway station. It was a spectacular night filled with laughs, screams and way too many photos.

Sweet Sixteen

I have quickly come to appreciate and adore much of the Russian culture thanks to our fellow Russian-ish expats (one family is from Russian, another from Uzbekistan and the third from Ukraine.) Because of them, I now add Russian food to my list of favorite foods (especially the salads) and I have found the musicality in listening to the language. I cherish moments I can spend with them, especially Masha.

Tonight we celebrated her sixteenth birthday. This community knows how to party with a lot of food, laughter, vodka and heartfelt well wishes (toasts are such a unique and beautiful means of conveying hopes for a future.) Even the schizophrenic weather of spitting rain could not dampen the frivolity and the smile on the birthday girl's face.

Coach of the Impossible

For years, I have told Zach that he would be a good football coach. He would shrug off my comment, giving a different excuse each time as to why not. Two weeks ago, the chance presented itself and I told him he needed to do it. He agreed.

We frequently tell our students to try new things as often as possible. The fear of failure takes a completely different (and disturbing) meaning in this society. However, over the years we have seen a few take the plunge and find new hobbies in the process. This year, a handful of former students decided that they were going to try football and they wanted Zach as their coach.

While this ultimately is a beautiful story of courage by a group of girls, it should be mentioned that the reason for their plunge really hinged on the fact that each year the university holds a massive sports competition. The weeks leading up to the track and field portion are filled with football games. Each department is expected to represent. This event happens every year. Two weeks before the first game, the Foreign Language Department decided it was time that the team should be formed.

Two weeks of practice.

Nine of the twelve girls had never kicked a soccer ball.

None are overly active on a daily basis.

They wail about running 800 meters for a physical fitness test (which no one ever fails.)

Basically, why should a department actually plan for an event that happens every year?

Zach faced the impossible and a healthy dose of skepticism. Skepticism not from the girls, but rather the English major boys chosen to help coach them. "They are just girls," said one, who nearly lost his life to Zach's death stare and subsequent soapbox diatribe about sexism.

Their first game was a tale of determination. Their opponent was the best of the division, plus the heckling from their fans, including the remark "a foreigner does not know how to teach or play football," actually messed with their psyche. After a half time pep talk, as well as a reminder the girls that America made it to the World Cup while China did not, their resolve in facing the second half was shored up.

It was a tale of two halves.

The first half ended five to zero.

The second ended six to zero, with the English majors actually making a few runs on goal. The peanut gallery heckling was not so loud after such a half.

Sadly the game ended a few minutes early when Bonano, the keeper, took a nasty knock to her thumb. The referee was a jerk and called the game instead of letting them finish. Nonetheless, the girls were satisfied with their showing and we celebrated with a fried rice feast.

Sadly, we will miss the next two games while we are in the mother country. However, the past weeks have been entertaining in so many ways and it has been fun to watch my husband be invested in a different aspect of the sport he loves so dearly.

Surprise Birthday Party

At the beginning of every semester, I have the students answer a set of questions in an effort to get to know them. While most questions are aimed at learning something unique or funny (such as the "music and handsome boys" response to what makes you happy), there are a few that are self explanatory.

Or so I thought four years ago.

Birthdays are a tricky business in this country. The root of all the flimflam is Gregorian versus lunar calendar. They do not align in any way; last lunar year even had two Aprils to ensure that it did not get completely out of whack. It is complicated. However, after living here, I completely understand the uproar surrounding Chinese Olympic athletes and their ages. While the government staunchly declares their ages to be legitimate, my students frequently tell me that depending on who you talk to, one's age could vary as much as three years based on what calendar is followed.

The other story to birthdays is that, Gregorian or lunar, most are not celebrated. The most celebration may be receiving a red egg or a bowl with a really long noodle. I have lost count of how many students have shared that they have never had a birthday party nor a birthday gift. It is disheartening to me, the one who celebrates with gusto and for the entire birth month.

This week was a work hell week. With the departure of teachers, we have added classes to our weekly schedule. Plus, this was my chosen week to double up classes in preparation for our jaunt to America for my brother's wedding. It was a lot of hours in the classroom, including a Friday evening class.

Looking through my paperwork, I noticed that three students in Class 1 had a birthday on the same day - Friday. They were my night class. It was a make up class, slated to have a crazy lip sync battle. Desperately, I wanted to have a little fun; a reminder for me that I do love the job (chaotic moments and all) and to share with the students the joy of celebrations. I shared with Michelle, our liaison and their head teacher, my thoughts. She vehemently agreed and said she would take care of the cake. I made birthday crowns.

The lip sync portion was fantastic, with the Backstreet Boys imitators even giving an encore performance. After a short break, I brought the class back together and announced the surprise birthday party. Crowns were bestowed, cheering abounded and for forty minutes the classroom was filled with laughter, crazy-picture taking and shouts of delight for cake eating.

While each birthday honoree profusely said thanks, it was King who quietly took me aside and said, "Amanda, I have never celebrated my birthday in such a way. This has touched me deeply."

He had tears in his eyes.

I did too after his words.

I am so grateful for such moments that remind me that I love what I do.

Tumultuous Days

I frequently tell people that living in China is not for the faint of heart.

It is hard.

Nothing ever goes as planned.

Culture shock is tangible, on day one and on day 952.

The Chinese language, all two hundred and fifty seven versions, are a chaotic mess.

Cleanliness levels are well below expectations.

Of course, most listeners follow up this explanation with, "Why do you stay?!"

I usually laugh and reply with, "We like it."

Saying goodbyes are a common occurrence in an expat's life. It is such a shifting community, with lives intersecting for a week or for a four years. People move on for different reasons - health, jobs, sanity. Each has their own tale and journey to follow. During the past week, we have had to bid farewell to three of our community.

Ryan an Candance planned to spend a year in Zhanjiang. Sadly, their arrival was met with a moldy apartment, which I feel laid the groundwork for their departure a month later. Candance began coughing violently and Chinese medicine was not deterring it. They decided to return to Canada.

Three days later, we said goodbye to our Japanese teacher and friend, Mari. Extreme racist comment by students in class and a motobike driver trying to sexually assault her were the catalyst for her to throw her hands up and declare, "It is not worth it!" She returned to Japan after a year and two months on our campus.

For our three, choices had to be made. We listened. We encouraged when we could. We counseled when needed. We nodded our heads and gave hugs when the decision was to go. The goodbyes were hard. Each had brought something different to my life. Mari and I were pool buddies. Mari, Candance and I loved getting pedicures.

However, I think the hardest part was walking through the abandoned apartments. It was as though a death had occurred and we were left to sort through what was left behind.

Toilet paper.

A half-eaten jar of strawberry jelly.

Cookie cutters that were never used.

Remnants of an adventure unexpectedly cut short.

Walking alongside people on this expat journey is hard but worth it. My life is better for knowing Ryan, Candance and Mari. I hope their new paths will forge new friendships along the way.

Nonetheless, I am done with goodbyes for a while.

Sweet Reunions

Village life to city life is always a shocking transition. Our farewells in Huizhou were quick as the Guangzhou-bound bus arrived quicker than expected. Hailed from the side of the road, we stepped onto the most illegal bus we have ever been on in this country. First, the seat proportions were wonky, meaning we spent three hours with our knees tucked beneath our chins to "comfortably" fit. Second, we did not get on one expressway towards Guangzhou. We took the most scenic route, meandering through villages and town centers as though we were on a leisurely jaunt. Third, when we reached Tianhe, we did not make it to the actual bus station. The driver quickly pulled to the side and the ayi fervently rushed everyone off the bus. I asked about the metro location; she yelled directions and shoved me off the bus simultaneously. I think the disembarkation of a full bus took a maximum of three minutes.

Standing by the side of the road, muscles cramping and completely bewildered by our random drop off point, Zach and I laughed so hard. Even after four years, we can still be blindsided by the random sequence of events in this country. A few minutes later, we did find the metro station as the ayi's directions had been accurate.

Our reunion with Denise in Huadu was jubilant and complete with many hugs. We have missed having her as a constant on our campus. She was just as thrilled to see us, as adjustment to post-university life as been rough with job hunting, new bosses and learning to live with parents again.

Our afternoon was spent exploring the Yuanxuan Temple, a Taoist temple in the area. Upon entering the gates, Zach and I quickly exclaimed how much it reminded us of the Temple of Heaven in Beijing. Even though it was still golden week, the grounds were nearly deserted; monks were the most sighted as they went about their cleaning chores.

Taoist temples are actually rather rare in China, so we get excited the times we can wander their grounds and play a round of find-the-ying-and-yang-symbol. This seemed to be a newer complex and the artwork was staggering. The statues even deviated from the usual gold-lacquered variety by being carved wood.

The tough part of regularly perusing Chinese temples is that they tend blur together due to similarity. However, throughout Yuanxuan, I kept finding new things to keep me intrigued. Most of all, the guardian dragons were the greatest depiction I have seen to date.

I want one.

Outside of the temple grounds, we spent a lot of time sitting and chatting with Denise. She showed us new places to eat and laughed at us as we walked through a supermarket (even celebrating with us when we found tortillas!) While she worked the next day, we sat in Starbucks and relished the calm of life, though Starbucks in China are nearly rambunctious as a Timbers game. Nonetheless, visiting Huadu was a nice finish to a fantastic Golden Week extravaganza.

Huizhou: The Darker Side

Researching Chinese destinations can be an entertaining pastime, as information about any area is usually minimal and bizarre (except the iconic big cities.) My search results for Huizhou read similar to a Godfather plot. According to a couple of sites, Huizhou is where the mafia lords of southern China (especially from Hong Kong and Guangzhou) go to hide money. For example, they build elaborate hotels so they have a secure area for clandestine meetings. Of course I wanted to be skeptical of such claims, yet I have lived in China long enough to know it could be true. My belief increased a notch when a few days after my search, I received our issue of World of Chinese and an article was about the burgeoning black market for guns trafficked through Guangdong; specifically the Huizhou area.

While waiting for the bus to arrive at our campus, Ling asked what I knew about Huizhou. I responded that beyond his local mafia and gun market, I did not know much. He viciously shook his head against such allegations and I laughed.

The next day, we parked his motorcycle in front of the most out-of-place building. It was European villa meets Chinese temple with a dash of Greek/Roman mythology. I started laughing; Ling looked at me aghast. He vehemently repeated that his friend had told him it was a hotel. I told him to ask the guard, which informed Ling it was a travel agency. I laughed even harder. I teasingly asked Ling why a tiny village in the middle of nowhere would need a behemoth travel agency building. He shook his head, bewildered.

The guards graciously let us stroll the grounds. It was bizarre blend of architecture styles, though I loved the choice of doors.

All of us had a good laugh at the massive amounts of Chinglish around the villa. While the Godfather of the Sea (my nickname since supposedly this guy owns harbors and a lot of ships) may have amassed billions, he was not smart enough to to spend a couple thousand RMB for a good translator that would have made him look smarter. Ah, Chinglish does make the world a better place.

The following day, Ling took us to another behemoth building and park area that has been built by an anonymous person. The buildings currently serve as a girls school. Nothing is known about the school, staff, builders or the benefactor. The guards would not let us stroll the grounds.

I do believe Huizhou is living up to its internet hype - wild and bizarre shadiness abounds.

Prowler, Propaganda and a Party

The ominous sound came from a mere meter from where our heads rested at precisely 4am. While we had grown accustomed to the K-pop group poster fluttering in the breeze of the air-conditioner by our feet, the bizarre sound by our heads was new and rather threatening. Immediately, I thought the sound was coming from our backpack. However, with a flick of the light switch, I realized that it was not in our backpack, but rather beneath the chair behind our pack.

The sound was one I had never heard before; its hiss/moan/scream mixture was extremely unnerving. I truly cannot encapsulate its wickedness with words. However, while I was in full what-the-hell-is-in-our-room mode, Zach was groggily looking at me as though I had gone berserk. My knight in shining armor who smites rats with ferocity was not making any move to join or lead the charge for this battle. I refused to get off the bed, but rather tried to determine the intruder by awkwardly leaning over the bed's edge; albeit not too close to the floor in case it came careening from his hideaway. I even tapped and tugged the wooden chair. The ferocious barkish scream that emitted from the dark after a few tugs made me scramble further onto the bed.

At this point, Zach intervened. He looked into my eyes and said, "If we do not bother it, it will not bother us. Let's go back to bed."

We were at an impasse with the prowler. We did not have our normal arsenal of brooms and bamboo sticks for combat, but rather realized that our only available resource was a carnival-sized teddy bear. The odds were stacked against us, so I turned off the light, pulled the covers over my head as though it was the greatest impenetrable armor and went back to sleep.

Hours later, I tentatively stepped onto the floor to face the day. The mysterious sound had gone silent soon after our truce, yet I was leery. One step. Two steps. Nothing. I got down on all fours to take a peek. Nothing.

Our morning jaunt was to a nearby Qing era village with a few of Ling's former classmates and his father. According to Ling it is currently owned by one man, which confirmed our suspicions towards the face-lifted parts of the winding alleyways. However, our attention was piqued by the highly scrubbed concrete walls. Upon closer inspection, the iconic Mao slogans could be vaguely deciphered. There were more walls highly scrubbed than not. The temple archway deities had no heads. I walked beside Zach and whispered, "I think this village was ravaged by the revolution." He nodded his head in agreement.

The barren temple confirmed our suspicions. The deity altar at the far end was a stark contrast to the whitewashed walls desperately trying to hide past brutalities. Faded propaganda slogans were floor to ceiling to our left and right, while what remained of a vast mural above the altar was Mao's head. Everything we have read and heard about re-education camps was displayed around us. The building even held an eerie sensation.

Of course, this village was not touted as a Cultural Revolution hot spot and we really could not authenticate our thoughts, especially since Ling was in full acceptance that every building was from the Qing dynasty even though the bricks differed greatly throughout the alleys. Trying to ask questions about a historical period that has been glossed over would have been futile. Nonetheless, the significance of what Zach and I were seeing was not lost on us.

Late afternoon and evening were spent enjoying time with Ling's family and friends. It was our last night in the village and, once again, his parents went above and beyond with a final meal. I was mesmerized by his mother and her cooking preparation. At one point, she walked down the lane empty handed, but returned ten minutes later with a duck. Fifteen minutes later, she went the other direction empty handed and returned with green vegetables. This pattern continued - departure with nothing, only to return with some sort of vegetable or herb in hand. Our meal was definitely farm fresh.

Beneath the stars, we laughed and ate way too much. My sentiments of the night was that this country may shun, belittle, and even try to hide them, but it is in the villages that I find and experience the best of China. Ling's family and friends welcomed us with open arms and treated us as family. Instead of the gawking, rude encounters and pandering we usually face, within this village we found serenity, acceptance and true hospitality. It was humbling, beautiful and a precious memory.

Repeatedly through the evening, Ling's dad told us to return anytime we wanted. While most will say it as a kind gesture, I truly believed his invitation and look forward to the day we can return and laugh once again beneath the stars with them.

Tea and Trickery

Traveling with Chinese can be a double edge sword. While it helps immensely with the language barrier, Chinese tend to be high maintenance travelers and they all want the same thing - eat and climb a mountain. Chinese travel stories can become rather humdrum as no matter where they go in the country (and even abroad), their explanation will be, "I climbed a mountain and enjoyed the local, famous food." Therefore, our Chinese travel companions are deliberately chosen, usually after one or two runs together into Xiashan to see whether they can can handle the random and (at times) obnoxious reactions to foreigners.

Lin obtained travel partner status with our jaunt two years ago to Guangxi with the dragonboat team. He was adventurous, handled the foreigner sightings with grace and was not high maintenance. We had chatted about traveling to his hometown since but schedules had not meshed. When our initial Golden Week plans fell through, I approached Lin about joining him and he enthusiastically agreed. According to him, his parents were extremely excited to welcome foreigners to their home. Upon learning about my vegetarian status, his mom even went to the local village chicken farm and bought nearly sixty eggs. I was bound to eating a lot of egg dishes.

After a great tomb sweeping feast and good night's sleep, we were ready to explore beyond the immediate village.

It needs to be noted at this point in the tale that one of the fascinating experiences of China is the lapses in development. Our morning began with a bucket shower, yet we passed a flat screen TV in the living room as we walked out the door to get in a brand new Nissan Sylphy. Lin was the designated chauffeur, yet getting a license is more of a guideline than a mandate. Ah, China.

After a breakfast stop at the local noodle shop (complete with admirers and a few let-the-foreigners-hold-the-baby snapshots), we picked up Lin's cousin and his new bride (of one week) and headed to the local tea plantation. Trekking a tea plantation has been high on my China bucket list and it was everything I imagined. Tidy rows, zen-like shapes, quiet and picturesque.

Our afternoon siesta was delayed due to fascination of seeing a village sweatshop in action. The cousin's family runs an umbrella framework shop. The smell of metal was as permeating as the constant clicks of tiny rivets being driven into their pre-drilled holes.

The day before, on our way to the river beside Lin's house, we had traipsed through a bamboo forest. Each of us had commented in our own way at some point in the journey how lovely and relaxing they are to stroll through. For our afternoon adventure, Lin wanted to show us the local attraction which had a bamboo forest. We agreed, but started to regret our decision when we pulled into a Disney-fied entrance. Sure enough, Lin began to regale us with tales of how the local government took the natural river and turned it into a "white water rafting" ride with lots of concrete walls and man-made tunnels. During our hike of 1,657 steps (give or take a few), Lin and company would point out places where the river used to run. I cannot deny that I rarely enjoy such treks, for the blatant destruction of nature for fakeness is overwhelming and I tend to pity the Chinese in a way. A great culture devastated in so many ways, yet their lasting legacy will not be of perseverance but rather concrete.

The trickery of the day was that the bamboo forest was on top of the mountain. We had told Lin that being typical Chinese tourists and "climbing" the local mountain was not on our to-do list. Apparently, we are suckers for bamboo and figure after the first thousand steps, one must complete the journey. Granted, it was a beautiful, hot day and it was good to stretch our legs (and calf muscles) a bit. After our descent, I was ready to eat another egg dish for dinner.  

Beginning of a Chinese Fairytale

It was a journey of a million miles that started not with one step, but rather a bus that arrived fifteen hours late. The excuse was traffic, however Zach and I did not buy the story. Not because we are generally skeptical of Chinese reasoning, but because we received a text message eight hours prior to the planned departure saying the bus was going to be delayed by traffic. At this point, the bus was already supposed to be in Zhanjiang and I have never known a time when one could plan eight hours in advance for traffic. After a day of waiting in the apartment, we queued at the front gate for the bus at 10pm. The bus was still not here...but coming. Apparently traffic is the new code word for bad planning.

We pulled into Huizhou mid-morning, after a rough night which included a four hour stop at a rest stop because there is a new government law that states buses cannot travel between the hours of two and five in the morning. There is an entire blog that can be written about this gem of regulatory change, but not now. Instead, the beginning of this adventure begins similar to a charming fairy tale.

Once upon a time, in the city of Huizhou, in the district of Boluo (or Pineapple), in the village of Pingan (or Safety), our arrival was met with ongoing, resounding explosions. The firecrackers were not in celebration of the foreigners visiting this spot of Chinese landscape, but the ancestors needed to wake up and eat. Not only was it Golden Week, but in accordance to the lunar calendar, we showed up on double nine day (ninth day of the ninth month.) In China, tomb sweeping can occur either in the spring with the official tomb sweeping holiday or on double nine. Lin's village chooses the double nine, thus our introductions with his family were completed with explosions as the background music.

Large feasts occur in conjunction with waking up the ancestors, so we spent the afternoon exploring near the house, watching the women cook and meeting Lin's family, which was nearly the entire village. Chinese family trees are a feat to understand, especially since Chinese to English translation is gnarly. In all seriousness, everyone ends up being a cousin or cousin's brother. While I spent a lot of time attempting to place everyone, it eventually became a humorous game with Lin which ended always with, "just call him cousin." Laughter ensued.

We also laughed because chickens would wander into the kitchen area and never return.

While our first day was not super active or one that held grand tales, it was everything we love about living in a foreign country - experiencing life alongside friends. Lin was thrilled to show off his home and surroundings, regaling us with tale after tale of childhood antics and friends long gone from the village. For a time, we were welcomed into a family and walked their journey with them. It was an honor and privilege.

I even think the shell-shocked ancestors were happy with a few foreigners joining the fray.