Thanksgiving, Part Two

Six Americans.

Two Chinese.

Two Canadians.

One Kiwi.

From around the globe, our expat Thanksgiving was wild, boisterous and entertaining in so many ways. Plus, an evening of western food is balm to an expats's stomach; at least until the mad dash for the restroom since we are not used to it anymore.

Thanksgiving: Waffles and Dumplings

"Why not throw a surprise birthday party for our friend on Thanksgiving?"

So was our consensus for celebrating our friend, Elaine.

Weeks earlier, she had spent a good length of time chatting with Zach, timidly outlining her struggles of the semester. Joy was replaced with stress and burdens. Within the conversation, she commented that her birthday was coming; Thanksgiving to be exact. She acknowledged our holiday and hoped that she could invite us to dinner the day before or after to celebrate. When Zach relayed the gist of the conversation, he remarked that her request was a bit of an Eeyore moment - I do not want to be a bother.

We talked and lamented for our friend who was struggling. It was not a hard decision. We wanted celebrate a life. We wanted to celebrate her. Plus, in her 21 years, no one has ever thrown her a party.

We reached out to some of our mutual friends, plotted, schemed and on Thanksgiving evening, we surprised Elaine.

Waffles and dumplings.

Odd food combinations abounded.

Laughter ensued.

Tons of pictures were snapped of the birthday girl and her birthday cake.

Tons of pictures were taken of friends joining together to celebrate a life.

It was Thanksgiving.

Saying Farewell, Twice

Of course since the school wanted to declare Simon on a long-term jolly holiday instead of actually being dead, their excitement of students having a memorial in his honor three days later was boisterous. So boisterous, that in their efforts to squash the gathering, they even called the parents of the girl who was leading the effort and told them that she was putting hundreds of students' lives in danger.

China, the mature country where university officials call parents to tattletale.

Their stance, it was the candles.

Wayward firecrackers and fireworks are completely safe within dorm walls, yet candles in a cup in an open square are the immediate start of a campus inferno.

We knew their actual fear. China is extremely sensitive towards gatherings these days, no matter the size. Plus, honoring a man that officials do not actually want dead, is enough to create a perfect communism conundrum. Yet, because the ruling party made such a fuss, it got the students even more embroiled and even more students forwarded the WeChat announcement.

By Thursday, everything was sorted when our banty hen of a liason, Michelle, entered the fray and the administration realized that canceling would ultimately make them lose face since word had already spread far and wide. Simon was dead and their antics were not resurrecting him.

While Zach and I had encouraged behind the scenes in favor of the memorial, we were hands off in the planning mode. I have found that in believing students are capable of creating great things (and telling them as such), they usually do. It was a memorial for the students by the students.

It was beautiful in so many ways. The pictures selected to show Simon's antics through his three years, the simple spelling of Simon's name with candles (which did not turn GDOU into ashes), the stories shared, the tears shed. Throughout the evening, I was even brought to tears as students shared their memories and thoughts of Simon. Though death is never easy, I think the sudden ones are the hardest. So many students spoke of plans to come with Simon that were now never to be. Their loss and grappling with this void was palpable and heart breaking. It was a hard, yet good night.

Afterwards, the pictures, written stories and flowers were taken to Simon's apartment. It was a final act, the pseudo-graveside benediction. We walked away, ready to tackle the rest of the semester.

Then, Simon's brother showed up.

Rumors of his appearance made it to our phones by Sunday; sightings of a man who looked and walked like Simon. Granted, we were unsure as to what would occur with Simon's body due to international regulations and embassy intervention, but we did not see this coming. Hence, we knew the week to come would be interesting. The dog and pony show was to be released.

Tuesday, we stepped onto a bus with a handful of other students and teachers. We were headed to the Zhanjiang Funeral House. On our arrival, we were given boutonnieres and red envelopes. Perplexed, we asked a student if we were mistakenly at a wedding. The hilarity began with students squabbling about funeral protocols and traditions. Apparently, no cohesive custom of death exists and students are clueless about any of them.

As for the funeral home, it was the normal, bland tile and concrete creation. I half suspect that it was a factory in some bygone era. We waited beneath a walkway, wondering what the procedure was to be. Ann, Zach's writing assistant, told us that we needed to wait for the room to be decorated. They wheeled into the room three large, rusted contraptions that had flowers stabbed into exposed floral arrangement sponges.

While we were meeting Simon's brother, here came Simon on a metal gurney down the walkway.

No coffin.

Merely a red silk covering over his legs, which hid half of the black suit.

Then came the marching band; all three members in uniforms definitely from a bygone age. Two trumpets and one bass drum. Zach leaned over and whispered, "Are we at a parade?"

I shook my head, dumbfounded.

Simon's brother commented that the entire affair since his arrival had been rather comical. He was all too well aware of the facade being put on for his benefit.

The funeral was quick and very noisy. Skilled trumpet players they were not and the bass drummer was having too much fun banging her drum. There was bowing, a short speech from his brother (which was impromptu), and a walk around the deceased.

We soon departed back to campus, filled with comic tales. If anything, Simon had provided us with a new aspect of China. As his brother had commented earlier, "I think he would have thought this a real riot."

Death Came

We awoke to an ambulance parking within the crossroad of our walkways at 8:15am. Security motorcycles were already in place. A small gathering of men stood between the other expat apartment and the building where the university president takes his afternoon siesta. We were curious to the hubbub, for it takes a lot of wrangling to get the ambulance to leave its hospital berth. I stood in our hallway, watching, when I saw a nurse run into the expat apartments. I yelled at Zach that he needed to call Rhys.

It has been one hell of a semester at GDOU. Ryan and Candance left for medical reasons. Mari left due to safety concerns. The day before we left for the states, Gavin tore ligaments in his foot and is on crutches. While we were in the states, Rhys' dog got trapped in a poaching trap. In his efforts to free him, Rhys' hand took the brunt of his dog's frantic bites, resulting in a mauled hand and a tetanus shot.

Still standing by the window, I quickly turned to Zach's raised voice and yelp of, "What the hell!?!"

With a shocked expression and a hand on his head, he looked to me and said, "Simon died."

He hung up.

We looked towards the growing crowd. Stunned. Bewildered.

We joined the crowd.

Carrie, our foreign affairs officer and Simon's girlfriend, stood with leaking tears as she tried to answer questions and make phone calls. We gleaned that she had found him soon after he had not shown up for class. Nothing was certain, but it appeared to be a sudden heart attack.

One by one, other foreign teachers joined. Each dealt with the news in their way, either by commenting that Simon was not the healthiest or by wondering about classes. Last Friday, we welcomed a new foreign teacher and four days later we were having to tell him about a death of another and that, more than likely, he would take over the classes.

By ten o'clock, we realized that a plan needed to be made in telling the students. Simon was well liked and respected by students and we knew this would be hard. Zach and I turned to David, another boss in the foreign language office, and asked how the school was going to tell the students.

"They do not need to know," he said.

"They will know," countered Zach.

"We can tell them he went on a trip."

Aghast, I retorted, "You cannot lie about this. It will make you look bad."

"Lying is good in situations," David said.

I said, "No it is not, and we will not lie for you."

"The students are not eight year olds who need to be told their dog died," said Zach. "Word will get out, you need a plan."

"There is an important meeting today at the museum with the school leaders and a guy like Obama," said David.

"I do not care," said Zach.

David walked away. Zach and I looked at each other, anger flaring in our eyes.

"A foreign teacher has died and they are more worried about looking bad with a stupid meeting!" exclaimed Zach.

David returned and said, "Do not say anything until after 5pm."

"OK."

We walked away and whispered to each other, "I bet the word is already out."

Twenty minutes later, three juniors come running. WeChat was buzzing. News was out and the rumors were flying. They had come to investigate. More students showed up after them.

By this time the dog-and-pony show of investigation and paperwork was completed and we were told they were waiting on the morgue to come collect the body. It was noon and we commented that no one would show up until 2:30, after lunch and rest period. To our surprise, a blue warehouse type truck arrived at 12:15pm. Wrapped in black plastic and duct taped, Simon's body was unceremoniously put into the back of the truck.

At six o'clock, we convened the sophomore and junior monitors and study monitors. While the school wanted to pretend it had not happened, we had told David that the students were adults and should be treated as such. We told them the facts, requested that they be good stewards of information, not spreading rumors or fear mongering, and encouraged them to celebrate a life. For as much as Simon complained about the administration and their idiocy, he truly loved the students and spent a lot of time with them.

After English corner, Zach and I stopped by the makeshift memorial that had been placed on the first floor of his apartment building. Flowers, candles and even his favorite brand of cigarettes. While I stood there, I could not help but hear Simon's infamous farewell, "Love you and leave you."

There and Back Again: The Return Journey

While we had a bonus day after the wedding to enjoy a final dose of family time, eventually the dispersal began. Uncle Mac and Aunt Susie trekked farther south for their winter sabbatical. Jennie and Chris flew back to Nashville and eventually to Paducah. Mom and Dad left in the wee hours of the morning bound for the farm. Zach and I had a day to ourselves before the long haul around the globe.

We stumbled upon the local Budweiser brewery after a trek via public transit to find the post office. Since we had nothing pressing, we decided to stop in for a tour. It happened to be a great decision for the Clydesdales were in town and the tour was actually really enjoyable.

Granted our expectations were low due to our tour letdown at the Guinness factory in Dublin, but the Jacksonville plant gives a thorough look into the workings of the brewery. Plus, if one happens to miss the live tour, anyone is welcome to walk through at any point and enjoy a refreshing beverage in a really nice tasting room. We were lucky enough to join the last live tour of the day and our guide was fun.

Afterwards, we returned to a shopping area near our hotel for dinner and strolling. We had a few last minute items to pick up, plus we reveled in the many displays of Christmas. One Kirklands' saleswoman remarked that she had never seen someone so happy to see Christmas this early. I replied that when one has not seen tinsel and twinkly lights for a few years and lives in a country that does not celebrate the holiday, such displays are magical. She laughed and replied that she could bring a chair over if I wanted to just sit for a while. I declined, though the offer was tempting.

The journey in reverse was uneventful. We were aghast at conditions of the JFK international terminal. It is pathetic when the terminal that most of the world sees is in disrepair, lacks decent food options and is technologically in the 1990s. Luckily, we had made the wise decision to spend the better part of our six hour layover in the JetBlue terminal, lounging in recliners, in fear of what we would find in the other one.

We ended up with the same Air China plane.

We still had Heidi as the feature film of the journey.

The vast Siberian winter wonderland is breathtaking at sunrise.

Beijing was even colder than our first go around. Though, upon our arrival, all we wanted was a shower and a bed.

Hot water arrived in 10 minutes.

Our early morning departure from Beijing was greeted with a beautiful sunrise and one of the bluest skies I have ever seen there. Oh, there was a definite reason for the lack of pollution. It was the end of the APEC summit and, for the previous six days, Beijing was on shutdown.

No factories.
No cars.
No school.
No construction.
No work.
No marriages.

I am actually a bit shocked that planes were even allowed to land or take off during the summit.

The slang on the street was 'APEC blue.'

Everyone knew it was a temporary thing to impress the world leaders; though I am sure that world leaders never look at thick-as-butternut-squash-soup-smog-pictures posted continuously on news sources throughout the year.

We landed in Zhanjiang around noon and reveled in the cozy humidity that greeted us. We grabbed a taxi, one who was not happy he had ended up with we-know-where-we-are-going foreigners. He had a shoddy meter and demanded extra money when we reached the gate of the school for a "airport" tax. He held our bags hostage in the trunk, until students came over and helped us sort it out. He really did not like it when I called him a bad and dishonorable man in Chinese.

Ah, we were back.

There and Back Again: A Wedding

I did not expect to get sentimental.

For months, I had been telling people my brother was getting married. I was excited and thrilled that McKinzee was to be a part of the family. The family was elated, friends were happy for the marriage-to-come and my students repeatedly told me how romantic it was. Chinese, they are obsessed with love stories.

So, it was not as though I did not truly understand what was to come. The day of the wedding, I watched my brother fix his bow tie. I watched him read a note penned by his wife-to-be. I watched him walk to the rooftop in preparation for their first look. I watched McKinzee don her dress and join him. We spent the afternoon taking pictures, laughing and joking all the while with the wedding party and family.

Sitting in the front row, between my mom and Zach, the rite of  a wedding unfolded. The groom and pastor appeared. The bridesmaids and groomsmen came down the aisle, all while the flower girl wailed and screamed her displeasure of having to wait her turn. She sniffled and hiccuped her way to the front; the ring bearer shrugged his shoulders and fulfilled his duty of getting his cousin past the doors. The bride appeared and I watched my brother's eyes light up alongside an immediate smile.

As I watched my brother hold his bride's hands and vow forever to her, I became sentimental. Here was the little brother who I made run around the house with underwear on his head. Here was the brother who had been my partner in crime in mischief and the subsequent hidings from our parents. Here was the brother who I had cheered for on the golf course and made cupcakes for during his freshman year in university. Here was the brother that I made a point to send chocolate chip cookie mix ever so often in an effort to sate his cravings of the sweet. Here was the brother who I had spent hours chatting with over Facebook while he was in class.

My brother was becoming a husband.

It was weird. It was a tad hard to fathom. It was beautiful.

Perhaps some of the emotion came from my perspective of being on the other side of the ceremony. I understand the work, laughter, and adventure that goes into a marriage. I love being married and as I watched, I fervently hoped that their days together are to be filled with amazing memories as they grow old together.

With the public pronouncement and infamous kiss, a new family was created.

Then, we celebrated.

I could write paragraph upon paragraph about the decor, the beauty, the laughter, the dancing, the toasts, the scrumptious desserts, and Zach and I giggling at how he kept fiddling with his ring (because we remember how unfamiliar it felt to wear something so new.) However, it will suffice to say that it was an amazing evening celebrating two people becoming husband and wife. An exquisite start to a grand story that I will love watching unfold for years to come.

There and Back Again: Exploring St. Augustine

I nursed my morning jet lag woes with a run on the beach.

A few months ago, I had a friend who read a book about how being in, around or under water is good for one's health. I jokingly commented that he need not read a book for such knowledge as I could have told him that. Water rejuvenates me. It calms me. It is my happy place. While I am not an avid runner, it was my only option after testing the condo's pool and finding that if I did my normal laps I would become the victim of hypothermia. Nonetheless, the soothing crash of waves and funny antics of the local birds was enough to distract me from achy legs. 

Our early arrival in St. Augustine was to help curb jet lag before the wedding, but also to get some quality time with the family. Lucky for us, we had McKinzee and mom to ourselves for two days before the rest of the family arrived. We joined the fun of wedding errands, while McKinzee regaled us with tales of her childhood vacations to St. Augustine, what places we should explore and where we should eat. While we were not out and about, we were at the house assembling wedding goodies.

By Wednesday morning, most of the family had arrived and were able to spend the next two days exploring the area. Downtown St. Augustine is quite quaint, walkable and fun to explore. We took a stroll through the eclectic Lightner Museum, where bizarre is the normal. An avid collector, Mr. Lightner purchased the closed hotel to house his bits and bobbins - all of them. Hundreds of cut glass; check. A creepy doll room; check. An enormous circle created out of cigar wrappings; check. I had heard that this collection came to being during the depression when Mr. Lightner would purchase anything from people in an effort to help their financial state.

We also gawked at the gorgeous Flagler College, enjoyed an evening ride on the tourist trolley, window shopped tourist traps and made repeated visits to the tasty popcorn parlor. 

When we were not downtown, we were perched at the beach or enjoying conversations around the condo. Overall, these days were lovely and the perfect way to prepare for a wedding.

There and Back Again: The Journey Begins

If there was a semester that we needed a mid-semester break, this was the one. After a wild round of trick or treating, we set our costumes aside and pulled out the backpacks. We were bound for America.

It has been years since we flew out of Zhanjiang, as tickets are usually quite expensive when our village of seven million is the starting destination. However, by some fluke, we hit the airfare jackpot and the luxury of foregoing the seven-hour pre-flight bus ride. Since our last visit, the airport has been updated by adding some wavy tiles in the front, actual TVs that highlight the one flight of the day and a whole host of new Chinglish signs. Another addition has been the facade of security, which of course began a debacle and showed the incompetency of the employees.

After viewing my passport and ticket, the official handed it back to me. I turned to walk through the metal detector. He said, brokenly, "You need your passport number on the ticket."

I turned. Confused. "What?" I asked.

"You need your passport number on the ticket."

"No, I do not. It has the e-ticket information."

Broken English. Broken Chinese. A lot of gesturing. It was a mess, with their stance as, "It is Chinese law."

"No, it is not," said Zach. "We have flown more than you, and was in Guangzhou three months ago with no request."

Eventually, we ended up at the ticket counter. We refused to write our passport number for the "official stamp." Our arguments increased when the ticket agent showed us a ticket and said, "See, this is the ID number of this passenger."

It was the travel agent's name and phone number.

Zach and I shook our heads, laughed and tried to explain to the guy that it was not the passenger's ID number.

He was adamant it was the ID number.

We lost the battle because they would not let us through security. However, we scribbled the numbers out quickly on the other side. Chinese have no concept of identity theft, yet it is starting to creep into the country. I feel in the future such flagrant disregard for numbers will change.

Ultimately, we think the whole debacle was a chance to mess with the foreigners and throw their weight around in the name of authority. While we are rather happy to comply with laws, when stupidity is blatant our attitudes change. (For the record, Beijing did not require any passport numbers. We figure if the capital, the birthplace of all sacred laws, is not requiring written numbers and official red stamps, our suspicions were correct.)

In our quest to pack for Florida's quasi-warm weather, we forgot the detail that we were to have an overnight stay in Beijing. It was a balmy eight degrees Celcius when we disembarked. While our fellow passengers stopped on the tarmac to pull out and don puffy jackets and winter gear, Zach and I quickly ran to the transport bus in our flip flops, shorts and T-shirts. I had my trusty black fleece, yet Zach had packed his Timbers warm up jersey. Yes, those were the only two pieces of 'warm' clothing we had. After checking into our hotel, we practically ran to find food, dashing quickly into the local Langzhou noodle joint for Zach declared, "It is a soup night!"

Upon returning to our hotel, we cranked up the heat and turned on the shower.

No hot water.

"I thought this only happened in the village," yelled Zach. Thanks to the students, we have a running joke for such moments. They are always telling us that "only in the village do people litter" or "only in the village do people spit" or "only in the village do buildings not work." We know it is not true, but we chuckle at their naivete and stand in a Beijing hotel, looking at the shower, wondering how long it will take for the hot water to arrive.

Fifteen minutes.

At 5am, it was 30 minutes.

Our departure from Beijing was on time, though with a bumpy start. However, our attention from turbulence was distracted with our quest to sight the Great Wall. We personally debunked the legend that the Great Wall can be seen from space. From 25,000 feet, we were playing a fun round of "Where in the mountains is the Great Wall?" Eventually, its serpent-like stretch across the mountains was sighted and we were able to snap a few good pictures.

In our years of flying in and out of China, we have come to learn that the airplanes that leave China are the best of the fleet, while those that return to China are the worst. As we settled in for the long haul, we laughed a lot about our Air China plane. While the flight was cheap, we were reminded why we try to steer clear of the airline. In all honesty, Air China international flights are an adequate representation of what state China is at this point in time. While they have the technology to get off the ground, the details are rushed, murky, outdated or even non-existent. While our plane could fly, within the cabin we were flying in late 1990s style. No soap in the bathroom. While each seat had a screen, our movie selection was Sound of Music, Heidi and a great host of propaganda toting movies. The food was not the best, and the flight attendants were more eager to giggle in the galley than actually take care of passenger needs. Mid flight snack? Yeah, they deemed that it was just easier to give it at breakfast rather than five hours earlier when most passengers were remarking that they were hungry.

We knew that if this was what was leaving China, we were doomed on the return. We made a note to pack snacks.

We spent a lovely six hours in JFK, enjoying the amazing JetBlue terminal. We bestowed upon them our "Best Airline Terminal in the World" award. Portland and Singapore are still tied in the "Best Airport in the World" award though. I was excited to fly JetBlue for the sheer fact that I had never flown them before. I was not disappointed - great crew, actual snacks and drinks and comfy seats. One of our flight attendants was obsessed with Portlandia and loved that, due to his handlebar mustache, I inquired whether he was a Portland native (nope, New Yorker.) We spent a lot of the trip chatting about our mutual love of the city.

McKinzee and Mom met us at the Jacksonville airport. We stuffed our packs and ourselves in between wedding goodies. Another journey halfway around the world was complete and we were ready for a shower and a bed.