Desolation in Every Direction

One of our most immediate observations upon arriving in Shantou was the surrounding desolation. For miles in every direction are hundreds of abandoned buildings. Shells of apartments and factory headquarters line the road and dot the landscape. Instead of a thriving community, squatters hide behind tin-and-twine covered openings, powering their life with "borrowed" electricity lines. Bamboo poles bearing an assortment of garmets flutter on decrepit balconies. In the beginning days, we found ourselves often stunned and shocked by the complete wasteland that surrounded our school. Zach teetered between saying it was a Walking Dead set or it was similar to post-war Sarajevo.

Abandoned buildings are not an uncommon sight in China, as it is home to a staggering number of ghost towns - places built in hopes of an influx migration that was never seen. There was even a time that foreigners were hired to live in such towns, paraded around and plastered on adverts in hopes of drawing occupants. Alas, the strategy did not work because I think most Chinese could not fathom why a crazy foreigner would live in such a place.

Besides the ghost towns, there is a culture of abandonment especially with homes. Many villagers will say they have three homes, but only one is livable while the other two ancestral homes are in varying stages of decay. Maintenance is not a strong characteristic of the Chinese. Most of the homes in the village nearest to our school were built in the mid-to-late 1970s; some look ancient, while most are derelict and abandoned, resting their weary frames against the newest concrete block of a home.

Even with a common culture of structure abandonment, Shantou definitely seems to have a higher rate of it. This town seems to be a place that time forgot and the boom of development veered the other direction, especially around our campus. Thus, it was with absolute trepidation and dread that we watched the road in front of our school be obliterated into heaps of dirt and mud at the beginning of April.

It began with the cutting of all trees and quickly turned into mayhem, or as a dear friend likes to say, "A genuine Chinese clusterfuck." We cannot walk to the village or market without having to parkour through heavy machinery, veering cars, honking motorbikes, running sewage, moving entrances, and brick piles.

We have stood completely amazed at the incompetency of the workers, all while completely understanding why internet, water, and electricity have been so wacky this semester.

Manholes have been drunkenly placed somewhere between the road edges, creating a slalom
style driving course. Broken and gushing sewage pipes have been ignored and filled in with dirt and a loving pat from the road roller machine. In the dusk hours, we have seen villagers pilfering the rebar while the security guard has been conveniently pacing another section of the construction zone. Pipes that should connect do not because the alignment is so badly off that cement is brought in to fix the problem.

For at least fifteen kilometers, this is the lay of the land.

One of the more interesting developments of this construction endeavor has been the excavation of land across from the school's northern gate. The once rolling farmland with a few ponds and a lot of tombs has become flat with endless dirt paths. There is a sign posted claiming a new school, but what school and its purpose is not declared. Yet, our intrigue does not lie with what is to come, but what has been done.

This area is extremely superstitious, thus excavators and front loaders roaring through grandma and grandpa's resting place seems very much a no-no...but it happened. Tombstones and grave plots are to be the foundation for this new school. If we thought we had an angsty ancestor haunting our hutong, I cannot imagine the ghost lore and mishaps that will occur within these buildings to come.

The biggest question we ponder, as dust flies and incessant pounding occurs, is what is the purpose for this large scale road construction. Currently, a small village, college and middle school are the only viable things on this stretch of road. While a couple of apartment complexes are under construction closer to the ocean shoreline, there is nothing else to be found. Moreover, if this area could not thrive with hundreds of apartments and factories previously built, what is the logic that says adding a shoddy four lane road is the key to thousands flocking to a very rural part of Shantou.

While we have no knowledge of what the future holds for this highway to nowhere, nor will we be around to see it, this construction project has provided a lot of conversation fodder, picture opportunities, bumpy bus rides, and reasons to clean the hutong. Moreso, Zach does say that should the time come, they are prepared for the influx of tourists who want to see where a Walking Dead episode was filmed or the place where a slew of villages were wiped out by an unknown coastal plague.

Ahoy, Amoy

Throughout our years of living in China, we have heard about Xiamen from students, teachers, coworkers, friends, and even strangers. It seems to hold an allure for Chinese unlike any other city in the mainland - promises of picturesque landscapes, unbridled romance, and a culture that is quite unique. Being one of the oldest ports of China with a tremendous foreign influence, Xiamen is mentioned often in historical books and fictional stories spanning the ages. It is even rumored that the tea dumped in the Boston Harbor originated from this port, known as Amoy at that time. Thus, with a long weekend, an itch to explore, access to the high speed train, and the knowledge that our time on this side of the province is drawing to and end, we went to Xiamen.

Based on recommendations from a friend, we opted to stay on Gulangyu Island. As is the case with most of the world, it is where the foreigners were relegated as to not infiltrate or mingle with the locals. As a result, it became an enclave boasting of stunning architecture, cobblestone lane ways, schools, art, religion, music, medical care...and the place for locals to visit, study, or forge business with those pesky foreigners. It was the place where the world mingled; trade barons alongside missionaries alongside local Chinese women learning nursing. Obviously, through years and historical upheaval, Gulangyu has changed. Yet, upon our arrival, we were stunned to see how much actually remained.

For two days, we lost ourselves in wandering the unending lanes. With cars and motorized vehicles forbidden on the island and Chinese tour groups choosing to only visit areas closest to the port or on the flat ground (sadly, because Chinese are definitely becoming more obese and unfit), we found most of the upper hillside alleys vacant. Large, antebellum-esque homes intermingled with cemeteries, churches, and hospitals. While the clutterness and mishmash tin and twine shacks synonymous with Chinese dwellings was evident, it was not so overwhelming that the original charm could not be seen. For us, it was as though we were strolling through Key West or Savannah. 

For the times we did veer into the touristy areas, it became a people watching spectacle. We quickly observed that any Chinese woman who stepped onto the island, a white dress and big floppy sun hat was the must wear attire. I have never seen so many white dresses...matching white dresses. Groups of giggly, awkward females spanning the age brackets traipsing by in their identical white dresses was the norm and became a type of bingo game for us. When someone would walk by in a colored summer dress, we would gasp and comment that she did not receive the correct dress code memo. Alongside this was the never ending parade of women actually wearing white wedding dresses. Photographers and couples were everywhere, from random brick walls to shoving elbows on the church steps. We wonder how many photos we are in because for all our effort in trying to avert these photo shoots, well, many Chinese just have to get foreigners in their pictures more times than not.

The odd and disturbing piece of this people watching was that over two days we saw more underwear than we ever should have seen. Sundresses in China tend to be very see through and the wedding gown wearers would pull their skirts up to their waist because it was hot. Many forwent the customary Chinese safety pants and, as a result, underwear was on prominent display.

Thanks to an abundance of missionaries and churches, Gulangyu has more pianos per capita than anywhere in the world (so say all the signs.) Therefore, there are two museums dedicated to the abundance of musicality - a piano museum and an organ museum. We visited both of them. While it must be noted that the piano museum is definitely better curated than the organ, we enjoyed both visits. On the people watching side, it was hysterical to see the tour groups run through to stop at one particular instrument and then flee the premise. At the piano museum, we laughed heartily when they stopped at a modern day Steinway, bypassing the tiny street piano and the piano that bore the marks of a steamship journey.

We also noticed the discreetly placed sign that read that the benefactor of both exhibits was a Chinese who donated these grand collections so the masses could appreciate the island's musical history...and he lived in Australia. Zach commented that it would be a horrific logistical conundrum as to what to do with such a collection upon emigrating.

 
Every afternoon around 5pm, the island seemed to exhale and expel the masses. The trash-tossing, loud tourists vacated and the locals emerged. (Side note: the orange-uniformed trash collectors of Gulangyu deserve an award for their valiant effort to combat such a burgeoning societal issue of littering. They worked tirelessly and I really wanted to hug so many of them because I do not want to imagine what that island would look like without them.) It was in the post-5pm hours, we experienced our sweetest and most memorable moments. At a local noodle shop, we received a free plate of noodles in exchange for a picture with the boss. Another evening, we stopped at one of the churches to discover a mini-choral practice in progress. The pianist was an 82-year-old blind woman, whose hymnal memory is the envy of all. The quintet loved our presence, and even regaled us with a few English renditions of classic hymns. We had an delightful chat after their practice ended (and it was so nice to once again converse in Mandarin with people who understand the language and were patient with my fumbles.) The local residents we met in the evening hours were wonderful.

While I cannot say I am absolutely enamored with the place nor do I understand the Chinese fascination with Xiamen, I can say that we enjoyed our long weekend. Our time on Gulangyu Island was refreshing. The food was horrid and overpriced, but our hotel was charming. It was nice to be reminded that beautiful architecture does exist and locals can be welcoming and friendly. Xiamen has been visited, so now we can answer yes whenever someone dreamily asks, "Have you been to Xiamen?"  

Village Puppet Show

The plastic-encased dais stood before the three god temple for more than a week. Each time we walked past, we audibly wondered as to what its purpose was or was going to be in the coming days. Other temples throughout the village had also erected plastic structures of various dimensions, some in front of the temple doors while others were off to the side; yet it was the three god temple that forlornly stood empty the longest.

When we crested the hill and maneuvered through the S-curve, which is formed around a tiny temple and a behemoth banyan, we heard the familiar squawks of opera. As we exited the narrow alleyway into the temple courtyard, we were surprised to find a puppet show for the gods in progress.

Many traditions of China tend to be relegated to museums and travel brochures. For the six years we lived in Zhanjiang, I heard about the caterpillar dance and fervently wanted to see it, but no local ever knew about it. Yet, the vibrant display of dance was always running on loop within any promotional video of the area. The same goes for the traditional puppet shows. Puppets abound in museums, yet, before the opera performance at our school last semester, I had never seen one in action, much less in a village setting. So, when we saw the platform bedecked as a miniature theatre and the show in progress, we crashed the performance. We were so excited.

Our presence by the temple did not go unnoticed; a few motobikes almost crashed the stage due to their gawking, kids gathered, gaping mouths and wide eyes, even the worshipers stopping to pray would be kowtowing, but their eyes were watching us. While the villagers were apathetic to the performance (though we wonder if there is a local superstition about watching a show meant for the gods), the puppeteers were quite delighted to have an audience. After our arrival, the puppets seemed to have a bit more dramatic pizzazz in their wooden limbs, more puppets were put in the show, and a multitude of pictures of us were definitely taken.

We caught this act two days running.

We also made sure to do a circuit of the other temples to suss out their productions - one had a bricks and mortar stage, with a shirtless man lounging and smoking among headless puppets. While the puppet show was in intermission, the local guardian of the temple offerings was pleasant and had a delightful, short conversation with me. Unfortunately, her Chaoshanhua and my Mandarin were not such a good mix, so much of what she said was lost in translation. At another temple, they forewent tradition and pulled out a long electrical cord and big screen TV to play Chaoshan opera on loop. Zach and I did have a conversation as to whether the gods and ancestors have a preference for their entertainment - do they get angry when they want the real deal but are given looping film or is there two locations in the godly realm, one door for tradition, another for modern technology?

When we showed a couple of the local shopkeepers my pictures and declared our excitement at puppet week, they waved their hand with a "pfft" sound, followed by comments of "I don't care" or "that does not interest me". While times change and interests differ, I always push back on those who claim that foreign invasion is killing the Chinese culture because in a seaside village, it was the foreigners who stopped and appreciated a truly unique art form, while it was the Chinese who buzzed by on their motobikes without a glance. 

Summation of Chinese Society

Not surprisingly, we are asked often, "What is China like?" Such a question is expected, yet it is so broad and we are limited by our area and experiences. Nonetheless, looking through a backlog of pictures recently, I discovered that (by chance) I had caught the summation of Chinese society in photographs on the same day. Gone are the wordy explanations and I will now resort to using these photos to explain Chinese society.

The younger generation has a severe addiction to themselves and mobile phones (the new age opium.) Combine the two and a twenty minute ferry ride was watching this happen.

The women are the gawkers and gossipers (mismatched, wild print clothing is a bonus.)

The men are the sitters and smokers.

Though rarely are they solitary, they tend to congregate to sit, smoke, and sometimes play games.

Annual Medical Check

In our annual attempt for a visa, we had the splendid opportunity to spend a morning navigating the local international clinic. Such ventures have provided a lot of stories in the past and we had an inkling this visit would provide even more since our coworkers returned from their visit weeks ago bursting with tales.

Upon entering the clinic, we encountered a receptionist who absolutely hated her life and job. Her disdain for our presence was so palpable that we resorted to openly mocking her in English, which was our defense mechanism to keep us from leaning across the counter and smacking her upside the head and stealing her phone. She was a disaster in every way. Eventually, with the help of a couple of technicians (who were just as exasperated as us with her horrid work ethic), we were able to sort out the paperwork, pay the fee, and begin our trek through the medical stations.

Most stations were familiar to us, with a few new additions such as a woman shoving a rusted instrument up our noses to another touching my face/neck/collar with overly used lunchlady gloves. At this point, I should state that the entire clinic was absolutely filthy. Zhanjiang's was dirty, Shantou was absolutely filthy. After the extended nasty gloves contact to my face/neck, I grabbed a wet wipe from my backpack and attempted to wash the germs away. The experience was so germy that when we walked out the door after finishing, Zach and I turned to each other and simultaneously said, "We need a shower." If I end up with a bizarre disease, I will blame the Shantou international clinic.

The funniest moment of the entire fiasco involved the EKG technician. Her office was located at the end of the hall, with her computer monitor visible to all who walked the corridor. As we popped between rooms, I (as well as Zach) noticed that Zach's picture was perpetually on her screen. Odd, but we thought it was her preparing for his test. I ended up in the EKG room first. The technician was brisk, blunt, and no nonsense. Zach walked in the room as I finished. He took off his shirt, to which the technician immediately turned red and loudly sighed - the sigh of immense satisfaction. Over her shoulder, we locked eyes - his wide with concern, mine with budding tears of laughter. He laid down on the table and she attempted to connect the suction cups, sighing repeatedly and fanning herself with her hands every so often. She finished, promptly falling into her chair, picking up a stack of papers, and proceeding to fan herself, all while refusing to look at Zach. At this point, I was giggling so hard, much to my husband's chagrin. However, he was exerting a lot of effort to get the technician's attention because the cups on his chest had fallen over and were not connected in any way. She kept fanning herself, refusing to make eye contact. Even upon declaring finished, she looked at the wall when disconnecting the few nodes still connected. As we made to leave, she flung a piece of paper towards Zach saying, "problem." Still, making no eye contact and having resumed vigorous fanning. I rather suspected the piece of paper to have her wechat information, to which Zach gave me that look and showed me that it was a printout of his EKG. His response, "If there is a problem, it is most likely due to nothing being connected to actually perform the test."

We survived the clinic visit (making sure to take a very thorough shower later that day), even returning a couple days later to claim our results (and the receptionist still hates her life and job). We are alive, but as predicted Zach's EKG showed an abnormality. It probably a good thing we will not be returning to the Shantou clinic because I am not sure that the EKG technician's heart could handle another dose of Zach's handsomeness. 

Photo Journal: Labor Day Holiday

It has been a bizarre semester in the realms of scheduling. For the first time ever, our teaching hours per week are well below 16 hours - I am teaching eight hours, Zach is teaching ten. Not only do we have minimal hours, they are spaced over three days ensuring we have four day weekends, every weekend. Even to us this seems ridiculous, but will not deny that we are benefiting greatly and making the most of such a timetable. So far this semester, we taught three weeks, went to Shanghai, taught a week and a half, went to America (which also included the Chinese holiday, Qingming), returned to teach one week, then enjoyed another extended holiday of May Day or International Labor Day. While our laboring is currently not so strenuous, we appreciated the holiday and its opportunity for guests to visit us.

For three days, two night, Roger and Ada experienced life in our village by the sea. We ate well, explored far and wide, and caught up on travel tales. We absolutely treasure having friends who love to wander as much as we do, and it was delightful to experience our part of Guangdong through their eyes. Roger even did post-trip research into our town to discover its source of funding - smuggling. This was a humorous yet not surprising discovery since days prior to their arrival we had stumbled across the customs office which was located rather far from any port. On that day, we had remarked that with such a substantial distance between port and officials, so many things could go missing off a truck. It seems our assumptions bear some truth, and I am absolutely delighted to be able to brag that I have now lived in a Tortuga-esque enclave of smuggling and back alley dealings by tea-drunken locals. Nevertheless, before such discoveries and discussions, we spent the days wandering and photographing.

A Chinese general store.

The local pharmacy.

Electrical wiring in this country is fascinating.

I am sure someone lives here.

An actual door to a home, which opened soon after this picture was snapped to show a frowning woman who was not impressed with foreigners disturbing her afternoon solace with their giggles.

A stripped temple.

The great adventurers.

Afternoon musings.

Locally sourced concrete nesting materials to hold the new arrivals.

Afternoon reading.

Local snacks - meat and vegetables in a fried bread.

Local drink shop - the inspiration for the world's most bizarre concoction.

A misplaced fainting couch.