Break Out the Mooncakes!

 

Mid-Autumn Festival is firmly in the top three of Chinese festivals I adore. Strangely, it seems to be a major holiday relatively stress free for Chinese. Give a box of mooncakes to those deemed necessary to receive them, then wander off with friends for food and frivolity beneath a full moon (and recite a bit of moon poetry if the mood strikes.) 

My adoration for the holiday is definitely influenced by the thousands of mooncake boxes. This is the holiday where Chinese artistry is excessively on display and it is mesmerizing.

Lanterns also make a grand showing. Our uni lined the campus streets and bedecked the doorways for the occasion. 

For the first time in many years, Zach and I found ourselves alone for this Mid-Autumn Festival. It was a bit bizarre, but nice to follow our whims - which took us to the riverfront as the sun set. We had learned that a food festival was taking place in the area, so we wanted to join the throngs of merrymaking. 

It was a sultry, tropical evening to be among the masses. We quickly picked up drinks to aid in our meandering. 

In Guangdong, it tends to be a surprise whether the moon (or Chang'e) will show her face. This year, she was glorious; some saying it was very auspicious for such a showing after the hardships of the past years. I cannot deny that the moonrise over the walking street was a bit breathtaking. I was not the only one to stop and snap some pictures. 

 The masses snapping the main attraction of the festival. 

I loved being out with my fellow Zhongshanren. Zach and I commented that there seemed to be such an excitement among the crowd, which is when we actually realized this was the first Mid-Autumn since the covid restrictions had been lifted. We all had something to celebrate - for us, returning; for them, movement and gathering. 

 

Chang'e and Hou Yi cosplayers were out in full force. Plus, the number of children bedecked in traditional garb was incredible and an excessive amount of cuteness. I could not snap pictures of their microfashion for they were busy skipping and swinging their lanterns to and fro. 

 

I made sure to procure a couple of lanterns for myself. As I bought my rabbit lantern, the boss's daughter was stunned that I was a foreigner and could speak Chinese with her. I had her in a fit of giggles by the end of my transaction, teasing her that she was the foreigner and I was the Chinese person. Her mom was even backing me up to add to the fun.  

We finished our evening by partaking of a very traditional dinner - pizza. In our absence, Domino's Pizza made a mad rush in China by opening multiple locations across the country, including a couple in our town. We felt the shape of a pizza fit the circular theme of the night, so we decided to taste test the new establishment. I am still confused how peas and broccoli qualify as American pizza toppings. However, it was a fun taste test to conclude another celebration of the lunar orb which is home to a beloved wife and her jade rabbit.

十五夜望月 (唐·王建)

中庭地白树栖鸦，冷露无声湿桂花。
今夜月明人尽望，不知秋思落谁家。

翻译：
Moon-Gazing on the Fifteenth
Center court, pale ground and crows nestling in the trees,
Cold dews quietly wetting the osmanthus blooms.
Tonight’s full moon gazed at by everyone,
Wonder whose home is hit by the falling gloom.

Wee Bits of Life: Facing the Hutong

On the drive between the port and campus, Jenny informed us that our hutong had become a hub of workers. Internet was being reconnected. A cleaner was attempting to find the floor and furniture beneath the grime. Air conditioners were being cleaned and serviced. This meant a quiet reunion with our hutong was not to be. 

Zach and I had chatted about our visions and expectations of walking across the threshold of a home we had let go of so many months ago. We wondered if we be overcome with all the emotions. We wondered if we would cry. We wondered what a place would look like after so long. For while we had hoped for a return, we actually had made peace with this part of our journey being finished.

We trudged our jet-lagged bodies up the stairs, to face our hallway balcony filled with belongings and trash. Our homecoming quickly devolved into a frenzy to save our possessions. Through a flurry of Chinese, Jenny learned that the cleaner had been told to take everything out and throw it away (or sneak it out to re-sell.) 

Oh, the laughter. 

Everything had set for three-and-half years and, if we had been an hour later in arriving, we would have lost everything. The humor of this situation was not lost on us. 

After setting the cleaner on the correct path of cleaning and only cleaning (and visibly noticing her sadness at not getting to hawk our wares), we began to take inventory of the situation. We had requested that all couches and the giant wardrobe be removed before our arrival due to mold. It had been done (farewell, brothel couch!) and our rooms looked so much bigger. Furthermore, we noted that we had a new kitchen ceiling and a new toilet.  

It was also in this perusal, standing in our second bedroom by the back balcony, that I asked Jenny about the location of our washing machine. She was looking at her phone and replied, "On the balcony."

"Jenny, I am looking at the balcony. I am looking at spot where the washing machine should be and there is no washing machine." 

She quickly looked up and began a frenzied search of the hutong. It is not big, so the search was a mere minute and no washer was found stashed in a corner. 

Oh, the laughter.  

She is asking the cleaning lady if she has seen it. It was a no.

She contacts logistics. They ask if we are sure it is missing. 

Zach walks in the back room at this point and muses that whoever took the washer probably stole our mop as well.

Thus began our first week in China being a week of us discovering the missing and deceased of our flat. 

The refrigerator was absolutely rank in odor. It was also dead. The light turned on, but the cold never materialized.

The shower hot water heater had no spark. 

The stove was sparkless as well. 

A frying pan is missing.

Fans would not turn on.

Our days were filled with repairmen, appliance deliveries, and mopping at least twice a day. 

On the fourth day, we went to IKEA in Guangzhou. We needed the break, we needed to see friends, and we needed some furniture.

IKEA has become one of our favorite places to meet friends for it provides a place for food, a fun atmosphere for conversation, and guaranteed hours for visiting. And a few shenanigans thrown in for a good laugh.

An afternoon with Emma and Jojo was balm for the soul. I really cannot convey how good it was to spend time with them.

We did shop. We got our favorite chair. We procured two dressers. We looted the candles, napkins, and textiles. A few ice creams were consumed. 

Then, by Jojo's incredible packing skills, we were able to get all our purchases plus our three large suitcases in his car. It was a tight fight, but a successful ride to Zhongshan.

By our second weekend in country, our hutong was rather settled. Enough for Alice and Nora to visit for brunch and to hang couplets. It was surreal to pick off the few, tattered pieces of the last pair; ones we had hung mere days before we traveled. Those pieces had survived blustery typhoons and blistering tropical days. Perhaps they were a tangible reminder of what had happened between then and now to us - it was a wild ride and we were quite messy and broken through a lot of it, but we clung to the what could be.

Wee Bits of Life: The Return

We landed in Hong Kong as the sun was setting on a day we did not get to live. HKG welcomed us with a quick walk through immigration and all bags arriving at the same time we did. Thanks to stashed Agoda cash, we had reserved a night at the airport hotel. A wise decision in hindsight for Zach had not slept on the jaunt over the ocean and was so delirious that I was in fits of giggles. I am grateful I merely had to get him through a ten-minute walk and not an one-hour bus ride. 

The next morning, we had our traditional McDonald's breakfast, swam in the pool, and updated all our devices with non-restricted internet. Upon check-out time, we turned our sights to crossing a border we had not crossed in a long time.  

Our return to the adopted motherland quickly became a comedy of errors. It began with a message to our foreign affairs officer, Jenny, that we were booked for the 2pm ferry to Zhongshan. Her reply of, "What?! I thought you were coming tomorrow!" sent us into a fit of laughter. 

Zach messaged back, "So, we are not getting that welcome parade."

Jenny said, "Yes you are. Me, me, me, and me!"

We boarded the ferry not knowing whether we would have a ride to campus or not.

The Zhongshan port looked exactly the same and still retained the stale cigarette smell. 

We were the only foreigners, so we approached immigration slowly for we knew extra scrutiny was to come. We were equally parts terrified and excited - one never knows what will happen at a border checkpoint. 

Zach stepped up to the checkpoint stand first, to be asked immediately, "Can you speak Chinese?" 

Thus it began: pulling out all the documents to prove work approval and answering the questions about length of stay, the school, and our reasons. About five minutes into Zach's process, an official pulled me over to another stand.  

I faced two border guards - a trainer and a trainee, which meant extra scrutiny for training purposes. I smiled, handed over the pile of documents, and settled in for the duration. However, the trainer became very intrigued as to why I had a three and a half year gap between my Chinese visas. Her shock that we were caught outside the border was genuine, as was her shock that we were actually returning to the same school. 

For about ten minutes, she chatted with me while also giving directions and tips to the trainee. 

Finally, the official stamp was thumped. My documents handed to me. Then, the trainer looked at me and said, "Welcome back." I almost cried. 

To our delight, Jenny was our greeting committee. Hugs, squeals of a long overdue reunion, laughter at her mistake all took place to the sound of a thunderstorm that decided to deluge at our exact arrival.  

As we exited the port parking lot, Zach and I looked at each other in the back seat, high-fived, and sighed with relief. We had arrived after three years, seven months, and 26 days. We were thrilled. As the driver made way towards campus, Jenny regaled us with the happenings of our hutong. 

That was to be the next big hurdle of our return. 

Wee Bits of Life: Feasting

It is apt to say that we have eaten our way into the adopted motherland. The impetus for this has been twofold. One, we returned to a flat completely devoid of working appliances; second, we missed Chinese food so much. We really did not know the depth in which the sustenance of this country had become our staple food until it was abruptly snatched from us. Therefore, we have been sussing out which favorite establishments closed, which ones remain, and what new places have emerged.

  

A new mall near campus was under construction in late 2019, so to find it completed and occupied was not surprising. What was surprising was to see Tim Hortons, Dairy Queen, and Domino's Pizza as tenants. And, of course, another Starbucks. Globalization at its best! However, it is the noodle soup shop on the fourth floor that has wooed us. We found it on our first night in town and have returned at least once a week since. 

On another stroll through the new mall, we found a Xian restaurant. This find was exciting for two reasons - biang biang mien and Bing Feng. The first is a type of wide noodle, the second is an orange soda - both renowned from that city. Bing Feng is to Xian, China like Ale-8 is to Winchester, KY; therefore, it is Zach's favorite Chinese drink. 

It was within the first few days that we made a point to walk to the north gate to see if our beloved Lanzhou restaurant survived. We are sad to report it did not. However, across the street is a new Lanzhou noodle restaurant and the woman who runs the front is already smitten with us. There is no xiaolaoban (little boss) to keep us giggling during out meal, but the noodles are legit and I think the portions get a bit bigger every time we return. 

A surprise reunion took place at our favorite baozi establishment. Since we only have the 8am class on Monday mornings, we have decided to go out for breakfast at 10am. This past Monday, we strolled up to the counter to place our order, only to be verbally accosted by the worker demanding to know where we have been. We took one look at her, started laughing, and regaled her with our (broken Chinese) tale of our virus refugeeing. It was a beautiful moment. 

We are still in that weird tug of what was and what is in regards to our little town. We mourn the loss the vegetarian restaurant, but over-celebrate the tiny changfen stand. We lament the nearby fruit shop is shuttered, but are thankful the vegetable stand remains, but is under new management. We rejoice in the over-abundance of drink shops. We are curious why noodle eateries now outnumber rice eateries. We are also rather bemused that hot pot establishments seemed to have exponentially grown in our absence. The foodscape has always been ever changing in this country and we are currently enjoying our quest to catch up. So are our stomachs.  

The What and Why of Our Movement

 

When we walked through the Chinese immigration checkpoint on January 2, 2020, we had no idea how bungled our life was to become, nor how much of a clusterfuck the world would become. There is a lot woven into our days since that date of departure, which does not need to be rehashed here, yet must be acknowledged. The pandemic was a catalyst for a lot of change, a lot of unknown, a lot mayhem, a lot of conflicting emotions, and a lot of our "could we do that" actually being done. 

Three years, seven months, and 26 days later, we walked across the threshold of our flat as we did on the morning of January 2, 2020. Thus prompting a frequent question: "Why China?"

In our travels, we had wondered what it would be like to live and work in Thailand; even having a conversation during a trip to Chiang Rai in January 2020 that it was a town to live in rather than visit. We did it. Living was delightful, working was horrid. 

We never thought we would return to Vietnam, but we tried it. We call it our country redemption story. The little town we plopped into was everything we love, but once again the job was a disaster. 

The day the Chinese borders opened, our UESTC Foreign Affairs Officer called asking when we could return. The next day, an agent messaged saying she had two schools wanting us to sign contracts that day. The following day, our first uni messaged asking if we were available to return. After two and a half years of dealing with administrative bullying and continual degrading of our teaching skills, to be wanted by four different schools in three days was balm to the soul.

At the beginning of 2020, we had begun to ask "how much longer" in regards to our life in China. We even considered packing up our important belongings before we walked out the door, "just in case something happened." We had no idea what was about to happen. Three years and working in two counties later, we realized that, for us, China had truly figured out how to attract and retain foreigners. They provided great employment packages and (mostly) set schedules. Our jobs in Thailand and Vietnam ran their education like emergency room triage centers all while providing paltry benefits and crazy hours. We were constantly barated and belittled, and our work experience and expertise were devalued.

Thailand was an easy place to live, but a terrible place to work; Vietnam reminded us why we love living internationally, but poor work schedules, a bad boss, and an inept HR made staying there not advantageous in the long run. Because of this, when our school called with excitement and hope that we would agree to return, we didn't even have to think about it. The answer was a resounding, "YES!" 

Since this decision, our parents and friends have asked us many times, and we would continually remind them of what our life in China was like. We'd tell them to forget what the news was saying. For us, decent pay, freedom to travel, mostly set holiday schedules, experience and expertise that is respected, and a culture that values us as teachers and humans will always be what we're looking for. 

The End of Silence

Five months is a long time for this blog to remain mum. I believe it is the longest stint of silence since I started it so many years ago. The lack of posting is definitely not in correlation to the lack of living or stories. Au contraire, these have been very, very full months. It was filled with an abundance of reunions, a heap of travel, many decisions, and a good dose of change. It was us. 

The annual summer ABCs post is in the draft pile, as is the why behind the big life change of returning to China for work post. As well as, there are oodles of shelved stories spanning the globe. There is a lot to come in this space. 

I am eager to return to my writing ritual. For while I have become better at giving myself grace in not writing, I miss it fiercely. The stories still swirl in my head during these lapses of wordsmithing, at times making my mind very crowded and loud. With a bit of calm and routine on the horizon, I am ready to immerse myself in what has been, what is going on, and put more words into this space. Welcome back, to all of us.