It's Just a Ride

2011-07-22T23:27:00.002+08:00

Education is the most important thing for a country's future prosperity. I'd add data to back myself up, but prefer to take the Malcolm Gladwell anecdotal approach. I heard an interesting point made recently that after WWII, Germany was bombed flat but in less than 15 years it was running pretty smoothly again. Meanwhile, a host of other countries just can't seem to progress. The key difference? Education.

I was struck when the other day I was reading a Chinese blog. It had a typical New Year toast that reminded me of Kazakhstan. Happy New Year! Good wishes for your whole family! Good health! Lots of prosperity! I caught myself thinking that perhaps the author was Kazakh. Then I got to the last point. And most importantly, may you be successful in your education!

Although Kazakhstan also has some tough sayings about education (Оқусыз білім жоқ, білімсіз күнің жок - without study, there is no education, without education, you have no life) they don't permeate the culture as they do in China. Of course many Kazakhs value education and I have some incredible students who work assiduously, but China is in a whole different ballpark.

Normally I don't enjoy giving or listening to toasts too much because everybody repeats the same frivolous fluff. So I'm planning to steal a good idea from the Chinese the next time I give a toast.

Адамға өмірдегі ең керекті нәрселер - мықты денсаулық, бақыт пен байлық! және де сіз осы айткандардын барлығына тек қана жақсы білімнің арқасында қол жеткізе аласыз! сондықтан да ең алдымен сізге жақсы ешқашан таусылмас білім тілегім келеді!

For all of us, the most important things are strong health, happiness and wealth! And you can only get these things through a good education. Therefore, I most want to wish you a good and never-ending education!

2011-06-10T02:07:00.003+08:00

When I was a young lad learning how to swim, the program I was in gave me a certificate with the various skills I had to master to become a proficient swimmer. Breathe out underwater. Dead man's float. Doggy paddle. Front crawl. As I acquired each skill they gave me a gold sticker to mark my progress on the certificate. One day, I lost my certificate. It was devastating.

Thinking about how effective this was at motivating me to master swimming skills, I decided to try the same thing with my first year English classes. It was WILDLY successful. Toot. Toot.

My initial idea with the skills would be that once a student had demonstrated to me that she was capable with it, she would then get her sticker posted on the wall. This would in turn license her to be an instructor for the students who hadn't mastered it yet. In this manner, the students who quickly learned the skills would get the opportunity to continue practicing them, plus save me the trouble of actually doing any teaching!

Although there were a few lazy students who finished all ten skills and never came back, I had a few star teachers who during every break would work with other students to improve their skills. Normally when I walk by classrooms at the college, I see students texting on their phones, chatting with their friends, or generally vegging out. It was a joy instead to hear my students quizzing each other "Are you a student? Do you have friends? Does Gulzhan Adilkizi like teaching English?"

At first the students were wary of having their results on the wall for everybody to see, but it turned out to be a great motivator. After every lesson they would ask me when I was available to assess their progress. They came to school two hours before lessons started to practice and test. They quizzed each other in the hallways. They got angry and cried when I failed them. Then they came back the next day and passed. It was great.

Probably the greatest success was with one student who started out very near the bottom of the class. Conversations with her were impossible, and when I first tested her she didn't even know the alphabet. Luckily for her, she is good friends with the best student in the class who patiently coached her, observed her tests, worked on her weak points, and prepared her for the next skill. She started mastering a skill a week and when she only had Present Simple and Past Simple left, she came to me for the test. I knew she had been working with her private tutor on Present Simple and figured she would easily pass, which she did. When she finished, I congratulated her on only having one more. She immediately replied that she also wanted to take the Past Simple test. Her tutor gave her a shocked look.

"But we haven't worked on that yet!"

"I know. I taught myself."

I was a little concerned that she was setting herself up for failure, as her friend had been instrumental in working with her on all of the other skills. We started working and she successfully navigated affirmative past simple with regular and irregular verbs, negative past simple, and finally questions. Sure enough, she had successfully taught herself Past Simple, much to her tutor's surprise and my delight.

The following are some reasons that I think they responded so well to this.

1) Each skill was manageable. For the average student, a skill took about a week to really learn, so they were able to see their progress often.

2) It was individual. I'm convinced that they don't have a word for cheating in Kazakh, because every time a student describes an action that is blatant cheating, they use the English verb "to help." Hence, when I speak Kazakh I've started using the phrase "destroying society" to describe cheating. During my tests, the students were not allowed to cheat and they knew it. Any progress they made was something that they could take pride in.

3) I failed them. If a student didn't have the skills, I was unafraid to fail them. From what I hear, failing here is just an opportunity for a teacher to make some extra cash. Although it made them angry, it made the progress that much sweeter because they knew it actually depended on their ability.

4) It was fun. In order to elicit negative responses, I had to ask interesting questions like "Does Almas eat babies? Do Americans like kissing pigs? Am I drinking your blood?" Diverging from the well worn path of watching TV, playing basketball and listening to music to which they're so accustomed was very refreshing for them and me.

5) Bribery. When a student finished all 10 skills, they got a fancy sticker (thanks Jenny!) and a chocolate bar from me.

The English skills they have learned will be useful, but there is an added benefit of this system that is more important for their long term success as language learners and teachers. They are learning how to teach each other and themselves. When teaching one-on-one, it doesn't take much time to realize that repeatedly explaining something won't help the student's ability to do it. What a student needs is practice actually making the sentences. When they first started teaching each other, they would always start the way their teachers do: with a diagram of the grammatical structure and a lengthy explanation. They have learned that this is incredibly ineffective. Now, they jump right in and ask each other questions, forcing the student to practice forming sentences using the correct grammar. Intuitively grasping that learning comes from doing will make them much more effective teachers in the future.

With the semester drawing to a close, all but 5 of my students were at one point able to perform all 10 skills satisfactorily. I'm sure they'll forget a lot during the summer, but I'm already thinking of the next 10 skills they'll have to master and the first is going to be a review.

2011-05-02T11:33:00.004+08:00

I want to feel more connected to my community, and thus have decided to try to read the local newspaper, Сарыарқа, which literally means "yellow back" but would be best translated as "The Steppe." The faculty at my college are required to subscribe. They are not, however, required to read, so there are always extras lying around.

My first challenge was that there isn't a very good Kazakh-English dictionary. The Peace Corps gave us the best one they could find, but it is riddled with British English and other errors. We knew this coming out of PST because Amantai often laughed in our faces when we used it to produce Kazakh. The final straw came last week when I trusted it and bet a local that the word for zebra was алай. You may think it's arrogant to bet a Kazakh person about words in their own language, but the Kazakhs have a habit of using Russian words for things that their nomadic forebears hadn't encountered, like cars and zebras. Well, actually just cars. I lost 50 tenge in that transaction.

Fortunately we live in the digital age and my friend Kairat recommended that I check out sozdik.kz, a Kazakh-Russian dictionary that is reasonably comprehensive and has example sentences. Stop! I don't know Russian. Well fear not, Google has gone to the trouble of learning Russian and English and can get a fair approximation in translation.

Armed with a decent dictionary, I started reading the headlines to choose an article that could be interesting. As far is I can tell, the first headline was Assigned Mandate Confirmed. That sounded pretty bland. The second headline on the front page was I Also Subscribed to The Steppe. Is this really front page worthy news? But I found an article just for me titled Honored Residents of Zhezkazgan. After half an hour of wrestling with the article and dictionary, trying to figure out where the root word ended and the suffixes began, I was able to ascertain that I'm living in a city that has price controls on bread. Specifically, I shouldn't be paying more than 38 tenge for a 600 gram loaf of bread made from grade A flour. Fascinating!

I can't wait to find out what other nuggets of information await me in the pages of The Steppe!

2011-05-01T15:03:00.002+08:00

For the past month, my fourth year students have been preparing for the NOK. That's the capstone test that if they pass will certify them to teach English through 7th grade. You may think that they've been preparing for the test since they entered the college, as you make the assumption that the test will assess the knowledge they have gained over the past four years. Unfortunately, that is not the case.

Studying for the NOK is done by memorizing as many questions and "correct" answers as possible from a bank of questions. The first problem with the test is that memorizing correct answers is not the same as learning. I'd like to say that only Kazakhstan thinks this way, but giving a subset of a bank of questions with publicly available correct answers is also how the FAA tests the people who fly our planes. I distinctly remember studying for the instrument pilot written exam and thinking, if I see this radar map, the answer is D thunderstorm. I had no idea what was happening on the map, but was able to remember the answer D and pass the exam. My students are similarly adept at this rote memorization, and also similarly incapable of understanding why the answer is what it is.

Where the FAA pilot exams and the NOK differ is in the quality of the questions, which brings us to the second problem with the NOK. Most questions have more than one right answer, no right answer, or test some esoteric knowledge that is completely useless for being a primary school English teacher.

Complete the following sentence: Almaty is ______ than Astana.

A. most big
B. biggest
C. big
D. bigger
E. the biggest

A legitimate question testing knowledge of comparative adjectives that has exactly one correct answer. Questions of this sort make up less than 25% of the English questions on the exam.

Complete the following sentence: Johnny likes _____ in the ocean.

A. swam
B. to swim
C. swim
D. swimming
E. swims

Ah, yes, the trick question where there are two acceptable answers and although one may be better than the other to grammar freaks, there aren't enough clues to correctly determine gerund or infinitive. To their credit, my students asked me about this question when they were studying.

In what year were schools made comprehensive?

A. 1965
B. 1967
C. 1966
D. 1968
E. 1969

Is this question about Kazakhstan? The United Kingdom of Great Britain? The Romulan Empire? Even if we specify where, how is knowing the answer going to help the student be an effective English teacher?

Under whose reign did Shakespeare write?

A. Kind Edward II
B. King James I
C. Queen Elizabeth I
D. Queen Elizabeth II
E. King Charles

If your goal is to beat Ken Jennings at Jeopardy, then this is a legitimate question. If you're going to be an English teacher in a Kazakh primary school, you don't need to know that Shakespeare wrote under BOTH James I and Elizabeth I.

Complete the following sentence: Rachel went to the city _______

A. two weeks later
B. four weeks later
C. six weeks later
D. eight weeks later
E. ten weeks later

I cannot fathom an explanation that would excuse the test writer for vomiting up this asinine question.

In addition to the terrible questions, or more hopefully because of them, cheating on the NOK was rampant. Although the ministry of education sent a proctor to the test, she was conveniently taken out to lunch while it was being administered. It's not an exaggeration to say that in her absence, it was a Charlie Foxtrot of cheat sheets, teachers, students and administrators all scurrying about trying to answer as many questions correctly on as many computers as they could. Technically, I wasn't supposed to see how the sausage is made, and the teachers gave my counterpart some flak because I dropped by and made a little bit of fun, but as I explained to the students I actually love the current system.

First, I had to explain to them that passing the NOK, especially by cheating, but even legitimately, had zero correlation with knowing English or being a good teacher (except that presumably students willing to work hard to memorize all the answers are also willing to work hard and actually learn English and teaching skills). I explained that given a few months, I could memorize enough question/answer pairs in any language that uses the latin alphabet to pass such an exam. So in their system, after two months of memorizing, I could be a certified Vietnamese teacher. They retorted "but you wouldn't even be able to speak Vietnamese!" Connect the dots, connect the dots...

Sadly, most of the students who actually can speak English and understand how to teach it will pursue careers in other, more highly paid fields, leaving those whom they helped to pass the NOK behind to ~~teach~~ be present in the classroom with future generations. The Kazakhstan teacher mill is thus churning out very poorly educated teachers, and ranks last in an English skills test. As a result, Kazakhstan is forced to invite foreign people like me to help out. Since I love my job, and I want future generations of Americans to have the same opportunity, it serves my interests for the quality of English teachers in Kazakhstan to remain poor.

At least that's what I told the students, because getting them angry that their system is holding their country back is more moving than just telling them it's a ridiculous system. In reality, I'd very much like for the quality of education here to be much better and feel completely hamstrung in my efforts by a certification system that doesn't reward good students and punish poor students.

I've asked my regional manager why we still have this ridiculous test, and she said that despite extensive lobbying by the National Association of English Teachers in Kazakhstan, the Ministry of Education decided to keep the test. I doubt anybody from the Ministry reads my blog, but here's one more voice. If you want to remain dependent on the generosity of the American taxpayers for good English instruction, keep the NOK and keep failing future generations. If not, here are some recommendations:

Use new test questions for every test and keep them a secret. Your students are excellent at memorizing, that ability will not help them be good teachers.
For each question, ask "Does this question have exactly one correct answer?" and "Will knowing that answer make the taker a more effective English teacher?" If the answer to both is not yes, throw out the question.
Stamp out cheating. Fire teachers caught helping students during the test. Fail students who give answers. The reason for the test is to assess if the person taking it will be a competent teacher. It is not a team building exercise.

2011-04-26T23:52:00.005+08:00

A question that people love to ask learners of other languages is "are you fluent?" My roommate in Nashville would reply "I don't like the term fluent" and I must say that I agree with him. A person's language ability cannot be boiled down to a single bit of data, fluent or not fluent. For that matter, it also cannot be captured very well as a number between 1 and 10 according to the ACTFL guidelines that Peace Corps volunteers are assessed with. Acquiring another language is very similar to building a mountain from thousands and thousands of small stones. We can administer the binary test of whether the mountain is higher than the arbitrary line dividing hills and mountains, and we can assess the size of the mountain by measuring its height in some agreed upon units, but there is no simple way to characterize the entire mountain.

One of the very best English speakers in Zhezkazgan is Kairat. I recall a discussion that we had that was sparked when he described a person as "swarthy" and I didn't know what it meant. He asserted that I should know the word, because it isn't a technical word. I countered that there are at least 500,000 English words that I don't know and I'd imagine that there are some in Russian that he doesn't know either. He was adamant that he knew every Russian word that wasn't technical. Admittedly he's a sharp tack, but my understanding of Russian is that it's also a rich language that would be nearly impossible for a single person to learn completely. And so, for better or worse, native speakers still have stones that they can add to their mountains.

Just as a native speaker's mountain can be missing some stones above the tree line, a non-native speaker's mountain can appear impressive but be missing some stones that would be expected at the base. I was having a conversation with an advanced speaker who works as a translator for KazakhMys about the lack of a science and math school for girls in Zhezkazgan. She was able to correctly use "discriminate" and "IQ" but had to ask me what the meaning of the word "dumb" was. You'd be hard-pressed to find a first grader in America who didn't know that word, but it probably doesn't appear much in the copper mining giant's annual reports. I definitely consider her fluent and guess she'd score a 9 or 10 on the ACTFL test, but because she didn't know that one simple word, she couldn't understand me.

Now when people ask me if I'm fluent, I respond that I'm fluent at introducing myself, talking about my family, and what I ate yesterday, but if you want to talk to me about the relative merits of using HDI versus GDP per capita as an indicator of a country's development, I'd be about as fluent as a turd. My language mountain just doesn't have the necessary stones yet.

2011-04-17T21:38:00.004+08:00

My host mother absolutely loves to worry about how much I am embarrassing myself in the community. Sometimes, her concern is beneficial, like when I'm about to go out in a wrinkled dress shirt and she insists that I allow her to iron it first. Other times, it's somewhat frustrating because I don't care if people think I'm crazy for wearing shorts in 25°C weather. This past weekend, it was just hilarious.

I have two pairs of tennis shoes that are the same model, but in different states of wear. Since I only ever clean my shoes if I've stepped in dog poop, they've lost some of that new shoe shine over the years. My mother has thoroughly cleaned each pair, but I can't be bothered to relace the one clean pair, and continue to wear the dirty pair. In addition to being a little dirty, they've grown small holes near my pinky toe.

"Your shoes have holes in them again. It's ұят. You should wear the pair I cleaned."

"I know, but the dirty pair is still good."

"Your feet will get cold and you will get sick."

"Au contraire, the holes help my sweaty feet get fresh air. In fact, maybe we should cut a big hole, then lots of air can go by my feet and they will stay dry. It will be great!"

My host mom is generally pretty good at picking up sarcasm, and I truly thought she understood it this time. But the next morning when I went to the bathroom to get my shoes (I'm not allowed to sleep in the same room as my shoes lest I get sick) I couldn't help but smile when I saw this:

I fail to understand how the two large holes she gouged out are less ұят than the barely noticeable holes from before, so I believe she is trying to shame me into wearing the clean pair. I'm just enjoying how much ventilation I get when I run.

2011-04-09T00:18:00.003+08:00

Kazakhs are cold-blooded. That is the only conclusion I can draw from my interactions with them regarding the weather and the way they dress.

During the winter my host mom was constantly admonishing me to wear my hat, put on my jacket, and don my warm winter boots. I endeavored to politely tell her that although I'm willfully ignorant of the aesthetics of how I dress, I am aware enough to dress comfortably for current meteorological conditions. When she insisted, I would put on my coat, walk outside, close the door, and immediately take it off again.

My host mom was not the only person trying to advise me about how cold I was. One time while walking to school in February, I took off my jacket because I was too hot. A nearby grandma promptly berated me in Russian. I don't understand Russian, but I assume she said "You are insane. You are going to catch a cold and die." Even without my jacket, I was still a bit warm.

We had an anthropology major in my training group who once mentioned a class she had taken where they study how the body develops differently depending on the culture. It was something I hadn't considered before, but makes perfect sense. Here, children cannot leave the house without a hat and thick winter jacket from early November until the end of March. Even if it's not cold outside and they are just going for a 10-second jaunt to the neighbor's. So you can imagine that never having been exposed to the cold, their bodies never learn to generate much heat. At least that's my amateur assessment of the situation, not having taken said class.

What really fascinates me though, is the response I got when I showed up at the college today to lesson plan wearing tennis shoes and a short sleeve shirt. (Sorry Peace Corps, I still wear a button-down and a tie when I'm teaching) My teachers looked me up and down and said "you came like that? You're crazy!" Since I'd had a stranger ask me on the street, "aren't you cold?" I figured they were surprised by the quantity rather than the quality of my clothes. I told them I was actually a little too hot, and wiped some sweat off my brow to prove it. At this point one bravely admitted that she was also uncomfortably hot in her winter boots. How does this happen? Is the societal pressure to conform to dressing norms so great that the people don't dress for summer until weeks after it has arrived? Is the fear of catching a cold from feeling the least bit chilly causing people to endure stifling heat? Does fashion dictate that women must always wear knee high leather boots?

Although they don't seem to generate as much heat as I do, I know that their annoying tendency to doubt my ability to dress warmly enough comes from a deep seated concern for my well-being, so I can say that although they may be cold-blooded, they are warm-hearted.

2011-04-06T01:55:00.004+08:00

March 22nd is the Kazakh New Year, celebrated on the equinox and known locally as Nauryz. It may seem strange to us westerners, but at least it has some basis in astronomy. Before the Gregorian calendar took over, the Brits and their colonies also celebrated the New Year in March until 1752.

The best place to celebrate Nauryz is in Shymkent, and the Peace Corps is kind enough to schedule a week long training in nearby Almaty immediately after Nauryz. Hence, I was able to take 2.5 weeks of away from my site without dipping into the 48 days of vacation that all Peace Corps Volunteers are allotted.

The journey began with a 13 hour train ride from Zhezkazgan (A) to Karaganda (B) and then a short bus ride to another volunteers village. Seeing village life was really neat for us city slickers and was made more special by Katie organizing a cross country skiing outing for us.

After a night in the village (yes I used the outhouse in the middle of the night), we hopped aboard a 19 hour train to Shymkent (C). There, the Shymkent volunteers had graciously organized housing and a range of activities for the 30 or so volunteers who made the trek. We got to see the holiest site in Kazakhstan, the Mausoluem of Khoja Ahamed Yasawai in Turkestan (D) but by far the highlight of the trip were the Nauryz celebrations in Shymkent where we watched көкпар and қыз куу. Seeing the Kazakhs flaunt some of their culture, enjoying t-shirt and shorts weather, hanging out with other volunteers, and getting some free food to boot made it a great day.

From Shymkent, I took a 14 hour train to Almaty and then a bus to my training village (E). I got to see my previous host family, who once again treated me with much more hospitality than anybody deserves. Aside from giving me lots of great food, they took me ice skating, to billiards, and to the banya, paying for everything. Finally, when they took Brad and me to karaoke in Almaty, I decided enough was enough and sneaked out to pay before they could. Unfortunately nobody at the karaoke club spoke Kazakh, but I was still able to successfully communicate in my abysmal Russian that I wanted to pay so that they couldn't. Great success!

The trip ended with 3 days of In-Service training and 2 days of HIV/AIDS education training with the Peace Corps in Almaty (F). Seeing all of the Kaz-22s again was an absolute blast, and the 29 hour train ride back to Zhezkazgan gave the other volunteers and me plenty of time to brainstorm ideas for a men's development camp sometime this summer.

2011-02-03T01:14:00.002+08:00

My host dad works as an ambulance driver, specifically on the cardiac unit. Yesterday, after again not finishing a bowl of delicious meat, I tried to explain to Өмірсерік (Life's Friend) that a significant reason for his job trying to save heart attack victims is the Kazakh obsession with meat. We proceeded to chat about overall life expectancy and agreed that the Japanese have the longest life expectancy, and it may have something to do with how much fish they eat. For today's lunch, rather than a bowl of meat, I got a can of sardines. Well played Life's Friend, well played.

2011-02-01T23:08:00.002+08:00

For better or worse, my parents trained me to be a good eater. I was forced to eat at least one bite of everything my mom made, and if I unwisely took more than I could eat, I had to eat the leftovers for breakfast. Hence, I am generally able to eat anything that's put in front of me. Every day that I've been with my host family I have finished everything they've given me, except once.

Kazakh people love meat. They think that it keeps them warm in the winter, has 10 times more vitamins per kilogram than vegetables, makes the men strong and gives all people energy. Kazakhs continually poke fun at vegetarians, who, if what they believed were true, would all be lying dead in the gutters, finished off by the cold after a miserably malnourished life. I enjoy eating meat, but if left to my own devices, eat it only a couple of times a week. On the day that I was unable to finish my meal, my host family inexplicably decided to give me a bowl of meat chunks for breakfast, for lunch, and for dinner. I gladly ate the tasty first bowl, and grudgingly picked my way through the second, but when the third came at dinner, I could not abide it. Fortunately, my Kazakh parents don't make me eat unfinished food for breakfast, but they did imply that I would not be very healthy as a result.

With the disclaimer that I'm no nutritional expert, their thinking in regards to meat is pretty backwards. Just this week, I heard of two men dying from heart attacks, one was 52, and the other was in his thirties. According to the World Health Organization, ischaemic heart disease causes 28% of the deaths in Kazakhstan, where the average life expectancy for men in 2004 was 57 years. The comparable figures for the United States, not exactly the most heart-healthy place on our little spaceship, are 21% and 75 years. Admittedly, a great deal more goes into life expectancy than diet, but when the leading cause of death is heart disease, high cholesterol is a leading cause of heart disease, and meat is a high cholesterol food, a non-zero part of the 18 year difference in life expectancy can certainly be attributed to diet.

The Kazakhs generally scoff when I try to lay out the reasons that meat isn't as healthy as their grandparents taught them, but my case was strengthened this week by unfortunate circumstances. My counterpart's father was in the hospital for two weeks. In America, you're lucky to make it out alive if you've been in the hospital for two weeks, but Kazakhs treat the hospitals more like hotels. At any rate, Gulzhan's father had some issues with his heart that didn't sound life-threatening but warranted attention. The attention? Cut all meat out of his diet.

2010-12-18T12:20:00.004+08:00

This popped up on my Google reader today. This device could completely take the fun out of going to a restaurant in a foreign country, pointing at a reasonably priced dish on the menu and hoping for the best.

2010-12-18T01:51:00.005+08:00

For the past two weeks, my host mom has been telling me that we have a festival to go to on December 15th. My language skills being akin to Katie's in Born to Be Wild, I didn't really understand where we would be going, or what we would be doing there. In the states such ignorance would be intolerable, but in Kazakhstan I've become very used to having no idea what is going on. Most of the time it all works out okay.

I knew that we would be going to the party in the evening, but had to make sure that the movie for movie club got started first. I asked my host mom when we would be leaving, making sure I used the verb "to leave" to indicate that I wanted to know what time I needed to be ready to go, not what time the party started. She replied that we would leave at 6:30. Great! That would give me an hour to get the movie started, walk home, get into my formal wear and be ready to go. So I was a little bit surprised when I arrived home just before 6 and was told that I was late. Another failure of my gorilla-like communication abilities. Ninety seconds later, I was in the living room with my shirt untucked, pants unbuttoned, belt and tie in my right hand and jacket in my left, ready to go. With a 15 minute taxi ride ahead of us, I figured I had more than enough time to get all of the articles of clothing to their socially acceptable places, assuming I could get my tie the right length on the first try. Not so fast. Ұят болады.

"Ұят болады" is one of my host mom's favorite phrases, meaning "there will be ұят" or "that would be ұят." Our language book describes ұят as:

The dictionary definition of this word is "shame" or "pity," but be careful, it's a word that doesn't translate exactly. If something is ұят, it might be embarrassing, taboo, faux pas, or tsk-tsk. Even English has to borrow words and use onomatopoeia to get the point across!

I'm more a follower of Robert Arthur's view of taboos. Everybody gets dressed in basically the same way, so it's not something I'm going to get embarrassed about. But apparently, leaving the house in such a slapdash manner is verboten here, so we spent another few minutes inside refining my appearance. Good thing arriving late isn't ұят.

Upon entering the banquet hall, I was immediately struck by how many old people were in attendance. As it turns out, we were celebrating my host mom's sister's 70th birthday, so I should've expected this. I had hoped that I could use the opportunity to talk with some interesting people who haven't tired of my limited vocabulary, but apparently the way these festivals work is that everybody gives toasts to the birthday girl and her family, so there isn't much down time to chat with the people around you. Only understanding the few simplest words of the toasts, and not knowing who anybody was, the beginning part of the fiesta was a bit dull for me. Until the following happened.

In order to make up for how lackluster the festival had been for the poor American in attendance, the organizers decided to introduce a new game. A grandma dance-off. So fun, so hilarious, why has this innovation not reached American shores? Sadly, our group videographer Alex White is off documenting his own Peace Corps experience now, so you're stuck with preschooler with a cell phone camera quality. These bold women don't fear the ұят!

On the way to the party, my host mom had coerced a promise to dance out of me by assuring me that there would be plenty of young women my age to dance with. In the event, there was one girl in attendance who didn't remember life under Stalin, but was in 9th grade. But no matter, my dancing abilities are much more on par with retirees than people my age anyway.

2010-12-11T13:27:00.006+08:00

There are four things that are quite essential for human life. In order of quickness of death after access to them is suspended: air, water, food and the internet. Conveniently for life on earth, it's difficult to not be surrounded by air. Food and the internet are less ubiquitous, but you can generally live long enough on reserves of bread crumbs caught between your teeth and cached browser history to at least cry out for help. Water, however, is scarce and deprivation is a quick killer. Using my own experience as the only data point, I would estimate that a well-hydrated, genetically unmodified human can survive the Kazakh steppe for about 10 hours without water. (The other homo sapiens in the area may be better adapted to the region's climate than I am.) So it is quite important to my own well being that I carry with me the trusty green nalgene water bottle emblazoned with the name of a college I did not attend that I bought at a Colorado Springs thrift store for $2.95.

Feeling a little thirsty after dinner last night, I suddenly became aware that my water bottle was no longer in my possession. The clock was ticking, and had been for about an hour. I was going to die of thirst in about 9 hours, unless I could either find the water bottle or alternatively, miraculously acquire another source of dihydrogen monoxide. Not one to leave things to chance miracles, I settled on the former option as the only way to avoid certain death. The situation was made only slightly more calamitous by the fact that the last time it had been in my possession, the container of life giving water was attached to my backpack, which contained my only connection to the internet: my laptop.

My last memory with the sweet nectar of life was on the Kazakhmhys bus from Satpaev to Zhezkazgan. Gulzhan, Jenny and I visited Satpaev yesterday, and took the bus back, arriving at the bus station at about 10:15 last night. I estimated that my last sip was about 30 minutes before that time. Hence, my 10 hours would be up at 7:45 the following morning. Normally, while riding the bus I would keep my backpack on. On this particular bus, however, there were 4 seats in a club arrangement. If I sat with my backpack on, it pushed me too far forward in the seat to be comfortable for me and the person across from me. So I stowed the bag and water bottle in the convenient overhead rack. As I said, when I went for my after dinner drink, the water bottle was gone, meaning I must've left it on that overhead rack. I immediately called Gulzhan, my trusty counterpart, who knew exactly what to do: tell Bakitzhan, my host mom.

Having taken my health as her number one priority while I'm living under her roof, my host mom was aghast at my recklessness. Wasting not a minute, she called my host dad to send him to the bus station, the bus dispatcher to find out where the bus was now, and Gulzhan to discuss what an idiot the Peace Corps had dumped on the two of them. After finding out that the buses spend the night at a garage in Satpaev, we determined that no further action could be taken until the garage opened the following morning. Setting off at 5 am, we would have just under 3 hours before the effects of dehydration became irreversible.

Dark and early this morning, the three of us set out across the steppe and arrived at Satpaev's bus garage at 5:30. Not being able to communicate very well in Kazakh or Russian meant that my big role in the garage was to do as much breathing as possible, absorbing poisonous carbon monoxide myself so that the two capable detectives would survive long enough to find a clue in the expansive garage. Between breaths, I was able slip among the dozens of buses and finally find one that had the same club seating configuration as the one we had taken last night. I brought my handy cell phone flashlight to bear on the rack where my key to continued survival should've been. Disaster. No backpack, no internet browser cache, and no water bottle. Meanwhile, Gulzhan and Bakitzhan had successfully used their impressive arsenal of Kazakh and Russian to interrogate one of the drivers who had begun to trickle in. They had determined that the bus we had taken was actually back in Zhezkazgan and its number was 850.

Armed with this knowledge and the information that it would be leaving the Zhezkazgan station to begin the daily haul of commuters between the two cities at 6:45 am, we flagged down an empty bus heading that direction. It's about a half hour drive back to Zhezkazgan, which was exactly how much time we had before bus 850 left the garage. Unfortunately, the bus was not going directly to the bus station. The driver kindly dropped us off at the point on his route closest to the Zhezkazgan bus station, just as the clock struck 6:45. Hoping beyond hope that the buses were running late as usual, we anxiously hailed the first taxi on the chilly morning's empty streets and said "to the bus station and step on it!" Or something like that in Kazakh or Russian.

As we were sitting in the taxi and looking at our watches knowing that once the 850 bus left the bus station our task would become significantly more difficult, a Kazakhmhys bus flew by us on the other side of the road. I was busy confronting my own imminent demise, but Bakitzhan had the wherewithal to notice the license number of the bus and realize it was the 850. She once again deftly wielded her native tongue to communicate to the taxi driver that we must turn around forthwith and follow that bus!

He obligingly did as she'd instructed, blazing through a red light and pursuing the bus for what must've been at least half a mile. When the bus finally arrived at a stop, he stopped the cab immediately in front so the tricksy driver wouldn't be able to escape while I jumped out of the back seat, scrambled up the stairs and headed for the back of the bus. The unique club seat formation, the familiar overhead bin, this had to be the bus where I'd so carelessly left my belongings. I approached the back of the bus with the look of a death-row convict who's expecting a last minute pardon and hears the warden's phone ring. But once again, I was met with only an empty bin, and the confused looks of some sleepy commuters. Time was running out.

I feverishly looked around the back of the bus, looking where I expected the bag and water bottle to be, not seeing them, then looking away and back again in the vain hope that they would sneak back onto the bus while I wasn't looking. As I continued my irrational behavior at the back of the bus, Gulzhan and Bakitzhan made themselves useful at the front of the bus by talking to the driver and getting the previous night's driver's phone number. My entire future rested on the few bits representing this mysterious driver's digits in Bakitzhan's phone. As we left the bus and she began to speak with him, she shouted for joy. Something big had happened.

In her excitement, she forgot that I only understand baby Kazakh, but I could tell that something good had happened. Had the driver given it to lost and found? Did he have a description of another passenger who had taken it? Had he given it to Bakitzhan's favorite charity? I was at a loss, but knew we were getting in a taxi to meet this man in person. Dehydration was coming for me. I needed that water bottle, and soon.

The taxi dropped us off in the middle of a group of apartments somewhere in Zhezkazgan and we hoofed it up to the 5th floor of one of them. Standing outside the door, smoking a cigarette was the bus driver from the night before. Some calm words that did not at all capture the desperate situation I was in were exchanged in Kazakh and then he disappeared inside his apartment. Moments later, he reemerged, bearing my water bottle with backpack still attached. The excitement Bakitzhan had demonstrated was because this man had found it and more importantly was willing to part with it!

I immediately sucked down some gulps of water, with just minutes to spare before my 10 hours expired. While we apologized for disturbing him so early in the morning, and he apologized for rummaging through my belongings in the hope of finding a phone number, I felt my strength return. I gave thanks to this wonderful driver of the number 850 bus between Satpaev and Zhezkazgan and proceeded to make two promises to myself. One, to not leave my stuff on buses in the future. And two, to end my dependence on chemical substances.

2010-12-10T10:59:00.004+08:00

Arriving in Zhezkazgan on the morning of November 9th, I was met at the train station by Laura, the Kaz-21 in Zhezkazgan, who on the car ride to her apartment informed me that "you have the best situation in the Peace Corps." If she meant in Kazakhstan then I think she's absolutely correct. But given how many sites are scattered around the world at latitudes closer to the equator than 47°, there must be at least one where the situation is better. Or at the very least where the sun rises earlier.

I am assigned to Zhezkazgan Humanitarian College, but since there is another college here that has the same name, most people call it the Ped (pedagogical) College. This is for the best, as there are a number of English words that aren't quite cognates with Russian that HCNs (Host Country Nationals) insist on using, and both humanitarian and college fall into this category. We don't have the equivalent of Kazakh colleges in my experience in America, although a trade school probably comes pretty close. College starts after 9th grade here, and though I have yet to fully understand who chooses to go to college, and who chooses to stay in school through 11th grade, so far my understanding is that the weaker students go on to colleges. And they're teaching languages to future teachers, not how to be Mahatma Gandhi, so perhaps Zhezkazgan Humanities and Pedagogy Trade School would be a more precise translation.

Being a pedagogical institute, in a country where many people hold the view that teaching, nursing, and administrative assisting are the only suitable jobs for women, means that 95% of the students are female. I'm not the best reader of human emotions, but I am seeing a lot of what I think social scientists call "googly eyes" among the young ladies. I'm assuming it means they're amazed at my near-native level ability to communicate in God's language: English.

The students range in age from 15-20, and naturally vary greatly in maturity and English level. Unlike at American schools, one group of students takes all of their classes together, which means there is no opportunity to place more advanced students in more advanced classes. Unfortunately, this leads to more unequal levels among the students because the local teachers rarely ask weak students to participate in class. Thus, one or two strong students will dominate the class, soak up all of the limited time that the local teachers allocate for student speaking, and leave the rest of the class in the dust. Luckily for me, I'm teaching a first year class, so I have the opportunity to nip that in the bud. Among the older students, it means that there are a few students in each class with whom I'm actually able to talk about things that interest me (meaning of life type stuff) rather than what kind of fruits they like to eat.

All in all, it's a great situation indeed. And Olessya, if you're making good on your threat to read this, thank you!

2010-12-05T23:49:00.004+08:00

On November 6th, the other volunteers and I officially swore in to the Peace Corps. Switching labels from "trainee" to "volunteer" was not particularly important to me, except that now we begin accruing readjustment (ski-bum) allowance every month. Interestingly, I was selected to give a stuttering speech in Kazakh to the assembled guests, including "His Excellency" Richard C Hoagland, the American ambassador to Kazakhstan. It was done in the typical style of foreign language learners in Kazakhstan, which is to say that I was a poorly trained parrot regurgitating sounds that someone else told me meant something in Kazakh. But Kazakhs go bonkers for foreigners speaking their language, so it was fairly well received regardless.

Following the ceremony, we got to enjoy another day and a half at the luxurious Kok Tobe Sanatorium before the 30 hour train ride to Zhezkazgan. Now, I really enjoy traveling by sleeper train because it's a great opportunity to meet new people, it's relaxing, and it's generally more comfortable than most other modes of transportation I can think of. Another perk of the Kazakh trains, is that the space between the cars isn't as sealed as your local DOT inspector would probably require, which means it's much easier to imagine that you're James Bond hopping from car to car. I'm supposed to stay positive in the blog (something that is very difficult for me to do because I'm generally quite critical) so allow me to say that one major area of opportunity for an enterprising businessperson is diversifying the offerings of the on-board sellers beyond dried fish.

People in Zhezkazgan are quite keen on asking me what my first impressions of their city are. It is nearly impossible for me to couch my thoughts in pretty terms in Kazakh, so I tell people that I'm impressed with how friendly the Zhezkazgan citizenry is. And that's true. But let's just say that the Travel Channel isn't going to be running a week-long special on things to see and do in Zhezkazgan in the foreseeable future.

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I'm currently living in a two bedroom apartment (at the center of the map) with a 58 year-old host dad who's an ambulance driver, and 56 year-old host mom who is a nutritionist at the local boys' math and science boarding school. They have an 18 year-old daughter who is currently studying politics at a university in Karaganda. Their names literally translate as Life Companion and Happy Soul, respectively, and they pretty much live up to that. Since they've hosted two volunteers before, they're already broken in to some of my strange American ways, and for the most part give me the freedom I'm used to. The one exception is that my host mom refuses to let me leave the house without my thick winter coat on.

2010-11-12T01:26:00.000+08:00

My new host family was tremendous, mostly due to the unceasing efforts of the matriarch, Turimzhan. An indomitable widow who has 5 children and 7 grandchildren, it was Turimzhan's kindness that enabled me to join her family in the first place. Although she was not initially on the list of potential host families, she adopted Andrew after something went wrong with his first family. This meant that her oldest son, Murat, was no longer able to live in his room, but instead slept on the floor outside it, and that her grandson spent his nightson the sofa in the living room. Then, when Andrew's sad decision to go home came and Amantai asked if she would be willing to rescue me as well, she unselfishly decided to keep the cramped living quarters for three more weeks.

From youngest to oldest, the people who slept at her house were Mohammed (grandson - 9), Zhanna (daughter - 21), me, Murat (son - 31). Mohammed and I spent a great deal of time playing war (the card game that lasts as long as my childhood swim meets did), balancing an umbrella on various fingers, wrestling, and finally practicing solving a Rubik's cube. Since in Kazakh families age is revered over anything else, Mohammed spent a lot of his time doing small chores for the adults, like fetching cell phones, grabbing food from the refrigerator, or putting things away. He also seemed to get yelled at a lot for not doing his homework, but I think that's just a condition of childhood. At any rate, Mohammed and I had great deal of fun together.

Next in the line came Zhanna, a very intelligent girl who just graduated from university and works as a computer programmer in Almaty. This means that she gets to borrow her older brother's car and make the hour long commute on the treacherous Kazakh roads 5 times per week. The few times I got to share this experience with her I was quite impressed with her skills, and even more impressed that she had so far survived. Zhanna spent a great deal of her time looking at her reflection in whatever surface she could find, a habit which I tried to make fun of every chance I got.

Why Murat is still single and living at home is a mystery to me. He works in the IT department at a bank about 15 minutes away from the apartment, and is eternally joyful and helpful. Unlike the other males whom I've seen in Kazakhstan, Murat doesn't shy away from making food, doing his ironing, cleaning the dishes, or taking care of his laundry. Perhaps it's because he's older, but I like to think it is because he inherited Turimzhan's kindness gene. Murat is also constantly laughing and joking, which is a trait that I find quite agreeable. Zhanna and I spent more than one night wondering why so many Kazakh girls are married to drunken losers and gentlemen like Murat are still single.

Finally, we come to Turimzhan. In addition to keeping the household running smoothly, Turimzhan teaches elementary school classes 6 days per week and is writing a 3rd grade mathematics textbook in Kazakh. I'm pretty sure that the woman never sleeps, as the two times that I happened to walk through the living room between midnight and 5 am, she was up at the computer typing out her textbook. Whereas my previous host family saw the modest sum I was giving them as income and attempted to feed me as cheaply as possible, I'm convinced that Turimzhan sought to spend the entire allotment and more on food just for me. A typical lunch (which she insisted on packing for me since the few times I tried myself I didn't achieve her gold standard) consisted of a triple-decker sandwich, an apple, an orange, a bag of cookies and crackers and candies, a milk box, and a tupperware container with some sort of entree. Additionally, I could not get away with eating less than two helpings at any meal. By some genetic mishap that if studied and made available in pill form would certainly collapse the entire diet industry, I was unable to turn this increased consumption into any weight gain, so Turimzhan continued to insist that I eat more. Although she did allow me to do my own laundry and ironing, which I appreciated, she made sure that Murat and Zhanna were there to help me if I needed to buy something, had a Kazakh question, or simply was looking lonely.

I'm eternally grateful to this wonderful family, regret that I was unable to spend more time with them, and sincerely hope that I have learned a thing or two about generosity from them and can pay it forward in the future.

2010-11-10T01:21:00.002+08:00

Sometime around my 6th week here, something happened with my original host family that set them into bouts of excited squabbling. Because my Kazakh wasn't (and isn't) up to understanding arguments and half the time they were arguing in Russian, I didn't have any clue what was going on. But one morning, as I was eating breakfast, my host mom grabbed a cookie sheet and repeatedly attempted to strike my host dad as he clumsily parried with the balcony door. Before this incident I could've assumed that they were just having heated debates about the weather, or perhaps which events of the 2011 Asian Winter Games they wanted to attend, but it was now clear their passionate outburts were about something a bit more important.

Soon after that incident, they stopped talking to me except to say when dinner was ready. I tried asking my host brother what was wrong, and he said it wasn't me, but some sort of family issue. My language instructor came by the house and ascertained that I should go to bed a little earlier, wash my hands after waking up, and wash my dishes after finishing meals (something I'd been doing since they started letting me in the second week). I amended my behavior as suggested, and once again asked my brother what was wrong. I thought that perhaps that since my being there had forced the four family members to live together in the same room, it was stressing them out. However, my host brother, who had been making himself rather scarce lately, told me that it had something to do with a bank crisis.

Reasonably assured that I had taken whatever steps I could take to make the situation better, short of wiring a large sum of money into their bank accounts, I was content to spend my last few weeks sleeping in their house but spending my evenings with some neighborhood boys who were eagerly and patiently trying to teach me Kazakh. However, as fate would have it, another trainee from my language group decided that being here wasn't exactly what he wanted. My language instructor immediately recognized that I could benefit greatly from packing my bags and schlepping them and myself the mile or so to his host family's house. So that is exactly what we did.

Now to give you some idea of how deteriorated the situation was, when I went to get my things and tell my family I would be leaving, I went with my language teacher. Amantai is one of the most outgoing and friendly people I have ever met, and she had met the host family before. When we entered the house, I told my host mom that Amantai was there too. Amantai told her in kind terms that I would be leaving in the next 15 minutes, to which my host mom grunted a reply that was unintelligible to me, and then continued to clean the bathroom. During the 15 minutes or so that it took me to hurriedly throw my belongings together, my host mom completely ignored Amantai, refusing even to offer her a seat. I shook my host father's hand, said thank you and left. Amantai told me after we left that their only concern was that they wouldn't be getting the 30,000 tenge they had expeceted from me for staying with them. Instead, the money went to my new host family, who could not have been better.

2010-10-02T20:08:00.003+08:00

The Kazakhstani people are not yet civilized enough to derive most of their calories from food that is mined halfway around the world, hastily assembled by machines in a far off factory, packaged in freshness preserving plastics with a list of unpronounceable ingredients, bought at a supermarket 5-10 miles from home, stored in an oversized pantry for 3-6 months and then consumed from a vessel that fits neatly into a car's cup holders. You're probably thinking that this is tragic and that the US should increase it's foreign aid budget to hastily correct the sad predicament. But fear not, dear reader, for Snickers bars are already cheaply available here and a gloriously sterilized food future no doubt awaits.

Before we talk about the food here, I think it's important to mention some of the underlying reasons why diets are different here than in the fifty nifty. First, the GDP per capita (PPP) of Kazakhstan is about one quarter that of the US. Naturally, if people are not as wealthy, their diets are different. Second, in the United States we have 765 vehicles for every one thousand people. Kazakhstan, by contrast, has 170. Hence, it's generally more difficult for a person or a family to go a long way to acquire their food. Finally, tupperware and refrigerators aren't nearly as popular as back home (at least with the family I live with). There are probably a host of reasons for that, but the result is that leftovers must be eaten before the original meal has been buffered by time and new tastes.

With that being said, the manner in which food is prepared at my house is that ingredients are bought from a store less than a kilometer away, brought home in plastic sacks and then set on the kitchen floor. Eventually, a large pot of some sort will be cooked up. Generally this will either be soup, or some sort of meat/vegetable mixture that will be eaten over rice or pasta. I have not yet eaten the same mixture twice, so my suspicion is that ingredients are chosen from the floor such that those that would rot first are used first. The whole pot will stay on the kitchen stove until it is used completely, a process that seems to take 1-2 days. In addition to the main course, which will be the same for the same 1-2 day period, there are generally pears, tomatoes, and candies on the table for side dishes. Oh, and bread and butter.

Since a picture is worth more than a few words, I decided to photograph a sample of my meals over the course of a few days.

Now, all of this is not to say that I am at all dissatisfied with my food situation here. It is quite delicious to my admittedly undiscerning taste and is more than enough to satisfy my hunger. Maybe at some point in the future I'll have enough money to try to impress people with some sophisticated affinities for expensive foods, but for now I'm quite content to be eating somewhat locally and healthily.

2010-09-26T22:55:00.002+08:00

A few weeks ago, three other volunteers and I walked up one of the nearby foothills, yielding the above panoramic picture. The city front and center is Talgar, and the apartment I live in is approximately in the middle.

2010-09-07T23:50:00.001+08:00

If you don't like reading about pooping, please discontinue reading at this point. If, on the other hand, you recognize that it's just another bodily function like breathing or blinking and that fear of discussing it is irrational and hinders progress, then please continue wasting your work day on this Internet website page.

One of the joys of traveling to a different place and eating food that probably wasn't grown, prepared or stored to health department regulations is that you get more opportunities to acquaint yourself with the local bathrooms. Here, that could be a typical Western toilet, an atypical Western toilet, a squat toilet, a hole in the ground, or a sidewalk if you're under about 2 years of age. Each of these modes have their advantages and disadvantages, but I'd like to focus today on the minute differences between types of Western toilets. Let's begin with a review of what I consider a typical American toilet.

This is quite a nice design. As you can see, the person's body is positioned in such a way so as to maximize the chances of successfully dropping in the target zone. Although this design can cause chilly surprise splashes, it is generally easy to use and rather low-maintenance. Clearly, much time has been spent perfecting this arrangement. Now let's see what an atypical Western toilet looks like.
Initially, this appears to be the Western toilet to which you are accustomed. If you were rushing to an unfamiliar restroom, seeing this toilet would probably cause you to rejoice since you haven't been toning your squatting muscles and you would really like to finish the crossword in a comfortable sitting position. However, once you lift the seat, you realize that the person who reverse engineered this toilet from the original moved the water to the front for some unknown reason. At first this probably doesn't upset you, because you figure that once yesterday's beshbarmak is in the bowl, flushing the toilet will cause it to slide down the slippery porcelain and off to Never Never Land. Unfortunately, you're wrong. The beshbarmark will stubbornly cling to the flat sides of the bowl, regardless of how much water you waste by repeatedly flushing. Now what you had hoped would be a delightful experience has suddenly turned sour as you frantically search for a toilet brush to remedy the situation and leave the toilet as you found it. You find the toilet brush and vow that next time you'll scoot as far to the front as you can but it doesn't work because the water is just too far forward and you don't bend that way and you can't sit backwards because there's no room for your legs so you try hovering over the toilet but that's even harder than squatting and eventually you just resign yourself to becoming good friends with the toilet brush. And now you are wishing for that unfailing hole in the ground where no clean-up is required, or that you were still in the age range where it was socially acceptable to wear diapers and you had a parent/guardian on clean up duty.

2010-09-03T23:37:00.005+08:00

Most of what I've been doing in Kazakhstan is trying to learn Kazakh. For Peace Corps Kazakhstan, the volunteers have a "choice" of focusing on Russian or Kazakh. Initially, I thought that it would be more advantageous to learn Russian since more people speak it worldwide. However, after reading a few blog posts about how much better Kazakh speakers are treated, recognizing that speaking Russian in Kazakhstan is somewhat similar to speaking Mandarin in Xinjiang, and that Russian will be much easier to learn back in the states, I opted for Kazakh instead. As it turns out, 8 volunteers who wanted to learn Russian were moved into Kazakh language groups anyway. And I should be able to find a Russian language partner wherever I end up, which will mean I could potentially have two critical needs and one super critical needs language for the Foreign Service.

In order to learn the language, our group of 74 volunteers has been broken into groups of about 5. Each group has a Language and Cultural Facilitator (LCF) who serves both as a language teacher, and as a cultural guide. For my group of education volunteers learning Kazakh in Talgar, this person is Amantai.

Amantai is a fireball. She's a sixty year old grandmother of 4 who goes for swims every day of the year at 5 in the morning in the lake near her town. In the winter months, this means first cutting a hole in the ice and then going for a 30 second dip. I couldn't find weather data for her town, but in nearby Almaty, the average low in January is 15°F. If my understanding of typical weather patterns is correct, then Johnny Cash was right when he sang that "the coldest hour is the one comes just before the dawn." Maybe one day I'll find the courage to join her in her badassery.

Amantai's English is limited to the bare minimum needed to explain grammar, so although she knows phrases like "ordinal number" and "present continuous tense," she struggles to put together simple sentences. Consequently, our language class is almost completely in Kazakh, which is great for learning but also rather exhausting. Each day Amantai fills a half dozen flip charts with new vocabulary and grammar that the five of us duly record and practice in little games. After just nine days of lessons, I have been able to have a number of broken conversations with my host family and the neighborhood kids in Kazakh, so she must be doing something right.

Last Friday, we got the pleasure of having our "First Washing Day," which means that the five of us went to Amantai's house so that she could show us the Kazakh way of doing laundry by hand. I'm not sure that the specific hand motions she insisted on are really necessary to achieve the desired stain/water/detergent interaction, but it was fun humoring her and we got to practice Kazakh throughout. As an added bonus, we got to make бауырсак, the tasty Kazakh version of fry-bread.

2010-08-23T19:53:00.002+08:00

More has happened to me in the past 6 days than in the past 6 months. It all began with what Ken called a "structured friend making" activity on Tuesday at Peace Corps staging in Washington DC. Meeting new people is always exciting, and more so when you know you'll be sharing a wild experience for the next two years. I was fortunate that I had spent some time on the Kaz-22 Google Group, as it helped tremendously in learning other volunteers' names and faces. Although a plurality of volunteers are 2010 graduates, there are a few older volunteers in their late 20s and early 30s. Yes, I'm at a point in my life where that age group counts as older. I'd love to bore you with all of the mundane details of staging and orientation, but I'll assume that you have some common sense and know that being drunk, lost and alone late at night in a foreign country probably isn't best for your personal safety. Instead, I'll share the few tidbits of staging and orientation that I found most interesting.

One of our sessions involved talking to two Kazakhs about Kazakhstani history and culture. Although one of the locals had been to America, she wasn't very helpful in terms of pointing out cultural differences. When asked if there were any different eating habits, she simply responded that Kazakhstanis eat just like normal people. Okay, well that's very helpful if I have a Kazakhstani understanding of normal, but in American culture it's normal to sweep bread crumbs onto the floor and that just doesn't fly here. Similarly, she said that the people here have normal hand gestures, so I was a bit taken aback when my host brother continually made a cutting action across his throat with his thumb throughout a conversation. No, he wasn't describing the tragic effects of collectivization on the Kazakh people. In Kazakhstan that particular hand gesture doesn't mean "death" but rather "a lot." At any rate, it shouldn't be a surprise, but "normal" is all relative, and it's impossible to describe important cultural differences between groups unless you have a deep understanding of both cultures.

I have no idea why, but despite driving on the right side of the road, many Kazakhstani vehicles have the steering wheel on the right side of the car. Maybe it's so that the driver can see a little better how close she's coming to smashing the pedestrian she's passing, or perhaps the Kazakhstanis have a habit of moonlighting as mail carriers. Unfortunately, driving while in the Peace Corps is verboten, so I won't get the chance to try it myself.

While in China, I eagerly noted that America is the world's most diverse country and hasn't had a big race riot in almost 20 years. (China hasn't either. All is hunky-dory in Tibet and Xinjiang, and anybody who tells you otherwise is just a dirty American imperialist bent on having a satellite state on China's border as a prelude to an all-out invasion.) Not being intimately familiar with the ethnic makeup of all the world's countries, it seemed true to me at the time. And let's be real, compared to 97% Han Chinese China, even a philharmonic audience looks diverse. But my vast ignorance has become ever so slightly less with my exposure to Kazakhstan. I don't know of an official metric for most diverse, but Kazakhstan's 64% Kazakh, 24% Russian, 3% Uzbek, 2% Ukranian and 1% Uyghur population with a host of other ethnicities, makes it diverse enough that I don't get stared at. And as far as I can tell, they haven't had any race riots and supposedly interethnic marriage is accepted. Maybe China could learn something about dealing with Uyghurs from their neighbors to the West.

My biggest cultural misstep so far (that I know of) arose from humor being different across cultures and there being no definite or indefinite articles in Russian. My host brother was trying to watch a DVD and needed me to hit the play button on the remote. After staring dumbly at the Russian text on the remote, I happened to choose the correct button based on shape and location. Since I've felt pretty useless around the apartment for the past few days, I decided to celebrate my victory over this small piece of technology by saying "I'm a god!" Unfortunately, this came out as "Я Аппах!" or "I am Allah!" A tolerant Muslim country Kazakhstan may be, but I still got a well-deserved reprimand from Norlan, my host brother.

A Convenient Life

2010-01-24T10:36:00.002+08:00

My current life involves skiing every morning while listening to the Economist, ChinesePod, audio books, or foreign policy lectures available on iTunes U. In the afternoons, I slug through one of the books on the State Department's recommended reading list for aspiring foreign service officers. Although my diet consists largely of Totino's Party Pizzas and chili spaghetti, it's an exceedingly comfortable life that I'm eking out.

However, as predicted by previous ski bums, I have become more picky about what days I really want to go out and ski. If there isn't any fresh fluff, why bother waking up early? Hence, I've written an extension to my alarm clock script to check the snow report first. Only if there's more than a threshold level (currently 3") of the good stuff, will my alarm sound. Otherwise, it's sweet dreams and a natural wake up some point later in the day.

Snow Report

#!/bin/bash -l
#Script to check snowfall at Vail and Beaver Creek.

snowpath=http://www.snow.com/rssfeeds/
snowfile=snowreports.aspx
#Threshold level in inches
threshold=3

analyze ()
{
#Find the relevant lines in the snow report
vail=$(grep "Vail Resort Snow Report" $snowfile)
bc=$(grep "Beaver Creek Resort Snow Report" $snowfile)

if [ ${vail:39:2} -gt $threshold ] || [ ${bc:47:2} -gt $threshold
then
#We got threshold snow level

if [ ${vail:39:2} -gt ${bc:47:2} ]
then
echo "Vail got more gnarly powder than BC so go ski at Vail! ${vail:39:9}"
else
echo "BC got more gnarly powder than Vail so go ski at BC! ${bc:47:9}"
fi
#Sound the alarm!
bash /home/david/bin/alarm
else
echo "No new snow :-("
fi
}

if [ -e $snowfile ]
then
echo "Removing old file."
rm $snowfile
fi

echo "Retrieving snow report."
wget $snowpath$snowfile -q

if [ -e $snowfile ]
#File retreived
then
echo "Report retrieved. Running analysis."
analyze
else
echo "Damn, there was a web error."
#Run the alarm anyway. The internet's probably out due too much snow on transmission lines!
bash /home/david/bin/alarm
fi

Alarm

#!/bin/sh -l
# Alarm that slowly ramps up music volume

# Make new playlist
find ~/Music/ -iname "*.mp3" -print > /home/david/playlist.m3u
find ~/Music/ -iname "*.ogg" -print >> /home/david/playlist.m3u

#save original volume
initMasterString=$(amixer cget numid=1 | grep '[0-9][0-9],[0-9][0-9]')
initPCMString=$(amixer cget numid=6 | grep '[0-9][0-9],[0-9][0-9]')

initMaster=${initMasterString:`expr index "$(amixer cget numid=1 | grep '[0-9][0-9],[0-9][0-9]')" ,`}
initPCM=${initPCMString:`expr index "$(amixer cget numid=6 | grep '[0-9][0-9],[0-9][0-9]')" ,`}
amixer -c 0 set Master,0 unmute>&waste.txt
echo "Initial Master: $initMaster"
echo "Initial PCM: $initPCM"
#set volume to initial
for (( volume = $initMaster; volume <= 31; volume++ )) do amixer -q cset numid=1 $volume done amixer -q cset numid=1 100% amixer -q cset numid=6 0 #load music player mplayer -ao alsa -shuffle -quiet -playlist /home/david/playlist.m3u >&alarmout.txt &

#ramp up volume
for (( volume = 0; volume <= 255; volume++ ))
do
amixer -q cset numid=6 $volume
#uncomment to display shit
#echo $volume
sleep .5s
done

#wait for user to wake up at loud volume
sleep 70s
if test -z $(pidof mplayer); then
#mplayer not running, user cancelled alarm
echo "Alarm cancelled by user."
else
#mplayer running, stop playing
killall mplayer
echo "Alarm timed out. No user input."
fi

#return volume to original value
amixer -q cset numid=1 $initMaster
amixer -q cset numid=6 $initPCM

2009-08-17T14:07:00.001+08:00

Humor in a foreign language is difficult. Although I have a small advantage because of my goofy accent, there are a lot of things that I think will be funny that fail miserably. Sometimes I get lucky and the reverse happens, but not nearly as often. In an attempt to try to elicit laughs from people, I tried to learn a canned joke, but the responses were rather cold. I can sometimes get in a quip that my good friends who are used to my sense of humor will laugh at, but getting people I don't know to laugh can be quite a struggle. For a while I took to referring to myself as a “foreign devil,” but that eventually grew old. Luckily, I recently struck gold in Beijing. I call it my elevator joke because it works best in a crowded elevator. It's crude and rather unoriginal, but it gets the job done. Unfortunately it only works in quiet and crowded places.

“āiyōu, wǒ fàngpì le...bùhǎoyìsi.”
“Oopsies, I farted...excuse me.”

In a culture where saving face is valued more than almost anything and nobody talks to strangers, having somebody intentionally embarrass themselves is quite a shock. It's also great because the Chinese always try to be very stoic in public. Watching them try to hold back their laughter is a reward like no other.

2009-08-15T20:08:00.002+08:00

As you may have noticed, there are a lot of things that get me fired up about China. Among these is the charge that America, as opposed to China, has rampant racial problems. As recent events in Massachusetts have shown, we still have some problems in the US that make it far from perfect. That being said, we are also one of, if not the, most racially diverse countries on the planet with relatively little geographical isolation. In contrast, here in Jiangsu province, the population is over 99% Han Chinese. It's hard to have racial problems when there's effectively one race. In the provinces where there is significant mixing of Han with one or more the “56 National Ethnic Groups,” things aren't quite as harmonious.

Albeit I've mostly been the beneficiary of what I perceive as rampant racial discrimination, that has been because people have assumed that I am one of the “good” foreigners. I took a stab at changing that when I was in Anhui with a student. There a young boy took quite an interest in what was probably the first foreigner he'd ever seen. Wondering what would happen, I introduced myself as from Japan. I've found that most Chinese people when asked will be quite willing to admit that they “hate” Japanese people. Undoubtedly the historical relationship between the two countries has been tumultuous at best. Whether this a valid reason to hate an entire nationality is a question I won't address. True to his heritage, after introducing myself as Japanese, the young boy told me (my student translating) “I hope when you walk down the street the police see you and arrest you!” Admittedly he may have been reacting to my ludicrous claim to being of Japanese descent, but I tend to think it more likely that to some extent he believed me. That doesn't ring of racial tolerance to me.

On my trip to Xinjiang, I traded my watch for a hat that's typical of what many of the minorities here wear with a man whose first sentence to me was “the Chinese are bad...very bad.” Having the hat gave me an opportunity to wear it in Changzhou. Although my complexion isn't quite as Central Asian as the actual minority that typically wears the hat, I'm told that I look close enough to confuse people. I had thought that it was only the obviously black or white foreigners who were shouted “lǎo waì!” (foreigner!) at. However, wearing my hat I repeatedly heard the call “xīn jiāng rén! (“Someone from Xinjiang!”) You'd have to go to a pretty remote place in the US to hear somebody doing something similar.

2009-08-14T20:37:00.003+08:00

I've discussed the cold part of how Chinese people are similar to a thermos. Allow me now then to delve into the warm part, which like the boiling water that is incessantly poured into the thermoses, is quite warm indeed.

Although in China's recent history many foreigners were seen as 洋鬼子 (yàng guǐ zi - foreign devils) , the situation today is completely opposite. Foreigners, particularly ones who look different, are accorded an undue amount of respect and adoration. I presume that this comes from a combination of fascination with people who look different, the assumption (backed by a great deal of empirical evidence) that all foreigners are rich, a desire to practice English, and a longing to learn more about the world outside of China. This means that we foreigners are often immediately included in a Chinese person's inner circle of close friends and are hence receive the warm treatment, even from somebody whom we aren't well acquainted.

The warm treatment is worlds apart from the treatment received by all others. Benefits ranging from small favors to wildly expensive acts of hospitality make a Chinese person's inner circle a good place to be. In Shanghai, I was waiting for a cab with a Chinese friend. Another man who was waiting a little further up the road from us successfully hailed the first cab. My Chinese friend immediately went up to him and pointed to me, saying “Can you let us go first?” He immediately backed away and motioned me forward.

Another example is the way that the Chinese treat their close friends and family who have to go to the hospital. I initially thought that my students were just trying to cut class when they always went to the hospital in pairs. Do you really need a friend to go with you if just have a cold? However, when I visited the hospital to see Steve's wife, I understood why. I don't think there's a person in a Chinese hospital by themselves. Each patient that I saw always had at least one other person working with them acting as a nurse's aid. Whether this meant carrying the IV sack or helping the person go to the bathroom, somebody was there. When Ken had his own bout in the hospital, our advisor spent over 24 hours straight at his side. Spending days at time at the hospital wiping your friend's nether regions shows a kindness that I don't know if I'm capable of.

I can't count the number of times that I've been invited to banquets by a Chinese person. Whether visiting a student's family, being introduced to the university president, or simply visiting a new city, a banquet is certainly in order. Each banquet has been a feast, and often consists of competitive drinking, all paid for by whomever invited. One instance that stands out was when my father and I visited Kashgar. A Chinese literature professor here whom I've become friends with was raised in the largely Uighar city in western China, so I asked her if she might me able to recommend something to do. She gave me the phone number of an old classmate of hers with whom she hadn't spoken in 20 years. Although this particular classmate was too busy to go to dinner with us (although he did have just enough time to take a picture with us), he asked a colleague (subordinate?) to take us to dinner. I wasn't expecting anything fancy, until the taxi door opened outside of Quanjude, an extravagant Beijing roast duck restaurant. Along with the two translators whom we'd been assigned, we dined with the colleague, his wife, and another couple through at least 20 dishes of fancy Chinese cuisine for close to two hours. I estimate that the whole banquet cost at least 1,500元, not a paltry sum when my students expect their monthly salary to be 2,000元. As if that wasn't enough, we were also provided a four-star hotel, and a private car to the lake 100 km away we wanted to visit. All of this for a friend, of a friend whom the man hadn't seen in 20 years.

So while Ken and I often joke that Chinese people only think of themselves, this is only true in public where the other people aren't part of the inner circle. We have both been treated with wildly selfless behavior on numerous occasions, in contrast to a Japanese tourist whom I was talking with who said that he was appalled at how the Chinese behaved, describing them as “selfish” and “immoral.” Although it may be a slight mistranslation, his experience has been colored by the fact that he can't readily be identified as a foreigner. (He probably had an accent but most Chinese also speak Mandarin as a second language.) Like other tourists I've talked to who haven't received the inner circle treatment, he wasn't able to see past the cold and selfish public behavior.<

2009-08-02T16:19:00.002+08:00

Delicious recently told me that Chinese people are like the 热水瓶 (thermoses) that every Chinese owns. They are "cold on the outside and warm on the inside." I couldn't agree more. Chinese culture is supposedly much less individualistic than Western culture, however, I've found a few examples where Western culture is much more community oriented than Chinese culture.

Chinese people don't like to put their bags on the floor at train stations. There's good reason for this, as Chinese people also don't mind spitting on the floor, discarding all sorts of trash on the floor, or occasionally allowing their young children to take care of business on the floor (a convenience afforded them by the ubiquitous 开裆裤 - or "split pants"). Since they don't do a lot to preserve the cleanliness of the floors, most people prefer to put their bags on the seats. It's not uncommon to see a crowded train waiting room with numerous people standing up as half of the seats are occupied by luggage. I've also seen a man napping across three seats as dozens of people stood silently around him. Wouldn't thinking of others in the community mean giving up the cleanliness of your bag, or a little sleep, so that the other people around you could grab a seat?

Littering is another problem in China. Although nearly all of the younger generation have been educated to not discard litter at random, and there are trashcans everywhere here, there are still a lot of people who litter. I recognize that this is mostly an educational matter, and most of the people littering came of age when they had more important things to worry about than the environment. I've made it my mission whenever I see somebody littering to try to as gently as possbile correct the situation by either noticeably grabbing the litter and throwing it in the nearest trash can (which is never far away) or handing it back to the person and saying "excuse me, I think you dropped this." I've heard the argument made that if nobody litters, then the street cleaners will be out of a job. However, I asked one at the Olympic Stadium in Beijing if she thought people should throw their trash in the rubbish bins or on the ground. Perhaps not realizing the threat to her job, she said she'd much prefer people use the trash cans. I would think that would be the collectivist behavior.

Probably the most infuriating is Chinese peoples' inability to properly queue. It's one thing when somebody tries to cut to the front of the train station ticket window (resulting in a shout of 排队! from me), but the real demonstration of individualistic behavior comes on the roads. As nearly everything in this country is under construction, there are often times when a road will be closed down to one lane. In the US, this would mean neatly forming a single-file line behind the closure and then orderly alternating between one direction of traffic and the other on the one part of the road that is open. Not so in the land of collectivist thinking. Here, a partial closure means you make your way to the front by any means necessary, which mostly means everybody driving on the wrong side of the road. No problem, until the drivers coming the other direction have to make their way through the veritable parking lot that has formed on both sides of road. How these situations are eventually resolved is a mystery, but suffice it to say that nobody benefits from this sort of behavior, except for perhaps the snacks salespeople who frequent such areas.

According to Delicious' thermos theory, the Chinese people are only warm towards the people they know well and don't think much about the people outside that. Whether they don't think about the other people, or don't care that they're causing harm to them, I don't know. My suspicion is that it's largely because they can get away with it. It's very taboo to cause somebody to lose face by pointing out "bad" behavior. This taboo doesn't really bother me, possibly because the Chinese seem to be much more amicable towards correction from a foreigner than another Chinese. Whether it's chastising somebody for cutting in line, or tossing their trash into the Yangtze river, the other Chinese around seem to be appreciative of my attempts to spread a little bit of collectivist thought. That being said, the Chinese I have met are unbelievably selfless when it comes to their very close circle of friends and family to an extent that is virtually unthinkable in the States, which is a topic for next time.

2009-08-01T16:19:00.000+08:00

While I was teaching at Super Education, I had a student whose English name was Nathan. I never got to know him very well, but in the few classes we had together I gave him my QQ number. At some point during one of our online conversations, I told him my father was visiting China, which immediately prompted Nathan to invite us to the denim factory where he works. Nathan seemed to think that we could help his company broach the US denim market. After honestly disclosing to Nathan that neither my father nor I had any contacts in the US fabric industry, he didn't cancel the invitation so we hopped in a bus to Wujin district in Changzhou to see the factory.

Much to Nathan's chagrin, my father and I were much more interested in the looms, the distinct lack of any semblance of safety precautions (save the old surgical masks on the men working in the dusty recycling room), and the factory workers than we were in the finished product he wanted us to help export. We probably spent a good 30 minutes in the main hall where 60 or so huge looms were each thunderously weaving 4,000 threads together at lightning pace to make the denim fabric. I'd read about looms in history class, but standing in front of one drumming away can really help your understanding of how England was able to so quickly dominate the textile industry.

We stopped to talk to one woman whose job it was to load the cartridges that are then fed into the looms. For 12 hours per day, 7 days per week, and 51 weeks per year, she sits on a short stool on the concrete floor loading thread onto the cartridges. The pay is actually reasonable by Chinese standards, 80元/day and both room and board are provided. However, it's two thirds of what I make and I'm working 4 hours per day, 3 days per week, and 32 weeks per year. I couldn't help but feel sorry for her, although in her mind I'm sure 80元/day in the factory is a hell of a lot better than 10元/day on a farm in her home province.

Still, the only difference between us is that I had the opportunity to receive an education (and didn't squander it). Her job uses a skill that can be learned in a day or two, and my job uses a skill set that takes years of training. Which got me to thinking, the Internet has flattened the world in the sense that now almost anybody has the opportunity to educate themselves if they have the ambition and can afford to set aside the time to do it, which really isn't that many people. What would really flatten the world is something that could cheaply and instantaneously teach people any skill they wished, a la the Matrix. I wonder who would be willing to sit in a stiflingly hot and noisy factory threading a loom if everybody had the ability to be a brain surgeon, an airline pilot, a professional sports player, or a skillful musician.

2009-07-31T16:10:00.001+08:00

As a gesture of appreciation for my students who spent their time and energy tutoring me in Chinese, I decided to give them each a Kiva gift certificate. Kiva is an organization that links consumers with micro-credit projects in the developing world. Owners of the gift certificates get to choose which project they would like to support, and then observe as the project grows and the money is repaid. If, as in most cases, the money is repaid in full, the owner may then opt to reinvest in another project or withdraw the money for their own use. Although I recognize the irony in giving Chinese students money to regift to the "developing" world, I figured it wouldn't hurt to expose them to the idea, and at the very least they should get the money back after a year or so, at which point they could use it however they see fit.

That was the idea at least. With each student I explained to them how the process worked, that they would initially be helping somebody in a third world country (that isn't sitting on $800,000,000,000 in U.S. bonds) and then in a year or so they would have about 170元 to spend on whatever they wanted. I told them if they had any problems figuring out how to use the gift certificate that I would happily sit down with them and show them how. That was six months ago. To date, not a single certificate has been used and only two of the students even registered on Kiva's website.

I understand that 170元 isn't exactly the X-Prize, but I'm dealing with students who are working for 7元/hour cleaning bathrooms at McDonald's. So if they spend less than 24 hours figuring out how to access the money, they've come out ahead and learned some English to boot! It is therefore fascinating to me that not one of them took the time to figure out how to use the gift certificate, which had instructions in relatively simple English, or even took the time to call me and ask how they could possibly get access to this small fortune.

As far as I can tell Chinese students are not exposed to problems where the solution is not simple regurgitation of a fact or process that they have already learned. Deciphering the English on the gift certificate, navigating the website, and then entering the information would have required some critical thinking that was either too difficult or not worth 170元. Since that amounts to 24 hours of work at McDonald's, I'd tend to think that the problem is that the thinking was too difficult. Alternatively, they are true to their birth-right in a communist country and just aren't interested in money. Either way, I'm perplexed.

2009-06-24T01:04:00.003+08:00

Each time that I have had friends and family visit me, I've taken them to the west side of Nanjing to see the The Memorial Hall for Compatriots killed in the Nanjing Massacre by Japanese Forces of Aggression. Part of my motivation for this is because it is such an important part of Chinese history that goes a long way in understanding Sino-Japanese relations. However, a bigger motivating factor is to expose my guests to how the Chinese view history and the tone they take when reporting it. Since we can't read Chinese history books ourselves, the museum's well-done English captions are the next best thing.

A common gripe about the Chinese education system is that students are not taught how to think but rather what to think. As evidenced in the accusatory tone of the museum's name, this also is true about their approach to history. Throughout the museum, most references to the Chinese people in the museum include adjectives like brave, great, heroic, and honorable. References to the Japanese, on the other hand, are not so flattering. While certainly some (or most) of the colorful descriptions are true in this case, the apparent doubt that the reader could use a little critical thinking to reach the same conclusions on his or her own is quite off putting. Without being given the opportunity to critically think about something as self-evident as the immorality of the rape of Nanjing, how can students be expected to critically think about anything more complicated?

As I've written about before, the part of the museum that really fires me up the most comes at the very end. Previously, I had had to paraphrase the words, but this time I was more intelligent about my copying by typing the text into my phone instead. The exact words are:

History must never be forgotten. The Nanjing Massacre is a true tragedy for the Chinese nation, a national humiliation that must be remembered and a fascist atrocity of bestiality strangling humanity and brutally smothering civilization. It should be forever transcribed in Nanjing's memory. History must not be distorted.

Allow me to rewrite the paragraph changing only two words.

History must never be forgotten. The Tiananmen Square Massacre is a true tragedy for the Chinese nation, a national humiliation that must be remembered and a fascist atrocity of bestiality strangling humanity and brutally smothering civilization. It should be forever transcribed in China's memory. History must not be distorted.

I detect a hint of hypocrisy and another stifling of the opportunity for critical thinking.

2009-06-13T09:42:00.002+08:00

As most of you are aware, Mandarin is a tonal language. The tone with which you say the words changes the meaning. There's the classic example of going to market to buy a horse (买马 - mǎi mǎ) and ending up selling your mom (卖妈 - mài mā). Four actual tones, plus a neutral fifth tone, make it very difficult for non-tonal language speakers to understand and speak the language correctly, although after many years of practice, it is possible to achieve near-native results.

In learning the tones I used to try to remember the number of the tone, for example by remembering that in hello (nǐ hǎo) there are two third tones. My failure at recreating the tones while speaking with this method meant that I got to learn the Mandarin word for robot very early in my learning, as everybody I talked to was not afraid to tell me that I sounded like a robot. Although the tones are important, I'm told that it's still possible to understand my robotic atonal Chinese. Frankly, I don't understand how.

According to my dictionary, there are about 75 characters all spelled "shi." (Not to mention the 24 spelled "she," which has an almost identical pronunciation) Two of the 75 are neutral tone, which means that each other tone represents an average of 18 different characters. Maybe Chinese people can figure out which of the 18 first-tone shīs a Chinese person is saying from the context. But from those of us who are tonally impaired, can they really figure out what we're trying to say from the 75 (or 99) possibilites? And my students have the audacity to claim that English words have too many meanings...

At any rate, the new and improved method I've adopted is to actually try to remember the sound of the word when I learn it. Although I still mix them up fairly often, it has helped a lot to sound out the tones nǐ hǎo rather than thinking ni 3 hao 3. Now when I speak one word at a time and am really focusing on using the correct tone, I can get them right about 80% of the time. However, when I start to speak quickly, I fall into what I'm told is a common trap for foreigners and speak in exclusively first tones, as this is generally the easiest tone to use. This failure recently caused me some embarassment.

One of my favorite restaurants on campus sells a dish called malatang, which literally means "tingling spicy hot." I'm sure I'll write more about the dish itself at some point in the future. At any rate, one of the workers there is a pretty friendly guy and I figured it was about time I learned his name. When I asked him his name, he said "shi mi mi," which means "it's 'mimi.'" My familiarity with Chinese names is about zero, and I didn't understand this sentence until I had already replied "Hello, Mimi!" In fact, mìmì (two fourth tones) means "secret," so he wasn't telling me that his name is Mimi, but rather telling me that his name is a secret. Mandarin often leaves out the articles, so there isn't a big distinction between "it's a secret" and "it's secret." But I had already made a fool of myself by calling him "Secret" and figured given the ambiguity of the sentence, I could just play it off as a joke by continuing to call him Mimi.

I went on calling him Mimi for several months. Sometimes he would giggle when I said it, and sometimes other patrons would ask about it. I figured they were just laughing at my hilarious joke of pretending that I actually thought his name was Mimi. Well, I finally happened to be in the malatang restaurant with my friend Qin Chen, who started laughing uncontrollably when I said "Hello, Mimi!" Unlike the other patrons, however, she had the English skills and familiarity with me to correct me. As I mentioned before, I often end up speaking in all first tones. So rather than referring to him as "secret" (mìmì) for all these months as I had thought, Qin Chen informed me that I had actually been calling him mīmī, which means "tits."

2009-06-09T00:01:00.001+08:00

This week begins the final examinations week for my classes. Depending on the class size, this consists of a 3-6 minute conversation with me. Last semester I gave the students 20 possible topics beforehand, thinking that 20 would be far too many for them to prepare completely for. I underestimated Chinese study habits, and was met with more than one student who had written down a complete speech for each topic. So this semester, I decided to keep the topics a secret. For the three classes that I have had for the whole year, I decided to throw in a few more difficult topics for the more advanced students. I am looking forward to hearing their responses to "Why do you think China is a developing country and America is a developed country?" and "George Orwell said 'He who controls the past commands the future. He who commands the future conquers the past.' What does this statement mean to you?"

As I listen to final exams and look back on the year, it's hard for me to pinpoint anything that I actually taught the students. Since all of my students complained that they don't get enough opportunites to speak, most of my class time was dedicated to activites that provided situations for them to practice with each other what they had already learned. Although I did often point out common errors they were making, most of the new material I introduced was incidental to the lessons, rather than having the lessons aimed directly at practicing new "lexical patterns" as my friend Ken at ChinesePod would say. Still, they seemed to appreciate that I was making an effort to get them to speak and most seem to be disappointed and surprised that I won't be back next year.

Wondering whether or not I had in fact imparted any English knowledge on my students, I asked one of my class monitors with pretty good English to tell me what she thought were the most important things she had learned from my class. I was pleasantly surprised when she replied "keep an open mind, do not judge anything easily, and do not care [sic] others' attitudes towards me." So I may not have made it clear when to use past perfect instead of past perfect continuous, or how to link unaccented syllables, but I did at least expose her to a different point of view, and hopefully that's worth something.

2009-06-08T00:19:00.004+08:00

Confucious say "有朋自远方来，不亦乐乎," which means "How happy we are to meet friends from afar!" This was particularly true when my mother came to visit me in May. My students often ask me if I miss my parents, to which I always reply "not at all" in the hopes of reinforcing that American children are independent from their parents. But truth be told, I do miss them a little bit, so I was really looking forward to my mom's visit.

We did a whirlwind tour of Haian, Changzhou, Nanjing, Shanghai, Xi'an, Shijiazhuang, Yujiacun, and Beijing, despite the fact that I only cancelled classes for one of the two weeks that she was here. You'd have to ask her what the highlights were, but the thing that I'll probably remember the most about her visit was a curious incident in Xi'an, home of the world renowned terracotta warriors.

We hired a private car outside the train station with a driver named Peter. He seemed quite friendly, and charged what seemed to be a reasonable rate for the drive out to the warriors and back to town. However, I think he is more used to dealing with tourists getting paid in dollars rather than yuan, and was kind of fed up by the end of the day after I refused to go to the fancy restaurant he recommended or buy something from the pottery store where he obviously got a commission.

At the end of the day, my mom was craving another foot massage like the one we'd stumbled onto in Shanghai. I asked Peter if he knew of a good place to do this; he said he knew just the place down by the train station. Unlike the single room experience like we'd had in Shanghai, at this place you were separated into male and female changing rooms. I was a little bit concerned that my mom's lack of Chinese would pose a problem, but there isn't a whole lot that needs communicated during a foot massage.

Upon entering the locker room, I was surprised to be told that I should remove all of my clothes. I hadn't told my mom that the price included a "bath" (which I had unwisely assumed just meant a foot bath) so I imagined her being a bit confused when the helpers in the women's room motioned for her to disrobe for her "foot massage." Interestingly, in the locker room there was a poster on the wall for some sort of services, all of which were much pricier than the foot massage, but I couldn't decipher the Chinese, so I just went about bathing. My bath was a little awkward with two Chinese-only attendants accompanying me, but I figured at least I could talk a little with them, unlike my mom in the next room. It wasn't until after I had bathed that the attendant was suddenly able to speak English to me and make me understand the poster by pointing at it and saying "you need a woman!" Oops. I had inadvertently taken my mom to a brothel.

I declined the woman numerous times before being led to the foot massage room where my mom was thankfully already deep into the foot massage she had been expecting. I asked her if she'd received any special offers on the way there, but she hadn't. So we just went on getting our foot massages as various scantily clad women walked to and from whatever business needed to be attended to.

I knew that many massage parlors in China are just fronts for the surely more profitable business of prostitution, but I didn't expect to be taken to one by a tour operator when I was obviously with my mom. Still, no harm no foul, and how many people can say they've been to a brothel with their mom?

2009-06-04T10:02:00.002+08:00

As the other bloggers have noted, Blogspot is now on the list of blocked websites in China. Despite the crystal-clear transparency of the Chinese government and its policies, nobody knows for sure why this is, although suspicions are that it's because the recently passed anniversary of the Tiananmen Square "incident." A few of my Chinese friends, Teddy and Delicious, expressed concern about this, as they inexplicably seemed to be enjoying my endless criticisms of China. As they are both Communist Party members, this made a perfect opportunity to chide them for being part of the problem.

Since I don't read a lot of Chinese Wikipedia and am not all that interested in joining Falun Gong, my qualms with the Great Firewall of China had been more philosophical in nature. However, PostSecret is hosted by Blogspot, and I do morbidly enjoy reading about other people's misery. The time had come to see how great this Great Firewall is. About 5 minutes on its Wikipedia site and a few more minutes downloading 400kB of Freegate and I was once again connected with the people's deepest secrets, and my own blog.

My recent experience with the Great Firewall has led me to bring it up with the students. Two things are surprising about my talks with them. The first is that most I talked to have no idea that the internet is censored at all. A few students who do know that it's censored just think that it's to block pornography. Second, is that I have yet to meet a student who cares. Their apathy is not entirely unexpected given their blind trust in the government and the cultural pressure to trust authority. Still, it seemed so different to everything that I know to not be livid about something as basic as freedom of information. I acknowledge that the US Government isn't upfront about everything either, but it least it doesn't cover up a well-documented event where hundreds or thousands of citizens were killed. Unless you believe these guys.

In honor of the Tiananmen Square Massacre, I set my QQ (the ubiquitous Chinese instant messanging software) status to say 忘记意味着背叛 which means "forgetting means betrayal." I've heard this said before in reference to the Nanjing Massacre, and figured that it was fitting in this case as well. Only one of the 10 or so students who asked me what it meant was able to figure out by themselves that it was a reference to the "June 4th Incident." I explained it to a few, who told me that I need to be more tolerant towards history, or that China is developing and can't dwell on the past. Once again, their apathy towards this event is a testament to just how well the Communist Party is able to exert control over (brainwash) its citizens.

Another professor at this university whom I met at my Chinese grandpa's English class invited me to her home for dinner on June 4th itself. Along with one of my sophomore students from last year, and one of her friends, we had a delightful meal discussing in English and Chinese the differences between China and America. We came pretty close to the topic so I asked them if they knew what day it was. The professor's 60 year-old friend figured it out first, and the 44 year-old professor confirmed that it was in fact the anniversary of that day in 1989. My student had no idea what we were talking about and the only clue was given by the 60 year-old who said in a hushed voice "Tianamen - Beijing." They then quickly changed the subject. It's astounding to me that the two are still too afraid to talk about it, even in the intimacy of their own homes.

2009-06-03T00:04:00.003+08:00

Back in December, I met an elderly lady on the bus who was able to speak some English and gave me her phone number. I then lost my phone, but showed each of my classes her picture and told them to find her. Well, five months later I got a QQ message from a student saying that she had found the woman, and that the woman's English class would be joining our campus' English Corner the following week! Hallelujah!

For whatever reason, the woman herself wasn't able to make it, but I did get to meet about 10 other senior citizens who were all endeavoring to learn English. It seemed that most of them either had a child living and working in America or were actually from other countries (Indonesia and Cambodia). Their English wasn't great, but they were very eager to talk with me, and I with them.

One of the better English speakers introduced himself to me as "David Hu," a combination of his chosen English name and his Chinese surname. As we got to talking it came out that he enjoys cycling and often rides to Wuxi (60km away) and back in one day. He also was a pilot, goes swimming, and was in the Navy. All of these similarities led me to do the typical Chinese respect thing and bring him into my family by calling him 爷爷 (grandpa). Thinking that he would be a pretty interesting person to talk to more, I got his phone number as the English corner wrapped up.

The next day, I texted him to see if he was interested in getting lunch. Much to my surprise, he is a more effective text messager than even my mom, and we were able to arrange a meeting in a combination of my broken Chinese and his broken English. Although it wasn't my intention, we ended up eating at McDonald's, where I drew even more stares than usual on account of my eating with a 75 year-old. He showed me pictures of the 1.5 years that he spent in America living with his son and visiting every tourist attraction from Niagra Falls to Disney Land. Since then, I've gone to his English class with him, he's helped Dan the Man Stan buy a fishing pole, and we've gone swimming together. Plus, he arranged another lunch with the original woman whom I met on the bus, so now I have a Chinese grandma too!

2009-06-02T21:12:00.012+08:00

Summer is here and that means that so is mosquito season. My apartment is surronded by bushes and about 100 meters away from a stagnant canal. Combine this with the fact that it's about as sealed as a tennis racket, and you get a lot of mosquitos indoors pestering me. During the day I just kill them as I see them. However, it was really becoming a bother to wake up to them buzzing around my head with bites all over. In a no-duh moment one night, I realized I could erect my tent on my bed, effectively making an inpenetrable shield against the cursed blood suckers.

Last night, however, a mosquito somehow managed to get into my tent and bite the bottom of my foot. In my half-asleep state, I unfortunately started scratching it vigourously. Naturally this caused it to itch more. Maybe there is something special about the slightly calloused skin on the bottom of my feet, but this was no doubt the most itchy mosquito bite of my life. The fact that it had woken me up at 3 am made me all the more livid. I could not overcome my strong desire to exact revenge on the species responsible for my extreme discomfort.

I had heard the previous occupant of this apartment say that he had some sort of portable electric mosquito zapping racket. I made it my goal today to aquire this technology for the oncoming war against the uninvited inhabitants of my apartment. Fortunately for me, I was able to explain the technology to some students who were able to give me the Chinese name for it (电蚊拍). In another stroke of luck, or Chinese distribution system genius, there is a store on campus that Ken has affectionately named "the Everything store." This is not far from the truth. Whether you need a thermos, pens, posterboard, shoe covers, pants, underwear, glasses, webcams, umbrellas, magnets, t-shirts, toilet paper, or what have you, you'll find it in this store that isn't much bigger than my bedroom. "Electric mosquito rackets" also fall in the everything category; I was able to get mine for 25元 ($3.66).

Now this magic wand should be a controlled substance. It is highly addictive. Each successful attack with my Duration Power® stick-of-doom (which featured not one, but two ninjas on the packaging) is met with a gratifying pop and spark combination and the knowledge that a cousin of the mosquito that attacked me last night has been sent to mosquito-heaven. The smell of crisped mosquito hangs ever so gently on the air as I deftly wield 2,700 volts of terror. With ChinesePod in my pocket, a beer in one hand and my new best friend in the other, I am ready to spend my summer protecting the harmonious society by waging war against the arthropod pests!

2009-04-30T17:28:00.004+08:00

Recently, I was talking to a student about visiting the US. She said that she was afraid of guns, and hence wouldn't want to go. Wow. I've visited a few other countries, and nobody there ever told me that fear of guns would prevent them from visiting the land of the free.

Just as our media tends to highlight the negative things about China (and the US), I imagine that theirs does the same, at least about the US. Once I can read it, I'll be sure to report. Besides the media, their main exposure to the US is through TV and movies. I think it'd be safe to say that gun violence is more prevalent in the movies than in real life. The fact that Prison Break is one of the main shows that my students watch probably doesn't help any. So my student is legitimately concerned that the US is too dangerous to visit.

Now, gun crime in the US is certainly a problem. For 2005, the most recent year I could find, the US had 11,346 gun homicides, accounting for 68% of the total homicides. That's a rate of about 31 per day. I couldn't find any data on China's gun homicide rate, but since it's a totalitarian state that doesn't allow private gun ownership, I think we can safely assume that it's negligible. So yes student, you are far more likely to be killed by a gun in the US than you are in China. However, I think that if we assume she doesn't involve herself with the sorts of people who commit homicides, her chances of surviving a vacation to the states increases considerably. Gun homicides don't usually involve random victims.

So is her fear justified? For her age range, 15-24, the four leading causes of death in the US are traffic accidents (25.6 per 100,000 people), homicides (13.2), other accidents (11.8) and suicides (9.7). All other causes account for 21.3 deaths per 100,000 people, bringing the total to 81.6. So she's about twice as likely to die in a traffic accident than by homicide, and that's assuming that she's an average American, not a Chinese tourist who presumably won't be involved in drug deals gone south and bar brawls.

I had my friend 秦晨 (Qín Chén) look up the leading causes of death in China. Unfortunately the data she found is a bit dated, and is comparing slightly different age groups from different years, but it still provides some valuable insights. For 15-34 year-olds, the leading causes of death in China are suicides (26.0), traffic accidents (20.6), drowning (6.9), liver cancer (4.7) and homicides (4.3). This adds to 62.5, but given the US data, it seems reasonable to expect that other causes will make the overall mortality rate between the US and China about the same.

So she is statistically twice as likely to die from suicide in China, than homicide in America, and if we assume the 68% gun homicide rate remains the same for her age group, then she is almost as likely to die from drowning in China as a gun homicide in America (6.9 vs 9.0). In both countries, she is far more likely to die in a car accident.

Now for some observations. She could reduce her risk of dying young by about 10% if she learned how to swim. Admittedly some of the reported drownings may have been suicides, but with 112,000 Chinese dying in drownings annually, I think learning to swim would probably be a pretty good idea. People tend to have irrational fears. Having read Freakonomics recently, I learned that in the US, a child is about 100 times more likely to die in a swimming pool than in a gun accident. Despite this, nearly ever parent is much more afraid of their child being near guns than swimming pools.

As far as the traffic goes, China's is absolutely ludicrous. Fatalities are somewhere around 220,000 annually, and expected to reach 500,000 by 2020. According to the China Daily, 86% of traffic fatalities are caused by drivers who are violating the law. Although they're supposedly working on it, enforcement of traffic laws seems to be a pretty low priority for the police. If my student wants to be safe, then getting Chinese traffic laws enforced would be a good place to start.

2009-04-17T09:11:00.000+08:00

I've written a lot about things that frustrate me about China. So I figure in order to be fair, I might as well write about a few of the things I like about China.

First is how they charge the user for everything. At the University of Tulsa, we did this pretty poorly. We had free printing, free internet, an all-you-can-eat cafeteria, free electricity in the dorms, and free shuttles that were empty most of the time incessantly driving around our campus. Not so at Jiangsu Teacher's University of Technology. Here, the students are nickeled and dimed on everything. Each dish in the cafeteria costs something, internet is paid by the hour, the electricity in the dorms is capped at a certain number of kilowatt hours, and you have to pay to register your bike. Although I suspect that they don't actually meter every dorm room, and rather randomly select rooms that "overused" their allotment, I guarantee the students here are more conscious of wasting than back home. Outside the university, public restrooms, plastic shopping bags, and toll roads all cost the individual user. As a believer in the tragedy of the commons, I'm a supporter of charging the user.

Second, the squat toilet. Yes, I know the idea is repulsive and strange at first, but I've actually come to like the squat toilet for public restrooms. The only part of you that touches anything is the soles of your shoes. This strikes me as much more sanitary than sitting down. Especially given the general lack of cleanliness of the restrooms here, I'll choose to squat rather than sit. However, at home I still prefer the western style. It's much harder to text message, read, or do some knitting on a squat toilet.

Third, wearing the same clothes day in and day out. We have a cultural stigma about wearing the same outfit two days in a row, but in China, where most washing is done by hand, clothing is still expensive relative to disposable income, and people protect their clothing from dirt as they would a microchip manufacturing room, the same outfit may be worn for days on end. I've never been a big fashion freak and have tended to take a rather pragmatic view of clothing. It keeps you warm, protects you from the elements, provides convenient pockets, and hides your nakedness. If the weather is the same, the outfit doesn't reek too terribly, and it's comfortable, then it ain't broke, so don't fix it!

Fourth, the china carry. This is the method of carrying bags whereby one person grabs one handle, a friend grabs the other, and the two of you mince your way to your destination. If you try to carry a typical shopping bag with just one person, it's heavy and continuously hits your leg. If you have another person grab the other handle, it feels half as heavy and never bumps up against you. Plus, you get to hang out with a friend.

Fifth, singing. My suspicion is that because theirs is a tonal language, the Chinese are much more adept at singing on the whole than we are. In the states, it's somewhat uncommon to hear somebody else singing and actually enjoy it. Anybody who has been to a US karaoke bar (sober) knows this well. However, nearly everybody whom I've heard sing here has sounded quite pleasing to the ear. Whether this is because only those who know they are decent have the courage to sing to me, or because they are generally better singers I don't know. This is not to say that the popular music here is any better though.

2009-04-08T14:23:00.000+08:00

One question that I get asked a lot in China is "Since you are here teaching English, can I go to America and teach Chinese?" Figuring that honesty is the best policy, I inform the curious individual that the laws of supply and demand are doubly weighted against Chinese people going abroad. Not only is the number of English learners in China significantly higher than the number of Chinese learners in America, but the number of Americans is significantly lower than the number of Chinese. For better or worse, there aren't a lot of opportunities for Chinese to go to America to teach. So sorry Chinese people, but it's extremely unlikely that you can go to America to teach Chinese. Read Guns, Germs, and Steel if you want a good explanation of, among other things, why Chinese isn't the international language.

Naturally, the flip-side of this supply-and-demand equation is that in China anybody who looks half-way foreign and can speak some English will not have trouble finding work as a teacher. Case in point, here in Changzhou I met a Dutchman who was teaching Chinese children English but with a pronounced Dutch accent. Certainly a Chinese person who has studied English for 10-12 years, such as the thousands who graduate from college every year, is better equipped to teach young children. However, then the children could not tell their parents that they were learning English from one of the fabled foreigners, and the school would presumably lose revenue. I'm looking forward to meeting some Chinese people with Dutch accented English.

So my qualifications for teaching English at the university level are a degree from an American university and my US passport. I have not taken any TEFL or education courses, I don't understand English grammar very well, I can't speak Chinese, my handwriting is abysmal, and I'm barely older than my students, if at all. Despite all this, my innate ability to speak English has landed me a teaching job as a "foreign expert."

Still, my inexperience and lack of training as a teacher has been simultaneously one of the most frustrating and most rewarding aspects of my experience. When my classes go well, I get a delightful feeling of accomplishment like a student pilot greasing a plane onto the runway. However, these exciting moments are often followed by activities that flop, or students who are disinterested in applying themselves. If I have one lesson that goes particularly well, I feel like I let the students down if the next one is not just as good. My inability to select and design useful activities and failure at motivating many students leaves me wishing I had had more training before I came so that I could make the most of the short 32 hours I get with each of my classes each semester.

2009-03-29T19:34:00.004+08:00

In an earlier post about the similarities between China and George Orwell's fictional society in 1984, I mentioned that the Chinese are guilty of doublethink. I'm sure we're guilty of this to some extent in the States too, but I like to think that where we have mutually conflicting ideas, the same person or group doesn't support both sides.

Whenever I ask my students about Chinese food, I am met with a barrage of praise. It's very delicious! It's nutritious! It has a long history! There is a lot of variety! It's healthy for you! Predictably, prompts about American food elicit less than kind responses. It makes you fat! It all tastes the same! It's very unhealthy! There's no flavor! To be sure, the American food that the Chinese are exposed to here, namely KFC and to a lesser extent McDonald's, are reasonably accurately characterized by the students. However, they are clearly confused, because when I did well in the sports meet and hung it over their heads a little bit, the same students quickly retorted "Well of course you are stronger and faster than we are because of your American diet of milk and meat!" Chinese people, please choose one generalization. Either American food makes you fat and is very unhealthy, or it makes you strong and fast. You can't have it both ways!

Another example of the doublethink regards China's history. One favorite thing of students to say is that China has the oldest civilization on the planet with between 5,000 and 6,000 years of history. Okay, I can accept that, and I admire all of the wonderful things that China contributed to the world during that long time. They also are very fond of saying that "America is a developed country but China is a still developing country." I can also accept this, however, when I ask them why they think that is, inevitably their response is "Of course China has not developed as much as America, China is only 60 years old!" Chinese people, please choose one age for your country. Either you have a long and ancient history of millennia, or you're a new country that hasn't had time to develop.

Probably the most flagrant example of doublethink was in The Memorial Hall for Compatriots killed in the Nanjing Massacre by Japanese Forces of Aggression. Towards the end of the museum, there's a sign that reads something like "The Nanjing Massacre was a horrible act of human brutality committed by villains. Forgetting this history represents betrayal." (I'd provide the exact text, but cameras aren't allowed and the security guards weren't very excited about me copying the text on to one of the comment cards). Certainly I can agree with this statement; keeping the history (not the hatred) of this heinous tragedy alive is important. However, it is reprehensible hypocrisy for the Chinese to profess the paramount importance of remembering history while they simultaneously forget, distort, and cover up domestically perpetrated human brutality.

Now of course it would not be prudent of the government to go around advertising all of the crimes it has committed against the Chinese people. The United States government doesn't do this either. But we at least give historians access to most necessary research material and allow conflicting interpretations of history to be debated in the public sphere. In my humble opinion, that is the only way to remember history.

As an interesting side note, I googled "cultural Revolution museum." The first three results were blocked, but I was able to find that a museum, not endorsed by the government, has been built in Shantou. I didn't waste my time looking for a Tiananmen Square museum.

2009-03-25T21:07:00.000+08:00

Although the food that I've been eating is not the same as the Chinese food back home, it's still pretty good. Most of the dishes that I like seem to consist of tossing a few different ingredients into a wok, and then putting down the concoction on a bed of rice. As a big fan of simple food, I decided that I should make use of my time here to learn how to make some of it.

To that end, I invited a few of my students over to my apartment to teach me how to make the dishes. I have found a few recipes online, but Google translate fails to capture the intricacies of dicing vs. slicing and mixing vs. scrambling. Plus, interacting with students out of the classroom is enjoyable and helps me practice Chinese. After a trip to the super market to get pork strips, green peppers, and some sort of MSG-chicken seasoning, we were ready to go.

The first things the students did on arrival in my apartment was freak out about how dirty it was. Now, I'll be the first to admit that my kitchen isn't exactly like Martha Stewart's, but given some of the actual hole-in-the-wall restaurants that these students eat in, I didn't think it'd be a problem. The biggest issue was that the counter-top had accumulated a layer of dust, and had some streaks from where I'd sponged it down back in November. I didn't understand why this was a problem, until I understood that instead of cutting the vegetables and such on a cutting board or plate, they were intending using the counter-top directly. So we scrubbed down the counter-tops before beginning. Still, given the apparent lack of sanitation in the cafeteria and campus restaurants, I was surprised that it was more important to my students than it was to me.

True to the Chinese teaching methods they're used to, the students' “teaching” me how to make the dishes consisted of them making the dishes while I watched. I joked that I was working on the rice, but as I had bought an automatic rice cooker with only one button, this wasn't too hard. Four students, yelling at each other to use less oil, or cut the tomatoes smaller, or add a little more salt ended up making 3 dishes: spam-like meat and carrots, pork strips and green peppers, and tomatoes and fried eggs. The cooking went rather smoothly, and despite their best efforts to keep me away from the action, I think I picked up enough from the students' actions that I'll be able to recreate all three on my own.

During the cooking I noticed an interesting phenomenon that I think will be an impediment to gender equality in China for many years to come. In American cooking, we normally eat a variety of dishes that have different preparation times, cooking methods, and amounts of time they can sit before being eaten. So you can make the salad way ahead of time, keep the prepared rolls warm in the toaster oven, have a fruit dish in the fridge, bake a casserole in the oven, and have a side dish going on the stove. When it comes time to eat, we simply add dressing to the salad, and lay everything else out in front of whomever is eating, allowing the cook to enjoy the meal as well. Not so in China.

As far as I can tell in China, there is only one cooking utensil, the wok. Since most meals consist of more than one dish, and most families have no more than two woks and stoves, it is impossible to prepare a large meal in any manner other than sequentially. So either you have to reheat all of the dishes at the end, which decreases flavor and is difficult without a microwave, or you have to have a person responsible for cooking while everybody else enjoys the warm food as it comes out of the wok. In China, this person is known as a “wife.” For men, helping out in the kitchen is one thing, but acting as a patient servant to the assembled diners is a whole different animal.

2009-03-19T12:17:00.002+08:00

After my miserable failure with the panda joke, I complained to Delicious that I needed a new joke that I could use to break the ice with strangers. Unfortunately, her idea of a good joke to use with strangers and my idea are not the same. Allow me to preface the joke with the language background that a Chinese word for grandma (奶奶 - nǎi nai) is also an informal way to say breasts. So you can already tell that this is the kind of joke to use with strangers in a conservative society. Delicious told me to call her friend Qin Chen, who like many Asians isn't cursed with gargantuan mammary glands, "little red riding hood." When asked why I am calling her that, the punchline is "because her grandma was eaten by a wolf!"

Despite my repeated experiences with students calling each other fat, or ugly, or zit-faced, I still can't imagine that this is the sort of joke that will win me a lot of friends. Given their affinity for other typically western physical attributes (big eyes, white skin), my guess is that many girls would prefer a larger cup size. Hence, I don't think I'll be using this joke with strangers any time soon.

During my classes this week, I have been teaching the students Shania Twain's song "Man! I Feel Like a Woman!" and then using it as a segue to discuss various gender related issues. As my classes are all about 90% women, I tend to hear more of the women's viewpoint, which has led to some really interesting and disheartening comments. When asked what "feeling like a woman" meant to her personally, one student remarked "it feels like I have a lot of housework to do." A small reflection of the patriarchal society that could come up even in a Western classroom. Still, I was quite literally shocked by how many of my (female) students believe that women are less intelligent than men, and don't have the ability to succeed at high-paying jobs in business, politics, and science.

Interestingly, this is one of a very few subjects where the students don't all have the same opinion. As China rapidly develops, there are many people who have come to believe in some form of gender equality, which the communists actually have reportedly done a decent job promoting. However, the students from the countryside are not as exposed to this as those from the city, and still retain the more traditional view that women are weaker and less capable than men.

2009-03-16T20:32:00.003+08:00

You've all heard the phrase "red China," which I initially thought had to do with the fact that the place was Communist. I can personally attest that it means much more than this. Traditionally red is associated with good fortune and good cheer. Hence, all of the propaganda banners around campus are red, wedding dresses are traditionally red, rules are written in red, and children are often spotted wearing red. But nowhere is the color red more dominant than in stamps.

On our arrival in China, we had to go through a number of paperwork processes at the bank, hospital and police station. At every step of the way there was an employee or official fiercely wielding an arsenal of red stamps. It seemed as though nothing could happen in China without at least 3 or 4 red stamps on every form. Even the grocery store receipt paper is printed with red stamps in the background! I wondered how the grades I turned in last semester were ever accepted without an "official" red stamp bearing my name and who knows what else.

Fortunately, Ken recognized my feelings of insignificance and saw fit to give me two customized red stamps for my birthday. One bears my initials, while the other bears the Chinese name I have been going by. Naturally he also included a red ink pad. Imagine how official and important I felt when I stamped the Kiva gift certificates I gave to my tutors! Now I anxiously await every opportunity to make each document that comes my way official in the eyes of the Chinese. I'm considering assigning papers that I will have to grade, just so that I can mercilessly stamp them with my inky red seals!

2009-03-11T09:34:00.000+08:00

Spring is almost here, which is wonderful for those of us living just north enough in China that most buildings aren't heated. As the weather warms, I've noticed that most Chinese people dress according to the season, not according to the weather. So on unseasonably warm days, the Chinese keep their winter coats on; it's winter after all! You can't wear short sleeves during the winter!

This can cause quite a stir when one of us Westerners dresses according to the actual temperature as opposed to the time of year. Most Chinese people subscribe to the (old wives'?) tale that you can catch a cold if you aren't wearing enough clothes, and their parents constantly chide them to wear more clothes. Which means that many students worry about the state of my health when they see me wearing "too little" clothing. I happen to be of the opinion that 65F and sunny is perfect shorts and t-shirt weather.

With the typical Chinese aversion to sticking out from the crowd and immutable filial piety, I find it unlikely that my students will dress comfortably any time soon. Delicious has told me that she caused quite a stir in high school when she wore short sleeves on a hot winter day. I've seen children, wrapped up like the Michelin Man, sweating profusely on the train. So long as the parents continue to preach that wearing more clothes is always healthier and nobody (except Delicious) is willing to be the first person to wear shorts in March, the discomfort is bound to continue indefinitely.

2009-03-07T12:30:00.003+08:00

Some of the more motivated of my sophomore students from last year have complained to me that there is no oral class for them this term. Since they see spoken English as their weakest point, they bemoan the fact that the school isn't providing the class for them, and have asked if I would be willing to teach a voluntary extra class. Now, I've seen a 25% reduction in my course load this semester, which means I have 12-hours of class each week. Hence, I encouraged the students to take their complaints to the administration. I told them that the school could assign eight more hours of class each week, without breaching my contract, and that I would be happy to take them. At this point I was admonished for not understanding how the Chinese system works. The students have no voice, and despite the unassailable logic in this request, they would be turned down, or worse.

In large part due to my enormous amount of discretionary time, I have been doing a lot of reading. The lack of availability of English books in Changzhou has made my investment in the Kindle a wise one indeed. Recently, I read Orwell's 1984, which I somehow made it through high school without reading. Figuring one good dystopian book deserves another, I then reread Ayn Rand's Anthem. Having been in China, my appreciation for the former and understanding of the latter increased profoundly.

It is fairly obvious to most people that these books are strongly critical indictments of the kind of society that China was immediately after the communists took over. What really struck me is how many parallels I could draw to "open" China today. In 1984 there is forced exercise in front of the telescreen; in China the freshmen have mandatory morning exercise. The oft touted "socialism (communism) with Chinese characteristics" reaks of doublethink, Orwell's notion of simultaneously accepting as correct two mutually contradictory beliefs. In Anthem, there is no word for "I" and in China individualism is repressed almost as much as sex. In both fictional worlds, revisionist history, censorship, and the curtailing of individual freedoms suffocate the main characters. And so it is in China, where Tiananmen Square was an "incident," the modern Great Wall is a firewall, and anybody can be jailed for up to three years for no reason. (Of course in America, it could be for life if the President assigns the onerous "enemy combatant" label!)

Curiously, the assigned textbook I was given, by the state-run university, brought up the question of book censorship in the form of a practice customs dialogue. I asked the students what they thought about classifying books as contraband material. One replied that it was required to keep the country safe; there exist books that oppose the government and have other inharmonious ideas. I wanted to continue the discussion, however, I could sense that the conversation made the students uneasy, and quickly moved on. I'd like to think that their discomfort stemmed from qualms with censorship, but find it more likely that they've been told not to discuss such issues with a foreigner.

Now, another book that I read recently was Gus Lee's Courage: The Backbone of Leadership. Thinking about China in terms of its courage, or lack thereof, gave me a sort of epiphany. We've all heard, and some have experienced, the shyness that Chinese are famous for. After reading the book, it occured to me that this is just another reflection of their lack of courage. Now I don't mean to say that there aren't courageous Chinese people, but I do think that because Chinese society doesn't ascribe the high value to courage that we do in the West, they tend to be less courageous. As a result, the fear of asking a question in class, of confronting a person about a grievance, of sticking out of the crowd and of doing what is right regardless of risk is rarely overcome by courage. However, this is exactly what is needed in order to lead a successful life, family, company, or even country. It is difficult to see how China will be able to address its many problems without courageous citizens to report their companies' environmental abuses, to stand up to police corruption, to blow the whistle on the addition of melamine to milk products, or to ask their school administration to offer the classes they need to succeed.

2009-03-04T22:15:00.007+08:00

One thing that I did not expect to see in this purportedly conservative society was the Playboy Bunny. That little bunny is ubiquitous, from the jackets of women on the bus, to the polo shirt of a recent job interviewer, to my most conservative student's tennis shoes, to the bag hanging on the door in the campus copy room. Chinese people cannot get enough of the Playboy Bunny! It's quite disconcerting to be talking to a student about how she has never hugged a boy, while she sits there fussing with the sleeves on her Playboy hoodie. Since a number of students only get new clothes once or twice a year, I haven't yet had the heart to tell them what the big-eared icon represents.

Before I wrote this, I wondered whether Hugh and friends were seeing any profit from the considerable business being done in China. I checked into it, and, unsurprisingly, they aren't. Which brings me to a second point. Besides make babies, win ping-pong championships, and replay Olympics highlights, all China does is copy. From iPhones and handbags, to cars and Facebook, no product or service is safe. I even heard the tune "Under the Sea" from The Little Mermaid playing as the soundtrack to a Chinese space cartoon. Can they really not put together an original soundtrack to a cheesy children's cartoon?

Given even brief exposure to the Chinese education system, it doesn't take a Sherlock Holmes to string together why this is. Original and creative thought is almost completely stamped out of these people. While this makes controlling the population easier, it can't bode well for the long-term vitality of their economy. Steve showed me an example from one of his 11-year old son's tests. There was a brief description of a father's hands being large, strong, and leathered. The students were supposed to determine what the meaning was. Steve's son, Michael, had written that it showed his father could do many things with his hands. WRONG! The passage obviously conveyed the father's ability to love. Closer to home, a junior-level English literature class at this college has the students memorizing an exhaustive list of Western authors and their works. What an excellent way to teach literature! As a final example of the curious system, the students in translation class are given both the Chinese and English versions of the texts to be translated before the test. Surely this is an effective method of measuring how well a student can translate!

The student who described these situations to me was visibly shaking as he stressed about the pointless exams. He recognizes that this rote memorization is completely asinine, but has absolutely no recourse. As he worries about finding a job, he told of how of the current seniors "nobody has any practical experience and hence can't find a job." The absolutely saddest part to me is how hard-working most of the students are, spending more hours at the library studying in one week than I did in four years of college. But besides an uncanny ability to soak up facts to regurgitate on a test, the students have very little to show for their efforts. While I cannot pretend that the American education system has it all figured out, I certainly am thankful that I was fortunate enough to go through it.

2009-03-03T13:55:00.000+08:00

The college where I teach is also home to a boarding school for Tibetan students. As far as I can gather, they come when they are 12 years old, are taught in Mandarin all sorts of wonderful things about how much good China is doing for Tibet, and four years later are sent home. Like most Chinese high school students, they have almost no freedom. Their whole day is strictly regimented class, meals, study periods, and sleep, but they are allowed to leave their tiny section of campus for an average of 2.5 hours each week. That means nearly 1.5% of their week is discretionary time!

During their breaks on Sunday, I have taken to going to the market street where many of them go shopping. Although most are extremely shy, I have managed to talk to a few who have taught me how to say hello in Tibetan. Now I am just like the Chinese who shout "Hello!" to every foreigner they see, except I shout something that sounds like "gu kam saw" to every person who looks Tibetan. My attempts at friendship have been touch-and-go. Delicious and I accompanied three students on their weekly shopping trip, where I introduced them to peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. The students seemed to enjoy the sandwich, but were obviously uncomfortable being with me. It's difficult to make friends when we are both speaking in a foreign language, have a large age gap, and enormous cultural differences.

I did meet one 13 year-old Tibetan boy who was brave enough to talk to me, and embarrassed myself as we stood waiting for the bus. I started the conversation with the Tibetan greeting I have learned. Our conversation progressed in Mandarin as follows:

"Where are you from?"

"Guess!"

"Where are you from?!"

"Where do you think I am from?"

"Where are you from?!?"

(in exasperation) "I'm from America. Where are you from?"

"I'm from China!"

"From China? Aren't you from Tibet?"

"I'm Chinese! Tibet is part of China!"

At that point, another Chinese man who had overheard us said emphatically in English, "Yeah, that's right!"

Oops.

2009-03-02T13:02:00.002+08:00

I recall from my days of listening to Oldies 92.9 in my mom's minivan that there's an old song by Jimmy Soul that goes:

If you want to be happy for the rest of your life
Never make a pretty woman your wife
So from my personal point of view
Get an ugly girl to marry you

At the time, I thought this song was a joke; everybody wants an attractive spouse, right? Over time, I've slowly come to understand some of the wisdom in Mr. Soul's whimsical lyrics. Now normally I consider myself a little bit more wise than my students, mostly because my fortunate set of circumstances has afforded me a much broader range of experiences compared to theirs. Hence, I was very surprised when one of my students said to me during her final exam oral "I don't want a handsome husband, because handsome boys are not trustworthy (可靠的)." She was reflecting what I have noticed is a broad perception across many Chinese people that handsome boys are playboys, and are to be avoided.

In western cultures, there is an enormous value placed on physical beauty. I had assumed it was the same in China, given the prevalence of skin whitening products, attractive big-eyed pop stars, and the reports from the Olympic opening ceremony regarding the lip-syncing young girl. However, on a personal level, many students seem to reject that notion. One of my tutors got a boyfriend over the Chinese New Year. This is a pretty big deal for a Chinese student, and something that most are very uncomfortable talking about.

"So you got a boyfriend over the New Year?!"

"Yes, he's from my hometown."

"Is he cute?"

"No, he's really ugly."

"Have you told him that?"

"Of course!"

I cannot imagine having such a conversation with an American. Then again, American college students rarely call other students fat in front of a whole class, which doesn't seem to be a problem here. It would seem that overall, the Chinese I have met are a lot more honest about looks, while simultaneously assigning considerably less value to them. And I like it.

2009-02-20T10:29:00.003+08:00

One of the most interesting activities for me while traveling is visiting local people in their homes. It as always fascinating to see how other people live, what their homes are like, and how they interact. Hence, I asked one of my class monitors if there were any students in her class who lived between Beijing and Changzhou who might be interested in hosting three foreigners for a night. Five minutes later, I had five students all hoping that I would choose their home. Eventually I chose to stay with my student Sally, who lives in a small town near 宝应 (Bǎoyīng) in the northern part of Jiangsu. Once again the Chinese penchant for gracious hospitality was astounding. She and her family adamantly refused to accept our help paying for the rather expensive taxi that took us to her home, made three delicious feasts for us, offered up their beds, and sneakily prevented us from buying our own food.

They don't see a lot of foreigners in that part of the country, so we drew more attention than in Changzhou. On our way into the town, we walked buy a family sitting around a table burning incense. Each family member had a white cloth wrapped around their head, which Sally said is a sign of mourning. When we walked by, each mourner got up and came outside to ask Sally about us and try to talk to us in their dialect. Further down the road, Ken heard two old men playing the traditional Chinese Erhu. We walked into the room and were immediately offered chairs, cigarettes, and the chance to play. Most Chinese people seem to consider foreigners as guests of China, thereby granting us the same marvelous treatment as they would a house guest. This treatment continued, despite the fact that our attempts to play the Erhu sounded like skinning a live cat.

We wrapped up our tour of China with Jocelyn in Shanghai, where we were met by one of the senior students from our school, Delicious. Delicious' Chinese name is 曹星星（Cáo Xīngxīng) and she chose the English name Carrie for herself. However, Ken and I picked up on an obscure reference to an Asian housekeeper in Curb Your Enthusiasm and have, despite her protests, taken to calling her Delicious.

In stark contrast to Beijing, the subway in Shanghai is a mess. Not in terms of cleanliness or delays, but in terms of the utter disregard for other passengers as the people get on and off the trains. I've read that the Chinese keep a very close circle of people whom they trust and treat well. That circle does not extend to fellow subway passengers. Getting on or off at busy stations is like playing Red Rover, but with adults who often have bags, umbrellas, or musical instruments to be wary of. Initially, I simply figured that this was a part of Chinese culture and it would do no good to try to change it. However, after visiting Beijing, I knew things could be different and that indeed the government was trying to encourage subway etiquette. So, with Delicious' help, I learned the posted Chinese phrase (literally "first down after up") aimed at educating the hapless Shanghai people about patience and civility. Every time I got on the subway, I would chide the people crowding in front of the subway doors with my atonal, poorly accented, "first down, after up." When disembarking, I ruthlessly threw out my elbows and loudly shoved through the the people blocking the exit, while saying the same thing. For the most part, the Chinese were good humored about my impromptu lessons in manners, with a few even backing away from the doors with a sheepish grin. I'm just one man trying to build that elusive harmonious society!

Jocelyn had some connections with people in Shanghai, so the four of us were provided a private car, tickets to the Shanghai Acrobat Show, and a lovely river cruise on the Bund. In addition to this, and despite having already brought Taco Bell for Ken and me, she also took us out to dinner at Zapata's, a Mexican food restaurant in Shanghai. Wow! As I've mentioned before, I have been experiencing an insatiable desire for Mexican food for a long time. I ate an unhealthy amount of enchiladas, burritos, fajitas, and nachos and went back to the hostel a happy man. Plus, Delicious got to try her first shot of Tequila, which is like drinking cold lemonade on a hot summer's day compared to the baijiu.

2009-02-13T15:57:00.000+08:00

After returning from Indochina, I was looking forward to meeting up with Jocelyn, a friend from college who decided to come visit Ken and me during her short two weeks of vacation. She was the first person I got to showcase China to, and it was interesting to see her perspective on things. For example, we were walking down the sidewalk in Nanjing, when a car pulled up behind us and laid on its horn. I, being accustomed to cars having ultimate right-of-way, simply moved towards the street to allow the car to go by. Jocelyn, on the other hand, screamed in protest about what the in the hell a car was doing driving down the sidewalk. It took me a while to register that cars really don't belong on sidewalks. Oh, China.

I'd been waiting to visit the quintessential Chinese tourist destination, Beijing, because I knew anybody who visited me in China would want to go. Jocelyn was not an exception. Our first stop was Tienanmen Square and the Forbidden City. Changzhou is pretty different from the China I'd seen pictures of, so standing in Tienanmen Square, looking up at Mao's portrait, I felt like I had finally made it to China. Jocelyn also got a taste of what it's like to be a foreigner in China, as numerous domestic tourists asked if they could take a picture with her, and her foreign blond hair. Although the Square itself was interesting, I thought the most notable thing was that it was teeming with security cameras, soldiers, checkpoints, and (according to the Lonely Planet) plainclothes policemen. If there is going to be another democracy movement in China, I don't think it'll begin in Tienanmen Square.

Sometimes I wonder if famed tourist destinations are worth all of the hype when seeing a few pictures and reading about them will generally cover the essentials. After visiting the Great Wall, I can say that it certainly does not fall into such a category. We opted to hike along the Great Wall from Jinshanling to Simatai. The 10km hike was truly breathtaking. Contemplating the energy that went into constructing the gargantuan and practically worthless project while clamoring along it was a delightful way to spend the day.

More interesting than the Olympic park and associated sights, was the effect that the Olympics have had on the city. In the run up to the Olympics, the government embarked on a campaign to reform some bad (by Western standards) habits of the Beijing residents. In addition to imploring the citizens to refrain from spitting, the campaign must have included something about queuing for transportation as well. In every other Chinese city I have visited, people constantly shove, jostle, and cut their way onto buses, trains, and subways. Not the case in Beijing. I witnessed, no joke, a single-file line of Chinese people waiting for a bus and people who waited for passengers to get off the subway before attempting to push their way on. It was mind-blowing.

2009-02-06T14:02:00.000+08:00

We wrapped up in Vietnam with a visit to Ha Noi. In my opinion, the most interesting thing there was the so-called Ha Noi Hilton where John McCain spent, according to the pictures, a great deal of time playing basketball, decorating Christmas trees, and having barbecues. How these activities led to him being unable to raise his arms above his head, I haven't a clue. During the taxi ride to see Ho Chi Minh's body, we were informed that Vietnamese people don't like John McCain because he isn't grateful for all of the wonderful care provided to him during his stay. I guess it all depends on your point of view.

Vietnam is brimming with people caring around random items in two hanging baskets suspended from a bamboo pole across the shoulder. All of these porters make it look relatively light and easy to do. I didn't have any strong desire to find out for myself, but was unable to remain ignorant. While we were looking around for a taxi, Dan the Man Stan and I were approached by some pineapple vendors using the aforementioned conveyance mechanism. Before we could protest, four separate women had come up to us, putting their conical hats on our heads, and foisting their surprisingly heavy bromeliad load on our shoulders. After snapping off two photos, these uninvited hawkers expected some payment. I was happy to buy some pineapples from them for their "troubles" but was stopped short by Dan the Man Stan shouting "David, we're leaving!" Apparently, one of the bamboo stick toting women had minced off with 200,000 VND ($12) from Dan the Man Stan's wallet while he was trying to find small bills. Much to the protests of the women who were expecting the same from me (and claimed that they weren't seeing any profit despite their compatriot's thievery) I heeded Dan the Man Stan's advice and booked it. It mad me miss the more tourist-friendly China, where the women probably would have refused payment had it been offered.

If I were to visit Vietnam again, I would look into renting a motorcycle in Saigon, and then going at my own pace northwards to Ha Noi. Ken and I got a brief exposure to riding motorcycles during our 90km ride to and from the Vinh Moc tunnels. Although certainly not the safest activity, the motorcycles were a great way to see the countryside and get off the beaten path. Besides, they couldn't be that much more dangerous than the buses.

2009-01-30T12:22:00.000+08:00

Although the Lonely Planet warned against it, we bought direct tickets to Laos from Vietnam, thinking we'd make it to Savannakhet, in Laos, by nightfall. Much to our surprise, the bus stopped at the Laotian border, and we were told there would be no buses on the other side. We opted to take the risk and crossed the border on foot. No more than 15 minutes into our walk towards Savannakhet (230km away), we were picked up by the pictured Thai man is his brand new Toyota Hilux, which seems to be the national vehicle of Laos. The man drove like a maniac across the "luxuriously smooth" road that was riddled with potholes the size of oil drums, but we made it to Savannakhet as the sun set. We learned from this experience that hitchhiking in Laos is fast, safe, and cheap!

One of Ken's fraternity brothers, John, is Hmong, a minority group with a number of settlers in Laos. Ken had asked if we could perhaps stay with John's family, who as it turns out live in Lak 52, so named because it is 52 kilometers north of the capital, Vientiane. Armed with a photo of the address and a recording of John explaining in Hmong who we were, we set off to find the house. After being chauffeured the final three blocks to the house by a friendly villager in his minivan, we were warmly greeted by John's great uncle. John's extended family was extremely gracious towards us, inviting us to a cousins' English classroom, and multiple feasts. Most interestingly to me, were the gender relations present in the village. The women prepared the meal, and set the table while we watched TV with the men. We and the men sat down to eat, while the women watched from another room. After we had finished, the women ate by themselves in the scullery.

2009-01-26T16:28:00.000+08:00

In America, most working people would consider a week-long vacation that included skiing to be sufficient for a winter break. However, we are in China, and are afforded a nearly 8-week long hiatus from the pains of our 16-hour work week. Hence, Dan the Man Stan, Ken and I planned a 3-week jaunt to Vietnam and Laos. For a (highly) detailed account of the adventure, please refer to their blogs.

A few things struck me about Vietnam. The first was how similar it looked to all of the Vietnam War movies I have seen. It seemed as though the entire country was covered in verdant forests with palm trees occasionally peeking through the top. Something that surprised me was how friendly the Vietnamese were towards foreigners, especially Americans. Each time we were asked where we were from, we would get some sort of enthusiastic approval that we were of the American ilk. Dan the Man Stan says that it's easy to forgive and forget when your side is the winning one, but given the crimes we committed and the accusatory tone of the War Remnants Museum in Saigon, I was pleasantly surprised at how well we were received. For the most part, the Vietnamese we met were wonderfully helpful and friendly, which made our time quite enjoyable.

In my opinion, the most interesting adventure we had in Vietnam was riding bicycles through the countryside near Nha Trang with a British expat named Steve. Getting off the beaten tourist path offered us an escape from all of the peddlers, tour operators and moto drivers that characterize any tourist location. Seeing the women working in the rice paddies, sporting the iconic conical hat, and sitting down to lunch with a band of local gangsters, one of whom had been in a machete fight in Saigon and had the self-stitched scars to prove it, gave us a wonderful look at how most of the people in the country are living. The Lonely Planet says that 50% of the working population is involved in the production of rice, and based on how many people we saw hunched over, transplanting rice stalks, I doubt that estimate is far from the truth.

Ken and I had an interesting experience in Saigon. We had decided to get massages and found that the Lonely Planet recommended a nearby massage parlor, where all of the masseurs are blind. Being overconfident in my ability to remember the map, I left the guidebook at the hotel and set off towards the supposed location. Forty-five minutes, and a trip back to the hotel for another glance at the map later, we were still searching for the Vietnam Institute for the Blind to get a massage. After spending some time and money at an internet cafe to try to pin down the location, we were just about to give up when out of the blue there appeared an elderly Vietnamese woman meandering up the street with blind walking cane a-swingin'. Safely assuming that there couldn't be too many blind institutes around, we fell in step behind her. Sure enough, she was heading to the massage parlor we'd been searching for. Being led by a blind woman around Saigon, with its absolutely hectic motorcycle traffic and severe lack of ADA approved sidewalks, will give you new respect for the human spirit.

It was interesting to see the cultural differences between the Vietnamese and Chinese. First, the Vietnamese were much more eager to speak English. This is not to discredit the Chinese, whose enthusiasm for learning English is unparalled. However, the Chinese regularly fail in actually mustering the courage to speak. In Vietnam, I never heard anybody say "my English is very poor," which is how nearly every English conversation with a Chinese person begins. To what extent this courage comes from significantly more exposure to foreigners, a more extroverted culture, or simply a desire to garner income from the tourists I don't know. Regardless, it was refreshing to simply converse with the Vietnamese without having to tiptoe around the language while constantly attempting to build their confidence in it.

Clark has a theory that Chinese people have no thoughts in their heads as they go about their lives. Whether or not this is actually true, I don't pretend to know, but it certainly appears that way when you look at the blank expressions that they are all inevitably wearing in public. I suppose I too would be a bit wary of being expressive, and hence different, if millions of my countrymen had been killed or imprisoned for that very reason. Vietnam, on the other hand, had a liveliness to it that, after spending so much time in China, struck me as rather foreign. Certainly some of this energy comes from the fact that Vietnam is in a more tropical climate, but China is in a very real sense still recovering from the days when dancing was verboten.

2009-01-12T11:52:00.002+08:00

I recently read a fascinating, if a bit long-winded, article about humor in China. After reading it, I thought it would be interesting to learn a Chinese joke to tell to the Chinese people I meet. So, with a little effort, I memorized a joke about the panda's secret wish; it goes like this:

I know the panda's secret wish. It has two wishes. One is to lose its black eye. The other is to have a color photo taken of it.

It strikes me as a LaffyTaffy quality joke, but Jenny and Ken at ChinesePod assured me that Chinese people would find it hilarious. I told this joke to just about everybody I met on our trip to Harbin and Jilin. The responses varied from saying the joke along with me, to completely ignoring me, to giving an abbreviated and forced laugh, to looking at me quizically and then asking "what does it mean?" It would seem that I need some work before I can join the xiangsheng circuit like Da Shan.

Despite the general lack of appreciation from the natives for my sincere attempt at Chinese humor, the rest of our trip to the north went well. From Harbin, we took a train south to Jilin, our intended ski destination. Now we'd heard before that the north is known for eating dog. Being a huge sucker for aphorisms, I figured never say no, try anything twice and when in Rome, do as the Romans do. Before you judge me, read this article and ask yourself if you have ever eaten pork. If you're a vegetarian, then by all means judge away. I recognized the character for dog meat on the menu at the first restaurant we went to, and tried to order "assorted dog." As is quite common in China, the menu didn't accurately portray what was available for eating that day, and we settled on pointing to some unknown type of dog meat. Dog meat is known locally as fragrant meat, the accuracy of which I can personally attest to, as my nose was bombarded with the stench of wet dog. The meat itself tastes a bit like dark turkey. Not having memorized all 100,000 Chinese characters yet, I didn't know the character for "hoof," so we had unwittingly ordered dog paws. It became slightly less appetizing to be gnawing on what was unmistakably a dog's foot, complete with pads and claws. The locals were quite interested in watching us pick our way through the numerous paws, but Lynn's joke of asking for a doggie bag (which translates literally into Chinese) was lost on them.

We eventually reached the ski area that was the reason for our trip to the frigid north. I came with the very low expectations which were ever so slightly exceeded by Beidahu ski resort. Entering the complex was similar to entering any high class ski area back home, although you had to pay a 20元 ($2.93) just to get through the gate. Despite the elegant hotel, and decent rental equipment, it had an almost ghost town feeling to it. Spoiled as I am with my Colorado skiing experiences, I didn't find the slopes or snow conditions great, and missed the freedom of telemarking. Still, the skiing quenched some of my appetite for the snow, and I met a cute Chinese snowboarder on the gondola ride. Regrettably, I forgot to tell her my panda joke.

2009-01-11T22:17:00.001+08:00

Besides Mexican food, one of the main things I have missed from back home is the sweet exhilaration of sliding through the crisp cool air down a mountain. Hence, Ken, Dan the Man Stan, Lynn and I all planned a skiing trip to the northern reaches of China during our 7-week winter vacation. Following a few days of relaxation from the stresses of our 16 hour work weeks, we boarded the 29 hour northbound train, but not without gorging ourselves on pizza at the newly opened Changzhou Papa John's.

In defiance of frivolous spending, I had opted for a hard sleeper berth, as opposed to the soft sleeper that Ken and Dan the Man Stan booked. There, I was happily able to practice my Mandarin with two college students studying in Shanghai. They recommended that I not take part in the ice swimming that some of the Harbin natives participate in. I didn't make any promises and silently vowed to take the plunge.

My determination to prove my manliness in the freezing waters of Harbin's Songhua River met an abrupt end when we stepped off the train in Harbin and I felt the peculiar sensation of snot freezing inside of my nose. The cold in Harbin was unlike anything I've ever experienced. I wisely packed only my fabulously insulating cotton slippers, which are the warmest shoe that I own.The rest of me suffered in the arctic temperatures, but unlike the energy-saving folks in Changzhou, the Harbin people keep their buildings toasty.

Harbin's main tourist attraction is a huge collection of ice sculptures, some of which are scattered throughout the city but most of which are concentrated in the Harbin International Ice and Snow Sculpture Festival. When you have 6 months of below freezing temperatures each year, I suppose you have to make the best of it. But before ogling the marvelous frozen water, we had to see some tigers.

Briefly mentioned in the guidebook was a compound on the outskirts of the city that was home to a huge number of Siberian tigers. Noting that PETA doesn't have a strong presence in China, we were intrigued that the guidebook mentioned you could buy chickens and assorted other animals to feed live to the tigers. Our trip to the tiger compound turned into a mini adventure in itself, as we were waylaid by a taxi driver who was eager to learn the names of local tourist attractions in English. He would try to reproduce the sounds in characters, that he wrote in a notebook, undoubtedly to bust out on the next unsuspecting foreigner who happens upon his taxi. But he didn't charge us for the ride and gave a Chinese New Year knot to me in appreciation. I was initially skeptical of our decision to spend $10 to visit the tiger park, but, as we piled into a Jurassic park style van with bars over the windows, and tigers brushing up against the sides, my skepticism dissolved into excitement. These were enormous tigers that you could literally reach out and touch. Not that any of us had the impetus to do so. We failed to understand how to order the various animals to be sent to their demise, but some of our comrades on the bus must have, as we watched numerous ducks, chickens, and even a goat learn the hard way their proper place on the food chain. Ostensibly the tigers are being prepared for release into the wild, but I somehow doubt that there is a large number of chicken in Siberia for the beasts to hunt down. Regardless, it was well worth the entrance fee and certainly an experience that we won't find in the fifty nifty.

The Ice Festival itself was a lurid display of magnificently detailed, and wondrously large ice and snow sculptures. The pictures really speak for themselves. Once again, we were treated to a fascinating taxi experience. This driver didn't say a word to us on the whole ride. When we got there, there was an obvious queue of taxis waiting to pay some sort of entrance toll. Our driver couldn't be bothered with such trivialities, and opted instead to quickly maneuver through the exit instead. He later explained that they were going to charge him money to get through the actual entrance. I can't imagine that this sort of behavior was what Chairman Mao envisioned for the harmonious society, but this particular taxi driver was far too hood rat to care.

2009-01-10T21:56:00.001+08:00

At the end of the semester, I solicited comments from my students to get their anonymous input on what they liked about my class, and what they thought I could do better. Of course it felt good to read the ridiculously positive reviews, but I was more interested in the negative reviews and suggestions for improvement. One thing that really struck me was how many contradictory viewpoints I got. Many said the class was boring, and many said it was lively and interesting. Some wanted more games, others thought the games were a waste of time. I hope that means that I've successfully balanced those things. Many students requested things that are quite obviously out of my control, more boys in the classrooms, more comfortable seats, and a better teacher-student ratio. Three other requests that came up a lot I think deserve special attention.

The first was to move the class outside. Probably a quarter of the students recommended we go outside where 'the environment is better for learning," and they can "enjoy the sunshine." On the first day that we were here, Clark warned us that the students would ask for this, and that it would fail miserably. The students, who have no washing machines, are extremely averse to getting their clothes dirty by doing anything like sitting on the ground. Most of the grass on campus, like most of the grass in China, comes with signs that say keep off. It's only for looking at. Finally, the girls all want white porcelain skin, and hence fear the sun more than even public speaking. Clark's wise assessment was confirmed by Ken, who took one class outside, and said that it was a total disaster as the students jockeyed for non-existant clean spots in the shade that weren't on the grass. So, sorry students, we'll stay indoors.

The second big request was to watch English films. I have been opposed to this since the beginning. Every student has an enormous library of illegal English films a few clicks away on the internet. Most of them already watch a handful every week. Watching movies is a very passive activity, and where the students really lack practice is in forming English sentences on the spot in real conversations. Every student also already has a listening class, where they watch movies. Finally, the school paid a great deal of money to bring a "foreign expert" here. I think they'd have a line from here to Beijing if they offered my salary and apartment to anyone willing to press play on a DVD player a few times each week. Ken and I did show one movie outside of class, and had maybe 30 out of our combined 500 students attended. So I think they are less interested in watching a movie, and more interested in not having to pay attention during class. Still, I think it could be useful to show a short movie clip as a way to introduce a discussion topic, which leads me to the biggest and most important gripe I received: give us more interesting topics!

Finding topics that are interesting to college girls (my classes are 90% female) whose emotional maturity levels are around that of an American middle schooler, whose English is not well equipped to deal with highly controversial subjects, whose interest in politics and history is not great, who are scared to death to give an individual opinion, and who have been educated in a society where dissent is highly discouraged has been the most difficult part of my job. It's impossible to have class discussions (which I tried in all of my classes in the vain hope of finding one that would be different) because the students are too shy to speak in front of all of their peers. In small group discussions, their opinions are too similar to create anything approaching a lively discussion. I asked every class to give me topics or ideas that they would find interesting, and the only suggestion I received was superstars. I'll admit that it's probably an interesting topic for them, but, in my humble opinion, there's not a lot of meat to it. So I suppose next semester I will try to incorporate something about superstars into my lessons, while continuing to search for topics that interest them. In the mean time, I'll continue to follow the approach that Ken stated:

Students will not answer a question in fear of being wrong, will not speak in front of the class in fear of being embarrassed, will not attempt to construct a new sentence in fear of being wrong, will not express an alternative viewpoint in fear of being different (and thus embarrassed). The list goes on. So, I do my best to put them in small groups and give them hypothetical or outlandish situations so that they can act like what they say isn't their own opinion.

In the end, I think it was mostly a positive review, but still gave me some good points to work on for next semester.

Here is a sampling of the prompts and responses I got (errors included):

If you could change one thing about this class, what would it be and why?
Cancel the games, because they are not so interesting and I feel that I don't learn much from them
Play more games, because it's interesting and meaningful.
More games. Learning happily.
Singing or dancing should be added.
You can participate our discussion, so we have more chances to talk with you, Because you are a real foreigner.

How would you describe this class to a student who will be taking it next semester?
In this class your mind will keep working
A lot of fun with a “Confucian”
The teacher is very handsome, though strict
Interesting but a little nervous because we couldn't say any Chinese in this oral class.
The teacher is a kindful, handsome boy, he is easygoing, and he will be your faithful friend.
Mr. Wacker is cute & very serious.
It's a relaxed class. No worries, no strick rules.
It feels so good to talk to a foreigner

Do you have any other comments, suggestions, thoughts, ideas, criticisms, gripes, etc., that you would like me to know about?
You are too strict with us. I know it's good for us, but we don't like.
You're good enough. That's all. Thank you!
You are too serious, but I like you.
Actually I'm very satisfied with what you have done. Stick to it.
You forced us to speak English in the classes. I want to tell you that I thanks for it.
How can I avoid being awkward when talking with foreigners?
I want you to keep the amazed style
You are the most handsome foreigner I have ever seen. I think you are a perfect teacher, so I have no advice to you.
I wish you can find more interesting topics for us to talk about.
Please be a little mature.
Please pick out more interesting topics.
I think your class is a little childish. We just play games and speak English. You know, we are 19 years old, not 9, though our spoken English just like a 9 years old child.
You are too ease in the class. You should be more strict with us.
Our class is not optimic. I know that you tried your best to cheer us up. But please believe us. We're also trying. So don't give up please.

2009-01-07T21:02:00.001+08:00

On the plane ride to China, Ken and I decided to create a list of goals for trip. I've forgotten the rest of the list, but goal #1 was and is to acquire a taste for the Chinese liquor báijǐu. Why we only remember this goal, why we thought it was a good idea, and why we are still faithfully pursuing it are questions that remain unanswered. For those of you who don't know what báijǐu is, this site gives an accurate description:

Most people would probably agree that bai jiu is absolutely disgusting; even the Chinese think so, but they still drink it. You would think that an ancient civilization like China could have its staple alcohol a bit tastier by now, but that's not the case. The closest comparison to bai jiu would have to be fresh nail polish remover or aged turpentine. Just the smell is enough to make you gag.

Nevertheless, Ken and I have met at his apartment to "work on goal #1" a dozen or so times now. Initially we mixed the wretched liquid with Coke. Liberally. It ruins the Coke, and still bears no resemblance to anything enjoyable to drink, but, like wearing a seat belt in a car crash, it softens the blow. Slowly we've been increasing the báijǐu ratio, to the point where I am now drinking straight báijǐu during our training sessions. On one occasion, I told a Chinese person (the woman who threw her phone number at me in the bar) that I was drinking báijǐu. Her response was "你想自杀吗" (Do you want to kill yourself?).

In addition to the bad taste, China's "white wine" packs a powerful alcoholic punch. We've been drinking anywhere between 45-60%. To somebody who is accustomed to drinking the 3.2% beer in Oklahoma, it's quite an adjustment. Last week, one 7元 ($1.02) bottle lasted me from 10 pm until 5 am. I'm not sure what the chemical properties of the báijǐu are, but its effects last well into the following day. Even if we can weather the horrible taste, I'm convinced that the báijǐu hangover is an untameable beast.

Despite all of the negatives of báijǐu, I feel like I am joining a small but important part of the Chinese culture. Working on goal #1 has gained me respect and admiration from students, as well as enabled me to hold my own with a smile at the Chinese banquets, where the incessant toasts would leave a staunch teetotaler singing Whitney Houston. However, nowhere have the benefits of goal #1 been more evident than during my trip to Hǎiān with Greg. There, I had the opportunity to drink báijǐu with his father and 71 year-old grandfather, in a hut that 20 years ago didn't have electricity. It was truly a pleasure to take part in the tradition with somebody who's been doing it for the better part of a century. Afterwards, we took a picture with their homemade kite.

2009-01-05T17:06:00.002+08:00

Steve told me once that the government departments that receive the most complaints from the Chinese people are the Education Ministry and the Transportation Ministry. I'm not sure how they complain, or what happens to the brave souls who do ("reeducation" anyone?), but I'd certainly like to join them in their noble endeavor. As a teacher and a frequent traveler I have had the occasion to become reasonably well acquainted with aspects of both ministries, but will focus here on the trains.

Now for the most part, my experiences on the train themselves have been positive. They run on time, are relatively clean, inexpensive, and efficient. Hence, Ken, Dan the Man Stan, Lynn and I decided to take the train to 哈尔滨 (Hā ěr bīn) for a skiing trip and to see the ice festival during our 6-week long winter break. Initially we looked at flying north, but decided it would be cheaper and more interesting to take the 29-hour train ride. Having been told before that you can't buy train tickets more than 10 days in advance, we waited until mid-December before looking into tickets. Fifteen days before we planned to depart, we called the train station to ask when the tickets would go on sale. Apparently the time is variable, and for these particular tickets at this particular time of year, we had to wait until five days before. Luckily, it was easy to find a Chinese person to accompany us to the train station on New Year's Day so that we could buy the tickets for January 6th. Imagine planning a vacation in the states without having your tickets until 5 days ahead of time, and then only having the tickets to your destination.

We had our departure tickets, but in addition to the limitation of not being able to buy tickets until 5-10 days ahead of time, it is impossible to buy a ticket that doesn't depart from the city where you are buying it, unless the ticket is to or from Beijing or Shanghai. Ostensibly, this is because the trains' reservation systems are not centralized; each station has its own computer. Either this is completely false, or China has the most inefficient reservation system ever conceived. How could tickets be sold for a train that may have upwards of thirty stops and hundreds of seats if reservations are not centralized? Each station would have to have an allotment of tickets to each of the other 29 stations without any overlap. It seems impossible to allot such a large number of tickets with supply efficiently matching demand. So surely with the proliferation of computers and the internet, the stations are able to communicate with each other to assign seats on an as-needed basis.

Regardless of how the system actually works, the powers that be dictate that we couldn't buy a return ticket from Harbin without actually being in Harbin. Since we will be getting close to the Spring Festival, when every train in China will be packed to its eyeballs, we'd really like to have return tickets guaranteed. Additionally, Ken, Dan the Man Stan and I are heading to Vietnam immediately after the skiing trip, and would prefer not to miss our flight. I was actually in touch with a friend of a friend up north who could physically go to a station near Harbin to buy return tickets for us. Fortunately, before I tried to figure out the logistics of sending her 2,500元 and getting the tickets form her, she suggested that I double check the flights. Low and behold, it was only 150元 ($22)more expensive to take a 2.5 hour flight rather than the 29 hour train. Why? I don't know. But it's no wonder that most Chinese don't travel more if they can't be assured departure tickets until a week or so before, and can't get return tickets until they arrive at their destination.

2009-01-03T16:08:00.001+08:00

New Year's Eve is a time for drinking, having fun with friends, and, if you play your cards right, a midnight kiss. I think I was asleep at midnight on January 1, 2009, and I know that I was in bed with two other Chinese men. Now before your mind starts racing, let me explain that it is completely acceptable in Chinese culture to spend the night in bed with your same-sex friend. Additionally, it was only 7 degrees above freezing in the room where we were sleeping, and the house had exactly two beds and five inhabitants. Still, it was a little strange for me and I'd prefer to spend next New Year's Eve in bed with at least one woman.

Earlier in the day, I had experienced another first. I was traveling with my friend, Greg, to his hometown of 海安 (Hǎiān), 3 hours by bus away from Chángzhōu. On arrival, we went to a bath house, which is where the villagers bathe during the cold winter months. I was unsure what exactly to expect, but knew that something was up when I was told that it didn't matter that I hadn't brought my swim suit. So we rode Greg's parents' motorcycle into town and went to a small back alley bathhouse (I was assured that there weren't any prostitutes) to enjoy a fresh bath. This consisted of sittng around in a steamy room in my birthday suit with about a dozen other similarly bare Chinese men. I don't think that this particurlar out-of-the-way bathhouse sees a lot of foreigners, so my white skin was a bit of an oddity. The manager made sure to ask Greg if I would enjoy what was alternately translated as "the dream treatment" and "having a rest" upstairs. I declined, but did decide to have a massage/exfoliation session in the steamy room, where a Chinese "masseus" rubbed a course sandpaper-like glove thoroughly over my entire body. Never say no, try anything twice, right? I gave the manager a smile as handed him 12元 ($1.76) and wondered how I had ended up at this point in my life.

It's easy to forget when I'm living alone in my two-story mansion replete with three water heaters, a washing machine, wireless internet, and AC, that China is still a developing country. My trip to the countryside reinforced that there is an enormous disparity in wealth, even within Jiangsu, the most wealthy province in China. Greg's house had no heating, and only three electric appliances: a refrigerator, a TV, and a magnetic induction stovetop. The family still uses an outhouse, which is located in what two years ago was a chicken coop. The neighbors are raising two sheep and a pig, the manure from which is used to fertilize four different fields across the street where they grow turnips and bokchoy. Greg spent a good two hours doing all of the family's laundry, about 20 articles of clothing, all by hand, even pumping the water from the well. His parents are both factory workers, probably working 12-hour shifts, 355 days per year. Curiously, his uncle is the owner of three factories, and drives a brand-new Audi.

China's love for foreigners, however, didn't change in the countryside, where I was treated like Chairman Mao himself. While five people piled in the back of the Audi, I was compelled to ride shotgun to a banquet at Greg's great uncle and aunt's house. There, I enjoyed eating a whole sparrow, parts of a turtle, as well as pig lungs and intestines. I received similar feasts at his grandparent's house, and his aunt and uncle's house. Despite the fact that I visited on one of their 10 days off per year, all we did all day was play a little badminton and watch TV. I did get to enjoy spending time with Greg's two cousins (actually second cousins once-removed, if you want to split hairs) who spoke simple and slow enough Mandarin that I was able to understand them and carry a conversation with them. They taught me the Chinese version of rock, paper, scissors and I taught them the rabbit dance. Notice how that whenever they lose the game, they rub their nose as a sign of embarrassment.

Despite the cold temperatures, for which I was decidedly ill-prepared, the trip was a lot of fun and offered a unique view into a more typical Chinese family's life. I was particularly struck by how the whole family was connected. One apparent stranger we passed on a bike ride was actually Greg's third cousin once removed. It will be interesting to see how their close-knit big families weather the unavoidable shrinking caused by the one-child policy. At any rate, thanks to Greg for an enjoyable, if unorthodox, New Year celebration.

2008-12-27T11:36:00.000+08:00

On our trip to Wūzhèn(乌镇), Ken and Dan the Man Stan bought a few pieces of Chinese embroidery. Theoretically handmade, the artwork is beautiful to look at and seems to be a thoroughly Chinese tradition. I was jealous of their artwork, but figured I could get some of my own back in Chángzhōu. Well, on Friday I had planned to take one of my classes out to eat because they were the only class to achieve perfect attendance. Half an hour before the meeting, my class surprised me with a gift: four framed pieces of the Chinese embroidery. It was nice to feel appreciated by the students, and I was quite impressed that they got the one and only thing (besides Mexican food) that I wanted.

After receiving the gift, we all piled onto the bus to head downtown for some more hot pot. It was once again a scrumptious meal in the cold Chinese winter. Like the day before, each student insisted on individual gānbēis (bottoms up!) with me. Since my only obligation was to show a voluntary movie in the afternoon, I happily obliged each of the students. Luckily, they were my smallest class of only 20 students, but I was still feeling a little warmer than normal after the lunch.

After lunch, Ken and I contacted our students to let them know that we were showing Love Actually in the evening. It was a process to get the room reserved, as the school has supposedly stopped letting students use the rooms for entertainment purposes. After some run around with the room reservation people, we talked to our friends in high places, who were able to get the room for us. We provided snacks and the students seemed to enjoy the film, except that the sound kept randomly changing to Japanese, while the subtitles oscillated between English, Chinese, and Chinese commentary. Whether this was a problem with the bootlegged disk, or the completely hosed computer remains a mystery. Their reaction to the brief nudity scene was surprisingly lacking, while they adored the love story between the two children. Despite the various problems, the students enjoyed it, especially since I have refused to show them movies in class.

To cap the holiday season off, Dan the Man Stan invited us to his place to enjoy some latkes. His masterpieces were the first latkes I'd enjoyed and were delightful. It was also nice to spend some time in the hotel, which is the only building on campus that has effective heating. At the end of the night, Ken and I were fortunate enough to join in the fabled Davis family tradition of mutilating and then devouring a peppermint pig. Being without my family, and our goofy traditions, it was nice to be able to join in someone else's.

2008-12-26T10:00:00.008+08:00

"Merry Christmas! Best wishes for you! This is your first Christmas in China. I hope that you will be as happy as in America." - Text from a student

My Christmas celebrations started on December 24th at the kindergarten. There, the 4 and 5 year olds were wearing Santa Claus hats and singing Jingle Bells. I've never seen anything quite so adorable in my life. I'm enjoying the time at the kindergarten, but am thankful that it is only 1 day per week. As Ken mentioned, it's fun to think of my studying physics and electrical engineering so that I can run around a kindergarten classroom saying the letter "M" and "monkey" for 20 minutes.

The gym teachers at the school also hosted a Christmas Eve party, complete with Santa Claus hats for everyone who entered, and techno music. Naturally, it started out with men in tights manipulating one of the iconic dragons, but afterwards the students got to jumping to the beat in the cold gymnasium. Once again, we got a lot of requests to have our picture taken.

I've been reading the Chinese classic, The Journey West, for about a month now. My hope was to gain some cultural insight from it, but all I have gathered so far is that the Chinese are very eager to call people their relatives as a sign of respect. I first witnessed this on our hiking trip through Ānhuī province when the girl we were hiking with called out to ask for an older woman's help by saying "Nǎinai!" which means (paternal) grandma. Obviously that doesn't translate directly into English, where it would be considered grossly impolite to call a stranger grandma. In Chinese, however, it means that you are likening the person to your own grandma, whom you of course respect a great deal. The students call the dorm gatekeepers aunts, and I've heard other teachers referred to as uncles. Still, it was strange at the Christmas party when Ken and I started talking to slightly crazed student who not two minutes into the conversation loudly blurted out "I want to be your brother!" We did drink Chinese beer (pineapple juice) together afterwards, so for all we know, we are brothers now.

On Christmas day, I listened to six hours of finals from my freshmen. They had some interesting things to say, which I'll be posting later. I was pleasantly surprised by how well they were able to hold a conversation with me, and I think that they enjoyed the individual time with me. For lunch, one of my favorite classes invited me out to a restaurant that a student's family owns. There we enjoyed hot pot, where there is a hot pot of broth in the middle of the table to which various meats and vegetables are added throughout the meal and the diners grab what they want as it cooks. As a hot pot newbie, I made a lot of mistakes grabbing things that weren't cooked yet, or that were not to be eaten in the first place. I tried to refuse beer, saying that I still had finals to give, but they were persistent little buggers. I ended up toasting to each of the students, and was a little buzzed as we left our delightful Christmas meal.

As we left the restaurant, we spotted a group of men getting into a scuffle across the street. After a few lousily thrown punches, somebody showed up with a U-bolt style bike lock that he used to attempt to smash the other man's head open. After two or three hits, the man was writhing on the ground being kicked and hit repeatedly with the bike lock. My class kept saying "We're leaving," but it's hard to leave when you see something like that happening. None of my 20 students mentioned anything about calling the police, and I didn't see any bystanders on their phones either. Steve said I should have taken a video, which would help the police, but I'm reasonably sure I don't want to get involved with that. The students, for their part, were mostly just embarrassed that I'd seen it happen and were quick to tell me that all countries have problems and that China is very safe. At least one Chinese man had a very unhappy Christmas.

Finally, the video that the students made of my life in China is finished. It's a little long, and they've got a long ways to go before becoming the next Spielberg, but if you're leg is broken and you've got nothing better to do, then take a look.

2008-12-22T11:40:00.006+08:00

This morning I received an e-mail from the English department informing me that classes for foreign teachers can be canceled on December 24th and 25th. Although I appreciate the gesture, it really isn't necessary. Without my family, Christmas celebrations would be pretty lackluster. Since I've already made up the classes that will either be canceled or rescheduled on January 1, my students will be taking their final on Christmas. The e-mail said that I would not have to reschedule canceled classes, and I don't think that the students would mind not having the final. It's frustrating to be trying to take my job seriously when the school thinks that two days notice for canceled classes is sufficient, and doesn't seem to care if I teach the classes I've been assigned anyways.

I've been talking to one of the teachers at the kindergarten on QQ, the Chinese version of online instant messaging. She asked me if I wanted to meet during my "leisure time." Never say no, try anything twice, so I agreed to accompany Tiffany downtown for some lunch. On the way there, she sent me a text to say that Eileen, another teacher at the kindergarten, would be coming too. On arrival, I met Tiffany, Eileen, and her boyfriend, whose name I have forgotten. We had a delightful lunch that Tiffany paid for. I was then given the choice between the KTV (karaoke club), the arcade, or a movie. Never having been, I chose the KTV. Once again, Tiffany refused to let me pay, and the four of us enjoyed three straight hours of English and Chinese karaoke. Well, actually, three of us enjoyed it, as Eileen's boyfriend was anything but happy to be cooped up in the KTV for three hours. It was strange to go on a first date as a double date, as well as have the woman pay for everything. Unfortunately, now I owe Tiffany another date.

I had another new experience on Saturday night. A few other foreign teachers and I went to one of the bars downtown. Now Chinese bars don't really seem to have a dress code, and I've gotten a number of compliments on my blue and gold Corona pajama pants from students. Hence, I decided to go out dressed to the nines in my yellow fleece, blue and gold pajama pants, and 9元 ($1.32) slippers. Decked out as I was, I kept making eye contact with a random Chinese woman sitting across from me. I didn't think much of it, but as she got up to leave, I felt something hit my leg. It was a piece of paper with her phone number. Naturally, I called it, and have been receiving flattering texts in Chinese from her ever since. That certainly doesn't happen to me in the states.

Apparently we're in the worst part of China to be experiencing winter. North of the Yangtze River, the buildings supposedly have heating for the most part. However, where we are a few miles south, we are making do for the most part without. Now my apartment has heating, but on account of fairness to my college roommates, and trying not to create too much pollution, I didn't turn it on until the temperature in my room dropped below 60F. For better or worse, the classrooms are not heated and I am still used to dressing like an American for winter, where we are only exposed to brief intervals of cold as we dash between sauna-like buildings and vehicles. Not so in Changzhou. After a frightfully cold spell teaching for four hours today, I finally bucked up and invested in my first pair of long underwear. I could not be more excited about the comfort it will bring me in the coming months.

2008-12-21T19:29:00.004+08:00

In class discussion the other day, I was having the students discuss the rising divorce rate in China and whether they thought it was a good or bad thing. True to form, one student suggested that the increasing divorce rate is a good thing; divorced people will spend egregious amounts of money a second time on a wedding, which will in turn increase China's GDP. In China, it always seems to come back to the economy. Even in "atheist" China, I have heard traditional Christian Christmas carols at most of the stores, and Christmas decorations are nearly as pervasive as the pollution. Adopting a western holiday that embodies capitalism and binge-buying is a sure-fire way to give a boost to the economy!

Since Christmas is becoming popular in China, the school decided to host a Christmas banquet for all of the foreign teachers (including Dan the Man Stan, who is Jewish) on Friday night. As with our previous banquet, we were given enormous quantities of delicious, if strange, Chinese food around a large circular table. The president of the university was in attendance, and asked us to pass on Christmas greetings to our friends and family back home. So Merry Christmas from 史国栋, president of Jiangsu Teacher's University of Technology! Curiously, the banquet was completely devoid of the báijiǔ that left us leaving the previous banquet in quite a stupor.

During the holiday season at TU, Greg and I would meander around campus singing Christmas carols. Ken and I decided that it would be a good cross-cultural exchange to introduce the tradition here. We asked Teddy, our wàibàn, if it would be a problem since our contracts state that we "shall not conduct religious activities incompatible with the statues of an expert," whatever that means. Teddy thought this wouldn't tbe a problem, and I'm reasonably sure that most Chinese people don't know about Christmas' Christian origins. Permission recieved, Ken bought Santa Claus hats, I prepared a packet of Christmas song lyrics and we set off to carol after the banquet.

Initially, I thought that Ken and I would carol up and down the market street on campus. There, I figured a few Chinese students would muster the courage to stop and look at the foreigners who have the courage to do something unique and independent. I could not have been more wrong about the response we'd receive. Our first stop was the girls' dorm adjacent to market street. Technically, men aren't allowed in the female dorms, but we told the gatekeeper that we were just going to sing a few songs in the courtyard and went on in. After a few seconds of singing in the still darkness, a buzzing noise started to build as the girls clamored to their windows and began talking excitedly about this heretofore inconceivable phenomenon of five men belting Christmas carols in the middle of the courtyard. Camera phones, flashlights, whistles, cheers and applause greeted us as we proceeded to climb the steps to the upper floors. We were followed by a mob of giddy and giggling students as we sang throughout the dorm. The hubbub that we had created was unreal.

We were similarly greeted by the ladies in the other dorms around campus, except that word had spread to the gatekeepers about our holiday treat. At the second dorm, I had to show the university president's business card that I had acquired that night to the gatekeeper before she let us pass. We were escorted out by her after about 5 songs. At the third dorm, we were told that the students were sleeping because they had an exam in the morning; we entered anyways and were once again flattered with loud cheers from seemingly every girl in the building. We were again escorted out, but gave an encore performance from the outside for good measure. The best response was at the final dorm, which is shaped like a "B" with two interior courtyards. Initially, the gatekeeper held up her arms in a vain attempt to keep us from passing. However, once we had sang "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" and "Deck the Halls" to one of the courtyards and were preparing to leave, the same gatekeeper pulled us back into the building to sing to the other courtyard. I'm sure the otherwise neglected courtyard appreciated her change of heart. After we had finished, I received a text from one of my students who said "It's really a surprise to us! fantastic!" At a university where the students constantly complain about how boring it is and seem to spend most of their time doing academic bulimia in the library, it was nice to spread some holiday cheer!

2008-12-17T21:49:00.005+08:00

After eating out at Monkey King, Changzhou's foreign owned and operated Italian restaurant, Ken and I sat down on market street (商业街) to enjoy a curiously bamboo looking snack that is popular among the students. At first, we were perplexed as to how bamboo shoots could be so juicy and sweet and became immensely jealous of the panda bear's carefree lifestyle and diet. Only later would we find out that we were actually gnawing on sugarcane. Fortunately, we managed to figure out that the extra bag we had received was not solely an attempt to create more pollution, but also a waste receptacle for the chewed sugarcane. Apparently the Chinese do eat bamboo shoots also, but I think only after cooking them.

We sat on the dusty curb drawing attention to ourselves because Chinese people avoid getting their clothes dirty like they avoid Tianamen Square history lessons. There were many students in the streets clamoring to get back to their dorms before the 11 o'clock curfew. Ken shouted at one of them "pǎo," (run!) which to our surprise caused her to turn around and start speaking English with us. It's rare to meet a Chinese person who is brave enough to talk English to us, let alone stay out past curfew to do so, but that's exactly what Tina did. We even successfully remembered her Chinese name, and hence were able to have another friend find her to invite to a party we had on Saturday night.

Beer pong hasn't yet taken off at Chinese universities, so none of the students were familiar with it. However, given the Chinese affinity for ping pong, we figured they'd at least have a chance against are well-honed pong skills. We were able to play at least five games, giving the chance to some of the students to learn a new and important university skill. I don't recall any of the Chinese teams winning, and I'm sure that they didn't enjoy it as much as actual ping pong, but it was fun nonetheless.

We were all having fun singing karaoke, playing beer pong and chatting in Chinese when we heard an onimous knock at the door. I opened it to find one of a students who had left the party 30 minutes earlier. With him were two of the campus security officers. The translation was a little unclear, but apparently he was caught in the supermarket, which was closed, and they suspected him of shoplifting. In order to clear his name, they had a number of other people at the party sign some sort of affidavit testifying something. I'm not really sure how they thought that any of the people who were still at the party would have had any idea what happened at the supermarket. With the campus police's arrival, it was just like a party back home, except that the Chinese security are more amicable to taking pictures! After campo left, we capped the night off with a glorious rendition of "God Bless the USA!"

2008-12-13T17:54:00.006+08:00

Last week one of my Chinese tutors asked me if I could meet him at the English Corner (which is a place in addition to a weekly event) to help him and some friends. As has become routine in China, I had no idea what the meeting was about. It turns out that they had been assigned to make a video for a class they are taking (does that border on creative thought and individual work?) and decided that a foreign teacher's life would be good material. On the condition that they introduce me to the professor who is in charge of the robot competition, I agreed to star in the documentary. They promised to give me a copy of the finished product, which I in turn promise to add here, assuming it's not too embarrassing.

Yesterday was Teddy's birthday, so Ken, Dan the Man Stan, and I decided to surprise him with a cake in his office. He said that he was completely surprised, but when I originally asked him a few months ago when his birthday was, he asked "Why? What are you planning?" At any rate, he seemed to enjoy the surprise. Teddy bends over backwards to help us and worries incessantly about the slightest mishap or inconvenience we face. Hence, it was nice to do something kind for him, even if his coworkers were a bit put off by our obnoxious singing. The following video is copied unabashedly without asking (China-style) from Dan the Man Stan's blog.

In an unfortunate accident, I left my cell phone in a taxi last week. This has led to the benefit of a newer, better and cheaper cell phone, bought with the assistance of one of Steve's former students. After spending an hour helping me find a cell phone in a sketchy, but cheap, cell phone market, she treated me to dinner at a locally-famous restaurant. Despite the wonderful dinner and new camera phone I have, I am still reeling from the loss of my elderly woman friend's phone number. Fearing that I won't happen upon her on the bus again, I printed the picture that I have of her and showed it to all of my classes. Their homework, until further notice, is to acquire her phone number by any means necessary.

2008-12-11T10:38:00.005+08:00

Despite my arduous 16-hour work week, I asked Steve to ask at the language institute where he works if they have a need for any more foreign teachers. I'd like to meet some more adults to gain a different perspective on Chinese culture and history, plus the additional money would be nice for traveling. After three essentially pointless 1-hour meetings with the company across town, I was assigned to a kindergarten. Initially I was told that I'd be teaching kindergarten teachers the best methods for teaching kindergarteners. This is a job for which I am by no means qualified, but I nonetheless accepted.

Knowing that the Chinese expect you to be ten minutes early to everything, I left my apartment at 8 am. Even though the taxi got lost, I was still fifteen minutes early. I was greeted at the school by a 24 year-old kindergarten teacher whose first words to me were "you are so handsome." I thought Chinese people were supposed to be shy and reserved? I wasn't assigned to teach her class, but she invited me to visit it during my break. At any rate, the school changed their minds and rather than having me teach the teachers how to teach, I was now supposed to teach the children themselves. Never having taught kindergarten before, and not having interacted with a kindergartener since I was one, I was damn fortunate that they had a lesson plan for me. So to 8 different classes of 5 and 6 year-olds I taught an altered version of the song "I'm a Little Teapot." The Chinese kids were cuter than a bug's ear, but I'm glad I only had to spend 20 minutes with each class as they can really wear a person out! Afterwards, I had a 30 minute free talk with the teachers, one of whom flat out told me she wants to marry a foreigner and asked for my QQ number. I gave it to her.

Last week one of my favorite students, Ksen (童凯 - Tóng Kǎi), made my day. He is one of the few students whose Chinese name I have learned because he sticks out like a sore thumb. He's probably 6'3" or maybe a little taller, and has a strange voice almost like he is hearing impaired. At any rate, I can always hear him talking in class because he has a loud, deep and somewhat different voice. Unfortunately for him, this means that I almost always hear him when he speaks Chinese. Last week though, I was having the students say five things that they are thankful for. From across the room I heard Ksen in his sort of thunderous Chinese accented slur tell his group "I'm thankful for Mr. Wacker."

2008-12-10T22:03:00.003+08:00

Last week Ken called me to say that one of his students was trying to sell him some concert tickets for an upcoming show in Changzhou. Despite costing nearly 10% of our monthly salary, we both decided to go. My students were green with envy when I told them that I was going to see S.H.E. in concert, even though the group claims to be Taiwanese, not Chinese. There were several notable differences between the Chinese and American concert experience. First, the lone alcoholic beverage that we saw on the way into the concert was Ken's. Second, the performance opened with roller skaters on stage. I kid you not. Third, the music level was not obnoxiously loud, making it easy to carry on a conversation. Fourth, there were many concert goers who were there alone. Finally, the acts were interspersed with some sort of emcee, and the acts themselves were only three or four songs long. All in all, it was an interesting experience worth seeing once, but I don't think I'd do it again.

My Chinese skills were tested and failed on the way home from the concert. There was a host of city buses leaving the concert that were so crowded that Ken and I got separated. Since I lost my phone over the weekend, I was on my own to make it back to school. The buses weren't running their regular routes, and hence dropped me off about 10 km away from the school. At the bus stop, I was hounded by a motorcycle taxi to ride with him for ¥30. I bartered him down to ¥10 by accurately claiming I could take a safer, warmer, and faster actual taxi for ¥13. Unfortunately, once we arrived at the school, which he didn't know the location of, the price suddenly went back up to ¥30. I tried to explain to him that this was outrageous, there's no way that a motorcycle taxi costs twice what a regular taxi does and that he must be joking. He was adamant, and then started to insist that because I am so much more wealthy than he is, it's only right to give him the price. I ashamedly did. Looks like communism isn't as dead as I thought.

2008-12-08T11:47:00.004+08:00

Over the weekend, Dan the Man Stan, Ken and I traveled to Nanjing for some sightseeing. We ran into a slight problem when the hotel that we had made reservations at required us to have our passports. As we've been here for three months now and haven't needed them, none of us had them. Unfazed by our lack of accommodations, we set out to see the sights of Nanjing. In China, every tourist attraction requires overpriced tickets, sold from a nondescript booth at the gate. We bought tickets to a boat ride, a "ropeway" (chairlift), a garden, and the tomb of Dr. Sun Yat-sen, the "father of modern China." Despite the omnipresent pollution, the view from the top of the ropeway was quite nice, and their was a big Buddha statue that we were able to take pictures with.

Dan the Man Stan had met a foreigner in Changzhou who owned a French restaurant in Nanjing that, after half an hour of waiting, we were able to take a taxi to. Les 5 Sens was a delightful eatery with excellent lasagna, something that cheese deprived China doesn't have a lot of. After our dining experience we joined all 10 of Nanjing's thrash metal fans at Castle Bar for a performance by Corrupt Absolute, whose musical masterpieces include "Fist Fuck Her" and "Postmortem slut." Thrash metal isn't exactly at the center of the Chinese music scene, and it seems unlikely that it will ever join pop music there. Proving that drunk people are the same everywhere, the McDonald's on top of the bar was hopping with hungry bar people. There was a drunk French guy who was enjoying himself quite a lot by pushing the envelope of what Chinese people will tolerate. To that end, he sang two Chinese songs that I am actually familiar with 月亮代表我的心 (The Moon Represents My Heart) and 对面的女孩看过来 (Pretty Girl Look Over Here) to the assembled fast-food fans using a broom as a stand-in microphone.

Since we had no hotel, I called up Robin, who let us stay at his apartment without verifying our passports. With the opportunity to stay another day, we were able to see the Nanjing Massacre Museum and the city wall. The museum about the rape of Nanjing was quite fascinating, if decidedly biased. I can certainly understand why my students claim to hate the Japanese given the atrocities committed there, but I think the museum put it well at the end of the exhibit with the quote "We should remember history, not hatred," although the tone of the museum didn't convey that message very well. The city wall was also quite interesting, having been built 600 years ago in a scant 21 years. It's a wonder that China didn't rule the world given the host of enormous undertakings they successfully completed while Europe was busy burning witches.

I caused a small stir in the cafeteria a few weeks ago by singing The Moon Represents My Heart in Chinese to one of the cafeteria ladies who runs around collecting all of the extra chopsticks that the students grab but don't use. I only sang one verse, to which she replied something in Chinese. Fortunately, I had some students there to translate that she'd said "you can sing like us, but you can't talk like us!"

2008-12-02T22:58:00.005+08:00

Sex. I have touched briefly on the matter of my students' naïveté in regards to this and related subjects, but it has really come out in the last two weeks of class discussion. Last week, I had the students discussing school life and whether their high schools should be allowed to continue to forbid them from dating, or, as they put it, "falling in love." The very idea that they believe you can forbid two people from falling in love screams absurdity to my Western mind. Even more absurd to me was that many of the students actually agreed that the prohibition should exist. As a result of most high schools either strongly discouraging, or outright forbidding, their students from dating, most students come to college never having had a boyfriend or girlfriend.

Today I had the students debating different topics but I assigned their view to them. The activity worked quite well, as evidenced by the students complaining afterwards that they were tired from speaking so much English. I provided them with a variety of topics and at the end asked which one they liked the best. Much to my surprise, all three classes said they most enjoyed debating whether sex education should be given to teenagers at school. Further surprising me, the students, who normally are sent into uncontrollable giggling at the mere mention of kissing, unanimously agreed that sex education should be provided in the schools. I was then able to talk seriousy with them and discovered that only a handful of students had had rudimentary sex ed in elementary school. After they expressed their desire to learn, I joked that I would offer an optional sex ed course at the end of the semester. Based on what this frightening BBC article has to say about the matter, the Chinese could certainly use some help in this area.

On a wildly unrelated note, I got the digits of a friendly, English-speaking, and joyful Chinese woman today. She could probably be by great-grandmother, but at least she had the courage to practice her limited English with me on the bus. I had assumed that most of the older crowd here doesn't speak English, so I was astonished when she turned around and started talking to me. I delighted her by asking to take her picture, after finding out that she has a daughter living in the US. As we arrived at her stop, she quickly shouted her name and phone number to me in Chinese. Fortunately, one of the students from my school was there to remember it and translate it for me. I am very much looking forward to talking with her again, and am hopeful that we can become friends (but not in a Harold and Maude kind of way).

2008-12-01T09:43:00.004+08:00

A few weeks ago I received a text message from Connie, who could be my boss in the English department, asking if a former student could contact me about helping out at her English teaching institute. Wanting to gain some experience, I readily agreed. We set up a training appointment to which Carol, my contact, was over an hour late. This is quite odd for China, as I've often had meetings with various Chinese and received a concerned call 2-3 minutes before our scheduled meeting time asking where I was. China Mobile doesn't synchronize my cell phone to the any time standard, so it would seem that the time culture here is a little bit more relaxed than what I'm used to. Regardless, the training meeting consisted of me looking through the book that she uses to teach and then helping her out with some English questions. With our appointment set, I bid her farewell.

Unfortunately I was "late," which means that I arrived at the agreed upon location at precisely the agreed upon time, rather than 10 minutes early. Despite the fact that she had been an hour late for an appointment with me, Carol was thoroughly flustered and had me take a taxi the final quarter-mile from the bus station, rather than walk. Upon arrival at the school, I was informed that if asked, I was a teacher from Beijing and had another meeting to be at in another city it China at 1pm. Odd. My job for the morning was to judge the English abilities of their students, ranging in age from 4-11 years. Having only studied English for, in some cases, 7 weeks, they still had a lot to work on. Still, it was completely adorable to be serenaded with "If You're Happy and You Know It" by a 6 year old Chinese girl named Linda with long pigtails who pronounced "David" as the most similar English word she knew, "baby." I was paid ¥200 ($29.30) for my troubles, but I think a video of Linda singing would've been worth more to me.

Two entrepreneurial groups on campus show three movies consecutively on Friday and Saturday nights. Illegally downloaded movies played on a laptop through an old projector and crummy speakers doesn't quite match the experience at your local megaplex but it still must be a sweet deal for the organizers, as attendance is normally in the couple of hundreds, and they charge ¥2 ($0.29) per person. I'm pretty sure that Hollywood and its Hong Kong equivalent aren't seeing a cent of that money, and I don't think reservation fee for the auditorium is cutting into their profits much either. What was really fascinating to me, in addition to the naive Chinese student reaction to sex scenes, was that one movie ended halfway through. In response, whoever was running the show put on another movie, this time starting it in the middle. Now this would cause an uproar in America where we care about the plot. Here, nobody seemed to mind that they missed the end of the first movie and the beginning of the second; they were entertained regardless.

2008-11-29T20:35:00.004+08:00

"I open my pocket,find no coin;I open my purse, find no money;I open my life,then I find you!Then I know how rich i am! Happy Thanksgiving Day,my dear friend!"

-Text received from one of my tutors

I ate a slightly disappointing Thanksgiving dinner of cucumbers, fried eggs with tomato, bok choy, and of course rice with two of my students in the cafeteria. We had to postpone our celebration until Friday, as all of the foreign teachers had class on Thanksgiving Day. Despite our best efforts, we failed to find a turkey, but even if we'd found one, we'd still need an oven. Ultimately we decided to have a potluck style dinner with KFC as our approximation of turkey. Perplexed does not adequately describe the look on the KFC cashier's face when Ken and I ordered two of the biggest fried chicken buckets, which we carted back to campus in the back of a cloth-covered motorized tricycle.

For the potluck, I prepared sweet potatoes, which turned out edible, even without an oven. Dan the Man Stan made some delicious mashed potatoes, Ken provided stove-top stuffing, and Clark brought spaghetti and garlic bread. Combined with the three Chinese dishes that Steve's wife, Spring, brought and some wine and beer, we had a legitimate Thanksgiving feast. Even without turkey, it still felt like Thanksgiving and it felt great to be full from something besides rice for the first time in a few months.

In class, I asked my students to refer to me as "Mr. Wacker." I thought this would help legitimize me, as I have a few students who are older than I am. However, most of the time they drop the Mr. and, like my college friends, just call me "Wacker." I don't really mind, and figure that the significance of "Mr." is probably lost in a culture where you almost always call people by thier full name. I was confused this week when a number of students all started calling me "David," until one told me they saw a 喜报 (bào xǐ - report of success) with my name on it it the foriegn language building. I'm still not entirely sure what it says, but I thought it was interesting seeing my name in the middle of an announcement all in Chinese.

A few Chinese have asked me if I have a Chinese name, to which I would normally reply that I didn't have one and ask if they had any suggestions. For some reason, none of them ever did. Eventually, Greg asked me. I decided that it was time to finally get a Chinese name and since Greg (张星鑫 - Zhāng Xīngxīn) is my closest Chinese friend, I figured it would be appropriate for him to name me. His first suggestion was 大龙 (Dà Lóng - large dragon). I don't think that's a very fitting name for me, and asked him to try again. This time he struck gold with 小猴子 (Xiǎo Hóuzi - little monkey). The Chinese who know me think it's appropriate and it normally gets a small laugh when I use it. Maybe one day I'll even bother to learn how to write it!

2008-11-25T18:43:00.004+08:00

Over the past weekend, Ken, Dan the Man Stan and I set out to Wūzhèn(乌镇), one of the many towns that is touted as the "Venice of the East." The trip went just fine except for two small hiccups. The first was when we opted to go to a very small restaurant on a side street. We had seen the reasonable food prices on the menus at the nice restaurants and figured we could save a little money by eating at a small family kitchen. Unfortunately, trusting in the honesty of every Chinese we had met so far, we didn't ask the prices of the food first. Therefore, it came as quite a shock when we were asked to pay about three times what we thought was reasonable. As my Chinese is not yet good enough to tell somebody off, we called Steve. He gave the proprietors a stern talking to and even threatened that we might call the authorities. Eventually they agreed to accept about double what we thought the meal was worth. The whole argument was over about $6, which isn't a huge deal, but it seemed like we were being cheated for being foreign.

We encountered the second small hiccup on the bus ride back. I started to smell overheating brakes, which I thought was quite odd as the country where we were is about as flat as can be. By the time we pulled off the highway we were starting to see smoke from the clearly overheated rear wheel. In their infinite wisdom, the Chinese bus operators decided to treat the symptom rather than its cause by pouring cold water on the wheel. My suspicion that this was a bad idea, and would permanently warp the brake drum, was confirmed when we tried to move afterwards and the wheel in question refused to budge. But fear not, as we were able to flag down another bus and return home safely.

It is incredible to meet that in talking to my students I have found that almost none of them have done any traveling for fun, and yet every touristy site that I have been to in China is swarming with domestic tourists. Perhaps traveling is not much of a family affair here. At any rate, as more Chinese gain access to wealth that will enable them to travel and adopt the Western notion that traveling is important, the tourist locations will need to seriously update their infrastructure.

2008-11-21T15:35:00.005+08:00

Today I became a professional athlete! We had a meeting today to review our teaching performance and at the beginning I was handed a brown envelope with money in it. One of my students had told me that there is a reward for breaking the record at the sports meet, but I wasn't holding my breath. So in addition to ¥100 ($14.63) for the speech contest that I judged a month ago, I made ¥680 ($99.50) for the 3 minutes and change that I spent running, which is about $1800/hr. One hundred dollars seems like quite a bit for a sports meeting, especially in the Chinese economy where one of Ken's students made ¥800 ($117)/month working 12 hour days moving boxes. Regardless, it should cover the cost of the party that I have promised to throw for my first class to make it through the whole two hours without me hearing a single mispronounced "th."

I was never promised compensation for the speech contest, and wasn't told that there would be prize money for the sports meet until after the fact. Based on the teacher reviews, it appears that they may be trying to compensate me for doing some things above what my contract states, such as going to English corner. It's nice to know that they appreciate it, even if it is enjoyable for me too.

Xiao Nei is the Chinese rip off of Facebook and, in order to gain some insight into my students lives, not to mention practice reading Chinese, I set up an account. Notwithstanding that everything is in Chinese, the biggest difference I have noticed is that most people's only pictures are only of themselves. This is consistent with the few actual photo albums I have seen. The few pictures of the other foreigners and me that I have found always seem to garner the most comments from the owners' friends. Notably, one of my students has an album titled "Treasure" with the description "There are [sic] somenoe crossing our lives ..." The album contains two pictures, the first is of a little girl kissing a boy with the caption "first lover." The second picture is one of me teaching with the caption "then silence..."

2008-11-20T10:10:00.003+08:00

Yesterday I accompanied my "friend" David to his school, Jiangsu Polytechnic University. I had been invited to go talk to their students because they don't have any foreign teachers this year. Samson had gotten wind that I was going and offered to drive us there, which was appreciated, if less sustainable, than taking the bus. David's school practices what they call Li Yang Crazy English, the three tenets of which are to speak as loudly, clearly and quickly as possible. I was the guest of honor at another English speaking competition where the students were reciting English using Li Yang's method. In my humble opinion, the students were decidedly difficult to understand because they haven't yet mastered speaking clearly, but do speak quite quickly. On the way home, Samson offered to be my personal driver anytime I need it. I suppose it's cheaper than taking a taxi and, for him, an inexpensive way to have a personal English tutor.

Jiangsu Polytechnic is, according to David, a much poorer school than where I am teaching, which is why they don't have foreign teachers. However, the tuition there is about triple what it is here and many of their facilities were much nicer, so I think he may have been trying to be humble about how nice his school is. Either way, I don't think I'll be going back there, as this school is the one paying my salary, providing my housing, and furnishing my visa. I don't think there's much in the way of school rivalries here, but it still seems disloyal to the students here whom I've grown quite fond of.

When I say that I am fond of my students, I mean that I am fond of my freshmen. They are still a little wet behind the ears, which makes them obedient and eager to please. Additionally, for most of them I am the first foreign teacher they have had. As a result, they have nothing to compare me to and generally think that I am very kind, enthusiastic and interesting. My sophomores, on the other hand, have had 5 foreign teachers and I am by far the most strict. I don't allow them to speak Chinese in class, I take attendance every week, and I don't end class until the bell rings. I don't think any of their previous foreign teachers did this so every sophomore considers me to be very strict. As a result, they are a bit less willing to participate and always gripe to be let out early. That's not to say that there aren't many sophomores whom I do like, but on the whole, I enjoy teaching the freshmen more. It all depends on your point of view; all of my sophomores think I am strict but I have yet to meet a single freshman who agrees.

China may have a great quantity of manufacturing, however, the quality still leaves much to be desired. The chain on my first bicycle, which admittedly was second-hand, constantly derailed. I had the bottom-bracket and chain replaced, but not more than two days later it was back to its usual antics. Hence, I sold it at half the price I bought it for and opted to get a new bike from the supermarket, Auchan. My brand-new, ¥189 ($27.67) bicycle lasted two days before the pedal broke off, the chain started derailing and the seat came unadjusted. Additionally, the headset wiggles like a fish out of water. I realize that I shouldn't have high expectations from a supermarket bicycle, but even a Wal-Mart bike would last at least until it was too late to return it.

2008-11-18T19:38:00.006+08:00

On Sunday afternoon I met Samson in order to tour some factories in Changzhou. I told him that it would be fine with me if we took the bus, but he insisted on "arranging" a car for us. I assumed when I met Samson that he was a laid off factory worker who was struggling to make ends meet, so I didn't want him to be spending money for us to ride in the luxury of a car. Hence, I was quite surprised to see him in the driver's seat of his own car. I haven't met many Chinese adults, but from my understanding it is still rare for somebody to own their own car. The car was only two years old, and is clearly Samson's pride and joy complete with seat covers, immaculately cleaned, and driven carefully with overzealous blinker use.

Our first stop was a tea strip mall. Samson wanted me to look at teacups and teapots, which are a big part of the tea culture he described to me. There were seriously 10 different shops, all selling tea leaves, tea sets, and other tea drinking accessories. I was tempted to buy a set, as it would make a neat addition to my apartment here and in the states, but I really just don't drink a lot of tea. We left empty handed, but Samson promised to help me get the best price if I ever changed my mind about wanting a tea set.

When Samson said he'd show me a factory, I was envisioning hundreds of workers slaving away on thunderous machinery in an enormous warehouse. Hence, I was a little surprised when we arrived at a bedding and clothing factory that only had 8 or so workers. After seeing the working conditions, which actually seemed quite good, Samson once again launched into a speech about how I am really missing out by not doing business in China and that if I want to sell things in America, he can help me every step of the way. I once again declined his kind offer.

Changzhou is supposedly quite famous for its combs, and the next factory we went to was churning out 100,000 wooden combs every month. This particular factory served double as a small hotel in the front. Once again the working conditions seemed reasonable, although I'm sure an OSHA inspector could've written a novel about the hazards there. Samson did say that the government cares a lot more about the economy than about worker's rights, and that especially in the small factories the regulations are not enforced. I sure am thankful that I've been afforded the educational opportunities that I have been, as cutting the same 4 pieces of wood 10-12 hours per day with maybe one day of vacation per month sure isn't appealing.

After the factory tour, we went to Samson's house where his wife prepared some delicious Chinese food for us and one of Samson's old classmates who is now a dentist. One of the local delicacies is lake crab, which tastes about the same as ocean crab, except that they eat a lot of the guts too. I was fine with this, but nobody told me I had yellow crab guts all over my face and I didn't notice until I looked at the pictures back in my apartment. The dinner was nevertheless delightful as I practiced English with the two friends' daughters and discussed, among other things, the shortcomings of the Chinese education system.

2008-11-16T08:32:00.008+08:00

Jiā yóu! 加油! Literally meaning "add gas," I spent the better part of Friday and Saturday yelling this Chinese cheer at the 20th Annual Sports Meet. Once per year, all of the students are given the opportunity to compete in a glorified track and field day. Recognizing the importance of fanfare, the school opened the events with a relatively elaborate opening ceremony during which the students and faculty marched around the track as flower girls danced. Ken and I weren't notified until the night before that we were supposed to have suits for the march, so we just went in our school track suits. Interestingly, we were the only people who broke the gender separation during the marching. I would've expected the students to march by gender, but these were 30, 40 and 50 year old adults.

The meet itself was remarkably similar to an American track meet, with a few exceptions. One of the biggest was that many students did not wear any sort of exercise clothes. Whether participating in the 1,500 meter run or the shot put, jeans and a nice shirt were the uniform of choice. Additionally, the music was not the normal collection of pump-you-up songs, but rather the same 40-second clip of marching music on repeat the whole day. Finally, there were some unique events that neither Ken or I had seen before. There was one they call "train driving" where a group of ten students hopped for 20 meters on one leg with the person it front holding the other leg. They had a four-legged race with three people, and a 50 meter race for faculty where the participant had to balance a tennis ball on a ping pong paddle for the entire race. By far the most exciting event, however, was the 20 x 50 meter relay. Yes, you read that correctly. This consisted of four teams per heat, 80 runners in all, shuttling a baton back and forth between two flags. The students had an enormous amount of intensity, as you can see in my collage of their faces as they ran.

As far as my races went, I did pretty well. I wasn't quite sure what to expect from the other faculty members, but noticed that in the student races, the students would consistently start out too fast and then fade considerably at the end of the race. In the 400 meter race, I was in lane 7 with nobody outside of me, so for the first 200 meters it appeared as though no one was in front of me. Coming around the second turn I could see that somebody on the inside was out in front of me so I really turned on the steam. I could still see him out of the corner of my eye as I finished, and didn't know if I had won or not. I'm also not used to going that fast at the end of a race and actually fell over after a few steps. I ended up running a 1:00.76, a PR for me and enough to win the faculty race but still a good 5 seconds behind the student winners. Unfortunately, Ken and I were in different heats and his heat was a lot slower than mine. He was able to win it by at least 20 meters, but had no one to push him.

On Saturday morning I had the 800, which Steve had been claiming we would go 1-2 in for the past week. I figured that the pack would start out too fast, and so paced myself for the first 200 meters, after which I was in 7th. Fortunately, my assumption was correct and the leaders started to fade. By 350 meters I was out in front and by the end of the race I had opened up a 20 second lead. Ken said that the students were actually gasping at how far ahead I pulled, although my short running shorts and sunglasses may also have had something to do with it. I ended up running a 2:19.23, which wouldn't even make varsity on my high school's track team, but it was enough to beat the old faculty record by just over 7 seconds. It is decidedly unfair for me to be competing with the teachers when I am the same age as the students, but it benefited me as the fastest student ran a 2:18.10.

After our races, Ken and I stuck around to cheer on our students and the other competitors. We figured we'd also introduce a little American fan culture by writing on our chests. The students didn't really know what to think of this, other than pull out their camera phones. I'm sure there are now a few more pictures of us on XiaoNei, the Chinese Facebook now.

2008-11-14T22:31:00.004+08:00

Drinking really isn't a big pastime at this university, even though as far as I can tell there isn't a drinking age in China. I've seen a few students sharing a beer with dinner on the weekend, but the two convenience stores on campus only stock individual bottles on the shelves, unlike QT back home that sells thirty packs. As a result, I've gotten some stares when I haul a box of 12 beers from the back of the store to ride back to my apartment on my bike.

I, on the other hand, enjoy the occasional brew and have been bringing one to English corner every week ever since a Chinese student planted the idea in my head by bringing one for me. I was quite surprised a few weeks ago when one of my students at English corner claimed that I was drinking very slowly and that she thought that she could drink faster than I. Not being one to shy away from a challenge, wanting to demonstrate that our university drinking culture is wildly different than China's and confident that I could beat her, I agreed to race her this week. Before you judge me for drinking with a student, there is no drinking age here, it was her idea, it was only one beer, I told her repeatedly that she didn't have to, it was with other people, and I think it served to highlight a big cultural difference. Needless to say, my training at TU paid off and I was finished about twice as fast as she was. I felt bad for her afterwards when she disappeared to the bathroom for a few minutes, but she seemed alright the rest of English corner.

We played our second week of poker last night, and this time were joined by another American from Nevada who teaches at a different school but has some TAs from here. Probably the most interesting thing about playing poker is Steve's reaction to it. Last week he was extremely generous, offering to give me chips to buy back in when I lost. This week, he was hoarding his money and making jokes about how he covets the shiny coins. There's just something a little odd about sitting around a poker table with a bunch of capitalist Americans and the one Chinese person present is standing up and shouting about how he wants the money. It's not really the cultural difference that you'd expect.

2008-11-13T10:12:00.005+08:00

My Chinese friends often ask me if I miss my home town, to which my standard reply was that I missed the clear blue sky that was largely absent in polluted Changzhou. However, the colder weather has brought with it clearer skies, so the thing I miss the most now is Mexican food. I would be willing to pay a premium price for a Chipotle burrito, or even a Taco Bell burrito. Ken and I did find some pricey salsa in the supermarket, but tortilla chips have thus far eluded us. Ken decided it would be a better idea to make his own salsa, which we did last night. Unable to find lime juice, cilantro, salt and pepper, Ken's salsa of tomato, onion, and spicy sauce that he bought in a Coke bottle on our trip this weekend actually turned out quite well. Sadly, the Chinese "Inca" chips don't give the same experience as tortilla chips, so I am left waiting for the arrival of my mother in January. Mom, all I want this Christmas is a bag full of Mexican food!

The old lady peddling her hot sauce to Ken

I've been begging my students for criticisms of my class for the past few weeks, and last week I finally had a student tell me she was tired of making stories, and wanted to do more activities. As a result, this week I invested in some booties to use as blindfolds and some crayons. Using an idea from Dave's ESL Cafe, I had blinded students draw the flags of Greece and Colorado. None of them knew the Colorado flag, even after I gave away that it was the flag of the best state. A few surprised me by recognizing Greece's flag. Their creations were far from perfect, and the few that were close were all made by groups that cheated. Maybe now they'll know at the sports meet tomorrow that it's Colorado's flag on my running shorts!

Finally, one of my students last week mentioned that she likes to sing. I told her that she should sing for the class this week and she actually agreed. At first she said that she could only sing in Chinese, but her song sure sounds like English to me!

2008-11-12T10:52:00.004+08:00

For the past few weeks my Monday and Tuesday classes have had an extra student, Samson. I saw him lurking outside of my classroom the week before he gathered the courage to ask if he could attend. Initially, I thought that he was another English teacher who was sent by the school to observe my class. However, I later discovered that he is a factory manager who lost his job as a result of the global economic slowdown. Admiring his courage at just showing up at the university, finding my class and asking me if he could join, I have allowed him to stay. I like using him as an example of why learning English is important, plus he refuses to speak Chinese in class and continually tells the students how lucky they are to be learning English from a foreigner. He has been bothering me for my phone number; I decided that e-mail would be a safer approach and received this:

HI,WRACKER

NICE TO GET KNOWN TO U.I'M SAMSON .THANKS A LOT FOR UR GREAT ENGLISH CLASSES. TAKING UR CLASSES,TO ME ,IS NOT ONLY LEARNING ENLISH ,BUT ALSO ENJOYING.

ALL THE TIME ,I AM WONDERIN WHY U NOT TO DO BUSINESS ? U HAVE ADVANTACES IN CHINA. AND I AM FAMILIAR WITH MANY FACTORIES/GOODS.SUCH AS SHOES ,CLOTHINGS,SCARFS,BEDDING AND SO ON.U KNOW ,THEY ARE VERY CHEAP IN CHINA. BUT THEY ARE SO EXPENSIVE IN USA.THERE U MUCH SPACE/ GAP BETWWEN USA N CHINA.ALSO , I AM THE INSIDER OF BARGAINS.IF U A INTERESTED IN BUSINESS ,I CAN GIVE U A HAND.

I HOPE WE CAN BE FRIENDS N MAKE COOPERATION.

B,RGDS!
SAMSON

Samson has asked me a number of times before and after class about me going into business here. I can't say that it wouldn't be interesting to start up my own little Chinese sweatshop operation, but I still don't think I'll be taking him up on his offer. Regardless, he has offered to show me around a Chinese factory this Sunday, which I am excited about. If nothing else, he at least erases the blackboard for me.

All of the students here are given or buy a school uniform, which is essentially a track suit. Each year it changes slightly, so one can easily tell which students are freshmen, sophomores, etc. Ever since I arrived I have been wanting one, and even asked Teddy if he could track an extra one down. Showcasing how efficient China is, the department that ordered the uniforms did not order even a single extra for the 4,000 or so incoming freshmen. Eventually though, I was able to track one down from a senior who, in agreement with the majority of the student body, thinks they're ugly and was more than happy to give me his. I've gotten some strange looks from the students when they've seen me wearing it, but it is comfortable, warm and, in my humble opinion, quite fashionable.

2008-11-11T17:02:00.005+08:00

For the second time, Ken and I boarded the N418 train that goes from Changzhou to Huangshan. You'll recall that last time we undertook this journey we had no seats and it was a 10 hour ordeal. Fortunately, this time it was not the high travel season so we had seats and our destination was Jixixian, which is only 8 hours away. Unfortunately, we still didn't get much sleep as there were inexplicably 28 Mexicans on the train who in typical Latin American fashion were drinking and partying well into the night.

Our excursion was organized by two Chinese friends, Carrie and Sophia. Neither had ever spent more than two days outside of their home province, Jiangsu. Initially, they were considerably worried that all of their planning (10 pages of it) would not be enough and something would go horribly wrong. Ken and I explained that when we went to Huangshan our only planning was to buy a one-way train ticket and bring the Lonely Planet guide - and we don't speak Chinese. Naturally, our approximately 10-mile hike through the Chinese countryside went swimmingly, except that the hotel only had one room for the four of us. The ladies grudgingly agreed to share a room with us, but were made decidedly uncomfortable when I joked that I prefer to sleep naked.

During the trip, the girls continued the Chinese tradition of offering superfluous health advice. Recommendations that I have received so far to "improve" my health are: don't drink cold beverages when eating, run only 6 or 7 laps instead of 10, eat breakfast between 7:00 and 7:30, walk backwards for at least 20 minutes everyday, eat more milk and meat, and wear warmer clothes. Admittedly I come from a country that makes a host of unhealthy decisions, but I tend to think that I am a rather healthy individual, even if my heart beats too slowly for the Chinese doctors. However, these people have the audacity to tell me when to eat my breakfast when they come from a society where high school students, in their prime growing years, only get 5.5 hours of sleep per night. You tell me which is less healthy. Not all of their health tips are bad though, as they have advised me to drink less beer. Still, I think that my drinking is a smaller health grievance than their smoking!

Maybe these guys are wearing warm enough clothes to be healthy!

Last night as a few of my students, Ken and I were finishing dinner, the students got up to go to a singing and dancing activity at the pseudo-discotech near my apartment. Not having ever been to such an event, particularly on a Monday night before, I eagerly accepted their invitation. It was a typical Chinese party, laden with unenthusiastic performances from otherwise introverted people. Nonetheless, Ken and I enjoyed a round of musical chairs with only one chair. Apparently it's supposed to be about who is quickest, rather than strongest, but I think the students still enjoyed watching us play tug of war with the stool. We were asked numerous times to give a performance of our own, a request that we agreed to on the condition that the students learn the Chicken Dance and actually dance with each other. They didn't dance boy-girl as we had hoped, but it was enough that we sang "Take Me Home Country Roads" for them.

After thanking us profusely for showing up and bringing them "happiness and smiles" they went into some sort of question game. I'm a little unclear on the details but apparently the premise was that you would be asked a question and if you answered it wrong, you would face the worst imaginable punishment: kissing a girl. The prospect of this led to more camera phones being drawn than even for our performance. Evidently the boy only got the question half correct, as he ended up only awkwardly hugging the girl. It was still embarrassing enough that her face was red for the next 5-10 minutes though.

2008-11-07T11:00:00.003+08:00

At another successful English corner last night, the students informed me that the school headmaster just banned students from riding bikes on campus. Apparently there was some sort of accident a few days ago and the only reasonable thing to do was forbid all students from bicycling. Now normally it seems that the students are pretty content to go with the flow, but when pressed about this issue, they all acknowledged that it will be impossible to enforce and was a ridiculous "solution". Given the large number of bikes on campus, I think they may be correct.

Last week, Ken had the great idea of starting a weekly poker game with the foreign teachers, Steve, and another Chinese teacher Chen. We had our first game last night; it was delightful. In addition to playing poker, I continued working on acquiring a taste for baijiu, the disgusting Chinese liquor made from rice. It probably doesn't help my poker but we're only playing with ¥10 ($1.46). Right now I'm still having to heavily mix the stuff with Pepsi, but eventually I should be able to sip it with a smile like the Chinese men. Also, Chen was able to teach Ken and me the finger counting drinking game. It's so simple that I'm astounded nobody was able to explain it to us before. Come to China, and I'll teach it to you!

Ken and I are going on a trip to Hangzhou this weekend with our waiban's assistant and one of her classmates. It promises to be a lot of fun as we will be hiking and staying with a "happy farm family."

2008-11-05T13:56:00.005+08:00

On Saturday, Lynn, Dan the Man Stan and I went to the Dinosaur Park. It is a small amusement park that we first heard about while we were still in Shanghai at orientation. We did tread with some trepidation as we ominously witnessed the aftermath of a bus vs. bicycle fight on the ride there. I am reasonably sure that the bus won, although the bicyclist was giving the bus driver and policemen an earful.

The dinosaur park was surprisingly legitimate, complete with gaudy decorations, cheesy maps, and overpriced admission. Lynn and I enjoyed the craziest ride there, which consisted of a rotating disk attached to a swinging pendulum. We decided to grace the other patrons with incessant screaming as we oscillated, which added excitement to the already enjoyable ride. This being China, there was naturally a giant panda to look at, although it was the napping rather than the playful variety that you see in the documentaries. Our night culminated in a splash down the flume as we listened to the "This is Halloween" song from "The Nightmare Before Christmas." My Chinese must be improving, as on the taxi ride home I was able to correctly say our destination on the first try without needing to resort to showing a business card with the Chinese address.

I administered my midterm exam on Tuesday to my sophomore students. I had asked them two weeks ago to prepare a short presentation in groups, but I didn't specify the topic. The girl groups gave interesting abbreviated renditions of Beauty and the Beast, Snow White, Sleeping Beauty and other well-known stories while the two male groups gave poor recreations of uninteresting events in their lives. Notably, I have one girl who apparently lost all of her friends and gave a two minute-long description of Tibet alone. I actually laughed out loud when she mentioned the "1950 peaceful liberation of Tibet." Hmm...

This morning I saw a group of four of my freshmen standing at the gate to the boys' dorm wearing official looking name tags. After thoroughly impressing them by successfully reading the first two characters (文明 - wén míng - civilized) on the tags, I asked what it was they were doing. Now the student union here is tasked with enforcing some pretty ludicrous freedom limiting rules, but apparently these girls are on the "civility and manners" committee and were writing down the names of students who were committing the great iniquity of eating while walking. I kid you not.

One of my sister's middle school teachers used to say "if you want self-esteem, go sit on a geyser." In my opinion, a more effective remedy would be to move to China. For example, today I sat down with a group of female graduate students whom I didn't know. Not three minutes into the conversation, they were saying such falsities as: you are so handsome, you speak excellent Chinese, your haircut is great, your eyes are very lovely, etc. Receiving frequent undue praise such as this for everything from singing and dancing skills to running and studying habits will do wonders for anyone's self-image and confidence.

2008-10-31T11:44:00.006+08:00

For my Halloween lesson, I had the students copy the beginning of a scary story by having one person per group read it and then tell it to the next person like in a child's game of telephone. They were able to accomplish this with relatively few mistakes compared to the first time that I had them play telephone. However, I must not have made it very clear that it was supposed to be a scary story because most groups wrote a fairy tale ending. Next, I asked them to blindly draw jack-o-lanterns with their classmates providing directions. Unfortunately, I left my collection of blindfolds stateside, so I had to improvise. I think that I can safely say that none of my students had worn a bright blue wig or a backpack as a blindfold before.

While shopping for the party, Ken and I went to Auchan, which is the closest Western style supermarket to campus. We bought a great deal of prizes in the form of cookies, cupcakes, instant noodles, dried shrimp and even a toilet seat cover. The best part of shopping was seeing the looks on the faces of the Chinese as we loaded our cart with item after item. We got some particularly jealous looks from children as we indiscriminately grabbed handful after handful of candy. I don't envy their parents trying to explain that.

All of our work putting together the party paid off splendidly. I showed up at the gym about an hour and a half before the advertised start time in order to help set up. We got our first scare of the night when the president of the English club informed us that the gym manager was only going to give us half of the gym so that people could play basketball on the other half. I'm clueless as to how it was unclear that we needed the entire gym and am similarly ignorant as to how the situation was resolved, but in the end we had the whole gym to ourselves. The first indication that the party would be a success came when we placed the lit jack-o-lanterns that we had carved on the steps leading into the gym. Immediately a crowd of students formed with camera phones out and pointed at the jack-o-lanterns.

A group of four reasonably talented student break dancers opened the party, after which we introduced the foreign teachers. We made complete fools of ourselves "dancing" unrehearsed to YMCA before opening up the games and dance floor. There were supposed to be 5 games: bobbing for apples, mummy wrapping, a cakewalk, mask making and orange passing. Ken was able to get the cake walk running, and bobbing for apples was enormously popular until we ran out of apples. There were only 60 rolls of toilet paper for the mummy wrap, so it was over after about 5 minutes. Mask making and the orange passing were complete failures.

During our planning for the party we thought that we had taken the Chinese shyness into account by having a good group dance song every fourth or fifth song. We assumed that between the activities we had planned, and some fun group dances like the Macarena, the Cupid Shuffle, and the Chicken Dance that the party would be a blast all night. However, since the games ended much earlier than we had hoped, the music quickly became the centerpiece of the party. Hence, we quickly discovered that the students would not dance by themselves to American pop music. Making matters worse, the lights in the gym were still set up for playing basketball, not dancing. I tried in vain to get the students to dance the Chicken Dance by demonstrating it on stage before moving to the floor. There they were much more eager to take pictures of me foolishly shaking my hindquarters and grabbing random people from the crowd to dance with than actually trying the dance themselves. Ken and I had better success with the Cupid Shuffle, but you can only play that so many times. Ultimately we ended up repeating the few songs they did like and emergency downloading new songs from students' cell phones.

Throughout the night, all of us were incessantly asked if we could take a picture with the students. A number of students asked for my phone number, even though I was wearing what they thought was a janitor's uniform. Apparently Kim Jong-Il isn't that well known here. Despite the problems with the games and the music, the students still seemed to enjoy themselves and appreciate the effort we had put into adding a little excitement to their lives. My biggest disappointment was that I didn't see any of the cafeteria workers, all of whom we had invited to attend.

2008-10-29T10:10:00.003+08:00

My mock congress class yesterday went okay with my first group of sophomores and kind of miserably with the second group. Initially, I was concerned that the students would all suggest the same ideas, as Chinese students are notorious for copying each other and not being creative. However, across my 78 students there were probably close to 60 different gripes about the school. Their ideas for improving the school included: plant more trees on campus, upgrade the computers, leave the electricity on after eleven pm, don't inspect the dorms more than once per month, build bigger dorms, make the library quieter, fire the mean librarians, provide hot water for free, build a bicycle shed, don't allow girls in the boys' dorm without permission, start classes later in the morning, install more multimedia in the classrooms, build a new foreign language building, add a swimming pool, install or even allow electric appliances in the dorms, build an all-you-can-eat buffet, make the internet free, clean the cafeteria trays better, decrease tuition, add more meat to the cafeteria food and set aside more land for grassy fields.

Although the students were admirably full of ideas, it was an arduous task to elicit meaningful discussion from them because they all agreed that all of the improvements would be beneficial. When I changed the structure of the discussion so that they had to choose which improvement was the most important, they stopped talking. Of course the outcome of their eventual vote didn't matter, but I figured that they would at least enjoy the opportunity to complain. I suppose when you've had over 2,000 years of top-down rule it's hard to wrap your mind around the idea that you could offer some insight to the ruling group.

On Monday, Ken and I had the delightful experience of donning some simple Halloween costumes to pass out 500 fliers advertising the Halloween party. It was a great deal of fun to see the reactions from the hordes of students, who I suspect have never before been approached by two foreigners wearing masks and asking them in broken Chinese to come to a party. The most fun was chasing down the girls who would dart to the other side of the street in a vain attempt to evade us. I also wore it to my freshman classes, where they seemed to get a big kick out of it. Now I'm just hopeful that the party itself will be at least a moderate success!

2008-10-27T22:04:00.002+08:00

Ken and I took to the high seas for the second time on Sunday, joining the Shanghai Boat and Yacht Club for another race day on the lake. Once again, it was thoroughly enjoyable to join the numerous expats for a day of friendly sailing. We certainly aren't the wealthiest among the sailors, but they are all envious of our 3-day, 16-hour work week! Although the weather is finally getting cooler, the club will continue sailing through the winter months. Eventually, we will have learned enough about sailing to be able to head to the lake ourselves.

The Chinese don't have any compunction about discussing their salary, hence, I have been able to talk with Steve about how much he makes compared to me. As it turns out, the foreign teacher ¥4,000 ($584) monthly salary is double what he makes as a ten-year professor of English with a Master's degree. I fail to understand why there is such a disparity in pay. In addition to his teaching load, which is roughly equivalent to ours, he is also required to publish papers that apparently noone ever reads, as well as provide weekly office hours that the students don't use. I, on the other hand, have only a Bachelor's degree, no teaching training, and can't explain English grammar. Besides the gross differences in our qualifications and responsibilities, our performance expectations are wildly different. I could show up 20 minutes late and leave half an hour early every class, just show movies, assign grades randomly and still not be in jeopardy of losing my job.

Although I initially suffered from the typical travel indigestion, the Chinese food and I are getting along just fine now. I am still eating most of my meals in the cafeteria, where most of the students are afraid to sit next to me. Still, even the cafeteria food is generally quite tasty. Apparently my student who commented that Chinese food must be healthier than American food (because she thought that I had lost weight) is actually an astute observer. I literally tripped over a scale at the supermarket to discover that I have lost over 10 pounds since arriving. My Chinese friends have blamed it on all sorts of "unhealthy" activities, such as drinking cold liquids with hot food, running for more than 15 minutes per day, skipping breakfast, and waking up too late. I'd surmise that my weight loss has more to do with having a healthier, less meat and sugar intensive diet. Nonetheless, I ate Burger King and potato chips in Shanghai. Naturally, now American food gives me indigestion.

2008-10-25T09:12:00.005+08:00

I know that I have mentioned this before, but it is such a glaring difference between here and home that I think it warrants mentioning again. Our popularity as foreigners is extremely high. This week alone I was asked by no fewer than 8 people for my phone number, and most of those were people whom I had never met before. The Chinese interest in us doesn't seem limited to a particular age group either, as young and old alike are keen on the opportunity to talk with us. For example, as Ken and I were watching a volleyball match, a bus of young soccer players broke down right next to us. The boys proceeded to clamor to the side of the bus that we were on, leaning out of the window to practice their English with us.

Capitalizing on that popularity, Bryan had the great idea to throw a Halloween party for the students. Each of the foreign teachers has given some money and we have started planning it in earnest. Apparently most parties here just involve an MC coordinating a series of performances, which the students find dull. Hence, we are plotting to have a much more interactive party with dancing, games, food, candy and a performance by the foreign teachers. We've bought over 100 masks, a boatload of candy and some tubs for apple bobbing! I am looking forward to reporting on how successful it is...

It has been nearly impossible to get my students to give me critical feedback on my teaching style, besides the fact that I don't let them leave before the bell rings. However, yesterday a student who had had different foreign teachers in the past offered to ask my students in a more anonymous setting if they have any suggestions for improvement.

In honor of the upcoming election, I have decided to hold a mock congress with my sophomore classes. I asked each student to think of one "bill" that they would like to see passed that would affect them directly. Given the host of grievances that the students have told me about, I am excited to hear what they come up with.

Throughout my many conversations with the students, I have been constantly surprised by the archaic and asinine rules, exams, and requirements that are imposed on them by the school. For example, last weekend all of my sophomores were required to take a computer exam that is also a requirement for graduation. The test seemed to consist exclusively of rote learning of useless facts and computer terminology. Ken thoughtfully observed that the students would be much better served by spending half as much time actually using a computer. Their entire education seems to revolve around studying for enormous amounts of time and then regurgitating precisely what they have "learned" on some test that they all stress out about. Another for instance is that in their dorms, the bunks are assigned and the students may not switch. I have no clue what purpose this could serve, but it is nonetheless strictly adhered to. Hopefully these and other issues will make for some interesting discussion on their "bills" next week.

My daily run has grown from just Greg and me to five people now. One of the other runners informed me that the school will be having a sports meet in three weeks that I am eager to take part in. Unfortunately, the school won't allow me to compete with my age group as a student, so I will be stuck running against old Chinese men who all smoke heavily. This also means that the longest race that I can run will be the 800m.

As a side note, I have switched my keyboard layout to the Dvorak style. It is taxing to be learning Chinese, keeping up with my German, and learning a new keyboard, but I am only working 3 days per week and at most 6 hours per day, so I've certainly got the time.

2008-10-19T17:16:00.003+08:00

I spent Friday night living like a Chinese student, in ¥500 ($73.16) per year dorms. Each room is U-shaped, with 2 sets of bunk beds in each of the arms of the "U" and a common area with a table, cabinets and some stools at the base of the "U". The beds are simple steel frames with a plywood surface. Most students have a bamboo mat that lies on top of the bed, as well as a mosquito net. The walls are concrete, there are three windows which serve not only as lighting but also have racks for drying clothes. During the week, the lights and all of the electricity turn off at 11 pm sharp, but they live the high life on Friday and Saturday night, being able to play computer games or watch movies as late as they please.

It was interesting watching the dynamics between the 7 roommates, my presence probably altered them considerably. A few of the guys went to sleep early, while the rest of us stayed up watching an illegally downloaded copy of "Wanted". We finally hit went to bed around 1, but stayed up talking for another half hour or so. I've slept on hard surfaces before, but the bamboo mat with 2 inch pillow must be an acquired taste. Typically, I sleep until 9 or 10 on Saturday mornings, but the gentlemen had a volleyball match in some sort of school tournament at 7:30, so we woke up at 6:30. Again, a few of the guys stayed in bed while we loudly headed to breakfast. All in all, it was an interesting experience, but I think I'll stick with 8 hours of sleep in my own room.

I remember at TU one of the dorms had problems with hot showers, which had some students all up in arms. Here, the hot water is turned off at 8 pm, so the students who want to shower after that must fill up their thermoses with hot water beforehand and shower in the middle of the bathroom. Showering before 8 means you pay by the minute for the water you use, and the showers are in a different building. There are 4 urinals and 3 squat style toilets, shared by 32 boys. They must be in their dorms by 11 pm and, as I said before, the electricity turns off at that time. They each have one cabinet in which to keep their belongings, although some use the edges of their beds to store little things also. There are no laundry facilities, meaning that clothes are washed by hand in the sink and then dried on the rack outside the window. They have no mattresses, no heating, no air conditioning, and in addition to their 7 human roommates, the rooms have a host of mosquitoes, especially in the summer. Despite all of this, they are admirably content. It certainly is a different place.

2008-10-16T22:22:00.003+08:00

I've started a war. Okay, actually more like a small battle. My students have a difficult time remembering to pronounce "th" as "th" rather than "s" or "z." I've tired of hearing "I sink," so, I have started marking on the board every time I hear one of them say it incorrectly. At the end of the class, we repeat a "th" tongue twister for every 5 marks on the board. They may hate me for it, but they are all able to say it correctly; it is just a matter of remembering to do it. Plus, I offered a pizza party to whichever class is the first to not say it once. As we're in China, it may be a KFC party, but they get the idea.

A couple of times when I've been outside with one of my Chinese tutors, a few freshmen have been brave enough to approach and ask if they could listen to me speak English. I've always warmly welcomed them, as they typically speak Chinese to my tutor, which gives me a chance to practice listening to Chinese at a normal speed. Now, two of them have asked if they can come to my class on a weekly basis. Greg is thinking that he would also like to attend. I fear I may have opened up a flood gate by saying yes, but I figure it couldn't hurt to have some highly motivated students who promise to speak only English in my classes.

I've been waiting for my absentee ballot since Ken received his 10 days ago. It has yet to arrive, so today I sent in the emergency federal ballot. Colorado doesn't accept it for state issues, but at least I think I was able to cast a vote for President, Senator and Representative. The mail here is a bit goofy. Ken and I have both received two letters from home, sent by the same person on the same day. Yet inexplicably, both of his arrived 3 days before mine. It's very strange.

All day I was looking forward to my big performance tonight. Sadly, the auditorium was not as full as the planners had hoped, but I'd estimate there were about 500 students in attendance. They even got the Chinese Ramen noodle company to sponsor it! I ran into a bit of a fright when I asked if my background music would have vocals or not, to which they replied "what background music?" Now I'm not a great singer by any stretch of the imagination, so I wouldn't wish me singing Backstreet Boys a cappella on anybody. Hence, in the middle of the show, Greg and I ran back to my apartment so I could burn them a CD. As soon as I arrived back in the auditorium, I was on.

I started out a bit nervously, but the crowd really came alive. About half of the students had their camera phones out and running, which I took as a sign of encouragement. Greg had promised me a surprise, and true to his word, in the middle of the performance one of the Chinese hosts delivered a large bouquet of flowers to me. Later on, another host came out to give me a CD. Despite my confusion at receiving the gifts, I think it was a great success and the crowd seemed to enjoy it. I remember when foreign students would perform at TU's talent shows they would receive what I considered less applause than they deserved. Tonight, every other singer I heard was far more talented than I, as well were the dancers. And yet, on account of me being foreign, the crowd really ate it up.

2008-10-14T19:28:00.003+08:00

Over the weekend, I was planning to go to West Lake with my friend Greg (张星鑫 - Zhāng Xīngxīn) and his class. However, I unfortunately ended up sleeping through my alarm. This was because I had gone to Nanjing to meet up with Lynn and Ashley, two of the women who also came to China through CIEE. There we went to an all you-can-eat (and drink) fancy restaurant for ¥58 ($8.49). Afterwards, we went to a local expat bar where we wisely invested in 3 mini kegs. We barely made it through 2, but I was still decidedly unfit to ride the train back to Changzhou. Nonetheless, I boarded the red eye and made it back to campus at 5:30 am. Sadly, I slept through my 5:40 alarm and missed the class trip to the lake. At least I captured forever the rockinest mullet I've ever seen!

One of my favorite things here has been my daily exercise with Greg at 9 pm. We meet every night, run around the track practicing Chinese and English and then do some stretches. Every night, Greg says goodbye to me with the phrase I taught him "Don't do anything I wouldn't do." One night, while we were on the track, he started singing "As Long as You Love Me" by the Backstreet Boys. I told him that I really enjoyed it, and would always look back fondly on my memory of the two of us running around the track in China singing Backstreet Boys together. Now, apparently one of his friends is planning a welcome party for the new students in his major. Greg suggested that I should perform the fabled song as a surprise guest at what appears to be some sort of Chinese talent show. Naturally, I heartily agreed. Long story short, I will be missing English Corner on Thursday night again so that I can entertain about 1,500 Chinese for a few minutes. The one thing that scares me is that Greg said he would have a surprise for me while I'm singing.

2008-10-10T09:43:00.007+08:00

All of the freshmen here must participate in an activity called morning exercise. I had heard about it and thought it would be a good way for me to exercise, plus interact with some more Chinese. So I asked one of my classes if they could ask the morning exercise teacher if I could participate. They informed me that there was no teacher and that I could just go. I set my alarm for 6:05 am and trotted over to the field with the thousands of students doing the same thing. I was expecting half an hour of jogging, sit ups, push ups, pull ups, tai chi, karate, and nunchucks, etc. Instead, all 2,500 students lined up by class and repeated the simple exercises (stretches) being demonstrated by two girls on the stage. The whole thing was choreographed with music and lasted no more than 10 minutes. I found it enormously comical watching 2,500 college students performing these mandatory and ridiculous "exercises" at 6:20 in the morning, when any American campus would be absolutely quiet.

All was not a disappointment though, as after the morning exercises, I was treated to breakfast by a friendly freshman and his friends. He remembered me from two weeks ago when I picked up a basketball for him, and as a result smiled and waved to me on the way to the morning exercises. I hadn't been to breakfast at the cafeteria here yet, but was excited to find that they have some tasty porridge, omelets, and pastries. So I think I will be able to forgo my expensive milk and cereal, and instead join the students in the cafeteria for breakfast.

Yesterday, I was asked by the head of the English department if I could be a foreign judge for a preliminary contest as part of a national speech competition. I heartily agreed, although I missed English Corner as a result. I judged 21 students giving speeches on a variety of topics, and was thoroughly impressed by their subject matter and their delivery. A few were my students, and it was exciting to see how well they can speak when they prepare beforehand. I am still a little unclear about the results, but I believe the winner will go on to represent this university in the National CCTV Cup, which sounds like a big deal. It is a testament to this country's desire to learn English that the big TV network sponsors an English speaking contest that is so well attended.

I've noticed that the TVs in the train stations and on the buses are still showing Olympics highlights. I also frequently see what appears to be full-fledged reruns of parts of the games. All of the Chinese are very proud of the 2008 games, and are eager to talk about it. It just seems odd that they're showing the same 10 clips on repeat 2 months later.

Jacie, one of my freshman students, made an interesting comment in discussion on Friday while we were talking about Chinese versus American food. She said that she thought Chinese food was healthier, because judging from the pictures I showed at the beginning of class, I used to be fat when I was in America. Now I haven't weighed myself, but I don't think 7 weeks of Chinese cuisine has significantly impacted my size. At any rate, it was the first time in my life I have been called fat and speaks to a difference in body type norms in China and the US.