A Good Day

Sometimes it takes a foggy day to see things clearly. The weather was miserable today and I finally felt comfortable in China. It rained and brought the temperature down to a perfect 66 degrees. The dreary gray drizzled all over me as I drove back from the coffee shop on my bike. I curled up with a blanket as the dampness came through my window. I sat there with a book, a cup of tea and some porridge and felt like I was back in Ireland, or in Jack Ridl’s poem “Rain on the Burren.” I relished it.

I fell asleep reading a book about hiking. When I woke up I was ready for a hike of my own; so I put on my shoes and walked halfway to Xiaoshan. Two hours later my feet hurt - the good kind of hurt, the kind you get from doing something you know you should have done sooner. I've been neglecting my walks because of my aversion to the heat and humidity. Hopefully this is a sign that summer is close to an end.

The capstone of my evening was a long overdue three and a half hour conversation with my mother. I had finished writing my statement of purpose for PhD applications this morning and sent it to her via email. Her response made me believe she had more to tell me, but was waiting for verbal communication. It has been weeks since I've heard her voice and it was just one more comfort of the day to remind me of home. My mother and I often have the kind of conversations you need to build up to, like having to work up an appetite before Thanksgiving so that you can stuff as much as you can into one meal. For us, phoning is nothing less than a verbal marathon. I enjoy these conversations and often have a chance to figure out a little part of who I am when I speak to her. Sometimes it is this tiny clarity that can bring the bigger picture into focus. She calls it her enlightenment.

Ain't no Mary Poppins

Most people welcome a little extra help around the house. Being as lucky as I am, there is a housekeeper who comes Monday - Friday and does the laundry, the cooking, and the cleaning. These are all things I have never really minded doing myself. Now that I have someone to do them for me, I'm simply frustrated.

I continue to confuse her. She was hired to cook for all four of us; but, having severe reactions (both intestinal and mental) to most Chinese and Korean cuisine, I have bought my own small refrigerator and kept my own little stash of food in my room. She stares at me in wonder when I make tea and toast. She looks amazed that I can do this by myself.

The other day I was chopping an apple to put into my porridge. When she saw this, she tried to take the knife and apple from me and do it herself. I may be too easily irritated, but I enjoy doing things myself. There is a major satisfaction I get from it. After that, I kept my cutting board in my room. I'm slowly forming a galley in this small space as I bring in more and more kitchenware.

This woman annoys me; and yet, I pity her. The average housekeeper in China makes such a meager amount. Then again, when I see what she does with most of her time, it could be justified. She sleeps on the sofa mid-afternoon. I interrupt her naps nearly every day, mid R.E.M., when I return to the apartment. Her dusting skills are limited to only visible surfaces that have no clutter.

She throws all clothing into the tiny washer all at once, packed so tightly that the soap is guaranteed to stay in one place inside the machine. Never mind the colors running. Thankfully, she has weekends off, so I save my laundry for Saturdays. If I let her take over, my clothes come out feeling like cardboard. And she keeps moving my pumice stone from out of the shower onto the counter; each day I have to put it back. She hasn't got the memo yet.

To be fair, she is kind and tries to be unobtrusive. She always has a smile and I do believe she is a sweet lady. Unfortunately, I'm cranky and just want to be left alone.

I've never had a housekeeper before, nor will I ever want one in the future. When you have lived all your life without someone to do these things for you, you develop certain habits, certain preferences. You get used to having things the way you want them. Your standards differ from others.

This is what you get when your mother raises you to be an independent, self-reliant woman.

A small piece of travel advice

A friend emailed me this morning with the following request:

If I could teach a part of your experiences in my senior seminar, what would you like the students to know? I am teaching a senior sem on travel and writing, making it travel writing or making sense of experiences abroad. So tell me.

Here was my response:

Travel - Don't sweat the small stuff. Seriously. Shit is GOING to happen when you're traveling. It's important to be able to laugh it off. Also, try LOCAL things. Don't stick to the all-touristy stuff. See how the locals live, not how the tourists see the locals. This includes trying local cuisine. Sure, it may look and smell gross. Sure, you may throw up simply being within 50 feet of it, but it's good to say, "Yeah, I've tried that." I know for a fact now that I wouldn't touch stinky tofu with a 30 foot pole; nor would I care to eat a boiled chicken with head and feet still attached. Barbequed rat on a stick? No, thanks.

Travel Writing - Try to write a little bit every day, even if it is only jotting down a few notes. If you miss a day here and there, don't beat yourself up, but get on track again as quickly as possible. There are days when I could kick myself for not writing something down immediately. Now I bring a small notebook (a travel diary) with me wherever I go. I even bring it into the restrooms with me in case I get an idea while I'm sitting on the toilet. And don't just talk about the things you did that day; talk about personal observations you made about the culture, the mentality of the people, the way everyone stares at you when you're walking down the street, how people are accommodating and strict at the same time, that they feel the need to repeat something twenty times, or the fact that none of the taxi drivers ever know where they're going. These are the little things that make a place unique.

Sometimes I really need to follow my own advice. Do what I say, not what I do!

Fishy fishy fishy

In Korean, Meggie means "fish." Highly appropriate, I think. However, when I see the type of fish that gets served up as dinner, I'm not quite so sure I like the idea. This is what was staring me in the face while I tried to swallow my toasted tomato and cheese sandwich.

Sometimes I forget which country I came to, China or Korea. I'm learning more Chinese, but with Korean accents and Korean customs. What is rude in Korea is not so rude in China. But what is rude in western culture is second nature in Korean and Chinese.

For example: I have been permanently driven away from the dining table - not by the foods or the smells, but by the noise. My mother has taken over my body and I now know exactly why she taught me from an extremely early age to chew with my mouth closed. It puts me off my appetite and all I can do is stare. Therefore, I now take my meals in my bedroom. Unfortunately, that doesn't always help. The sound of smacking can travel through walls.

Flashing

The heat lightning looked like fireworks, so at first I didn't pay any attention. Fireworks are a common occurrence in China - nearly a nightly event. The tradition of fireworks stems from the belief in warding off evil spirits with loud bands. Some habits die hard.

But this evening, when I had a brief fifteen-minute break between classes, I stepped out onto the balcony off the kitchen and watched the sky flicker in front of me. It was concentrated only in one small section of the sky. The flashes of light looked like electric sparks trying to trace patterns in the east. The pollution haze was so thick that at time there was no visible bolt, only the linings of particular clouds becoming clear against the night. I still have yet to see a star in China.

One Day at a Time

There are four of us living in this apartment: me, my two Korean students, Tina and Reena, and their Korean guardian, Lucy. Lucy and I often have difficulties in communication. Her English is not great, but she speaks Chinese. My Chinese is dreadful and my Korean is non-existent.

Today I met Lucy's boyfriend, whose English name is Louis. Louis doesn't speak English, but from what I could gather, without actually having a conversation with him, he seemed genuinely sweet. Our five minute interaction was all translated and filtered through Lucy. This evening, when Lucy and I were on a break from teaching the girls, I asked her about him. "Do you love him?" I asked. Her answer confused me at first; but when she explained it, it made a great deal of sense.

Me: "Do you love him?"

Lucy: "Little bit."

Her explanation? That every day her "measurement" of love is changed. "Maybe yesterday I love him a lot. Maybe today not as much." What a perfect way to describe the flakiness that can sometimes be love. After her explanation, she came back with, "He is not so good-looking, but he is my soulmate." I love the honesty. Maybe she'll love him more tomorrow.

A Sudden Upheaval

A week ago today – my twenty-sixth birthday – I wasn’t exactly expecting the rug to be snatched out from under me. There I was, going about my business, teaching my classes as usual. Then, in the middle of the afternoon I was told that my school would no longer exist after the next days’ classes. The academy went bankrupt and we were all suddenly out of a job.

There are two speeds in China: “never” and “right now.”

It only took a few days before they shut off power in the building and expelled everyone from the premises. In the meantime, we were scrambling for new positions. A few teachers decided to return to their respective countries, banished from China to whence they came, rather a bit wet from the abrupt flushing of whatever income they had. The rest of us, however, though a little bruised, pulled our tails out from between our legs and decided to stick it out in this capricious country.

As fortune would have it, I was offered a job immediately after the ball dropped. One of my Korean students couldn’t seem to part with me, so her parents hired me as a private live-in teacher from August to December. For four months I’ll be making more money and comfortably teaching to my strengths. This young girl wishes to apply to my undergraduate alma mater; it is now my goal to get her there.



So, I remain in Hangzhou. This leg of the journey brings me to the Bing Jiang district. Ciao, Xiaoshan. It’s been real, but I’m digging the new digs. The neighborhood is cleaner, the apartment is lovely, and now I have a hip pink electric scooter to scoot me around to the nearest Xing Ba Ke (Starbucks).

If China has taught me anything so far, it is to roll with it all. Next stop on the journey: Beijing in December… tentatively…