Cloudy in Beijing Blogging about my time in China

Public urination

I may have stepped on to some baby urine today. Ugh...

Over the course of my time in Xi'an, I've learned that public urination is quite common here, especially among toddlers. From what I can tell, diapers are never used, and instead young children don open-crotched trousers. So every so often on a city street I'll see a small child, accompanied by their parent, peeing on the soil below a city-planted tree. It's more environmentally friendly if you think of it; diapers generate more trash, and water is excessively wasted when one flushes a toilet.

But it was a bit uncomfortable today when while on a bus, a small boy next to me had to go. He was maybe two years old, dressed in a white baseball cap, and he peed inside the bus, on one of the steps leading down to vehicle's second door. A puddle formed at the bottom as the boy's grandmother stood behind him watching. They then went back to their seat, the toddler falling asleep in his grandmother's arms. All of this while the bus was speeding along.

As I stood there, I looked around: none of the other passengers seemed to care. One person stood right above the puddle, like it didn't matter. I felt kind of queasy. Once I got off at my stop I made sure to try and step over the mess, but I may have touched it a bit. But yea, when you gotta go, you gotta go.

Cartoon Condom

I took this picture a while back when I walking through a park in China. A smiling cartoon condom is chasing after gob-like STDs as if it were trying to catch butterflies. "Sex is good, just play safe!" it reads.

In America, the debate on sex education often centers around abstinence. But in China, a relatively more conservative country, the topic has actually gone to the other extreme. The open attitude is most likely because of how AIDS and HIV cases have been continuing to rise in the country. In response the government has taken preemptive measures to try and halt its increase.

As I walked through the park I saw another sign. This one was a little weirder and maybe more explicit. But I guess it can be effective. I don't imagine I'll ever see such signs in an American park.

This would have been easier if I were white

Everyone's Googled their name before. But recently I decided to Google my Chinese name, ??? (Gan Shi Jie).

I came up with a few hits belonging to me. Apparently I had been in the news again.

Back in January I was invited by another university here to go to a small city far south of Xi'an. The area we were headed to was declared a disaster area due to the 2008 Sichuan earthquake. We came with supplies meant for a local elementary school that had been devastated by the disaster. (Above is a picture of me, my pale white head is in the upper left corner).

This was actually one of the best trips I've had so far (though, I've neglected to write anything about it). But as for why I was invited on this trip on the first place sort of has some awkward reasoning. Basically, they wanted me because I was a foreigner.

The university wanted to make this trip a big news worthy event for the college. And so they had asked for a local TV news station to come to do a story about it. But to spice up the story they decided it would be a good idea to invite some foreigners along.

The thing is I'm not exactly a true bona-fide foreigner. I'm a Chinese-American, and so I was thinking I was probably not the best person to feature for a televised news report, since I don't look like your typical blonde-hair, blue-eyed expat. But even after expressing my concern, the university didn't seem to care.

Well, it was an awkward experience. During the trip, I felt like a prop at times. "Here is our foreigner" the University would basically say, and then I would be filmed by the TV station, or asked to say some dull quotes. They even had me write Chinese caligraphy in front of the public.

You see, the native people in China are often very intrigued to see a foreigner. I sometimes describe it as being a celebrity/zoo animal; during my first classes at my school a few students even took pictures of me with their cell phone cameras.

But for me, the uncomfortable issue was how I didn't look like a typical foreigner. So to announce to a bunch of people we have an American here with us, and for them to suddenly see me, you could feel the disappointment. "Where is his blonde hair, and blue eyes?" I imagined the local populace of the city thinking as I was introduced them.

Yes, this was only time I thought, this would be much easier if I were white. I guess, I was a letdown. Oh well.

I never did see the news report and I even asked the news reporter if they ever aired it, but he didn't reply. I guess my debut on Chinese television will have to wait another day. Thankfully. But I did come across a government press release on Google detailing our trip.

Below I wrote some about my trip. Figured I try to remember it.

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They call this Chinese city Lueyang, and taken literally it can mean “brief sun.”
When I arrived there earlier this year, I thought it to be an apt name: up above, in the repressed sky, all I could see was a halogen red sun, shrouded in the white smoke that could only be smog.

Located in the south of Shaanxi province, Lueyang is about an eight hour bus-ride from Xi’an. The local tour book I bought calls this modest place an ancient mountain city almost 2,000 years old. A nice escape into rural areas of the country, I thought.

But on that day I came, it was clear some time ago Lueyang had also become and industrial city, one with a behemoth steel factory that I remember situated itself like a mechanical black tarantula. No doubt it had something to do with the city’s soiled air, along with the green-tinged and muddied waters that oozed in one of the nearby stream — yuck. Like many cities in China, Lueyang clearly had a prevalent pollution problem.

More than 47,000 people live in this city and Lueyang’s best days don’t seem to lie so much in its recent history. The county (which also goes by the name Lueyang) was designated a disaster area after China’s Sichuan Earthquake last May. I traveled to the city in January as part of trip sponsored by a Chinese university to help a local elementary school.

While the actual city remained in tact with few traces of damage, the school we visited had nearly been destroyed in the disaster. We came bringing supplies for the students along with packaged food. Once we arrived, we found that the school building — a three story boxed structure — was still in repair. Caged behind yellow construction rods, two wings of the building remained unfinished. All the while piles of brown brick lay in a great mound nearby.

It was easy to feel that I had visited Lueyang at the wrong time. Winter had made the city feel dry, the air smoky, with the trees and shrubs all withered brown. But even as I could see the unfortunate faults of the city, they all seemed to become small blemishes once I had a chance to go beyond first impressions. For in the next day, I found myself in a cave of all places, covered in darkness, and walking among praying statutes.

Lueyang is a modern city, filled with multi-story buildings and apartments; during my short-stay I lodged in a comfortable hotel no different from any other I had been to in the country. But English use among the populace is sparse. In fact a crowd of people gathered around me while at a street market after a teacher announced I was an American. One old man eagerly chatted with me, seeing it as an opportunity to practice his English.

On my first day in the city, pollution seemed to distract from the surrounding nature. But on the next day, as I left my hotel, something had changed: the smog had cleared. And in its place I could see the great hills that surrounded the city. Growing across them were fields of tree and bushes, hushed into a smoked green by the winter cold. One hill in particular that seemed to sleep like a giant as its peak lay pressed into a cloud.

Looking at the scenery, I felt that nature had once again reasserted itself; and suddenly, everything man-made in the city seemed to contract and shrink. A far departure from the endless high-rises and sprawling concrete found in most of China’s major cities.

It was these humpback hills that I found to be a beautiful sight in Lueyang; like they were some remnant of the Lueyang’s ancient past. And in a way that was true. I, along with teachers from the university I was traveling with, visited an old temple built in one of these mountains. It dates back to the Tang Dynasty in the eighth century. In Chinese they call the shrine Ling-Ya-Shi, but in English it means “Spiritual Cliff.”

Originally I hadn’t expected too much. We had just come from another temple in the city, one that was small and box-like, encircled by brick apartment buildings that hovered over it. From the outside, it was a pocket of age-old Chinese architecture in an urban landscape. But here in the Spiritual Cliff temple, nature ruled.

We walked up the mountain side and eventually arrived at its front gates. The place itself is made up of traditional Chinese buildings that seem to ascend as one passes through it. And while there, my eyes had plenty to feast on: the classical architecture, the hand-carved stone tablets, the numerous religious statutes, and the surrounding view of the neighboring mountains, just to name some.

But what’s most special about this temple was how it wasn’t simply built on a mountain side, but next to a vast depression in a rock wall. While there, I sometimes felt like I was in a grotto of sorts. One portion of the temple sits under day light; the other was inside the cavity of the cliff wall.

I thought I had seen through most of the place, when the temple tour guide showed us a cave in the temple’s mountain wall. We walked inside, sinking into darkness, but seeing rows of colored religious statutes against the cavern walls. Why were there so many sculptures in near darkness I wondered? Then as I carefully walked to the end of the cave, I could see it. For a moment it looked like a large tree trunk had been growing inside the cave.

Up it grew, a tan pillar bridging to the top of a cave wall. Curious, I touched it, feeling only the hard surface of rock. This was a stalactite column, I later learned, where mineral deposits had dripped down and formed the column of rock. Coincidently, it looked like an ancient tree, one that lay inside these hills. No doubt someone had seen it long ago and felt inspired.

Truly, this place was a perfect spot to build such a religious shrine. The temple seemed to want to nurture and worship the environment it thrived in. Before I left, I remember looking at one statute in particular. It was of smiling monk reaching above and cradling a tree branch.

Later that day we left the city of Lueyang. I talked to a newly made friend who had come on the trip with me. He had visited this city 15 years ago. “Back then it was even more beautiful,” he told me. “But pollution had changed it,” he added.

Thankfully, the city’s pollution had not changed everything. And hopefully Spiritual Cliff temple, along with its sacredness, will never be affected by it.

Traffic

Traffic in Xi'an is crazy. Unlike in America, cars do not stop for pedestrians here. No, instead you get the fuck out of the way. Unless the cops are present, hardly anyone seems to obey the traffic signals: cars just ignore them and will speed on through a red-light, all in a chaotic rush that somehow pans out with little incident. Or at least I thought so.

Today I rode the bus back to my apartment. On the way, I looked out the window and spotted a person next to the curb of the road. This person, who I guess was an older woman, lay on her side, flat on the ground. A small plastic bag rested up against her body. Was this person taking a nap?

I then looked closer and saw a pool of red spilled out around the woman's head. My first thought was that it was paint. But then logic began to register. This was no paint or ink, it was blood, a thick red and soupy blood. As the bus passed by I saw the woman's scrunched face and her eyes were closed. She was clearly unconscious, or worst yet dead, blood splattered on the side of her head.

Then I saw the car that had hit her. A crater of cracks had splintered across the vehicle's front window. The woman that had been driving it was now standing outside, phoning someone. A group of men stood several feet watching and talking amongst themselves.

Surreal. I've never seen someone injured so gravely before. And yet no one was helping this person. Like she was some dead homeless person, merely in the way. It must of just happened, because there was no ambulance in sight. But I suppose there's not much one can do when someone is hurt that bad. Still, it's disconcerting to say the least. Sometimes I wonder: am I ever going to get hit by a car one day? Once I left the bus, part of me pondered heading back to the scene of the accident. But I then realized there was nothing I could do either.

People often worry of catching some disease when they come to China. But it seems that its far more likely they'll be hit by a car. China has some of the most dangerous roads in the world, and I was told by a friend that traffic fatalities happen somewhat often in Xi'an. It probably doesn't help that in America I've learned to expect that cars will stop for a pedestrian whenever.

An idiot who eats dog shit

Whenever I teach a class, I'll always ask intermittently, "Do you guys have any questions?"

Rarely will anyone raise their hand. They shake their heads or they'll utter a drone-like "no." My students are often shy, afraid to speak out, which is very commonplace among many Chinese students. So it seems futile to even ask. Still I always wonder, what's really on their minds.

One way I've been able to find out is through QQ, an instant messaging program popular in China. Many of my students wanted to know if I used it, so I eventually signed up for an account, and now I go on to it maybe once or twice a week. It's led to interesting conversation. A few students have offered to cook me a meal, with me trying to politely refuse. Another told me anonymously how I could improve the lesson, which was good. And some just like to practice their English or know more about America.

Today I talked to what I assume is one of my students. I don't know if it was he or she, but the student refused to give me their name. Whatever, I thought.

The conversation started off well. The student wanted to know where I was from, and so I replied. Then it got weird.

"You bully students who don't know English," the person said.

I did? I thought I was always pretty nice in class, but I could see how that might happen.
If the student's English level isn't very good, I'm sure it would be easy for him or her to feel embarrassed and out of place. There have been times where I've called on a student and they've been maybe too shy or they just didn't know how to respond. I know some students don't come to class because they don't feel the class is "suitable" for them.

Unlike some of my other students, this one wrote all in Mandarin. Seeing, that this might be serious, I wanted to be clear and so apologized to the student by typing in Mandarin. I said I was sorry if I had caused him or her to feel that way.

"You're a pig's head," the student then wrote.

Uh, what? Was this person joking? Or did the phrase mean something else I did not know? "Did you call me a pig's head?" I typed back in Mandarin.

"You're an idiot," the student wrote back.

Then the student elaborated even more. "You're an idiot who eats dog shit."

I read the phrase again, but it was clear. WTF.

All my students have been so nice to me, so I was a bit shocked. I wrote back in mandarin, saying, "If there is a problem, please tell me. Is there something I'm not doing right?"

The student than cryptically wrote, "That was not me who wrote this."
"Oh," I replied. I wasn't quite sure how to respond after that. Then the student went off-line.

Weird. I have to admit, a little bit of me was hurt by the words. But for the most part, I'm more puzzled. Makes me worried, I'm committing some terrible taboo in my classes, but I'm completely unaware of it. I am a teacher though, I suppose it's natural someone's gonna hate me; I did yell at some students last week.

The perks of the job

Today I received a wad of cash about two inches thick. All the bills were red, the signature color of China's 100 bill. It's the most cash I've ever been handed in my entire life. And it's all mine.

During my long winter break, I hadn't worked almost single day in the months of January and February. Naturally, I assumed I wouldn't get paid. I mean, why would I?

Well apparently I do get paid, even during my vacation. And I also get a bonus. Today I received all of that money in one lump sum. The school's finance office gave me the cash like it was just everyday business, all the while merrily practicing their English with me. I on the other hand was nervous, feeling like I was stealing something. "They couldn't really give be giving me two months salary for doing nothing?" I had thought. (Xi'an is mainly a cashed-based society, although they are starting to use credit cards at the higher-end stores).

Granted a single 100 Chinese dollar bill is only about $14. But with the stack of money I received, even in America its big chunk of cash, and here in China it's worth even more. And really, I already felt like I made far more than enough to live on, especially with the low cost of living here.

So the perks of this job: One, you get paid even when you didn't work. Two, when you do work, you only teach about 16 hours a week. Three, you get a total of four months of vacation each year. Four, you get a free apartment. Five, it's not really a hard job, unless you want it to be.

I have to say, this job is so different from when I was working as a journalist in Kansas City. While there, I felt like I barely made anything, I would almost always work more than 40 hours a week, and there was only more than two weeks of vacation time each year. Plus you had to deal with the occasional B.S. from uncooperative sources. A bit of a thankless job at times. Though nonetheless, I loved it.

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After I got my money today, I sat in a small park near the school's entrance. I began reading the local paper. Suddenly I was met with a surprise. "Hey teacher," one my students said in Mandarin. Smiling, he ran up to me, and handed me a frozen ice cream.

"Uhh, thanks," I said, grabbing the ice cream cone. I'm still not used to accepting gifts from my students. We then talked, eating ice cream on what was a hot day.

This particular student has a funny English name. I don't know why he picked it, but he calls himself Big Uncle. He apparently was supposed to be in a class as we spoke to each other. But he had to go grab something and so he left. Upon returning to his classroom, he told me he didn't feel like opening the door and disturbing his teacher. So he saw me and decided to buy some ice cream.

I slowly talked to him English, using Mandarin when he didn't understand. All the while, Big Uncle spoke to me, almost charismatically, all in Chinese, hardly uttering a word in English. He's never been good at the language he explained. Often times he doesn't understand what I'm saying in class.

"When the other students nod their heads in class, I nod my head," he said. "When the other students laugh, I laugh."

Big Uncle told me the college here is kind of crummy. I laughed, remembering how this school was once a factory. Although Big Uncle's major is international finance, it's not what he wanted to study. But to switch majors would be hard. Now with the economic crisis going on, he's worried that his degree won't help him much in finding a job. All yesterday he had been in class from 8 a.m. to 5:40 p.m., the two hour lunch break his only respite. "Can you pick any of your classes," I asked. "No, it's all set out for you," he said.

Big Uncle then asked me, "Do you think when you were in college America, it was more relaxed."

"Yes, it was" I said. "I think you guys have much more pressure here."

Finally after we finished our ice creams, I told Big Uncle, you should maybe go back to class, which he did. I am his teacher after all.

My school

I got used to it in the first weeks I taught here, and I think it has a certain charm to it you can't find anywhere else. But I have to say, the college I teach at is probably the ugliest school I've seen.

This is mainly because the college used to be a factory.

Many of the classrooms here are housed in a long buildings that used to be warehouses. A few brown and black smokestacks still perch up into the sky. And often times I feel like I'm surrounded by concrete and brick, with maybe some lonely patches of green here and there. Some of the bathrooms here also reek of urine, like they've never been clean before; I hold my breath each time I walk past one.

Ironically my school is actually new. The campus it sits on is actually an extension of the main university, where I'm employed. Wanting to meet the demand of student enrollment, the university opened this school a few years ago by buying and then converting a nearby steel factory.

Since then they've constructed some dorms and new classroom buildings to better serve the students. But the remnants of the factory are still clear to see.

Near the entrance of the school a giant wheel sits in the middle of small field. It's turned into a nice artistic monument.

I think in America it would be rare to see a school like this. But it's a good way to reuse something. (My guess is that the Chinese government probably shut down the factory like it has
at many other factories that were losing money.)

Although my students also acknowledge the inherent unattractiveness of the place. One of my students told me he would take his girlfriend anywhere, as long as they didn't come to his school.

This university is so different from my own college. Here, many of the students can't choose their classes; my English class is a requirement they must take. The students all have to go through military training as well. There are no frats or sororities. Students are all required to live in dorms. I think there's also a bit of curfew for the women dorms, where the students have to go back by around 11 p.m. else they'll be locked out. The school also doesn't even allow students to own TVs in their rooms.

I remember some students inviting me to their dorm for the first time. It was small, four students to one room only a little larger than my own bedroom at my apartment here. They have no shower. But I guess they have it good. One student I know told me at one point she had 7 dorm mates, if I remember correctly.

Sometimes I think about this and all makes me feel lucky that I grew up in America and went to school there.

I feel like I've lived a life of luxury when I compare my life to what my students have experienced. I've driven two cars in my life, owned three different computers, lived in actual houses. A lot of my students don't have these things. I have had a chance to see the world, when I believe none of my students have ever left the country. Now I'm teaching English in China, having my own adventure after having left a job in journalism. As for my students, many of them tell me that it's extremely difficult to find employment here. (With 1.3 billion people in this country, competition for good jobs is even tougher).

But things are changing in China, and the standard of living is rising. I hope that means more opportunities for my students so that they can enjoy what I probably take for granted.

Wrath of Kan

Well, I did a terrible thing today. I yelled at some of my students.

I started class today by talking about my winter vacation, a light topic I hoped would exercise their listening skills. But as I spoke, a group of students, mostly male, kept chatting. Then I proceeded to introduce what we would be learning this semester. But the group of students kept talking amongst themselves even as it was apparent I was trying to teach class.

I should have tried to hush them up in a more polite and non-aggressive manner. But something in me just went off as I realized how irritating this group of students had become.

"Ok guys, shut up!" I yelled at them. "Shut up!"

I was pissed. I yelled again at them, my anger wanting to make clear that I meant what I said. I then said it Chinese to make sure they understood.

A few students laughed as I repeated my demand. I eyed one student in particular, who wore glasses and gave an incredulous smirk, like he didn't care about my words.

"Shut the fuck up!" I said, staring at him. "Shut the fuck up!"

Yes, I dropped the F-bomb. And I'm sure, even my students know what that mean. Everyone in the class then fell silent.

Sigh. I felt awful teaching that class. I was embarrassed and ashamed that I snapped and let my raw emotions take over. I couldn't even believe I did that. I've displayed frustration in class a few times, and even annoyance. But never anger. I guess maybe I had been storing all that suppressed fury and dissatisfaction with my students in a mental silo somewhere. My "Serenity Now Moment"

I really shouldn't yell at my students. It's just counterproductive and ruins the class atmosphere. All my students in that class are probably afraid of me now. Yelling also didn't prevent that group of students from chatting with each other again in later half of my class. I let it slide, afraid that I would inadvertently explode in another outburst if I tried to stop them from talking again.

Still, part of me says I should have been more of a hardass. That they weren't yelled at enough. They're college students for Christ's sake, not a bunch of little kids. They weren't respecting you, so you have every right to get angry at them. If they want to talk, just kick them out of the class. I'm sure deep down inside, part of me really wanted to berate my students, to tell them to get serious and not always mess around. That I was a teacher and not just some soft foreign instructor with a laid back class.

I've been thinking about teaching a lot lately. I think last semester maybe I cared too much about my students and if they improved. I would work late in the night sometimes preparing for a lesson plan, and see it all crumble the next day. I had so much idealism about the job and the good I could do. But that passion would turn into frustration when it was obvious the students weren't consuming the information and the lessons missed the mark. A teacher friend told me, "Don't care so much. You can't control your students."

Yea, I knew that from the start. Still, I want to be a good teacher. I have lots of good students, even the ones I yelled at aren't bad. I want to help them. But it feels like so many of them don't care about my English class, it's just requirement on their class schedule. I think in the end, I'm not suited for this kind of job, where it feels like my hard work and passion amount to nothing at times. I need to care for myself more. I came to China to be a journalist, not a teacher. Teaching is just one experience I wanted to try.