Cloudy in Beijing Blogging about my time in China

The hard seat

Trains are the main way people travel long-distance in China. And like an airplane, there are different classes of seats, depending on how much you want to pay.

The hard seat, or what is effectively economy class, is the most notorious among foreign travelers. One person described it on the Internet as "what hell must feel like." Nevertheless, most Chinese commoners buy hard seat tickets when riding the trains.

Today I decided to ride the hard seat to see what it was like.

9:40 p.m.

I'm on the train heading to Taiyuan, a city that's going to be about an 11 hour train ride to. The hard seat is not as bad as I thought. Just a very flat and thin cushion bench with no arm rests, that makes you feel pressed up against a green wall.

The train is moving and all the seats are all filled. It's loud from all the chatting going on. Several people are standing in the aisle, all of whom I guess must have a bought a "standing room" tickets. I can't even believe the train stations sells such things.

As I'm writing this a few girls siting next to me are trying to decipher what I'm trying to write.

11:00 p.m.

I introduced myself to the three girls sitting next to me. They thought I was a graduate student, so they were somewhat shocked when I said I was a Chinese-American. They are very nice and I've been playing card games with them.

I have also found out that I am apparently 25 years-old, not 24. The girls tell me that Chinese people often determine age by looking at the year they were born, not the specific date. So once 2009 came along I was 25, even though my real birth date was seven months away. It's unsettling to think that one year completely went by just like that.

It is still very loud on the train. At one point, the train workers were selling toys to the passengers. The toys were spinning tops that glittered with neon lights and even played music.

12:00 a.m.

I tell the girls I'm going to Taiyuan because it's my ancestral Chinese hometown. One of them says Taiyuan is the same as Xi'an. If you just changed the name of the place, you wouldn't notice much of difference, she adds.

I let one of the girls look at my journal. The first time I've ever let anyone read my journal. She can't understand any of it, except for the occasional "I".

I continue to play cards with the girls. One of them notices how I can't speak Chinese and play cards at the same time. I try to do both, but end up screwing up my card hand. "That's alright," one of the girls jokingly says in English.

An old man in front of me somehow sleeps while sitting up, his body not resting against anything. Impressive.

The girls also offer me biscuits to eat.

2:00 a.m.

Now I can see why the hard seats are like hell. It's early morning and I still can't fall asleep even as I'm exhausted. I have no where to rest my head since I'm in the middle between two people. Next to me is a man from which I can smell the stench of sweat.

There is a table between the seats. All three of the girls lay their heads on it as if they would be sleeping on a desk at school. I've already tried it, finding that sweat quickly drenches my face when I do so.

There is no air- conditioner on the train, only green fans that are hooked up above, all of which are turned off for some reason.

6 or 7 more hours of this. But at least things are quieter.

3:00 a.m.

I don't know how local Chinese people can take this. No one in America would stand for this. I haven't even dared to check the bathrooms.

I notice there are no trashcans on the train. Instead, one of the girls throws out all the trash by opening the window. There's goes her tea bottle.

4:00 a.m.

Two of the girls leave as the train stops at a place called Lingfeng. I say goodbye to them and desperately try to go to sleep. I notice that the train is much less crowded now, with some of the seats now open. Finally, I can rest my head against the train window.

A man next to me gives me a piece of dove chocolate. I don't know why, but I nod my head with a thank you.

5:14 a.m.

A woman train worker yells, waking me up. Everyone else looks like they are asleep. The train is silent except for this shrill voice. She declares that she is selling "360 degree" toothbrushes.

A man later asks, "do you sell toothpaste too?"

"No we don't," the woman says.

8:00 a.m.

My body feels likes it completely covered with sweat. I need a shower. Thankfully the train makes it final stop to Taiyuan. I estimate I only got around 4 hours of sleep. The last remaining girl, who is also heading to Taiyuan, hands me a moist towelette.

Once I get off to the train, I go buy a return ticket to Xi'an. I want a ticket for a soft bed, I think to myself. I don't care the price.

I’m a tape player

My job at my school can easily be summed up this way: they want me to be a human tape player.

This semester I was assigned to teach an English listening class. A booklet of standardized tests is the textbook we are using. A pair of CDs, filled with mundane slow-speaking exercises, are my teaching materials.

Go through a listening test. Press the play button. Then review the answers. That's basically what I'm supposed to do. My job, after all, is to teach to a test. Specifically the listening portion of the CET-4 test, which every college student must pass.

Already half of the semester is gone, but I haven't become a human tape player yet. In part because I don't wish to bore my students (and myself) to death.

The listening tests I was given still form the backbone of my lessons. But I refuse to totally go by the book.

Instead I always try to throw in some movie clips, TV programs, even music, to make the listening more genuine. Adding speaking and writing exercises also help to add some variety, and jostle my students out of the passivity that listening can bring.

Still, it's hard to turn something innately boring into something interesting. I think it's already taking its toll on my students. The sleepy/bored faces seem to be growing as the semester continues. I now feel like I'm inflicting a bit of torture on my students each time I press play. Last week, I just made up a game so as to spare my students (and myself) from listening to another exercise.

I just want my teaching to be meaningful. To give my students something they can't get from just buying a textbook. So to me, it makes sense to cut down on the CD listening exercises. The byproduct of this is that now I only have enough time to teach about half of the textbook. Or about half of what the school wants me to teach.

It's kind of been my secret way of fighting what I think is wrong with the school's education system. But I don't know if it can last. Today, I was reminded by a teacher today that I should stick to the book.

"The students will have a listening test as part of their final," she said. "All the questions from the listening test will come from the listening exercises you are supposed to teach. You must go through the entire textbook."

So what you are saying is I must bore my students to death, is what I thought to myself. But I just simply nodded, putting a lid on my anger.

"Being a teacher is very painful," the teacher added, as if sensing my frustration. "It is also very painful for the student."

Then why do you take this shit? I wanted to ask. But I was tired and didn't feel like talking about it. Not like it would make a difference.

What is best for my students? I don't know. Ideally I would teach my students to listen to real-life conversations. And so then eventually they could understand the slower, and easier conversations on the standardized tests.

But that's not exactly what the school wants. If all my students pass the CET-4 Test, yet can't speak a sentence of pronounceable English, well, I still did a good job.

Recently I overhead a college student lament and say: "Everything I've learned in college has no use in real-life. Society isn't quite what I imagined it to be."

Exploring

They call this small town Wang Temple, or ??. Why it was given such a name, I don't know, because there is no ancient shrine here. Just ugly buildings, honking trucks, and the dust that clings onto my lips.

I came here on a whim, wanting to explore Xi'an more. So I boarded a bus and went westward, randomly picking a place to get off. Unfortunately, Wang Temple smelled a lot like shit that day. Workers were digging up sewage in this small industrial town, leaving trash littered the side of the streets.

Not far is an area designated as the historical ruins of Epang Palace. While there, I saw no actual remains of the 2,000 year-old structure (According to historians, peasants burned it to the ground when China's Qin Dynasty fell). But in its place, a replica of the palace was built.

The replica was built only in the last decade, but it tries to create that grand feeling the original palace likely would have had. Statues of ancient nobles and soldiers guard the place. And since everything is new and essentially fabricated, you can touch it all. In that sense, it sort of makes everything feel more like theme park (While there, I even saw some funhouse mirrors). I couldn't help but feel something was missing from the place, like it needed an extra coat of paint or something. One can't simply replicate that intangible feel of history.

Lately, I've been reading about its history. The funny thing is that the palace may have just been a legend. Archaeologists continue to excavate around the area, but can't find the original remains.

So in a way, I may have visited a place that doesn't exist at all.