I want to try to give you further insight (acerbic or not, you be the judge) into a bit of the culture that I have been immersed in during my extended stay here.  It would never be written into a guidebook or found on the tourism webites but it is a my best accounting of "ordinary" life.  I want to tell you about it through my good friend Charlie.

Charlie has owned the Cha Li Bing Ba (no surprise where his English name came from) in Baoding for the last 13 years.  That is no small feat in this city whereby if you do not curry favor with the local gangsters, they will put you out of business through vandalism or other acts of adolescent thuggery.  Broken windows, doors and other such shenanigans are the tricks of the trade for them when things don't go their way.  Other charlatans come under the guise of city officials.  These men who might happen to show up at night for a safety inspection, assessment of the property or other ficticious municpal code enforcements are treated to free rounds, cigarettes and sunflower seeds.  They stagger out later that evening after a job well-done and satisfied that all at the Bing Ba is on the up and up.  It is sometimes difficult to differentiate between who is a city official and who is likely to throw a brick.   

Other trouble has found it's way to the Cha Li Bing Ba.  In a long-ago altercation, Charlie was blind-sided by a bottle and lost an eye.  He now sports a glass eye in it's place which only enhances his legend.  To avoid further bodily momentos, he has developed remarkable diplomatic skills in dealing with all manner of patrons from the Trouble Seekers, the Baijiu-philes (baijiu is a widely consumed and potent Chinese wine that tastes like feet soaked in kerosene), the Extramaritals with their For-hire Gals, and my group of foreigners who congregate there.  His affable nature and good humor keep he and his safe and held in high regad for all that enter.  To juggle all of these different factions existing in a small, dimly lit, smoky environ is a long honed skill. 

In the past 10 months we have forged a meaningful relationship with Charlie and see him as friend, benefactor and guardian.  More often than not, patrons are intrigued upon seeing my clique sitting in the bar.  This often results in an invitation or more aptly, insistence, to drink with them.  Being seen with a foreigner is a good way for some of these groups to increase their social status or guan xi (guan xi literally translated means "relationship" but the broad vernacular understanding is: the more important and/or wealthy people you associate with, the more important you, yourself are).  As foreigners, we are perceived as exotic creatures and therefore being seen tossing back a few and speaking broken English and Chinese is akin to hanging out with the Stones.  Light social drinking does not exactly exist here in China (it is whole hog or not at all), and the festivities often take a turn for the slurred. 

Enter Charlie. 

With their party hats on, many do not know when to say when, but through his tenure Charlie does.  He has a knack for arriving at just the right moment to aid our escape from the all of the excess.  He clears any and all misunderstandings that may have occured due to language barriers and intoxication to make sure nobody was offended.  Because saving face is of the utmost importance, it takes a master tactician to gently break up the party and move them into their respective taxis.  Simply tossing people out would be a grave mistake and would result in many undesireable results.  Through gentle coaxing, sublte suggestions and a smile, Charlie maintains peace and a successful business amid debauchery. 

He has intervened on our behalf more times than I care to admit and allows us to enjoy our watery beer in moderation. 

In sharing some of my experiences here in China, I posted earlier about "Getting Donkeyed."  I shared my blog address with a friend of mine here in Baoding and he immediately sent me a text message extolling the virtues of donkey meat and his shock and outrage at my snap judgement for one of his favorite foods.  He could not understand how I consider myself a Baodingian without having experienced donkey in its most delicious form....that of a donkey burger. 

I have known for some time that the crowd that I run with here hold a special place in their hearts and stomachs for those long eared equines but have kept quiet when the conversation turns to how many donkey burgers does a meal make.  They exchange high fives for a donkey burger day, (i.e. a day in which a donkey burger was eaten), talk about which of the many establisments here they went to, and offer general statements about the flavor, tenderness and the (pre-menu) cart pulling ability of the consumed animal.  My friend shared my secret of not having eaten a donkey burger with these donkey lovin folks and they proceeded to gang up on me.

For every reason and justification I came up with for not wanting to, or for not having already eaten a donkey burger, there was a chorus of arguments to sway me.  "A donkey is my friend, he pulls fruit and vegetables to me,"  I said, "he also keeps the city clean by eating the garbage on the side of the road."  They replied with a long list of other meats that I have eaten (knowingly or unknowningly), their respective values to socitey and overall likeability.  Having become exponentially more open to new foods, trusting their collective judgement, and wanting to count myself an official resident of Baoding, I caved...

Sorry Eeyore, but you are a tasty critter.  You are just too delicious to miss my plate again.

When you were young (perhaps maybe later along in life and alone in the car) and saw cows standing in a field, you "moo-ed" at them in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, they would understand your utterance and reply in kind for your own titillation and amusement.  Did you think the cows liked being mooed at by passers by?  Did you think they got tired of seeing non-bovine faces that tried to imitate their speech?  Did you think that after many years of standing in a pasture enduring the barrage of constant mooers, that they would have loved to speak out just once and tell those people to please shut it?  I think they would.

Why, you ask am I postulating about such things?  Who really cares what a cow thinks or feels (apologies to my PETA readership)?   Let's just say that I will never again moo at a cow, nor will I encourage any children to do so because for the last seven months, I have been the cow.    I now know how it feels to be imitated in the hopes that I will respond in the same manner.  Wherever I go, "Hullo?!"  While cruising down the street on my bike, "Hullo?!"  From a passing bus, "Hullo?!"  A few inches from my face, "Hullo?!"  In the aisles of the supermarket, "Hullo?!"  From around a corner quick to duck back behind cover, "Hullo?!"  Eating at a restaurant, "Hullo?!"  Sitting in my room with the window open as I type these words, "Hullo?!" 

Now, it needs to be stated that their is no malice of any kind intended with these utterances and/or inquisitions, only curiosity and benign provocation, but it does not make it any less tiresome to bear.  Responding in kind as I was prone to do in my first few months here evoked the same reaction as those driving in the car or walking by the cow pasture when the cow actually replied.  Giggles of delight, "Did you hear that? It spoke to me!" fostering a desire for more mooing upon the next encounter.  I no longer moo back.  These days I just put my head down and continue grazing,  it is more difficult to tell someone to stifle that way.  Nobody likes a cow that barks.

First, all apologies for those who have checked in to find that I have not posted since Christmas.  I am truly sorry.  A lot has happened and I intend to catch you up.  I attribute the lack of entries of late to my much needed digestion of the incredible trial that I, Li Chen, faced during my blogging hiatus and the need to be a month or so removed from it to relate it to you without great discomfort.

Li Chen and The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Train Ride 

Part I - Spring Festival

This is a recount of Li Chen's odyssey from Northern China to Bali, Indonesia.  The  story is more for my own recollections in years to come than it is to delight and abhor you.  It is a long tale, but abbreviating it would not paint an adequate picture of the trials and tribulations encountered (and overcome). 

Spring Festival is one of two national holidays in the PRC (the other being Mid-Autumn Festival).  During these times, migrant workers are allowed to leave their dormitories at their respective factories and return home.  Spring Fesitval has been called the greatest human migration of our time and with good reason.  With over a billion people in the country and most of them moving at once, it is easy to understand the superlative.  If you have never witnessed it, you can only speculate at the masses of humanity on the go at one time.  This holiday is one in which the families reunite and get to spend time together.  Everything closes for several days while families enjoy eating dumplings, watching the national telecast and catching up.  Needless to say, with his family thousands of miles away in America, Li Chen realizes that this holiday would not be one he could partake in.  He would be left to sit in his very cold, unheated room without food for a few days. 

An improbable and impromptu  plan was hatched to meet up with a very old friend who happened to be touring Southeast Asia and who would be residing in the town of Ubud on the Island of Bali, Indonesia at the time of Spring Festival.  Driven by a need to sleep without donning every item of clothing he possesses, to breathe clean air, swim in the ocean, ride a motorcyle in a tropical paradise and to spend some quality time with good friends, Li started the wheels in motion. 

Li purchases a plane ticket after several hours of hunting for a reasonable fare.  He can save over 400 USD by flying out of Hong Kong (considering that this amount is almost double his monthly take from his youth subversion program, it is a bargain indeed).  A train ticket to Guangzhou (departure point for Hong Kong)  is only a mere 30 USD.  In addition, Li thinks to himself, 'Great, I will get to see a big chunk of China while riding the rails.'  Little did he know that this would be the start of one of the most trying times in his short life.

In China, a passenger may purchase a long distance train ticket five days before departure.  Li, ever conspiring to beat the crowds, heads to the train station at midnight, five days prior.  He is not as clever as he hoped.  Arriving at the station, he sees that the crowds are lined up outside the large ticket hall, apparently others concocted the same scheme.  With a poorly handwritten request for a sleeper berth to Guangzhou station in his pocket he sets about waiting.  For two long hours he waits only to arrive at the window to be told that there are no trains to Guangzhou.  Resigning himself to the fact that he cannot argue a point he knows to be true, and dealing with the indignation of being turned away becasue he is a foreigner, Li heads home in the wee hours to regroup.

Plan B.  The following day, back to the train station.  This time with a translator at his side, Li is confident he will succeed.  Another two long hours waiting in the masses again proves unfruitful.  Plan C.  Wtih translator in tow, they head to a branch office (actually an unmarked window on the side of a building on the other side of town).  Another two long hours waiting outside only to be told that there are no seats and he must stand for the 26 hour journey; unacceptable.  This wait may have been shorter than the times endured at the station, but the window closed at 12 so the workers could have lunch, for 30 minutes.  Apparently rotating lunch times have not yet made it to this corner of the world.  Frustrated, cold and anxious about not being able to gain the distance South, our hero heads for home to come up with an alternate plan.

With all other modes of travel considered and rejected (the most viable being his bike), Li decides to give it one more go.  Plan D.  This time with a different translator who is more confident she can get results.  Back to the random window at Building X, careful to time the arrival so as not to coincide with lunch,  they find their place at the back of the line.  Another two hours and they mercifully are at the window.  For those who are counting, Li has spent a total of 8 hours waiting for one ticket.  This time however (no reason provided because it is not known how tickets can magically appear from one day to the next) Li is successful and obtains the final seat (not a sleeper berth, a seat) on the train.  Initally, Li was hoping for a sleeper to doze away the kilometers South.  Beggars can't be choosers. 

Part II – The Odyssey Begins

At 5 am on Friday January 25^th Li set out for the train station with a small backpack, braving the cold wearing only a shell for a coat and two t-shirts.  He knew that he would be in a much warmer climate soon and did not want to carry excess clothing.  The station was packed as usual and at 7:30 his train arrived at the platform.  He located his aisle seat (car 4, seat 22) and evicted the person currently occupying it.  The man got up once Li produced his ticket but did not/could not move very far and had to stand in between the benches as the train was booked solid with people who were existing throughout the aisles and in between the seats.  Moments before the train began to move his two bench mates showed up. 

A husband and wife, loaded with luggage that easily exceeded their combined weight and size.  They stood aback in awe for several moments at the foreigner who would be sharing their seat and reexamined their ticket stubs as well as Li’s to make sure there had not been some mistake.  The man was slight and probably in his late 30s dressed in a brown blazer and a permanent grin.  When he spoke, he did not speak any Mandarin as Li is somewhat proficient in, but spoke in Cantonese, which could have been Swhaili for all Li understood.  This was a man from the South of China and they would be riding together for the long haul.  This became obvious when he gleefully revealed his ticket to Li and it showed he was headed home to Guangzhou. 

They proceeded to stow as much as possible in the already full overhead racks seeming to move as many other bags as possible so that theirs could remain above them.  This caused several shouting matches with other passengers, but the man continued undaunted.  The small man repeatedly removed his shoes to stand on the bench and the top of the seat to smash one item after another into the racks while stepping on Li and hitting him time and again with an oversized potato sack bags.  Bear in mind that our hero had no where to go as the crowded aisle was to his right and two standing passengers in front of him.

After a short time, the man began an hourly cigarette vigil.  The first time he got up, he thrust a brown cigarette into Li’s face, spoke rapidly in smiling Cantonese and gestured for him to move to the space in between cars for a smoke.  You must understand that in China you cannot deny a person who is offering you a smoke.  No, is simply not an option as they will continue to wave it in front of your face and insist until you give in.  Li lasted a few rounds before this smiling, diminutive man pushed him from the seat and toward the doors.  This initial cave in on Li’s part was to be one of his greatest mistakes of the trek as from then on, every hour on the hour, the dance began anew and they would proceed to push, sidestep and jump their way past standing passengers until they reached the designated smoking area.  The little man and Li were now best friends.

The first day dragged on with the train stopping frequently at almost every station we came to.  Li found some solace in his i-pod and one of the three books he brought with him.  This was despite the fact he had no leg room because of the standing passengers and also being constantly hit by passengers moving up and down the aisle to fetch water for their noodles.  In his mind, the countdown had begun.  Li kept time by counting the hours back from 26, the duration of the ride, and felt more and more hopeful that he would soon be in paradise with each passing hour.

At 6, dinner was served on cart being pushed through the aisle.  It consisted of a styrofoam container filled with rice and small handful of vegetables.  "Wanfan, wufan, mifan, wu quai" (translation - dinner, lunch, rice, 5 yuan") the man bayed as he pushed the cart through the throngs.  Not exactly gourmet, but at least Li would only have to eat one or two of these meals before the ride was over.  The day turned into night, Li had no clue as to how much Southerly progress had been made that day but it did not feel like a lot.  The cigarette vigil was observed faithfully and Li began to feel sleepy and nauseous.

Considering the packed car, this would figure to be a long night indeed.  Li took his small backpack from the racks, put it on his lap and tried to rest his head on it.  At least with his eyes closed, Li could not see the small man waving the hourly cigarette in front of his face.  Sleep did not come for more than 15 minutes at a time, if at all. As passengers relentlessly moved in the aisle and each one would hit him as they passed by and the people standing in between the seats had simply sat down on their luggage to try to catch some z’s. 

The sleepless night dragged on, the contdown continued, and then about 3:30 am on Saturday morning, there was a loud noise and the train jerked and shuddered.  It had somehow broken down…

Part – III   The Waiting

At about 4 am, the train pulled off of the main set of tracks to allow others to pass and repairs to happen.  Here they sat, without heat or electricity until 1:30 that afternoon….over 8 hours of no Southerly progress.  His i-pod, books (by now he had moved onto the second novel of three) , and a repeated mantra of the Serenity Prayer were how Li passed the time.  Also the brown cigarette vigil from the little man marked each passing idle hour turning Li a bit green.  He had managed to stave him off occasionally but lost the battle more often than not.

“Wanfan, wufan, mifan, wu quai,” at noon the cart man came and went.  The passengers ate, then waited some more.  At 1:30, the lights turned on, the heater whirred back to life and the train started again.  They travelled for about 20 minutes and then stopped in the middle of nowhere again off of the main line.  Li had no idea why the train was stopping again, but this time we were idle for only 4 hours.  This intermittent pace of 20 minutes of travel, several hours of not, continued for the rest of the day and into the evening. 

Frustration.  Anticipating some sort of travel woes, Li had allowed for one extra day before his plane departed Hong Kong.  He knew that he had to arrive in Guangzhou by no later than Sunday at noon, if he had any hope of catching his 6:30 pm flight to Bali.  Li had no idea how much longer it was to Guangzhou but knew from a map in his travel guide that they had still not hit the half-way city of Wuhan in Hubei Province. 

At about 11 pm that evening, the train finally arrived in Wuhan.  Our hero was halfway there and his hopes of making it to Guangzhou were lifted.  Many of the passengers disembarked and the train reloaded with fresh faces.  The thinning of the crowd en route to Wuhan had allowed some leg room and reduced the standing passengers considerably.  Wuhan station restocked the cars and again, space was at a premium. 

As the train began to move away from the station, a police officer appeared at the door to the car.  He was being followed by a man with an arm-load of newspapers and behind him was another cop and three conductors.  From what Li could gather, the man was trying to sell the papers which contained news (non-government sanctioned) of the worst storm to hit central China in 100 years.  Illegally selling papers/propaganda is not taken lightly.  The man argued with both of the policemen vociferously and was beaten severely all the way down the aisle.  He would seek cover out of the aisle in between seats only to receive another blow to move him along.  Li was not sure what happened to him.

Li spent another sleepless night sitting upright with his backpack, being battered by aislegoers.  The train continued to run for 20-30 minutes and then stop for several hours at a time.  When the sun came up on Sunday morning, the train was again stopped in the middle of nowhere but this morning, there was a coat of ice on everything.  From what Li could gather from several college students who wanted to practice their English with him, a railroad power line had broken during the storm.  Most unfortunate was that the train was an electric train and therefore was stopped until repairs could be made.

I-pod, books, Serenity Prayer, “Wanfan, wufan, mifan, wu quai,” brown cigarette vigil, 30 minutes of travel several hours of idle, life did not change for Li Chen on the train.  The little man continued to be undeterred to speak to Li even though all other conversations had resulted in a shrug of the shoulders and a shake of the head in non-comprehension.  The grin never left his face once.  He continued to stand on the seat rearranging luggage and sitting atop the seat holding court with those within earshot.

Part IV – Mutinies

Sunday dragged on and the passengers began to get restless.  Having been on the train now for over 2 days was beginning to take its toll.  Slow progress brought them closer to Changsha, one of the last cities before Guangzhou but still about 500 kilometers from their destination.  By now Li had consumed two of his books and had started in on the third.  The i-pod batteries were running low and had to be conserved for the nighttime when it was needed to feign sleep.  Li had missed his flight and the tension of not making it to Hong Kong in time turned into wonder about the possibility of rescheduling and at what cost.

At about 5 pm Sunday evening, the train stopped at a very small town station just north of Changsha.  This was not a scheduled stop for passengers to get on and off, but was a convienient place to let other faster trains pass by.  After waiting for two hours, a man decided to take matters into his own hands.  Through a translator, Li learned that the man lived in a house that was just beyond the railroad wall.  The man dropped his window and started to climb out.  A conductor ran over to him, and dragged him back into the train causing a heated argument.  “That is my house, I want to get off here, I can see my house” he yelled.  Unflinching, the conductor stood guard over the man for the next two hours until the train began to move.  Rules are rules on the train, and you get off where your ticket says you get off, even if it means travelling another 20 km south to the next station and having to back track.

Another event began to unfold on Sunday that only added to the stress and discomfort of all the passengers.  The train had run dangerously low on both food and water.  The toilets would no longer flush and passengers were forced to roam the train trying each hot water spigot to see if there was anything left.  The toilet situation, need not be mentioned but one can only imagine the state of affairs in the head.  The rice cart man no longer made his rounds.

At this time, men began walking up and down the aisles calling for an uprising and that they must speak to the conductors.  When the conductors were finally located, they heard the pleas and decided to try and placate the masses.  “Dinner is free tonight,” the conductors announced.  Temporary jubilation swept through the cars and all the passengers shuffled down to the dining car.  With about 300 people left to make it to the dining car, a rumor filtered back to where Li was waiting.  The train had run out of food.

Immediately Li heard the shouts of an older woman coming unhinged.  She was screaming in the face of the conductor who had just let on that there would be no free dinner (or anything else for that matter) for the several hundred passengers who were in the forward cars.  This was tough to take as the paltry meal of rice and a few vegetables had become the highlight of Li’s existence on the train.

Finally at about 8 pm Sunday the train pulled into Changsha.  Passengers were not allowed to disembark even to go and get some food from one of the cart vendors along the platform.  Li noticed that there were some passengers who were walking down the aisle with a fresh bowl of noodles.  Intrigued, he decided to investigate.  The vendors, not wanting to lose business and taking full advantage of the train’s lack of supplies pulled the carts alongside the train, raised prices high enough to put their child through college and began to pass food up to the windows.  This was done by passengers standing on the sink adjacent to the toilets and squeezing their torso out of the small window.  Cash was dropped and a steaming bowl of noodles (regularly 2 yuan, now 25 yuan) was returned with the smile of a vendor who had just matched their yearly income in one night. 

At about 11 pm on Sunday night, just South of Changsha, the train emptied considerably and the train started running along at a normal pace.  One of the few remaining people who could still speak English, explained to Li that the train had only one more stop before Guangzhou in the final 400 km and they would make the run as fast as possible.  Apparently Li’s train was one of several hundred on the primary North – South rail line that was caught in the storm. Li’s train needed to get out of the way and the solution was to run as fast as possible until they reached their destination.

Part V – Arrival and Departure

With many seats empty, Li was allowed to stretch out and get his first few hours of sleep in 3 days.  At his first stirrings from sleep, he came fully awake about 2 hours North of Guangzhou to the little man nudging him with another brown cigarette and a grin.  The train finally arrived at Guangzhou station exactly 72 hours after leaving Baoding City.  Li got off the train Monday morning at 7:30 am and never looked back.  The little man with the grin however did insist on getting Li's cell phone number, for what purpose Li will never know.  Conversation was never the cornerstone of their relationship.

At the Guangzhou train station, a truly eye-popping mass of humanity was assembled outside.  You see, Li was on the front end of the migration and while the crowds were significant on the train, the mob at one of the largest stations in the country truly showed the incredible size of this population.  Never before had Li seen so many people, who were all forced to delay and/or cancel plans due to the storm.  Wading through the crowd that seemed to be well in the hundreds of thousands, Li hailed a cab and headed to the other train station in the city that provides service to Hong Kong.

A ticket to Hong Kong was easy to acquire and the train departed 30 minutes later.  Another 2 hour, uneventful and comfortable ride led our hero into the city.  From there he made his way by bus to the airport by about noon, where he was able to reschedule his flight for that evening.  Waiting in the airport, Li discovered an oasis in the form of a Krispy Kreme donut stand.  Perhaps he was hallucinating badly from the train rides, but when he asked for a half-dozen assorted, he was supplied with a heart-clogging delight that he gobbled down as fast as he could.  The tides were changing in his favor.

The final legs of his journey took him from Hong Kong to Brunei (with a 2 hour layover) and then on to Denpasar, Indonesia.  The plane landed at 1:30 am Tuesday morning.  Clearing customs, he went to the taxi stand where he met up with an American (introduced as Slow Rick) who spends half his time in San Diego and the other half in Ubud, Bali...Li’s home for the next three weeks.  This kind soul, familiar with the local dialect was able to negotiate a fair price for the taxi and they split the fare.  Another hour North to Ubud, and he had arrived.  Using the ex-pat’s cell phone, Li was able to call his long time friend and arrange a meeting place…a small 24 hour market on the outskirts of town.  

With more understanding and compassion for all of his travelling tribulations than Li could have wished for, his good friend pulled up on his motorbike at 3:30 am (roughly 94 hours after leaving his dorm room in Baoding) and handed him a cold beer.  The rest of the story is just like anyone else’s who has been to that part of the world.  Paradisical, peaceful, relaxing, combine these attributes with the much needed therapy of communing with old friends and it was exactly what was needed.  However, Li felt the epic journey getting there made his time on the island paradise that much sweeter.  

Thanks for reading, but again I remind you that this is a story for me.  Sorry to be selfish, but if I had not put down in words what I went through then pieces could be omitted or exaggerated later in my life and finer details such as the little man with cigarettes and a grin forgotten.

I have once again shared another time-honored American tradition with my Chinese neighbors.  That being: the inebriated Santa Claus, of course.  For Christmas Eve, I ventured out to one of my favorite taverns called the Charlie Bar with some of the other Americans here in Bao-vegas.  After a few hours of good Christmas cheer, a Santa Claus suit was brought out by the propriter Charlie.  Knowing that only a Meiguo ren could be a proper Santa, he asked which of us would like to become Shang dan lao ren.  He then added that drinks would be free for whomever donned the suit.  As I am trying to save my yuan for later travelling, and already having rosy red cheeks and nose, I stepped willingly into my new role.  Boots, beard, bag of goodies, hat and robe I had it all. 

Charlie gave me a bag of gifts consisting of small stuffed rabbits and insect keychains (the usual Christmas presents as we all know) and I went around to each booth and table wishing them "Shang dao kualie" and Merry Christmas, showcasing my bilingual skills.  I was met with looks of grave concern and astonishment but was not dissuaded in the least.  That was only the beginning, because Santa had a lot of Christmas spirit flowing through his veins and wanted to spread it.  From the bar, Santa went out onto the sidewalk and proceeded to wish all within earshot a very Merry Christmas.  I was given a seat and accompanied by two friends wearing Christmas hats---my own Elven posse and refreshment providers.  Passers-by and shoppers rushing home with their treasures were greeted and many pictures were taken. 

My audience however was sporadic and thin so I needed to take action.  Out of my seat and into the street I went.  Taxis were stopped, given an insect keychain and sent on their way, cyclists were accosted for a quick picture and gift.  Then along came the liang jingcha (the two policemen).  Undaunted, I greeted them warmly with a boisterous "Shang dao Kualie" and provided them each with a stuffed rabbit.  Overcome with the Christmas spirit, they hung the rabbits (very manly pink and yellow bunnies mind you) from their uniforms, beneath the badges, and took several photos with me.  They refused my offer of a beer and continued along upholding the peace proudly displaying their Christmas goodies. 

Merry Christmas

It snowed here yesterday, about 3 cm...measuring in inches just would not be fair.  A soft gray blanket covered everything in sight.  I walked from my dorm to the classroom building mulling over potential lesson plans for the day and did not feel any inspiration by the time I got to my office.  I arrived just in time for the morning excercises but as it turned out the exercises for the day would be snow removal.  We all got dressed and headed out. 

Inspiration for the days lessons struck as I stepped out of the classroom building and saw students making snowballs.  This is not America where students would be given serious reprimands and/or suspensions due to the possibilty of litigation after Timmy got one in the face....no, this is China and the blind eye that the teachers turned was rewarded by a snowball to the back of their head.  After 30 years of Maine snowball throwing, a filthy grin spread across my face because I knew they were rank amatuers in snow shenanigans.  I decided that my part of the snow removal would be done one well-packed ball at a time.  I started with the high school snow removal team and worked my down to the middle school.  I ambushed from behind bushes, trees and buildings.  Boys, girls, teachers, headmasters, young and old they all were in my sights.  By the time the bell rang for classes to resume, I was still not satisfied.

My classes that day were all middle school (4 of them).  Middle school is by far my toughest assignment and I have had many, many horrible classes in my three months here where I wanted to start heaving them out the window one by obnoxious one (side note:  those who have had any experience with students this age will understand I am not being overly cruel here...just coping).  At the start of each class I suggested to them: "Let's go out and play in the snow."  They roared their approval and ran out on to the fields.  Little did they know that Mr. Mark was about to exact his revenge.

Again no soul was safe and no quarter was given.  When I stepped on to the field I yelled "Shang Ke!" (translation: the lesson has begun)  I proceeded to take out months of frustration on them and it felt GREAT.  I only had to stand still to avoid their shots at me as their aim, velocity and snowball making skills were certianly lacking.  My years of experience were no match for them and I drilled them all in turn.  Some ran off crying, others came back for more both responses tickled me greatly.  My personal favorite was to have two snowballs in my hands.  I would lob one high up and while they laughed at such an easy throw to dodge, they took the second in the face.  They fell for it time and again to my delight.

Fate and my schedule were in my favor yesterday.  When I woke up I was preparing for one of my long, tough middle school days of "Sit down. Stop talking. Put away the cell phone. Stop throwing things. Wake up."   Instead it turned out to be a glorious one. 

'My God, what is that smell?'

'Did that man just spit on the floor?'

'Why is that person smoking in such a small, enclosed area?'

'Did that man just pick his nose?'

'Did that woman just pick hers?'

'My God, what is that smell?'

'Why is everybody yelling, (but not angry)?'

'Do trains have max. capacity limits?'

'Why is that worker selling wind up flashlights and socks?'

'Why are there childrens cartoons on the TV?'

'My God, what is that smell?'

'Am I standing in something dead?'

'Why don't they let people off before they push their way on?'

'Why are they trying to sweep the floor on such a crowded car?'

'Why are there so many birds in cages on the luggage racks?'

'My God, what is that smell?'

'When does the fruit and noodle cart lady come back?'

'Why is that man asleep in the bathroom?'

'Is he the conductor?'

'Why is everybody staring at me?'

'My God, what is that smell?'

The above represents 5 minutes of my inner monologue while travelling by train here in China on any given day.

In thinking about another quirky and humorous aspect of life here that I could share with my family and friends back stateside, (a recurring theme of this blog--and one that many of the young parents who might read this would enjoy) there is one that needs to be mentioned: it is the lack of trouser bottoms for toddlers.  This is just yet another distinct difference between what I was accustomed to, and what I am now experiencing.  It strikes me as odd whenever I see a small child being held by their parent in that now distinct posture that allows them to take care of their business in any and everyplace they may be.  How to explain.....the pants they wear are material free between the legs and up the backside--Kiddie Chaps if you will.  There are no undergarments needed as they would just get in the way of the free-flowing lifestyle these children enjoy.  Rather than diaper the children here they just allow them to let fly (possibly a blessing considering the overwhelming garbage problem).  Sidewalks, small patches of lawn, urban tree plantings, trashcans, it doesn't matter where they go, they need only squat or be held in a horizontal-like position (similar to how your body would look in a recliner-sans recliner).  Since I started to observe this unique method of expulsion, my nose and eyes have started to detect the fruits of their labor as I ride the bike, walk on the sidewalk or toss out garbage.  And to think that all this time, I have been blaming it on the donkeys. 

Mr. Mark brought Halloween to the Eastern Bilingual School with a homemade bed sheet with the characters Happy Halloween drawn down the front.  Have never been swarmed by fire ants or pirhanas before but I think I now can empathize with those who have.  I was easy to spot in my blue sheet as I spooked up and down the halls and once the students learned that by saying "Trick or Treat" I would give them candy, I was quite literally mobbed.  While I could not see clearly through the eye-holes, I could recognize the hundreds of hands in my face and the hysterical shouts of three syllables that were supposed to be the traditional Halloween request but most certainly were not.  When I could not dole out the goodies fast enough, they went for the bag themselves and tried to rip it out of my hands.  Rather than taking one and moving off, some children would pocket the candy and start screaming for another.  A veritable feeding frenzy.  Some of the teachers actually screamed and ran when I entered their offices, only to be calmed by an outstreched hand with candy.  Throughout the day as I taught classes, I would enter a room and the frenzy would begin anew.  Not sure if they actually grasp anything about the holiday other than the candy but I did get every single kid in the middle and high school to speak English (or at least their best utterance) at least once in a single day.  A good day for any teacher.

For those who do not wish to have a blog (a necessary step to reply to these postings) but would like to drop me a line, please do.  I would love to hear from you.

markhoconnor@yahoo.com

Ever see The Color of Money?  Ever see Dodgeball?  Did you ever want to see the two of them rolled into one?  I didn't either, but I saw it twice last week.  On consecutive nights, I went first to the Ping Pong hall, and second to the Badminton gym.  The former in a basement below a bridal shop, and the latter behind a toilet and sink making factory (no joke).  Both resembled the pool halls from The Color of Money---seedy, smoky, filled with men drinking and hustling.  Buckets were suspended from the ceiling to catch leaks, lights would flicker and there were holes in the floor which proved perilous for both sports.

There were clearly sharks in the water at both establishments and the Meiguo (falsely assumed to be wealthy) appeared to be an easy mark.  No, I did not lose my shirt, my car or my first born.  Once they realized I was really not a sleeper but rather only slightly better than a child, they set their sights on each other, to my delight.  I could sit down, drink my Tsing Tao beer and watch the action as it unfolded.  The strange part was that the hustlers were not at all subtle, hoping to catch an over-confident opponent, they more closely resembled the cast from Globo-gym.  They would challenge whomever by standing on the sidelines calling for the next game.  There was machismo grandstanding, fist pumps, self-congratularory shouting, and best of all, performance gear.  There were knee pads, head bands, wrist guards, shirts with team names (for those wearing shirts), and I think I saw some HGH, next to the beer, I just assumed it was the performance enhancing drugs section of the concession stand.  The better you played, the more noise you made.

Not sure how much money, possessions, spouses or children were won or lost but the action was hot and heavy.  I must go back. 

October 23, 2007

Dear Little Debbie,

I am very sorry to say that I have found another.  While teaching abroad, I have rediscovered love.  I know that your Swiss Cake Rolls, Star Crunch and Nutty Bars have provided me with countless occasions of chocolate bliss but I have moved on.  No longer will the crinkle and rustle of the cellophane wrapper provide me with that jolt of adrenaline in anticipation of the empty calories you sustained me with.  I am very sorry, but my heart now belongs to Dumplings. 

I find myself riding about the streets of Bao-vegas in search of her...I call it my Dumpling Creep.  I have been known to stop at one outside vendor, order up a plate, devour it and then move on to another.  Sometimes eating lunch three times in one Creep, all-the-while accumulating vinegar spatter on my shirt from my clumsy chop-sticking.  By the end of the Creep, I resemble Hannibal Lecter who has just clamed more victims and is wearing not only the evidence but also the look of a job well-done.  I seek her in the train stations, and the shopping centers.  My pulse quickens before I sidle up to the window in the dining hall in the hopes that it is Dumpling Day at school. 

As I ride the Blue Machine about the city, I look for the steaming devices that produce the beloved meat filled crescent shaped goodness .  Upon seeing them, I yell to whomever may be near the steamers: "Niurou Jiaozi?!!  Jurou Jiaozi?!!" (Beef Dumplings?!!, Pork Dumplings?!!).  They blush, grin, and then bring me a plate and vinegar as they can see that I am a man who means business and that I know my Dumplings.  I take a table on the sidewalk, immune to the stares of passers by who can't believe the yangguizi would be eating where the locals eat.  I finish, pay my 3 yuan (about 25 cents),  get on the bike, and continue the Creep.

So I bid you farewell Little Debbie, perhaps we can rekindle what was, when I return to Meiguo (Beautiful Country) but until then, my heart belongs to Dumplings. 

  For those of you who are yet unaware, Bao-vegas is well-known for eating donkey.  Yes, that loveable cart pulling animal is featured on many a menu here.  Several times I have had donkey restaurants recomended to me and each time, I have declined.  Nope, can't do it, donkeys are my friends.

My teaching partner and I were on our way to the FIFA Womens World Cup quarterfinal match: USA vs England.  The game was being played in a brand new stadium in Tianjin, a city about 100 km due East of us.  Hopped on a bus out of Bao-vegas and got ready for the 3 hour ride when I was joined by a girl in the seat next to me.  She spoke English well and wanted to chat.  I was pumped for the game, so I was pretty chatty myself.  We talked about this and that for most of the ride, pleasant conversation and good company.  As we neared Tianjin I mentioned that I was starving and that I needed to eat something before I got to the stadium.  "Oh, here I have a snack with me," she offered.  I was a little leary, but she was a medical student (traditional Chinese medicine mind you) and did not think she would give me poison.  It was dark, she produced a baggie that had a substance similar to peanut butter paste but rubbery like an uncooked hotdog.  "What is it?" I asked.  She needed time to recall the words as I popped this morsel into my mouth.  It tasted a bit like a hot dog and being polite, reached for more.  "It is, umm, how do you say...? Donkey roh, Oh, it's donkey meat!" she finally exclaimed. 

I ate no more, told her I did not like it, and we rode the rest of the way in an uncomfortable silence. 

I refer to this unfortunate event as the time that "I Got Donkeyed" 

HEE HAW HEE HAW HEE HAW HEE HAW HEE HAW HEE HAW HEE HAW

Morning exercises - Day 1

All 400 middle and high school students stand on the football field in the shadow of the red flag with gold stars.  They are arranged in organized columns and rows with student leaders across the front.  Once in place, the music starts, it sounds very patriotic and similar to a parade march...yi, er, san, si, wu, liu, qi ba, jiu, shi...(1,2,3...10) and the students begin to march in place.  Hand waving and arm flailing come next but this day something is different.  And in China, difference sticks out like a non-smoker.  This day the Yangguizi - foreign devil - has decided to join the morning exercises.  He is not marching in-step with the rest, he flails at the wrong time and is facing the wrong direction when the students skip around in a circle on one foot.  All 400 faces turn around to catch the unsuspecting Meiguo laughing and flailing out-of-sync.  The exercise goes to shambles as the most of the student body continues to turn around to watch the westerner and his individualistic ways.

I have been performing the morning exercises all week and have received many compliments from students, faculty and administrators.  They particulary like my shouting words of encouragement to lackluster performers and general enthusiasm in spite of not having a clue as to what is going on.  After the exercise, I like to walk up and down the rows awarding high-fives and fist pounds to those that really gave it their all.  My goal is to eventually get the routine down until they appoint me "guest exercise leader"...that's when the real subversion begins.   

Last Monday was China's National Day....it is really a week long vacation for everyone.  Some friends that I have made offered to take the other American and me fishing.  Great, I thought....I was not expecting to do any fishing after seeing/smelling the condition of the waterways here.  We drove West out of Bao-vegas for about an hour until we arrived at the "fishing hole."  There were actually six "holes," or shallow swimming pools with walkways all around.  4 had fish in them of varying sizes, species and proximity to death's door.  I was promptly given a rod....long stick with fishing line tied to the tip and 2 hooks....no reel.  The bait was some sort of fish meal made from wheat.  Being a verteran angler, I went for the pool with the largest fish.  Since the pools were so small (about the size of an above-ground pool), the fish could see the crowd above and were pretty spooked and thus not biting.  After about an hour it was time for Plan B. 

Out came a 15-20 ft long bamboo tree with a rope tied to the end.  On the other end were tied 3 treble hooks that looked as though they were for manatee fishing or stealthily scaling a building a la Batman and Robin.  One of the workers gave me a quick demo...flop the hooks to the other side and wait for the school to swim by and then pull hard until you drag one on to the walkway.  The purist fly-fisherman in me was wretching on the inside and I really did not want to hook one.  Then I learned that the rest of my party was counting on me to provide lunch with my catch and had to ignore the feeling of fishing at Sea World.  After several "pulls" and only coming up with scales from grazing sides of fish, I managed to dredge one up and heave it on to the sidewalk to the hoots and hollers of my party.  This was certainly a long way off from Grants Kennebago Camps in the Western mountains of Maine.  I really hope the trout and salmon of my fair state will forgive me for my barbarism.  No, there are no pictures as I did not want any photo evidence.

One of the perks of teaching at the Baoding Eastern Bilingual School is that they provide me with a bike.  I was really hoping for an authentic Chinese machine that are so very prevalent on the streets here.  My school did not disappoint.  I am now the operator of a Big Blue Bicycle....2 slowly leaking tires (perhaps due to the exceptional freight of an average American), front and rear fenders, a chain that skips, 2 hand brakes, a luggage rack aft, basket up front and rust all over.  The basket needed a little TLC as the bottom was falling out and I couldn't have all my goods (or my little dog Toto) falling by the roadside, thanks again to duct tape.

If I thought I turned heads while walking the streets and cruising the supermarket, I am a bona fide phenomenon while racing mopeds, taxis and other cyclists on the Big Blue Machine.  Very few of them actually realize they are being raced but that is beside the point.  Jaws go slack, friends discretely nudge each other, and the older folks grip their chests.  The shock is magnified when I return their gawk and let loose with a "NI HAO!!", and they realize that the Meiguo can speak their language.  Luckily for me I am down the road before they can answer back and discover that a simple greeting is about all the ammunition I've got.  I love rocking the ipod on my excursions, it provides me with adequate theme music for riding...one of the better albums is Superfly - Curtis Mayfield - it seems to fit all neighborhoods here and it also drowns out the noise of the taxi horns as they zip past me on the sidewalk.

Two of my goals are to bring riding a wheelie for a city block and endos to China.  Really want to be known as the Father of Old School Cycling Tricks when I go.  Am still looking for a horn or other noise maker to adorn the machine...if anyone is in possesion of something that makes the same noise as the General Lee let me know and I'll send my address.

Never imagined two wheels could be more fun.

"It feels great, man.  It's been a long time I don't do something special like that.  But I haven't been right all year long.  But when you don't feel good and you still get hits, that's when you know you are a bad man."

Manny Ramirez -- walk-off Game 2 ALDS

GO SOX!!!!!

Baoding --- After Shanghai, I guess anyplace would have seemed rural...but was not prepared for the Eastern Bilingual School which was to be my home for the next 10 months.  After taking the Baoding exit off of the highway from Beijing we turned on to one of the main drags in Baoding.  Bao-Vegas is the most appropriate term --- similar to the Vermont term, Rut-Vegas to describe Rutland.  Over the street are rainbow arches that are lit up and blink at night in all different colors.  Even in a relatively rural area the buildings (not high beauties mind you) were still aglow in neon flashing lights.  The China Life Insurance building was especially brilliant and at first glance, I thought it might be Trump Tower.  Maybe you can work the blackjack table while signing a policy.

We turned off the main drag and headed to the school....lots of very very run down structures and lots of farm fields.  My teaching partner and I were at a loss for words as our van drove along.  Our jaws were still slack upon seeing our rooms...calling them Spartan might be generous.  Two rooms (3 including the bathroom), a desk, a chair, a bed and a nightstand.  White walls, ceilings and a tile floor felt a bit like a sanitarium...when was Nurse Ratchett going to show?  We do have TV and a computer which thankfully has internet but turns on/off at random to my delight.  TV has 1 english station, so I am learning my chinese from Kung Fu movies and the many many versions of American Idol that exist here.  Have made the rooms home and have made it past the culture shock. 

One other thing that must be mentioned is the smell.  Not sure where it comes from, what causes it, how it can manage get through locked windows, overcome several air fresheners and be tasted upon waking up in the morning but it is if nothing else, unholy.  It makes me long for the good ol' S.D. Warren paper mill.