Potpourri

I think most of you know where this is going...










Okay, so there are some pretty important things that I haven’t addressed in the blog yet. I’ve had a lot of questions about teaching and some questions about how my Chinese is coming, as well as whether I have a Chinese girlfriend yet. I’ll get to all of that, but first, I want to talk about the haircut I got here the other day.

Haircut

I decided that it was finally time for me to get a haircut. I really needed one when I first got here, but I’ve been putting it off. I was a little skeptical about the whole thing for a number of reasons. The first and most obvious reason being that I don’t speak much Chinese, a fact that can make even the simplest things difficult at times. The second reason is a little less obvious and as far as I know, something that is native to China. As it turns out, some of the barbershops here become something totally different at night. They become part of the “pink light district.” I don’t know why the lights are pink instead of red. Maybe the Chinese thought it would look more fun that way, who knows. Most of these places are clustered in certain areas and alleys of the city, as pointed out to me by various members of the teaching staff. I generally know how to avoid them, but I can’t claim to know where all of them are. Understandably, the dual nature of these places made me a little anxious about attempting to get a haircut. But after talking with some of the other teachers, they told me about the barbershop that they use to get their hair cut. I figured if I wanted to accomplish anything, I would just have to jump in and see what happened. So I went and got my hair cut.

The whole process was actually much easier than I expected. I didn’t really need that much English and I have to say, the whole haircut process is much cooler in China than it is in America. They had me lay down on a sort of table and then washed my hair. After the wash, there was a head massage, which would have been fine, except that about half of the employees decided to stand around me and chatter in Chinese, which made it kind of difficult to relax. However, one of them came over and asked me if I wanted a shave. I didn’t really need one since I had shaved the day before. Apparently this does little to change the appearance of hair on my face, despite the fact that the bathroom looked like a hair bomb exploded in it after I shaved. Then there was the actual haircut, which went better than I expected because the barber spoke some English. After the haircut came more hair washing and then they finally dried it. I have to admit that I was pretty well satisfied with the whole thing. However, I’ll probably be returning to that particular place in the future to avoid any “mix-ups.”

Teaching

So I’ve gotten questions from everyone about how my teaching is coming along. For the most part, I’ve enjoyed the experience. Like all jobs, it has its pros and cons. My students are all ages, but there are three general age ranges. There are really young kids under the age of ten, there are teenagers (usually under the age of 16 or so), and adults. I definitely enjoy teaching the adults the most. They are usually fairly close to my age and they tend to speak enough English to carry on a conversation. I hardly notice the two hours required for each lesson. Most of the regular classes are two hours long with a fifteen-minute break in between. On the busy days, which are Saturday and Sunday at the moment, I have about three classes in a row. So those are really the only days that I work a normal nine to five type of schedule. Of course, I can’t really work just nine to five those days because of the planning I need to put in for the next lessons, so it’s more like eight to seven or eight to six. Those two days are really only the difficult days in my week. The rest of the days are usually fairly light with only one or two classes, so it’s hard to complain.

On Saturdays and Sundays we usually teach the younger kids. I’ve had some “entertaining” times with the kids. I can tell you that there is nothing that can be more damaging to your self-esteem than working with kids. I’ve had most of my problems with one particular class. I walked into the classroom for my second lesson with them to find a big picture of a pig dressed in clothes on the whiteboard. For some reason, this didn’t really bother me. The next week, I arrived to find a letter addressed to me on the board. The teacher who taught them before me was also named Chris, so they call me Chris2. This is what it said:

Dear Chris2,

are you a good people? are you ok? are you a young woman pig? your students don’t like you much. you are fierce and cruel.

11 October
Your students

I even tried to be nice to them the other day and play lots of games. This didn’t work either, since they chattered on through the games and continued to do their homework in front of me. They pointed me to a note after the break at the last lesson. It was another drawing, this one labeled “young woman pig.” At least that was better than the break the week before, when I found them putting a huge black stripe on the wall above the whiteboard with a permanent marker. I’m going to have to change my strategy with these kids, but I’m not sure how. Even though they’ve gotten to be a handful, I’m actually kind of curious to see their next stunt. I haven’t yet gotten to the point where I have a headache and when one of them asks if it’s a tumor, I take on an Austrian accent and scream, “IT’S NOT A TOOMAH!” But really anything is possible.

I expected some misbehavior, but I’ve also encountered some issues that I didn’t expect. For example, I was doing an exercise the other day about families when it suddenly hit me that these questions might be completely inappropriate to ask a Chinese kid. I realized why the kids were squirming and giving me awkward looks. I was asking them if they had brothers and sisters. Whoops. Fortunately for me, that was the only time I’ve made that kind of mistake here (I think). Most of the other difficulties result from my own ignorance or from something that is practically impossible to explain. I had a student ask me about the Federal Reserve Board the other day. You try explaining that while it’s part of the US Government, it’s also an “independent entity,” which means that at the same time, it’s not part of the US Government. I ended up telling them that I was much more qualified to teach them proper English than I was to explain the US monetary system. I probably could have handled the situation better, but it was all I could come up with at the time.

Of course not all of the odd situations I encounter with the kids are negative. One of the fun things about these kids is the fact that if they don’t have English names, you can give them one. Now, I’ve only had two kids so far who haven’t had English names, so I let them choose their own names. As a result, I have a Superman in one class and a Halloween in another class. Relax, they can change their names if they want. Apparently one girl in someone else’s class decided to change her name to Avril, as in Avril Lavigne. She’s quite popular over here right now, though the songs are from a couple of years ago. But Chinese music is a different story. Anyway, there are definitely going to be some kids wandering around with my favorite names. There is already at least one Rocky I’ve met here, so I won’t exactly be setting a precedent. I’m not sure I can leave this country without naming a kid Drago or maybe Clubber. Maximus and Leonidas are also possibilities, though we all know Spartacus is reserved for my own child. Of course I can’t rule out Maverick, Marv, Indiana, or Jason either. I’m open to other suggestions as well. I promise, this won’t scar the kids. Trust me.

Chinese Lessons

As for the language, I’ve been picking up a little here and there. One of the teachers who works for English First (a Chinese girl) gives some very short lessons every Monday, but that’s nothing compared to the kind of help I’m going to need in order to really start picking up the language here. I’m just beginning to realize the massive effort I’m going to have to make just to understand the spoken part of Mandarin. That realization was a bit like the guy showing Homer the Murderhorn in The Simpsons: “Yeah, you’re gonna need to look a little to the right.” Then after the initial reaction, I discover how much harder it’s going to be to understand all the symbols: “Um… yeah, you’re going to need to look a little more to the right.” Fortunately for me, I’ve got access to all the old Chinese newspapers I need. Now I just need to combine them with some apple cores, get Brendan Fraser and that guy from Wings to sponsor me, and I’ll be in business. But seriously, I’m going to need some kind of steady lessons from a tutor to make any real progress. Those kinds of lessons aren’t cheap, either, so I’ll have to make sure that I’m going to get what I pay for. However, since one of my other goals in coming to China is to see as much of the country as possible, I have to save money so that I can travel. I’m really going to have to balance the yin and the yang on that one… or something like that. Another problem with getting a tutor is that sometimes they don’t really teach you anything, which is what happened to one of the other teachers here. Why is it so difficult to get Chinese lessons, anyway? I’m in China for crying out loud. I should be able to pull someone off the street to talk to me in Chinese. Anyhow, I guess I’ll have to keep everyone posted on how my search for a tutor goes.

The Ladies

So, on to the ladies. As many of you would expect, not much has really happened as far as the Chinese girls go. For those of you who predicted that Chinese girls would go wild for me, you were wrong. I haven’t had any indication that they like me more than any other foreigners here. Actually, since they’ve pretty much ignored me so far, I’d say that they may like me less than the other foreigners. Perhaps they’re afraid of me. Maybe it’s my stern expression. Or maybe it’s my ability to absolutely terrify any female with whom I attempt to hold a conversation.

The other day in the teacher’s lounge, Leo was talking to one of the new teachers, a Chinese girl from Wuxi. It was just small talk and I figured he was going to invite her to join us at dinner as a way of getting to know us. They were having a perfectly normal conversation. He had just convinced her that she should take the company van back to where she needed to go because it would be easier that way. Just then, he had to answer the phone, so I figured I could just pick up the conversation where he left off since I had been standing right there the whole time. Considering my track record in this area, I should have known this was a bad idea. I asked some random question, which she answered. Then I told her that we were having dinner later and asked if she wanted to join. I wasn’t trying to come onto her. I don’t even think she’s attractive. I was just trying to be nice and make her feel comfortable the same way that the other teachers helped me when I got here. Her response was, “Um, no, I think I have to be at home.” I said, “Oh, is there something you need to do?” She said, “No… I think my parents are waiting for me.” Meanwhile, Leo, who was observing the conversation from the other side of the bookcase in the teacher’s lounge, starts laughing so hard that he nearly collapses. The conversation ends there, with an awkward silence of course. Then, when it’s time to leave later on, she decides that she doesn’t want to take the van back with us; she’ll find some other way instead.

I don’t know what quality I possess that transforms every conversation I have with a strange female into a crushingly awkward situation, but there is apparently an element of pure comedy in it. I guess there’s also an element of pure intimidation in it as well, since you could almost see her mentally, physically, and emotionally straining to flee from me. Of course, even when a girl isn’t straining to flee from me, there’s always the language barrier, not to mention the barrier that plagues most trendy clubs and bars these days, even here in China: really loud music. I was out in a club the other day when I saw a girl that I thought was cute. I wanted to strike up a conversation. Now this idea may sound mildly absurd, but some of the other teachers have had full relationships with Chinese girls without being able to speak any Chinese and vice versa. So I asked her what her name was in Chinese (one of the few phrases I know) and she told me, but of course I couldn’t hear a thing. I looked at her again and felt a little flutter deep inside. Was I in love? No… wait… that wasn’t love. That was the vodka I had earlier looking to make a quick escape. So, I had to run up the white flag and make a hasty retreat. But who knows? Maybe one of these days I’ll be able to complete that conversation. I’m sure everyone’s just breathless in anticipation, but you’ll all just have to wait a little bit longer.

Bonus Materials

So there are a couple of random things I have seen and experienced here so far that I think are either funny or plain interesting. For example, one of the first few days I was in China, we ended up going to the T.G.I.Fridays here in Wuxi for someone’s birthday. As I mentioned before, many Chinese people choose English names. Several of the waiters and waitresses in the restaurant had their English names on their nametags. At one point, my roommate, Ben, nudged me and pointed at the nametag of one of the waiters. It said, “Heaven.” I have no idea what that was supposed to mean, but it was really funny at the time. My best guess is that it was either a joke or that he was poorly translating his Chinese name into English, since many Chinese names literally mean different things in the world or in nature. I’ve learned a fair bit about Chinese culture and how things are developing here, even though I’ve only been here for a bout two months. I see signs everywhere of how both the people and the lifestyle are changing rapidly, even while I’m constantly confronted with evidence that many of the Chinese people and customs haven’t changed at all. On the way to work, I see people still wearing traditional Chinese clothing and pulling rickshaws. Then when I get to the building where I work, I walk into the lobby and what do I see? A free shoeshine machine. I’ve never even seen one of those things in America. Here in China, it just seems to be a luxury for the sake of luxury. I’m not quite sure what to make of it. It just strikes me as bizarre, that’s all.

One other thing that I’ve noticed while walking around is something I like to call, “The Reverse Tattoo Effect.” We’ve all seen someone with a tattoo of Asian characters. I certainly have no problem with this. However, from what I’ve heard, many people don’t research these characters thoroughly and end up with something inappropriate tattooed on them. What I’m about to talk about is not quite as bad as permanently declaring to the world that you’re an idiot, but it’s still putting ignorance on display. Many Chinese people wear clothing with English expressions that either make no sense at all or that are extremely suggestive. It’s just funny to see people who obviously think they’re cool with something blatantly stupid written on their shirt. Unfortunately, I can’t think of any concrete examples. However, in place of that, I can leave you all with some other delightful pieces of Chinglish that I’ve encountered during my time here. One of them I actually saw on the first day of my “Good Night, Sweet…” post. We were doing an Olympic activity, which basically means that a group of English First teachers goes to a Chinese public school and shamelessly promotes the company by doing fun activities with the kids that are only loosely related to the Olympics. I can only justify this by thinking that the other language companies in China probably do the same kinds of things. Anyway, we were walking up to one of these public schools when I saw a giant sign exhorting us to, “Do Good Deeds Aestheticism!” It was quite inspirational. I’ll definitely keep aestheticism in mind the next time I want to do a good deed.

The public schools usually do a poor job with the English inscriptions they put on their walls and gates, but the food companies can be even worse. I read the package of one of the cookies I had the other day. I figured it would be fairly accurate because it was a YooHoo wrapper. Then I looked closer and realized that it actually said YouHao. I should have seen that coming. But the English description at the bottom was great: “Daintiness biscuit from the foreign Are coming, Super fashion sense, Unsurpasseddelicious”

Now I have no idea where they were even going with this. Usually you can tell what they were trying to say. Aside from the obvious humor, I find this kind of situation a little curious. This is something that goes on the actual wrapper, so you would think it’s fairly important. The company is large enough to manufacture cookies here, so it couldn’t be that difficult to get someone that speaks English to check the accuracy of the writing. You might argue that there won’t be too many English-speakers buying these cookies, but if that’s the case, then why put any English on the wrapper at all? It’s likely that someone at the company just typed what they wanted to say into a translator and that’s what came out. I realize that whoever was responsible for the translation could lose face by asking for help. However, wouldn’t there also be a business need to get the translation right? Despite the various instances of incompetence that must occur at American companies, someone would have to know that they could be fired for getting something wrong on the front of the cookie wrapper. If they knew their job depended on getting it right, you’d think the smart thing would be to ask someone to make sure it’s right. I guess it doesn’t work that way here. I don’t know, maybe I just don’t understand the culture here well enough. These are the kinds of things I ponder here in China…

Good Night, Sweet...

So, a few weeks back, when I had only been in China for about a week, I was scheduled for a medical exam. This is required by the Chinese government ostensibly to ensure that I don’t bring any harmful diseases into China. I’m not really sure why they schedule this exam so long after my arrival in the country, since I (or anyone else traveling to China) could have breathed on as many Chinese people as I wanted to in a week, though I have a sneaking suspicion that they’re more likely to give me a disease than I am to transmit something to them. Anyway, this exam was scheduled for the morning of my day off. The only stipulations concerning the exam were that I be present at the school in time to catch a ride to the hospital and that I not eat anything before the exam.

My days off happen to coincide with the days off of one of the other teachers here. Leo is one of the British teachers who works for English First and probably knows the most Chinese of all of them, even though he hasn’t been here nearly as long as some of the other teachers. I’d been hanging out with him and one of the other American teachers quite a bit, so he knew I might be up for a drink or two the night before my day off. Of course, Leo talked me into going out for a couple of drinks by assuring me that we’d be back at the apartments in an hour or two. Like the big idiot I am, I believed him. This was my first mistake.

So we went to one of the bars that all the English teachers in the city seem to frequent. It’s an Aussie bar that’s actually not too far from the school. Leo and I showed up, and it just so happened that a bunch of his friends from one of the other English companies in Wuxi were there. What a coincidence! It also just happened that two of the other teachers were leaving the next day to go back to the US, but not until later in the afternoon, freeing them up to drink the night before. More than a few pints later, we actually did head back to the apartments. However, Leo insisted that we go out for a few more drinks with the other teachers. Foolishly, I figured that I could always take a taxi back to the apartment whenever I wanted. This was my second mistake.

We met the other teachers at another bar that many of the English First teachers go to often. This bar stays open as long as there are customers there, a feature that can be convenient for customers and quite lucrative for the establishment I would think. Chinese bars definitely have that over most American bars. We ended up playing quarters and a variety of other games. I soon reached that point in the night when you think that if you go back home and try to sleep before you need to be up and ready to go, there’s absolutely no way you’ll actually be up and ready to go. So the only logical thing seemed to be to just go ahead and stay up all night. This was my third mistake.

It would seem that this was not the first night they’ve all done this, as they knew of a breakfast buffet that the Sheraton hotel has at about six in the morning. We headed for that on foot and arrived shortly. I have no idea why they admitted our little pack of loud, drunken foreigners, but they did. I think they have to work under the assumption that we’re guests at the hotel, which would explain why they asked us what room we were staying in. We told them some nonsense and went back to annoying the other guests. I got to watch as everyone shoveled massive amounts of food into their faces. However, because I had been told that I couldn’t eat before my medical exam, I stuck with some yogurt and coffee. I’m not sure why I thought yogurt wouldn’t count as food, but it seemed logical at the time. It was funny to watch the staff seat everyone that came in for breakfast on the other side of the restaurant until they had no choice but to start putting people near us. There were a good ten or eleven of us, so we were putting up quite a racket. The other teachers were doing their best to get me to eat and I was trying to resist. I think the worst thing I heard was, “Dude, it’s a Chinese medical exam. When I took my exam, I just switched my urine test with someone else’s when I was in the bathroom.” I’m not sure they took the exam as seriously as I did.

Eventually, the staff came over and asked us again what our room number was. We made a few guesses, but when they responded with, “The hotel only has six floors so you can’t be staying on the eighth,” or something like that, we decided it would be a good time to leave. Don’t worry, we still paid. So Leo and I took a taxi back to the apartments. At this point, it was about eight in the morning, so it was time for me to get ready to go to the exam. I managed to show up at the school on time with my passport. I took pains to get there exactly at nine, as requested by the English First staff. Now there were two other new employees that were also supposed to be getting their exam. It’s actually a couple. There’s a British guy and an Italian woman. They’re really very nice and I normally have no problem with them whatsoever. However, after a night of drinking and then sitting through an all-you-can-eat breakfast while I couldn’t eat (those of you who know my love of food should be able to guess how heinous this situation actually was), I was not in a good mood. All I really wanted at this point was to crawl into bed. And then wake up and devour approximately a metric ton of food.

Anyway, the couple showed up late. We hopped in the school van and eventually made it to the hospital. After penetrating the usual 532 layers of Chinese bureaucracy (see, China’s really not that much different from the US), we finally made it to the actual examinations. Much like Austin Powers, I was subjected to a confusing battery of tests while I wandered around in a haze of semi-consciousness. I wasn’t sure if they were conducting a human rat-in-the-maze test on me for their amusement, but it certainly felt that way. I didn’t really understand all the tests, either. I was pretty certain that I was going to fail one of them. They kept showing me these pictures where there was some animal represented in one color and there was another color in the background, but it was all really just a big bunch of dots. They told me in broken English that it was supposed to test my ability to distinguish colors. However, my inability to name any of the animals in the pictures due to the fact that I can’t speak Chinese essentially defeated the purpose of the test. I can say “rooster” as many times as I want in English and they can keep pointing to the animal all they want, but until they learn English or I learn the Chinese word for every animal, we’re not going to get anywhere. I don’t know how many pictures we went through until I finally came across a dog, but it took a while. I happen to know the Chinese word for that, so I was released. If I didn’t know that, who knows how long they might have kept me.

Then there were x-rays. If you think I wanted to be subjected to an x-ray from that decrepit-looking machine, you’re crazy. Naturally, there weren’t any lead vests to be seen either. If I can’t have children in the future, I’m not going to have any trouble pinpointing the cause. After the x-rays, it was on to the blood and urine tests. These were fairly easy for me and I figured that if I could accomplish those tasks in my state, anyone could. However, when I returned from the bathroom, I saw the British guy sprawled out on a bench with ice or something on his forehead. I felt like going over and pummeling him, screaming, “LET ME GO HOME!!” In hindsight, this would have been a bad idea because he really is a good guy and this also could have resulted in my being escorted from the building, but the thought was tempting. Although I suppose if they’d escorted me from the building, I wouldn’t have been able to undergo that ultrasound test. Yes, that’s right folks. All people going through the exam, male or female, must undergo an ultrasound exam. I can only guess that they’ve had a problem with pregnant women posing as men before? You’d think there would be an easier way to establish these things before the ultrasound test. Or maybe Arnold Schwarzenegger and Danny DeVito were involved, who knows?

Anyhow, we eventually completed all the tests, from the absurd to the possibly-damaging-to-my-reproductive-system. I finally got to go home and sleep. The moral of the story? Well, I’m not sure there is one, but if you come to China, I recommend that you not spend the entire preceding night out at bars or the following morning at a breakfast buffet where you can’t enjoy the food and instead endure the taunts of everyone else at the table. Just some friendly advice.

"Less Slow" Food

Mmm. Urine ham. I mean, yurun ham.









So, my last entry may have sounded a little crabby. This resulted from a combination of my entry into China being truly miserable and the fact that I was watching an episode of House while I was writing. I think some sarcasm may have rubbed off, though I will warn everyone that some of that sarcasm/cynicism is natural, so you can still expect more of that in the future. Sorry.

Anyway, I know a lot of people want to know about the food here in China. To tell the truth, I haven’t had as much “Chinese food” as maybe I should have considering I’m in China. Actually, I’ve had a fairly international sampling while I’ve been here. I’ve been to several Japanese restaurants so far, a German restaurant, and a couple of Chinese places. To date, the Japanese food has been the best, but I’m not sure I’ve been to the best Chinese restaurants here yet. One of the Chinese restaurants I’ve been to here supposedly served “Muslim” food, according to my fellow teacher anyway. That consisted of some pretty good lamb kabob and a few other dishes that I enjoyed. I have had a few really good meals here and there in Chinese restaurants, mostly involving fried rice and fried beef.

One thing they do here that can be hard to find in the US is something called “hot pot.” This is where you and your friends sit around a big pot of boiling broth and order whatever food you want to throw in it. I think I’ve actually had this somewhere before and seem to recall enjoying it a lot. However, when I had it a few days ago in Suzhou, we were eating with some other people that were staying in our hostel and they had various food allergies and preferences. This resulted in our only getting beef and a bunch of vegetables, which was okay, but also semi-ruined the meal because you can usually have so much more.

Surprisingly, I’ve also been to a German restaurant. I had Munich sausage with some mashed potatoes. I thought it was fairly good for a German restaurant that happens to be located in China. (Note: European shopping centers and restaurants are popping up here more frequently because of all the German and other European manufacturing companies that have built factories in Wuxi, bringing European workers with them) The Japanese places I’ve been to have also been very good. I had a really good fried beef and cheese dish today with mushrooms that were covered in some sweet sauce as an appetizer. I thought it was really good, but then again, I’m told I’m not exactly distinguishing in my tastes. There are also a lot of Italian restaurants here. I guess Chinese people really like pizza or something. This is the only explanation I can think of to explain this, other than the fact that Italian food is just awesome. The pizza is actually pretty decent, so I really can’t complain.

As far as the meals that I don’t eat in restaurants, I get most of that food from the supermarket down the street. It’s pretty convenient and the store has a fair amount of Western food as well. I actually made pancakes the other day with some mix that the last guy who lived in my apartment left in the cupboard. I like to wander through the store trying to figure out what everything is, predictably with mixed success. I’ve made it an unofficial policy of mine to buy at least one thing whose identity as a food item is completely unknown to me. I’ve only come up with a package that had some noodles and mystery meat so far, but nothing really exciting or outlandish. I’ll have to start exploring different aisles I guess. I’ve made a significant effort to get Chinese food when I’m there. I usually end up with some sort of dumplings since they sell about 8,476 different kinds of dumpling here. They’re pretty good with some rice, but they don’t really have that much meat in them, so they’re not all that filling. In the meat department, I’m still at the stage where I can’t really figure out what meat is what, so I’m a little wary of buying it at this point. I did buy some spare ribs last night that turned out to be pretty good. Apparently those are a Wuxi specialty or something. I’m not sure how authentic my spare rib meal was though, since there were instructions in English on the back and I’m pretty sure a five year old could have prepared it (commensurate with my cooking ability I should add).

Probably the most interesting feature of eating over here so far is seeing the various fast food restaurants that have made their way to China. The biggest surprise to me was how huge KFC is here. I guess Chinese people just really love eating fried chicken and corn on the cob that has a stick jammed in it so you can eat it like ice cream. That reminds me, some of the ice cream here has the most terrible flavor, like corn, soy beans, or some other fruit or vegetable that has no business invading foods that actually taste good. According to comedian Brian Regan, the cranberry is the master of this technique, but I digress. Another fast food restaurant that has met with unlikely success here in China is Pizza Hut. I have to give them credit for this. Some sharp exec must have seen that their sales were flagging in the US due to competition from other pizza places that don’t make pizza that both resembles and tastes like cardboard (this means you too Domino’s). This clever guy must have thought to himself:

“Where could we move the chain of stores? The people can’t be able to distinguish between good pizza and bad pizza, so that rules out Europe. We’ll need cheap, incompetent labor to keep our costs down and maintain our substandard levels of service, so that probably means somewhere in Asia or South America. I don’t want to have to sell my yacht when I’m kidnapped by a revolutionary group or drug cartel and held for ransom, so that rules out South America. Finally, I need a country with a population large enough that our sales will still look strong even after people realize that the food they cook themselves in filthy pans and potentially toxic water is still better than what’s coming out of our kitchens. I’ve got it! China.” The logic is airtight.

Of course, I couldn’t talk about fast food without mentioning McDonald’s. One odd thing is that every McDonald’s here is located right across the street from a KFC. I’m not sure if they have a business agreement or what. Maybe one of my friends with too much time on their hands at work (I can think of at least two of you right now) can investigate this. Anyway, the food is pretty much the same at the McDonald’s here as it is in the US. It’s just the service that’s awful. The one thing you can count on at the McDonalds in the US is getting your food quickly. It won’t taste good and it will generally look as unhealthy as it really is, but at least you can get it quickly. Here in China, you can wait up to fifteen or twenty minutes for your food. The strange thing is that they keep on making other food that no one has ordered while you’re waiting for your stuff to come out. They’ll keep piling chicken sandwiches and who knows what else on the little heating area, despite the fact that no has ordered it and that you’ve just asked for something else completely. When some of the other teachers and I were there the other day, one of them said to the other, “You should get in that line, it seems to be going faster.” The response was, “If by that you mean that it’s going less slow, then yes.” That’s definitely the best way to describe it. So why do we keep going there, even when we have to wait so long for questionable food and there’s a good chance that we may be subjected to the Chinese version of “Happy Birthday” playing on a loop the entire time we’re there, prompting us to question our sanity and consider unspeakable acts of violence? Well, I go because it reminds me of home. Why do you go?

A Rider on the Storm

So, I arrived in China safely. However, it turns out that it was in the middle of a typhoon. But before I could even get out into the typhoon I had to play a brief game of MarioKart to get my bags from the baggage carousel to the company van waiting for me. Except that this particular game involved several hundred other participants with their own bulky carts and the only guidance I got was from a Chinese guy who didn’t speak any English and who seemed to pop in and out of the Chinese crowd at random intervals. However, with the aid of a banana peel and a heat-seeking turtle shell, I advanced to the next stage and escaped the airport.

Unbeknownst to me, I managed to “escape” directly into a typhoon. I knew that Wuxi was only about 70 or 80 kilometers (approximately 45-50 miles for you “foreigners”) from Shanghai. So, it should normally take about an hour, maybe a little more depending on where the airport is and where my apartment is. I arrived in Shanghai late to begin with because one of the pilots apparently couldn’t find the plane in time for us to take off as scheduled. I know he didn’t get stuck in a typhoon in Toronto, so I’m guessing he was either drunk or just didn’t care enough to get to the plane on time. Both admirable qualities in pilots.

Anyway, I arrived in Shanghai a little over an hour late and it took me about half an hour to complete the Oriental stage of MarioKart. So, it was about 2:30 Shanghai time when I left for Wuxi. Approximately six hours of flooded roads, constant honking, and an amount of traffic consistent with the evacuation of a city of over 20 million people (yes, that’s right, people were being evacuated because of the next typhoon that would supposedly hit a couple days later), I arrived at my apartment in pouring rain. Keep in mind that this was after 48 hours of traveling and somewhere in the neighborhood of four hours of fragmented sleep. I was not a happy customer and my stomach felt like it had its own airplane food-induced typhoon ripping around in it.

Things have gotten better since then, but such was my arrival in China.