a new chinese poem

A new poem taught to Luke and I today by Li Jian:

美女， 美女，我愛你
就像老鼠愛大米

Mei nu, mei nu, wo ai ni,
jiu xiang lao shu ai da mi




Translation:

Beautiful girl, beautiful girl, I love you,
Just like a mouse loves rice.

He told us to tell all the female teachers at the dance tonight this poem.

A mob, a mountain, and many busses

We were recently gifted with our first visitor to our home here in Pengshan- Momma Alice and her daughter (and our friend from Crested Butte) Whitney.  They came on a Wednesday, got the whirlwind tour from the college which seemed to last 36 hours straight, (I’ve noticed that planning your entire visit without consulting you is a reoccurring Chinese theme) after which we got to spend some time with them.  We decided a short trip to downtown Pengshan was necessary, so we hopped into a cab and got out at Pungzu Square.  Waiting for us was an enormous group of 3^rd graders.  They were all lined up at the entrance with the teachers trying to hold them in an orderly group, which was working until they saw us.  It was cute; Alice took some photos; and we walked past them after lots of “hello” and waves.  Continuing into the square after seeing them waiting to go in was our first mistake.

       We walked to the big statue of Pungzu himself overlooking Pengshan, the man who has been claimed to have lived 800 years (I am ever dubious, but my classes seem split 50/50 as to if it’s the truth).  We were enjoying the view of the river when we heard the cries and growing roar of 300 3^rd graders running up the stairs toward us.  Our second mistake was not running right then and there.

      

       Please understand, at first it was fun and kind of sweet.  They gathered around us (probably the first foreigners they have ever seen) and asked where we were from, what were our names, and so on.  Imagine: each of us an island surrounded by a sea of Chinese 3^rd graders that surged and crashed, but never ebbed.  It was like a high tide coming in when you are at the base of a cliff.  But it was ok, manageable, until I made the third and fatal mistake. 

       And it was an innocent mistake.  Believe me, I had no ill intentions.  One kid just asked how to spell my name.  So I wrote it for him on a piece of paper with his pen and handed it back.  Honest mistake, right?  Suddenly, floating eyes on the ocean’s surface widened as one singular thought rippled throughout the mass:

The foreigner is giving autographs!

       Suddenly I was confronted with more pens than I could count and papers being shoved in my face.  I got about 20 off, thinking this was really funny and also realizing I have a completely illegible signature.  I looked over and saw the phenomenon spreading to Luke’s, Alice’s, and Whitney’s oceans.  But it quickly got out of hand.  Kids got nasty--pushing each other out of the way, yelling when I didn’t grab their paper, grabbing other’s signatures.  So we all bailed at the same time.  Pushing my way out and holding my hands up the way I imagine Brad Pit does walking out of a press conference, I battled the surging tide and swam for freedom.  One kid got in front of me with a set expression on his face and began body checking me when I pushed past him.  It seemed to capture the desperation of the situation- this tiny 3^rd grader trying to hold me back, the 6ft tall American, for more autographs.  He wasn’t successful.

       We escaped to our favorite yogurt shop, feeling completely overwhelmed.  This had never happened before to us, any of us.  Glad to have escaped with our lives, we laughed at the thought that we had just created a black market at the school for the few autographs they got from the foreigners in Pungzu Square.

The next day we set out on a three day journey west into the Tibetan Plateau.  As has become our tradition, we started it with baotzi in a bag after sunrise.  

 

       We had an hour long ride into Chengdu, after which we got onto a public bus and for 105 RMB, drove for 18 hours into the mountains.  When asking around about this bus, we got a wide range of answers for how long it would take to get to Gong Ga Shan, our destination.  Gilbert said 3.  Dr. Zou said 8.  A map I had said 7.  And other fell in between.  So, when the bus stopped at a little shop on the side of the road after 3.5 hours, we were hopeful we were almost there.  Nope, just a Chinese noodle break.  By now, Luke and I have become connoisseurs of dried ramen noodle bowls. After that stop, however, the scenery began to draw me away from my book.  We drove up tall and steep canyons, zigzagged up switchbacks which were just mind blowing (so sharp and numerous) as they went up the mountain like a ladder, and finally through an enormous tunnel that was 难以想象(nan yi xiang xiang; you can’t imagine), taking us through a mountain.  What we saw on the other side seemed to make the entire bus gasp.  We had entered the DaDu River drainage and were now in the Himalayan Plateau.  The valley dropped nearly vertically from the road as we wound our way down (more switchbacks), but what was amazed me most was the lack of smog.  It wasn’t clear, there were clouds, but they were clouds.  You could see under them.  It was beautiful; I felt as if I had come home.

       I sat next to a young woman from Shanghai travelling to the glacier on her own.  We talked most of the ride, me learning some Chinese and her learning some English.  I am constantly amazed with how much a smile, patience, a little Chinese, and a desire to learn will make you friends here in China.  Also, I’m impressed with how friendly most people are.  She shared her French truffles with me, which was one of the best things I have had here.  Thinking about them now makes my mouth water.  With such good company and scenery to look at, the 8 hours flew by.  And it was 8 hours, by the way.  We arrived in Moxi after driving up a narrow valley from the DaDu River.  Saw this bridge along the way, which was one of the craziest we’ve seen yet.  I have been surprised with the crazy bridges that I see linking people’s homes across the river to the road, some being straight from Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, but this was the best so far.

 

       Moxi had a small quiet feel to it.  I immediately liked it.  Our crew getting off the bus.  Notice Luke, as ever, looking up Chinese words on his magic device.

 

       After some exploring and walking around, we found a hotel that we bargained down a bit to 100 RMB a night with 2 beds.  It was very comfortable and had a this great view of the mountains out the window:

       We found a small restaurant that did the most amazing thing when we walked in.  They gestured for us to follow them into the kitchen, where they proudly showed us all the vegetables and meats they had to cook with.  It all looked delicious and their excitement about food won me over instantly.  We had some of the best eggplant and fried rice of China there in that little family restaurant in the mountains of Moxi.  They gave us yak butter tea, which Luke finished but I couldn’t.  It felt like drinking butter, which would take me some getting used to.  I thought of my dad’s stories of eating sticks of butter on the Iditarod.  The host of the family looked our age or younger, but when Momma Alice asked (which apparently isn’t rude) he turned out to be 29.  The Chinese do age well.  We sat around a fire we found later on the street and watched rabbit, goat, chicken, and sheep being roasted.  It was great to sit next to a fire.  Seeing the stars again kept me staring outside in the shadow between two street lights late that night.  This will never get old, I thought.

Saturday morning

 

       Saturday was dedicated to seeing the glacier and the park, Hai Luo Gou.  Despite getting up at 7:00, we were late by Chinese standards and had to fight the crowd to buy entrance tickets and board the busses going up the valley.  This feels more like a mosh pit than a line and involves a great deal of pushing, getting your arm through and letting your body follow, and yelling in Chinese.  I’m not a fan.  When one man was particularly rude, I learned that “ni mei you li mao” means “you have no manners”.  But we eventually got on the bus and drove the breath-taking hour up the valley and to the base camp village.  It was an incredible day- completely clear in all directions, with crisp air of autumn but warm from so much sun.  Declining the 150 RMB cable car ride up, we took the 2 km hiking trail to the glacier “tongue”.

 

       It was paradise for me, walking through the forest surrounded by all the smells and sounds. AND, the trees were HUGE for Chinese trees (because most have been cut down).  I walked with my head straight up for a good bit of the walk. Cresting a rise, we reached the incredible view of the glacier and the tallest mountain outside of Tibet in China: Mt. GongGa.  We took plenty of photos.  

 

We walked over with glacier, drinking ice melt, exploring the cracks and fins, throwing snowballs (the first of this season), soaking up the sun, and most of all, staring in awe at a mountain 24,000 feet tall (the tallest I’ve ever seen).  We were extremely lucky, for we heard that the mountain is usually veiled in clouds.  We walked back and found that China has a deciduous conifer, just like the Western Larches and Tamaracks of the West (I was the most excited about this find). 

Deciduous conifer!

 

       More bussing followed to get back to Moxi and our hotel beds.  A great day, but it ended with us learning that the bus station was sold out of tickets to Chengdu for tomorrow.  Our host said that she would have a driver in the morning for us and would have it all worked out.  We slept soundly, and warmly (it was very chilly at night, which felt welcoming), that night.

       Sunday was an epic.  We got in a taxi-looking car at 7:30 and drove down the valley and along the DaDu for awhile.  Then we stopped next to another guy parked on the road and they talked very fast for a long time.  The driver turned to Luke and spoke very fast again.  Luke’s guess was that this guy would take us to Chengdu.  But would he drive us to Chengdu?  No, he would take us to Chengdu.  We didn’t get anywhere, so our driver drove us to a parking lot with busses pulling into it and this other driver followed us.  A bus would pull up to this building, everyone would get out and be greeted by people in hospital coats, and everyone would go inside.  This was not a bus station.  Now we were worried that we were going to be stuck somewhere and not know how to get back to Chengdu.  Eventually, we were led to one of the busses, asked to pay the new guy 100 RMB each, and were allowed to get on the empty bus.  The drivers left.  Were we ever confused and a little worried.  Thankfully, everyone got back on shortly and one gentleman was from Malaysia and spoke really good English.  Turns out we were now part of a tour that ended in Chengdu!  This tour involved stopping at a jewelry store and a meat market where we got to sample a hoard of dried and cooked meats, including yak.  I learned how to use toothpicks as chopsticks.  A few turns down the tasting lines and lunch was finished.  We got back on the bus and we were stopped by the police along the side of the road.  The driver got into a long “discussion” with the police man, after which he came into the bus and removed one seat form the back row.  Everyone looked confused by this maneuver.  But after the police had the seat, we were free to go.  Luke’s best guess was that the bus permit allowed for one seat less than the bus had.  Oh, China. 

       The morning car ride and the tour prolonged an 8 hour bus ride into a 12 hour bumpy, lurching, and heaving ordeal, but I got some major reading done.  I am so glad to have a Kindle (so far the best survival tool for traveling).  When we entered the tunnel through the mountain, we left the clear skies and snow capped peaks of the Himalayas behind.  When we came out, we re-entered the smoggy void of the Sichuan basin.  I was less than excited to go back, but rejuvenated.  Seeing GongGa Shan felt like I was completing something begun when we first got here.  It was GongGa that drew Luke’s and my gaze from Emei Shan that morning we watched the sunrise our first week here.  Then it was so far away and distant, yet so immense and alluring. And now we had walked around a little of its base and marveled as we stared up, still influenced by its immensity.  I can’t wait to go back west and see more of the mountains out there.  I read on some blogs that there are treks around the mountain, as well as pack animal treks from KangDing to Moxi……..

Thanks for reading!

Unexpected Expectations

The time has arrived to talk about tests in China.  I’ve put off both the experience and the writing of the encounter long enough, but Chinese tests found me with a vengeance. 

The tale starts 2 weeks into the semester, in a meeting with the Dean of the English Department.  I had been teaching 3 classes called “New Concepts English 2,” a class filled with art majors who, after the first week of classes, appeared to have almost no English skills whatsoever.  In our meeting, the Dean (Professor Shu) stressed that these kids were to be judged to a lower standard than the English major students.  “As long as they follow you,” were his exact words.  In other words, if they come to class, they pass.  “No tests,” he said.  Just spend class time getting them to speak and improve their conversational English abilities.  Leaving that meeting, I felt hope for the first time in a stressful, troubled time. 

The weeks that followed got better and better.  I devoted less class time to book work and more time to fun activities that got everyone speaking.  Everyone was improving, including Jack Wang in the back of class 10(2) who couldn’t say his Chinese or English name on the fist day of class because he was riddled with fear of talking to the ‘foreigner’.  I began to enjoy teaching them.  The middle of the semester approached and I decided that since I didn’t have to give them a test, I would have everyone do reader’s theater plays for the class.   We spent 2 classes practicing, in which I would look around and everyone was talking English to each other.  The Chinese classroom was filled with English.  I think this was the first time this had ever happened for these students.  The third class was spent performing and nearly everyone came, which was a surprise from classes averaging 85% attendance.  The plays were a huge hit and everyone did great.  It was an exercise worth repeating and some students even surprised me.  Tim, who had been quiet, distracted, and uninterested all semester, traded his minor part for a the major role of Calvin, and on the final day gave a comical performance Robin Williams would have been impressed with. 

But at the end of all three classes, someone or a group of students always came up and asked if there would be a test next week.  “Of course not!” was my reply, “That was the test.” Relieved, they left for an easy weekend and I felt content making kids talk English and have fun at the same time.  Then came Monday, Halloween.  We talked about costumes and candy and Jack-O-Lanterns; Luke’s class came to trick-or-treat, as well as Robin, dressed as a jelly fish; we ended the class with watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer “Halloween episode,” complete with Chinese subtitles; I dressed up as Eminem.  It was a fun class.  Halfway through Buffy, a student from both classes came up to me and in a whisper, asked if we had a test that night.  I laughed, paused the movie, and told everyone in the class that, “NO!!!!  Of course we don’t have a test tonight!  Relax and enjoy the movie!”  They were all relieved.  And remember, when my second class on Monday asked the same question during Buffy, I replied the same way, stopping the movie to stress that there was no test. 

I left class a little confused.  How could a rumor have spread that there was a test?  I went to the English department to investigate.  Hannie, the assistant with the best English, looked just as confused as I was when I asked her.  “A test?  Of course they have a test tonight!  Its middle term!”  Huh?  Many emotions ran through me at that moment, but mostly I felt bad about telling my students that they didn’t have to go to this test that I, their teacher, didn’t know about.  “No one told you?” Hannie asked.  “No, of course not,” was my reply, noting that this was not the first time unexpected expectations were demanded from us.  Hannie told me the room numbers each class had to be in at 7:30 that night for the test.  And asked me to tell Luke that his class was cancelled that night so his students could take this test (the first time he heard about it too).  All I had to do was go to a fancy dinner with the president of the college at the nicest restaurant in Pengshan. 

Which, by the way, was awesome.  Some of the best food I’ve had so far.  Seafood dumplings rocked my world, a rich and creamy (which is rare here) yellow soup was delicious, blackened fatty pork (yay to not being vegetarian), mushrooms, grape wine (yes!), fried beans, roasted peanuts, amazing duck, multiple fish, and more.  My taste buds thoroughly enjoyed themselves. 

But throughout the car ride and the dinner, I was dealing with calls and messages from students, all wanting to know why they suddenly had a test and wondering where they should go.  Then I found out that one of the rooms Hannie told me was wrong, but they eventually found the right one.  It sucked, it was stressful, and most of all, I felt bad for misleading my students.  Everyone but one made it to the test and the next day when I saw them around, they all said it was an ok test.  Whew.

Then on Wednesday, I stopped by Hannie’s office again and she dug through the recently appeared mountain of folders and handed me two yellow envelopes that were very thick.  “What are these?” I asked.  “These are your tests,” she said.  “Grade them and get them back to me on Friday.”  ＂什么?” was my reply (WHAT?).  “Can you do that?” she asked, as I opened one and looked at a 60 question multiple choice answer card and a one page essay per student.  “No way,” was my reply.  “Monday at the earliest.”  We left it at that, me being asked to grade 150 exams that I had never seen, knew about until yesterday, or had any say in deciding, in 5 days.  Welcome to China I muttered as I left a little angry.

I think I took the test that night.  Out of 60 multiple choice questions, 3 were answered wrong on the answer sheet, 2 don’t have a right answer due to typos, and 6 have multiple right answers.  Some of the questions also don’t make any sense.  Such as, “Mr. Scott cannot get a telephone for his garage.  ______ he has just bought twelve pigeons.”  The answer was “That’s way.”  (This one was the one that made me the most baffled)  Another had the right answer, other, as both option A and D.  Out of 60 questions, 11 I can’t in my right mind count as grade-able questions. 

The last part of the test was an essay.  “Write a self-introduction of 100 words.”  Some students clearly didn’t know what a self-introduction was.  Most of these were absolute gems.  The honesty and creativity shines on some of the pages and I was really moved by some of the students.  I’ll post some of these next.  But others, the ones who had no idea, just rewrote the reading comprehension essays from the test.  On one hand, I empathize with their strategy.  When you don’t know what’s being asked of you, just write something, anything.  On the other hand, they didn’t write anything about themselves.  In the end, if there were at least 5 sentences about yourself, you got full credit.  I still don’t know what to do about the others. 

But now I’m ahead of myself.  It’s Thursday afternoon and I have a mess of a test and a pile of essays that I’m suffused to grade in 4 days, with not a hint of how to do so.  I went back to Hannie and asked her what I’m supposed to grade.  “Oh, you can use this machine to grade the answer sheets and you give the students a number between 1 and 20 for the essay.”  Ok, then how do I use this machine, was my first question.  “Oh you can’t, its broken.  But it will be fixed on Monday.”  “But these need to be done by Monday.”  “Oh, then get them to us as soon as you can.”  (Ugggghhh. So, as soon as the machine is ready?).  My second question was what do I decide to grade the essay on.  “Just give them a number about how good it is.”  Ok…….

I read through them all on Friday and found 5 that were identical.  This made me really sad, but I expected it.  What astounded me was that one kid in a different class in a different testing room, copied Jenny’s paper, which was the paper 3 other boys copied in her class.  Troubled, I spent class yesterday and today going over the answers, explaining why some are right and others not.  And why some were bad questions.  When I got to the introduction, I read them a brief on of myself and we talked about things you can talk about.  And then I offered them a rare opportunity: if you cheated, I will let you write another intro, like what we just talked about in class.  Be it copier or copied, if you rewrite it I’ll grade that one.  If you don’t, you’ll get a 0.  I hope they understood and take the opportunity.  Jenny looked crushed in class. 

I went in yesterday to grade the answer sheets.  “The machine is still broken.  It will get fixed tonight,” was Hannie’s answer.  I went back today, “Still broken.”  I talked with Professor Shu just now, and I asked him about the expectations of this class and why are they being tested when he said they weren’t going to be.  His answer revealed to me just how good Chinese people are at skirting the true answer.  He talked for a long time about how these students need to be judged to a lower level, how their English can’t be expected to be very good, how what matters is that they follow me, and that they try hard.  But I’m still confused why they have to take a test at the end.  Its just the Chinese way I guess.  In response to grading: “If they came to class and they tried hard, give them a pass.”  Translation: if they came to class at all, pass them regardless of their score of the test.  So why are they taking the test at all?

I’m baffled.

Another oddity of the Chinese schooling mentality has become evident these last few weeks.  Alex, another American teacher who was here last year, said that the English department asked him to give 4 students, who were seniors last year but failed their English class and therefore can’t graduate, another final exam so they can pass the class they failed and graduate.  Note: these were not students of his last year.  They had another teacher who either failed them because they didn’t come to class, didn’t pass the final exam, or didn’t show up to the exam at all.  Alex refused to give them an exam and so they asked another English teacher, Michael, to do so.  He said yes.  And another student came up to Alex today, asking him to give him a final as well so he could pass the class he failed last year.  Apparently exam scores are interchangeable here.

This philosophy bothers me at the foundation of my morals on education.  I have gone to schools that at their core teach accountability.  If you don’t do well or don’t do it at all, you pay the price, both through grades and what you miss out on yourself.  This system here lacks any student accountability.  If you fail an exam, you can take it again.  If you don’t show up, you can take it again.  If you fail the make-up, you can take it again.  If you fail the make-up of the make-up?  Take it again until you pass.  Failure never seems to be an option.  It appears that once you are here, you are guaranteed to graduate, as long as you take a test sometime, anytime, just as long as you take a test. 

China, how you baffle me so

Fashion in a Chinese University

If you were to visit a Chinese University for one day, the most immediate difference you would notice is how everyone dresses.  However, if you were particularly observant, you might hear something else before you noticed this.  You might hear a 'click, click click click' as you walked through the gate, and that would be your first indicator you were stepping into a new world of fashion. 

Here in a Chinese University, students dress up for each day of class.  And I don't mean put on some make-up and a hair tie that matches your shirt.  No, this is the equivalent to dressing for a secretary job at Glamour Magazine (sorry, I watched Devil Wears Prada recently) or a Friday night at the bars in LA.  Today I counted the number of high heels girls were wearing on the way to class vs regular shoes-- about 40 %, maybe 38%.  I was surrounded by 'click, click, click, clicks' as I strolled silently through the crowd.  And these high heels range from thigh-high platform Uugs, polished metal pointed heels, platform and heeled Dansko's, full-calf leather lace-ups heels, slip-on furry pointed heels, black heels with sparkles on the toe, black heels with sparkles on the heel, thigh high fuzzy platform boots with zippers in the back, to name a few.  The shoe fashion stems from how short everyone is, but the range of glam solely dedicated to foot apparel astounds me.  And bewilders me.

And that is only for the feet.  This morning I saw jackets with fur on the cuffs, jackets with fur on the hood, jackets with fur on the zipper, fur vests, trim business jackets, jeans with more holes than jeans, shirts with sparkles, hairbands that matched their owner's shirt and jeans and shoes, short leather jackets, long flowing leather jackets.  And that was just this morning. 

If you were to visit a Chinese college for a day, you would be struck, like me, by nearly everyone's fashion.  (Be it for the positive or the negative, I'll leave it up to you)  When I tell students here about American students going to class in their pajamas, they are horrified.  Horrified in the same way as if I told them that students went to class naked; you just don't do that. 

This collective demand for fashion humors me, provides endless amusement and amazement as I walk to and from class, but most disappointingly, is slowly starting to diffuse into me.  I mean, who in their right mind would ever go to class in their PJ's?