The Ultimate Convenience:
Chase ... in a Ball!

I'll add a narrative later. For now, I will let the video suffice as evidence that I had a blast in Wuxi.

And, the narrative:

I had a perfect transportation-to-Wuxi experience over the holiday. I woke up naturally at 6 am, which allowed me time to take a leisurely shower and have slow-cooked breakfast before catching my 8:30am bus to Guangzhou. The bus ride was 2 hours, and would have been relaxing but for one little thing: I needed a restroom rather desperately by the end of those two hours. I honestly considered asking the bus driver to pull over and let me off, but I figured that between having to bear the swerving and jolting of the bus on my way up the aisle to the bus driver and having to deal with a major language barrier when I got there, it was best if I just sat as still as possible with my legs firmly crossed. I did just that, pitching myself forward only when it was clear that we were about to arrive at my final destination and that, if I didn't bolt right then, 20 people would crowd the aisle between me and the only exit I could see. Thankfully, I knew one girl on the bus. She had been sitting in the front of the bus near the door and had already exited by the time I bounded past the other passengers out toward my promised salvation. I knew enough Chinese to ask her to hold my things, and she understood me even in my breathless, obviously pained state.

Despite every attempt to cheat the system and get to the bathrooms before anyone else had a chance, I managed to reach the toilets about 1.8 seconds after the last one became occupied. I did the gotta-go dance that I thought I had left behind upon graduation from kindergarten. It reminded me of when I was around 8 or 10 years old, always playing over at my best friend's house. Her mom (who was and still is like a mother to me, too) would always ask if we needed to use the "potty" before leaving the house to do anything. I hated hearing the word "potty" and was rather vocal about that fact. I thought it was a word reserved for much younger children, and I was at an age when I was sensitive to being considered a young child. While I squirmed in front of the bus station toilets, I appreciated in the deep recesses of my mind why she had been so persistent about asking that question despite all my objections. She wanted pain-free outings, with the only dances being performed to be ones of joy or artistic expression. The dance I was doing at the bus station was clearly neither. Unfortunately (there are many potential "unfortunately"s to be had in this part of the story), the doors to the stalls of the toilets led directly to the outside of the bus station. There was no barrier between my writhes of vesical agony and all of my fellow passengers. My pain was for the public to see and, considering that the public enjoys watching me here anyway, there was no use hoping that any of them would turn a blind eye to the tall white girl hopping cross-legged on the edge of the platform.

All told, I managed not to pee my pants. I really did not think I would ever hold that kind of victory in such high esteem as I did that day, but the muscular exertion that made my achievement possible was Olympic in magnitude. I must have been inspired by my proximity to Beijing. Obviously, it left an impression -- enough so that I am writing about it in my blog. The lesson: always use the potty before you leave the comfort and convenience of your own home. And, Barbara, I am sorry that I ever doubted the importance of that habit. It took me an extra decade, but I learned my lesson.

The rest of the trip was unspectacular by comparison. That is, it went smoothly. I bought subway coins in a machine that employed English rather than Chinglish, so no victory there. I got off at a stop conveniently labeled by the name of the railway I was going to take to the airport, also in English. Here, though, there was a small curiosity. Everything had been in English up to this point, but there were no directions to said railway in English. I could have looked for Chinese characters I knew, but I decided to instead practice my spoken Chinese. I asked for directions to the airport. It seemed that I received contradictory directions from different people, and that led me to walk beyond where I should have caught the bus (called a railway for some unknown reason) to the airport. A small boy offered to lead me where I needed to go -- for money, of course. I was happy to give the kid enough to buy a deluxe ice cream cone, but only after talking him down slightly in price just for the looks of it. It seems like a moral precept at times that I must uphold: Americans can bargain, too, and we won't all pay the first price cited. That is a discussion for another time, though.

When I arrived at Guangzhou Baiyun Airport after my air-conditioned bus ride with clean, cushioned seats (not to be taken for granted here), I checked in and went through security at a leisurely pace, browsed a few shops just to see what international and local goodies were available, and arrived at my gate just as the staff began boarding passengers. Even though the flight was only two hours long, they served a lunch of beef, vegetables, and rice with drinks and a roll. At times like this, I almost wish that I drank alcohol more often so that I could enjoy the fact that it is freely available on such flights. However, I am a picky drinker, and I wouldn't want to deal with even the slightest effects of alcohol either on the flight or once I arrived in Shanghai. Still, free beer always seems worth noting if only because it would be a novelty in the States.

Shanghai was impressively gray upon my arrival. I forgot this as I was greeted by Lei's sister, Ping, and Ping's daughter, Naonao, for the first time. Both were exceptionally cute and energetic and wonderfully welcoming. I was immediately thrilled that I had chosen to spend my vacation with them and disappointed that I would not get to stay with them for more than a few days. Over the course of my visit, both feelings only grew stronger, so I was particularly thrilled when Ping claimed that it may be possible for them to accept my invitation that they visit me in Zhuhai during the winter break. On the bus ride from Shanghai to Wuxi, while Naonao gave me the most thorough Chinese pronunciation tutoring lessons I have ever experienced, I was reminded of how astounded I had been on the plane. The thick gray air of the place seemed oppressive in the dusk, and I hoped that it would be dispelled by the morning sun the next day. To some extent it was, but, truly, I am lucky to be in a place as clean as Zhuhai when other cities are as polluted as Wuxi and Shanghai.

We had dinner at Lei's parent's apartment, and everyone commented on how much less I ate than my older brother. I think they prepared a feast with him in mind because the table was covered with dishes full of meat and vegetables and even special fried tofu balls that are "only Wuxi" -- the description Ping gave to all foods particular to Wuxi. They encouraged me to eat long before they started picking at their own plates. I was thrilled to comply -- at first. But they really did make a lot of food, and pretty soon I had sampled everything twice, and they still seemed to think I should eat more. I was ready to bow at Ping's feet when she suggested that we go walk around town. Much like my dear (and dearly missed) Kate, Ping was ready to spring out the door as soon as I acquiesced, trying to be as agreeable to the idea of walking as I felt without demonstrating too great a desire to leave the table. I realized then the extent to which Lei's instructions to eat slowly and always leave food on my plate were the wisest words that could guide future meals. Usually, this is not difficult to do when I talk a lot (which we know is often enough); however, I think it is tiring for everyone involved when too much conversation is had over the Berlin Wall of language barriers. It is not that meals were ever awkwardly quiet, but I tended to feel like I had more time to eat during meals than I am accustomed to when with company.

Don't let me overshadow the overall impression of my time there with this truly minor detail. I do not primarily remember language barriers or being asked to eat more no matter how much food I left on my plate. I remember, especially in those moments, lots of love and kindness and joy at being together. It was like Thanksgiving every time we sat down to a meal together. Every walk was like going to the carnival. We shared so much by sharing new and favorite foods, special sights, and by using lots of body language. I know that they knew how happy I was even though I could not express it in words we mutually understood. I loved Lei's family; I loved how kind and generous they were; I loved how hard they worked to communicate with me in both English and Chinese; I loved them so much that I wished there were no language barriers to keep me from telling them in something more precise than my genuine laugh and smile.

Of course... there were times when I pulled the I-am-a-foreigner-who-doesn't-understand half-act. Yes, to some level, maybe I didn't understand some things, but part of that may have been that I was trying not to understand. For example, when I wanted to play airplane with Naonao, who was very willing to become a projectile object in the arms of a tall American, her grandfather disapproved in universal terms. As I ran by him, child flying in my arms, me screaming, "听不懂 (ting bu dong, I don't understand)," I may have felt a little guilty for not trying to comply with his obvious will. The laughter of a child, though, has a strange effect on me, and all of my upstanding citizenry goes on vacation in a tundra somewhere with no cell phone reception.

With Naonao, that laughter often came in conjunction with bouncy balls of some sort. There were the ones we played in on the pond in the park featured in the video I put up earlier for previewing. Then there was the balloon-turned-volleyball that we batted around; when we knocked it over the fence such that the balloon left the park in a spot we could not, the bystanders who had happily gathered to watch us play tried to pitch it back to us. The best part of that was that the balloon did not really accelerate like a volleyball through the air and back over the fence (thanks primarily to a slight difference in density and elasticity), so the bystanders took almost ten minutes trying to return our ball to us over the 10ft-high barrier. They were a fun few minutes of mutual laughter, both of the embarrassed and entertained types.
I think Naonao also enjoyed getting to laugh at me a little bit. One thing I learned about myself when I was in Greece with Dina years ago was that I thoroughly enjoy every new sight and sound of the places I visit, and that fact is apparent in every facial expression, bodily gesture, and happy little squeal I emit. Dina said that, until I donned something akin to a poker face, I'd never get a good deal in the market in Grevena. Similarly, I am sure I pay a price for my expressions of surprise and joy here, but if they were a source of entertainment for Naonao (and Ping, for that matter), then I feel no loss associated with that premium.

As I look through some of the pictures I took, I am reminded of the kinds of intense interest I showed in things that were, to Ping and Naonao and Lei's parents, somewhat mundane. Naonao shared with me some awe, but sometimes she was more fascinated by my fascination than by the object of my riveted attention. Examples are rife in my photographs because it was generally when I was so excited to see something new that I thought to pull out my camera. As a result, I soon ran out of memory space, and left most of my final excursions undocumented.

At the same "scenic spot" -- the name given to all of the parks we visited -- where Naonao and I played in the big plastic balls, there were lines of tables set up to accommodate the various types of artists selling their crafts. The first we stopped by sold necklaces with medallions onto which customers could have their names carved. I bought two medallions, one for me and one for Naonao, so that we could match. Mine had a rat on it, and hers had a dragon -- each our signs from the Chinese zodiac. I wear mine every day since it is currently the year of the rat, and one is supposed to wear red every day during their year. Barring showers and such, I have managed to wear red constantly this year; this little necklace makes the task much easier.

At the next table, there was a man blowing air into balls of hot dough, forming the dough as it cooled into the animals of the zodiac, like this bull:

Realizing that these beautiful wads of red and brown that the man rolled into his hands, stuck into his mouth, and blew into were being made into candies for consumption, I winced. Certain concepts about germs are shared by Western and Asian populations, but some are not. What he was doing would have to be performed by a machine or at least a gloved hand in the States. Nonetheless, I bought a dragon for Naonao, and got to watch it formed and consumed before my eyes. Naonao is still alive and well as far as I know, so no known harm done.

This is Naonao's dragon.

The man would take a wad of hot sugar, roll it into a ball with an opening to an air bubble in the middle, and then form a straw by pulling at the open end of the ball. As he blew into the ball, he would form the shape of an animal around the air inside, making a big, sugary, animal-shaped bubble of joy. The straw would conveniently become the tail of whatever animal he was making.

At the next station, a man was making brilliantly colored clay animals, like these birds.

I hope the video below comes out well, because it should show the speed and nonchalance with which this guy made these precious little crafts. I didn't buy any because the clay was obviously soft, and I knew that I would tire of carrying one around and probably find a way to ruin it even if I was careful. The spectacle, however, was quite enjoyable.

One of my favorite sights was not of a vendor but of a tiny bird, the size of a fingertip with wings attached. If not a hummingbird, it is at least a relative. I don't know what counts as a hummingbird, but if any birdwatchers are reading this, maybe you can clarify for me what this cute little bug of a bird is. You can make out its long beak (is there a special name for such a long, skinny beak?), brown color with yellow highlights, and crazy fast wing speed. The video did not capture this little guy or his friends so well, but I may still post it later if anyone is interested.

The day after the four of us (Naonao, Ping, and Lei's parents) went to that scenic spot, Ping and Naonao and I went to see this giant Buddha. What you cannot tell from the photo below is that this Buddha is built on his own small mountain that must be climbed on a set of stairs broken into (if memory serves me correctly) four large tiers. Then another few flights of stairs wrap around and through the lower bases of the Buddha. It takes half an hour of waiting in a full-body-contact type line once you reach the top to get to the elevator that lets you sit at the Buddha's feet (these are National Holiday lines, not daily lines).

Once at the feet of the Buddha, Naonao wanted to join the dozen other children playing on his toes. Buddha's big toe was as high as my chest and above Naonao's head, so I hoisted her up. She explored the lower folds of his robe, as shown below...

... while I photographed one of my favorite Chinglish signs:

Another favorite was "No Scale," an entreaty that visitors not climb down the side of Buddha. It did not take me long to think of an example of the kind of person who would need a sign like that on a mountainous Buddha. Despite my belief that I knew what would be and what would not be proper conduct on Buddha, I managed to anger the guards. After Naonao had collected piles of coins from atop Buddha so that we could throw them back up onto the Buddha's feet and lower folds of his robes (which was following suit with everyone else's behavior), she wanted me to join her. I scrambled up with all the other children, earning laughs from the spectators below. I looked up to see this:Soon, other adolescents and adults were climbing up to join me, asking if they could have their pictures taken with me. Naonao loved the attention I was getting, and was ready to set up shop. She asked me if I wanted some tea. I figured she had a bottle of Nestea or something in her bag, so i accepted the offer without realizing that she was offering to make a fresh cup of tea for me. She pulled out dried tea leaves, cups, and a bottle of water, and proceeded to make us each a fresh, lukewarm cup of chai. It was not until she began peeling oranges, clearly the start of a picnic on Buddha, that the guards took action against the conduct that had become increasingly bothersome to them, I think. People were lining up for pictures with the white girl sitting on the Buddha, and her accomplice was settling in for a long stay. We were asked to relinquish our hold on the crowd's attention by leaving. Neither of us minded, and we skipped most of the way down from Buddha to where we had left Ping to take a nap far, far below.

For the sake of publishing sooner rather than any later (sorry for the delay, by the way!), I will save stories about eating lamb, hot dogs, and sushi for later. I will also save most of what happened in Shanghai for another post, but I want to include this picture at least:On my last day with Ping and Naonao, we took a bus to Shanghai. There, Naonao and I had some time to chase her bouncy ball and race around a busy seaside boardwalk. We ended one of our foot races in the middle of a towering monument with inlets as seen above. I helped Naonao climb into this one, and then we began tossing her bouncy ball to each other. Again, the guards were not so thrilled when other tourists flocked to get videos and pictures of our crazy behavior, and we were asked to leave. I just realized that Ping was not around for any of our trouble-making antics, for which I am thankful. One can only rely on the I-am-a-silly-foreigner-who-doesn't-know-any-better excuse when there is not a native adult in tow to translate and apprise them of the local social norms.

In the next issue, I will rave about the wonderful taxi driver who took me from the middle of Shanghai to the absolutely perfect hotel that Ping found for me (amongst other stories).