I am going to have turkey for Thanksgiving!
I was at the office today so that I could get some work done on the computer, and Lin Laoshi (second to the dean of the school) happily informed me that STI would be providing its American teachers with a Thanksgiving meal complete with our favorite November poultry! My initial desire for some juicy roasted turkey breast started because none of the poultry here is served in a manner I particularly enjoy. I generally don't eat a lot of meat (I can easily go weeks and months without it, but will also happily consume some if it is served to me), but, having accepted offers of chicken several times only to be served bone, skin, fat, and a tiny hint of the foodstuff I was anticipating in the midst of those, I began to crave just one complete chicken breast served on a plate with nothing impeding my access to its wholly splendor. (My pun with/misuse of “wholly” reminds me that I have a student named “Holey” who wanted a name meaning “holy holes.” There are several levels at which I think this could be inappropriate in an American context. I try to be careful to only inform my students of how their chosen names may be perceived in the States, not tell them that they absolutely must change them. “Holey” and “Yokal” are the two that concern me most, and I think they are both choosing to keep their names. After pointing out that these can be made into middle names after adopting a more formal or official sounding first name, I have decided to step aside altogether and let them learn the way my 二哥 (er4ge1, second oldest brother) always did: experience the natural consequences firsthand.)
For dinner one night this past week, I went to a British pub in Tangjia called Old Chinese Junk with Vince, a fellow teacher and friend. I was ecstatic when I saw both shepherd's pie and garlic chicken on the menu. I advised my friend to order the pie; I got the chicken. I figured we could each taste each other's dishes and know in the future which we liked best.
My mouth literally watered – not something I am used to noticing – while I waited for the waitress to bring my order. I didn't have to wait long, but my friend did. I think the workers at the restaurant finally just forgot about his order, since, immediately when he reminded them of it, a bowl of slightly cooled shepherd's pie was delivered. It was only cool on top; the inside was still sizzling.
I would have been terribly jealous if my friend had not been so kind as to offer to split the pie. Why was such an unselfish distribution of gastronomic wealth so desired on my part? It was not that the shepherd's pie was the most scrumptious hunk of meat pie I had ever laid eyes on, but that my chicken was a thoroughly localized form of the grandeur I had been expecting. Of the several parts of the chicken we omnivores commonly eat in the States, the only one I truly dislike is the thigh. There have only been a few times in my life that I have genuinely enjoyed that bit of chick (the same goes for egg yolks) due to the strength of its birdy flavor, and this time was not one of them. Yes, they served me a chicken thigh with skin and fat. The skin and fat was not just attached, but absolutely prominent on the chicken. I was so ready for a big white juicy chicken breast (which I had not clarified with the waitress – the server was Chinese with very limited English speaking abilities, and I was not in the mood to use gestures to indicate which part of the chicken I was hoping would come with my order...) that having my arch enemy of poultry parts staring back at me from my plate was almost too much to bear.
Even without comparison, the shepherd's pie looked quite good; with the now cold chicken thigh inches away from it, the pie took on the appearance of everything good in the world cooked to perfection in a bath of caramelized onions and decked to the top in pure, whipped potato finery. Vince was kind enough to offer to help eat the thigh; he said he liked it, but, at the time, I practically equated that claim with the one that, really, stinky tofu does taste good.
.... By the way, after dinner, we walked around for a bit. We walked to a stinky tofu vendor. We bought a bowl of stinky tofu. I ate some. Actually, I ate three pieces because, unlike the chicken thighs, the stinky tofu was actually good. The fact that the smell was noticeably trapped in my hair was not so good, but we can just call that additional motivation to take a long, relaxing-even-while-intensely-scrubbing-my-head-with-a-double-dose-of-two-in-one-shampoo shower.

Weekend Joys

Have I mentioned recently that I love life?

Silly wonderful things happen at just the right moments sometimes to remind me of that. Today, I woke up feeling sick because (drum roll, please) I was sick. When I arrived in Zhuhai from Wuxi, I was sick in a different way: for one week I did not digest food properly. I will not go into the details of how that manifested itself, but I can say that I was verging on dehydration by the end of the week, and was that much more grateful for the package Trish sent me full of rehydration aids and of nuts bursting with all the goodness my body had been lacking for the week. So, by the time I got over that, my roommate, who thought I had moved into the bathroom, welcomed me back to the human world beyond the bathroom tiles. And I got sick again.

This time, it was all in my head – “it” being mucus. All the mucus my body could manufacture (it was maybe working overtime to compete with high Chinese standards for efficient production) was going straight to my head in that little cavity between my eyes that I don't notice until it is full of something unyielding and gross. I woke up several times in the night, making a drink for myself that helped clear my head before going back to sleep. Then I woke up for good around 8:30 when Mom called. We talked for nearly two hours. If I tried, I could not recall exactly what we talked about. We just need to connect every once in a while, so we talk about everything or nothing, whichever comes to mind first. I am a lazy invalid when my head swims in grossness like it did this morning. Whereas I would usually hop up and take a walk while talking to anyone on the phone for an extended time in the morning, I just lounged in bed for our whole conversation.

Note: This story has been written over the course of two days due to a slew of wonderful interruptions. If I switch between speaking in present and past tense about the same time periods, please forgive such errors made for the sake of churning out something resembling a blog post.

Soon after Mom and I hung up the phone, I got a call from Craig. That time, I did make myself get out of bed. By the time Craig & I were done talking, I was dressed and walking out the door to start my day (starting my day at noon and proud of it – I obviously don't have to worry about a GPA anymore). I swear that the conversations with the two of them put my day on the right track. It didn't bring my Internet connection back (which has been AWOL for a couple days now), but that was OK, because no Internet connection was an excuse to visit the local Western-style “deli” -- a deli with no sandwich making services and only two types of sliced meats in a refrigerator in the back of the store – and use their free Wifi. Wifi is not popular on mainland China, though Hong Kong is 100% Wified up. I am courteous enough to buy a box of stale cereal each time I come so that my sitting here for two to three hours at a time working on the web does not cause too great an offense. I am always the only customer here when I first come, but people often stop in to stare at me. I do not notice if they buy anything, but I figure that it can't hurt business to have a few more customers browsing the store.

Anyhow, I went to the open-air market after I got some work done, and, as usual, had a blast filling my bags with fresh vegetables and tofu. (Tofu, apparently, is prepared in a bamboo steaming apparatus – something I could hardly have learned from my buying experiences in American stores where tofu comes in either a plastic or cardboard box.) I had purchased a backpack from a vendor near the market before my trip to Wuxi; the zippers are problematic (that is what I get for paying 42 yuan, or about $6.25, for a backpack), so I go to the vendor every time one malfunctions to have him or one of the other owners fix it. This time, there was only one lady at the shop, and she was busy with other customers, so she asked if I could shop for some other things while she helped them and then come back. The cool part about this request was I understood it in Chinese and was able to respond intelligibly. That, too, helped me enjoy my shopping experience about 5 times more than I think I otherwise would have. I bought a crazy bunch of food until finally, when my favorite vendors offered to sell me more bags full of deliciousness, I had to say, “放不下！(Fang4 bu2 xia4 =There's no room left!)” It was the first time I had used that phrase outside of textbook practice, so, again, I was thrilled.

Other experiences that left me giddy were similar revelations about how well we (the vendors and I) can communicate despite the language barriers that we are trying to break down.

Today, the man who watches people's bikes at the open-air market talked to me just just as he always does. (It is his job to stay abreast of who is coming and going with bikes, so he always notices me. Since he is very social and curious, he always talks to me, too.) He speaks very quickly and with a heavy accent, but I am definitely improving my accent comprehension even as I am working to maintain a consistent Northern accent. (See the note below on accents, comprehension, and speech.) Thus, I understood (after apologizing again with one of my “听不懂”'s (“I don't understand”'s)) when he said that it wasn't my fault – he didn't know how to speak English either. He then kindly offered that we teach one another our native languages, but I think I will have to turn down offers for spending any additional time working with him on our respective language development since I am quite content already with the time I spend learning Chinese at the market (as evidenced by the accounts in this entry and others).

Yesterday, I spent a few wonderful minutes learning 3 different ways of how people can ask me whether I am a student. The woman who asked was a wonderfully persistent mushroom vendor. Persistent communicators are the best. Lei's mom was that way in Wuxi; no matter how many times I said, “I don't understand,” she would keep trying to make me understand through repetition, gestures, and trying new ways of saying whatever she was saying. I am thankful for people like her who are willing to work beyond all obstacles to communicate with me – even when it is just to ask, “Do you know the flowers of this tree by its smell?” This mushroom vendor asked whether I was a student, starting with two versions of the question I was not familiar with, and completing the scenario with the version I knew already. Today, the bike watchman asked me using her first form, and I could quickly answer him, remembering the term easily after the woman had repeated it several times and even written it on her Styrofoam display board for me. (Spellcheck indicates that “Styrofoam” is a brand name, and therefore must be capitalized. It is the form of polystyrene thermal insulation made by Dow Chemical Company. Good to know, yes? Also, despite the fact that Spellcheck calls itself “Spellcheck,” it corrects its own name with “spell check.”)

I think that the glamour I felt associated with those moments of random Chinese education has faded in my hurried retelling, but hopefully those of you who know me well can polish it up with your imaginations and memories of what I am like when I am thrilled about a new interactive learning experience. Then you can understand why I would be crazy giddy after my shopping experience yesterday. (Using “crazy” as an intensifier is something I will have to stop doing in my speech. My students are adopting it. I have limited my “like” tic significantly for the same purpose, but using “crazy” is something I do when I am excited and uninhibited, so it is a bit harder to control.)

Riding home with all my goods, I ran into one of my favorite new friends, Lynn (倩尼), who has been a wonderful help to all of us Americans as we have transitioned to life in Zhuhai. She is friendly, outgoing, genuine, and bright. Her English is spectacular, and her personality singular. She was riding into town to get some cold medicine (only available by prescription), and, since I had a cold, too, I invited her to come over for dinner so we could have a germ-suppression-fest. She was happy to be able to accept the invite (not something she was expecting after having admitted to having a cold), and doubly happy that the meal I planned to cook was exactly what her doctor recommended: lots of vegetables and rice, but no meat or eggs. We had a blast playing with variations of the spices Trish sent me on top of our food, eating in front of the TV I never watch. We had such a good time, I invited her to breakfast this morning, too. Again, we played with flavorings from my care package, but this time we used coffee syrups (vanilla and hazelnut) to flavor thick oatmeal cooked with red rice for extra heartiness (highly recommended to those wanting to add a nutty flavor and underrepresented nutrients to their morning oats).

The deli is closing, so I have to sign off. I hope I have consistent Internet access again, soon, so I can get all of your emails in a timely manner! Until then, please be forgiving of delays... =)

* Accents, comprehension, and speech: I was worried about coming to Guangdong, the home of Cantonese, since I was a Mandarin student, not a Cantonese student. I was told that Zhuhai had many people from all over China because it is like Miami, Florida – a great place for vacationers and retirees. As a result, even native Cantonese speakers would speak Mandarin. This is, for the most part, true. At least, they all seem to know at least as much Mandarin as I do =)

The accent here is strong and misleading at times. I do not use it in my speech. A student asked me today what he should do about the fact that he learns British English (BE) in his textbook and American English (AE) in my classroom and from the media. How should he practice pronunciation when the two (more than two, actually, since BE encompasses Scottish accents and such) are so different from one another? I was proud of my advice: to listen and learn to comprehend all English accents he can, but to practice speaking consistently in one so that he has exactly one accent. It is very difficult to understand those students who combine several accents (one girl has got some Irish going on), so I know from experience the benefit of choosing one and sticking to it.