Breaking the Ice

You remember how I said it feels like the Koreans threw the word “can’t” out of their dictionary? Well this is a philosophy I tried to adopt even before I came here. Trying to get rid of the negative in life and just focus on the positive. Those first couple of weeks alone in Masan certainly tested my new life motto. What with a washing machine that was broken, a stove that wouldn’t light, and taking cold showers every night cause I didn’t know how to turn the hot water on. And every one of these problems I would keep bringing up with my mentor teacher, my guide to this new life in Korea. And everyday my pleas of help would go unanswered... But, I would just think about my kids, picturing their smiling faces that would cheer whenever I arrived. Then it was like most of those worries really weren’t so bad after all.
     As I got more familiar with my kids, the older ones told me that they were so happy I was so nice. When I asked why they explained to me that their previous teacher wasn’t nice at all. She was very strict, never smiled, and avoided talking to the kids after class. That’s when I started to wonder, was the reason my teachers were acting so distant not because I was a terrible teacher in their eyes, but rather because they had a bad experience with the teacher who came before me. This whole time I had worried I had offended them all somehow, either by my lack of knowing Korean, being “late” for meeting the teacher at the bus stop, or maybe my towering height. That was when something happened.
     It was my last teaching day of that week and actually for a little while because Korean Thanksgiving or Chuseok was about to start. No school for a week for me! I had arrived at the school about an hour early and was wandering around my classroom, taking in everything I had. That was when a teacher came in with a cup of cold tea. She handed me the tea and explained in basic English and charades she was the 3^rd grade and history teacher who also had two children enrolled in the school. None of her kids, both her students and children could stop talking about me. And with a smile she insisted I drink the tea. I was stunned to say the least, but as she left me to my tea the biggest grin started to form on my face. My kids. They had done what I couldn’t. They were bridging the gap between me and my teachers, telling them how happy and kind and fun I was. Because I came to school positive, throwing all my negative feelings aside, the teachers were starting to warm up to me.
     A few days passed and I was enjoying my vacation chilling in my apartment. I really couldn’t do much else due to lack of Korean and that fear of venturing outside alone just felt stronger those few days. That was when I heard a knock on my door. I opened it, and who did I see but my mentor teacher AND the English teacher. Yes, you heard right. The ENGLISH teacher. Meaning, I could for once successfully have a conversation with my mentor teacher! I knew before she was going to drop by, but I didn’t realize she would bring backup. Or fruit. Yes, I was greeted with a BIG box of fruit, a gift for Chuseok. Picture apples and Asian pears as big as grapefruit. I was kind of dancing, not going to lie. But that wasn’t all. The two proceeded to fix my washing machine! For 2 weeks my washing machine had just spat water at me everytime I tried to do my laundry, forcing me to pull the plug on it and be grateful I brought so much clothing with me in the first place. It took them 2 hours, and calling one of the school’s repairmen to come to finally fix the machine. This whole time I was bowing like crazy, apologizing for being such an inconvenience to them. This was their vacation and they were spending their time helping me. But that was when the English teacher turned around and faced me.

     “No, we’re sorry. We didn’t realize you were one of us. A co worker. A fellow teacher, and we left you here alone to fed for yourself this whole time, when you don’t know the area or the language. We are supposed to help you. We failed in our duty. We’re sorry and if you ever need us, call us, e-mail us, talk to us and we will be by your side.”
     I almost didn’t know what to say. Of all the things I expected…that wasn’t one of them. So all I could do was bow as deeply as I could and thank them both profusely in English and Korean for everything. They just laughed and insisted they take me out to eat now that my machine was fixed, adding that they would find a restaurant that didn’t serve only hot, angry, spicy food. I tried to wave them off, saying that whatever they wanted to eat was ok, in which they just smiled and said, “We know you don’t like spicy food. You try to act like you like it, but we’ve seen your face at the cafeteria.” My acting talents are failing me! Either way, my stomach was very happy as they found a little hole in the wall place run by a sole Korean grandma who was more than happy to leave Korea’s true love, chili peppers out of the food. That was when my teachers gave me one last surprise, a card with $500 on it to spend on my apartment. $500! You mean my dreams of having an oven in Korea WILL come true!? When I asked about the money, where it came from, if it was ok to have it, they told me not to worry about where it came from. Just to get whatever my apartment needed before the end of the month.
     It took me two weeks. Two weeks of just being patient, staying positive, and meeting 70 energetic kids who were happy to meet me. That’s what it took for me to become the newest member of my school’s family. I think I could used to this.  

Bottle of Sunshine

     To say these past few weeks have been hectic would be an understatement. I thought college was hard, with its constant tests to study for, homework to do, and essays of death to write. That was until I was sent to live alone in Korea. That’s hard.

      I was dropped off at my cute little apartment by the sea, told through the limited English of my mentor teacher that I started work on Monday, 6 days from now. I was grateful, seeing the next 6 days as time to adjust to my surroundings, shop for any essentials my apartment needed, open my bank account, ect. What I didn’t know was that I would have to do this, alone. I kept in touch with the other TaLK teachers, everyday coming on Facebook to hear how their teachers threw them a welcome party, showed them around the area, helped them with their bank account, and so on. I kept waiting for the day when my mentor teacher would return to do the same for me. After two days went by, I e-mailed her. By day four I knew she wasn’t going to answer. I was stranded in Masan, knowing maybe ten Korean words, with no clue exactly where I was, and hours away from my friends.Now, some of you may be ok with being alone, seeing it as the ultimate freedom. But for me, as much as I like having time for myself, unless someone is by my side I never venture outside. I have a terrible sense of direction and a horrible fear of getting lost. Why go outside? You’ll just walk 50 feet, get hopelessly confused as to where you are, be unable to ask for directions cause you don’t know the language, and then die. How I die, no clue. Maybe Korean mafia, or a crazy bus driver. Either way, ultimate doom always is my end. But it dawned on me more and more that if I didn’t go outside and explore and at least find food, I might still come to an ultimate doom. I finally calmed myself down, put on my shoes, and went outside. “Just go straight,” I encouraged myself. “If you ever want to go home, just turn 180 degrees and go straight again.” Very easy sounding, I know, but to me that meant a lot. I came up with daily goals for myself. Walk one way for 30 minutes. For an hour. Till you can’t go straight anymore. Find a grocery store. The bank. Police station. Karaoke place. All simple, little goals, and with each one I accomplished, the more confident I grew. I was out here, alone, in a country that doesn’t speak English. And I was just fine.

Monday came and it was time for my first day of teaching. I was stressed to say the least. I had no idea what my kids would be like, what their English level was, what my classroom had, ect. And yet again I was watching my TaLK friends on Facebook get grand tours, specific teaching guidelines, and escorts to school for the first day. Well, at least I got an escort. However, I had no idea where I would meet my escort, or even what they looked like. And so, I attempted to e-mail my mentor teacher again, telling her if I heard nothing back I’d wait in my apartment. The clock ticked on, and still no e-mail back or a knock on my door. Then I started to worry. What if they didn’t know where I lived? What if they were waiting downstairs or at the bus stop? What if I were late for my first day? I flew out of my apartment, figuring that even though I didn’t know them, they would easily spot the insanely tall foreigner that dressed funny. And she did.
     As she came out of the elevator she said, “Hello, Lauren. You’re late.” You know how first impressions are lasting impressions? Multiple that by a billion in Korea. Then add in how being on time is actually late in Korea. Yeah. This was NOT the impression I wanted to make. What was worse was her English was as good as my mentor teacher’s, despite her perfect, “You’re late.” So any hopes of explaining that I had been waiting for her for the past 4 hours went flying out the door.
     When she took me to the school via city bus, I tried my best to memorize the landmarks so I would know how to get to school alone the next day. Problem was my escort insisted she explain the bus schedule to me, in Korean, figuring that if she talked slow enough I would totally understand those strange noises she was making. When I reached the school, she introduced me to other teachers. I bowed as deeply as I could, not knowing who were my bosses and who were my partners in crime which earned quite a few laughs from them. Good. Maybe if I’m cute and funny enough they’ll forget the unfortunate lateness. That was when I met my kids…
     Have you ever seen a cartoon where a character is walking and sees something they can’t believe, but still keeps walking only to plow into a wall? Now imagine kindergartners through 6^th graders doing this. Over and over and over again. Clearly they weren’t expecting me, the exotic giant of a foreigner. That was when I waved and said, “Hello.” You’d think I told them I bought them a puppy, the lights in their eyes. They started to jump and chant, “Hello!” back. And when I mimicked their energy that only made their smiles wider. I didn’t know it then, but I had made my first allies in this bizarre place.
     Classes came and went, and soon it was the next day. I was struck terrified again because not only was I being forced to leave my apartment alone, but I had to navigate the buses alone. What if I got hopelessly lost, trapped in the middle of a rice field that went on for ages, only to be preyed on by wild cows? Yes, I have a very active imagination. Besides the point, I did get on that bus, armed with a secret weapon. The address of the school. I figured if worse comes to worse the bus driver would know where I was going and tell me the stop when we got there. Said driver throwing me off the bus however, was not part of the plan. Seeing the terror in my eyes he called me back, and soon I understood what he meant. To those who know Korea better than me, why the kimchi does the SAME number bus at the SAME bus stop at the SAME arrival time go to DIFFERENT stops. I’ve been riding the bus for two weeks now, and despite appearing to be the same, I have been dropped off in two completely areas. Thankfully both are within my sight (it’s awesome how it’s at the base of three big mountains), but still. Explain this to me.
     Regardless, I arrived at my school, paranoid as all get out that I was late AGAIN and would soon be asked to leave the school and Korea as a whole. But that was when I heard them. The kids. No…my kids. I had made it with 20 minutes to spare, my kids running around during their lunch break. The moment they saw me, they dropped whatever they were doing and RACED to me, all of them chanting “Happy, pretty, beautiful, blue eyes, tall Lauren teacher!” I don’t think I’ve gotten that many compliments all at once in my whole life. And they barely knew me!
     It was time for my fellow TaLK teachers to be jealous of me now. How did I get my kids to love me so much? Was I giving them candy? Did I know more Korean then I let on, thus was able to talk to them more? No. I was just…happy. Kids are like sponges. You might not be able to say a single word they’ll understand, but they understand a smile, a wave, a jump of joy, a hug. Though we could barely communicate, my kids knew I was happy to be there to teach them, and they fed off of that, making me even more happy and energetic. These kids get me out of bed now. Make me explore past my apartment. Become a better person, as cliché as that sounds. Because, they aren’t wearing masks. What they say they feel. And they feel happy that I’m here with them. I told them, “I’m American,” but my older kids shook their heads and said, “No. Not American. You’re Korean now.” Despite the loneliness and coldness of my teachers, I can do this job. I have about 70 very important supporters behind me.

You're Not Eating that WHOLE Brownie, Are You?

     Before I came to Korea, I could only guess what its cultural quirks would be. Would any of my knowledge I obtained in Japan and China help me, or would Korea continue to mess with me by being “Asian” and yet not the Asian I’ve come to know. Thankfully, orientation was able to prepare me for the more common cultural dos and don’ts. So without further ado, I give you Korea Culture 101, part 1.

     First off, Koreans do bow. You have no idea how relieved I was to hear that. After being obsessed with Japan since childhood, I have developed a compulsion to always do a little head bob of a bow to everything. Compliment me, head bob. Borrow a pencil, head bob. Get directions from a teacher, head bob. And I honestly can’t stop myself unless I concentrate on it. This convinced all the Chinese I met (who don’t bow much anymore) that I was Japanese in descent, and when I corrected them with American they said, “You don’t have to claim you’re American to be cool. German Japanese is something to be proud of too.” When I went to Japan this head bob tick just got worse cause hardly a day goes by when you don’t bow at least 20 times a day. And so, when I was told Koreans bow as well, it made me relieved that I wouldn’t have to constantly smack myself every time I bowed, or learn how to explain why I bow while I comment about the weather.

     Something that does throw me off however is how Koreans must do everything with two hands. If you are giving or receiving anything, from a gift at your birthday party to money at the convenience store, give and receive with two hands ALWAYS. You’ll be considered rude and uncivilized if you don’t (though being a foreigner will save you). I constantly have to tell myself to do this, mainly when I’m buying things. I have an affinity of having my wallet out when I’m paying for things, and it’s not very easy to take the change with two hands when a fat wallet occupies your left hand. You also have to shake hands two-handed, or at least, never shake with your free hand chilling by your side. I’ve been shown two ways of doing this, either by taking your free hand and holding the wrist of your shaking hand, or wrapping your free hand around your waist. Very different, but I’m sure after many shakes I’m going to have to break this habit when I come home.
     Another custom that my Japanese side throws a fit over is eating. In Japan, eating is considered a ritual where all you should think about is eating. In Korea, eating is a time to spend with your friends and family while talking about your day. This means talking with your mouth full, something that would get you ninja smacked if you tried it in Japan. On top of this, Korea is a very communal place where relationships with others are very important. So much so, that in Korea when eating food you actually share your food. All of it. So, let’s say you go to Dunkin Donuts with your friend and buy a chocolate brownie to go with your coffee. You better not think about eating that whole brownie by yourself. The moment you agreed to eat with your Korean friend, you opened yourself to sharing everything with them, mainly food, and you’ll probably get the evil eye if you scarf that chocolate deliciousness down without even saving a crumb for them. I’ve also been told that it’s so common for Koreans to eat with each other that many can’t recall a time when they ate alone. When I told my Korean friend how I often eat food alone in my apartment she flipped out, vowing to find me Korean friends to eat with. To her, my solo eating was one of the most depressing things she had ever heard. To further illustrate this, another friend of mine went to a restaurant by herself to check the food out. She ate alone, enjoying the food, but the waiter kept watching her and the door, as if concerned. Finally they approached her, asking when her friend was coming because obviously she couldn’t be eating alone. You can imagine their surprise.

     And these are only a few of several cultural differences. In my next cultural entry, I will cover one quirk that needs its own entire post, Koreans and dating, AKA Couple Culture (or even better described as, Twin Culture).

Somewhere, Beyond the Sea

     

     To think, 3 weeks ago I was getting off a plane in South Korea. As cliché as it sounds, it feels like yesterday and yet, it feels like a lifetime ago. This whole time I’ve been in orientation, going to class after class to learn about Korea, its culture as well as how to teach. I was so afraid I had bitten off more than I could chew, and the people that surrounded me were intimidating with how they seemed to just fit in amongst the landscape. But with each class, something was changing.

     Before I knew it I was greeted by my mentor teacher, the first person I’m supposed to communicate with should I have any questions or concerns. I was nervous as all get out, chugging sugary coffee like I was about to be shipped to backwater China, hoping to settle my nerves. I dressed in one of my nice skirt outfits from Japan, praying that my gut was right and that Korea and Japan had similar dress etiquette, and when her name was called I greeted her with a smile and a polite bow I also hoped Japan and Korea shared. She smiled warmly and awed at my clothes, making me take a deep inner sigh of relief. Thank you Japan for saving me once again! But that was when she spoke. “I don’t know English.” I listened to the sounds of my fellow TaLK scholars merrily chatting away with their mentor teachers, some in English and some in Korean since they knew it, and just kept smiling. “I don’t know Korean,” I greeted back.

     The two hour car ride to my apartment consisted of me whipping out my Korean phrasebook and taking a crash course on learning how to speak and read Korean. I had studied some whenever orientation calmed down enough to where I could squeeze in some language learning time, but honestly I only knew how to say, “hello,” “thank you,” “yes,” “no,” and “I’m hungry.” You can only get so far with those words. By the time we reached the apartment, I had thankfully upgraded to being able to say various question words, if I liked or disliked something and basic directions thanks to listening to my teacher’s GPS voice system throughout the drive. Thank God I did because when I got out of the old elevator and walked into my new home…I could turn around and tell my teacher how much I loved it.

     I had an image in my head this past month of where I’d live. I pictured a hut in the middle of a rice field, the stars being my light, the river being my bathtub and my only link to civilization being the wireless internet that flows throughout all of Korea regardless of how boofoo you are. But I also had another image, one of what my dream apartment would look like, a cozy thing with a kitchen and full of flowers. I would have a balcony looking out at the mountains Korea’s covered in, and at nightfall see the city lights dance like stars alighting from the sky. And in the morning I would be able to walk down to the nearby fresh market and taste the salt in the air from the nearby ocean, listening to the sounds of trains whizzing by just begging me to ride them to places unknown. When I walked into my apartment…I almost started to cry. I didn’t get the hut in the middle of a rice field. I got my home by the sea.

     I couldn’t stop dancing. I twirled and twirled, not caring how dizzy I got as I squealed again and again in Korean how it was so CUTE, how I LOVED it, how thankful I was that this was where I would live. My teacher just laughed, looking at me in absolute amazement. In her accented English she said, “But it’s old.” To which I answered, “That’s part of its charm.”

     The whole affair wasn’t perfect. We quickly learned that my internet wasn’t working, and at first she was just going to leave me there stranded till I started teaching on Monday. But, I held my ground and politely asked her for help, explaining via phrasebook that without internet I’m truly alone and won’t be able to call for help if anything happens (since I don’t have a phone and my Korean is lacking). Thankfully she stayed and several phone calls later got the internet working before finally insisting that she needed to go. Since then, I’m still a bit in shock, trying to get my bearings as I learn how to live here. Thus far my only major problems are I don’t know how to turn on my hot water, nor my gas stove, but those are hardly worries on my mind. I just have to look at the flowers on my wall and the nightscape out my window and a content smile rests on my face. It’s only been a day and I already feel at home, in my cute, flower apartment between the mountains and the sea.

Yes I Can

     If any of you know me, you’ve probably wondered why I’m in Korea. Usually I’m carrying on about Russia or Japan, the two loves of my life, with Korea merely being a side note attached to the end of a footnote next to an asterisk. I’ll admit, Korea’s not the first country that comes to my mind, nor has it ever been despite me being a lover of the Pacific Rim. But then again, as awesome and successful as Korea is, they really do like to keep it quiet. They’re like a hole in the wall diner serviced by your secret grandmother, offering delights your taste buds couldn’t imagine, but the only way you can find this place is by knowing someone. My someone is the TaLK program as a whole, as I’ve been involved in a month long orientation to teach me about Korean culture, history and everyday life. But why would Korea spend that much time on me before sending me out to teach its children? And why would they want them to learn English in the first place? I thought Korea was just like Japan, requiring everyone to study English as part of their general education. But there was more.

     If I could sum up what Koreans are after being here for under a month, it would be passionately hopeful. Some 50 years ago, you would find a Korea divided and ravaged by war, its people some of the poorest in the world while their resource poor country was a mangled mass of overturned dirt and leveled towns. But now when you look at Korea you see Samsung phones, Kpop bands and the 2018 Olympics host. In such a short time Korea has become a leader in economics and education, even giving my love Japan a run for his money when it comes to technology. Koreans don’t say this was a work of luck, however. Rather, they say every single success they have they owe to the blood and sweat of the Korean people as they tirelessly strove to do what the rest of the world thought was impossible. I’m honestly convinced the word “can’t” doesn’t exist in their dictionary.

     What does this have to do with English, though? The answer is everything. Korea believes that one reason they’ve come so far is because they pushed their children to learn English, one of the most widely spoken languages of the world, particularly in the business and technology fields. As much as the Koreans love their language, they know that Korean isn’t going to become a world language anytime soon unless they start having kids like rabbits and find room to place all these said bundles. And so, the Korean government started a national curriculum which included English. With English it’s believed that Koreans can go anywhere and do anything, thus making them more competitive on the world stage. This has caused English language fever in Korea, with the government spending 1/5^th of their ENTIRE budget on education, particularly English. This has led to the creation of “global villages” where native English speakers are hired to live in towns where they speak English to Korean children who sign up, several TV shows and internet websites 100% devoted to English language learning, and programs like TaLK bringing native speakers over and into the classroom. Parents are so driven for their children to succeed in English (and ergo have a better life than them) that some will spend thousands of dollars a MONTH in after school classes and tutors. This has unfortunately created a gap between the rich and poor classes when it comes to getting into college (there’s an English language requirement) and so the government is trying to even the odds by sending more native speakers into the rural areas (i.e., me). Korea didn’t become great because of a select few, so why have a select few succeed purely because they can afford it. It took the hope every Korean held that things would get better. All you have to do is forget, “I can’t.” Not a bad mindset, if I do say so myself.

Rock, Paper, Scissors

     When I first headed off to Korea, I was full of excitement. It’s been over a year since I’ve been abroad, and that inner travel nut was going mad with withdrawal. When I reached O’Hare airport in Chicago, I had the most ridiculous smile on my face as I listened to airlines calling for people to board their flights in thick, heavy accents, or would catch snatches of Russian as a Russian family whizzed past me. There’s just something about airports that make me feel so excited and at ease, like I’m going home after a long stay away.

     When I reached the international terminal, I was most amused by a grand hallway of various flags of the world, their colors seeming to greet my arrival. I was even more amused when I spotted the Korean flag right next to Russia’s, hopefully the next country I will study in. When I found Korean Air to pick up my ticket, I was greeted by four young, well dressed guys, all of them working the graveyard shift for this final midnight flight to Korea. I asked, “Which one of you would like to help me with my ticket?” And how did they respond? By the traditional game from their youth, rock, paper, scissors of course! Asia just loves that game. After catering to my every need, I began to wonder if Korea might just one up Japan in my head as the best place for customer service. When I got on board the plane, it was no longer a wonder but a fact. Cute flight attendants constantly checking to see how you’re doing. Warm, succulent meals always proceeded by warm towelettes. And slippers. Yes, I flipped out over getting comfy slippers for my 14 hour flight. I was very entertaining to the flight attendants, let me tell you.

     An overnight flight later and I found myself in Seoul, South Korea, or rather a tiny island just off from it where Incheon International Airport lies. Our flight had arrived early, but even at 3 am in the morning you still saw people going to and fro, businessmen catching early flights, janitors tidying up the airport, and a handful of fellow internationals also teaching whether it be in Korea or neighboring China. Having beaten the TaLK people I plopped down next to a big TV and felt nothing but nostalgia as Detective Conan, an extremely popular Japanese anime, played in Korean. I was so close to Japan, I could almost taste the melon soda and hear the merchant’s cry of “irrashaimase!!!” But this is Korea, and it actually wouldn’t be wise of me to just spout off in Japanese. Unfortunately the two countries haven’t had the happiest of histories as whenever Japan starts getting those urges to become a military power, Korea is usually the first place it invades. And Korea being the knowledge loving, farm driven, peaceful nation was always turned into sashimi. Just think Athens and Sparta, but more Asian and less naked men. However, they are trying to make amends, and seeing a Japanese anime playing in Korea is just one small sign of that.

      Several hours and a couple of thoughts of, “Am I the ONLY TaLK scholar here?” later, a mob of TaLK scholars appeared along with Koreans who were in charge of getting us to our orientation location at Korea University. I don’t know if this is a Korean thing or a Korea University thing, but these buses are some of the most tricked out buses I’ve seen. Not only did we have a flat screen TV and a water dispenser, but all the seats and roof of the bus were decked out in fancy silk fabric and tassels. Then, when the bus took off, the ceiling lit up with several tiny, multicolored lights dancing about. I have officially dubbed these the magical nightclub buses, and keep waiting for a disco ball to appear one day.
     Jazzed up buses aside, other things I instantly noticed about Korea was the smell. In China it smelled like thick petroleum. In Japan it smelled normal. In Korea, be still my heart, but it smelled like food, the scent of red chilies and marinating meats wafting in the air. Korea is a foodie country if their ever was one, something I could get used to real quick. Korea also drives on the right side of the road, something that actually threw me off. My mind was already prepped for Korea to be like Japan and basically every country not the US where they drive on the opposite side of the road. Guess I won’t have any of those moments where I’ll be watching a car drive by and wonder why in the world that 5 year old kid is driving. And laughing his head off. And not watching where he’s going. However, I have noticed unlike here traffic seems to not pay attention to stop lights, the rules of the road being dictated by the immediate four cars around you as it is in China. They didn’t even bother with putting stop signs in.

And so, already a few hours in, Korea is becoming this strange place that at times feels like Japan, then at other times China. However, I have the feeling that as I immerse myself into it more, those almost comforting familiarities will fade away, being replaced with this so far alien country. Korea. Land of the Morning Calm. And magical nightclub buses.

Just Jump

     Have you ever jumped off a cliff, or just anyplace high? You climb up, thinking how fun it’ll be when you reach the top, but with each step you take you feel a fear growing in the pit of your stomach. What if I slip? Don’t look down. You’re not going to fall. Just don’t look down. Then you reach the top, the whole point of the climb being so you can enjoy that thrill of jumping off it. But then that feeling in the pit of your stomach finally overtakes you, and you freeze. Even breathing becomes difficult as you worry just one little move will send you over the edge. Jumping doesn’t sound like so much fun anymore. It’s falling. A fall that maybe you won’t get back up from. Then you hear voices, the voices of your friends and family who have already jumped or are right behind you. You’re going to be fine, just jump. Even if it stings when you hit the water, just jump. You worked so hard to climb this far, just jump.

     When I reached Seoul, South Korea, waiting alone for my ride from the airport, that’s how I felt. I was frozen. I had come here as a TaLK (Teach and Learn in Korea) scholar, being paid by the Korean government to teach English to children in rural communities. I had been excited when I heard I made it, literally dancing and screaming in joy the second I got the e-mail, and the day I left for Korea couldn’t come fast enough. But then, when I got here, surrounded by a language I didn’t know and a culture I had barely studied, I really started to question whether I could do it or not. Did I climb too high?

     I have been to Asia before, China for 5 weeks and Japan for a year. Those countries I knew before I arrived, having studied their history and fallen in love with their languages and cultures long before. But Korea was always that other country, the country drug into my Chinese and Japanese history books before breaking free from their grip to continue with their peaceful way of life. I knew kimchi was all the rage, this angry red mass of cabbage and chilies being Korea’s version of French fries and pizza when it came to popularity. I knew Taekwondo was the national sport that I could have studied in my home town and learned how to kick really high. And I knew the Korean alphabet, a jumble of circles and lines. Short from that, I knew squat about Korea. But that’s why I came.

     If I’ve learned anything from my travels it’s that no matter how much you study the country, you can never really learn about it until you actually go there. And so, though frozen on top of that cliff, I knew I would have to finally jump. Maybe I had climbed too high and my landing wouldn’t be the most graceful, but I would learn from this jump. I would experience having jumped. And when all is said and done, at least I jumped in the first place. I’m a TaLK scholar in Korea, the Land of the Morning Calm. Care to jump with me?

Earthquake and Farewells

     I still remember the day we headed to China. Everyone was so excited. I mean, it’s China. We were practically skipping around the airports, so we really weren’t paying attention to the TV screens. It wasn’t until we had down time in Atlanta that we started to notice how everyone on our flight was glued to CNN. And then we read the headline. A massive earthquake had hit central China. At first, I kind of shrugged it off. After the “great Midwest quake of ’08” striking not a half a mile away from my house, I really didn’t take it as being that serious. It was probably only getting attention because it was so close to the Olympics. That was when I really started reading the ticker tapes, and saw the concern of all of the Chinese natives on our flight. This wasn’t just some earthquake. This was bad, really bad.

     As we flew to China, our excitement returned with renewed fury, but I don’t think there was not one of us who wasn’t worried about what this earthquake meant for us. Was our area affected? Would there be a university waiting for us? Would our trip be cut short? I know I was relieved when I discovered we were simply too far away from the quake to have been directly affected. This meant classes went as scheduled, and I carried out my experiences in China. It didn’t mean the quake was far from my mind, though. China wouldn’t allow that.

     Every news channel would only talk about the quake. Day in and out, it was the latest report of how many survived, how badly damaged was the area, how well was the government handling it. Even the commercials dealt with the earthquake. It was a bit surprising for me. I had thought that such a disaster wouldn’t be handled well with the Chinese government. I was still wet behind my ears, and thought that China simply wasn’t organized enough to deal with it. Boy, was I wrong.

     Within 11 hours, troops were on the ground and assessing the damage. Following them were head government officials, ordering the troops that no matter what no person was to be left behind. They were to rescue the people and save lives, even when it looked hopeless. And then the aid came, and came, and came. Blood banks were full, and if you wanted to donate you would have to wait for possibly weeks before you were called. And as for money donations, it wasn’t whether you gave money, it was how much did you give. It almost became a game, as people would ask one another how much they donated, and if they were out-donated, they would turn around and donate more. And perish the thought that you gave nothing.

     I was shocked. Whenever we have a disaster, I want the Chinese to head the teams. But then, I found out the reasoning behind this response. For one, China had suffered another earthquake in ‘76 that was just as bad as this one. The exception was the government was still closed to getting help and because of this and other coordinating issues, more than 100,000 died. This memory was still burned in the minds of the Chinese, and there was no way they would repeat the same mistakes. If anything, they were going to avenge those who were lost. My language professor who came from the effected province explained the other reason to me. She said that though China is a nation of many peoples, of different backgrounds, viewpoints, and lifestyles, if ever anything terrible happens the Chinese will always remember that in the end they are still one country and thus unite to protect one another. United we stand, divided we fall. This is what I ultimately saw and ultimately learned from China.

     But, in the end, the news switched more to the Olympics, and the more they talked about it the closer my journey in China came to a close. Before I knew it I was bidding farewell to the professors at Hangzhou, zipping through the cities of China, and then at the airport in Shanghai. This was it. My stay here had come to a close. But, then, I remembered something, something I wanted to do before we left this land of dragons. I asked which way was northeast. And then, my direction in hand, I faced that distant ocean, and waved. You can imagine how confused people were. “Who are you waving to? The states?” “No,” I answered. “My next destination.” For though dear readers, this tale has come to an end, another will start in a year from now. There I will visit a country I have so longed to go to, the country who introduced me to China, and the Pacific Rim as a whole. It is the land who first sees the sun. Look out Japan. Soon, I will come.

Environment

     When I was on that final plane ride to the states, I made a list in my head of what things I had really missed. Naturally, my family was at the top of list, but I wondered what little subtleties of home China simply couldn’t replace. Would it be the ability to read anything, the variety of hair color bobbing down main street, or a simple chocolate milkshake. All these things I had missed while away, but it seems I forgot one whilst in China, probably because I simply got used to it not being there. I felt it the second I got off that plane, and couldn’t help but smile as I gazed heavenwards. The smell of cold, rain-teasing air, and the rich blue sky that followed it. These things were myths in China.

     The first few days in China, our group couldn’t help but complain. We were used to taking gulps of sweet, crisp, fresh air not thick, sour, oil-laden smog. And the sky. Where did it go? We had looked forward to seeing the night lights of Hangzhou reflect off West Lake while a thousand stars formed the sky lights above. We saw only three stars once, and I’m convinced they were all planets minus the North Star. Otherwise, only the moon keeps vigil with a yellowish tinge obscuring its ivory color. As for the morning, we forgot what “sky blue” looked like. It was always a dense, foggy, white-yellow sky that greeted us. And don’t forget the smog-rise and the smog-set. I remember when we went to the Yellow Mountains and the first thing we noticed wasn’t the beauty of those waterfall peaks, but the fact that the sky was actually blue. We had out climbed the factory smoke pipes.

     In short, China has a problem with pollution. I knew this before I went there, but I didn’t realize just how bad it was. Then again, when 70% of your power comes from dirty coal, you’re growing at the rapid rate of 10% GDP per year, and there’s next to nothing when it comes to regulations on it, I guess one can only expect this outcome. There is hope, though. China has realized that this focus on pure growth with no consequences is obscuring their landscapes and choking their people. We weren’t the only ones who missed the sky. Enter Green GDP. Basically it dictates that China’s economy can no longer focus on pure growth, but also on society and the environment. And so, there are trees planted in every crack and crevice, and a worker’s promotion is based on how much oil they don’t use. Green is in and smog is out. And yet, when we reached Beijing and viewed the grandness that is the Olympic Bird’s Nest Stadium her sky remained hidden, though the Olympics is less than two months away.

One Child Policy

     China’s One Child Policy. I’m sure you’ve heard of it. Why, you almost can’t have heard of China without also hearing about it. It’s basically the Chinese government’s way to deal with China’s overcrowded country that states that every Chinese family is only allowed one child. At least, that’s what we thought before we got there. You see, China’s all too fond of making things far more complex then they seem to be, and this policy is no exception. And so, here is my attempt to give a clearer understanding to China’s One Child Policy, and all of it’s exceptions, loop holes, and what if’s.

     In the beginning, China was mainly (and still is) an agricultural nation. This means that big families were heavily encouraged for if one wanted a successful harvest one better have plenty of hands (i.e., children) to help raise said harvest. Add in the fact that the children are also destined to take care of the parents, and there was no guarantee as to how many said children would survive, the bigger the better. Then came the time when China wasn’t all too friendly with the rest of the world. This policy of having large families was continued for if the enemy ever decided to bomb them, for every Chinese killed there would be five to take his place. Cheery thought.

     Now you’ve got modern China, seeking to befriend the world and not fully depend on agriculture. Big families are no longer required, and are in fact looked down upon for, if anything, they are too costly to take care of. China only has so much to offer her people, and there comes a point when there are just too many people going for that piece of pie. Enter the One Child Policy. In it came the hopes that China’s population would be better controlled, and slowed to a much more manageable pace.

     Alas, with every great plan came a couple of snags. For one, there came the nightmare of infanticide, as families would kill their child if it was a girl and try again for that one boy. The other problem deals with psychology. You see, in China family is everything, especially when a child is in said family. They are cherished like blessings, and the whole family sacrifices for their future. However, when one has four grandparents, two parents, and only one child this attention turns it into a “little emperor”. Basically, spoiled little brats who want everything without doing anything. And so, through this policy China created a generation where there are 60% men, 40% women, who don’t want to work, and love credit cards. And these are China’s future workers. Beijing, we’ve got a problem.

     Enter the exceptions. First off, minorities in China (all 55 branches of them) do not have to follow this policy. Second, families whose first child is a girl can have another child so they may attempt at getting that prized boy (though if it’s another girl, sorry, can’t try again). Third, if the first child is a boy, you cannot have anymore children. Fourth, if you do have more children then you are supposed to, you are only hit up with a fine (which, by the way, varies in price depending on where you live, whether you are urban or rural, and what your income is). Fifth, if the two parents are One Child Policy children, they automatically are allowed two children. And these are the ones that are currently in place and enforced. There’s talk of adding more. Joy.

     And so, what does this tell us. That China loves to make things complex, and is quite good at changing the rules to fit their needs. But at least this reveals their flexibility. So, will this solve their population issue? I can’t say for sure, but I do know that if this doesn’t they will find another escape clause that will. They’re good at that.

           

Snack Street

     Ah, Beijing. The capital of China. Here one can stroll through the infamous Tienanmen Square, marvel at the grandeur of the Olympic sites, and “become a man” by hiking the Great Wall. Yes, these are truly places to behold. If only every other person there didn’t agree with you. There’s just something about being totally immersed in a Chinese environment for a month, devoid of tourist seeking the touristy t-shirts, the touristy postcards, and whatever else touristy they can find, only to be surrounded by the creatures known as tourist. I think you see my point. So if one cannot stand these babbling masses, yet one still wants to encounter a piece of Beijing what does one do? Why my friend, go eat live scorpions of course.

     Before we left for China, one of our professors told us about a place in Beijing where fifty innocent stands sit, waiting to feed you your every food desire. This place is called Snack Street. Here the hungry traveler can indulge on anything and everything so long as it can be stuck on a stick and immersed in a deep fat fryer. Think Fall Festival minus the kangaroo jerky. You can imagine the excitement the group had when said professor agreed to pay for one of the signature fried foods. Live fried scorpions! Taste just like french fries minus the spuds. Oh, and don’t forget the sea urchin, snake, sea horse, and silk worms! We couldn’t wait.

     And so, we navigated around Beijing, dodging the tourist traps and Chinese Wal-Marts as we sought this artery clogging paradise on a stick. All the while I relived episodes of Bizarre Foods with Andrew Zimmer, preparing myself for the moment. And then, there they were, the fifty red booths. Soon I would be watching the group as they jumped, squirmed, and ultimately consumed what most souls feared. But before that, we encountered a different foe. The Beijing merchant.

     The usual ceremony carried out where the merchants, upon seeing us Americans, instantly chanted their siren’s song of, “Come see. Come see. We give you best price.” We were a bit apprehensive at this. Our four weeks of intensive haggle training had taught us to be hardened to these fast talkers, and we weren’t about to be roped in. Just don’t break ranks, avoid communication, and don’t by any means, show interest in anything unless you’re ready to commit to it. Otherwise, you may just get sucked into a bout of buyer’s regret. Oh, but those Beijingnese, they were good.

     One booth, seeing our reluctance, sent out a scout that handed us their lemon-sugar coated fruit sticks, implying they were gifts. Overjoyed at being given such treats, we forgot our training, and some began munching on the sugary goodies. “Buy two get one free,” the scout said. Oh, the collective hush that followed. We remembered the craftiness of the Chinese merchants, and we instantly began our own fast-talking. “10 yuan for a fruit stick. We’ll give you 10 for the whole round.” Now it was their turn to be shocked. We weren’t the casual tourist that normally flocked their streets. We had been trained in the deadly arts of haggling. Neither side relented. They weren’t going to lose to some American students, and we weren’t about to be shown up by these Beijing merchants. We played our final gambit, putting the uneaten sticks back and walking away. In Hangzhou this usually meant we got our price. “Ok! Ok! Free!” the merchants cried. A collective surprise went through our ranks. What was the catch? “Free, if you let us kiss you.” Insert shrieks of horror and a full retreat here.

     We did found our bounty about midway down the street, and we enjoyed the overcooked “french fries” more so then we probably should have. But hey, it was fun, and we were still recovering from our bout with the Beijing merchants. Even as we left the vendors, that one booth spotted us and tried their tactics again, only to send us running through the streets of Beijing once more. We, the hardened veterans of the Night Market had met our match. Those Beijingnese, they were good.

           

The Night Market

     I know I’ve already told you about China’s markets, but there is one in particular that struck my fancy, one that every Chinese city has stowed away somewhere waiting for the light of day to die behind the dilapidated streets. Here, the street vendors are out in full force, harping at you the second the see the white of your skin. Here, the real artists emerge, the craftsman, and the cons. But here also lies an experience that brought me the closest to the Chinese heart. This phenomena is called “The Night Market.”

      So what can you get at the Night Market. Everything, my friend. Really, everything. Want a Coach bag, they got it. Want Chairman Mao propaganda, they got it. Want Indiana Jones 4, they got it. Naturally, this is a place where buyers must beware, for most of the goods here are bootlegs. Very good looking bootlegs, but bootlegs none the less. This is also the place where it’s the most fun to haggle. You instantly offer a fourth of the asking price, flash the cash in front of their eyes, and walk off. Most will chase after you, submitting defeat. If anything you have to stop yourself from buying too much. After several bouts of buyers regret, my fellow classmates have declared the Night Market as the place where one loses a bit of their soul. Hasn’t stopped them from visiting again almost nightly.

     I never really got into the whole bootleg buying frenzy, but looked out for the little treasures hidden behind the trash. One night, though, there was no treasure hunting for me. Maybe it was because of walking the whole hour and forty-five minutes to get there, maybe it was because I decided to deck myself out in black, or maybe the crowds were simply too choked for me. All I know was as I was listening to a classmate fight for an impressive wall scroll, I felt dizzy, my legs nearly gave way, and I found myself sweating pints. I hobbled over to the nearest corner, hoping by resting it would pass. I forgot every corner was a vendor’s territory. At first, the older woman seemed to think I was a buyer of some sort, and so began yapping at me in Chinese about what I would like to buy. That was before she saw my face.

     Insert chaos here. She instantly grabbed for a chair and began screeching to the vendors across from us. At first, they too eyed me curiously, but once they saw my face they began swarming me, yapping at me in Chinese, and feeling for my pulse. It was then my classmates came over, wondering what the ruckus was all about and watched as the elder vendor pulled my hair back, took her chiseled knuckles, grabbed the skin behind my neck, and pulled back as hard as she could. The sound was one thing, the instant pain was another.

     Never have I felt such sharpness before in my life. I instantly wanted to cry out, used my water bottle as a makeshift scream deter by chewing on it, and tried to get away from these crazed Chinese. What the heck were they doing to me. Enter the few vendors who could speak a little English. They told me everything was okay, and that it was a form of ancient Chinese medicine. I had gotten overheated. This would stimulate my blood, my chi, to balance my system out and cool me down. I asked them whatever happened to a cold drink of water. We weak Americans approved of that. A chorus of laughter rang out amongst them. And so began our friendship.

     After performing this painful technique on my neck back and shoulders, they took me behind their booths where they set up a fan and insisted I stay with them until the market closed. As the pain ringed through my body, I felt like I was cooling down. That could just be because I was now focusing on the pain in my back, but if it works it works. The vendors also did their best to preoccupy me, from complemented my Buddha-like state when they had pinched me, to dueling with clothes hangers as they poked fun at one another for their fear of getting pinched. They were so fun-loving, so carefree. And it seemed they all knew each other, like the whole Night Market was one big family that took over the streets at night. That slur of broken English and Mandarin was one of my most memorable conversations and when the lights flashed signaling the nightly death of the market, I was sad to go. Several hugs, thanks yous, and pictures later, I walked back to campus, my body completely ignorant of it’s over heated bout. The only reminder of that night’s events was a few bruises on my back and shoulders where an old Chinese vendor had pinched me.

Olympics

     Before our group set out to the land of dragons, we held several meetings to prepare us for the impending culture shock. Part of our meetings included mini Mandarin lessons from Tu, a Chinese student from Xian. He sought to dispel some of our initial fears about China, and one request he had for us was to attend the Olympic Torch Relay. There we would see the heart of China, and hopefully make a few friends along the way. “The Chinese love Americans,” he often said, “and it would mean a great deal if any of you came.” And so, I eagerly agreed to attend it with him and his friends. That was before the earthquake struck, and Tu decided to head to the epicenter where several of his friends attended school. Regardless of his presence, though, I was still determined to go to the relay to see this heart of China.

     Now, where would it go, again?  I’m sure if I watched the news and knew Mandarin, I would be able to find a prime spot. However, my TV wasn’t working and my Mandarin wasn’t that good, so I had to do it the old fashion way. Follow students wearing Chinese flags as capes, covered in red Chinese stickers, and chanting a battle cry of what sounded to English ears as “I love China!” Quite frankly, they reminded me of Aces football fans. Yep, I bet they know where the torch is.

     Before long, I found myself on the outskirts of West Lake, a famous and beautiful waterscape filled with mythical tales and tourist boats. Here, the crowd had gotten larger, and was swarming the outer railings blocking the road. Both military and police officials kept a silent but constant presence as people continued singing songs and chanting the “I love China” mantra again and again. Their shirts were blazoned in the red of the torch and the national flag, and all age groups from elderly to infant were there, eagerly waiting for the torch’s arrival. There were many false alarms. If anyone so much as sneezed quickly, the whole mass became a wave of bodies scrambling to the very edge of the railing, craning their necks and cellphones towards the elusive torch. I still remember the growl of disappointment when it was simply a rogue bus.
     As we waited, some people began to notice our presence (I being with another UE student), though they would quickly avert their eyes (and cameras) the second we faced them. It’s considered very rude to stare, or even hold eye contact, for long periods of time in China. Tell that to the little girl right next to us. Whether she had an eye on the pale foreigners, or my heart-shaped China sticker, I have no idea. I do know she was quite happy when she became the proud owner of said sticker. She was even happier when I plucked out a Jeff Gordon trading card (got to start them young) and gave it to her. She pensively gazed at it, appearing to deliberate judgment before she took every Chinese sticker on her, and covered Jeff Gordon’s face with them. How’s that for East meets West.

     The crowd roared again and this time was appeased by the police motorcycles, TV crew buses, torch runner buses, and finally the torch itself. As everyone cheered frantically and desperately sought to get that one shot, the two runners met, crossed torches, and the flame went on, it’s fans rushing behind, guiding it along it’s journey around West Lake. I have never felt such excitement in a crowd before. Truly, the Olympics is something the Chinese are both eager and proud to hold. From the merchandise, to the commercials, to the banners lining every major street, there is the constant reminder that it is coming and it will be brought to you by China. I never did see that girl again. She had taken off with her father to follow the torch, Jeff Gordon card in hand. Who knows, perhaps China will become NASCAR’s next greatest fan. Oh, what a world that would be! Now, to start handing out those Aces football beads…

Service

     As I began to further embrace China and its exciting culture, I thought surely nothing could go wrong. The food was my manna, the traffic was my rollercoaster, and the market was my playing field. Culture shock? I would never feel it. China and I were copasetic. That is, until I had to set up an internet account. You see, China has a problem with service. It has none. Seriously, this game of ring-around-the-rosy makes me miss America’s customer service telephone lines.

     So what’s so bad about it? It’s mainly the frustration of it all. When I first came to Zhejiang University, I was assured that all I would have to do was go to the service desk, present my student I.D. and passport, pay a small service charge, and I’m on my way. Let’s just say that if I would so much as look at that service desk, I was greeted by cheers of “Tomorrow, tomorrow!” Did I mention their control of the English language is lacking. Now, it’s not that I’m upset that the Chinese can’t speak English. In fact, I’m strongly for speaking the native tongue. However, this is Zhejiang’s Foreign Institute, yet everything’s in Mandarin. Everything. It finally took a week’s worth of a few well-placed complaints to our professor before I was finally set up. You can imagine my glee.

     Feeling daring, I followed up with a telephone call from the front desk back to the states. I came prepared; phone card in one hand, Mandarin phrasebook in the other. My greeting…smiling faces. It took several tries, but there they were ready to help, ready to serve. How different they were from their “Tomorrow, tomorrow!” mantra I face not 12 hours before. If only they didn’t have the Dr. Jekyll, Mr. Hyde complex. It hadn’t been 48 hours before my internet copped out, and those smiling faces melted away. Even now, I’m playing ring-around-the-rosy again, and I’m thinking I’ll have to play the professor card once more.

     China is as fond of paradoxes as it is of sayings. If they would just get rid of this one, I could easily say my trip here so far has been perfect. In fact, perhaps this would be a good business venture for America, playing as the service desk to China. All I know is the non-service service desk and I have another round up. Here’s hoping I’ll meet Dr. Jekyll, not Mr. Hyde.

Parks

     I believe I have discovered the secret of how the Chinese eat vast quantities of food yet maintain their dancer figures. It’s called steps. I mean, lots of steps, as in, every semi ancient looking locale has at least a thousand. Don’t believe me. Just read them. The Chinese are quite fond of marking them, as if to further emphasize their love of them. After my excursions to distant pagodas and behemoth mountains, this will certainly be a love affair I (or rather my legs) shan’t miss. Steps aside, though, China certainly has a way of making parks.

     Within these national treasures are jade pools filled with glinting fish, stone walkways of several textural designs, and a vast plethora of statues older than the U.S.A. In fact, I’d say their parks are more like outdoor museums, as they showcase their many ancient artifacts amongst the landscape, keeping their more delicate statues and writings inside traditional wooden houses. And don’t forget the gift shops! There you can purchase a bonafide good luck charm to hang from one of several trees, writing down your dearest wishes in the hopes they will come true. I being a humble college student, and thus not wealthy enough to purchase one of these, have settled for a more suitable charm for my cell phone. Yes, for my cell phone. Have I mentioned how fond the Chinese are of luck charms?

     With all of these historic landmarks blanketed by booths of luck, one could imagine the throbbing mass that accompanies them. One would be incorrect in their thinking. True, there are crowds and they’re even herded by the ever-present tour guide. And yet, there is no throbbing mass, no earsplitting chattering. What is this sensation I’m experiencing? It’s…quiet. Scratch that, it’s plum near peaceful.

     This overall calm is another characteristic I’ve both noticed and admired about the Chinese. Rarely have I heard any obnoxious chatter I would normally expect at similar areas back home. In fact, the only overbearing loudness my ears have experienced are whenever we are too close to overexcited tour guides, equipped with mics, battling each others voices inside a tiny building. Otherwise, the Chinese bustle to and fro with an air of serenity following their steps.

     When we came to stop within one of these parks, I couldn’t help but lay upon the ancient stones and relax in the shade of the charm laden trees. The sweet breeze rolled through, causing some of the charms to ring their tiny bells, and for an instant, I felt as if I were back home, in my humble abode in the middle of nowhere. Tai chi, feng shui, acupuncture, all of these things seek to find a balance within your soul. And yet, I wonder, can they match the wonders of that spiritual tranquility I felt beneath those lucky trees.

Food

     Chinese food. We all know it. Chinese buffets are common place, practically becoming a staple for any semi-big town, and who can forget the fortune cookies? I’m quite fond of it myself, so I wondered just how would it’s native homeland hold up to its American counterpart. Well, let’s just say “Made in China” means forgetting the fortune cookies (which do not exist) and gorging oneself on a healthy cuisine made up off all sorts of fruits(fried bananas), vegetables (marinated bamboo shoots), and fish (eyeballs included) that was probably existing 24 hours ago, or less. Add in how most of these dishes cost maybe a dollar or two. Oh yeah, I could get used to this.

     One of my favorite pastimes is getting up right when some of the open food markets just start setting out their produce, and snatching up a few fruits and freshly baked bread. You heard me, fruit and bread. You’d be amazed how many fruit markets there are alone. I’d easily wager there’s one on every block, selling their plums and apricots. Bakeries aren’t as common, but their simple, soft loaves of subtitle sweetness will definitely be something both my stomach and I will miss. Add in the dumplings, meat buns, fried rice, and gallons of tea, clearly this is a land that loves it’s food. I wouldn’t blame them. I love it too.
     Another thing about their food is the sheer amount there is. Food markets are everywhere, with their fresh (and I mean still alive) produce waiting to be plucked up, fried, and consumed in droves. How the Chinese consume all these dishes and maintain their dancer figures, I have no idea. Maybe it has to do with all of those steps they are so fond of building…Apparently, though, this obsession with food quantities that could feed a small army deal with saving face, something the Chinese are deadly addicted to. By serving a ton of food, they appear to be fortunate and not the least bit stingy. In fact, an unwritten rule here is that whenever you hold a feast you make sure there is one more dish then there are people.  Here all play the role of rich, whether rich or poor. Face is everything.

     As I look at these dishes, most going far from being consumed, I remember an age old phrase, “Keep eating. Think of all the starving children in China.” Where are those children, now, I wonder? Should we change that to the “starving rural children”, am I simply seeing this from the eyes of a foreigner, or is this yet another paradox? Perhaps another Chinese saying will give me the answer.

Markets

     During my wanderings, I naturally came across the old Chinese open markets, where all matters of goods are set out in the open air, seeking to entice potential buyers. Colorful, lively, and yet soothing, these are the words I would describe them with. Every shop seeks to outdo the other as they proudly display their bright, shiny items, while classical Chinese music wafts the air. And everyone is so quiet, especially in comparison to America’s bustling malls. It feels like an afternoon stroll. But this isn’t the joy I discovered within these markets. No, it was a game.

     Everyday, usually as the sun begins to ease its summer heat, the masses flock to the open street markets where they perform the ancient pastime of haggling. Oh, how they relish in it! The rules are simple; there are none. All that’s required is a poker face, an iron will, and a calculator. Turns play out in succession, as the potential buyer asks the price. After regarding the buyer carefully, the seller sets a price, at least four times higher than it should be. The buyer then responds in a cry of disgust, pushing away from the outlandish price. Then promptly, they punch their price in the calculator and the games begin. What follows is a tennis match as one price is stated, only to be attacked by another price, only to be followed up by another price. Sometimes, one comes across a passive seller and receives their loot quickly, but normally one has to walk away and be instantly dragged back. The price war begins again. The seller goes high, the buyer goes low. This could last several rounds, and one might be hulled back ten minutes after they left. However, it’s all a battle of wills, and who will outlast who.

     At first, this sounds like it would be a headache. Prices aren’t set, owners seek to con you, and time ticks by. If only you could experience it, though. Then you would see just how fun it is. No wonder it’s lasted so long. It’s like a one on one game of the stock market, as you throw out your bids, seeking to win the other over. And nothing compares to that glow of pride accompanying haggling a $10 item down to $5. However, I do have one sadness. That is, once I return home, I will not be able to go to my local Wal-Mart and haggle down the price of a DVD. Oh, the joys Americans (and most of the rest of the world, for that matter) are missing!