connie's space

           My apartment balcony, overlooking the Yangtze River, remains oddly silent.  From the usually busy road below, there’s not a sound:   no beleaguered busses straining uphill, no constantly sounding car  horns, no boisterous motorcycle mufflers, no screeching-tired taxies, no private cars zooming,  no distressed construction trucks shifting gears . . . Nothing but quiet drifting upward to my 2^nd floor home.

            Where is all this lovely peace coming from?  Since October 28, our obnoxiously noisy Yangtze river road has been closed. 

            For years, this  road has been a cause of headache as more and more traffic traveled upon it.  River towns up and down the Yangtze from us use our Wa Yao Ba Road to reach one another. Buses bound for Yibin, Jiangan, Naxi, and numerous others stop constantly along their 1-3 hour routes to let passengers off and on.  Two vocational colleges (ours and the Sichuan technical college just a few blocks away) bring city buses and other vehicles to and from our gates.  Fang Shan (Fang Mountain), a scenic hiking spot a mere 20 minutes away, sends weekend tourists by the hundreds driving by.  

            Wa Yao Ba was never made for this much traffic. The city temporarily fixed some of the hazardous spots right before I left.  They lined the drop-off areas with concrete blocks  so cars wouldn’t run off the pavement.  Before, it was easier for a  to go careening into the ancient wooden and mud-plastered houses hugging the road.  At least the concrete barriers helped a bit to dissuade cars from getting too close to the edge.

            Another problem has always been no sidewalks.  Local residents and our college students have always been at risk of being hit and sent flying when going out to the small shops lining the way.   That danger is not to be fixed anytime soon so we just take our lives into our own hands when venturing out.

             But the most annoying part of the road has always been the short, narrow bridge.  The bridge passes over a deep gully which is sometimes flooded by the Yangtze. It’s not very long, nor much to look at, and has probably been standing for years.  Part of the problem is that it’s so narrow that anything wider than a taxi can’t get by without waiting for the road to clear. I can’t tell you how many Wa Yao Ba traffic jams I’ve sat through with buses, trucks and cars piled up on either side of the bridge.  Each long line of vehicles was waiting for one side to cross the road so the other could begin.  No traffic cops made it somewhat of a free-for-all with impatient private car owners meeting buses head-on in the middle, then having a show-down on who will back up first.  When there’re 10 other cars bumper to bumper behind both headstrong drivers, you can imagine the ruckus that follows.      

            Horns blare. 

            Tempers flare.   

            Shouting matches ensue.

            And the worst part is no one goes anywhere for a very long, long time.   Those in taxies or buses usually give up and hike it up the road to where they’re going.   A 10-20 minute walk is sure a lot better than a 2-hour sit while the men (and it’s always the men) hash it out who gets to go first. 

            Because Wa Yao Ba is the only easy route to and from the city, rebuilding the bridge was never an option.  Yet this year, we have a brand new access road that leads directly into the city center, cutting our travel time almost in half.   Wa Yao Ba Road now has a great detour alternative. 

            And so it is that the narrow bridge, so much a pain before, is being rebuilt, thus bringing silence to our little part of the campus until February 10, the completion date.

            The silence is golden, but there are more personal perks of this road closure than quiet.

            First of all, we don’t have to take our lives into our own hands when exiting the school gate.  The traffic that whizzed by was in no hurry to slow down when hundreds of students streamed to the bus stops after classes.  No sidewalks had everyone basically teetering on the edges of the roadway, trying stay out of the way of oncoming vehicles while not slipping into the sewage ditches on either side.  On several occasions, there were some awful close car clips when I was out there.  Not pleasant, especially with Little Flower trotting along beside me.

            Another nice part of having no traffic is the less polluted environment.  No longer is dust kicking up all around us, sticking to our clothes and invading our lungs.  While eating outside along the little restaurants lining the roads, students no longer have to shield their dishes from flying clouds of dirt.  Nor do they have to shout at one another above the motors and horns.  Everyone can enjoy a nice, quiet meal off campus without ear-splitting, or road-spitting, distractions.  

            But the greatest perk of the closure concerns the many snack venders that now have positioned themselves all along our road.  Piping hot sweet potatoes, straight from their barrel baking ovens, and freshly popped popcorn, lightly carmelized, are being offered to the right of the school gate.  It’s hard to miss them as the sellers have placed themselves right on the walking path of the students.  Without the cars, it’s a great spot for catching hungry young folk looking for cheap winter goodies. 

            Up the road another 50 feet and we have a specialty steamed item of Harbin waiting for us.  Harbin is the capital city of Hubei Province, far to the north of Beijing.  It’s claim to fame is the International Ice Sculpture Festival, always held around the Chinese New Year.   Every province has its well-known snack foods.  Harbin’s steamed sticky rice blocks dotted with dried fruit have finally reached us here.  A certain company makes these in town, then sends out hired help to sell them on the street from their barrel steamers.  I’d never seen this snack before so I bought some the other day for a try.  The woman selling sliced off a nice chunk, sprinkled with dates and raisins, which she weighed and then presented to me in a plastic bag.  It was $2.00 (about $1.00 per pound), which is rather pricey but specialty foods are always pricey outside of their own areas.  It was sticky and gummy, slightly sweet, and tasted better right away rather than later after it had cooled off.  I didn’t eat the whole thing but was glad to at least have a taste. 

            Next time, I’ll know better than to have the seller cut off such a large piece unless I have someone to share it with.

            What I’m anticipating to show up along our empty road are the cold weather, roasted chestnut sellers.  They are everywhere in Chengdu.  The sights and sounds of chestnuts being tossed in woks among hot coals can be found at every corner.  On a chilly day, there’s nothing like carrying around a warm paper bag of chestnuts, peeling them from their soft shells and popping one into your mouth.  It makes me feel as if I’m strolling along the streets of a Charles Dickens’ novel.  

            Of course, Luzhou is warmer than Chengdu so our chestnut sellers are a bit behind the winter schedule.  There are a few in the downtown district on weekend nights but they haven’t yet found their way to the daytime crowds.  I’m guessing December 1^st will bring them around. 

            Lucky for me, I’ll be heading off to Chengdu soon for the award presentation on Thursday.  I’ll have plenty of opportunity to get my hot chestnut fix while I’m there.  Even Little Flower has a fondness for chestnuts.  Better to peel them for her, though. She’s been known to chomp them down whole, shell and all.

            At least for our Thanksgiving Day dinner, there won’t be any skimping on sweet potatoes since they’re right outside the gate.  No turkey as China doesn’t have turkeys but chicken can suffice.   And how nice it will be to have a quiet noontime Thanksgiving for a change, without the cars and busses racing up and down the river road to disturb our peacefulness.   And maybe, just maybe, our chestnut sellers will pop over to our area a tad earlier than December 1^st .

            Roasted chestnuts for Thankgiving!  If you can’t have turkey, go for the next best thing.      

            From Luzhou, here’s wishing you “Ping An!” (peace) for your weekend.

             Last Friday, Ying Yin (Catherine), from our school’s Foreign Affairs office, asked me to stop by and pick up something. 

            “Ah!  Another mail bag of books for our English language resource library!” I thought to myself. 

            The donated books several groups and individuals have sent this semester often land in Catherine’s office.   The most recent arrivals to stock the shelves were from Wesley UMC’s mission committee in Canton, IL and two big ones  from Clemson UMC in South Carolina.   

            It’s always a thrill for me to begin unloading these canvas bags, seeing what titles will now grace yet another bookcase in the English departmental office.  But this trip to the Foreign Affair’s office brought on a different kind of excitement.

            Catherine was proud to present to me an official greeting and letter from the Sichuan Provincial Administration of Foreign Experts Affairs.  It seems that I have been chosen to receive the province’s highest honor given to foreign experts, the Jinding Award.

            According to the letter, the Sichuan Jinding Award was established by the People’s Government of Sichuan Province to thank and commend foreign experts for their contributions and dedication to the training of Chinese personnel.  These professionals, from a wide variety of fields, have contributed to Sichuan’s social development, economic, scientific, technological, educational and cultural construction.  They were chosen through  nomination from their work unit, the recommendation of their local city government  and the approval of the Jinding Award committee. 

            I was chosen along with six other foreign experts of various fields to receive the honor for the year 2007.  Our award ceremony is to be held on November 20 in Chengdu and is being combined with the 2008 winners. 

            Looking over the list of honorees, I saw 5 of us are from America, 2 from Germany and one each from Italy, Israel, India and Holland.  7 are from the capital city, Chengdu, while the rest of us are from smaller cities in the province.  While it’s difficult to tell which field everyone is in (only their work units are mentioned), it looks like I’m the only teacher.  The others are hosted by government agencies in health, agriculture and science. 

            One of the most surprising discoveries for me was that I’m the only woman!  Looks like  I’ll have no difficulty standing out among so many distinguished gentlemen.  And being a rather vain woman, of course the first thing that popped into my head was, “Gracious!  What in the world am I going to wear?!”  We’re to be toured about the city, televised and featured in several newspapers so it had better be something spectacular. 

            Vanity aside, this is a truly a great honor, not only for myself but for the Amity Foundation, the United Methodist Board and my small Luzhou college.  I honestly credit this award a great deal to my school, whose administrators and English language staff are always willing to listen to my ideas and help implement these within the curriculum.  So often foreign language teachers here become frustrated because their Chinese colleagues and school show little interest in their efforts. The foreign teacher asks for help but the response is quickly dismissed with, “It’s too difficult” or “Not such a good idea.”  My school is always happy to read over my proposals, give suggestions about do-ability and work with me to see things happen.  It might be as simple as helping arrange a one-week use of an audio-visual classroom to more daunting tasks, such as regulating a city-wide English language speech contest.   When a professional in my EFL field is given this kind of support and enthusiasm from her Chinese college, her students and her colleagues, it makes it easy to become an above-average educator.

            Because I will be leaving next Tuesday for the 2 days of activities scheduled for us “experts,” this week I’m making up my classes I’ll be missing next week.  It’s a bit of a shuffle to squeeze in an extra 8 hours.  I feel so sorry for my students who are having to cram in yet more classroom time into their already busy schedules but they have been so kind about it.  I expected  my 2^nd years to drag themselves (moaning and groaning) into Room 4203 this evening for our arranged 7-9 p.m. make-up.  Instead, they bounded in with high spirits, laughing and quite talky.  They were very gracious about helping me out in this way.  Their positive, upbeat attitude really made our time together full of fun. 

            Most of next week will be spent in Chengdu as I load up the dog and head off to the capital city on Tuesday, returning on Sunday.  Little Flower will be staying with Jalin’s family while I’m busy with the city tours and the ceremony the government is arranging for us.  Our hotel accommodations are also taken care of by the provincial government.  I certainly will be spoiled after an overnight in a fancy hotel.

            Thursday to Sunday, I will move back to my small hotel near Jalin’s family where I can enjoy home-cooked meals every night once again.  I am so much looking forward to seeing Jalin and her parents.  It’s been a month and I miss them.

            Be watching for updates on the rest of the week, including this Saturday’s city-wide English language speech contest.  Our school is hosting the event for area college students in the morning and high school students in the afternoon.  I’m the judge for the high school competition and am really looking forward to some excellent performances from Luzhou’s teenagers.  Quite a few of these young language learners really are truly remarkable in their command of English.  I’m sure they won’t disappoint any of us judging.

            Until next time, here’s sending you a “Ping An!” (Peace) for your day.

               If  I were voting in my small town in America, I would enjoy a peaceful visit to the polls.  I would leisurely walk uptown, passing by tidy lawns, well-kept houses and neatly paved streets on my way to complete my civic duty as an American.   But here in southwestern China, I gear up for a more adventuresome voting sojourn.  At last, my absentee presidential election ballot has arrived and I must pick it up at our area post office, located up the Yangtze river road from the college where I teach English.

Our small countryside post office is only a 10-minute walk from the school.  The distance may be short, but getting there is tricky.  Speeding buses and swaying construction trucks are constantly careening by.  Their blaring horns scatter stray chickens and dogs, and warn bystanders of their approach.  With no sidewalks or pedestrian walkways, the road becomes somewhat of a deathtrap.  

            Today, I am lucky.   I exit the school’s gate and find safety in numbers.  I slip in behind three coal sellers who are pulling their heavy loads on wooden carts.  We four move tentatively.  On one side, we keep diligent watch over oncoming traffic.  On the other, we take care not to slip into open sewage ditches. 

            While carefully making our way forward, we pass typical scenes of roadside China.  Family-run shops display a disarray of dusty products.  At the entranceways, owners position themselves on stools and patiently wait for customers. To pass the time, they knit sweaters, pluck chickens, wash vegetables and read newspapers.  Sometimes we pass a mahjong parlor, set up inside an abandoned farmhouse.  The elderly crowd around  the game’s square tables and slurp tea while noisily slamming down mahjong tiles. Through open doorways of private homes, we can see flames shoot out from under blackened woks.  The smells of Sichuan cooking reach us, stinging our nostrils with the vapors of hot chili peppers.  

            As my destination draws near, the coal haulers turn down an alleyway and I am left to continue by myself.  I wait for several buses to fly past, then make a dash across the road to the post office. 

Our area post office is a small, white-washed mud building. The roof is layered in old clay tiles.  Rustic wooden beams jut out through the outside walls.  To enter the building, I must first make my way through  a cluster of sidewalk sellers and their wares.  Stationery, envelopes and cardboard boxes cater to the mailers.  Fruit, hard-boiled tea eggs and sizzling beef kabobs entice the hungry.   The arrival of a foreigner always causes a fuss.  After being accosted by several sellers to buy their goods, I give in and purchase some envelopes and a tea egg.      

            With my purchases in hand, I am finally able to enter our local post office. Inside, a long counter with iron bars separates the customers from the two postal workers on duty.   I watch them bustle about while serving the Chinese ahead of me.  They adhere stamps to envelopes, fill out forms, check package slips and answer questions.  They toss packages into heaps on the floor and drag out overstuffed mail bags for pick-up.  It seems a haphazard system and a bit chaotic, but I have never once had a posted item from the U.S. lost or returned to the sender.        

             Since last Sunday, the rain has been coming down non-stop.  Drizzling, pouring, pelting, sprinkling, misting . . . you name it, we’ve had it.

             It’s unusual for us to have so much constant rain for so many days.  It’s also unusual for me to have overseas’ visitors but I did.  Richard Lord, hired by the United Methodist GBGM, was here in Asia photographing personnel in their working environment.  Richard has been used by the Board for 20 years and is quite familiar with the work of the Methodists and other denominations.  Twelve years ago, he did a photo spread for GBGM of  The Amity Printing Press and Amity projects in China. Now, more than a decade later, he returns to China to visit me in my little Yangtze river town, Luzhou. 

            Richard arrived late Wednesday evening from the airport in Chongqing, 3 1/2 hours away by bus.  The next day, he spent time in my classroom taking pictures among my second year students.  He was very impressed by their ability to follow my lessons, which naturally made “mother” (me) very proud!   We were supposed to be touring the school, back alleyways and church for more photo shoots Friday and Saturday but the weather was just not cooperating.  Aside from me, Richard was to do shots of poverty and healthcare in China.   Richard did his best to catch drenched scenes among the Yangtze  fishermen in their sampans, laborers, and dilapidated homes but  the continuous rain basically canceled out any decent photo ops aside from me.

The Luzhou Church’s Gospel Clinic

            We did hit the jackpot at the Gospel Clinic run in cooperation with the Amity Foundation, the Luzhou Protestant Church and the local government.  The United Methodists have given money through Amity for this three-room Western and traditional Chinese medicine clinic, with adjacent pharmacy.  Saturday morning, it was filled with elderly receiving Chinese medicine treatments for arthritic aches.  Pungent poultices were applied to painful joints and then heated under lamps.  Acupuncture was used on some.  One gentlemen was receiving  electric pulses from a machine which our Methodists help to purchase along with other funds from Amity.

            Pastor Liao was with us for a short time in order to make sure everyone knew Richard was with me and not some foreign guy off the street looking to expose something sinister about their country.  As a professional, Richard had to set scenes and poses, getting quite close to both patients and doctors in order to do his job properly.  Everyone was extremely cooperative and didn’t mind his presence at all. 

            While Richard was busy with his photo shoots, I became busy with mine.

            In church last week, some announcement was made which sounded to me like the church would be closed and we’d be having worship next door.  I didn’t catch everything and thought I had misunderstood.  Yet upon arrival at the clinic, which is next to the church, I found out my Chinese listening comprehension isn’t that bad after all.

            Even in this dreadful rain, work was going about inside to make a new cement platform (a much larger one) for both worship and other celebrations, such as the upcoming Christmas pageants.  Pews have all been moved out, ladders are everywhere, and a huge pile of sand sat ready to be mixed by hand for the concrete.  Upstairs in the balcony area, the windows had been torn out, perhaps to make them larger or smaller. 

           With this rain, the cement was not drying well at all. Everything was damp, wet and smelly with workers coming and going.

            The only ministry-related activity going on was one of our elderly Christian ladies in the outer area.  She was making the communion wafers we’d be using in church tomorrow.  I always wondered about our bits and pieces of torn-apart wafers.  Where did they come from?  Who made them?  What exactly were these paper-thin things?  Here was my answer. 

            Using coal cylinders to cook over, our communion wafer maker applied a batter to two iron plates.  These were pressed together and heated over the hot coal for a minute or two, being turned from one side to another.  After that,  the thin crepe was peeled off and placed on a pile with others in a tin basin.  Not only was she making for our church community (500) but the outerlying meeting points as well.  I was told she needed to make about 200 of these by tomorrow.                 

            Gracious!  Those are a lot of communion wafers!
            As I watched her carefully prepare these important items before Pastor blessed them, I couldn’t help thinking what a wonderful way to serve your church.  No matter how old or young you are, how much education or money you have, there’s always something vital that you can do for your church community.  In America, it might be tidying up the nursery, cleaning out the kitchen cupboards, or making sure the altar is dusted.  In Luzhou, here our elderly have the glorious mission of making communion wafers for the entire surrounding Christian community.  What a great way to serve the Lord! 

            Certainly made me pause to think what I’ve done for my Luzhou church community lately. 

            Pastor Liao was  keen to pull me away from the in-shambles sanctuary and lead me into the building next door where our makeshift services would be held.  The second floor belongs to the church and has a Christian service center, senior citizen’s center, as well as a children’s daycare and language school.  We tromped through the hallways to enter a huge concrete warehouse type area. The pews were tidily lined up for worship under an arched skylight of sorts. 

            The place itself was actually somewhat open to the elements as it wasn’t  fully enclosed, only roofed.  The restaurant located next door had me coughing  as the open kitchen directed all the smoky wok smells and spicy stir-fried hot peppers directly over our heads. 

            We’ll be safe tomorrow morning for an hour or so but with communion, which usually closes our worship around 11:30 a.m. instead of 11, we’ll most likely be competing with food prep for the hungry lunch crowds a few doors down. 

            After Richard’s successful healthcare photo shoot, it was off to McDonalds for a quick lunch, a dash to the hotel to pick up his things and finally a taxi ride to the long distance bus terminal.  Richard was leaving from the Chongqing airport for Beijing on Sunday afternoon.  Since the ride was 3 ½ hours, we figured it was better to get him there a day early rather than chance a late arrival on Sunday, especially in all this slippery rain.  The expressways in China are known for accidents, especially when the weather is bad and drivers speeding eagerly to get where they’re going.

            Richard’s business with the Board is now officially over with me having been the last stop.  His next job has him in Beijing, working for Coca-cola and doing some work for them.  After that, he’s returning to the States.  

When It Rains, It Pours           

            Now that Richard is gone, I’m forced to turn my attention to the bedroom ceiling.

            Early Friday morning, I was surprised. while sleeping, by a very chilly drip that bolted me upright.  Little Flower has very little drooling capability so I knew it wasn’t her.  Sure enough, over my head the ceiling was lined with water marks.  Huge drops were accumulating and falling downward onto my fluffy comforter, barely missing my cozily nestled Chihuahua.

            After reporting this to Catherine (Yin Ying), the foreign affair’s director of our school, she called the building manager.  It seems the poor man has been getting a lot of such calls lately.  There’s a broken water pipe on the 5^th floor which is now affecting all of us underneath.  The building is so old that all the pipes need to be replaced but in this rainy weather, it’s virtually impossible.  The workers have to tear out old piping to replace with new and then cement it in.  Chinese cement just doesn’t dry well at all in wet weather so we are all stuck with dripping water for awhile. 

            Yesterday, the leak was a drop or two the entire day but we are now into a number of very large drops for every minute. 

            I’ve scrunched everything to one side of the bedroom and placed my bucket underneath the leak.  I just pray the dripping water doesn’t spread the length of the ceiling.  Currently, it’s just one isolated spot but the longer we wait, I’m sure the bigger that isolated spot will get.

            I guess the saying is true that when it rains, it pours. In my case, it’s just a bit more literal than in most.

            Here’s hoping you enjoy the pictures from the past few days, including our Halloween movie night along with Richard’s visit.

            From Luzhou, here’s once again wishing you “Ping An!” (peace) for your weekend.

           “I love you!” one of my college students, “Angie”, enthusiastically shouted while I threw a handful of candy into her bag.  “Can I hug you?”

            How often does Halloween fun, in this case trick-or-treating to the foreigner’s home, bring on that kind of reaction!

            These past two weeks have been devoted to Halloween in my English majors’ second year classrooms.  Part of our lesson time together covers holidays and traditions of America, such as Christmas, Thanksgiving, Valentine’s Day and Mother’s Day.  October is the month for Halloween.  It’s always the first special Amercian custom that we cover for the new semester so I try to do it up just right. 

            Because these students will be future elementary and junior high school English teachers, and because the textbooks their students use have a unit on Halloween, it’s important that they get all the information necessary to make sure they are well-qualified to teach such a unit.  I’ve gone over several older Chinese elementary and junior high school English texts that refer to Halloween as a Christian holiday.  All Hallow’s Eve, followed by All Saints Day, does have some Christian connections but it certainly is not a Christian holiday, or any holiday for that matter.   It’s a tradition descended from over 2,000 years ago from the Druids.  I certainly wouldn’t be doing my duty as a good Christian, or a veteran teacher, to unleash novice teachers into China’s schools with the idea that Christians celebrate Halloween as a Christian holiday.  Ouch!

            Thus the two weeks on Halloween.  

            Our Halloween unit covers the history of the day, how the customs came about, and what Americans (mostly children) do to celebrate this day.  In class, the students sample trying on costumes, re-enacting trick-or-treating, and bobbing for apples.  They always go crazy over the pumpkin I’ve carved as an example of a jack-o-lantern.  Those with digital camera cell phone abilities spend the entire 10-minute break posing with the lit pumpkin, wearing the witches’ hat and masks, and racing about dressed as the sheeted ghost. 

            Our days this week have been spent getting ready for next week’s Halloween unit test and making masks for visits to my home for trick-or-treating.  Students are required to wear their masks, bring a bag and come to my home for their goodies. Each class has a specific time to descend upon my little apartment in small groups. 

            As the appointed time comes, I can always tell of their arrival.   My second story balcony brings many gasps and shouts of “How beautiful!” from those glimpsing it for the first time.  The pumpkin glows his greeting while orange paper luminaries with smiling and frowning faces gaze down on them.  In the darkness, and the cool October temperatures, there is definitely a feeling of an American Halloween night in the air.

            Tromping noisily up the stairs, I finally hear the groups gathering on the landing.  They’re whispering in Chinese outside of my door:  “Knock on the door!”  “Quiet!  She’ll know we’re here.”  “Is this the right apartment?”

            Their shy hesitation can last anywhere from a few seconds to up to several minutes.  I, meanwhile, peer through the door’s peek hole from time to time or sit impatiently with a huge basin of candy in my lap. 

            Of course, I could open the door and invite them in but that spoils the entire experience of the evening.  They’re supposed to knock, they’re supposed to raise their masks to their faces and they’re supposed to shout “Trick-or-Treat!”

            Although it sometimes takes awhile, there’s eventually one brave soul who leads the way with a knock, the door opens and in they bound with “Trick-or-Treat!  Trick-or-Treat!  Trick-or-Treat!” filling my small outer room.

            I certainly am not the stingy one when it comes to goodies, either.  Everyone gets a huge handful of the best wrapped candies I could buy.  These students are poor and rarely purchase the truly tasty sweets.   Instead, they settle for the mundane cheap ones.  But on my Halloween watch, my trick-or-treaters get the best of the best. 

             It certainly seems to be worth the effort, too.  Excited, happy students shout “Thank you!” as they scoot down the stairwell, many already ripping into their candy wrappers to see what lies inside.

            As for me, I get shouts of “I love you, Connie!” and hugs from sweet students such as Angie.  

That’s certainly enough reward for me.

            Two more trick-or-treat nights to go, then it’s the Disney movie “Casper” in the classroom building’s only large power-point lecture hall on Friday night.  It’s a long hike up to the 6^th floor and the room only holds 120 (I have 180) so I imagine it’ll be a  tight fit.  I’ve already warned everyone they’ll most likely have to bring chairs from the lower-level classrooms.  As you know from the last entry, they’re getting pretty used to dragging chairs around so there shouldn’t be too many groans of inconvenience.  Getting them to put the chairs back after the movie . . . . , well, that might be a different story.

            Here’s hoping your trick-or-treaters this year were worthy of their goodies.  Mine certainly were!

            From Luzhou, wishing you a Halloween week’s “Ping An” (peace)

The 20-minute scramble and panic in between classes is immense.  Students race frantically from room to room, snatching up a chair and moving it from one classroom to the next.  Some politely carry their school furnishings while others lazily drag them along, the metal legs screeching agonizingly against the hallway floor.  Not surprisingly, the misused ones lose a screw or two along the way, sending the seat flopping backwards or leaving one of the legs behind.

The abusing students groan then disappear into another classroom to exchange their broken item with a sturdier one.

            Even after the bell rings, a few stragglers are still searching for seats.

            This chair dilemma started three weeks ago with the arrival of  2,000 freshmen students to our campus.  Our one classroom building, which opened 3 years ago, was built with theater-style pull down seats and long desktops in a number of rooms but others still have movable desks and chairs.  These are much like our US grammar school furniture.   The desks have an underneath compartment for storing books.  The wooden chair seats and backs have double bar legs attached by screws. This old-style equipment was brought over from the old classroom building (now a dormitory) after years of use so you can imagine what shape many are in.  Not great.

            At first, the scramble to find seats was a small annoyance.  Usually, it was just a matter of walking next door and grabbing up an extra chair from the back of another classroom.

            But three weeks later, after more chairs have broken up, it’s become a real pain.  Students are rushing up and down floors, gazing hopefully into the back of lecture halls to find a few usable stray chairs that might be around.  In many cases, they don’t find them.

            I encountered this very problem last Monday afternoon in my 2:40  class.

 The 3rd floor is filled with classrooms of desks and chairs.  Entering the room at 2:30, I began writing the lesson directions on the blackboard. The students shuffled in to find places to sit with several rushing outside from time to time to pull in a chair from somewhere else. 

            The real problem came when the bell rang and 4 of the girls were standing at desks at the back of the room.

            “Try the 5^th floor,” I told them.  “Look at the back of the rooms.  They often have chairs.”

            Giggling with embarrassment, the girls ran out as I started the lesson but they returned within 1 minute.

 I knew they hadn’t gone anywhere because they were back too soon.  They probably just stood outside the room to make it seem as if they’d gone someplace.  

This is definitely a cultural thing.  Chinese students never interrupt a teacher who has begun a class, especially if it’s not their teacher or classroom.  If they are late, they stand at the door and say, “May I come in?”  The teacher is then to respond by nodding his or her head.  Sometimes, the student just stands in the open doorway until the teacher notices him and gives him permission to enter.

Asking students to enter a classroom and steal chairs, even if the chairs are located conveniently at the back of a classroom, is very impolite and embarrassing.  I’m absolutely positive no Chinese teacher would deny them a chair, especially as we are all miffed by this chair dilemma, but these are Chinese students.  Taking a brave stance and initiative to go against custom is not exactly built into their systems.

In other words, they’d rather lie to me, their foreign teacher, and suffer standing for 2 hours than interrupt a strange classroom to clang, bang and drag out chairs.

Sneaking back to their standing places, my four girls positioned themselves behind their desks once again and seemed ready to endure the long stand.

“Did you find any chairs on the 5^th floor?” I asked as the entire class sat expectantly, waiting for their response.

“Yes!  No chairs,” they lied. 

So I turned to Plan B.

Plan B seemed perfectly logical to me.  In America, if we don’t have chairs, we just sit on the desks. 

            “We’ll do like we do in America,” I announced enthusiastically. “Just sit on the desk.”

            Stunned silence.

            Those standing in the back didn’t move. I thought they hadn’t understood what I was saying so I walked back to demonstrate.  All eyes followed me as I made my way to the back of the room, picked up a student’s things, and perched myself on the desk with the book balanced in my lap.

            The entire room erupted into laughter. 

            “No!” a few of the students shouted while those standing tittered nervously. 

            O.K.  So obviously students sitting on top of a classroom desk is a cultural faux pas in China.   

After so many years of teaching in this country, didn’t I know that?   Guess not!

Plan C was to share a chair with another student.  This I had seen on many occasions where seats were not enough.  These young people are so tiny and thin, two rear ends on a chair would be like one rear end for the average American. 

While this solution was certainly more acceptable than the other, my four still opted to stand.

I’d done everything possible to help them out so I just let them be.  And, bless them, they did manage the entire time standing aside from a few squats, their heads popping up over the desktop,  toward the end of the second period.

As the week wore on, more and more students were having difficulty snatching not only usable chairs but desks as well.  I watched entire classrooms emptied of both desks and chairs for one period and then dragged back down the hallway by students needing them during another period.

            Peering into one room during a break, I noticed some very ingenuous boys had positioned the desks on their sides and were using them as chairs.  While sitting on top of the desk seemed out of the question, tossing one on its side and sitting on it certainly didn’t raise any eyebrows.  I’ve taken a mental note of this as a Plan D for next week’s classes.

            And most likely, I’ll really be needing that Plan D,  . . . . if there are any desks to spare, that is.  This weekend, the last enrollment of 400 freshmen are arriving with perhaps another 100 yet to trickle in.  Every year, the college submits the number of incoming students to the provincial government for approval.  This year, 2,500 were approved but only 2,000 arrived.  Much of this is due to the earthquake when many of the entrance exams were postponed to a later date, thus making freshmen enrollment in Sichuan’s smaller colleges late as well.

            Heaven only knows how those 400 students will be managing in our classrooms next week. If we’re short on furnishings now, we certainly aren’t going to be in great shape for receiving newcomers when Monday hits.

            Our newly arrived freshmen don’t know that yet, however.  Hopefully, all the preparations this weekend to make them feel at home will help ease their disappointment in our facilities when they actually start their courses.  Banners this week have been flying, welcoming new students to our college.  And tonight’s Friday evening, two performance events hosted by different departments are being held for our newcomers as well.  One is on the sports’ field and another near the entrance gate.  Stages have been set up, fancy sound and lighting equipment positioned, balloons tied together for decorations, and community sponsors used to pay for huge back-drops announcing the event.  These same sponsors, mostly for drink companies, have also set up their wares under tents to sell to the students.  The most popular sponsors are those that sell bottled drinks, such as flavored iced teas, juices, and soft drinks.    

            While it’s great that the students are able to find sponsors for such events, one does wonder why those same sponsors don’t consider a donation to the college, perhaps for something, like, might we say, . . . classroom chairs? 

            I’m guessing that any day now, a huge truck will pull up to our classroom building and be stacked with hundreds of brand new chairs.  The workers will begin unloading them, one by one, and hustling them into classrooms where they’re sorely needed. Who knows?  Maybe that will even take place this weekend, in time for my Monday afternoon class!  Wouldn’t that be great.

            I’m not counting on it, though. I’ll most likely be turning to Plans A to D come the beginning of the week.

            Anyone out there with a Plan E is welcome to send one my way.  Always pays to ready with extra solutions, just in case.

            From Luzhou China, here’s sending you a weekend “Ping An” (peace).   

            Now that the October 1^st National Day holidays are over, swimming pools all across China are beginning their Winter Swimming Club seasons.

            From the bitter, harsh, snowy cold of the north to the more temperate and mild warmth of the south, non-heated pools are opening their doors once again to swimmers ready to brave the winter elements in their regions. 

            In Luzhou, our Number 6 High School’s public indoor 50 meter pool is one such place.  During the sizzling 100 degree summers, it’s crowded with those wishing to cool off from the heat while at the same time not having to deal with burning their skin.  During the fall, winter and spring, the pool remains quite empty aside from us die-hard fans of the water.  

            Last week, a few sunny days of 80 – 70 degrees have given the water a boost of warmth.  But these past 5 days of rain and cold are sinking us fast into a more chilly swim with chillier yet to come.

            Last year, southern China was sent into almost a daily freeze with even snow.  Rarely do we go below 40 so I can just imagine how challenged our small town swimmers were last year to brave such an unusual climate.   This year, who knows what the weather has in store for us.

            The Number 6 High School first built their pool in 2003, the second year I was in Luzhou.  Before that, I had no place to swim during the winter so I satisfied myself with daily dog walks around the campus.

            Needless to say, for a die-hard swimmer, it wasn’t very gratifying.

            Then a magnificent indoor pool arrived which thrilled everyone in Luzhou who was a water person.  It was equipped with everything from lane lines to starting blocks to heating.  The high school administrators went all out in their building of this facility, including sitting rooms alongside the deck where people could eat, rest or even smoke cigarettes. 

            When the cold weather hit, the pool’s heating system kicked in to a toasty 75 degrees inside with the water steaming upward, into the 90s.  With so many in a small provincial town not used to visiting the pool in the dead of winter, the cost of heating it became too pricy.  No one came aside from me much of the time.   Not even the elderly wanted to swim in such hot water.  A majority who enjoyed winter swimming ventures instead headed to the Yangtze which was where they’d been swimming for years before the pool opened.  

            The third year, the school decided to halt heating all together.  They started the Luzhou Winter Swimming Club starting from Oct. 1 to May 1^st.  With a photo and 100 yuan fee ($14), anyone could join the winter swimmers and receive a discount of only 3 yuan (44 cents) a swimming ticket to enter instead of the public 8 yuan ($1.17).  I gladly joined, not realizing just how cold that water gets beginning late October.  By November, I was hardly able to stay in for more than 15 minutes.  Meanwhile, my winter swimming colleagues were easily diving in and gleefully making their way along up and down their lanes for more than 30 minutes.  Amazing, as most had very little body fat to keep out the cold.

            Being the whimp that I am, I cheated.  I ordered a wetsuit from America. 

            That first stroll out onto the pool deck in my Aquaman Pulsar competitive  swimming wetsuit  brought a lot of stares and whispers from my Chinese friends.  They were quite taken by this strange sight, wanting to know what it was and why I was wearing it.   I was even featured in the local newspaper, picture and all, of the foreigner in her special winter swimming gear.  For a couple of days, I was quite the celebrity.

            But after awhile, things calmed down.   I and my suit became a regular item at the pool.  No one cared much what I wore and went about their own work-outs as usual.

            I’ve been a year absent from our No. 6 Middle School pool so my wetsuit is once again causing somewhat of a stir.  Everyone touches the sleek, black, tight-fitting material and wants to know how it works.  They are especially fascinated by the long cord that dangles down from the zipper in the back.   This is the cord that allows me to unzip the suit.  We now jokingly call it the foreigner’s weiba (tail). 

            Years ago in China, overseas’ visitors were often referred to quite venomously as foreign devils.  I’m just thinking if I were transported back 100 years to the China of old, wouldn’t my winter swimming appearance cause quite the sensation. 

            “You see!” the Chinese locals would shout. “It is too certainly a devil.  Look at its tail!”

            Some positive image of Christianity and foreigners that would leave behind, eh?  Good thing the China of today has a more worldly, informed view of overseas’ visitors and their religious faiths.

             In all honesty, this is a good time to be in China sharing in the love of other Chinese Christians and also in the kindness of the Chinese people.  I feel very blessed to be here, my foreigner’s tail and all.  J 

            Until next time, from Luzhou, here’s wishing you Ping An for your day.