connie's space

           Tomorrow, I will be returning to America for three weeks in order to apply for a Chinese work visa.  These visas can only be given outside of the country, thus the return to the States. 

            Being a person who enjoys planning ahead of time, I’ve had my week mapped out very well to get things done a little at a time so as not to be rushed. 

            First, I found a house-sitter who will take care of the flat and also Little Ghost.  Rebecca (Zhang Ou), a Sichuan University student, was the one who helped me with apartment hunting last year.  She’s a biology major but her English is excellent.  Last Sunday, she came for a visit so we could go over all the quirks of the apartment and details of taking care of kitty.

            This certainly beat staying in the dorm during the summer or returning to her hometown where there wasn’t anything to do.  Having all the comforts of home, not to mention thousands of movies from my pirated DVD collection to watch, is a big deal for a Chinese college kid.

            The only concern Rebecca had was staying by herself.  This worry also spilled over to her mother who thought I was living in a run-down, poor area of the city (which I certainly am not).      Chinese young women are not as independent as Americans.  Having people around is a comfort so Rebecca planned on having some friends stay with her.  As it turned out, two of my Luzhou students are attending a 1-week English orientation program at Sichuan University. Both had done excellent in a provincial English competition and their reward was a scholarship to an English camp in another province.  First, however, they had to attend the orientation in Chengdu but had no place to stay.  Since my apartment is huge, with two beds and plenty of room for guests, both Diana (my three Muskateer girl) and  Agnes (another of my former students) will be staying with Rebecca while they complete their program.  After that, Rebecca will invite more of her friends to hang out with her.

            We’ve already had a number of phone calls this evening, just making sure everything was in proper order for her arrival tomorrow afternoon.

            Little Ghost is easy enough to care for but Little Flower is a bit more bothersome.  Because she would never allow a stranger to take care of her, especially in her own territory, this evening I’ve dropped her off at her babysitter’s home. 

            For 7 years, Mrs. He (huh) has looked after LF whenever I leave for the States.  Her husband is a businessman and she is the vice director of the Sichuan Center for International Peace and Development Studies.  I’m not sure what that all entails but it’s a high-level government position.  Her daughter, now 20, is ready to begin her third year as a computer major in a Chengdu university.

            Mrs. He has a small male poodle and the two dogs get along splendidly.   Of course, it usually takes LF a few days to get used to her new environment. Usually, she stays huddled in her carrier and refuses to come out, even to eat or use the toilet, but eventually Mrs. He and family win her over. 

            Whenever I leave their home, it’s a very unhappy, panicked LF whom I hear whimpering and barking at the door but upon my return, all that’s forgotten.  Mrs. He then gives me the rundown of all LF’s happy times she’s enjoyed with everyone, including her romps with Huan-huan (the poodle) and her play sessions with her daughter and husband.

            Yes, my well-planned week was moving along quite nicely.  House sitter and animals taken care of,  gifts bought, visa documents in order, suitcase just about packed, an early night in

expected  . . . .  and then came the explosion.

            At midnight, as I was about ready to turn off the lights and call it a day, I heard a huge bang.      After racing to the kitchen windows, I peered out to see crowds of people in our red light district pouring out of buildings into the street.  Because my windows don’t look directly onto that area, all I could see were the heads of hundreds standing along the sidewalk and in the middle of the road but I couldn’t make out anything else.

            Not about to miss out on a neighborhood event, I grabbed my camera and quickly made my way clear around the block to find out what all the commotion was about.

            By the time I arrived, perhaps 15 minutes later, the police were there keeping the crowds back.  Two fire trucks were also present and firemen were moving about in front of the building opposite mine.  An ambulance slowly inched its way to the front of the crowd while I did the same. 

            The Yang’s convenience store is on this road so I stopped in to talk to Jalin’s mom and dad about what had happened. They said there was an explosion but they had no idea what it was. 

            Sure enough, after making my way through the growing number of spectators, I saw what was causing all this commotion. 

            One of the shops along the street had exploded, the security guard door blown clear across the street with glass and bits of metal everywhere.  The inside was completely charred with not a single thing left inside.  As the firemen cautiously entered to inspect it with flashlights, we all wondered the same thing:  Was anyone inside?  Could they have possibly survived?    

            There was no fire or smoke, just a burned out, one-room shop and (thankfully) not a single person inside.  Nor were the apartments above the store damaged, although the fire department quickly evacuated the building to make sure this was an isolated incident and wasn’t about to happen again.

            Although nothing much was going on, no one really wanted to leave. 

            Being a very humid, sticky, hot night, our midnight awakening made this a great time for an ice-cream run.  The convenience stores started doing an incredible business with the spectators.  Net users, prostitutes, sleepy residents and others were cooling down in this wicked night heat with the help of popsicles, ice cream bars and drumsticks purchased from nearby shops. I noticed Jalin’s parents’ store freezer was emptying fast, along with all the other business owners’. 

            After about 45 minutes, I called it quits but people still haven’t quite dispersed yet and it’s almost 1:30 a.m. 

            I suppose tomorrow, we’ll all know what the explosion was about but I might very well be headed to the airport before then.  Nothing like a little mystery and intrigue to occupy my thoughts on a very long, long flight across the Pacific ocean.   That as well as a big "bang!" send-off.  

            And on that last note, I’ll call it quits for these wee morning hours with promises to update you all from time-to-time before my return to China next month.

            As always, here’s wishing you “Ping An!” (Peace) for your upcoming weekend.

              I eagerly waited for a pick-up after dialing the number Jason (Li Ke) had given me.  It was his mother’s cell phone number, the only way I could contact her as she was staying with her daughter in the hospital.

            “Wei (Hello?)” I said in Chinese when I heard a voice answer.  “Wo shi . . . (I’m . . .)”
            I didn’t even get to finish.

             Dai Wei Chun, Jason’s mom, excitedly called out, “Connie Laoshi! (Teacher Connie!)”

            Jason had warned her I’d be calling to make arrangements for a time I could visit Li Xiao Juan, Jason’s 26-year-old sister who had finally had her heart operation 2 days ago.

            Jason’s sister was born with a congenital heart defect, a small hole in the heart which was only detected about 5 years ago. This needed to be repaired and repaired as quickly as possible as it was only getting worse.

             Because of all the procedures the doctors have been laying out that could be done, Jason wasn’t exactly sure what was going on.  His distance from home only allowed phone calls to explain what was happening during the past 3 months and these he relayed to me.  There was talk of open-heart surgery and this is what I previously thought would be done.

            However, a decision was made instead to use an implant to help close the hole.  I had no idea what that entailed so I looked it up on the Internet.  Here’s what I found, in very simplified terms:

            The doctor finds a small hole in the heart. This hole is called a patent foramen ovale (called a PFO) or an atrial septal defect (called an ASD). It is between the right and left atria (upper chambers) of your heart.
            The doctor wants to close the small hole using an implant. The implant looks like two small fabric umbrellas, one on each side. Over time, the tissue around the hole grows into the fabric and the implant becomes a permanent part of the heart.
            A cardiologist uses a catheter (small, narrow tube) to place the implant in the hole. The procedure is called a transcatheter hole closure. This is used  instead of open heart surgery.

            This  operation is fairly non-evasive.  The patient is awake, an incision is made in the groin or neck (the groin for Li Xiao Juan), the catheter is threaded through the vein to the heart and the implant (two fabric umbrellas) is released to plug the hole.  The patient needs bedrest for awhile, receives blood thinner and antibiotics for infection, but other than that, he or she is free to go home after a few days in the hospital.  In China, however, this procedure called for Li Xiao Juan  to stay a week in the hospital.

            After talking to Jason’s mother, we agreed that today in the afternoon around 3:30 would be a good time to visit.  Chinese hospitals have no visiting hours as people constantly come and go.  This is because, as I mentioned before, it is the responsibility of others to care for the patient’s needs (food, clothing, cleaning) and not the hospital staff.  Jason’s mom was staying during the daytime while his father was working.  At night,  Mom went home and Dad came to stay with their daughter.  Jason’s sister shared her bed with whoever spent the night.  Bed-sharing with patients is also common practice for care-giving relatives in a Chinese hospital.

            Although I could have gone to the hospital by myself, I was fortunate enough to have two of my three Muskateers on hand to accompany me: Rich (Wang Yun) and Diana (Ding Yan Bin).  Although Rich had finished his college courses last week, and even returned the 6-hours by train to his hometown, he suddenly realized he’d forgotten his medical textbooks which he wanted to review during the summer.  Thus he made a second trip yesterday back to the capital city to retrieve them from his dorm room.  Diana, being only an hour away, came (naturally) because of  Rich.   This would be their third time to meet under my watchful eye, making me wonder if I’m the chaperone or the matchmaker.

            With the Huaxi Hospital address and the room information in hand, we headed off by taxi to visit our patient.  As is customary in China, I brought fruit with me for Jason’s sister.  I purchased bananas, pears and peaches but was then told by Rich that bananas are considered unhealthy for those who’ve had operations.  I almost left them behind until we remembered she might have visitors.  They could eat the bananas even if she couldn’t.

            I’ve been to many hospitals in China but never one in a capital city.  Most were small town or county hospitals, which I can say were not exactly the best facilities.  But Huaxi was brand new, a large complex of clearly marked buildings with a lovely park cradled in the center.  It even had elevators and air-conditioning, which was nothing I had ever experienced years ago in China.  This was a state-of-the-art medical facility and entering it, I truly felt Jason’s sister was in the best of care.

            On the 12^th floor of the heart recovery unit, we found Jason’s sister in Bed 16 along with 6 other patients.  Each person had a simple bed with a hard mattress, a chair and a small bedside table with a cabinet underneath to store things.  A bathroom-washing area was also included in the room which everyone shared. No showers, however, as showering is considered unhealthy for those who are sick. Sponging off only are the orders doctors and nurses give to patients.

            We only had a bit of a problem in that Jason’s mother went down to meet us at the front entrance when we went up to the room directly. She had no idea where we were so she called Jason, thousands of miles away, to call me and ask me in English where I was.  Of course, she could have called me directly to speak with her in Chinese but she was worried that maybe I’d not understand.

            After Jason called me (from across a province), I then called his mother (downstairs) to return to where we were (upstairs) sitting with her daughter. 

            Ah, the blessings of having a cell phone!

            We visited for about an hour, sitting on the edge of Li Xiao Jian’s bed and chatting away in Chinese while the other patients looked on in wonder at her foreign visitor.

            I told funny stories of my American family and my experience in the big earthquake. Jason’s mom showed us the X-rays of her daughter’s implant.  (Patients take their X-rays with them when they go to different departments, rather than have the hospital keep these for them where they might get lost or misplaced.)  She also thrust bananas into our hands and carefully peeled a peach for each of us, which we quickly gobbled down. It was getting on dinnertime and we were hungry.

             Jason’s sister told us how relieved she was to have the operation over with.  She explained the doctors told her to rest for 6 months before going back to work or doing anything strenuous, thus she’ll be at home all this time recuperating. She’ll have four check-ups during the next two years, after which the heart should be fully healed with the aid of the medical procedure she just had on Monday.

            It was quite an amazing thought to think that medical science has advanced to this stage, where open-heart surgery no longer is necessary for such cases as that of Jason’s sister.  And even more amazing to realize that China, in such a short time, has now developed the ability and know-how among its own medical professionals to do these operations in such safe, sanitary environments.  This was definitely not the case 14 years ago when I first came to China. 

            Although hospital policy forbade us from taking pictures inside, we did manage one very quick snapshot of me and Li Xiao Jian before the nurse stepped in the door to chastise us.  I debated not breaking hospital rules but I wanted at least one memory to take back with me. 

            Now I have a visual memory and I’m not feeling one bit guilty for having broken the rules to get it. 

            I now have next month to look forward to when Jason returns from school and invites me to his home for a home-cooked meal.  By that time, his sister will be feeling much better and our picture-taking session won’t be placed under restrictions.  We can take as many as we want, and that’s exactly what I plan to do.

From Chengdu, sending you a blessed “Ping An!” (Peace)

             Today was probably not the best day to go gift shopping for my American friends.

             The bright sun roasted everyone, with temperatures hitting the 90s once again and the swimming pool crowded with those wanting to cool off.  Taxis were impossible to get due to the  hundreds wanting to escape the heat by not bicycling across town.

             I actually had no choice but to enter into the traffic jams this afternoon.  Today was the third, and last, vaccination appointment for Little Ghost at Dr. Q’s clinic.  Since his animal hospital just happens to be a short 20-minute walk from where I wanted to do my Chinese gift-shopping, it only made sense that I planned to buy presents today. 

            So around 3 p.m., LG and I headed off in a taxi clear across town for her shots and my buying spree.  The traffic was horrendous and it took us 40 minutes but we made it. 

            After LG was taken care of, I left her in her carrier at Dr. Q’s and headed off with money and empty tote for the best Chengdu Chinese shopping place in town:  Antique Flea Market Row, located on a wide main street between Du Fu’s Cottage park museum and the Qing Yang Gong Doaist temple.

            I found this flea market seven years ago when a friend took me there.   It hasn’t changed much since then although the shops have upscaled a bit, not to mention the prices.  It’s located next to one of the many quiet canals that run throughout the city and boasts a display of nick knacks any tourist would be overwhelmed, and overly delighted, to view. 

            There are two narrow rows of shops crowded with a lot of, well, stuff.  The old and the new; the real and the fake.  Here you can find traditional Chinese jade and Tibetan jewelry, embroidered silk fabric from ancient and modern times, hundreds of hand-painted scrolls, Chinese stone name chops made to order, old Chinese money, Chairman Mao paraphernalia, delicate porcelain vases and bowls, silk-screen embroidered pictures, 19^th century wooden furniture and stone sculptures from China’s numerous dynasties. 

            It’s an odd array of jumbled junk but here you can find great bargains and definitely treasures for your American friends or even yourself.

            I had gotten a late start so when I arrived around 4 p.m., many of the small shop owners had already closed up for the day.  Others were flopped on stools or bamboo chairs, their hand-held fans going at full speed as they tried to stay cool on this very slow, stifling hot business day. 

            Usually when a foreigner shows up, and especially as I was the only customer in sight, I’d be accosted by people pulling me toward their wares, snatching up items that might interest, offering prices, and refusing to let me go.  But the unbearable heat, and the fact that my spoken Chinese proved me not to be just another easy-mark, left me pretty much on my own. 

            Although I knew exactly where I wanted to go, it was hard not stopping from time to time just to check out what was being offered.  I really enjoyed the man with the Chinese chops.  Mr. Wang, the owner and chop carver, pulled me in after showing me some of his work.  For $15 and up, he could carve both English and Chinese names into granite chops (seals) of all sizes and shapes.  He could even do designs, such as dragons, pandas, bamboo, phoenixes and other Chinese symbols.  Making and designing chops is not only difficult to do but very few people know how.  It’s becoming a lost art so if you can find someone who does it well, best to take advantage of him or her.

            While chops were a possibility, I stored that bit of information away for another day.  My main goal was to reach Mr. Yang’s scroll and picture cubicle.  I had purchased a few items from him years ago and last month, when I happened to be in the market with NPR’s Art Silverman, I told my artist friend I’d be back next month.  Today was the day.

            Mr. Yang’s scrolls are not the best of the best.  He’s not a famous artist but just one of your basic traditional Chinese picture painters. Still, it beats anything I could ever dream of doing.   

            There were a lot of scenes to choose from:  Pandas, fuzzy Pekingese pooches, tigers, frolicking children, traditionally dressed court women, bamboo stalks, brightly colored flowers, jagged mountains cradling  temples and snaking rivers dotted with fishing sampans.   So difficult to choose when every one was different and unique in its own way. 

            He even had small pictures of water colors as well but the problem with these was the framing.  While he charged only  $1 for each, back in the States, it would cost $20-40 to have one matted and framed properly.  His small scrolls, however, come conveniently rolled up and ready for hanging as soon as they are opened. 

            After choosing 12, we had a short bargaining session to get them down from 40 yuan ($5.70)  to 30 yuan ($4.30) each.  These same scrolls, not even hand-painted but badly printed, I came across in the Chengdu tourist shops for $14. Those created by unknown artists, such as Mr. Wang, sold for $30 and more. 

            As a foreign tourist, if you’re taken to such a shopping trap, $30 would seem reasonable but if you’ve lived here for awhile, you’d know that’s quite outrageous. 

            As I wandered back through the rows, my purchases in hand, I couldn’t help but wonder how much all this traditional Asian stuff would sell in Beijing, where the Olympics are soon to take place.  Thousands of overseas’ spectators and tourists will descend upon the capital, eager to buy something Chinese.  I can just imagine the killing those sellers will make by overcharging these overzealous, excited visitors to their country.  Many foreigners won’t even bother bargaining and will end up paying ridiculous prices for cheap, mass-produced artwork sold as originals or even antiques.

            But then again, if you’re pleased with your purchase, whether you’ve been secretly cheated or not, does it really matter?  You’re happy, the seller’s happy and if you’re buying for friends or relatives, they’re also happy.  Win-win situation all-round.

            In my opinion, that’s a very healthy, positive outlook to embrace when you’re visiting another culture for the first time.   I hope our Olympic spectators take this to heart so they can have a good experience in China and not feel taken advantage of or abused by the locals.

             If you live here, however, best to be an informed consumer.  Be wary, do your comparison shopping, learn to bargain well and definitely buy from those you trust.   Following those guidelines, I’d say for me, today’s gift-buying was a success:  I’m happy, Mr. Yang’s happy and I know my friends and relatives will certainly be happy.  

            Win-win situation all-round.

From Chengdu, “Ping An!” (Peace) to you and yours as you enjoy your week  

             The past three days has had me busy preparing for a class party.

            At the end of every term, I think it’s a nice idea to have a gathering of my classmates in my home as a final farewell before we go our separate ways. Last year’s party was a joyful one as Christmastime had arrived, my class was full of young university students from many different countries and we had grown fairly close over the semester. 

            This semester, however, our group dynamics were a bit different.  We had many older men, mostly from Korea and Japan, with a sprinkling of young Thai girls and a couple of aloof European college guys.  The earthquake dropped my class from 22 down to 8 since quite a few went home so we combined with another intermediate level class to reach a total of about 18 all together.

             Only about 10 of us attended classes on a daily basis.  The rest came and went according to how they felt.

            Despite the rather distant relationship we all had, I still felt it would be nice for a Saturday get-together, especially as Friday was our last class day.  It gave me a great excuse to clean my apartment and an even better one to actually bake something from scratch if you have the right equipment.

            Ovens in China are rare but in most department stores, a person can purchase a table-top oven about the size of a small TV set.  Costs range from $45 on up and, while small, if you enjoy baking, I’d say the purchase is worth it.

            My oven was a gift from a former Amity teacher who returned to her home country.  She’d had it for 4 years before giving it to me.  I’ve had it for 7 years now so it’s had 11 years of great use.

             I only use this oven for Christmas baking or other special occasions.  Mostly, it sits atop the refrigerator and gathers dust until it’s time to pull it down, set it up on the kitchen table and get busy flipping through tried-and-true recipes which can be made in China.  I’m fortunate to have the International Store just around the corner where I can purchase butter or margarine, chocolate chips, powdered sugar, vanilla, cocoa and baking chocolate. 

            Butter and margarine used to be impossible items to find in China but within the past 3 years, I’ve seen them crop up in average chain groceries like the Trust-mart.  They are Chinese brands, however, and while the taste is fairly nasty by itself, in cooked items, they’ll do just fine.

            The only problem with having a small oven is that it takes a long time to make anything.  I spent two evenings preparing chocolate chip, peanut butter and chocolate truffle cookies.  When you can only bake about 10 cookies at a time, it’ll take awhile, believe me.

            For the party, as always, I enlisted the help of Jalin (my 14-year-old neighbor girl) and her friend, Angel (13 years old).  The last time I had a class gathering, I handed out hand-drawn maps of how to get to my place.  Of course, some got lost.  Jalin and Angel’s job had been to go find them after they telephoned for help.  The two also poured drinks and assisted with clean-up afterwards. 
            In exchange for all their hard work, they excitedly had pictures taken with the handsome foreign guys (two Germans and 4 Thai young men), practiced a bit of their English, and taught the Thai girls some Chinese party games and songs. They also ended up taking home quite a few of the goodies that were left over, including the cut-out sugar cookies which were quickly their favorites. 

            Last semester, I knew the party would be a success but with this group, I had no idea about.   When Saturday evening came, and no one but Jalin and Angel had yet showed up 45 minutes after the appointed 6:30 start, I wondered if this was such a good idea or not.

            7:20 finally brought a small group to my door after Jalin went after them.  They’d walked past the apartment complex entrance and were several blocks up the road.  By 8 p.m., everyone who was coming had arrived, including one of my teachers, Ms. Guo (gw-oh) and her new boyfriend. 

            As soon as she entered my apartment, all the Thai girls immediately burst into  squeals of delight that she had brought her special guy friend to meet them.  In fact, he was the only male among all us females (a total of 10) which made him quite the VIP.

            As is the custom in Asia, flowers or fruit are good hostess gifts to bring.  Ms. Guo chose a lovely bunch of fragrant yellow lilies as her gift for me.  Flower shops in China are along every street and the prices, compared to the States, are very cheap.  Lilies run about $1.15 a stem (3 blooms) and roses are about 50 cents each.  Yes, they do have a wonderful smell, unlike those we purchase in the U.S. florist shops.

            The Thai college girls and one older woman from Singapore went for fruit, which I was very grateful to have as I hadn’t bothered with more healthy choices for the party.   Fruit gifts are meant to be shared right away with others so I sent Jalin and Angel off into the kitchen to prepare those items for serving, one being lichee and the other apricots. 

            The most popular in-season fruit now is the lichee, which is actually quite famous in Luzhou where (they say) the best lichee are grown.  Lichee is a tree fruit about the size of a ping-pong ball.  It’s encased in a rough, thin, bark-like covering which you easily peel away with your fingers to reveal the juicy, watery, white, succulent middle. There’s a pit so be careful if you bite down on it.

            Lichee now is at its plumpest but soon, as the next few weeks wear on, the size of the fruit will become much smaller. We buy lichee in tied-together bunches with the stems still attached or singly, just with the fruit itself. Currently, bunches sell for about 5 yuan (70 cents) a pound.  The loose fruit lichee is a bit cheaper because the selections are not as nice.

            While my Asian classmates brought the traditional Asian hostess gifts, my American classmate Hanna did what most Americans would do:  She prepared more goodies. 

            Her rice-crispy treats were probably the hottest item on the table.  Because no one had ever seen these before, they were a bit hesitant by their gooey appearance. Hanna and I had a bit of work ahead of us prying the sticky squares away from one another and off the foil they were placed on.  I admit, if I didn’t know what they were, I’d have been wary of them, too.  But after everyone politely tried a bite of one, their faces lit up and the room filled with exclamations of, “Hao chi!  Hao chi!” (Very good!  Very good!). 

            Second and third helpings had Hanna’s treats gone within 30 minutes.

            By 9:30 p.m., people were ready to go.  We had numerous group pictures taken, with the help of Ms. Guo’s male companion, and then said our farewells. 

            So after three days of cleaning the apartment, baking and decorating, was it worth it for such a small crowd?   Take a look at our party pictures and judge for yourself.

            From Chengdu, here’s wishing you “Ping An”  (Peace) 

           This week has been the first week of vacation for most students.  So, what exactly do Chinese kids do to keep busy in the summer?  Well, a number of parents enroll them in swimming lessons.  One of my favorite things to do after finishing my work-out at the Meng Zhui Wan pool is to hang out with the parents and watch their kids taking lessons.

            My swimming pool complex is about the only one I know of in the city that has lessons continuously all day, 7 days a week, in both the outdoor pools and the indoor pool.  Several years ago, the lesson crowds were not so big but recently in China, parents want their children to concentrate on their physical health more.  Swimming lessons are becoming a big draw and money maker for pools.  Just last Sunday, I remember being handed a flyer about swimming lessons being given for both adults and children at a nearby pool which just opened this year.

            In the States, swimming lessons tend to be private or very small groups (4-6 at the most) but at my pool here, there are about 500 swimmers of all skill levels and age-groups being taught a day.   The sizes of classes range from 10 to 25 children with either one teacher for a class of advanced swimmers or 3 to 4 supervising  the beginners.  Group lessons cost 320 yuan ($45.70) per child for 16 one-hour lessons, or 20 yuan ($2.85) per lesson. 

            When I taught swimming years ago, I made a great profit as the majority of the lesson money went to me.  But at Meng Zhui Wan, I found out that the pool receives most of the money and the poor instructors only receive 4 yuan (57 cents) each hour they teach.  As lifeguards, they make 7 yuan ($1.00) an hour for doing very little other than sitting in guard chairs.  Working with the kids takes a lot more time, energy and skill to keep track of everyone, especially when you have 25 kids an hour to watch out for.  In my opinion, they deserve a lot more than 57 cents an hour.

            Having so many young people being taught at one time, one would think the place would be a frantic chaotic mess with children running here and there, squealing with delight and goofing off.   Not so! 

            For one thing, the instructors are extremely organized and strict in their methods of teaching.  Children are all required to have their own kickboards and belt floatation devices (for the beginners) which their parents purchase at the swimming shop.   First, the children line up to do their exercises before entering the pool.  At the beginning of each lesson, before the kids even enter the water, each swimming instructor leads his or her class in floor leg kicks, stretches and correct stroke movements.  Everyone practices these while the teacher looks on, correcting their errors.  After that,  it’s an orderly jump for each group into their roped-off section of the pool for  lesson time.

             The children carefully listen to their teachers who guide them both in the water and from alongside the pool in how to swim properly.  As a former swimming instructor myself and competitive swimmer, I am impressed by their knowledge of stroke technique and mechanics.  These are not high school students who know very little about swimming.  They are those in their 20s and 30s who are experts in their  field.  Some are lifeguards at the complex but a few, I learned, are swimming teachers and coaches from the nearby Meng Zhui Wan Swimming Academy. 

            This junior and senior high school, located one block from the pool complex, trains the students in academics and swimming in hopes that they might get a champion swimmer or diver out of one of them.  Now that school has dismissed, and the summer swimming season has started up,  they get in swimming time in between the public pool hours and at other pools in the area.  For students at the Meng Zhui Wan Swimming Academy, classroom lessons may have ceased  but their vacation is now filled with Olympic-style work-outs and swimming meets.   

            Now back to our public pool trainers and their novice swimmers.

             Keeping the children in line is easy to do when instructors are experienced enough to do so but another thing that makes the kids behave are the parents.  While it’s fun to watch the gradeschoolers splashing about, mostly as they are so darn cute, it’s almost just as fun to watch the adults.

            Swimming seems to be somewhat of a family affair in China, especially because of the one-child policy.  All attention of every family member is focused on the one child. Grandma, grandpa, mom, dad, younger cousins, aunts and uncles all congregate along the outside pool fence or in the indoor pool balcony area to watch their children being taught to swim.  They are not allowed on the pool deck, which is a good thing because there are so many of them.  In fact, sometimes the adults pay more attention to what the instructors have to say than the children. 

            “Do like Teacher Tong says!” one mother called  out to her kid while leaning over the outdoor pool’s thick iron railing.  “Move your arms like this!”

            She then mimicked what Teacher Tong had done, swinging her arms in the freestyle and turning her head to the side as if she were taking a breath.

            Interestingly enough, her little girl, who was in the water with the rest of the kids, actually watched and listened to her.

            In the indoor pool, it’s easier for parents to give advice as they are hovering almost directly over the lane. The balcony they stand on is right above the lesson lanes at the end of the pool.

            One father was getting quite aggravated with his son who wasn’t kicking properly.  His boy had already been chastised by the instructor (twice) for moving backwards on his kickboard instead of forwards due to his bad kicking technique.

            The dad kept shouting instructions down at him.

            “Your legs are too far apart!” he said angrily.  “Keep them close together!  You’re not listening to your teacher!”

            The poor kid looked up helplessly at Dad who frowned at him and gave him a flick of his hand to show his disapproval.

            He wasn’t the only father in the balcony who was annoyed by his kid’s slow progress, either.

            The mothers, on the other hand, took it all in stride.  Although they also shouted down directions to their children, they laughed and giggled among themselves at the ineptitude of their sons and daughters.

            “Look at my daughter,” one mother said to the other. “She’s going the wrong way.

Turn around!  Turn around!”

            Of course, that didn’t work as the kid couldn’t hear her.  Eventually, the entire line of little swimmers on their kickboards ran into one another, all due to her daughter going the wrong way.

            “Looks like a car crash,” another mom added, sending everyone into fits of laughter.

            But there are other adults who are less intrusive and leave everything up to the instructors to handle.  They read newspapers, do counted cross stitch, talk quietly with one another or fan themselves in the humidity and quietly observe their child. 

            They pester no one, give no opinions and leave all up to the experts.

            When I used to teach swimming lessons, these quiet parents and relatives were always my favorites.  Their kids learned to swim much faster than those whose parents thought yelling at their child was being helpful.   I was usually careful about not throwing those overly vocal parents annoying glances, especially as they were paying for the lessons, but there were a few times when a glare or two escaped.

            Standing among the adults on the balcony today in the indoor pool, I wondered how these Chinese instructors must feel about all the upper-story parents staring down on them, scrutinizing their every move and that of their kids at the same time.  The swimming trainers all seemed oblivious to the shouting spectators above them and went about their business quite professionally, ignoring the overhead crowds. 

            “Different culture, different viewpoint of parent involvement,” I shrugged, just as that one irritating father next to me went at it again, calling crossly down to his son to kick properly.

            He was so busy yelling at his child that he missed it:  the glance upward, the furrow of the brow, the annoying purse of the lips.

            It lasted  for a mere split second, and I seemed the only one to catch it, but the displeased look the swimming instructor aimed directly at that dad made me not so flippant to assume the Chinese are any different than I am.

            I guess no matter what culture you’re in, there are always some things that never change.

From Chengdu, here’s wishing you  “Ping An” (Peace) for your holiday weekend.

            Saturday’s blue skies, sticky heat and wickedly hot sun brought everyone out of their homes.

            In America, summer has us  imprisoned in the cool comforts of our air-conditioned houses.  But in Sichuan, air-conditioners still remain off.  We haven’t hit the late July, all-of-August steamy, humid high of over 100 yet. And even then, Chinese will only use an air-conditioner for the bedroom, cooling it at night just long enough to turn it off for the remaining sleeping hours so as not to run up electricity costs.  During daytime hours, the apartment home remains hot with table fans swirling the heat around.   This is why Chinese go out during the day.  They are escaping the confines of their homes and looking for refreshing department store and fast-food restaurant surroundings where air-conditioners are going full blast, the bills being paid by the owners.

            Yesterday, we held a tolerable 96 degrees, signaling the beginning of our Sichuan summer.  Saturday also had the junior high and high school students out in mass, celebrating.  Their end-of-term exams have just finished and the weekend for them meant no homework, a rare thing for students in China. 

            Although their exams are finished, they still have another week of classes.  They will be going over their tests and the answers, then given their summer homework assignments.  

            All teachers in China prepare daily homework assignments which students are to do on their own the entire vacation, both for their winter and summer breaks.  It’s a lot of work for them and leaving these to the last minute is not a good idea.  The first day of class, students then turn in all their homework which teachers must  check.  With classes being as large as 60 – 70 students, you can imagine the amount of exhaustive checking  a Chinese teacher has to do.  These assignments are required by the school and marks are given for those who have (or have not) done their work.  Students get into trouble for incomplete homework assignments thus they do them, even if it’s copying from a classmate. 

            14-year-old Jalin, my neighbor’s daughter, is very diligent about completing by herself her daily summer assignments.  No wonder her grades are so good, not to mention her English language skills.

            My weekend routine yesterday had me going to the swimming pool complex early enough to get in my laps.  We serious swimmers come in the morning hours on Saturday and Sunday while those who like to play begin arriving around noon.  I had just finished my work-out at 12 o’clock when groups of teenagers started pouring in.  They were dressed in their brand new swimming suits of various styles and carrying new floatation devices they had just purchased from the swimming shop.

            I expected hundreds to show up at the pool Saturday due to the weather but today, the number I was told by the pool locker room ladies astounded me. 

            “Yesterday, in one day, we had over 3,000 people!” the staff excitedly told me this morning. 

            “You mean for all three pools?” I asked.

            “No!” they piped up.  “In just this pool.  The other two also had over 3,000 people.”

            All together, over 6,000 swimmers enjoyed the cool waters of the Meng Zhui Wan swimming complex yesterday.  That’s double the size of my small Midwestern town in America.

            The Saturday heatwave had me and Little Flower taking only a short, 15-minute walk around our city block.  We stopped in at Sabrina’s International Food Store to cool off before continuing onward.  Usually, the staff leave their doors wide open for a breeze but not yesterday.  Their small, single air-conditioner unit was going strong but wasn’t doing much except to cool off the backroom items.  The Nestle chocolate chips were melted, I noticed, and the American candy bars were likewise looking pretty sad.  Despite this, I’m sure there are many foreigners will still pay the $4.00 per chocolate chip 12 oz. package or $1.60 per Dark Milkyway bar to have their  food fix.  Melted or not, goodies from home are goodies from home and few can pass them up no matter how expensive or what kind of shape they’re in.

            As LF and I made a swing around the block, we saw a number of people lined up outside of the McDonald’s ice cream take-out window.  The sizzling pavement where everyone stood had the heat rising in visible waves. As soon as a child or adult had their ice cream cone in hand, it was already dripping.  When we passed by, we saw inside the restaurant where every table was filled with people of all ages, eating slowly or leisurely talking.  There were people standing, waiting for tables, but those with a seat were not about to go anywhere soon.  The pleasant relief from outside had them staying put for as long as possible.

            The 96 degrees likewise had a number of guys  with their shirts either off or rolled up to their armpits.  This is a common sight among many men in China.  Since everyone remains outside without the comforts of the air-conditioner, the bare-chested or bare-belly look is prevalent along the streets of any city, small town or village in China.  However, since Chinese are fairly thin to begin with, there isn’t really much of a belly on these gentlemen so the sight isn’t quite as hideous as it would be in America.

            Another turn around yet another corner had us walking by the Harmonious Pet Hospital.  The wide, glassed storefront allowed us to peer inside to watch yet another long-haired doggie, a Pekingese this time, being sheered with several more awaiting their turn in cages.

             Without air-conditioners inside to cool pets off, Chengdu owners of overly furry critters have them shaved so they won’t suffer in the heat.   Some owners have this done professionally, such as by those in Harmonious Pet, while others do it themselves.  Little Flower’s favorite playmate, Pomeranian Zhu-zhu (jew-jew), had his lovely appearance rather ruined by his owners’ attempt to trim him.  Before he had a very regal appearance with his full lion’s mane and beautifully brushed golden fur.   Now he looks a bit like a disheveled vagrant.  But LF doesn’t seem to mind and Zhu-zhu, in this weather, is certainly happier without so much body hair weighing him down.  

            Today’s weather increased our humidity but not our temperatures.  We dipped down to 91 with overcast skies and a lovely breeze wafting by from time to time.  

            There’s a storm blowing in and we’ve been anticipating it all day. 

            Maybe with a little bit of luck, we’ll manage another several days of lower temperatures before yesterday’s heat kicks in once again. But even though Saturday seemed roasting hot, in another month, we’ll be praying for these kind of temperatures to hit us once again.  This is nothing compared to late July and August. 

            And for those of you going to the Beijing Olympics, you might just consider taking a swing down my way to cool off from some very nasty weather where you’ll be going.  The Chinese government might be able to control Beijing’s pollution index, the horrendous city traffic problems and the Olympic crowds, but they won’t be able to control the northern summer heat of China’s capital city.  That you can bet on.

            From Chengdu, here’s wishing you a cool, pleasant “Ping An!” (Peace)  

            This morning, I ate my last sesame seed bread roll for breakfast.  It was definitely time for another run to the best bread place in town.  This would have to be the nearest restaurant of our Muslim friends from the northern regions of Xinjiang Province.

            There are a number of Muslim restaurants and bread makers throughout Chengdu but the closest to me has to be that at the North Gate of Sichuan University.  It’s a 20-minute walk from the West Gate, where I live, and is usually a lovely stroll along the sidewalks of the campus.  But today, in the sizzling heat of the late afternoon, I decided the best route to take was by pedicab.  Little Flower was wanting a walk but I knew in this weather, it was best she and I took it easy with a ride.

            For 3 yuan (40 cents) our pedicab cyclist had us to the north gate in no time.  LF enjoyed the ride while sitting on my lap, the cool breeze giving us some relief from the waves of heat coming up off the pavement.

            “How much was you dog?” our cyclist asked. 

            Chinese never have any qualms when it comes to asking how much you paid for something.  New clothes, apartment rental, appliances, even food weighed and purchased  in the market are all things everyone wants to know how much you paid.  After the answer is given, there will usually be some negative comment that follows, like the quality wasn’t good enough for that price or the meat doesn’t look very fresh, you should have gone somewhere else.  Chinese don’t mean to be rude but it’s just an observation.  You, of course, are very welcome to either agree with them or adamantly defend yourself.  In fact, it’s usually expected. 

            When it comes to LF, everyone is always interested to know what I would pay for a dog.  She wasn’t very much, but considering she was sick when I got her, I probably paid too much.

            “300 yuan ($30),”  I replied.

            “Oh!  So expensive!” the driver said, shaking his head.

             Considering he makes about $15 a day, I’d have to agree with him.  (He’d really have a fit if he knew how much I paid for her dog food.)

            “Yes, she was expensive,” I agreed, “but foreigners really love dogs.  She was cheaper than others.  Some people pay over $100 for a dog.”

            “Too expensive,” my cyclist remarked, then added, “Some Chinese are very rich.”

            “Jiushi (yes),” I had to agree with him.

            At the North Gate, I noticed that the lotus flowers were finally beginning to bloom.  A sea of green leaves with the tall lotus stems topped with their flowers filled both the small ponds near the gate.

             A few days ago, I saw some students who had rented bamboo rods and were fishing from the dark green waters, unfortunately a bit trashy.  It’s not very deep and I doubt they caught anything much but a minnow or two but they were obviously having a good time.

            From the North Gate, it’s just a short walk along the busy main street to get to the Muslim restaurant.  I first noticed the place because I thought I saw two Westerners sitting outside on stools.  In fact, they were Chinese from Xinjiang Province.  They look much like those from Turkey and other parts of the Middle East due to their nearness to those regions.  They don’t have the facial features of the Han Chinese at all.  But what enticed me the most to their shop were the lovely baked, crispy breads that were carefully arrayed on the outside ledge, next to the huge wok where they’d been baked.  There were several kinds.  One looked like cooked pizza dough, without the topping.  Others were crusty buns, much like a bagel without a hole, and another variety with a cut flower design.  Each one was dusted with sesame seeds. 

            Aside from the bread, there were little meat pies filled with minced lamb and lamb kabobs nearby roasting above hot coals.  These lamb kabobs are probably the most famous Xinjiang snack sold throughout all of China.  Many Muslims from Xinjiang travel all over the country with their kabob sticks, coals and cooking set-up where they sell their goods at night markets, along streets or in small parks. The Chinese love lamb kabobs from Xinjiang because of the special flavorings the natives use when cooking them.  However, in Sichuan, the only flavoring you’re likely to have is the spicy hot red pepper sprinkles.  In my opinion, that pretty much ruins any feeling of being in Xinjiang Province or tasting true Xinjiang lamb when it’s doused in Sichuan dried chili pepper bits. 

            Of course, there’re also sit-down dishes you can order but I’m just one for the bread. 

            The pizza dough crust is 21 cents, the slightly sweet buns and meat pies are 14 cents. Each kabob is also 14 cents but you don’t get much but some grisly, fatty lamb slivers.  Most Chinese order 5 or 6 kabobs at once (70- 85 cents) and eat those as a snack.  Friday and Saturday nights are especially busy for these Muslim cooks because of their nearness to the university.  Thousands of students walk the sidewalks in the evening as all the food venders and street sellers come out.   Weekends are the best business days for these kind of  food and merchandise sellers.     

            After purchasing my bread, it was too hot a day to go anywhere else. LF and I headed back to the university gate for a quick walk back home through the campus.  Both of us were hot upon our arrival home but we did have a special treat for all our efforts. 

            For me, it was a warm, crispy, light bread bun.  For LF, the filling from a meat pie.

            As for Little Ghost, who had stayed behind, even she enjoyed something from our Muslim friends.  The small plastic bag the bread had come in entertained her with loads of kitten floor-play for a good 15 minutes. 

            Not sure who got the most out of our bread visit, us or the cat, but one thing’s for sure:  Our Xinjiang friends certainly made this little family of three very happy. 

            From Chengdu, wishing you and your family “Ping An!” for the weekend.