connie's space

             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.  

The Olympic Torch Arrives Near Jason’s University 

         Jason’s email was full of excitement concerning the biggest event ever to hit his university town, Xining in Qing Hai Province: “Ouyun Huide Sheng Huo laile!  The Olympic Sacred Fire (Torch) is coming!”

            Granted, I expected his email to be full of news concerning his sister, who for over 2 weeks has been scheduled to have open heart surgery, but instead, I get news of the Olympic Torch:

            “I am so sorry that recently I didn’t have enough time to write to you,” Jason explained in his email.  “Now, I am quite excited that the Olympic Torch is coming tomorrow!   What big news.  I and my friends are busy preparing to welcome it, because we have never seen the Olympic flame.  Luckily, the place where the torch is shown is near our school.  We can even walk there.  It just takes about 10 minutes. Of course, I will take pictures.  If you like it, I am very glad to send you some.”

            Actually, I was quite interested to hear about  Jason’s experience with the Olympic torch.  Last week, excitement filled our city, Chengdu, after it was announced the torch route would be brought to Sichuan due to the earthquake.  From Aug. 3 to 5, it’s to make a run through Chengdu and then travel to some of the hardest hit disaster areas

            This should prove to be a very interesting sight to see. I’ve heard many stories about the nationalistic fervor the torch causes when it’s begun its journey throug China’s largest cities. One of my classmates, an American university student, told me she was in Shanghai when the torch passed.

            “Was it exciting?” I asked her.  “Did you join the crowds?”

            “No way!” she replied.  “It was more frightening than anything else.  People lined up by the thousands for 2 days along the main route.  They crammed toward the street and it was difficult for security to keep them back.  When the torch came, they went wild.  People were shouting “Go, China!” and “Welcome to Beijing!” while waving flags and pressing in closer to see the flame.  I videotaped it all from the 4^th floor of a building.  Just one small thing and people could have been trampled to death.”

            She’s not exaggerating.  There have been deaths by stampedes of Chinese trying to get into famous international department stores or supermarkets on opening day.  It doesn’t take much for one person to trip and fall, resulting in tragedy as others surge forward.  Of course, we all expect crowds for exciting happenings in our own countries but when one-fifth of the world’s population is crammed into one country, the word “crowd” has a whole different meaning.

            When the telephone rang last night around 10:30 p.m, I thought it might be Jason calling with news of his Olympic torch experience, not to mention his sister.  Sure enough, that’s who it was.

            Jason certainly didn’t disappoint.

            He at once launched into his morning.  He and his roommates didn’t get much sleep as they anticipated the coming of the torch the next day.  With it being so near their school, Jason knew this opportunity was a golden one. He got up much earlier than any of his friends, grabbed a quick breakfast at 7 a.m. and was at the university’s main gate by 7:15, ready to head out for the 8:30 a.m. start of the relay.  He wasn’t sure what time it would reach his area but he wasn’t taking any chances of missing it, even if he’d have to be standing quite a while, crushed by the thousands of others likewise wanting to be a part of  this historic moment.

            But at the main gate, he and several others were met by the gate keepers who refused to let them out.  The gate was locked up tight and the men had strict orders to keep the university students on campus grounds.

            “It’s for your own safety,” they said.

            Most likely, this order came from the provincial office down to the city government who then reported to all schools not to allow students to attend.  The dangers involved in so many people gathering, plus the zealous exuberance of thousands upon thousands of young people, might  prove to be too much for torch security to handle.

            Naturally, this didn’t sit well with Jason or those around him, including two of his friends, whose English names are Alex and Mike.  There was some argument involved but it was useless as the guards weren’t about to let anyone through.

            Being a resourceful lot, the three guys walked along the length of the school’s high wall that enclosed the campus until they found a place they could crawl over.  Jason and Alex were quick but Mike wasn’t quick enough.  One of the campus watchmen grabbed him before he could scramble after the others. He was sent back to his dormitory room but not reported, which was kind as he could get in a lot of trouble for breaking school rules.

              Jason and Alex felt sorry for Mike but he was just too slow.  His tough luck.  They, on the other hand, gleefully ran to where the torch would be passing.

            As it turned out, Mike was able to watch the relay after.  Jason later found out thousands of university students had stormed the school’s locked main entrance, wanting to see the torch pass.  There was nothing the guards could do but open the gates and let them out.

            Jason and Alex ran along with the torch runners, even if at a far distance from the street where it was routed. Just too many people to come anywhere near it, including very tight security to keep people back.  Everyone was shouting and cheering, giving him a great feeling of unity among his country’s people. 

            After buying two Olympic torch T-shirts and a few other souvenirs, he returned back to his dormitory where he and his roomies shared their experiences of the day’s jubilation.

An Older Sister’s Worry

            “So that’s my first news,” Jason said after his 15 minutes of story-telling.  “But I have another thing to share about my sister.”

            Then the exuberance went out of his voice.

            “I don’t know but my sister has a problem,” he began.

            First, she’d waited 2 years for her family to save and borrow the over $7,000 needed for her heart operation.  Then she’d waited 3 weeks due to the earthquake.  After that, she’d spent a  week in the hospital until she was told the equipment needed had to be ordered.  And recently, she’s spent 2 weeks at home doing nothing but worry and fret.  It was just too much for this poor young woman to handle anymore. 

              When the doctor called yesterday, telling her they were ready and to come right away, she refused to go.

             According to Jason, his sister has been living at home and fighting with his parents over a lot of trivial matters.  They’ve had to work part-time jobs in factories, meaning they haven’t been home much to take care of her.  She feels abandoned, hopeless, scared, frustrated and worried. 

            “She says no one cares about her,” Jason said.  “I don’t know why she says this!   My parents are doing everything but she won’t go.  She says she refuses to leave the house.    We all try to persuade her.  The money is there now. I don’t know what’s wrong with her.  Of course, we all love her and care about her!”

            I guess there was a huge argument with her parents both begging her to reconsider and begging Jason to convince her via a phonecall that she must go to the hospital. 

            The doctors have said without the operation, she has about 10 years left at best.  I think her fear in having this done is so great that she’s decided to opt for not doing anything.   She’s been mentally prepared for too long, with too many disappointments happening again and again, to stoically bounce back and have the same thing happen for (seemingly) the millionth time: another delay, another return home, another anxious wait.   

            Of course, trying to explain that to family and friends, when perhaps she herself doesn’t understand her true feelings, is virtually an impossible task.  

            She’s also not being very Chinese in all of this, which makes everyone confused as to why she is acting this way. Too many people have worked hard to help her.  Her duty as a daughter and a grateful recipient of such sacrifice by others is to have the open heart surgery and forget about her own feelings in the matter.   Her family is losing face:  First, among concerned doctors who are being overly generous in giving her so much of their time and effort to make her well; secondly, among the many friends and extended family members who loaned  the money.  From a cultural standpoint, it’s just not a good situation for a Chinese person to be in.

            I suggested Jason contact her best friend to at least talk to his sister.  She obviously is angry with the family and won’t listen to anything they have to say.  A best friend will have a different effect on her. Perhaps she can even get off of work and accompany her with her mother to the capital city hospital.  It would help to calm the tension by having a third party present to keep things in check.

            As it stands, I am still awaiting Jason’s call this evening about what finally has happened. 

           As a Christian, I can pray.  I can pray for her to be guided to decide what is best for her, and I can pray for her family to have understanding in her decision.  

             It will take a great deal of courage on everyone’s part to come to terms with whatever lies in the future for our Jason’s older sister.  Please keep them in your thoughts as they go through a difficult family time.

            From Chengdu, hoping your day is full of “Ping An!” (Peace)   

            The all-night rain and constant drizzle for most of the day gave Sichuan University a wet day for sending off their graduates.

            The graduation ceremonies had to be moved from outside to in after the first group of graduates had commencement this morning.  I was very impressed by the speed of the campus workers. They had the huge stage moved inside in just 3 hours, including hundreds of decorative flower pots filled with carnations.  These were impressively arranged on  the auditorium stage floor to welcome in the afternoon graduates.

            I attended the afternoon ceremonies, from 2 p.m. to 3:30 p.m., although I did go over earlier in the morning to check out the rain situation. 

            As I had expected, there were very few families present among the 5,000 + graduates who filled the hall.  Each college or major followed after a sign held high which announced who they were:  Chemistry department, Law School, Foreign Languages Department, Management Department, Economics Department and so on bobbed through the crowded rows to find the proper section.  It was a bit of a chaotic jumble getting everyone inside and into their proper seats, which took an hour.

             A few squatters had to be kicked out of prominent center aisles, which miffed them a bit.  One was a father videotaping everything.  Despite being harried by the school organizer to move, he wouldn’t.  Thus he and his wife sat, quite pleased with their vantage point, while being sandwiched between thousands of gowned Chinese graduates. 

              I must say it was organized getting people inside on such short notice.  Plus the move indoors proved a good one.  Once inside, the rain began yet again.

            One very sweet moment in the ceremony  was after the 20 leaders and distinguished professors filed in to sit alongside the head podium at their long table.  After each person was announced, he or she stood to the applause and cheers of the students.  The person who received the most was an elderly woman with white hair who basically brought down the house.  I have no idea who she was but she obviously is a beloved professor  of many students.

            Below, you will find a photographic journey of the event.

On a rainy Sunday in Chengdu, here’s wishing you “Ping An!” (Peace)

            The Sichuan University campus has been buzzing with activity all week.

            Everywhere LF and I turned on our walks around the campus, we met with clusters of students pulling out from carrying bags their graduation cap-and-gown ensembles.  Classmates posed together under trees, along walkways, in front of pagodas and statues, and on benches near the school’s flowering lotus ponds.  The big event of graduation was coming and they’d worked hard to achieve it.

            The traditional cap and gown of the West was just recently adopted in China.  It is never used for high school or small 3-year colleges that issue certificates but mostly for those receiving a university degree.
            Ten years ago, these graduation garments were fond only in cheap photography shops around universities or small colleges.  Students would make appointments, wear the shop’s graduation gowns and pose in various places on the school grounds.  The photographer followed them about and directed their poses.  The number of gowns, however, was usually around 2 or 3 so students had to take turns wearing them.

            Even today, in small 3-year institutions such as Luzhou Vocational and Technical College, graduating students wanting special pictures still have to  borrow such clothes from the little photography lady across from the main gate.

            But it seems in prestigious educational institutions  such as Sichuan University, the graduation ceremony modeled on the West’s is now a given. 

            Today’s afternoon had LF and me walking to the sport’s stadium where we found our MA and PhD graduates sprinkled throughout the lawns.  Taking turns, they gathered for pictures and poses for tomorrow’s big event.  There are two ceremonies taking place.  One from 8 – 9 a.m. and another  from 2:00 – 3:30 p.m.  No one seemed to know about the other ceremony, only their own, so it was difficult for me to determine which ceremony was for who. 

            Since I have the times, it should be an interesting venture to attend at least one, which will be held on the sports field.  Already, the stage is set with the graduating students standing (not sitting as there are no chairs) on the field itself.  I’m sure it will be a long wait but in China, no one thinks much about comfort of anyone except the VIPs.  Of course, they have very comfortable cushioned chairs lined up behind the podium.

            As I stopped to take pictures, students were quick to grab me for their own photo memories.  I, in turn, was able to take entire group shots with their digital cameras or cell phones without having anyone missing from the picture. 

            One very nice Chinese touch for the gowns is that there are no zippers to close them up but the traditional butterfly buttons.  It presented an eye-catching Asian flare as compared to the boring Western style. 

            The students also told me their graduation attire was loaned for free by their departments.  No one had to buy them or rent them, which I thought was nice.  I’m not sure what would happen if you lost them, didn’t return them or wanted to buy them.  I did ask several times but no one seemed to know the answer to that question.

            Saturdays on campus haven’t been this lively since the earthquake brought out thousands with their tents. 

            Since we were in the area, LF and I strolled a bit farther and ended up near the basketball courts where a rather large crowd had gathered.  Along either side of the small campus road, about 20 people had laid out a number of items on the sidewalk.  As LF and I cruised down the row, I noticed a majority of these young people were selling books and other items.  I had found the weekend campus flea market where students sold their used textbooks and dormitory things they no longer wanted.  A battered phone, slippers, clothes and outdated magazines were just among a few things offered up on their tarps.  Also present was new merchandise, such as sport’s socks, T-shirts and a pile of women’s purses, which students were selling for shop owners as a part-time job.   It was an interesting array of old and new and was drawing quite a few  interested buyers.

            The weather today being  hazy, sticky, and very humid sent LF and me home after an hour of walking about.  I’d have stayed longer to cruise the flea market road but LF was ready to go home.

            Tomorrow, however, I’ll stay longer for the big day.  Graduation will bring out thousands of students along with great photo ops.   I’m not expecting too many relatives to make a showing, though. Chinese families will be from far away and most likely won’t attend.  In China, I’ve found that special ceremonies and performances are not usually attended by family but by the participants themselves and their friends.  It’s not about others but about those participating, mostly meant as a memory for them, not a show-piece for proud parents.

            So be sure to watch this space for reports tomorrow about a Chinese university graduation!

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