connie's space

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)

            The quiet, narrow side street that hugs my apartment complex is like many hundreds in the city.  Despite its semi-secluded location, it touts three roadside medical and physical therapy (massage) clinics, an Internet bar, a vegetable market,  flower shop,  hair salon, clothes shop, dry cleaners and even several family-run convenience stores.

            This side street appears quite normal aside from a strange sprinkling of closed businesses that are interspersed between the regular stores.  These one-room shops are all  alike.  They have a thick glass storefront with heavy curtains drawn, making it impossible to see inside.  Heavy padlocks tightly secure the outside door handles shut.

             In the daytime, one hardly notices them while walking down the sidewalk.  But when 11 p.m. arrives, a stroll down our side street invites you into a quaint little red light district.

            Prostitution is supposedly illegal in China, yet hundreds of these areas can be found throughout the city.  I can only speak from familiarity with this particular area but from what I see, unlike America, our neighborhood’s red light district is a clean, well-kept place.  The streets are neatly swept.  Shopkeepers take pride in their businesses, despite where they happen to be, and make sure their tidy displays present a pleasant sight for passersby. Children race excitedly through on their way home from school.  The elderly chatter away along the sidewalks after finishing their exercise sessions in the nearby park. Residents sit outside on stools, enjoying the cool of June before the summer heat hits hard.  And safety is never an issue, even in the wee hours of the morning.  Average Chinese are always present, either playing mahjong, buying snacks from the still-open convenience stores and fruit cart sellers, or partaking of midnight meals sold by tiny restaurants and street venders.

               The set-up of our tiny red light district is a bit different from that in my home country.   Around 8 p.m., a few call girls will appear here and there to attract customers. They emerge from the curtained, padlocked shops, opened by a man or woman standing on the curbside, and hover at the corner of the street that empties into an obscure alleyway.  They dress in high heeled shoes or thigh-length boots which compliment their provocative clothing.  Make-up is thick with plenty of eye shadow and eyeliner to accentuate their eyes. Their purpose is to entice drivers to partake in their business rather than a competitor’s.  It’s also obvious that those cruising slowly by, all men in shiny dark cars, are here for their services and not just out for a leisurely ride around the city.

            The men or women on the street are in charge of handling the payment. They have purses slung over their shoulders where the money is kept and are the ones to talk directly to the client.  Once the amount is determined, the curtained storefront is unlocked and a girl comes out.  Hotels just a block away can be used at a  rate of $7 per 3 hours or the driver might take the girl home.  Later, the girls are dropped off and  rejoin their companions inside the locked store. 

            The interesting thing about the hotels in the area is that they are quite nice. One would think they’d be dingy, dark, sinister and filthy but that’s not the case at all. During the past weekend, I booked my Chinese friend from Inner Mongolia, “Richard” Wei, into one of these hotels for his first visit to Chengdu.  It was only $10 a night for a single room, had fresh clean linens and spotless tile floors, nice furniture, came with hot water and tea and had a large color TV.  The front desk ladies were very polite, the floor attendants quite attentive and nothing smelled rank or odd.

            Richard thoroughly enjoyed his stay here.  He did have to laugh a bit upon his late night arrivals back to his room after we’d had a full day of touring.  The desk girls looked at one another, whispering something to the effect that this guy didn’t need “other” services, just a good night’s sleep.   

            Both of us had at one time spotted in the lobby some beautiful-figured girls in mega-short, clinging tube dresses.  We figured they were there for those wishing for a bit of excitement in the night. Their eyes followed Richard when he entered the hotel but quickly dismissed him an an unlikely candidate.  For Richard, touring Chengdu with his foreign girl friend was excitement enough.   

            The sizzling heat of the Sichuan summer has not yet reached us  but when it does, these brothel storefronts will open to reveal what’s been hidden inside all year. Older teenagers to those in their twenties lounge on couches inside.  While dressed in sparkly, somewhat elegant tight-fitting attire, they are rather crude in their slouching posture and mannerisms of openly yawning or picking at their teeth and nails.  To pass the time, they watch TV while munching on snacks and slurping tea.  Their clientele are mostly businessmen who drive up in their privately owned cars, deal with the money handler in front and then off they go with one of the girls, either to a hotel or back to the man’s apartment.  From nearby business owners, I learned the cost is 50 to 200 yuan ($6.25 to $25) depending on the girl and services rendered. 

            My guess is that many of these women are from the countryside, uneducated and poor, who came to the city looking for work.    It is a sad reminder that the world is a hard place to live in, especially for women. 

            Currently, the shops are closed up tight but last August, when I first arrived in Chengdu, the stifling heat had the glass doors wide open with all the girls roasting hot inside. (No air-conditioner.)  Little Flower and I would take walks down that way and one particular shop took a shine to my dog.  LF was always invited into the open doors and fed anything from beef noodles to potato chips to peanuts. They anxiously awaited our walks.  When LF suddenly appeared in the entranceway, her tail wagging eagerly, they would call out, “Xiao Hua!  Xiao Hua! Guo lai!  Guo lai  (Little Flower! Little Flower!  Come here!  Come here!)”

            It was rather sweet to see their daily routine interrupted by something that brought a little heartfelt happiness into their lives.

            Of course,  LF was always eager to have their undivided attention.  She never judged these young women, like so many of us do. If nothing else, she reminded me that whatever age we are, or appearance we have, or social status we hold, we are all equally worthy of being noticed and loved, even if the work we have is frowned upon by society.

            In another month, I’ll change LF’s walking route and we’ll once again head down our quaint little red light district to visit the girls.  We haven’t seen them for almost a year.  Perhaps some have forgotten about the foreigner’s little dog who came to visit last summer, but I’m sure Little Flower hasn’t.  She always remembers everyone, especially those who once fed her potato chips and beef noodles.

            From Chengdu, here’s wishing you an evening’s “Ping An!”