connie's space

            Chinese love openings of anything.  Crowds will gather  to await the grand opening of any department store, grocery, restaurant or even small snack shop along the street.  Everyone is afraid of missing out on the excitement of the rush to see what’s new and different, what’s cheaper and what’s not.

            Two weeks ago, one of our neighborhood shops finally closed up due to lack of business.  Within a day after removing all the items, workmen came in to gut the store and re-do it. Yesterday, I walked by to find construction still underway but this morning, huge flower baskets lined the entrance announcing opening day.  Shining glass was in place with banners and posters stuck up giving special discount prices for the grand occasion. Promotional pamphlets and company catalogs were being passed out by young people standing on the storefront’s steps.   A huge red sign announced in English “Ziyanfoods Chain-link”, above which read in Chinese "Ziyan’s Plain Chicken."  Already at 8:30, there was a long line of people waiting for the 9 a.m. opening. 

            The three-day special began today, 30% off all dishes, and everyone is taking advantage of it.

             This shop sells specially prepared cold roasted chicken.  You can buy a whole spicy Sichuan chicken or a non-spicy one, chicken legs and feet boiled in broth and brushed with sauce, or the all-time favorite which is chicken pieces (bones, skin, meat and all) stirred and tossed in your choice of condiments: soy sauce, spring onion, peanuts, sesame seeds, sesame oil, peanut oil, garlic, cilantro, salt, sugar and the list goes on. 

            According to the promotional flier, there are over 800 of these stores located in 20 cities around China.  Obviously, this fast-food take-out chain must be  well-known among the Chinese or they wouldn’t line up for hours to get it.

            One gentleman came away with 4 containers and he waited 50 minutes, spending 70 yuan ($10) instead of 100 ($14).  It’s a sizzling day today and without an umbrella for shade, standing in line must be mighty hot and sticky.  The man I talked to felt very pleased with his $4 savings so I guess for him, it was worth it. 

           Those getting their food now are the lucky ones, however, as they stood in line mid-day.  I’m just wondering what the rush will be like around 5 p.m. when people are coming home from work, hungry and thinking this is a good deal for a family dinner.

            I’m not sure how many Americans would wait in line so long, and under such conditions, for a mere take-out but I guess if the price is right, we might.

            As for me, I think I’d rather prepare my own dinner at home in the comfort of a cool apartment.  I like chicken, but not enough for a sweaty one or two hour wait in line, even if it’s for 30% off.

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

 REMINDER FOR AID IN BUYING TENTS, VACCINES AND NEEDED SUPPLIES FOR EARTHQUAKE DISASTER AREAS

             “The best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men / gang aft a-gley /

              An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain, / For promis’d joy!” 

                                                                                                 Robert Burns (from To a Mouse)

            The telephone rang late on Tuesday night. 

            I was lucky it was ringing at all.  Due to the earthquake, wires have been jiggled around to the extent that the phone sometimes works and sometimes doesn’t work.  At first, it was full of static but now, it cuts out on me at inappropriate times, won’t connect when I answer or  just won’t ring at all.

            But Tuesday night, it decided to allow a call to come through. 

            On the other end was Jason, his voice low and sad, obviously worried.  His 25-year-old sister, due for a heart operation this week, had gone home in tears.  The operation was postponed yet again, the doctors’ news was not good and his family was distraught.

            In summary of previous entries, Jason’s sister has been in need of an operation for several years due to a birth defect—a hole in the heart.  She had a small procedure done at one time but it was unsuccessful, thus for three years, the family has been saving and borrowing enough money for a more serious operation.  The needed 20,000 yuan ($2,857) had finally been collected when another blow:  this would cost an extra  30,000 yuan more ($4,285).  Once again, the family struggled to find people to help.  The money was almost there when the earthquake hit.  Hospitals filled with thousands and the operation was postponed.  Then last week, Jason’s sister finally entered the Sichuan Provincial Hospital with an O.K. for surgery.  I helped out with the additional funds needed and things looked good to go. . . . until Jason’s Tuesday night phone call.

            Because of the seriousness of the operation, the doctors needed some extra equipment which the hospital didn’t have.  They had to “book” it from another hospital and are waiting for its arrival.    They also informed the family that most individuals with this heart problem died very young but Jason’s sister was a miraculous exception.  They’d never performed this surgery on an adult before so it was risky. 

            Naturally, the family was upset, especially as she’d been staying in the hospital for over a week, being prepped and waiting for this to happen.  I mentioned that Chinese hospitals are pretty bare so there’s nothing to do.  No TV to watch or recreational and sitting rooms to visit.  Plus the family is in charge of taking care of the patient’s needs, such as food, clothing, washing and so forth.  Not to be in the comfort of one’s home, with good sleep, home-cooked meals and community support, was taking its toll on everyone.  Plus staying in the hospital costs money, even if it’s a shared communal room for $5.00 a day.  Thus the family decided it was best to leave rather than wait around another day.

            All this going on and Jason not in attendance.  Jason is  enrolled in Qing Hai University,  in the next province over.  In China, mid-July is university summer dismissal, so he is not able to be here physically to support the family.  The concern in his voice was all too apparent as he related to me his feelings of hopelessness.

            “You know, my sister is so upset.  This is worrying her.  It’s not making her any better,” he said.

            Then the phone cut off abruptly, leaving me angry and annoyed.  Nor was I able to call back because the line was dead.

            So many obstacles popping up again and again  for this poor family! Like the aftershocks of the earthquake, they never seemed to end.

            But that was Tuesday night, with promises that another day would be better.

            Sure enough, Jason’s email came to me bright and early this morning.  One of the doctors personally  telephoned his sister and parents to tell them everything would be fine.   The equipment would be there soon; the operation would be more successful than they originally anticipated.  She shouldn’t lose hope.  Everything would go well.  After the weekend, she should return and they would get this done right away.  Don’t worry!

            The relief in Jason’s email was as strongly felt as if he were talking to me on the phone.  He’d already spoken to his sister and parents to find their spirits had lifted. His as well, not to mention mine.

            And despite the Scot poet’s (Robert Burns), rather depressing outlook at our best laid plans, I think in this case, the pain and grief is just about ended and we’re on the pathway to a joyful outcome.

            Watch this space for upcoming reports on our Jason’s family and sister.

From Chengdu, as always, wishing you all  “Ping An!” (Peace)

REMINDER FOR AID IN BUYING TENTS, VACCINES AND NEEDED SUPPLIES FOR EARTHQUAKE DISASTER AREAS

(Yes!  Money still needed for 5 million having nothing other than tents and donated supplies to live on.) 

United Methodists:    UMCOR Advance #982450, International Disaster Response, China Earthquake

Others:  www.amityfoundation.org

            Despite what people think, Chinese is a kind language. 

English is cluttered with articles, verb tenses, word derivations, idioms and a slew of  grammatical rules and regulations.  But Chinese has the ability to express one’s thoughts and feelings in succinct, well-placed words that take up little space yet convey great meaning. I sometimes think this is why Americans listening to Chinese, but not understanding it, feel people are always arguing or snapping at one another.  The word phrases are so short that they sound rude.  Add to this the 4 different intonations required to give a sound its meaning and, I agree, Chinese does appear to be a battleground of verbal abuse. 

But despite how you feel toward the language, today I give you Chinese at its best, my favorite phrase which I probably hear a dozen times a day.   It’s said by shopkeepers after I’ve purchased items, by taxi drivers when I open the car door to leave, even by the gate keeper when Little Flower and I exit the apartment complex. 

“Man zou!” they say kindly with a smile.

Man (mahn)  means “slowly.”   Zou  (z-oh) means “go / leave.”    “Slowly go,” or rather “go slowly,” for more accurate English word order.

What an interesting combination!  In English, a person would have a dozen similar phrases to choose from:  “Be careful as you go,”  “Take care,”  “Watch your step,” “Have a nice day,”  “Peace be with you,”  “Safe journey,” “Look after yourself,”—the list goes on.  But in Chinese, how simple and elegant to merely say, “Man zou (Go slowly)!” 

At first, I thought “go slowly” was only used by those dealing with customers.  I heard it from taxi drivers, market sellers, shop keepers, restaurant staff, and a wide range of others in the business sector.  Yet even in the church I attend, I am often told after services, “Man zou!” by our kind, elderly women ushers or parishioners who walk out with me.  Everyone is so happy to see a foreigner join them in worship.  Their sincerely said "man zou!" wish me safety and peace as I leave the sanctuary and head out into the busy city life.

My favorite and most touching man zou story is actually one that took place 7 years ago in Inner Mongolia.  I was teaching English in Hohhot, the capital city of the province, and had to pick up overseas’ boxes at the main post office.

Hohhot had one main post office where international boxes landed.  It was located about a 30-minute bike ride from my home.  I knew a package had arrived when a parcel slip came in the mail.  These I then signed and presented at the counter to collect my item. 

After waiting 2 months for my goodies from home, my package slip finally arrived. I excitedly hopped on my bicycle and headed out into a light drizzle.  It was wet and cold, but I wanted that package and I wasn’t about to wait another day to get it.

After making my way through traffic with thousands of other bicyclers, I arrived at my destination.  A very nice elderly bicycle attendant was there to help me neatly park my bike along with all the others.  I quickly went inside to collect my goods.   I thought this would be something that could easily fit into my basket or be tied on my bike’s back rack.  What I was presented with, however, were 3 huge boxes that I had no idea how I would get back across town.

I made 3 trips from the counter to the outside steps of the building where I piled these heavy carboard things.  The bicycle attendant was trying to be helpful.  Having nothing else to do, she was stacking these next to my bicycle while I went in to fetch another.

Then came the dilemma. 

Standing there in the drizzle, surrounded by these boxes and one bike, I just knew this was an impossible task to pedal them all home.  Although the attendant insisted this could be done, I really had no idea how. 

“I’ll take a taxi,” I told her.  “I’ll come back later for the bike.”

“No, no!” she said, adamantly shaking her head.  “Too expensive.  You take one box, I’ll watch the others and you can come back again.”

Three hours in total to come and go for boxes?!  And in the chilly rain?!

            To me, that really seemed a waste of time and energy, especially as a taxi would take 10 minutes and cost me only 8 yuan ($1.15).  But for my bicycle lady, so determined to be helpful, that was a lot of money.  No matter what I said, she vehemently objected  to that taxi.

            After about 10 minutes, my patience with this woman was wearing thin.  I wanted to get out of there, even if it meant hurting her feelings in the process.   And what’s more, I suddenly gained an eavesdropper I certainly didn’t want. 

            A rather disheveled old man with few teeth, in a long, filthy Russian army coat, suddenly stepped into our conversation circle.  I really wasn’t in the mood for another lecture but this time, I found he actually had something useful to offer.

“I can do this for you,” he said.  “It’s very easy.”

I was still in favor of the taxi, but the attendant kept poking at me, urging me to give the man the two long cords the post office worker had passed to me before I had left her counter.  So, with nothing to lose, I handed it over to him. 

What proceeded next was an amazing feat.

In 5 minutes, all 3 heavy boxes were securely in place, balanced and strongly tied to my bicycle in an ingenious fashion. 

He stepped back and smiled at his work. 

The attendant looked smug.

 I was stunned.

“That’s great!” I told him.  “I really had no idea how to do that.  Thank you so much!”

He said it was nothing, although he was obviously pleased to have helped the clueless foreigner.

I quickly hopped on my bicycle.  He and the attendant gave my bike a gentle nudge to send me on my way.  I then waved and called out a final “Thank you!”  

And their reply? 

A very heartfelt, endearing,  "Man zou!"

From Chengdu, here’s wishing you all “Man zou (Go slowly)”, and and additional “Ping An!” (Peace), throughout your busy day.

              With the year 2008 came some interesting changes concerning holidays in China.          

              There used to be only 3 holidays in this country:  Spring Festival (Chinese New Year), which was during the school’s 5-week winter break but for businesses, was officially 3 days.   May 1st  holiday, which was for 3 days but with the weekend, it was counted as 5.  Lastly, October 1st National Day, which was 2 days but extended to 5 or 6 by including weekends and having school make-up days the following weekend. 

            In an attempt to spread out the holidays a bit more, the government decided to take away two days from the May 1st holiday and put these somewhere else.  Their decision was to choose two Chinese traditional festival days and make them into two new one-day holidays:  April 7^th, known as Qing Ming Jie (Tomb Sweeping Festival) and  Duan Wu Jie (Dragon Boat Festival).

            Tomb Sweeping Festival is a traditional day when families gather at the tombs of loved ones, clear the area of weeds and other debris accumulated over the years, and burn incense and paper money, which is supposedly sent to the dead in heaven to have spending money in the spirit world. 

            Dragon Boat Festival, however, has a bit more history behind it.  It’s always celebrated on the fifth month of the Chinese lunar calendar, which just happens to be today, June 8.  With the added holiday, however, Monday is the official day off.

             There are all sorts of theories as to the origin of this day but the most popular is the one that has to do with Qu Yuan (choo yu-ehn), a famous poet from the Chu state, who lived from 339 B.C. to 278 B.C.

            Qu Yuan served in the court of Emperor Huai during the Warring States period (475 – 221 BC). He was a wise and erudite man who fought against corrupt leaders in the emperor’s palace and realm.  Naturally, this antagonized quite a few court officials. They exerted their influence on the Emperor and convinced him that Qu Yuan was a dangerous person.   Emperor Huai dismissed Qu Yuan from his presence and eventually exiled him.

             During his exile, Qu Yuan traveled extensively, taught and wrote about his ideas. At this time, he composed many poetic masterpieces that have become invaluable for studying ancient Chinese culture.

            At this time away from court, Qu Yuan saw the gradual decline of his mother country, the Chu State.  Upon hearing that the Chu State was defeated by the Qin State, he was so distraught that he ended his life by flinging himself into the Miluo River.

            After people heard he drowned, they were greatly dismayed. Fishermen raced to the river’s spot in their boats to search for his body. Unable to find him, people threw zongzi (a special traditional food), eggs and other food into the river to feed the fish, who might nibble on his remains so that there would be nothing left of him for the afterlife.

            Since then, people started to commemorate Qu Yuan through dragon boat races, eating zongzi and other activities, on the anniversary of his death, the 5th of the fifth month.

            I’m sure many of you have seen the dragon boat races either in person in your area, on TV or read about them in newspaper articles.  But it’s the zongzi (zohng-zuh) that everyone in China really cares the most about, especially in areas where there are no dragon boat races taking place.

           Zongzi is the most popular food for this particular festival as it reminds people of the importance of loyalty (Qu Yuan’s principles) and commitment to community (his attempted rescue by the fishermen who threw zongzi into the river).

            Zongzi itself is made of special glutinous rice wrapped in bamboo leaves, tied tightly together and then boiled or steamed for many hours.   Wrapping and tying leaves takes a special skill, otherwise it opens up, the rice spills out, and you have a huge mess on your hands.

            I should know.  I tried making it only once.  My rice freed itself from my loosely wrapped bamboo leaves and stuck fast, along with the fillings, to the sides of the rice cooker.  It took me awhile to scrub the thing clean.  After that, I bought my zongzi from the experts.

              As the glutinous rice cooks, it congeals together and creates a sticky mass that adheres to the bamboo leaves.  Zongzi are triangular shaped, pyramidal or rectangular depending on the maker.  The most popular are the pyramidal, which are sold everywhere in China along streets and from small shops.     

            Inside the zongzi are popular fillings which differ from region to region.  On the mainland, people prefer several kinds:  the sweet red bean or the savory hunks of meat as well as egg yolk middles.  In Taiwan, however, we had many more varieties, such as nuts (peanuts and pine nuts), dates, lotus seeds, sweet red and white bean paste, chunky meat pieces or lumps of pork fat. 

            So where exactly can you buy zongzi?  At this time of year, it’s not difficult to find them, but where you choose most likely will depend on whether you like them or not.   Every major chain grocery store is now selling them.  They’ll either be frozen  by manufacturers or freshly made by grocery food staff.  Small convenience stores will carry them in freezers. 

            For the most part, store-bought zongzi are not so great.  They’re cheaply made, priced higher, smaller and don’t have that nice, fresh taste to them of those piping hot straight from the steamer. 

            For the best zongzi, it’s wise to check out China’s numerous back alleyways.  Many small shop owners or those selling snack foods from carts specialize in making zongzi only at this time of year.  The owners will prepare 100 to 200 a day, selling them for 1.5 yuan each (20 cents) or give you a cheaper rate if you buy in bulk.  You can even order zongzi ahead of time in case you’re expecting to give away to friends, business colleagues, or family members.

            In all the cities I’ve lived in in China, I always knew the best zongzi places in town because people told me.  But I had to search a bit around my  Chengdu neighborhood since I wasn’t here last year to know where to go.  I tried out those made in mass at the Trustmart, a frozen variety from a convenience store, a snack seller’s offerings and finally a family-owned traditional Chinese steamed food shop.

             I think you can guess which turned out to be the best:  definitely the traditional steamed food shop.   The couple there has had plenty of experience in wrapping and cooking zongzi.  I could tell they were well-known because as soon as they piled their bamboo containers high with their wrapped specialty items, people flocked around and bought them out in a matter of minutes.  I was lucky enough to get some of the last ones before they sold out for the day.

            If you’re an adventurous soul who likes trying something unique, you’d probably like chewy, sticky zongzi.  It has a very distinct, different flavor from anything you’ve had in the States. 

            For me, a big one or 2 small ones are enough for a meal as they’re quite filling.  The Chinese, however, eat them as a snack food.   For Dragon Boat Festival, you rarely see people eating only zongzi but instead supplementing the meal with regular stir-fried dishes.

            Millions of zongzi are bought all over China for this festival, but it’s a bit like any other popular holiday food item.  It only tastes good during the season it’s meant to be eaten.  By Tuesday, none of us will want to see or eat another zongzi for as long as we live.

            Well, maybe not as long as we live, but at least until next year’s Dragon Boat Festival.  By then, our pallets will be ready for yet another savoring of this very special Chinese traditional food:  the zongzi.   

             Until next time, here’s wishing you a Happy Dragon Boat Festival and an additional "Ping An!" (Peace)

            My Chinese is O.K. but I wouldn’t stake my life on it, or anyone elses’, for that matter.

            This is why, when it came to transferring  funds into Jason’s (Ji Ke’s) banking account, I asked for assistance.  

             Jason is my former student at Luzhou Vocational and Technical College.  He currently is attending Qing Hai University, a 24-hour train ride from here.   His family lives near Dujiangyan, a hard-hit area of the quake, but luckily all escaped without harm or a great deal of damage to their home.   

            In my May 17^th blog entry, I talked about Jason’s farming family and his sister, who was in need of a heart operation.   The money was almost collected when the family was told they needed another 30,000 yuan ($4,285) more. The situation was quite dire but the money wasn’t there.

             Then the earthquake struck.  Hospitals in Chengdu filled with tens-of-thousands of injured people.  Jason’s parents managed to borrow just about enough to pay for their daughter’s operation but due to the hospital overload, they were told to wait. 

            Almost 4 weeks later, Jason’s sister is now in the number one hospital in the province here in Chengdu.  That last extra bit to reach their needed monetary goal sat in my drawer yesterday.  This was the life-saving amount that was to be wired into Jason’s family’s bank account.

            As I mentioned, my Chinese is O.K. but I wouldn’t stake a life on it.  I wasn’t about to trust doing such an important bank transaction by myself so I enlisted the help of Rich (Wang Yun), a 1^st year student at Chengdu Medical College. 

            Rich and I had met several weeks ago when three of my former students from Luzhou came to participate in a provincial English language proficiency contest.  One of the contestants, Diana (Ding Yanbin), had been corresponding with Rich for about 6 months after being introduced to him by her middle-school classmate, Irena (Zhang Lijuan).  Irena and Rich attend the same medical school and she felt this nice young man might be a good match for her friend.  Telephone numbers and emails were exchanged and the two began their friendship through phone calls and written words.

            When Rich learned Diana would be coming to the big city, his immediate reaction was to race to the bus station and anxiously wait for her (three hours) until she arrived.  I was somewhat the sponsor of the three Luzhou contestants so we spent quite a bit of time together touring the campus, eating out, getting settled into hotel rooms and visiting.  All the while, Rich was present, enjoying the company of us four gals, who made a big fuss over him, but most importantly getting to know Diana a bit better.

            It was rather sad when everyone had to part.  Rich had hovered outside of the contest building, waiting for the competition to finish, before being seen off to his bus stop by the girls.  He and Diana waved to one another, not knowing when they’d see each other again.  A trip to Chengdu is expensive for those without much money.  The $25 round-trip bus ticket is enough for a month’s worth of food in the student cafeteria.  Young people from poor families in China have very little money to spare on such extravagant journeys as visits to the capital city so most likely, they wouldn’t see one another for some time.

            As luck would have it, this weekend the Chinese government has given us all a holiday.  Dragon Boat Festival, which before was merely a traditional day, has become a national day-off.  This year, it falls on Monday.  Diana took advantage of our 3-day weekend to return to Chengdu.  She decided to stay for 2 nights before leaving for her own hometown an hour away.  And of course, a stay in Chengdu meant a visit with Rich.

            Now we come to the money transfer.

            Rich and Jason had talked on the phone about the details of this transaction but although being a fully capable individual to handle such matters, Rich was worried.  What if he got the account number wrong?  What if he didn’t fill out the transfer paper properly?  What if the bank refused to do the transaction?  He needed back-up.

            So on Friday afternoon, it wasn’t just Rich who came to my aid but Diana as well and none other than Irena, the matchmaker, who tagged along for the ride.

            I must say, I was quite moved to see my three Muskateers waiting for me  at the West Gate of Sichuan University.  I, the maiden in distress, had little to fear being surrounded by such a united, strong three-some.    

            As with anything, we did have some glitches in our first efforts to send the money. 

            We all weren’t  sure where we needed to go so I suggested we ask if the Bank of China could do this for us.  Jason hadn’t given us clear instructions about how to do this.  The nearest bank seemed a good place to start.

            In China, a group venture comes with it some cultural dilemmas which many foreigners find annoying.  If a task is to be done, there’s a lot of loud, seemingly chaotic, talk going on.  Ideas have to be shared, discussed, argued about, and decided upon before another round  takes place on who’s going to actually follow through with it all.  These kind of  dialogues can take anywhere from 10 minutes to an hour, depending on how many are involved.  And they almost always draw a crowd of curious onlookers who may (or may not) like to give advice as well.

            Once in the Bank of China, Rich approached the service desk to ask about transferring money to an account which was not a branch of the bank’s.  What proceeded was one of those typical group venture projects which I mentioned above.  Three bank attendants had to be consulted if this was possible.  Two said it wasn’t; one said it was. More talks ensued by Rich, Diana and Irena explaining in detail to the bank people what they wanted to do.  Misunderstandings took place, ideas circulated on alternative methods, Rich made several cellphone calls to Jason while the girls debated what to do next, a crowd started to gather and I?  I sat off in a corner, very happy to be the maiden in distress with not a worry in the world as my three Muskateers took care of everything.

            Eventually, after about 45 minutes, it was decided we should go to a Postal Service Bank which was where Jason’s account was held.  The Bank of China service workers were very helpful in directing us to the nearest Postal Bank, which happened to be at our nearby Sichuan University, just inside the North Gate entrance.   

            We were a bit worried about the time the bank would close so we taxied to the main entrance of the university.   Diana quickly asked one of the gate guards where the Postal bank was located.  He merely pointed around the corner, inside the campus, and there it was, a two-window tiny bank  with a short line of students getting money from home.

            Diana took control of the situation and pushed her way to the front of the line to ask the postal bank worker inside what time they closed and how to do a money transfer.  She came back to report we had 1 ½ hours to spare and just needed to fill out a form, hand the money over and off it would go.  

            And that’s exactly what happened.  Within 15 minutes, everything was finished.  According to the teller, Jason could expect the money in his account immediately.

            To complete the mission, Rich went to a nearby payphone to give Jason a ring and tell him all had been taken care of.  He next handed the phone over to me as Jason had a few words to say.

            “I will check my account after class,” he said gratefully.  “I just want to thank you so much for your help.”

            “Forget about the money,” I replied.  “For now, we just think about your sister, O.K.?”
            Jason promised to tell me the day of the operation and then contact Rich about the where and when we could pay her a hospital visit. Sadly for him, he’d still be in school until mid-July so he wouldn’t be able be there for her.

            “Rich and I will do that for you,” I assured him, then we said our goodbyes.

            Rich, Diana and Irena walked me back to the west gate, nearest my apartment, by route of the  university campus.   As we went along, I expressed my thanks again and again for their help.

            “You have all done a wonderful thing,” I said. “And how nice to have so many of us participating. We all shared, didn’t we?  Rich, you were the worrier.  Diana, you were the do-er.  Irena, you were the cheerleader and I just followed along with the money.  We made such a great team.”

            “Yes!” Diana piped up as the rest of the group smiled.  “Now that’s cooperation.”

            Here, here, Diana.  I second that.

            Or better yet, as our Muskateers would say, “All for one, and one for all!”

               From Chengdu, sending you "Ping An!" (Peace)

            In my small U.S. town, a visit to the bank is a quick affair.

            There are no lines to wait in and no numbers to take.  It’s a breezy in-and-out, just under 5 or 10 minutes.

            But in China, it’s a different matter.

            For anyone  transferring, wiring, withdrawing, exchanging and depositing cash into accounts, this can be a several-hour affair.  It doesn’t have so much  to do with the number of customers (although there are quite a few) as it does with the  tedious paper work involved.  The bank tellers are inundated in piles as they stamp, sign, copy, clip, paste and staple little bits and pieces of flimsy paper here and there, all to make sure your transaction was handled properly.  And there’s always a supervisor’s check to make sure everything has been done accordingly. 

            Due to this, tempers are short in the bank.  It’s not unusual to see a patron suddenly charge from the waiting area and accost the tellers behind their glass windows.  The irate Chinese wave their arms, shout nasty comments and fight off the floor clerks who try to calm them down.   

            Adding more to the frustration  are the ticketed numbers we have to deal with. 

            At the entrance, we choose from a machine the type of transaction we want to perform.  “A” numbers are one type (such as depositing or withdrawing), “B” numbers another (exchanging money and traveler’s checks),  the “C”s (wiring, transferring) and a “Z” category for “other”.    If you’re new to the bank, it’s easy to choose the wrong type, which then has you being told at the counter that, yes, your number 58 is correct but your transaction, B, isn’t.  Go back and get a C number.

            After waiting for 2 hours, no one wants to be told to go back and get another ticket before you’ll be serviced.

            Because I know the routine by now, my treks to the bank have me bringing along my Chinese textbooks and bi-lingual dictionary.  There is no sense in wasting 2 hours at the bank when I could be doing something productive.  It makes the time go faster and I have a feeling of accomplishment afterwards.  Not only do I finally have my traveler’s check cashed and exchanged for Chinese yuan, but I have my homework done as well.

            Yesterday afternoon at the bank, I settled into my seat to wait along with everyone else. I flipped open my book to Chapter 9 and began the lesson. 

            Things were quiet for about 30 minutes, and then the ruckus to began.

            A woman who had obviously been waiting for some time was told that she had chosen the wrong transaction letter. As she stood at the counter, the teller informed her  she should have a “B” number not an “A”.   Go back, get the correct one, have a seat and wait her turn.

            It was just too much for her to handle.  She refused to move and insisted she be taken care of.  .

            “I’ve waited a long time!” she said angrily, squeezing in front of the next in line.  “I have the number.  You must service me.”

            The teller’s face remained calm as he apologized and quietly asked her to move aside.  Her response was to shove all her papers at him through the slot.  She pushed them so ferociously that one of them ripped.

            “I’m sorry,” the teller continued, sliding her items back, “but it’s the next person’s turn.”

            Eventually, one of the floor attendants came to lead her away.  The young girl forcibly tugged on the woman’s arm to budge her.  Once dragged to the other side of the bank, the woman was given a second number from the machine.  

            Throughout all this, she fumed and snorted.  She refused to sit down with the rest of us but preferred to stand and publicize her displeasure.  But finally, emotional exhaustion took over and she plopped down next to me.

            Despite her sour mood, I was in need of help reading characters I didn’t know and she was sitting next to me so . . . .

            “Excuse me,” I said.  “Sorry to bother you but I don’t know these two characters.  Could you please tell me how to say them?”

            There’s nothing like a helpless foreigner to bring out the best in the Chinese.

            She peered at the Chinese symbols I pointed to.

            “Duan lie,” she answered. 

            I looked lost until she motioned something breaking in half.

            “I thought that was po le,” I said.

            “Yes, but for duan lie, we can  say . . ,” she thought for a moment, then brightened.  “We can say the bridges in the earthquake duanlie (broke).  We don’t say po le.”

            “Ah, I understand,” I replied. “Duan lie.  Did I say it right?”

            “Yes. Duan lie.  You said it very well!”

            The next thirty minutes, my companion, Ms. Yu, cheerfully assisted me with my homework.

            Our conversation moved on to other things, like why I was at the bank.  I explained I was exchanging money to help one of my former students, Ji Ke, whose sister was in need of a heart operation.  It was a lot of money and the family, who are farmers, didn’t have enough  to pay the hospital.  I was helping them out.

            Ms. Yu was very sympathetic.  She tsked when I said how young Ji Ke’s sister was, only 25, and gasped when I told her the total cost was 50,000 yuan ($7,150).  In China, this was an astronomical amount of money, especially for poor, countryside farmers.

            “A heart operation is very expensive,” she said.

            “Jiushi,” I agreed in Sichuan dialect.

            It was my turn at the teller’s window before Ms. Yu’s, and although I finished earlier than she, I still had another paragraph to read for my homework assignment.  Since my new-found teacher was all to happy to continue her tutorial, I returned to my same seat where Ms. Yu continued to guide me.  When her number finally came up, we said our goodbyes.

            Seeing Ms. Yu’s impatience and anger at the bank reminded me of another person who reacted in a similar fashion when things didn’t go her way.    You might recall an entry from last week about a taxi driver who received quite a bit of grief from me concerning a traffic jam he could do nothing about.  In the end, he encouraged my better half to shine through. 

            That brief encounter with driver Liu taught me something valuable:    It doesn’t take much to bring out the best in someone.  All we need do is look for the opportunity and take it. 

            Yesterday in the bank, when presented with a distraught Ms. Yu, I like to think I did just that.

            China’s cold-weather swimmers are suffering here in Chengdu.

           All winter, they’ve been enjoying frigid water temperatures of  40 to 55 degrees Farenhieght.  Every day, from October to April, I’ve watched these winter swimming  friends of mine in  the outdoor, unheated 50-meter pool at Meng Zhui Wan Park.   While I headed for the comfortable indoor natatorium, they bravely persevered in their Alaskan wilderness.  Our unusually cold temperatures had snow falling as they jogged around the deck.  They bared to the elements all but what their thin, lycra suits covered.  Hitting the water, they’d let out a sharp, triumphant “Ho!” before wildly swinging their arms for that first lap warm-up.   

             I was asked again and again to join them but cold is definitely not my thing.   

            Then May 1^st came.

            The 3 outdoor 50 meter pools at Meng Zhui Wan Park officially opened to the public.  Temperatures rose to the high 50s, then 60s, 70s and now today’s sizzling 93.  The indoor pool is practically deserted, the outdoor pools crowded with young adults trying to cool off in this heat.  Meanwhile, the winter swimming club members have disbanded, forced out of their wintry home by the coming of summer.

            Schools have not yet dismissed in China so come mid-July, I expect Meng Zhui Wan will be filled with kids either taking group swimming lessons in the morning or playing about in the afternoon. Yet another month-and-a-half to go is not dampening their water spirits. With this heatwave, they’re now spending their 2 ½ hour noontime siesta (China’s xiuxi) not at home, napping or  finishing up homework for afternoon classes, but at the pool.

             Today, their moms and dads brought them over for a quick 12:30 to 2 p.m. dip before hustling them off by 2:30 to school again.  

            While the kids frolicked, the parents sat on the deck under umbrella-sheltered tables, drank tea and chatted  After seeing the pools empty and forlorn for so long, watching our xiao pengyou (little friends) playing about so joyfully  brought a smile to all  of us passing by.

            I’ve been using the outdoor pool now for about a month without any difficulty in completing a full 2-hour work-out,  but today was impossible.   People were everywhere:  floating in their tubes, splashing their neighbors, racing against their friends.  I had to call it quits within an hour. 

            “You have to come earlier,” the women’s locker room attendants told me.

            “Jiushi (Yes)!”  I agreed in Sichuan dialect.

            “10 to 11 a.m. is a good time.  No one’s here but the serious swimmers.”

            I really have sympathy for these four ladies.  They’re in the locker room every day, 8 a.m. to 10 p.m., taking care of people’s things and cleaning.  For 7 days a week, 12 hours each day, they work for a measly 35 yuan ($5) a day or 1,050 yuan a month ($150).  A lot of the time, there’s nothing much for the four of them to do so they sleep on the hard wooden benches that line the walls.

            Not a great job, but if you only have a junior high or high school education, as is theirs, they are fairly lucky to have a steady income at all.  At least the environment is clean, the work not taxing and the company pleasant.  As far as jobs go in China, they could have done much worse.

               Although I go to Meng Zhui Wan Park to swim, there are plenty of others who don’t.  The park itself is composed of two parts:  One is an amusement park full of carnival rides; the other is the swimming pool area with shaded benches, a little tea house, a veranda for club meetings  and tiled open spaces for performing exercises.  Early morning, there are groups of elderly doing their slow-movement taiqi, some martial arts individuals and other seniors doing stretching exercises.  There are fan dancing and drumming clubs, accordion gatherers, choirs singing under the veranda, and even a few players of the erhu (the two-stringed Chinese fiddle).  On the weekends, I’ve also seen children practicing their recorders or traditional Chinese flutes while their parents looked on. 

            Now that our warm weather has arrived, I am able to sit outside of the pool after swimming and enjoy the park’s pleasant surroundings.  Today, I sat under the veranda and enjoyed a 3 yuan  (40 cent) glass of  tea.  I talked to some of the retired ladies who were about to begin their Chinese dance practice.  I met a singer whose choir was rehearsing “We Are Chinese” for their upcoming concert.   

            This is why many overseas’ visitors enjoy China so much.  There’s a lot going on, no matter where you might be — a temple, a mahjong parlor, a roadside tea house, a bustling restaurant, a crammed night market or, as in my case, the Meng Zhui Wan swimming pool.

            From Chengdu, wishing you all a cool, breezy day and “Ping An” (peace)