China Teaching Behind the Great Firewall & Other Inadvisable Things in a Country Shaped Like a Chicken

CHINA

Teaching Behind

The Great Firewall

&

Other Inadvisable Things in a

Country Shaped Like a Chicken

By Barton Jones

Copyright 2015 Barton L. Jones

Smashwords Edition

Original Artwork by Dalene Johnson

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

~~~~~~~~~~

Preface

The journey of a thousand leagues begins with a single step ~~ Lao Tzu

But a single misstep makes it an adventure ~~ author

How I Got There

7:43 AM Mainland China Time Zone.

I am standing tensely astraddle of my generic, one-speed, step-through bicycle in Jinan, Shandong Province, People’s Republic of China. The commuting pedestrian and wheel mounted crowd is on the corner of 花园路（Hua Yuan Lu) and二环东路 (Er Huan Dong Lu) – Flower Garden Street and 2nd Ring Road East – waiting for the traffic light to change. This is a very major intersection between two major, eight-lane streets. Bunched around me on the corner are 45-60 locals either afoot, on bike, electric bike or electric scooter. Facing us across the eight lanes are an equal number of morning commuters. My right foot is poised to mash down on the pedal, when I leap into forward motion.

My challenge is to make it through and out of this every-day, immediate throng and pass through the oncoming horde without significant impact with and/or injury to anyone, or being squashed by any car, truck or bus making a speedy, ‘free,’ right turn through our pedestrian and bike lane. I’m wary of the traffic, as thus far I’ve been hit and knocked off my bike by pedestrians, other bicyclists and one motorcycle.

Choosing a safe line of travel is an exercise in chaos theory, fish school psychology, herd mentality, quick reflexes and pure, blind luck. Additionally there are some subtle reverses of the rules of the road in play: If one is travelling against the designated traffic flow, one stays to the far, left-hand side of the lane, rather than to the right. This means any on-coming, mobile obstructionist could instantly veer off left or right or claim the middle without warning. Furthermore, many people practice a studious, passive aggression by failing to look anywhere other than straight ahead, thereby forcing all others to avoid flattening them.

While Jinan is the provincial capital of Shandong Province and has a population of 8+ million, it does not even get a big dot on the map. After all it is not even half the size of Beijing. But the local, immediate area seems immensely crowded to a guy from the Eastern side of Washington State. The local population density – crowds on the street – is equal to that of Beijing or Shanghai.

I never planned to teach in China. My lists of future goals had never included even tourist travel to the Middle Kingdom. But then I never plan on getting a cold or sinus infection, either. I’m not equating teaching in China and a sinus infection. A sinus infection is worse, but not by much. A cold isn’t that bad, but living and teaching in China is kind of in between, especially if someone convinces you to try some TCM – traditional Chinese medicine – for your affliction. I’m not certain TCM actually helps you recover at all. But when you finally reach the last dose, you feel a lot better because you no longer having to gag down that stuff. It is truly awful tasting, rather on the order and odor of a well ripened gym sock, which has been steeped in boiling mud. Or as my Grandpa Jones used to say, It’ll feel better, when it quits hurting.

How I got there: I was teaching as an adjunct at a local community college, when I was contacted by a friend of a friend about teaching English at Shandong University. Since the contract with the community college was winding down, it looked like an interesting option. A bit of adventure for a childless, divorced, single guy in his fifth decade~~~

That friend-to-friend contact was through my then, Chinese girlfriend, Xuanna (Shu-wen-nah). In accordance with the recent tradition, as invented by B. Hussein Obama, aka Prez Irkle, our Hope and Change homey and muzzie enabler in chief, Xuanna is a composite girlfriend and a naturalized, U.S. citizen from Jinan, Shandong Province, PRC. A friend of a friend of hers worked at Shandong University, which eventually led to my contracting to teach English conversation and writing for them.

To keep in touch with my friends and to maintain some semblance of a relationship with them since FaceBook is blocked by the Great Firewall, I began writing and emailing notes and ‘reports’ about my experiences. These ‘reports’ make up the bulk of this narrative. They began getting longer and longer (the notes, not my friends), and the number of people requesting to be added to my email list likewise grew. Several friends told me they were printing my emails and sharing them with other family members and friends. Once a former girlfriend somewhat angrily wrote from Canada and complained that I had not send her my latest episode, when I had been simply too busy to finish and send the next installment on my normal bi-weekly schedule.

But those facts and mechanical bits do not explain how this guy went from here to there. Some necessary, personal background sheds a little light of understanding, but hardly accounts for such an employment aberration. Nevertheless a bit of my personal history will provide the necessary context.

It was, of course, all my parent’s fault, if one avails oneself of the current fad of universal victimhood. Or maybe they were just doing their best to wrestle with their own demons and the overt war with the relatively benign Puritanism of our forbearers. I was the middle most child: My siblings arrived either 8 and 9 years before or 5 years after me.

My education was predominately accomplished in, through and mostly in spite of conservative, parochial schools up through college. This also included some high school at a boarding academy with a dominant conservative, highly religious streak. Their motto seemed to be If it’s fun, it’s wrong, bad and evil. Therefore, even thinking about it means you’re going to hell. No radio, no TV, censored newspaper, and Algore still had yet to invent the internet and global warming. Personal computers and cell phones remained sci-fi fantasies. All phones were hard wired and bolted to convenient walls and often boxed into tiny stalls much less than half the size of the bathroom kind. The school’s sidewalks were even designated for males or females. With only limited social and entertainment opportunities one studied just to combat the boredom. That created another problem, or opportunity: Amassing all but one credit necessary to graduate by the end of my 3rd year, which lead to my senior year of high school being spent in Austria learning to speak German.

Somewhere along the way I became interested in violin, then guitar and finally classical guitar. I developed a reasonable proficiency on the classical guitar, and part way through my second collegiate year I began teaching for the college’s music department. They even put my name on the door of a studio. This led to a graduate program at a Swiss/American music school in Montreux on Lake Geneva, but then that school changed focus and went bankrupt.

Law school seemed like a good idea, but finishing the scholastic prerequisites lured me into a year in Tokyo at Waseda University, where I gained a reasonable proficiency in Japanese (and then never used it again). After passing the bar I was missing music so much, that I bought a viola and took lessons. My law career churned and sputtered along for 17 years. Instead of taking a golf afternoon as many lawyers do, I arranged to join a local college orchestra two days a week at 4PM. This led back to my teaching guitar again.

Then one day I realized I really, truly didn’t care if the divorce and custody battle benefitted either the wife or the husband or either of their gay lovers. At about the same time the phone company messed up my office phones, which was a silent, death knell for my law practice. My wife suggested that God was telling me to stop practicing law. So heaving a sigh of relief and hundreds and hundreds of pounds of completely worthless, useless files, I closed the door of my office for a final time and devoted myself to teaching guitar, various music projects and building an addition to my house.

Apparently my wife had also continued to get some further, personal, divine messages, because she soon moved herself from the category of ‘devoted, supportive’ to ‘ex, remarried’. Meanwhile I kept teaching and otherwise busy with my house construction. Then came China and me standing on a street corner poised on my bike in the midst of morning rush hour traffic.

Enlightenment often begins when one acknowledges what one does not know and then prudently searches for a mentor, teacher or other trustworthy guide. Thus it was on this corner in Jinan. I cast about for a likely traffic guide and commute mentor to show me or lead me to the pathway of transit enlightenment or, at least, safety. Invariably there would be such a ‘master’ immediately available: A mother and child on an electric bike on their way to primary school.

A mother will almost always protect her child (or at least she might until she realizes that the long-awaited third child is just one more boy instead of the hoped for girl, as was my case). So I knew that a Chinese mom on an electric bike carrying her only connection to China’s one child policy would find, choose and otherwise pilot us safely through the converging crowds. All I had to do is follow apace as that safe line of travel was revealed.

Electric scooters and electric bikes are everywhere in Chinese cities. The larger scooters have bigger, heavier batteries and stronger motors, and they are modeled after their gas-powered, ear-splitting cousins. They have been nicknamed ‘silent death’ for their speed and noiselessness. The humbler electric bike has no bodywork, just a bare frame with a removable battery pack. They all seem to be painted a slivery grey with dust highlights. The motor is built into the hub of the 20-inch rear wheel. It has much less speed, power and range. It is fast enough with one person aboard, but when riding two up, like mother and child, its performance is not spectacular. But compared to the normal bike pedaling speed of most Chinese – a rolling, leisurely saunter – it is much speedier. On the other hand, I had ridden 10-12-14-speed bikes for healthful recreation and had thereby routinely and voluntarily courted much spandex and helmet based ridicule.

When the light turned green, I leap onto the pedals and sprint after my electric bike mounted, commuting guru and her child. Your muscles and lungs remember, thus I can spin my one-speed, wobbling wonder along right behind them. I even tuck in close enough to gain some drafting advantage, as well. The mother busily piloting us along the bike and pedestrian thoroughfare rarely noticed me, but the child would see me and look disconcerted at the unbelievably vision of a huge foreigner tightly pacing them. The kid would take a second look, go wide-eyed, then keep a wary eye on me, while tapping her mom’s back and reporting this sighting of a madly pedaling, blue-eyed behemoth.

妈妈，妈妈！外国人！

Mama, Mama! Waiguoren!

Mama, Mama! Foreigner!

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Chapter 1

April 6, 2007

Shandong University, Qilu Campus, Jinan, PRC

Hi,

Just letting you know where I'm lurking.  This is the first time I've been able to get to a reliable internet connection in my apartment.  I don't know if my Walla Walla house is rented or still even standing.  After getting here, I really, really appreciate it even beyond how I felt before.  This place makes a KOA look rather well thought out.  The showers and bathrooms in a State park are better designed, functioning and planned.  Xuanna has been a great help. 

The flight was longer than necessary (it sure seemed like we saw the North Pole more than once), but eventually we landed in Beijing.  Xuanna met me in Los Angeles, which was majorly disorganized because my flight from Portland, Oregon was delayed by 2 hours and my bags for another hour in LA. We had another 3 hours in Beijing before flying to Jinan. In Shandong we were met by Xuanna 's friend and a couple of ladies from the University.  Then the fireworks began. 

It seems that my promised and contracted for 2-bedroom apartment was limited to only actually using one bedroom and was gruesomely inadequate.  Worse they have a local rule that only the teaching staff can stay here....blah, blah, blah.  But Xuanna 's friend is a Whig (as in the big kind) in the local government so the two Long Marchers had to back down on that one.  In fact she, the Whig, threw a small fit about the apartment and took us to an upscale hotel for the weekend and shopping for the necessary supplies to fit out the apartment.  Ms. Xiaoping (her Whig-ness) is also friends with the Vice-Mayor, who also got in the act. 

Toward the end, I asked for a map of the local environs and where to find goods, shops, teaching buildings, etc. They declined to provide the same.

China is filled with people, and their cities are stuffed, except for this part of Jinan, which is as remote as my parochial boarding school in the midst of farmland, Laurelwood Academy, Gaston, Oregon. This outer area of Jinan, Qilu, is a completely new from the ground up, hi-tech center. Lots of the buildings are inhabited during the day, but few people actually live here. The students and the foreign teachers stay on campus, but the rest of the teaching and admin staff beat it back into town each PM (15-25 minutes by car depending on the traffic or an hour plus by bus). There are many new buildings going up along the wide streets, where few shops exist, mostly empty windows.

When I arrived, I was in extremely rumpled khakis and cross-eyed tired.  So when the locals and Xuanna got to arguing in Chinese, I sat it out, and the staff here seriously under-rated me.  But come Monday morning, I put on my full-combat, attorney suit and had me some Long-Marchers verbally fried.  Since I was now doing the talking, I made them translate everything. One of my better lines was how much face they had lost for giving me an apartment that their own wives would not live in, leaving me in a circumstance where I had to be rescued by Xuanna ’s friends, etc.  They’d never seen an attorney with right, justice, motherhood and apple pie on his side before.

Now, a couple of days later, things are at least at a camping level in the apartment and Xuanna is allowed to stay with me.

My class load isn't too bad, but it is a bit challenging to figure out what level each student has obtained.  However, the back row boys tend to be less able, interested or awake, just like at home. 

April 10, 2007

The school scheduled me for a work permit physical at the local health office. This was news to me, but apparently a standard procedure for any foreigners. I was herded through a multi-step exam, where each step was performed by a separate doctor / nurse type person. They checked my lungs, my blood, my innards with ultra-sound and even my pee. Other than my being a foreigner in China, they found nothing wrong with me.

The cost for these indignities came out of my pocket. But the school only let me know about this at the last possible minute. By the time I got free from the poking and prodding and further work visa applications plus passport size pictures, I had spent 1,200 RMB. This was a completely unplanned and unexplained expense.

I complained to the university people:

I left the receipts for the health exam and the work visa at your office about 2 weeks ago. Since that time I have heard that you do not have the authority to reimburse me for those. Since your message failed to explain who does have that authority and why I even need to apply to them, I am sending this letter to you. Please pass it on to the appropriate person(s) and inform me who they are, as well.

Requiring any of the foreign teachers to pay for the medical exam and the working certificate is a breach of our contract. Section V.3. states: Party A shall provide Party B necessary working and living conditions. Since having a working permit is clearly a working condition because one can’t legally work without it, the School is totally responsible for the entire costs.

Furthermore, the School knew about these costs (for the exam and the certification) before the signing of the contract, but failed to tell the other party about those costs until the last possible moment. This is unfair and unconscionable dealing by the School. When one writes a contract knowing that there is a future, hidden expense, which is required of the other party, the one writing the contract must pay for that expense, because the one writing the contract must give the other a chance to fairly understand all the costs of the contract. The one writing the contract must inform the other of all significant, known costs before signing. Otherwise the parties are not bargaining fairly and honestly with each other, and there can be no true understanding between them. Any contract resulting from such an uneven circumstance (as here) is not enforceable by the party writing it. The party signing it has the option of enforcing it against the writers.

When I first applied for a Chinese visa, I contacted the School regarding the type of visa I should get. An email told me just to get one to enter the country and that they could easily change it to the working one after I got here. No mention was made of my being required to pay for it at that time. In fact, the first I knew I had to pay for the medical exam and the certificate was on the day before I went to those offices. I understand that this was essentially the same for all of the foreign teachers here.

Morally it is unconscionable for the School to expect foreign teachers to pay out more than 20% of their first month’s salary for the exam and the working certificate. It is doubly reprehensible considering the Qilu campus, where every trip to a reasonably sized store (like the ones the other faculty shop in) takes a 30 yuan taxi ride or an hour on the bus. Arriving at a new place, where you are 20,000 some kilometers from home means you can’t bring everything you’d like to have and need, such as a hot plate, dishes, towels, and cooking things. Instead of anticipating that each new teacher is going to need more money to set up house, the School springs a huge, hidden cost on us.

The living conditions are a continuing embarrassment and discomfort: I’ve never worked for a school that expected me to take all my meals with the students and to enforce that expectation disabled my kitchen stove. Providing a kitchen without a working stove, just doesn’t quite come up to the level of "living conditions". The plumbing is so intentionally odiferous, that having friends in is too embarrassing.

[There was never a response to this letter.]

April 17, 2007

Teaching here is a bit different than I have experienced elsewhere.  My class lists are 30+, but I'm batting pretty good to see even half that actually sitting in class.  More like a third.  Apparently attendance in class only counts for 10% of the grade with the mid-term and final counting for 30% and 50%.  So the one-what-stands-in-front is having to adjust to working less for the same pay.  I'll do my best.

Meanwhile, the poor souls that show up are actually learning something:  Never, ever take a class from this guy again...  No, actually I keep them working at writing or talking in English as much as possible.  I've developed a couple of team games for writing that keeps them going like crazy for the whole class.  Another one is to give each student a vocabulary word on a piece of paper (like fortune cookies, but no cookie).  Then they line up opposite each other and get to ask 3 yes or no questions and then move on to the next person.  Whoever has the most pieces of paper is the winner.  I'm thinking I personally would get more out of this game/exercise, if I had them buy the words from me for a buck a piece. I might even include a cookie for a small extra charge...  Hey, they need to learn about capitalism sometime!!

Here's the local address:

Barton Jones

Qilu Software College of Shandong University

济南市舜华路中段山东大学齐鲁软件学院

Middle of Shunhua Road

Jinan, 250101, Shandong

Getting the address has been rather hard, requiring multiple requests. At times I've wondered, if I'm in a top secret place, and if they actually tell me where I am, I'll have to be sent for re-education some place even more remote.

Speaking of education: I'm not certain I'm doing the local darlings any good, since I've learned my class does not figure into their actual grades. I'm surprised any of them show at all. But the classes don't drag too much since I can always point at someone and ask a question like, who are you?

The student's English names are a bit of a stretch: While most of them can more or less pronounce them, some can't even get beyond sounding like an animal in pain. Also I have whole range of names: Apple (a girl), Lettuce (a guy), Fish (guy), Silence, BenQ (a local computer brand), Smart. For the most part they are long-suffering and put up with my strange writing assignments. Today I had them write: This weekend I saw _______ holding 2 beers. I told them to put the name of the person on their left in the blank, add another sentence and hand it on to the person on their right. This way I had each 6 person team writing 6 different stories at the same time with each person adding the next sentence or two. A previous lesson required them to write a letter declining an arranged marriage by listing all of their bad points.

My local, social whirlwind, Xuanna , is out this evening. Her cousin from Indonesia was going to drop by her Dad's for dinner. I had classes all afternoon and spend the morning bussing and taxiing to and from Jinan and didn't feel up another long, English-free dinner.

This last Saturday we met Xuanna 's brother and his friend Prof. Lu at a music store. (I've been looking for a viola. More on this later.). Prof. Lu called Prof. Ma (a retire orchestra conductor) and Mr. Xiang. We basically took over the music store for a little bit. Prof. Lu is a retired opera singer, who belted out a couple of numbers after bullying a kid into accompanying him on the piano. The kid was dressed in sort of rapper clothes with a couple of chains and a hat twisted off to one side. Then we all ended up at a restaurant with more than enough food for another 6 people.

April 16, 2007

Saturday I bought a floor lamp. China is trying to save electricity, so each room has less plugs than my 1930’s era house. Plus half of the plugs are these just plain weird 3 prongers, where the slots form an abbreviated arrow pointing down. You know electrical supply is a problem everywhere, when even the smallest grocery stores carry 5 to 9 different power strips. Anyway, the lighting here is at best what we use for night lights, or so it seems to me, when I’m trying to read or play music. From the first night here, I began keeping my eyes open for someone or place selling more than just table or desk lamps.

What I have learned is that there is a mall just for lamps (and other construction electronics). It is even marked on the city map. Getting there was a three-bus nightmare because of road construction. Once at the mall – imagine Home Depot with ¼ of the light level, but then split it into 3 floors with distinctly different floor plans on each level. You also wandered around with 5 times too many sales staff dogging your every move. Additionally, limit all the lighting to LED, fluorescent or sub 60-watt. I eventually bought a floor lamp and two, smoking, 60-watt bulbs. The lamp was typical Chinese construction where everything was just right except that the cord design and connection were about ¾ of an inch too short. But a little tug here, an on-the-spot redesign after buying a pair of midget screwdrivers, and my lamp now works. It even has a dimmer, which lets me adjust the light from ominous up to gloomy. Actually, I can read music by it, so I’ve retired my white cane from guitar practice.

You asked about rugs: I found a shop that will custom make any rug that you can dream up in about 2-4 months. This would be the same quality as the one you now have collecting cat hair in your living room. Come up with a size and some sort of a pattern/color scheme, and you will then be able to whine in a specific dollar amounts at your spousal unit, his most skin-flinted-ness.

April 24, 2007

This past weekend I met the leader of the Shandong Symphony Orchestra. I had met a couple of their players in my search for a viola. [A viola looks just like a violin and sits between the violin and cello. Just like any middle child, it gets it from both sides.] Xuanna has made the leader a friend, so the ‘orchestra’ has lent me a viola and a bow. They didn’t have a case, so it came back to my sub-suburban apartment in a cardboard box. It was quite a trick getting it safely through the ride on Bus 115, especially when some behemoth babe with a body shaped like the moon (and only a slightly smaller mass) decided to lean on me. It was another time that I really wished I had some of those sharp, Chinese grandma elbows.

The orchestra invited me to a concert they were giving the next morning. It was for some pregnant ladies group, club, training project. Anyway, I got there and it turned out that they were second on the billing. First was some long-winded expert, expounding lady. I don’t know what she was talking about, but the video cameras were running and I got centered in them several times. Comic relief, probably. The chamber group played a number of fairly standard stuff, but ended the concert with Jingle Bells. Yeah, I’m in China, alright.

I am practicing the viola each evening, so I can play some quartets with three other members of the orchestra. This viola needs a new set of strings, but the local shops don’t carry anything more than basic student quality stuff. I have a case ordered. I went for the lower priced one: 160 RMB (less than 21USD). One small step for the viola; one giant stride above a cardboard box.

This week I am finally meeting all of the students registered for my classes: I’m giving mid-term exams. It is as much a shock for me as them. But I think grading time will be less happy for them than me. It has been quite amazing to think that they are shipping all these guys out to Canadian colleges for next term. Most of them have remedial written all over their abilities. I’d be in favor of tattooing it on their butt’s as well, if anyone asked me, said the lovingly concerned teacher.

May 14, 2007

In the final packing rush – with assistance from my neighbors’ wives – the shoes you so carefully shipped over to WW-burg (Walla Walla) got stored and not shipped here much to the current need of my feet. Since one travels by bus, taxi or self-hoofing, my feet and shoes are taking a beating. I’m going to forward funds from my bank to you in the next day. I’d like you to glom onto the best fitting, most comfortable sandals you find and ship them forthwith via USPS Express here. I can’t buy anything in my size here in Jinan. The biggest shoe seems to be 44, whereas your and my metatarsals and lower phlanges stretch out to 47 when modestly heated and more or less relaxed. Something like the Teva Dozer sandals. See pixs at REI. If in doubt, send more and pocket the change, although sending less would net said pocket more.

There are a few cats around China, but they seem to be a pretty mangy lot. The campus cat is a two-toned variety with white side-walls and the sort of grunge look, so that one expects to see wash me written somewhere along near the tailgate. It has come up for the odd head butt and ear scratch, but generally remains aloof. As a vegetarian it’s not like I’m carrying slices of duck, fish or chicken.

Week before last the school was on holiday. Xuanna ’s friend Lili was able to borrow the apartment of a friend of a friend in Qingdao, the site of next year’s Olympic sailing. We were about 1 km east of the actually Olympic site, which like most of China, seems to be under construction for next year’s maximum influx for the multi-colored, sweat ring-a-thon.

Qingdao was the German concession and has a lot of buildings in mid-European design. Our apartment was right on the water, a townhouse that went from the 3rd floor to the fifth, which was under the eaves. With only three of us, we hung out on the main floor and snoozified on the next one up. We took a half-day trip around Laoshan, the mountain next to the ocean where Lao Tsu developed Taoism. You know: I are therefore you’re ugly, or I’m low on beer. Lots of terraced tea fields stepping down to the ocean and up to where some group of knuckleheads wired together a pagoda temple to some god / deity that either had very bad genes, or always looks vaguely like someone whose finger was just slammed in a door.

Lili, Xuanna ’s friend, used to work in the Qingdao economic development department. The two of them have lots of friends, who still work for the government or have maintained their connections. So, most of our time was spent going out to eat, recovering therefrom and getting ready for more eating out. These dinners are not considered even a moderate success unless there are at least 9 dishes per person loaded onto a 2 meter wide lazy-susan. The dishes are even stacked on the edges of each other. Our individual plates are usually about the size of a small salad plate, which, as the bones and such accumulated at the carnivore stations were swapped out for clean ones. In the more formal, upscale locales one waitress/waiter stands about to keep the dishes spinning around, the beer glasses topped off, my tea cup brimmed and a sharp look-out for any chopstick missteps I might make.

At this last Qingdao lunch-fest, there was a surfeit of beer. Towards what I had hoped was the end of things, the waitress unfortunately turned on a KTV unit in the room. That’s when I learned that there hadn’t been enough beer at all. Not nearly enough, as they could still move voluntarily to the microphones. What was needed was enough beer to render all and sundry comatose, while I snuck out into a quiet, peacefully traffic accident. So there I was the only one in the room, who didn’t know all the words to Somewhere over the Train Wreck Tied Down with a Red Ribbon on the Old Oak Bucket, Dear Liar, Dear Liar. After that the tunes got obscure and generally referred to the love of irrigation pipes being beaten into water buffalo bite guards. Please understand my Chinese is very rudimentary, so I had to go on somewhat just from the pentatonic tune over a disco bass line in a different key from the screamers – er, singers.

The first night in Qingdao I bumped into an American family just across the landing from our borrowed apartment. The husband works for Tyson Foods. My one question: Where do you get Mexican food? And they had an address! My travel mates let me drag them there two times. The salsa as very mild. So mild I ordered a second one (extra charge of 2 yuan –about 25 cents).

Qingdao is a truly lovely place. It is going to be a big hit with the international crowd during the Olympics. The whole waterfront has been turned into a miles long promenade in granite/marble-esque stuff with lovely landscaping, beaches and parks. The weather, while we were there, wasn’t idea sailing weather – haze bordering on fog for most of the time. But when it cleared, the water looked wet and the breeze steady. I watched a 10 meter or larger catamaran, drift along sideways in front of the apartment because they had the main sail and jib sheeted (pulled) into the centerline with the breeze coming right over the rail. Eventually they lowered/furled the jib and motored up and down a bit. That was the sum total of the sailing I saw while there. I’m hoping to go back, if we can wangle the apartment again. If so, one can rent a Laser or something a bit larger (Laser II?) by the hour. Plus Mexi-bombs to get up some wind.

My viola quest has turned into a connection with the Shandong Symphony Orchestra. In somewhat typical Chinese fashion, I met someone through Xuanna ’s brother, who knew someone that actually plays in it. After checking out my viola skills (I recognized the clef two out of three time) that person introduced me to the orchestra leader (like a general manager, but not the conductor). The orchestra leader lent me a viola. She and Xuanna have become friends, so when we had dinner (here it’s inevitable that food gets thrown about), I learned about the orchestra, etc. It seems my viola was acquired over ten years ago as a favor for someone only marginally connected with the orchestra and by one of the previous leaders. It had been stored in its original cardboard box all that time. Nobody knows who originally ordered the viola or for whom. So I’m calling it the Orphan viola, unless that is redundant.

The viola is a ‘whopping’ 39.5 cm (15 3/4 inches for those who don’t speak metric), which makes it some shorter than my 16 5/8. Its strings are the original wire cored cheapies, but even with these old things, it sounds good. Because the strings are so poor, I can’t tell if each string is equally balanced. Currently the C has great power, the G isn’t quite as reliable, which I suspect is the string. The D and A are most everything anyone wants, but the wire cores make them a bit shrill, although manageable. I’m waiting for a set of Piastro Tonicas. It is very fast to play because of its shorter string length. There is no maker’s stamp or label inside. It has a one piece back of tightly flamed maple, boxwood fittings and a bridge stamped Cinderella. If I can make a deal with the orchestra, this could be the viola corner of a Made in China quartet.

I'm quickly closing in on the end of the term here and don't know where I will be next.  I'm trying to find a summer Chinese course, so I can learn to tell taxi drivers where to go and bus drivers where to get off.   

June 5, 2007

It is hot and sweaty, wet, humid, wretched weather currently. So sandals will be very welcome. I sometimes can wear a medium width, but I’m trusting that my feet are still the same length, width challenged as yours. I recall wearing some deck shoes of yours, which fit very well. In fact, I was sorry I gave them back. Since China is the land of steps, ledges and slightly off flooring, closed toed sandals seem a bit more prudent. A stairway here just isn’t quite right unless the last step is ¾ of an inch higher or the first step is 4 inches lower or both. Anyway, check out the footer things. I have a dressier black pair, so brown nose tone would be preferred. Also, more than one is fine, as I can send you further moola, then I might have the dress-up, down, around and through… LSMFT. I do have to walk a mile like a Camel. Lots and lots of walking, when one hasn’t a car.

Meanwhile back in 中国 Zhong guo (easy to say if you have no pride): My semester has ground down to its last week. This week is the final testing of my patience with these little hosers. My students have perfected the art of complete indifference to class. Out of 40, I’m luck to see 3-5, and those are not the same ones from week to week either. So, one lesson plan can last for a long time. If I hadn’t taught some before, I’d wonder if I had any talent for this sort of thing at all. But it has a lot to do with the fact that most of these guys know they are going to have to take remedial English when they get to Canada before they can pass their proficiency exam: TOEFL (pronounce toe-full).

Last Sunday the local area vice mayor sent his sub-assistant and a driver over to take Xuanna and me to Qufu (chew foo), the home town/birthplace of Confucius. Yes, that ‘Confucius says’ guy. As in Confucius says man, who fart in church, sit in own pew. That folk-verb should have some application in the over-crowded buses, but one is squeamish of retaliatory or preemptive smells in a land where toilets are cleaning optional zones. Or maybe just that toilet cleanliness is next to gawd-awful.

But back on the road to Qufu: We were in a Mitsubishi van with the wheelbase of a grocery cart, but with less tracking and suspension. It did have a second, ceiling mounted air conditioner, which was much appreciated and needed. After wending our way onto the toll road, the ghosts of all bad drivers everywhere awoke in the soul and skills of our driver. The van immediately developed a two position accelerator: On / Off. Not smooth. All corners were two wheel affairs, and we wouldn’t be getting his tax’s worth unless we covered all sides of the road. Career of careen.

At first I thought maybe the road was just exceptionally bad and crowded. But then a police escorted, mini-convoy of one large van between two patrol cars passed us. Our driver latched on to the last siren emitting vehicles’ bumper for the