Cacophony

Today I was riding home from the main consulate, which is inconveniently located a 50 rmb taxi ride away from the consular section, where I work. A 50 rmb ride equates to about eight dollars and 40 minutes. I went to the main consulate because the U.S. government doctor was in town from Beijing. I’ve tried going to “western” doctors on the Chinese market, but have had mixed experiences. One told me that my daughter’s fever was caused by allergies, another gave me an ultrasound because I had a stomach ache, and the third correctly diagnosed my daughter’s persistent tonsilitis, but provided an odd form of powder antibiotics that I had to dissolve in water, which I found to be “mafan.” Mafan is a word used to describe a situation that is annoying, troublesome, bothersome, etc.  The taxi driver who took me home after my appointment used that very word to describe an odd scene out the window. On a bicycle with a built in sound system sat a very long-haired Chinese hippy. In the five months that I’ve spent in China, I have not before seen anyone who looked like this guy. Approaching the non-harmonious scene, the taxi driver shook his head and with disgust mumbled, “mafan,” but must have also been a bit intrigued, because a moment later he rolled down the window.  In China, harmony is the ideal. In the United States, we’d probably use the word conformity to pessimistically describe what the Chinese positively refer to as harmony.  Nearly all Chinese men wear their hair very short. Some younger men opt for a slightly longer style, but this isn’t the norm.  I’m not competent to critique Chinese music, but I didn’t find the street musician’s singing to be anything special.  The background music was pre-recorded--only the singing was live. Sitting along side the Pearl River, he sang without a visible audience. No one stopped to listen, not the track suit uniformed students walking home from school, the fisherman hoping to catch dinner out of a river so polluted most admit that the water isn’t fit for agricultural use, nor the local merchants transporting their wares by bicycle. But my taxi driver couldn’t hide his intrigue. The car slowed considerably and the window stayed down until the artist’s notes were beyond earshot.  I suppose showing visible interest in something so inharmonious may in itself also be cacophonous.  But what of my driver who feigned displeasure? I dare say, in most circumstances, the appearance is all that seems to concern us.  

Regard

Today I gave up my seat on the bus to an elderly woman who's legs where obviously insufficient to sustain her through the high-speed jerking ride that awaited her.  The bus was indeed full.  But no one else appeared even mildly concerned about the woman's safety.  So she sat next to my four-year-old daughter.  At the next stop, an elderly man rose from his seat farther down the bus but refused to move until he signaled me to come to the seat.  While recognizing his kindness, I declined.  I didn't want to be that far from my daughter.  Eventually the woman and I began to chat.  She told me that she is not originally from Guangzhou but came here for work.  She offered to hold my bag that was obviously causing me some difficultly as people pushed by me.  I thanked her and handed the bag.  She asked why I thanked her, and I told her that I thought her offer was kind.  She insisted that it was I who had been so very kind to her.  And she said it with great sincerity.

I thank my ayi (nanny/cleaning lady) multiple times per day as she shows me what she accomplished for the day.  I think she does excellent work both in my home and the care she provides for my daughter.  She is honest, kind, and hardworking.  I believe she deserves the appreciation that I provide.  But she tells me that this is her job, so I should not thank her.  But I do anyway.

Giving up my seat or thanking an employee are hardly noble actions.  I do them mostly because I come from a culture where that is appropriate behavior.  But I wonder why it isn't appropriate behavior in all cultures.  I don't pretend to believe that Americans are a shining example of kindness or civility, but I think that at the core of most Americans we understand what these values are, and we understand the fact that they are indeed values.   (I recognize that political debate in the United States has waned from that understanding in recent years.)  That aside, I am left to wonder about those who are so focused on their own person that the do not see nor respond to the needs around them.

The bus I was riding took some friends and me to Baiyun mountain, where we climbed to the top and rode a tram down.  The mountain was nice, but nothing like home.  It was crowded, the roads and paths were paved, it was scattered with refreshment stands, amusements rides, a bungee jumping tower (which I went up but them chickened out as I stood on the platform, inches from jumping).  But even there, in the place of semi-nature/semi-amusement I found so much disregard.  At one point, among a crowd of people, my daughter stopped and asked me to remove her sweater.  We were not walked on a road, but a wide paved trail.  A park vehicle carrying passengers down the mountain appeared from around the curve and was heading straight for us.  The driver had sufficient time to swerve around us or slow down, but she proceeded at the same speed without any deviation.  People around us moved, but Hazel, confused stood still.  I yelled to the driver that she should stop, but she looked straight at me and kept driving.  So I put my hand out.  She finally stopped inches from me and my daughter.  On the bungee tower, I initially proceeded to the platform anxious but focused.  As I walked out, I felt the man overseeing the jump push me hard from behind.  He caught me completely off guard and rattled me.  I stepped back.  He started trying to persuade me to jump.  Several times I asked him to wait.  I wanted a moment to gather myself.  But each time I stepped close to the edge, I would feel his hand shoving me.  So I would grab the walls aside the platform.  He was so determined to get me off, that he never gave me the opportunity to do it for myself.  So I walked away.  Maybe I wouldn't have jumped anyway.  But I certainly wasn't under those conditions.  And later, as we purchased tickets for the tram ride down, my sweet friend who speaks Chinese natively requested a senior citizen ticket.  However, she did not hand the cashier her ID, which the sign about the window indicated was essential to verify age.  By looking at her, it was obvious she was not attempting a scam, but the cashier instead responded: "Can't you read, woman?" And then demanded full price.

So it isn't about the few extra dollars my friend had to spend, or the fact that I didn't get the few moments I required to muster the courage to do something that many others are able to do without those moments. Nor is it even about the idea that I would have had to grab my child and run to save her from harm.  Rather, it is about the focus on one's own task at the utter disregard for those in one's immediate proximity and direct sphere of influence.  In everything we do, we have the impact to influence people.  What I can't understand is if these people today didn't realize that or just didn't care.  But I do think it matters, and I hope that I can figure it out.

Faces and Colors of Chinese New Year's Eve

The Flower Market: under the canopy, which stretches for at least four blocks, people are selling cut and potted flowers, and New Year's decorations.

Hazel's decoration of choice, a giant lollipop, which she used to spend the evening bopping everyone with.

Cotton candy and cigarette smoke.  Should I be ashamed to admit we ate one?

Corn on the cob is Hazel's favorite street food.  She has found a neighbor of ours who will pick one up for her in the evenings on the way home from work.

As the evening got later, the crowds at the Flower Market increased dramatically.

Fortunate for Hazel, our new friend Jason was willing to give her a ride through the crowd.

Foshan

The Wet Market by our home includes this meat market.  After Hazel's first visit, she declared herself a vegetarian.  That lasted a couple of days; including a Sunday dinner with a friend who made us homemade pot roast.

A little decor to celebrate the coming year of the rabbit.  I'm not sure why there are two heads . . . .

A view of the river in FoShan.

I went to FoShan to do some porcelain shopping. I wasn't anticipating a wall decorated with toilets 

and another with sinks.

Look on the balcony above the red door.  There is a tangerine tree.  These are similar to Christmas trees in Guangzhou.  People decorate with the for Chinese New Year and hang red envelopes on them.

Take 2

In an effort to re-cooperate from my second cold since arriving in Guangzhou, I thought a good Chinese herbal massage was in order.  I returned home far worse than I left it.  Only that night when I took a shower, did I see how intense my massage had been.  My entire back was covered in bruises.  For two days, the pain was too intense to even lean on my back, let alone lay down.  Now, a week later, I have mostly healed--I've become a nice shade of yellow.  People here say I shouldn't give up on massages, just find a place that is less traditional.  I think it will take several more weeks of healing before I will consider their advice.

Last Monday, Hazel acquired her first pets.  We ventured to the "pet market," where I was anticipating throngs of people, loud streets, and desperate efforts to keep Hazel in sight.  Instead I found a somewhat depressed area, a busy neighborhood, but a pretty sleepy market.  Dozens of fish shops all carrying the exact same things for the exact same prices.  No one cared much to help us, but despite the slim pickings, we managed to get home with a fish tank and 9 pet fish.  As we journeyed home, I fortunately thought to tell Hazel that you never know how old a fish is when you buy it, so some of these fish may have already lived most of their lives.  In less than a week, we lost 4 of our new friends to old age.  But since "all drains lead to the Ocean," Hazel wasn't too sad to flush them down the toilet.

I travel almost exclusively by taxi.  The rides are pretty cheap, but catching a taxi isn't necessarily an easy task.  Drivers make more money if they can do lots of short runs instead of longer ones.  I also think they prefer customers whom they can easily speak with.  So, as I seek to journey around the city, I'm often stuck waiting as open taxis drive by.  And then when I get one to stop, it isn't a surprise anymore for a driver to tell me I want to go too far, and then wait for me to get out.

I found a wet market in my neighborhood.  This is where I can buy fresh produce, meat, and eggs.  Though I doubt I will ever buy meat there, it is a fun place to people watch.  Old women haggling over cuts of meat, squeezing the pieces to see how thick they are, holding it close to their nose, perhaps in an effort to gauge its freshness.  If they want it really fresh, the next aisle has cages of live chickens for purchase.  I took Hazel there today.  She is now a self proclaimed vegetarian, though I think this phase will pass by morning--unless she doesn't realize that the bacon she has been eating every morning for breakfast is in fact meat.
 
Chinese names and English names are vastly different.  Accordingly, Chinese people who speak English often give themselves an English name.  At work, we call the Chinese staff by their English names, which range from typical names such as Sharon or Elaine to atypical names such as Candy, Cherry, or Circle.  Hazel's friends at school also have English names.  One child's parents named their son Pervert, because they liked the sounds of it.  The poor English teacher had to pull them aside and explain why it was unacceptable for their son to be called Pervert.

There is much here that makes me smile, and much more that makes me wonder.  With all the strange and different that I encounter, I am constantly reminded of the need for civility and compassion in my interactions--reminded, particularly, by abundant examples of the opposite. 

Our First Week

China is nutty.  Salt is only sold behind the counter.  And when you ask for it, they say they don't have it.  But if you insist, it appears.  On the roads, might makes right.  If you are a bus, you can do whatever you want.  If you are a young child, you must run for your life, because nothing is smaller than you.  Crosswalks are meaningless, I'm not sure why they waste the paint.  My home is new and beautiful, but the closet has space for about 5 articles of clothing, and the drawers fit about 4 pairs of socks each.  No other storage-type furniture.  It works for now because we are living out of suitcases.  The bed is virtually a slab of granite.  I was told this before I came, but I didn't realize how realistic the description was until my first night.  Everyone speaks Cantonese.  Mandarin is spoken with a thick Cantonese accent.  My nanny is sweet and kind, but I simply smile most of the time when she speaks.  If she seems to really want a response, then I make the effort to figure out what she said.  This process can take anywhere from a few minutes to days and calling a friend to translate.  Neither myself nor my new friend, who speaks impeccable Mandarin, have figured out my nanny's name.  So we just call her the Chinese word for nanny, "ayi."  It works.  I had my first day of work yesterday. It was just a meet and greet of all the important people at the consulate.  It was also the first day my current cold came on with full force, so I disrupted the formalities with constant nose blowing, nose wiping, and eye wiping (even my eyes are draining goop).  I haven't had a cold like this in years.  I start my first day in the consular section on Monday.  The shuttle that runs between my apartment and the section leaves 15 minutes before I can drop Hazel off at school.  So I'm left to fend for myself.  Maybe a taxi, maybe a shuttle/subway combo.  I've yet to decide.  Neither seem particularly reliable for a punctual appearance at work. Hazel's school is delightful, from my perspective.  Each morning at drop-off they shine a flashlight down her throat, inspect her fingernails, and take her temperature, then one of the teachers escorts her upstairs to her classroom.  Though the school is advertised as an English-immersion experience for rich Chinese kids, it only really includes 1-2 hours of English instruction in an 8 hour day.  There are 4 other English-speaking kids Hazel's age attending the school.  They are all in the same class.  But their class is full.  So Hazel is the sole English speaker in her class, which has more Japanese kids than Chinese.  Her teachers speak Japanese and Chinese.  I imagine she'll learn a hybrid Asian language by the end.  Our nanny doesn't speak any English, though she has learned the word "No" in the few short days she has been with us.  She is a delightful woman who is eager to please.  She comes for 4 hours a day, six days a week.  She cleans, does our laundry, and picks Hazel up from school.  All for the low low price of $230/month.  Though littering is prevalent, the streets of Guangzhou are impeccably clean.  All day people with brooms created by tying tree branches together sweep and clean the streets. The brooms are pretty ineffective, but the abundance of cleaners makes up where they lack. And that's how things work here.  With 1.3 billion people and a Communist government that seeks to have everyone employed, manual labor is the most abundant and cheapest resource.  The air in Guangzhou is filthy, and accordingly everything outside except the streets, is filthy.  Buildings, benches, fences, etc.  In China, things are done very effectively and efficiently if someone with authority directs them to be done.  Otherwise, they are completely neglected.  For this reason, unless someone has express authority to do something for you upon request, your request will always be answered initially with a no.  Only after probing and asking for other people to verify or problem solve does it seem possible to get simple needs met. For example, I had two lights out in my apartment.  After I mentioned it, they were both replaced in about 6 minutes (including the time necessary to go and fetch the lights).  But when I asked the front desk to show me on a map of the city the route that the shuttle takes, the attendant looked incredibly uncomfortable, chatted with several people in Cantonese, told me "no" several times, despite my insisting, and then finally was corrected by the manager who happened to walk by during my demands.  The attendant then cheerfully started drawing the route on my map.  I watch all of these simple interactions ever aware that U.S. economists are continually warning about the threat China's economy poses to the U.S.  And I have not yet decided what I think about that.  For now it appears that only if a thorough and well-articulated plan were put in motion could China really threaten us.  Because free thought and problem solving along the way is not where China shines.  But I don't know about the feasibility of such a plan.  I doubt it would be possible in the U.S. for us to create such a plan, because we tend to stumble along and fix our errors as we go, often swinging from one extreme to the next before we find a good middle ground.  So my frame of reference is inadequate at this point to gauge China's potential.  But it has only been a week.

Church in Guangzhou

Hazel and I arose Sunday morning quite enthusiastic about attending church for the first time in Guangzhou, China.  Although The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints does not have missionaries in China and is not officially recognized by the government--only five religions are--current members are allowed to assemble, just not share what we believe.

I found the address for the branch on lds.org.  I google mapped it from my current address to get a sense of the distance and driving time.  I anticipated it was a 10 minute drive, but since I had never been there before, I hailed a taxi 25 minutes early to ensure we'd be there on time.  I gave the taxi driver the address and off we went.  As we drove, the driver asked me where I was going, I reiterated the address, but he wanted more specific information.  I told him I was going to attend church, but then followed up with, "It is just a church for foreigners."  I wasn't quite sure what to say in my limited Chinese abilities.  When we found the correct street, the initial part of the street looked upscale with a couple nice hotels and restaurants, but further down the street were run-down apartment buildings.  (I'll take pictures soon.)

Though the address I gave him was in the run-down area, he was convinced (I assume because he picked us up in the very nicest part of town, we were dressed well, and we are Americans) that the address was wrong.  He slowed down to ask many different people in the neighborhood where the "church for foreigners" was, but no one knew what he was talking about.  He kept muttering, "this is very dangerous, very very dangerous."  I tried to explain that I assumed the church just rented the floor or a building, but I didn't explain it very well, or he couldn't believe it was the floor of one of those apartment buildings.  Either way, we kept driving.  Eventually, I asked him to stop so we could get out and look for it ourselves, but he refused--"dangerous, very dangerous"--was all that I heard.  He recommended that I call someone, but I didn't have a number to call.  All that lds.org provides for Chinese branches is a number for Salt Lake.  And besides, I still don't have a cell phone.  The consulate is supposed to issue me one later this week.

Looking at my watch, I saw that it was 5 past the hour, we had been driving up and down this street for 20 minutes.  I finally asked, "How much do I owe you?" as I started to open the door of the moving taxi.  The driver apologized several times, came to a stop, took my money, and slowly drove away.  After confirming that the address I was looking for was indeed a run-down green apartment building down the street (this time avoiding the notion that I was hoping to attend church at this address), we proceeded to the building.  "China smells like bad eggs," Hazel told me as we walked.

Inside the apartment building, the air smelled dank and the lighting was poor.  Hazel kept asking, "This is church?"  My repeated confirmations did not persuade her.

We arrived at the set of apartments that the church rents just after the sacrament had been passed.  We found a seat in the back.  The smell that we first encountered remained.  The wallpapered walls had been decorated by toddlers scribbling with crayons.  The carpet was old, worn, and added a water-damage smell to the air.  The chairs were plastic.  But the spirit was calming. Peaceful.  I handed Hazel her coloring book and crayons, and I knew we were home.

Our branch has approximately 100 members from 15 different countries.  Chinese citizens cannot attend the branch, nor can we share our beliefs with them.  Any Chinese citizens who are members must attend a separate branch.  They would have joined the church when they were traveling outside of China.

The branch is a hodge podge of expats living in Guangzhou for various temporary reasons.  There are approximately 4 or 5 foreign service families.  Hazel has two girls her age in primary with her.

I am grateful for the opportunity to gather with fellow members of the Lord's restored church and worship in China. And I am grateful that the Spirit is unchanging regardless of our location in the world or the quality of the room in which we gather.

Our Year in Washington

Jump on in and take a look at D.C. through our eyes.

Hazel is sitting in the middle of the busy road in front of our apartment building.  We received several feet of snow overnight, which closed the government down for more than a week.

FDR Memorial

Kite Festival on the Mall

Cherry Blossom Festival

Hazel's first best friend in Washington, D.C.  She is learning quickly that although friends move away, new friends can always be found.

A visit from a good friend. Hazel and Nat at the American Indian Smithsonian museum.

Lurray Caverns

 Shenandoah National Park

Trying to overcome her frustration that despite her best efforts, her mother still stepped on at least one "creature" on her way to the peak.  By "creature" Hazel means insect.  The trail was riddled with black beetles, and Hazel was determined to protect the life of every last one.

The view was amazing, but two hikes in one day are definitely too much for a three-year-old.

Hazel's begins a ballet and tap dance class.

At the Kennedy Center.  Hazel and I went to see Mary Poppins.

Hazel's first experience babysitting.

One of my favorite spots.

A visit from some wonderful friends.

The triumphant WWII Memorial.

"The Earth is crammed with Heaven and every common bush afire with God, but only he who sees takes off his shoes . . . . " Elizabeth Barrett Browning 

National Cathedral

Hazel's first pet.

Vietnam Memorial

A visit from family.

Picking leaves.

The urban park

Happy Halloween!