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Belated birthday wishes to Beth and Annette. And, Wendy, thanks for the update on how Montrealers celebrate St. Patrick's Day. It was great to hear from you all.
I learned how to use my pocket English-Chinese dictionary to look up Chinese characters. It's damn valuable!!!
Did I tell you that the Japanese woman next to me in class carries a picture of Marilyn Monroe in her pencil case? As if it's not odd enough that she carries a pencil case. All of the Japanese do. They carry all sorts of writing and creating tools, including pens and pencils and erasers and scissors and hole punchers and hard plastic sheets to slip between pages so their pencils don't tear the cheap Chinese paper.
Everything in China--guitar cases, tennis racquet sleeves, etc., comes with a shoulder strap so the item can be carried on a bicycle. And, yes, I've seen bikers using cell phones while negotiating traffic. And carrying passengers as well! No, Annette, I've seen no golf carts yelling out rules and regulations.
Hyun Zhong and I may not understand much in common, but we do understand "made in China." Toilet seats break, zippers tear, furniture falls apart in the room and you hear a two-person chorus of "made in China!"
That brings me to my next news. I didn't think she would do it, but for nearly a week now Hyun Zhong has been saying that she and Janus are going to drop out of school and travel. And they are. By the time you read this, they are on a train to Yunnan Province for a two-week holiday. Since they are not coming back to the university, this is the last I will see of the happy couple. I have mixed feelings about their leaving. I'm happy for her, that she's found someone she likes well enough to travel with and I can't deny that I enjoy the privacy of having my own room, but I do enjoy talking to her to the extent that I can and practicing my Chinese. Since it's the middle of the semester (I come home in two weeks!) and since I think Hyun Zhong has paid for her half of the room, I can't imagine that they'd find a replacement for her. But the Chinese are full of surprises, so we'll see. In the meantime, the coast is clear for my Oscar party on Tuesday at 1 pm.
My latest faux pas--those of you who've had Chinese food with me have probably seen my tilt the teapot lid as the universal Chinese symbol for "more water in my teapot, please." Turns out, it's only a south China thing--a friend from south China saw me do that, asked me where I learned it (the US) and told me it won't get me anything in Beijing. In north China I have to actually *ask* for more tea water.
"Want to go to a Uigher [sp?] restaurant for noodles after tai chi today?" Cynthia asks us. Focusing on the word "noodles" and paying little attention to the word that sounded like "weeger," I leapt at the chance. After an hour and a half of kicking and bending, we're off. Up and down dark Chinese alleys she takes us, paved streets left far behind. The cold Beijing spring winds raise the dust and settles bits of it under my contact lenses. Thus blinded, I grope for the plastic sheeting that serves as the door for the "restaurant" and pull myself in.
Picture a room about the size of our living room with maybe 10 tables and a small cabinet for teapots. Picture green and white walls with peeling paint. Picture nothing else because at shoulder level and above hangs a thick cloud of soot made up of a combination of the dusty wind from outside (clearly undeterred by the plastic sheeting) and what appears to be the equivalent of two cigarettes' worth of smoke from every customer, of which there are many.
We are welcomed and seated and a post of tea in brought to us. Seeing no sign of menus, Cynthia simply orders "two with vegetables and one with meat" and we sit back to see what happens.
In about ten minutes, teacups came.
This being one of the more fashionable restaurants, there's a basket full of disposable chopsticks on the table, beside which sits a generous roll of toilet paper, eloquently presented in a colorful plastic sleeve. I tear off bits for each of us and fish out three unbroken sets of sticks.
As Susanna put it, the waiters did not only not look Chinese, they looked like Yorkshire farmers, right down to, er up to, their caps. Prominent noses, European eyes--it wasn't till I noticed that that I moved my focus from the imminent noodles to the word Uigher and learned from Cynthia that this was one of China's minority groups. And what a lively lot they are. I don't know if it's Uigher tradition or just this one eccentric waiter who insists on letting out a loud whistle any time beer is ordered or the check is presented ("check presented" is inaccurate: it's more like: three dishes and one bread: Y23 is fine). and you should see this guy open a bottle of Tsing Tao with a chopstick. It was worth the airfare just for that.
And we waited.
And waited.
And what came was worth the wait. We were curious to see how the noodles would be presented, since the waiter brought our Indian-style flat bread without a plate, just resting on his bare hands. But the noodles did, we were happy to see, come in a bowl. And what a meal it was.
What you may not have realized by now, because I may not have made it clear, is that what I described above is the entire establishment. Four walls and a cabinet. There is no manager's office. There is no employee lounge. There is no customer lounge. There is no vestibule. There is no kitchen.
Unless you could the two "cooking stations" outside and across the road. Each vat of boiling water is surrounded on three sides by yet more plastic sheeting; the fourth side is open to allow the Beijing air flavor the food. Susanna was pleased to note that the "washing-up stations" (two outdoor basins) were hygienically distanced from the cooking area and both were only 60 feet or so across the dirt road from the restaurant. Susanna seriously plans to bring her parents here. I was wondering whether, Mom and Dad, you'd like to stop by too?
Notes:
I read the above to Susanna last night. She was impressed with my writing. It's the first time I've managed to impress one of the teenagers.
Iva, I haven't seen any Burger Kings, but I have seen Baskin-Robbins, Carvel, and lots of tubs of Bud's of San Francisco Ice Cream. Coke and Pepsi are all over town, Diet Coke a bit harder to find. There's no evidence of Diet Pepsi. You also asked about clothing and shoe sizes. I pretty much don't buy clothes in a country in which I need to start at size XXL and work my way up, so I can't help you there.
Andy, thanks for the clipping.
Carol, I don't know how long it would take for me to have an actual conversation about something beyond "where are you from?" I do know that I was able to eavesdrop a tiny bit on the bus today, though.
Wendy, you asked were Jin De Feng comes from. Jin is the Chinese word for gold and was a natural for my family name. De Feng is an actual woman's name in this country, although I understand it's pretty out-of-date, perhaps the Agnes of China. (Mom, I met a Chinese woman whose English name is Nancy. And one who says her name is Allen, but I think she's trying to say Ellen.) I worked out the name with the help of a Chinese friend in California--it's a long story, but I like the name. "De" is also the name for Germany--America is "Mei Guo," France, "Fa Guo," and Germany "De Guo."
Wendy, there was a Purim party here at the Israeli embassy, but I didn't go.
Mom, it's hard to pick a day for a phone date. I can't always get through when I want to. I will try over the weekend, but don't stay home waiting for the call, ok?
And I'm happy to report that one of you on this mailing list actually has the nickname Gromit. This individual, for obvious reasons, has voted not to change the name of our kitten. The rest of you, feel free to snicker.
Gromit update: he's had his claws clipped and had a nice trip to the kitty groomer, too.
I miss you all. Send cheese.
Love,
Debra.
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