Me and Ayi

The most rewarding aspect of my experience in China was my home stay with a Chinese family. For that, I must thank Ayi (literally “aunt,” but the respectful term used for older women in China), who helped make my trip special from the beginning. On my first full day in Beijing, she took me on a memorable bicycle ride. We stopped at Global Exchange so that I could meet the teachers and borrow a cell phone for the duration of my stay. Surviving numerous near-death experiences, we biked beside cars and buses on chaotic roads that offered views of the Olympic Games stadiums. It was my first and last ride.

While Shushu provided me with my initial Chinese lessons in China, his interest faded once the camera lights dimmed. Content with a 30-minute “documentary” of a young American’s immersion in a Chinese home, Shushu displayed increasingly less interest in my progress. Fortunately, Ayi was there to fill the void. We spent many nights conversing at the dining room table. She helped me with my homework, most often identifying Chinese characters in my book that I did not recognize. Other times, I would practice forming sentences using expressions I had learned in class. Occasionally, she asked for help with her poor pronunciation of English words. While Shushu mocked her infrequent attempts to say a word in my native tongue, I displayed patience and provided encouragement.

Ayi also took care of me when I was sick. Witnessing my constant nasal congestion prompted her to ridicule the vitamins I had brought from home. When I showed her the Sudafed I planned to take to clear my passageways, she explained to me why Chinese medicine was more effective than Western medicine. I smiled and thereafter mastered my first Chinese “comparison” sentence. Trusting Ayi like I would my own mother, I took whatever medicine she prescribed, including black soupy liquid, a handful of green pills, and a syrupy fluid. When I was beset by a fever, she nursed me back to health overnight.

Perhaps most important, Ayi made sure that I never went hungry. She encouraged me to eat (“chi ba”) until I insisted I was full. Always satisfied by the beef, chicken, rice, dumplings, and fried eggs, I consistently reminded her that the food was tasty (“hen hao chi”), to which she invariably responded by encouraging me to eat more.

Over the course of four weeks, we developed a bond. When she helped me find the passport I feared was lost, she needled me as though I were her own son. Like my real Jewish mother, she ensured I never left home wearing insufficient clothing. And, of course, she tried to facilitate my marriage to a girl of whom she approved. My next trip to China will surely involve unique experiences and new people, but Ayi will forever remain my “Chinese mom.”

Joe

Letter from Shanghai

From the moment our gang of four arrived in Shanghai on a rainy Thursday night, it was clear that we would find China’s financial hub immeasurably different from its administrative capital. In the new Pudong International Airport, the floors gleamed, the chrome shone, and savvy advertising on the walls beckoned investors with promises of green technology – a sharp contrast to the exhaust-filled departure hall in Beijing. As we looked for a taxi, two young women in uniforms and sashes chanted at us – they were touting the MagLev (magnetic levitation) train, which could take us the 45 kilometers to the city center in under 8 minutes. (A tempting option, but we decided to take a taxi instead — it was cheaper and would take us directly to our hostel.)

Over the course of the next four days, further distinctions between the cities became obvious. In Shanghai, the air was clearer, the people more fashionably dressed — the city felt like Paris to Beijing’s Moscow. Most striking, perhaps, were the architectural differences. Shanghai is, in general, much more appealing to Western sensibilities than Beijing — buildings are sparkling, innovative skyscrapers rather than massive, dark blocks, as in the capital. Per Brendan’s express wish, we enjoyed a few overpriced cockails and appetizers on the 87th floor of the Jin Mao tower. It is currently the world’s fourth tallest building, but sits directly across the street from what will be the world’s tallest, the long-awaited Shanghai Financial Center. The view was entrancing, and we watched the lights on the bulbous Pearl Tower change and pulse until they were unceremoniously extinguished a few minutes before 10:30 p.m.

As we walked through town — it is an imminently walkable city, unlike Beijing — we saw art deco apartment buildings give way to the pagodas and gardens of the Old City and the European colonial trappings of the Bund. Nanjing Lu, the busiest shopping street, was awash in huge screens showing eyecatching ads, vendors coming at us from all directions with cases full of knockoff watches, and shoppers, shoppers, shoppers, each doing their part in fueling China’s relentless growth.

Nora

Arranging a Marriage Before Leaving China

On my final day in China, I took part in the preliminary proceedings of an arranged marriage. Ayi had tried for days to take me on this journey, but my visits to the Great Wall and the Forbidden City had interfered. On the morning of my departure, however, she woke me up and led me by bus and subway to the home of a friend and former superior at the restaurant where she once worked. My potential Chinese mother-in-law met us at the subway station and took us to her apartment. Recognizing my poor comprehension of Chinese, she relied on Ayi to provide information about my education and family. In contrast to Ayi’s modest home, her friend’s condominium, one of many that she owns, was luxurious. The marble floor, spacious rooms, and expensive furniture were the most obvious illustrations of her higher social class. The immaculate bathroom boasted a sparkling, enclosed shower, rather than a mere faucet and toilet above a filthy floor. Several fish swam in a large, elaborate vase.

Ayi’s friend reassured me twice that her daughter and I could be “putong pengyou” (just friends). She told me I could help her daughter with English and that she would teach me Chinese. Sitting beside me on the couch, she showed off photos of my potential wife. “Hen hao kan” (very pretty), I told her. I then “met” her daughter over the phone. During one of the most awkward phone conversations I have ever had, we exchanged non sequiturs in English and Chinese. I complimented her on her family’s beautiful home; she asked me if I planned to return to China. We agreed we could communicate by e-mail.

I hoped Ayi and I would return home after drinking our cups of coffee. Instead, the three of us went to lunch at a restaurant across the street. I wanted to remind Ayi that I had not yet packed for my afternoon flight to New York, but weightier matters took precedence.

When we sat down, Ayi’s friend, like Shushu, saw in my face a nonexistent Pakistani heritage. On hers, I noticed a line painted onto her skin to complete her right eyebrow. I spoke little but showed off my knowledge of a recently mastered sentence construction. I also politely rebuffed the suggestion that I return to China to teach English.

My mind wandered, as I alternated between trying to follow the conversation and staring through the window at the shops across the wide Beijing street. Ayi was asked which foods I eat and which I avoid. Her friend then ordered a smorgasbord of dishes, including “gong bao ji ding” (chicken with peanuts), peas with beef, and fried balls of sugary dough. Having endured a single tortuous phone call in return for a free, delicious lunch, I determined that things were not so bad. If marriage is indeed in the cards, at least I know I won’t go hungry.

Joe

Third time’s the charm

When I learned that I would be going to China this winter, I was excited, but not as much as this past summer, when I returned for my second time. It unsettled me to feel somewhat blase about my upcoming third stay. Did it indicate that each successive trip would be increasingly mundane? Did it forebode that my wobbly Mandarin would never reach “Dashan” (http://www.dashan.com/en/index.htm) status? Or was my subdued enthusiam simply the result of the looming “much worse than at the cotton-candy Bologna Center” finals and term papers?

The last 20-pager sent in, it’s a new man that strolls the avenues of Beijing. This trip has been an amazing experience, so much so that I can’t help but feel a bit of pity for Matt “Goose” Marolla, who seems to be stuck back in DC, contemplating one of those pesky core exams as I type.

The third time around, my Chinese is much better than before, allowing me greater access and understanding. By the end of my first stay in 2005, I took pride in keeping up a (baby) conversation for a whole meal. Now, I have the honor of being called by our dormitory’s front desk at 1:30AM to translate. Seems that a crazy “laowai” (foreigner, or literally, “old outsider”) couldn’t live without internet in the wee hours. This is the same guy who broke into tears at our Chinese school, and who….well, who’s just weird. I’ve been asking many Chinese: “Ni juede da bufen waiguoren hen qiguai ma?” (”Do you think most foreigners are a little strange?”) I firmly believe at least 50% of laowai here are more than a little bizarre, but the Chinese invariably politely respond with glowing assessments of us outsiders.

Chinese also have been telling me since 2005 that my Chinese is “very good.” Hogwash. This trip has reminded me that studying Chinese will be a lifelong endeavor. I can get around, make friends, and tell the queue jumper to mind his manners, but I have a long way to go.

I’ve come to two additional, sobering conclusions: That excellent Mandarin is a prerequisite for foreigners in today’s China….but that Mandarin alone is not enough. In other words, if you can’t speak Chinese, you are limited to a tiny pool of jobs, and inevitably constrained within that job. Likewise, if your Mandarin is sweet, but your other skills stink, you ain’t going far. We’ve met some impressive foreigners here, among them SAIS grads such as Gary Sharkey ( http://sharkmart.blogspot.com/index.html). Their Mandarin and their credentials are solid, but they’ve indicated China is not giving out freebies. People here have to hustle, foreigners included. I’ve taken these observations to heart, and with Joe B., agree that we will continue to improve our Mandarin, while remembering our comparative advantages – a SAIS degree, valuable professional networks, our own intellectual abilities, and of course – our fortunate command of the English language.

That’s all for now……Goose, regarding those core exams, “Zhu ni hao yun!” (Good luck.)

Andrew

Me and Shushu, Part 2

Previously, I provided a glimpse into life with my Chinese family (Me and Shushu). The novelty of being treated by Shushu like a budding movie star quickly wore thin, however, when his penchant for excessive affection made me feel uncomfortable. Shushu’s affinity for me was apparent from the first time we met. He had a weird way of expressing it when he told me that I resemble President Pervez Musharraf of Pakistan. A couple days later, he determined I actually looked like Yasir Arafat. The irony of Shushu’s discerning a resemblance between a big-nosed Jew and a dead Palestinian terrorist was not lost on me or his 30-year-old son. Shushu’s inexplicable lust for touching my skin is made more dubious by the ostensible lack of affection in Chinese culture. I cannot recall having witnessed a single hug or kiss by another Chinese person during my three weeks in Beijing. Pleasantries in my home are rarely, if ever, exchanged.

I also became tired of hearing Shushu yell at Ayi. One night, in a fit of rage, he overturned a bowl of food just as we were about to sit down for dinner. He then stormed off into his room and refused entreaties for him to eat. Ayi later displayed her disgust to me by pointing toward his room and making a face. After similar antics by Shushu tonight, Ayi’s mother, a rare dinner guest, responded in a similar fashion, jamming her finger in the air and scowling ferociously. She also appeared to use a hand gesture to suggest to me that he had been drinking.

Evidently impressed by my natural acting ability, Shushu is still nagging me to shoot more movie scenes. One morning on my way to school, he stopped me on the staircase and convinced me to re-film a scene in which I happily exclaim in Chinese that he and Ayi are my teachers. Now Shushu has begun pleading with me to return to China after finishing my Masters to become a movie star. When I confirmed this with my “Chinese brother” in English, he told me his father had said that I am “good in action.” Shushu says I could make big bucks by teaching English while I improve my Chinese. The discussions enabled me to add the word “middleman” to my vocabulary, but yielded little else. My suggestion about possibly working in Mexico (the only Latin American country whose name I know in Chinese) did not go over too well.

Fortunately, Shushu has recently spent limited time at home. Apparently, he has been busy acting for some television program. I have happily substituted time with Ayi for time with Shushu. Treating me as though I were her own son, Ayi has single-handedly made my experience in China a memorable one. More on Ayi in a future post…

Joe

The best 12.5 cents I’ve ever spent

While over the past several days I’ve become far more comfortable with the lifestyle here, and even consider myself a “Beijing-er” in my own way, for my first 24 hours in Beijing I definitely felt overwhelmed and lost. Without internet or a working cell phone, and equipped with only about 100 words of Chinese, my prospects were not good. During that time, my only refuge became the first floor of “Wu Mart” – the closest thing China has to Wal-Mart. It was here I discovered that few thrills can be found in life that match the experience of finding the rare oasis of familiarity in a place as foreign to me as Beijing. As Joe and I wandered directionless around Wu Mart, we suddenly came across a sign that bore the text “1 Y” (one yuan, or RMB). The sign indicated that a single ice cream cone could be purchased for just 12.5 cents. Relieved to have found something easily recognizable, I made my first purchase in China.

As petty as it may seem, from that point on I suddenly felt comfortable in Beijing. It’s amazing how liberating it feels to be able to perform the most simple tasks in a different language, place and culture. The next step up was ordering my first full meal, which was slow-going, but ultimately successful. With each step forward Beijing ceases to be a foreign place, and becomes more and more like home, albeit a temporary one.

In planning this trip, we collectively feared inadvertently spending 4 weeks surrounded by expats, foreign students, and various other English speakers, but much the opposite has happened. We are in fact among the only foreigners in the area, and the crutch of the occasional English speaker is simply not there. If you get lost, you’re really lost. But this has had the effect of forcing us to communicate using whichever tools we can (Chinese, English, Chinglish, hand gestures, sound effects, etc), and Chinese has quickly become the tool of choice. I’ve become more confident in my ability to communicate with Beijingers and try to work my way through a new situation every day. Each day means a new 12.5 cent (or perhaps now 1 kuai) ice cream cone.

Brendan

My first thoughts, my first blog, my first day…

When you find yourself anticipating any future endeavor, a myriad of thoughts cross your mind. Especially if traveling to China for the first time, you consider the “5,000 years of history” that our language professors have nonchalantly explained as reasoning for all the idiosyncratic grammar rules of the rich language of Mandarin. Even the “simplified” version of learning traditional characters is still much of an arduous task. Each word, if you will, necessitates a grasp of intonations, categorical measure words, and a expansive imagination of the many uses one word can have.

But as you let your imagination explore the many aspects of China’s history and its most recent explosion of development, one gets lost in the enigma–Can there be a description that adequately labels China?–at least there is none that I can say after a few brief hours of introduction to Beijing.

However, I was a amazed by the seamless process of entering the airport, customs, and exiting with our driver that was prepared to take us to our international dorm. Six lane highways turned into ten, and the traffic moved with just as much ease you would assume in any city approaching rush hour. The streets were clean, the pavement was perfect, and the driver was happy to converse, mostly with Andrew, our language guru. The only oddity I noticed was a yellowish haze that stood in front of us, blocking any potential views of skyline of which I’m too unfamiliar with to say more…

After a few miles traveling from the airport to the international student dorm, my hunger for interaction and my epicuriousity led us to a local restaurant where I dined with Brendan and Andrew, who helped guide our path to becoming “Bao” (stuffed!). Initially, I can’t say the food was as impressive as the neon lighting that surrounded the entrance, but the selection should provide ample opportunities to future delight in Chinese cuisine.

As I awake in the early hours of dawn induced by a 13 hour time difference, I’m entranced by a sheet of white snow covering the flat roofs of the multi-storied buildings adjacent to our dorm. A stark sky begins to envelop the morning, but nothing can predict your first day…let alone in Beijing.

Bradley

Me and Shushu

As we stated in our grant proposal, our trip to China is “a great opportunity to explore a rising power not only through the lens of economics and politics, but also language and culture.” My cultural immersion is coming in the form of a homestay with a retired couple—”Shushu” (uncle) and “Ayi” (aunt)—who do not speak any English and their 30-year-old son, who is rarely home but occupies a room with his wife. The five of us share tight quarters and a single bathroom. I am comfortable in my bedroom, even if my “box spring” is a wooden chest and my “mattress” is a three-inch-deep foam pad.

My Chinese is so elementary that the phrase “lost in translation” would grossly overstate the very little I understand of what is being said to me at home. I have generated no shortage of entertainment by unwittingly saying things like “My brother looks like a computer” and “I am going to eat the television.”

Generally, Shushu provides the monologues and I provide the blank stares. Not once deterred by my endless state of confusion, Shushu goes to great lengths to demonstrate and act out the meaning of words. He has also offered daily chopstick tutorials (with moderate success) and hourly pronunciation lessons (to no avail). He has become so enamored by our teacher-student sessions that he recruited a friend to make a video capturing the educational experience. My Chinese movie premiere was highlighted by a shower scene in which I stand wrapped in a towel beneath the shower head while pretending to gingerly touch the water. I yell “leng” (”cold”) and then “tang” (”painfully hot”) before banging on the door to be let out. Another Oscar-worthy scene features me turning down a Christmas gift (two bags of fruit) before explaining that I don’t celebrate the Christian holiday. Telling the Chinese that I, an American, don’t celebrate Christmas has been a little like breaking the news to a 6-year-old that Santa Claus doesn’t exist.

More on Shushu and home life to come…

Joe

Narrowing a Focus

As stated here on our blog, the main academic focus of our trip is to examine China’s role in international trade. But the nature of SAIS—offering a multifaceted approach to studying international relations—and China, forcing the rest of the world to adapt to its rapid evolution, compels us to explore an array of additional topics. My autonomous exploration in China will hew closely to what I have studied during my most recent semester at SAIS.

Building on a simulated negotiation of a free trade area between China and the European Union in my Economic Negotiations course, I plan to analyze China’s trade policies vis-à-vis Latin American countries. This will come on the heels of a final paper I have written on the FTA between China and Chile. In Political Risk Analysis, we assessed the political risks facing a foreign insurance company planning to invest in Fujian Province. If successful in finalizing meetings with the U.S.-China Business Council and/or the American Chamber of Commerce, I hope to further explore the most salient political risks facing foreign companies operating in China today—across all industries. Finally, meetings with several journalists should provide us with not only a unique perspective on U.S.-China economic issues, but also a sense of the extent to which the media operates independently and freely in today’s China.

Joe

Metaposting

So I’m a pessimist. My first thought upon being invited to post here was: It’s pretty, but will we actually be able to access this blog from China? Though we’re not planning on raising the hackles of any government censors with this project, preliminary trials have been inconclusive. (That is, one friend of Joe’s in China was able to post a comment and one wasn’t.)

You see, my knowledge of blogging in China is mainly derived from reports in Western mainstream media, which, not surprisingly, tends to focus on restrictions of internet freedom. I’ve heard from journalists covering China that there are only a few stories that get told in US media, and this is certainly one of them. But, of course, many bloggers in China — as elsewhere — don’t cover politics at all. And accordingly, they’re tired of being portrayed as victims of censorship, of being asked whether blogging will lead to the Party’s downfall. In their view, the internet’s not changing China. Rather, China’s changing the intenet.

But restrictions are undeniably real, and perhaps tightening. According to a Dec. 12th article at the People’s Daily Online, “The Internet Society of China (ISC) confirmed the government was considering requiring Internet users to provide their real names and identification card numbers before they could open a blog or post online comments.” The new requirements would not be significantly different from previous proposals, which have consistently met with anger from commercial media and Internet users.

Meanwhile, by all accounts, blogging is growing explosively in China. Rebecca MacKinnon of globalvoicesonline.org, reports that the country “has somewhere between 15-30 million bloggers depending on whose count you believe,” while the ISC (which should know) estimates that as of early November, there were 75 million blog readers.

Sure, we probably won’t have any problems accessing this blog. But there is a distinct possibility we’ll find ourselves confronting the Great Firewall of China at some point. Stay tuned.

Nora