Underrated Hunan

Last Monday afternoon I left for a week long trip with CIEE to Hunan (western China). Without question, it was by far my favorite traveling experience in China. Hunan is southwest of Shanghai and has a landscape unlike anything I have ever seen. I was orignally hoping that we would go just a bit farther west to Sichuan, because it is famous for it terraced mountains, spicy food, and minorities (I've heard some say that real Tibetans really live there). Unfortunately or fortunately, Sichuan was too far away so we boarded a plane for Zhangjiajie, Hunan. （张家界 湖南）
We left for Hunan on Monday afternoon, and finally arrived at our hostel in Zhangjiajie city proper at about midnight. Approximately 60-70% of Chinese domestic flights leave and arrive on time. Because we wanted to travel away from Shanghai, we spent a bulk of the travel budget on plane tickets. Thus, we stayed in less than five star accommodations. The first hostel was great, it had hot water with adequate water pressure, but there were no mattresses on the beds.

Day Two
After waking up I went on a breakfast adventure. Our hostel, despite being in the middle of the city, lacked ordinary breakfast options. In Shanghai, if you were to walk outside at seven o clock in the morning you would find a host of various morning meal options, from sealed soup in a glass, to steam buns to sandwiches and croissants or Taiwan pancake or you tiao or sesame ball to noodle soup. In Zhangjiajie, there was nothing. Finally, at seven fifteen, one steam bun stand opened. During the breakfast quest I also learned that in rural and particularly western China, people rarely except coins. They have no faith in anything but paper money. I find this especially curious, because the paper small change is nothing but tiny bits of pulp, but the coins have weight, and thus, to me, a more tangible value as money. So you no someone has come from the city because they have change jostling around their pockets.
Next, we took a bus to our real destination, 张家界公园 Zhangjiajie National Park. Something rather wonderful about traveling in Hunan that I discovered, was people's enthusiasm and eagerness to help us out. In Shanghai, there is sort of a similar phenomenon, in that if you ask someone directions, they will provide some even if they themselves don't know (often times they guess wrong). In Hunan, everyone was ready to stand and wait for a bus with us, or in the case of our hostel boss in FengHuang, call the bus driver and tell him to look out for the six foriengers and the Canton girl.
After arriving in the small town outside the park, we checked into our new accommodations, which was more of a wonderful hotel than a hostel and evidently extremely cheap. There were normal beds (not bunks) with mattresses, a TV, lights, and a bathroom inside the room! (But it was squatty) Our hostel boss was one of the most wonderful people I have met thus far. She held our hands our entire trip. She knew everyone in town, and would call them before we went somewhere to alert them to our presence. She had every bus driver's route and cell number memorized (which is sort of amazing, because there are no set bus routes in Zhangjiaie) and would wait for the bus outside. She told us where to eat, called the restaurants about what we should order. I called her Hostel Mama.
Hostel Mama exemplified the attitude that I got from all of the residents of Zhangjiajie. Everyone seemed very relaxed and happy to be alive, a complete opposite to what I am used to in Shanghai. Everyone on the buses knew eachother, and would chat on their communtes to work. In Shanghai, no one even yields a smile. The police don't all have police cars, so when they boarded the bus they brought heavy wooden chairs to assert their authority, but still engaged in small talk with the rest of the community. I think that the Zhangjiajie personality is only helped by how cute and tiny the people are. About 90%+ (I think) of the population of ZJJ is Miao zu, one of China's 56 officially recognized and largest minority groups. The Miao zu look just like the Han, but speak Miao yu and are very small. My knees don't fit under there tables. I was considering getting a foot massage after two long days of hiking, and kind of wish that I would have, just to see the reaction to the size of my feet.

Going out for Pizza, Chinese style

So this is my first attempt at living in the world of mega technology and super connectivity: I am blogging from my seat in a bus from Hangzhou to Shanghai using my iTouch as a scribe.  If it works then I won't be able to believe that I hadn't thought of this before, of not them I can't believe that I am wasting so much time increasing my risk of carpal tunnel syndrome.
Last weekend was a three day weekend for celebrating Qing Ming Jie or Tomb Sweeping Holiday (though that is a terrible translation).  The celebration of this holiday includes eating Qing tuan (as previously blogged), visiting the family gravesite, and, like all Chinese holidays, feasting with the fam.  My host dad came back from Taibei for a visit as well.
On Saturday,religious families rent buses to the massive cemeteries outside of the city proper.  On of the Gappers went and based off of his experience, I don't think I'll ever be inclined to participate.  Because the traffic was so bad, he ended up with a minor case of carbon monoxide poisoning, because his extended family smokes and insisted upon keeping windows open despite being trapped in a lung death field for five hours. He said matters only got worse when they finally reached to burial site due to the copious amounts of burning incense.

My family and I rested on Saturday and I went with Andy to school.
On Sunday, we met up with my host uncle's family at the kids' favorite all time restaurant: Papa Johns.  Can I first just say that watching the Chinese eat using a fork is probably on of the most simoutaneously intriguing and hilarious experiences to be had. I can only imagine what the Chinese think when watching Westerners fumble with chopsticks.  Also, the food served at Papa Johns is unlike anything that I would expect at a typical American pizza joint.  (Though, I have never eaten Papa Johns in the States, so I am no authority on the matter).  Most of what we eat is Chinese chicken wings, ribs, boney bits of pork.  Also, cheese tiao (cheese sticks) are extremely popular among my family dipped into a Velveta like cheese sauce.  They like pasta, but the actual pizza itself, is not very popular at all.  I find it very strange, because almost everything that my family likes to eat at Papa Johns could be eaten at home.  

Anyway, the interesting part of the Papa Johns story occured at almost the tail end, when my host dad paid.  He gave the waitress three one hundred yuan notes, all which he had just exchanged at the airport from when he came into Shanghai.  Additionally, all of the bills where very old, and crinkly at the edges.  About ten minutes later, the waitress came back with three one hundred yuan notes, all of which were very crisp with pristine edges.  She prompty informed my host dad that the money was fake.  At this, my host uncle became outraged, jumping out of his seat, disturbing the almost untouched pizza, and yelling in grumbly intense Shanghainese at the waitress.  Suddenly everyone was out of their chairs, dancing around the three red bits of paper.  The restaurant was evacuated, the doors closed so that Papa Johns wouldn't loose face.  Then the police were called.  
At this point, my mother decided that the bulk of the argument's valuable points had already been exhausted, and that we should go shopping.  So we strolled around the mall's underground market for about two hours.  When we returned, the police were still inside the resturant, seated around our uneaten food, appearing as if they could be enjoying a meal with my host family and the Papa Johns staff.  Ultimately, our lunch was free, and all parties, including myself, shook hands.  However, when my fire spirted host uncle shook hands amicably with the Papa Johns manager, he smiled at him, but the instant that their hands fell apart, he raised his index finger and continued to scold him.

On Monday, I went to my first cooking class.  I signed up for a series of cooking classes in Shanghai's "New Kitchen," which is located in an alley near the French Concession, the poshest place in Puxi.  It shares a building with several avant garde makeups studios (??) as well as a few art galleries.  The class included myself, two of my friends, and a Japanese couple working in Shanghai.  We learned how to make golden fish, insect, and flower shaped dumplings.  They are beautiful and delicious!!! I can't wait to make them at home, because folding them is relatively simple, but they appear to be extremely intricate and complex.After cooking class, I rushed over to Shanghai Song World to meet with my host family for karaoke.  There are no words to express how adorable my host brothers are when they stand a top tables and belt out the theme song from the Beijing Olympics.  This is a link (which might be a bit slow because it is a Chinese host site but worth the wait) to my smallest host brother's (and my) karaoke favorite.  http://v.youku.com/v_show/id_XMzAxNTk3NTI=.html

Someone just ran across this on the internet...

Its from awhile ago, but nevertheless interesting. 

Also, the first picture of us is on a billboard.

http://www.go2chinatown.com/

青团

The title of this blog refers to "qing tuan," the yuckiest thing that I have been asked to eat thus far in China.  They are small vivid green glutinous balls made of vegetable paste fill with 豆沙 (red bean paste, which I happen to love.  Qing tuan are a crime against red bean paste, in my opinion.  Unfortunately, right now, qing tuan are everywhere.  For some reason, they are the main food of the current festival, Family Holiday.  Every morning my host grandma gives me a few to bring to school for a snack, and everyday I try to refuse, saying I don't really like them.  Finally, this morning, she responds by saying, "Oh, I hate them, too.  Most people do," giving me the I Know This Is Ridiculous But This Is China face.  So I bring them to school and hide them in people's bags.

In other news, YouTube is now officially inaccessible from China.  

And now, two horror stories courtesy of some other Gappers.

1.  One of the Gappers has a penchant for purchasing.  This past weekend in Nanjing, this included a stolen iPhone.  He bumped into a Turkish criminal who whispered, "Hey, do you want an iPhone?" Only thinking of the great price he would get because it was stolen, he of course said yes.   Evidently the pair snuck into an alley and exchanged one nightlight disguised as an iPhone for 500 kuai (about $80).  The Turkish man allegedly made a call with a real iPhone and allowed my friend to sample it for a few moments, but in the blink of an eye switched the two.  The iFauxne is a iPhone shaped backlight with a semitransparent image of the iPhone homescreen.  Bummer.

2. Another Gapper was walking down Shanghai's busiest shopping street on a Saturday afternoon when all of the sudden, someone pulled her bag out of her hands before she could react.  Luckily, a crowded street of Chinese wanted to help, and called the police, attempted to track down the thief, etc, etc.  She was lucky though, because she didn't have anything valuable in her bag, only 100 kuai ($15), and some American money.  Well, she did have her credit cards, but those were easy to cancel.  Also in her bag were about 50 business cards from various people from her seven months in China.  She went to the police station, filed a report, changed to locks to her house, and accepted that she would never she her stuff again.  Nevertheless, the police still called her several times a day because they were determined to save face with the foriegner.  About a week and a half later, she got an email from someone she met during her first days here.  He was contacted by a restaurant that had found her purse in the bathroom.  Inside was her credit cards, all the money, everything except her cell phone.  However, the thief was careful enough to take her SIM card out of her phone and put it in a bag in her wallet so she could easily find it.  Honestly, I am sort of surprised he didn't right her an apology letter.  The Shanghai police, meanwhile, are proud to say the solved the case.

Nanjing!

First of all, I cannot believe that I only have two months left in China.  I feel like it was really just yesterday that I was crouched on the floor hovering over on particular point where I could steal my neighbors wireless internet writing my first blog post hours after I arrived.

But here I am, seven months in, deeply in love with this country and dreading May 30th.  I can't wait to start school and start approaching this country from a distanced, academic perspective.  And of course, I am bursting to see my family and drive a car and breathe clean air and eat waffles, but I hate the idea that I am going to have to say goodbye to China really soon now.

On a different note, last week I made the spontaneous decision to take a small vacation to Nanjing, a place I have been intending to visit since October.  Nanjing is one of the four former capitals of the Ming dynasty, its name literally meaning "south capital."  On of the aspects that I really enjoyed about Nanjing is the combination of the new and the ancient.  It is both geographically a midpoint between Shanghai and Beijng and also feels like a medium between the two.  Right now it has a population of 7.5 million people, and back in its hayday, was the largest city in the world.  It has many famous temples, massive downtown and industrial park, a lake, and is home to the largest fraction of surviving city wall in China.  It is also the site of a brutal massacre of 300,000 people in 1937, when the Japanese seized the city.  

We arrived in Nanjing at about one in the afternoon in the north part of the city.  We were able to take the metro almost directly to our hostel, which was perfectly situated on the cusp of a bustling night market and famous street food district.  We had lunch, which included the Nanjing specialty of salted duck, and set off for the massacre museum.  I am rather proud of myself, because this is the first trip that I have planned almost completely by myself (a host parent bought the train tickets) and had turn out rather smoothly.  Because I am a huge fan of public transportation, I wanted us to take a bus from around our hotel to the museum.  There are four bus companies in Nanjing.  In Shanghai, the buses are all run/subsidized by the government so there are all state of the art, pristine, streamlined attractive vehicles.  In Nanjing, two of four bus companies are this way.  The buses that we took all we not.  Our bus drove straight out of the 70s (so I believe).  It was a rattling hunk of metal that huffed and puffed to get moving, and when stopped, the contents of the mechanics below me echoed and shook like a massive baby rattle.  

We safely arrived at the museum,  however, despite my fears that the bus would break down.  I really enjoyed the memorial, for the most part.  It was one of the saddest places I had ever been.  At the entrance to the memorial there was a row of sculptures each paired with a brief, very graphic poem.  The scultpires themselves managed to convey the terror of the massacre, each figure was blurred and the iron flesh melting from their bones.  The memorial itself was a massive black and stone space, with "300,o00" pasted on a massive wall.  It was very difficult for me to deal with.  At various points throughout the memorial, there was shelves where people had left 1,000 crane chains and a space dedicated to burn incense-a towering black wall with one character: forgiveness.  I was however disturbed by how the gravesite was displayed: it was excavated with skeletons open and covered in numbered plaques detailing the ways in which each victim was murdered.  Despite reminders of common decency posted everywhere "solemn silence" the Chinese were behaving as they always do at attractions-posing for pictures, loudly chatting, snapping shots of me.  Also, on the very Chinese aspects of the visit-as a foreigner I was required to sign in.  

On Sunday we woke up early and went to Nanjing's famous Yishang Tang Shan hot spring which was about an hour's drive north of the city.  I had intended for us to take a bus to the hot spring, but it could not be found anywhere, so I somewhat reluctantly hired a man with a van to take us there for 15 yuan (less than $3) each.  I was afraid that the van was going to break down, too.  It couldn't quite reach the speed limit on the highway and clunked whenever the driver switched gears.  The driver was at least fun to talk to, he made fun of some of our Mandarin in a playful way, and was elated that I spoke a few phrases of Shanghainese.  Cab drivers are a real riot.  We got to the hot spring, which I thought would be like camping, smelly, kind of gross, but ultimately worth the bother, but it was really nice.  There was a gorgeous resort with automatic lockers that opened when you ran your bracelet over them.  We bathed for about six hours.  There was a normal hot bath, various flower baths, tea baths, wine baths, waterfall baths, and flesh eating fish baths!!!  I had read about the flesh eating fish pedicures, and always wanted to try it, but they haven't made their way to Boise yet.  The fish in the pool were much larger than in the pictures I had seen, slightly longer and much wider than my index finger.  It was very ticklish, but very awesome.  I would have my dead skin cells be eaten away by flesh eating fish anytime.  Also appreciated at the hotspring was a nice smelling clean shower.  I refused to bath a the hostel, which offered a slightly moldy, adjacent to squatty potty option.  Not for me, nor anyone else in the hostel I think, because it seemed that everyone was washing their hair in the sink.

After we got back into the city on Sunday, we rested for a bit and then headed to the ancient city wall.  As I mentioned earlier in this post, the city wall in Nanjing is the longest still standing.  Today, as the city of Nanjing has expanded beyond its ancient boundaries, the wall dances across the high rises in and out of the city scape.  When driving out the city proper, the highway moves through ancient military main gate.  We went to the top of a smaller gate, where we could watch at the bricks ran into the horizon on either side.  The sensation was completely different from visiting the Great Wall.  There, I was transported back to when the wall was used, the air clear, almost alone, time stood still.  In Nanjing, I felt that that my view of China's modernity was truly captured-I was standing on the pinnacle of an ancient city wall, looking out at a major city landscape as the two became one, but to my left hummed a motor pumping air into an inflatable monster sized Hyundai advertisement.

Monday was out last day in the city, so we decided to go first to the train station to lock our luggage (which, as all tasks in China was completed with a significant amount of time and great difficulty).  Our train for Shanghai didn't leave until about six.  We then decided to walk out to the bus station and ask for directions to Purple Mountain.  Unfortunately, two of our party decided this wasn't very fun so they decided to disappear to a nearby McDonald's.  While waiting for their return, we made friends with the Crowd.  After finding out which bus to take, we decided to sit on a bench and continue the rest of the day's plans.  A map vendor approached us and when I said I wasn't interested as I already had a map, she overrated.  This was unlike anything that I had previously experienced.  The scale to which my existence caused a raucous was unprecedented.  Their were about 25-50 people crowded around, taking turns asking me questions, asking me to ask my friends (one of which does speak Chinese, but evidently I was the speaker for the group) questions.  They wanted my to ask one to take off her glasses so they could see her eyes, they kept asking about my hair and where we came from and how we could be in Nanjing.  It was very strange.  But the crowd is to be thanked for my not loosing it at the Lost Boys for making us wait forever.

We eventually arrived at Purple Mountain, which was stunning.  We first climbed stairs up the mountain to Sun Yat-sen's mausoleum.  Of course, I didn't make it up the stairs without first being accosted to pose for pictures with Chinese tourists.   I must say though, Sunny is a lucky guy to be resting there for eternity.  The view is ineffable.  Plus, he is facing east, so he watches the sun rise first over the city, then over the wooded mountain.  The mausoleum was a little puzzling to me, however.  The main decorative feature was a very Roman looking sun.  The architect of the building was a Beida graduate, and won the commission in a national contest.  I do not understand why a western inspired design was selected to commemorate such a Chinese figure.  The artistic work, including sculpture and the design of the coffin were of French and Czech design.  Furthermore, in every wax re-imagination and painting and sculpture of Sun Yat-Sen I could not overcome how Western his features seemed.  I think he was of a different minority, not traditional Han, but upon seeing him I would say the he was English.  This is the kind of thing that the Chinese government would see as a wonderful propaganda opportunity.  Make Sun Yat-Sen look like the people, so the people will like him.  Maybe they didn't think of it yet, maybe I have been in China long enough to think like a government official.  

Just when I think I am perfectly adjusted...

FOOD POISONING ATTACKS!!! 

Just the other day I was chatting with a fellow Gapper, munching on some savory street garb being nostalgic about our first weeks in Shanghai-such as our skepticism of street food quality standards and terror of digestion problems.

I have to say though, while I am feeling awful and holed up in my apartment, I am not particulary angry or frustrated.  It happens.   There are just so many silver linings.

The rain has finally stopped.  It is about 60 degrees and the fog is glowly like there might be a sun behind it.  After I get out of class I can go to the park and study or read instead of retreating to expat central Xin Ba Ke (Starbucks).  And the street vendors come out.  The line the road in front of my university's gate with there sizzling eggs, steaming buns,  flying fried noodles, woks sparkling with oil, its really quite acrobatic.  (There is also a sushi cart-while I have carefully stayed away from, though, you may see that that might not have been cautious enough).  Anyway, the past week I have been spending less than a dollar on big bowls of noodles or what I call Shanghai crepes or jiao zi or fried rice and then I got sick.

And the sick part has actually proved to be rather interesting.  At first I wasn't sure if the flu had found me because of my cough, but I think my respiratory problems are simply a result of living in one of the cleanest cities in the world.  But its food poisoning and I find myself at and interesting intersection between Western and Eastern medicine.

Or maybe a battle.  

Eastern diagnosis:

eating an apple (which is cold) and eggs (which are warm) for breakfast in the morning.  This has been my breakfast everyday for the past six months.

West/mine:

Eating street food which is new to my diet

Eastern medicine:

strange pickled vegetables

Western:

Cipro.  This is supposed to be taken with a full glass of water.  When faced with an unhappy stomach, I am used to being denied plain water, but when the medicine speficies water, water should be drunken.  My host family would hear none of this.  When I went into the kitchen to get some water, my grandmother told me no! and proceeded to sit me down for a five minute lecture in Shanghainese.  So I had to wait for everyone to leave so I could sneak back into the kitchen.  And tonight, I have to wait until everyone falls asleep...

Also, in China it is perfectly acceptable to go into large amounts of detail about all diseases.  Tonight, while my family ate dinner, my grandfather told me about everyone at the table's past experiences with food poisoning with what I assume to be elaborate detail.  He also warned me of the dangers of all antibiotics, especially Penicillin. 

Migrant School Teaching

So I was going to make an attempt at a new format today...the video blog but I am afraid that my Photobooth has a small problem.  可能我的电脑有一个小问题！ (I just love the last two characters that I wrote, they mean both problem and question and are used all the time, e.g. "Excuse me miss, this piece of clothing has a slight question/problem it should be cheaper!)  

Anyway, I am going to make the second attempt in a bit.

My most important topic to address is that of my Tuesday afternooons.  I am starting a new volunteering project this semester: I am at a migrant school teaching English.

First, I think I should begin by addressing the migrant worker situation in China.  Shanghai has a population of about 20-21 million people.  Wooza, that's huge.  It also has an unofficial poplulation of from anywhere to 2 to 6 million migrant workers (depending on the season and who is counting).  Also, and interesting fact to note, though irrelevant, is that the population of Shanghai during Chinese New Year dropped to about 9 million.  In China, each person is legally bound to their town through work and family units.  Though this has almost completely falled out of formal process, there are still some aspects that stick.  Like, for example the difficulty for migrants assimilating into the city when they come looking for jobs.  Migrants are not allowed to live in the same areas as legal residents nor can there children attend the same schools.  This forces the kids into shabby schools, that lack the state of the art facilities and qualified teachers that the Shanghainese have.  Their textbooks, for example are photocopies of the books in the Shanghainese schools, photocopies of books that rely on color as a teaching tool.   Also, there is one teacher for approximately 800 students that can speak English, despite the fact that the municipality of Shanghai requires English instruction starting at the age of six.  

The fifth graders that I teach will have an opportunity to test into a better school (at least this is what I have been led to believe, though I am not certain) after fifth grade.  Students have to return to their home province and pass vigorous exams in math, Chinese, and English.  I believe that if they are on par with their Shanghainese peers, the can enjoy the same education.  My host brother is the same age as my migrant students.  He can have a conversation with me, tell me a story using relatively complex vocabulary and proper pronunciation, and has a basic understanding of English grammar.  My migrant students are struggling with anwering my question, "What is your name?"  This is through no fault of their own, but reflects a major flaw in the educational system.  I am worried because my students will never be able to catch up.

But on a more positive note, I am absolutely in love with every single on of my 44 ten year olds.  There is nothing like speaking to a group of kids that hang on your every word because they are so eager to learn.  When I am telling them a new word or sentence, I can see there lips mouthing out the syllables and when I ask if someone would like to write on the board, about half jump up in excitement.  On the first day of class I gave each student and English name.  I was able to meet with their teacher a week before I began instruction and she identified the sex of each student with only three errors.  I have typed out a name card for everyone (for both my benefit and theirs') and called each student one by one to stand as rechristened them.  Imagine my horror when Gary had long black braids.   

Warzone or Chinese New Year?

Happy 牛 Year!

The character means cow and is pronounced sort of like "new." Also, it means cow (and its the year of the cow) and in slang 牛 means "cool."  牛, eh?

Anyway, upon arriving home in Shanghai, I walked into a room full of my Chinese relatives and food and tea and noisy kids. Nelly.  And then we went to dinner and ate a lot of food, gave and received red envelopes, and so on (which is a phrase that my host brother loves to use.  "Megan, lets play rock paper scissors and Chinese chess and so on!")

But really, Chinese New Year consists of the following:

Eating, eating, eating

Massive family gatherings

Feast, feast, feast

Gan bei, gan bei, gan bei

Movie, movie, movie

Not sleeping, not sleeping, not sleeping EVER

One of the core defining things in ancient Chinese culture is gunpowder, thus fireworks.  And firecrackers.  Or really anything that is flammable and makes noise.  Evidently, this will help them be prosperous in the New Year.  Really, its just obnoxious.  I live in the middle of downtown and they were lighting them off just outside my building. (as well as out the window from the inside)  They also shoot them off of cars until all the alarms are going off and all the windows shatter.  Almost 24 hours straight, everyday, non stop.  The worst part is that from my window, I cannot even see the fireworks, but oh, can I hear the firecrackers.  Bing bang boom! Duck and cover!  My host mom gave me a towel to wrap around my head.

Yesterday, luckily, was the final day of Chinese New Year.  The fifteen day, the lantern festival.  Two days ago, my family and I went to old Shanghai for shopping and to look at the lanterns.  They are beautiful.  In they center of old town there is a huge square with a small river and a massive bull sculpture as well as lanterns with riddles written on them.  Each riddle may or may not describe a Bull (for this year, last year it would be a rat).  I might have appreciated it more, had I been able to understand the riddles, or perhaps it was my ignorance that made this riddles particularly curious. 

The older of my host brothers and I  are starting to hang out a lot and I love it.  My Chinese is good enough so we can chat, sort of.  He tells me funny stories about his friend, like how they make fun of some people in class, or that someone told him what the middle finger means in America, typical ten year old boy stuff.  We also kid around making fun of eachother: "Megan, you are a pig!" "Okay, fine, I am a pig, but only when pigs fly, so I am a flying pig!"  (We exchange teaching eachother idioms in our respective tongues.) Right now he is in my room half doing homework, half playing Chinese chess with me while I blog.  And he might have me in check....

Fishy fishy mmm

Last Friday I went to Hong Kong!! Which I love, by the way.  I fully intend to live there at some point.  More on that later.

Among other things, we had an amazing dinner.  We went to this fish bazaar set up on the water.  There were probably about a dozen or so fish vendors and formally unaffiliated restaurants.  This was one of the most amazing meals I have ever had, and that is saying a lot considering having lived in China for the past five months.

But I'm going to let the pictures take this one.

Where we bought fish.

Me holding a lobster with Elsa, the shopkeeper.

Abalone.  

The fish before.

The fish after.

The very full people and the waiter after.

The thing is, I really like to eat Kermit.

That is, Kermit the Frog.  I also like to eat Miss Piggy for that matter, and I am sure that I have probably consumed the entire cast of the Muppets.  The other day at dinner, we were eating this dish that I had never seen before and it was rather delicious.  After eating a huge bite, my grandma asked me if I new what is was, and I had no idea.  And then the entire dinner table proceeded to "ribbit...ribbit...".   So I really like frog.

Last week I got back from a wonderful vacation and immeditately was forced into the middle of finals week!  I think I did alright, despite missing two weeks of class.  My speaking final was really easy, and went fairly smoothly.  My teacher said that my speaking had improved drastically, but my reading was the same.  Not bad, considering I hadn't spoken Chinese in two weeks.  My written test was the hardest thing I have ever faced.  I think it was on par with the level of diffficulty where Chinese students achieve.  About one hour into the test, our teacher left the room for a moment and everyone proceeded to moan in pain.

I find out my grades tomorrow.

Other than finals, not much of extreme excitement is under way.  The weather is getting colder.  On Saturday my host family deemed the weather far too cold to go outside.  On Sunday they said that we could go outside, but should be extremely careful.   Without central heating, it is so cold inside that I can see my breath.  This is of particular excitement to me every morning immediately after breakfast.  I usually eat a steaming bowl of noodles and eggs and fish tofu for breakfast, and after I finish eating it feels like my stomach is steaming, and when I exhale, the steam escapes with such fierce heat and force that I can legitimately pretend that I am a fire breathing dragon.   Which is fairly appropriate, being in China.

In fact, I almost forgot, on Sunday I got my hair cut for the first time in China!  Or in a foriegn country even.  If was a little nerve wracking, because I can't ever communicate exactly what I want in English, let alone my third language.  The barber shop next to my apartment complex was having a special, so everyone in my family got a hair cut.  Its important to get a hair cut before Chinese New Year because you need to get all the old stuff off because it has a lot of bad luck in it, also no matter what it is forbidden to get a hair cut during the new year because you could cut off new luck.  In this same manner, one should not wash himself or his clothes or his home excessively (if at all).  

Back to the hair cut, I paid 10 kuai (just over a dollar) to have a head and neck and shoulder and hand massage, shampoo (three times), facial type thing (which included a ear cleaning), and finally a haircut.  I think I might have been the first blonde to appear, as everyone was dully fascinated by me.  When I sat down all the hair cutters gathered around me to have a powwow and discuss how to approach my glowing head of hair.  The massueses also had a similar meeting.  So did the maids, I caught them looking at my strange blonde hairs in a pile of swept up black ones.