TheBanyanTree: Transition to the Real China, Part 4

[Pat M]

Transition to the Real China, Part 4



The next few days were trying, too.  Some time during the night, the
electricity had gone out.   With a fridge full of food and warm
temperatures, I needed to deal with it immediately.  I called Amy.



"There are two plastic cards in one of the cupboards," she said. "Find them
and take them to the main gate. They'll know which card to use.   Pay 100
yuan (the equivalent of about $15) and get a receipt. Then you will have
power again."



Fine. I could do that. With both cards in hand, a 100 yuan note and a "Ni
hao (hello)" I stepped into the small office next to the main gate and
handed the cards and money to one of the three staff there.



A flow of rapid Chinese followed. They looked at me; they looked at each
other. I realized they didn't know which card to use either. How to explain?
  I saw an electrical outlet on the wall and used body language to indicate
I was plugging something into it.  The three spent several minutes talking
amongst themselves, while I again demonstrated plugging something into the
outlet. Finally, the woman at the computer took one of the cards, entered
some information on the computer and wrote a receipt.



I returned to my apartment and turned on the light switch.  Nothing.   I'd
paid the money, why hadn't the electricity been restored?  Again, I called
Amy.



"You need to go out into the hallway, find the meter with the red light and
push the card into it," she said.   (Here, electricity is 'pay as you go.')



Success!  The fridge motor cut in; I'd saved my food.  Now, I could get on
with the ironing.



I plugged in my new iron and the red light came on to indicate it was
heating--for all of one minute.   Then it cooled and no amount of jiggling
the cord fixed the problem.  The iron was a dud.  What next?   I recalled
Betts' words during my teachers' training.  "This is China.  If it's made
here, it's going to break."   I was beginning to realize they were wise
words indeed.



Okay, if I couldn't iron, I'd try out the little portable washing machine
that sat in the kitchen; I had a mountain of laundry to do because of my
seven nights in hotels. Step one: connect the hose to the kitchen tap. The
hose, I saw, had a special fitting that needed to be maneuvered so there
would be a drip free connection. After five minutes of pushing and pulling
on the connection, I gave up.   I've never been 'handy' with such things and
would need to be shown 'the trick' to make it work.



On to the next thing: I picked up the broom and began to sweep the floor.   It
had a screw-on connection half way up the handle that had been used to
extend its length.  For some reason, most Chinese brooms and mops have very
short handles. After a couple of sweeps, my broom fell apart and clattered
to the floor in two pieces.   The screw-in thread joining the two pieces was
stripped so I had to make do with a broom that had a two-foot handle.  By
the time I finished sweeping the floor my back hurt.



"I can't believe this," I muttered and dropped onto the couch, leaned back
and closed my eyes.   A few deep breaths were in order.  I put my feet up on
the coffee table and wriggled to get comfortable. Boom. One of the coffee
table legs fell off and the table crashed to the floor.   Mayo had propped
the broken leg under the table so it looked fine, but it was an accident
waiting to happen--any movement and it fell apart.



At least there were no problems with the hot water.   Although, the sinks in
the apartment were not equipped with hot water taps (as is common in China),
I had a nifty little hot water heater above the shower in the bathroom.   One
of the conditions in my contract had been a 24/7 supply of hot water, and
this was the one thing that hadn't let me down.



I took a long, hot shower that helped me relax. Then, I took a cab to the
school where I asked Amy to type up detailed instructions in Chinese to get
to the apartment, the college and the supermarket.   I tucked the page in a
plastic page protector (it was an important document) and tucked it into my
backpack.



Amy told me the problem with my address was that it was a new apartment
complex, so new in fact that many taxi drivers didn't know of it.   That
seemed hard to believe as it was on a major highway and there were about a
dozen high rises inside the gates.  Yet, the lost taxi drivers backed up her
statement.



After dinner on my third evening in Lintong, with my precious piece of paper
and three yuan in hand, I said goodbye to Amy and Ms. Zhang. As I walked out
the door, I joked, "Third time lucky."   To their blank looks, I said, "It
means that tonight the taxi driver will know where to go," and I smiled
broadly.



Not so. Five minutes later I was in a cab going the wrong direction. Thank
goodness for the cell phone I carried. A quick call to Amy solved my problem
and I arrived at the apartment in better spirits than the previous evening.
Armed with a tiny flashlight for the unlit stairwell and feeling triumphant
that things were getting better, I gave the door to the apartment building a
strong tug.   To my surprise, it was locked (for the first time) and the
unexpected resistance caused my flashlight to clatter to the ground and
break into two pieces.  Oh happy day.



The young Chinese guard at the apartment's gated entrance had always been
friendly although we were unable to communicate past, "Hello.   How are
you?" and smiles.  I found him and gestured for him to follow me.  I showed
him the locked door and indicated through body language that I didn't have a
key.   When he understood, he pressed the button to one of the occupied
apartments in the building (there were only three including mine out of the
twelve in the section), and had the occupant buzz me in.



Again, I slowly made my way up the stairs in the dark, this time cursing
under my breath.  Why couldn't things be easier?



The following day, I became bossy and insistent with Amy.  I told her I
wasn't prepared to climb six floors in the dark; it was dangerous and
nerve-wracking, and I insisted she contact the landlord to put in light
bulbs (I'd have put in the bulbs myself but I didn't trust the safety of
Chinese wiring).



I still didn't have a functional computer in my apartment. When I asked Amy
when the computer would be fixed, she said, "Alice said you could use the
computer at the college."



Not good enough. I emailed Frank about the problem. "I chose this school
based on the photos you showed me of the apartment which included a
computer, printer and scanner," I said.



The next morning, Frank told me he had spoken with Alice and I would receive
a new computer that day. Alice herself arrived with a computer technician a
short time later, but instead of a new computer, the technician carried
another used computer.   Using components from both, he made one computer
that worked. No matter that it wasn't a new computer, I was thrilled. The
tech set up the headphones and microphone and showed me how to make a call
using Live Messenger.   There really was nothing to it and I wondered why I
hadn't started using the technology a long time ago. All I needed now was
for Michelle to get set up with headphones and a microphone, too, and we'd
be able to make free long distance phone calls.   But the speakers I'd
purchased didn't work.  What did I expect? TIC  This is China!


That night after dinner, Ms. Zhang accompanied me home in the taxi to ensure
there were no problems. The college had provided me with a key to the
apartment entrance and when I opened the door, I saw that the stairwells
were lit.   Things really were finally looking up!

***