TheBanyanTree: Transition to the Real China, Part 6

[Pat M]

Transition to the Real China

Part 6 – Mid September, 2007





Occasionally now, there are entire days without problems.  How uplifting
they are; they rejuvenate me so I can cope with the next thing, for there is
always something else to test me.

The tap water in my apartment, for example, is frequently turned off without
warning for days at a time.  No explanation is given and it is anyone's
guess when it will be turned back on.  Luckily I have bottled water that I
can use to sponge-bathe and wash my hair on those days.

And the language barrier continually challenges me.  It was my father's
birthday recently so I wrote him a postcard.  While I was at it, I penned
another six to friends in Canada and America.  Mrs. Zhang accompanied me to
buy stamps.  It was during the week-long vacation that follows China's
October 1st National Day which celebrates the anniversary of the founding of
the People's Republic of China in 1949.  Along the way, we passed many
national flags flapping in the breeze.  China's flag is red (which
symbolizes revolution) with five golden-yellow stars in the upper left
corner.  The star on the left is larger than the other four and symbolizes
the Communist Party (which rules China) while the smaller stars represent
the people of China.

When we arrived at China Post, there were two new (likely auxiliary) staff
on duty and neither knew how much to charge me.  Finally, I was quoted a
price of three yuan per postcard for a total of 21 yuan.  Because I had sent
post cards numerous times, I knew the correct rate to be 4.5 yuan.

"Boo, boo, boo, boo, boo, (no, no, no, no, no,)" I said to Mrs. Zhang,
shaking my head.  "This is a mistake.  It should be 4.5 yuan each."

She looked at me with a puzzled expression.  "Pay this," she said in stilted
English and took the pen to write 3 x 7 = 21.

I took the pen and wrote down 4.5 x 7 = 31.5. "This is the right amount." (I
figured paying the correct price would up the odds the cards reached their
destinations.)

Mrs. Zhang is a marvel when it comes to bargaining.  She'll spend ten
minutes arguing and cajoling a vendor to save 14 cents (one yuan), and she
could not understand why I was insisting on paying more money than the
postal clerk asked for.

"He made a mistake," I said again, and jabbed the correct figures with my
pen. "I want to pay this."

My words fell on deaf ears; no matter how many times I repeated myself, Mrs.
Zhang was not going to let me pay any more than 21 yuan.  The Post Office
was crowded and the other customers, intensely interested in 'the
foreigner', stopped to watch our exchange.  I'm not good at concealing my
feelings, even when I want to.  I'm sure my frustration was written all over
my face.

Eventually, I gave up; I had to.  It was a no-win situation.  Reluctantly, I
paid the requested 21 yuan and took my handful of 1 and 2 yuan stamps to a
small counter where a large pot of glue sat. In China, stamps are not
gummed. As I smoothed the rubbery glue over the envelopes and stamps with a
sticky wooden paddle, I was reminded of when I was in elementary school.  There
was only one jar of glue and the Post Office was busy.  While Mrs. Zhang and
I worked our way through gluing on 14 stamps, a long line-up of impatient
patrons formed behind us. By then I was cranky, very cranky, thinking my
postcards were likely to end up in the garbage.  Mrs. Zhang didn't get it
and I didn't waste my time trying to explain it to her; her English language
skills weren't good enough. How, I wondered, could something as simple as
buying stamps end up to be an exercise in patience?

Another language barrier problem occurred one day when I arrived at the
college to find the front door locked.  It was nearly suppertime and I knew
Mrs. Zhang would be on the third floor cooking so I called her cell.

"I'm…at…the…front…door," I said, as slowly as I could.

"I upstairs," she said.

"I…know," I said.  "Please… open… the… door… for… me…"

"I upstairs," she said.

"I… am… downstairs. Please… open… the… door.  It… is… locked."

"I have key," she said.

By now I had an audience of bystanders.

"Please…… open…… the…… door.  It…… is… …locked," I said using a robot-slow
voice.

"I have key," she said.

"For God's sake," I muttered under my breath, and took a deep breath.

"Please… open… the… door," I pleaded, as the crowd around me grew larger.

"I have key," she said.

"Please… open… the… door," I repeated.

"I upstairs," she said.

A full five minutes passed, I timed it, before Ms Zhang finally realized I
was at the door waiting to be let in. When she opened the door, I darted in,
rolled my eyes, threw my arms in the air with a muted scream and turned in a
circle.  (My idea of showing her I was so frustrated I was going crazy.)

"I sorry," she said, sheepishly.

"I know; it's okay," I said and we both laughed.  I couldn't stay mad with
her; she was doing her best.

More recently I began crocheting a quilt of granny squares using chenille
yarn. Now, I need a needle with a large eye so I can sew the squares
together.  Mrs. Zhang and I went shopping together to find one.  We checked
many shops to no avail and eventually gave up.  No needles with a large eye
in a city of half a million; how can that be?

It bothers me, too, that the shopkeepers inflate their prices for me by 300
to 500%.  Because of that, I either purchase things at the supermarket where
prices are generally much higher but are clearly marked, or Mrs. Zhang helps
me shop.  When I see something I'm interested in, she 'pretends' she wants
to buy the item and gets it for about 1/3 of what I'd have to pay.

Life in China isn't easy but that is what living in a different country and
culture is all about—experiencing the differences.

Recently a friend in Canada asked me if coming to China was worth it, and I
answered with an unequivocal, "Absolutely!"

Climbing the Great Wall, meeting the Buddhist monks of Wutai Shan and
lunching there with a thousand bald-headed Buddhist nuns, living amongst the
other-worldly splendor of the karst mountains around Yangshuo, and seeing
the Army of Terracotta Warriors are experiences I'll never forget and
wouldn't trade for anything.
I'm glad I came to China.

****