TheBanyanTree: Christmas in Pingguo - Part 2

[Pat M]

The second event I attended involved a trip to Nanning to attend Toyota's
Christmas Eve party. Ed Liu, the older man who visited the orphanage with
the radio reporter recently, is the managing director of Toyota in Nanning
and he invited me and four other adults and three children from the
orphanage to attend, all expenses paid (bus and hotel). Peter was busy with
a church service on December 24th so could not attend. I was more excited
about the possibility of visiting Wal-Mart the day after the party and
perhaps finding some palatable food than I was about going to the party.

Grandfather drove Alex, Auntie Hua (another worker here), her son, Alice,
Mary and I to the bus depot in downtown Pingguo where Alex bought tickets to
Nanning for everyone.

We climbed on the bus with five minutes to spare and filed down the aisle.

I said, "Are the tickets numbered?" I've traveled on the bus in China before
and know bus passengers are assigned to specific seats.

Alex indicated I should sit down on seat 24 but it had some shopping bags on
it.

"Oh, some bags are on my seat," I said, and passed them to Alex who set them
on another seat.

I sat down and buckled up. A few minutes later, a young woman arrived. She
stopped next to me, and I saw her searching for her bags.  She said
something in Chinese as she looked around.

Alex said, "You are in her seat. You must move."

Alex looked at the tickets again and directed me to another seat. I moved to
it. A few minutes later, a man boarded. He, too, stopped next to me and said
something.

"You are in his seat," Alex said.

Once again I changed seats. After that, I saw Alex studying the bus tickets
for a long time. I don't know what the problem was, but it seemed as if she
couldn't locate the seat numbers on them.

I had requested that she go to Nanning with me so she could help me get
around the following day (she would not have been one of the five attendees
otherwise). I knew that Alex came from a village much like the poor villages
around the orphanage but it hadn't occurred to me she was not used to
traveling at all, not even to Nanning, ninety plus minutes away from Pingguo
by bus.

In Nanning, we were met by a friendly young man dressed in a navy suit from
Toyota who drove Alex and I to the hotel. The others took a taxi. Along the
way, I saw an unusual sight.  At a stop light, amongst three lanes of
bumper-to-bumper traffic, a man on a wagon held a small horse in check.
Nanning is a modern city and the horse-drawn wagon was more suited to a
village road than downtown Nanning.

Our driver parked, carried my bag into the hotel and checked us in. I was
given a room of my own.  Alex and the two girls were given a room and Auntie
Hua and her son were given another room. Jacob, Auntie Hua's husband was
supposed to attend the party but was stuck in a traffic jam. (He never did
make it to the party.) I was pleased to see that the hotel was clean and had
a western toilet. (Western toilets are only found in better hotels.)

I was looking forward to meeting Ron Brown and his wife, Pat, the people who
founded the China Mission. They are currently living in Beijing for 3 months
and were planning to attend the party to accept Toyota's gifts to the
children. I'd never met Ron but had been in contact with him many times via
email. He and his wife planned to visit the orphanage the following day. I
was anxious to talk to Ron about changing my visa so that I could teach
English legally. He'd indicated he has connections in Beijing and there
wouldn't be a problem, which I found hard to believe. Nothing is easy in
China, least of all getting a work visa.
The Christmas party was held in a posh five-star hotel. When we pulled into
the parking lot, an attendant directed our driver to a reserved area.
Several uniformed men wearing blinking Santa Claus pins on their lapels
greeted us as we walked into the foyer. The girls' eyes widened when they
saw an enormous white Christmas tree decorated with blinking blue lights
next to a spiral staircase in the lobby. They were awed by a gigantic sofa,
chairs and coffee table made of solid wood that looked to have been made for
giants.
The party was on the third floor and we joined a crowd of people waiting at
the elevators. I spotted Ron and Pat in the throng. We introduced ourselves
and chatted for a few minutes before taking the elevator together. When we
arrived, we were greeted by an entourage of men in suits and glamorous women
in party dresses from Toyota who pinned yellow rose corsages on Ron, Pat and
I. Ed Liu arrived to welcome us personally.
I was glad I had changed into suitable attire—a dressy black patterned
skirt, soft red blazer, black leotards (I'd tried to find pantyhose in
Pingguo but there weren't any) and black pumps. None of my companions had
ever been in such a luxurious place and must have felt a little intimidated
by such grandeur. They were conspicuous by their every day, well-worn
clothing, which was unsuitable for the occasion but telling of where they
came from. (They could not dress up because they do not have any dressy
clothing.) I saw one of the greeters speak to Alex (who wore jeans) quietly
to find out who she was. Neither she nor Auntie Hau were given corsages, I
noticed.
The banquet room was set up for 400 attendees. We were lead to a large round
table near the stage.  It was draped in a gold tablecloth and the chairs
were covered in the same material. I pulled out a Christmas party program
Peter had given me and studied it. It was a full two pages. I passed it to
Ron and said, "We may be here until midnight. Look at this program."
We enjoyed delicious food and fine entertainment--choir singers, pop
singers, Latino dancers and traditional Chinese dancers and performers.  A
professional dance troupe held everyone spellbound with their scanty
costumes and sensuous, provocative dances. The children watched wide-eyed
and giggled nervously. I made eye contact with Auntie Hau across from me and
grimaced. The dances were so heavily laced with sexual innuendo that I felt
they were inappropriate for the girls' to see, but there was nothing we
could do.

I found out a little about Ron and Pat. He is 71 and she is 70. They have
dual citizenship (Canadian/American) and live in Peachtree, Georgia.  Both
of them take no pay for their work and travel to China using airmiles and
buddy passes donated by fellow church members. Ron preaches in Beijing on
Sundays and then he and his wife take the train to one of China Mission's
five orphanages in the country during the week.

Ed Liu visited us at our table. "I have a present for you," he said to me.

"Really?" I said, widening my eyes and playing along as if I were an excited
child.

"When I visited the orphanage and saw what you eat, I felt very sorry for
you."

I nodded, secretly glad that Ron heard his comment.

"I am sending many gifts to the children—shoes and clothes—but there is a
package for you with some boxes of macaroni and cheese, a package of
spaghetti and some meat sauce."

At first I thought he was joking and then I realized he wasn't. Kraft dinner
would, in fact, be a treat for me, which I found quite funny.

Ed was the master of ceremonies and part way through the evening he
introduced Ron, Pat and I as special guests. One by one, we were asked to
stand up so everyone could see us.  In his speech (in Chinese), I heard my
name mentioned several times but had no idea what he said about me.

Ron, Auntie Hua and the children were invited to the stage to accept a
donation from Toyota.  Ed presented them with a huge poster-board cheque
listing a number of items (in Chinese of course) with a total value of 8000
yuan.

Mary was very shy and stared at the floor the entire time she was on stage.
It must have been overwhelming to be in such a grand place with so many eyes
watching her but she and Alice managed to sing a song for the crowd.

I enjoyed the evening and was grateful that I hadn't gone into any
embarrassing coughing fits. At the end of the program, Ron, Pat and I were
asked to go up on stage. Many people took photos of us. (We were the only
foreigners there.)

The event finished around 9:30 and our group walked back to the hotel a
short 2 blocks away. Alex and I made arrangements to meet at 8:30 am the
next morning so we could go shopping. I was looking forward to a good sleep.

The noise started a few minutes after I climbed into bed. Party revellers in
the next room made it impossible to sleep. I lay awake for most of the
night. Still, I was excited about visiting Wal-Mart. I wanted to look for a
color printer, a laminating machine and familiar food such as cheese, ground
coffee and spices like cinnamon and curry powder. I hoped to find an extra
large container of soya milk powder. In Pingguo, there are only small
expensive packages of it. I wanted to buy yarn so I could crochet, blank CDs
so I could burn my latest photos to them, pantyhose (there are none to be
found in Pingguo) and lice treatment—just in case. I hoped to buy food color
so I could make home-made play dough for the children. Simple things are so
hard to find here in China.

Alex and I left the hotel at 9 and flagged down a taxi. It turned out we
were only a few blocks from Wal-Mart. Minutes later we exited the cab and
entered a shopping mall. Wal-Mart occupied the entire second and third
floors. The weather had been very cold and I was wearing microfiber long
underwear for warmth as well as my down coat. But, the weather had changed
overnight yet again and I was sweltering. I could hardly bear it. We had
just started to browse when Alex's cell phone rang.

She spoke for a moment and then said, "They want us to go back to the hotel.
Someone is donating some things to the children and they want us in the
photo."

I sighed and shook my head.

"Okay," I said. "Let's find our way out of here."

Saying and doing are two different things. The store was so large Alex had
to ask for help several times before we found the exit.

We began to walk back and I trusted that Alex knew where we were going.
Because I can't read Chinese, it is nearly impossible for me to establish
landmarks. The signage looked like gibberish to me. A few minutes later, we
received another phone call.

Alex listened then said, "They don't need us to go back. We can go
shopping."

Lack of sleep and feeling unwell contributed to my crankiness. I felt like
swearing. Instead I muttered, "I feel angry... but not at you. It's not your
fault. Let's just go back to Pingguo and come shopping another day when we
both feel better."  Alex also had a bad cough.
We carried on walking. After awhile, Alex said, "Do you know where we are?"
She was asking me?! I looked at her in disbelief. She was my guide
but apparently had done little or no traveling on her own and also had a bad
sense of direction. I kept my mouth shut as she asked person after person
where to go. We traveled back and forth along the same street several times,
and it must have been evident to everyone on that block that we were
completely and utterly lost.

Finally, she said, "Let's go to eat some delicious food."

But there were no restaurants nearby. She talked to several more people. I
saw her blank expression as she tried to get her bearings, looking this way
and then that way, and I lost all confidence in her.  But as miserable as I
felt, I didn't say a word of criticism to her; I kept my mouth shut. This is
China and if one is to survive here, one has to be flexible and extremely
tolerant.

Finally, a kind young man on a motor scooter said he would lead us to a
restaurant. He was very nice and could speak a few words of English. We
followed him to a hole-in-the-wall noodle shop. Before leaving, he gave
instructions to Alex on where to catch a city bus to get to the bus
terminal. I thanked him profusely.
The restaurant menu was at the counter. In most restaurants, you pay first
and eat later.
"What do you want, Auntie?" Alex asked, showing me a menu that was written
entirely in Chinese.

"You're going to have to help me," I said, biting back a sarcastic comment.
How could I possibly order when I couldn't read the menu?!

Alex didn't translate the menu  for me. She studied the menu and said
nothing. A long line formed behind us. Finally I said, "Let's have noodles
like the ones we had in Pingguo the other day."

But the noodles that arrived were nothing like the delicious rice noodles
I'd eaten in Pingguo. They were plain wheat noodles in brown broth with a
few tiny pieces of fat and meat that looked like beef. By this time, I was
past caring. I didn't bother to confirm what type of meat I was eating, I
just ate it even though it was far from delicious.

When we left the restaurant, Alex couldn't find the bus stop our helper had
told her about. She began to ask people where to find the #31 bus. No one
seemed to know. I found myself feeling increasingly frustrated.  Finally I
said, "Let's get a taxi to the bus depot. I'll pay."
Fifteen minutes later, we arrived at the bus terminal. I needed to remove my
long underwear so went in the women's bathroom. You'd have to see that
washroom to believe it. The toilet was a long trough in the floor that one
had to squat over. It ran the length of the room. There were many cubicles
with no doors and each one was occupied. I saw a long row of bare-bummed
women crouched over the trough. I quickly turned away and set about changing
my clothes. It wasn't easy and took me quite awhile. There were no clean
surfaces to put anything down on, and I didn't want my clothes to touch the
floor. Just as I finished, I heard Alex call my name.  (She was waiting
outside for me.)
"We must go," she said.
On the way to the bus, I bought a couple of slices of sponge cake for us.
The sweet cake was a treat after a particularly trying morning. (It came
with some small plastic bags to put over our hands so we could eat it
without worrying about picking up germs.)

"I don't feel very well, Auntie," Alex said a few minutes after she settled
into her seat.

"Me neither."

With that, both of us closed our eyes and slipped into oblivion.

 ****

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bn0POO5wIGE

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=otWUaNImDf4

Pingguo China 2008 photos can be viewed at
http://picasaweb.google.com/Ms.Pat.Martin/Pingguo#