Luzhou [Sichuan]

Ever wanted to be a rock star? Let me tell you now – it isn’t what it’s cracked up to be. For exactly 7 days, I and my ETA companions were de facto celebrities in Luzhou, Sichuan. Taller, bearded and rosy cheeked [in a town that you can count the number of Westerners on your fingers and toes] – stares were the norm, pictures were expected, and talking was a must.

I feel like I could write 10 posts on various reflections, thoughts, experiences, and interesting stories about my time in Luzhou. Even then, you wouldn’t have a full picture of what I saw and shared. Frustrating, eye-opening, interesting, humbling, and exciting are words that just scratch the surface of my time there. So, I’ll give just a brief overview of what I did and some funny moments.

Luzhou is a small city in China. By small, it has 1 million people. Yeah, you read that right. China has attempted to totally redefine small town, village, and rural for me. In a lot of ways, Luzhou was like Tai Po. Open markets, greenery, rivers, and high rise buildings. More interesting though, was the huge disparity in the area. The average yearly cost of living on campus was less than 1000 RMB [about 200 US]. In the town, I ate at a totally plush hot pot restaurant where everyone got their own individual pot to regulate what they put in and the spice. The bill was easily 800 RMB – for one meal. Rich and poor seem butted right up against each other in this developing and burgeoning city. But, back to teaching and students.

For the week, I was expected, along with my companions, to present, visit classes and local people, and to give students and English experience. The class visits were great. I have rarely seen students so genuinely fascinated. We introduced ourselves and then spent about 30 minutes rotating between groups of students, showing pictures and answering questions. I brought some US and HK money, which really many of the students had never seen. I was asked the same questions about a million times:

1. Do you like China?
2. Do you like Chinese food?
3. Do you like Chinese girls?
4. Do you have a girlfriend?
5. Can you use chopsticks?

They asked a lot more questions, but those were musts for everyone to ask – even if I had just answered it. After this, we would take pictures. Read that line as – insanity ensued.

At one point, I stood smiling as I faced 15 cameras and phones. I had no idea where to look nor who was grabbing my arm smiling ear to ear next to me. That unknown would scuttle off to the camera, and another would grab my arm. Girls and boys crammed to get into pictures with yours truly. Of course, in our mini group – the Asian ETAs deftly slipped out the door – leaving me [the only male white ETA] and a companion [a tall blond] to be devoured by the masses. To say I was mobbed is an understatement. At one point, an arm shot through the crowd, pulling me out – and it was our Hong Kong leader saving me saying they could take more pictures later. This happened every class we visited.

English corner, where we stood and spoke to students who showed up, had the same problem. As masses crowded around me, inching closer and closer, I worried I might be crushed as more people tried to get closer and closer to me. Once one became brave enough to ask if they could have a picture, madness followed.

Overall, it was great though. My voice started to go and I was exhausted, but it was really interesting. An ETA and I spoke to each other wondering what impact this visit would have on these students lives. Would they at some point, fifty years from now, be sitting with a fellow student and reminisce about the Americans who came to visit? Would this be a blip and otherwise meaningless?

I’m not sure but I will definitely remember that I do not want to be famous.  Next post – teaching pics.

Language is fun…ish…

As my crash course in Cantonese is finishing up, I realized that Cantonese may be the most difficult language on the earth.  Regardless of linguistic arguments as to what actually is the most complicated, this language is almost impossible for me.  At its basic level it has six tones (some linguists argue from 9-12 tones), which are very important.  For some items, context might help a speaker understand what you meant – but in others, not at all.  A minor vowel change could also be the difference in getting chicken (gei) or dog (gau) in your meal.  As someone who likes to mumble, this can be problematic.  At least I’ll eat anything that is put in front of me. 

While in class, I sound sing songy and just plain goofy – but, I can usually get close to an intelligible phrase or request.  Turns out, unfortunately, that without a readily handy dandy typed sheet of paper, my brain chooses one of the requirements (vocab, tone, word order/grammar) correctly and abandons the rest, leaving me to spew out sounds that only Teletubbies understand.  That said, I have had, understandably, mixed experiences in my efforts to use Cantonese around Hong Kong.

Once, while in a market, I decided I needed some fruit goodness.  I geared up, practiced the phrases in my head, ran through the possiblities of what the grocer might say back – stepped forward and, in beautifulish Cantonese, asked for five oranges with the correct classifier.  She smiled, answered back the price and I finished the transaction.  Beautiful moment.  Not a day before, however, my success was craptastic.  While walking home late one evening, I turned to ask a local Cantonese person where the bus to Sha Tin was located.  In my best Canto, I muddily executed the request.  Immediately, he turned and said, ‘I speak English…’  Saddened and embarrassed, I asked where the bus that might take me to Sha Tin was located.  He answered, “I don’t know.” and walked away.

That said, the hall staff here at school just love the fact I try.  I’ve been praised heavily for my m-goi (thank you) and my jou san’s (good morning) are met with feverish waves from the desk security guard.  Half the time, though, I feel like I’m reciting verbal tongue twisters combined with vocal aerobics.  At the very least, this course has reminded me how hard learning a language really is. It has been really insightful to realize that my newfound fear of speaking Cantonese, for fear of sounding like a buffoon,  closely mirrors the fears of many English students.